Extrophile by Cody Nelson ONE: BEAST WOMAN The beast woman sat straddling Mulder's chest, holding his wrists together over his head easily with one hand. God, she was strong. Mulder gasped for air through the constriction of her weight on his diaphragm. Rocks and twigs dug into his back and buttocks as he lay on the damp, cold ground. His body ached from the blows to his head and chest and back. The beast woman stared down at him with inscrutable forest green eyes. Her heavy breasts, streaked with dirt as was the rest of her powerful, naked body, hung before him as she leaned over him to hold his arms pinned to the dirt. Her breathing was quickened, too, but only slightly. She'd run him to ground easily, darting around tree trunks and bushes, keeping up a steady pace, never more than a few yards behind him. In fact, it seemed that she'd deliberately let the chase go on until exhaustion overtook him, and he'd fallen at her feet, too winded for much of a struggle. She'd subdued him easily, with three or four sharp blows, then she had rolled him over onto his back, planted her strong, sinewy buttocks onto his chest, caught his arms in one powerful hand and pinned them to the dirt over his head, and settled in to contemplate the man-creature she'd captured. She bent down and nipped at his lower lip. He let out a little mewling sound and his body stiffened. A wave of heat pulsed through his cock. The brief taste of her mouth on his lip was earthy and primordial and good. He whimpered a little, and shifted his hips. His face burned with shame. How could his body betray him like this? She was barely more than an animal. No doubt she meant only to kill him. Something like a smile twitched at her lips. She pushed two earth-streaked fingers into his mouth. Helplessly, he sucked at them. His eyes fell closed as he worked her fingers with his tongue and lips. He could feel their strength, their power, as they claimed his mouth. Their taste, like her mouth, was wild and natural. His cock throbbed, pressing painfully against the fabric of his jeans. There was something wonderful about being helpless and ashamed beneath her. She understood none of it, except the pure physical response. His shame was meaningless, and so was his fear, and so was everything except her body ruling his. She pulled her hand free and grasped the collar of his tee-shirt. Her rough knuckles, damp and clean from his mouth, brushed against his collarbone, sending shivers of ecstasy through his vulnerable flesh. He moaned and squirmed, his lust now open and exposed to her. It seemed foolish to try to hide it. In fact, it seemed necessary to offer it to her, along with his fear and submission, in tribute to her power over him. She released his wrists in order to use both hands to jerk at his tee-shirt, more frantically now, trying to uncover him. The fabric burned as it bit into the back of his neck. She didn't understand his clothing; she still sat on his belly, trapping the tee-shirt around his body. He brought his freed arms down across her thighs (hard and muscular against his forearms, another jolt of electricity), to pull at the hem of his tee-shirt, trying to show her how to get it off him. He still had no idea whether she meant to ravish him, or kill and gut him, but he was as desperate as she was to get his clothing off. Finally, there was a spark of understanding in her emerald eyes, and she growled with pleasure as she levered herself off of him and skinned him out of his tee-shirt, as easily as if he were a small child being undressed by his mother. Then she pressed him back down to the earth, and began to pull at his jeans. Slowly, he ventured to reach for the fly of his jeans, to help her with the buttons. She allowed him to unbotton the top button, then slapped his hands away and pulled the rest of the buttons open with one forceful yank. His cock poked at the cotton of his boxer shorts, burning with need. He shifted his hips as she worked his jeans and shorts down. There was another hitch when the jeans and shorts met his running shoes and refused to go any further. She grunted impatiently at the jeans for a moment, pushing him down when he tried to sit up to help her, then left them, half inside-out, bunched around his feet and ankles. She stood, towering over him as he lay naked in the dirt. Of course, from this vantage point she looked tall, but he knew her height was no illusion. She was as tall as he was, and strong and finely formed, like a Celtic warrior-goddess, with her bright green eyes and matted chestnut hair. He shivered. She was so beautiful, his eyes burned with the sight of her. His heart pounded desperately in his chest. She was perfect, and she owned him. She knelt down at his side and began to inspect her prize. Almost playfully, she poked at his nipples, tracing circles around the small brown nubs. His belly button, the curve of his ribs, the hollow at the base of his throat—all were handled, stroked, pinched. Her touches were casual, possessive, and they sent his heart racing and his blood boiling. She moved down to push his knees apart, and continued her inspection with the tender flesh on the inside of his thighs, the thatch of soft fur over his groin, and finally she ran one curious finger up the side of his cock. He couldn't help crying out. His back arched and his hips thrust. His fists clenched at his sides. He wanted desperately to return her caresses; to hold her round breasts in his hands; to dip his finger into her belly button; to nestle between her legs and taste her intimate folds. But he knew he wasn't allowed to move, even before the hard slap on his side punished his thrust. He forced himself still, even as his heart raced in renewed fear. He was more helpless now than before, with his jeans effectively binding his legs together. But even unbound, he knew he couldn't outrun or outfight her. He had only one option now, and that was complete obedience, no matter what her intentions towards him were. He couldn't control the heaving of his chest, or the twitch in his cock, but he fought his panicked limbs under control and lay as quietly as he could. She watched him, calmly, while he settled down, then returned to her inspection. Now she rolled him over onto his stomach and turned her attention to his shoulder blades, spine, and tailbone. She seemed to like the way he whimpered when she spread his buttocks and played with his anus with her forefinger and thumb. She worked her finger into him up to the first knuckle, then abruptly pulled out, making him gasp, and promptly rolled him once again onto his back. Now she straddled him again, her knees across his thighs, hands holding his wrists pinned at his sides. Her smile was feral and frightening. And god, he wanted her. More than he'd ever wanted anyone, he wanted to feel her power surrounding his cock, using him, taking pleasure with him. He wanted to belong to her. He wanted to be taken by pure instinct and animal need. He tried to return her smile; tried to show her that he welcomed her power over him. He had no idea whether or not she understood. It didn't matter anyway—she would do what she wanted, regardless of his willing surrender. And that was good, too. That was the way it should be. She'd run him down, captured and tamed him, won the right to use him. He sighed and waited. Still holding his arms down, she began to edge her knees to the sides, until they were resting on the ground, trapping his thighs between them. Then she lifted her hips, and settled her wet heat over his cock. It was all he could do not to move his body under her, to try to help guide his cock into her. He bit his lip and moaned while she rubbed her crotch over him. Her motions were leisurely, teasing, and they drove him crazy. "Please. Please." His voice was soft and desperate. He knew she would not understand, but he couldn't help begging her. "Please." At last, she leaned down, squirmed until she got the angle right, and lowered herself onto him. The feel of her warm, moist flesh taking him inside her was so piercingly sweet, his control melted and he felt himself move with her. She allowed it, and he was so grateful, tears dripped down his cheeks. Then she began to thrust harder and harder, until her groin was grinding harshly into his, and each thrust of her powerful hips scraped his buttocks roughly against the rocky dirt beneath them. The pain was searing and wonderful. His cock burned inside her, and he moved with abandon within the confines of her strong arms and hips and thighs. Animal cries ripped from his throat. The pressure built in his cock and balls, driving him to a furious climax. Then his cock was spasming and spilling his seed inside her, and he was screaming, and it was all over.... Mulder moaned and shifted on the bed, feeling the tension drain away from his hips and thighs. He kept his hand on his cock, continuing to milk the last few spasms of his orgasm, while he felt around the mattress with his other hand for the remote, which he'd dropped somewhere along the way, probably around the time the Beast Woman had rolled him over onto his stomach. The TV screen had long since gone blue. He found the remote and hit the rewind button, then released his wilting cock and reached for the towel he kept by the bed. As he wiped the semen from his belly and chest, he restarted the tape and watched once again as the blurry figure of Bigfoot crossed the screen and was gone. He smiled to himself. The Beast Woman fantasy was always good, but that had been a particularly good one. He could almost feel the rocks in his butt. He rewound the tape again, and shut the TV and VCR off. Then he put the remote and the towel away in the nightstand, and pulled up the covers. "Goodnight, Beast Woman," he whispered softly. He fell asleep with the smile still on his face. TWO: THE ABDUCTEE The woman's story was one like so many of the others—the bright light in the sky as she was driving home late at night; the car drifting to a stop, engine dead; the small, gray men with huge eyes and long, leathery fingers pulling her from the car. She was one of the ones who remembered, although the images were jumbled and hazy. She sat nervously on her couch, sipping a Coke, pushing her unruly dark blonde hair out of her eyes, softly relating her story. Scully paced while the woman spoke, obviously uncomfortable. Mulder watched her out of the corner of his eye while the woman spoke of being tied, naked, to a table while impersonal, long-fingered gray hands inspected her mouth, her breasts, her genitals. Scully had still remembered none of her abduction experience. Probably it was harder for her, in some ways, not knowing what had been done to her. Every time they heard a story like this, she must be wondering, did they do this to me? Mulder hated having to put her through it, but she always insisted on coming along, even as she disparaged the necessity of interviewing every lonely stranger with an abduction story to tell. He told himself that perhaps it would help Scully in the long run. It might help her remember. If she remembered, then they could do something about it. They were helpless, as long as she didn't remember. "They put a tube in me," the woman said. "I think they were... extracting eggs. It hurt." She paused to sip her Coke. "I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. I think that was the most frightening thing of all. Not being able to scream." She looked up at Mulder and attempted a strained smile. "They did something to my teeth. That hurt pretty bad, too. I wish I could stop thinking about it. I can still feel their hands on me." "Mulder, I think we should go now. We've bothered Ms. Reyes long enough." Scully spoke sharply. Mulder turned to her, standing by the window, lips pressed tightly together, fists clenched at her sides. She was obviously the one who'd had enough. But Mulder didn't want to press the matter. He stood, smiling gently at Darla Reyes. "Yes, we've taken enough of your time. Thank you for seeing us, Ms. Reyes." "I don't mind. It's a relief to talk about it to someone who doesn't think I'm crazy." "I don't think you're crazy. I've talked to many people who've had experiences similar to yours." Mulder ventured a glance at Scully as he said this, but she turned firmly and stared out the window. Never mind. He could always come back and talk to Darla Reyes again later, without Scully. It was unusual to find someone who remembered so much, so clearly. He wanted to hear more. And she seemed to want to tell him. Yes, he'd definitely come back to this one. Later that night, he let his mind return to Darla Reyes, as he lay naked on his bed. She was not terribly pretty, but she had a pleasant face, nearly hidden by unruly locks of wavy blonde hair. Medium height, nice figure. She would be lovely naked. He allowed himself to picture her spreadeagled on the aliens' examining table. Her fists pulled at the straps holding her wrists out to her sides. One of the little gray men stood by her side, one long-fingered hand resting on her breast, the other pressed between her legs. Her throat strained helplessly as she tried to call out. Then Mulder rushed in. "Leave her alone!" he shouted, striking out savagely at the small alien, which crumpled under his blows. "It's all right. I'll help you," he told the bound woman. Tears streamed from her eyes. Her mouth formed the words, Help me. Quickly, he pulled the straps loose from her wrists and ankles. Her skin was hot and damp with sweat, and twitched under his hands. As soon as he'd freed her, he took her by the shoulders and half-lifted her from the table. Weeping, she fell into his arms. She didn't want to go to the hospital, but she didn't want to be alone, so he brought her to his apartment. He settled her onto his bed, stroking her hair gently. She clung to him, shaking. "I still feel their hands on me," she wept. "I can't bear it." "Where did they touch you?" he asked. "Here?" His fingers stroked her mouth. She closed her eyes and nodded. "I'll wipe their touch away," he whispered, leaning over her to brush his lips against hers. "There, is that better?" She sighed, and nodded. "Yes. Please, make it go away." He kissed her mouth, ran his tongue inside, lapping up the taste of cold alien fingers from her moist flesh. She wrapped her arms around him and clung to him, pulling his body onto hers, eagerly pressing her mouth to his. He let her kiss him as long as she needed to, and then, when she had let her head fall back onto the pillow, gasping, he lifted himself up a little and began to stroke her arms. Her wrists were still red and chafed from the straps binding her to the table. He lifted each hand to his mouth in turn and tenderly kissed the inside of the wrist, then nibbled his way around, licking and sucking at the reddened skin. The straps had been some sort of smooth, pliant material, like plastic, but tough and strong. Alien substances, alien bonds, holding her helpless while they performed their obscene tests, violating her tender human body. He moved down to her legs and performed the same ritual on her ankles, using his mouth and tongue to soothe the sore skin, injured as she'd struggled in terror against her inhuman captors. She moaned a little, and her hips moved, and he could see, between her legs, the shiny juices begin to flow. Alien fingers had thrust into her there, too, but into tense and painful flesh, not hot, welcoming wetness. He would wipe the alien touch away with his hands and mouth and cock, replace it with human heat and hardness. But not yet. Slow and careful and thorough, he would cover her entire body, finding every inch of defiled skin and stroking it clean again, before finally releasing them both by plunging his cock into her. He moved up to lie beside her, smiling gently. Her eyes were hazy, the tension and fear at last ebbing away. She touched her fingers to his mouth, almost reverently, acknowledging his power to relieve her of her torment. He kissed her fingertips, one by one, then whispered, "Where else did they touch you?" She took his hand into hers and laid it over her breast. "Here." He stroked her firm, round breast with his hand, rubbing his thumb over the brown nipple, feeling it harden at his touch. "Harder," she moaned. "I can still feel them...." He bent down and took her nipple into his mouth, biting the tender nub, at first gently, then harder as her whimpering cries begged for more. He took her other breast in his hand and pinched the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His lips and tongue sucked where alien hands had explored, and she writhed beneath him. At last he slid down between her legs, slowly, kissing and licking her belly as he moved, until he reached the soft, fuzzy hair over her crotch. Soft red-gold hair. Creamy, lightly freckled skin. Small, womanly body. Beautiful, precious partner, stolen and defiled.... No! Not Scully! Mulder levered himself up off the bed and hurtled out of the bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom, where he leaned over the sink, splashing cold water into his face, over and over again. Never Scully. It was bad enough, using these poor abducted women as fodder for his fantasies. He didn't mean them any harm, he told himself, it was all just private, harmless fantasy, and he tried not to do it too often. But never, ever Scully. That was forbidden. And even the briefest moment of failure to keep her safe and unsullied must be punished. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. You know what you have to do, he told himself. No stalling. Get back in there and do it. His heart pounded as he arranged himself on the bed. This was hard, and he didn't really like it (or at least he told himself he didn't), but it was the punishment he'd chosen for himself when he broke his own rules. First, he tied each ankle to one of the legs of the bed, using a couple of his more extravagantly-patterned ties. His wrists were more awkward. He couldn't really tie them, so he just gripped two more of the ties, which he'd secured to the bedframe at the head of the bed. Then he lay back and closed his eyes, spreadeagled and naked, bound as well as he could manage on his own. He took a deep breath and sent his mind back into his fantasy. He was tied to the aliens' examining table. The room was so faintly illuminated, the walls were swallowed up in darkness and he couldn't tell how large it was. Bright spotights shone onto his body, emphasizing his nakedness and vulnerability. The table itself was cold and hard and faintly metallic. At the head of the table, just barely impinging on his line of sight, strange and frightening instruments loomed over him. On each side of the table, several aliens stood, muttering quietly to each other in eerie, chittering voices. One of the aliens reached out and ran a long, leathery finger down his side. He flinched from the touch, but could do no more than squirm in his bonds. Words of protest gathered in his throat, but refused to emerge. The alien ignored his obvious discomfort, continuing to handle him, its head cocked curiously. The cool alien fingers stroked his abdomen, outlining the muscles below his diaphragm, then inspecting his pelvic bone with thumb and forefinger. Too close. He squirmed helplessly, trying to pull his hips away from the questing fingers. Then one of the aliens standing on the other side reached out and lay its leathery hand on his cock. His hips clenched and jerked involuntarily, as his cock twitched in unwelcome response. His mouth opened, his throat straining with the cries he could not utter. He pulled at his bonds, struggling uselessly. Now all of the aliens reached out their long, slender hands and began to touch his writhing body. Fingers pressed his nipples, pinched his balls, fingered his throat, tickled the inside of his thighs. The touches were startling, intense and overwhelming. Each one was a separate frightening invasion; together, they threatened to destroy him. He closed his eyes, tossing his head back and forth, desperately seeking some kind of escape. The faint odor of cigarette smoke brought his eyes open. The hands fell away from his body, and the aliens slid back into the shadows, as a hatedly familiar figure emerged into the spotlight at the foot of the table. It was a vision out of his worst nightmares—over his own naked body, chest still heaving from the struggle, his cock standing defiantly and shamefully erect, between his vulnerably spread legs, he saw his enemy stand, drawing another lungful of smoke from his ever-present cigarette, a faint smile on his despised face. No! I don't want this! Just the aliens, that was enough. I don't have to have this.... But the man standing between his legs stubbornly refused to disappear. Rather, he stepped forward until the fabric of his suit brushed the edge of the table. "You brought me here, Mr. Mulder," he said, in his calm, musical voice. "You must have wanted it." No, I didn't. It was a mistake. Just a momentary flash, an unbidden thought. I don't want you here. But he already knew it was too late. The apparition was too solid to dismiss. He was going to have to follow it through. "Such protests! You're only fighting yourself." The hand without the cigarette came down to rest on his ankle. He shivered from the touch. "You need to be punished. Who better to punish you than I?" Who better? Mulder felt his skin crawl. But his cock was burning, aching, desperate. Who better, indeed? He felt the table split, lengthwise, and the lower half fall away. The straps around his ankles lifted, pulling his legs up until they were held high in the air, still spread wide, exposing him shamefully to his enemy. The man stepped forward again, until he was mere inches from Mulder's crotch. He took another drag from his cigarette. When he lowered his hand, it was frighteningly close to Mulder's thigh. He could feel the heat from the burning cigarette on his skin. He tried to control his breathing. "Accept," the man ordered softly. "How are you going to learn if you won't accept the consequences of your actions?" Yes, accept it. Accept this man's touch, this violation. He gasped as the man's hand stroked his thigh. His fists clenched, and his hands twisted in their straps. Accept. The hand cupped his balls, squeezing them gently. Nicotine-stained fingers circled his cock, thumb stroking the underside of the crown. The rough fingers sent thrilling shocks through his groin. Revulsion and desire warred in him. The man continued to smoke his eternal cigarette, calmly gazing down at Mulder while his free hand roved across Mulder's genitals and thighs. Mulder gasped for breath, despising his failure to control his own desires. Then the man's fingers touched his anus. His fingers were wet and slippery and cool with lubricant. Mulder relaxed into the touch, need finally overcoming the reluctance to take pleasure in his punishment. The man's fingers pressed into him, opening him, subduing him. The fingers stroked his prostate, causing his hips to arch off the table, his throat issuing silent moans. Yes. Do it. Fuck me. The man chuckled softly, and finally dropped his cigarette to the floor, pulling his fingers from Mulder's anus so that he could unzip his trousers. His cock, when he pulled it free, was thick and solid. One dark vein twisted down the side. He held it in his right hand, the hand that had held the cigarette, with the same familiar three-fingered grip. His other hand, the hand that had been inside Mulder, was shiny with lubricant, like a woman's juices. He stroked it over his cock, making the organ glow in the glaring spotlight, looking moist and alien itself. Mulder's breath was coming in tearing gasps. The feel of the man's fingers still tingled inside him. He wanted the cock inside him; wanted it desperately. He tried to push himself forward on the table, to spread his legs farther, but the straps held him in place. Please. Please. The man obliged. He held his cock to Mulder's anus, pressing lightly against the entrance for a moment, then thrust sharply. His cock tore into Mulder, impaling him. Mulder opened his mouth and tried to scream, tried until his throat burned. The Cancer Man thrust into him, fucking him like an animal, reducing him to helpless nothing. The aliens chittered from the shadows. Then Mulder was coming, his semen splashing in hot spurts over his belly and chest. He'd had to let go of one of the ties so he could take hold of his cock to work it, and now he held it while it spasmed. Groaning, he let go of the other tie and pulled his hand down to his side. His chest heaved. His ankles were sore from pulling against the bonds, but he was too drained to reach down to untie them yet. Gradually, his breathing slowed, and he fumbled about for the sheet, which he pulled over to dab at the pools of semen cooling on his chest. God. Cancer Man. He felt vaguely ill. But he hadn't come like that in months. THREE: THE OIL ALIEN Mulder dropped heavily onto his couch with a sigh. Another long, frustrating day. So close—they'd come so close, again, but just like always, they'd lost in the end. He'd had Krycek right in his hands; nearly had the digital tape back; nearly had more evidence, another UFO, another alien presence confirmed. And he'd lost it all. Skinner had been shot. The tape was back in the enemy's hands. Krycek was captured or dead. And he'd sat next to an alien on a plane all the way from Hong Kong to Washington, an alien in Krycek's body, and he hadn't even known it. He'd known Krycek was acting strangely—ever since he'd come out of that bathroom in the Hong Kong airport, he'd been unusually cold and contained. Quite a contrast from the sweaty, unhappy, desperate man Mulder had cornered a few minutes earlier. Krycek had barely spoken all during the long flight. He'd refused to eat, ignored the magazines in the seat rack, didn't nap, just sat staring straight ahead for hours at a stretch. It had been very odd. And it had given Krycek a strange, exotic aura. Made him seem powerful and elegant, almost sensual, like a slinky black leopard perched in a tree, waiting patiently for its prey. Of course, Mulder hadn't taken much note of this at the time. He'd been too wrapped up in his hate and triumph to notice that Krycek didn't seem at all like a helpless captive. And even if he had noticed, what would he have thought? That Krycek was good at putting up a front—that was a no-brainer, considering how easily he'd slipped into the guise of the inexperienced, awkward, hero-worshiping younger agent. Certainly even Mulder, the eager student of the paranormal who wanted to believe, wouldn't make the assumption: all right, he's acting strangely—he must have been possessed by an alien. Not until it was far too late did he learn. The alien that had been picked up at the bottom of the ocean, that had taken over a French diver and later the diver's wife, had then gone on to possess Krycek, and snatched him away from Mulder right under Mulder's nose, stole the tape away from all of them and traded it back to the Cancer Man in return for its ship. If only the alien had trusted him! Mulder could have talked to him, he could have learned so much! They could have worked together, gotten the alien his ship back and defeated Cancer Man and his allies at the same time. He could have gotten Krycek back, and forced him to tell him whatever he knew. But unfortunately, the alien was getting its information from Krycek's mind, and had no reason to think Mulder could be an ally. Perhaps it was uninterested in alliances, anyway. Perhaps it wanted only its ship, and cared nothing for these puny humans whose form it borrowed in order to walk unnoticed in the world. But if only Mulder had been a little more observant. A little more questioning. And the alien had been a little more willing to talk.... There was something very strange about Krycek's eyes. They seemed darker than usual, and every once in a while Mulder caught just the slightest hint of movement within them. And wasn't there the faintest whiff of something sharp and acrid clinging to him, almost like diesel oil? "Krycek." There was a long pause before man turned to him, blank-faced and staring, as if it took him a few moments to recognize his own name. Mulder felt slightly uneasy. "Are you sure you're all right? You look... pale." One corner of the man's mouth lifted, adding the impression of a cold, humorless smile to the otherwise expressionless face. "I'm fine." The low, breathy voice was Krycek's, and yet not Krycek's. When had Krycek ever been this controlled? From the first day in Mulder's office, when he'd hotly defended his right to work on Mulder's case, right through his eventual betrayal, to the savage attack on Skinner in the stairwell of the hospital as Melissa Scully lay dying, Krycek had been many things, but unemotional had never been one of them. Where had this cold creature come from? It had all started in the airport in Hong Kong, after he'd come out of the bathroom. Like a new man, he'd told Mulder. Something had happened to him then. Something like what had happened to the diver, Gauthier. "You're not Krycek, are you?" Another long pause. The man cocked his head, as if listening to another voice. "He's here. But he's not in control right now." Mulder stiffened. He admitted it. I'm sitting next to an alien. "Who are you?" "A traveler. One who should have been on his way a long time ago." Something like amusement glittered in the shiny green eyes, bright with the sheen of oil. But it was cold amusement, tempered like steel to metallic hardness. Mulder felt his breath quicken. Alien presence shining out of Krycek's huge, wide-set eyes. Alien words forming on his round, sensual lips. Yes, Krycek should be an alien. Something exotic and wonderful should inhabit that fine, strong body. Not a lying, treacherous, murdering whore. "Does he know what's happening?" "Yes. He is aware. I need his knowledge, so I can't suppress his consciousness like I did with the others." Another brief smile touched Krycek's lips. "He's not happy about it. But he can't do anything." Mulder nodded, a smile forming on his own face. It was an appealing picture—Krycek angry and helpless, trapped in his own mind, while an alien controlled his body. "He hasn't done such a great job in that body so far. I say, let someone else see what they can do with it." The Krycek-alien nodded, then paused again, listening to the voices within. "His feelings toward you are very complicated. Of all the humans I've joined with, his emotional state is the most intense." God, this was perfect—Mulder could find out whatever he wanted about Krycek, from someone who could get the information right out of Krycek's mind, and Krycek couldn't stop him, and he couldn't lie. He fairly squirmed in his seat with delight at the prospect. And it was a long, long flight to Washington. He planned to mine this situation for all it was worth. "How does he feel about me?" The man frowned. "He doesn't want me to tell you. His reaction is strong. Humiliation, I think. Anger." "Does that bother you?" The alien shrugged, a curiously human gesture. "No. I don't owe him anything, except not to damage his body while I borrow it. His emotions are interesting, but not my concern. But I don't owe you anything, either. Why should I tell you?" "Because I can help you. We can help each other. And after you leave Krycek's body, I plan to get the information out of him, one way or another. It might be a kindness to him, in the long run, for you to tell me." The alien's response was a slight smile, and a shake of the head. "Interesting, the contradictions in his responses. There is an image of him lying under you, screaming, in pain, yet there's an odd sort of pleasure in it. And a physical feeling, here." He reached down and placed one hand over his crotch. "Is this the sexual response? It seems inappropriate to the circumstances. But I like the way it feels." Mulder felt his smile widen. Oh, god, this was good. Krycek was turned on by pain. And by Mulder. Well, that was one desire he'd be happy to satisfy. Sex with an alien and with Krycek at the same time. And Krycek helpless in his own body, hating it, yet unable to refuse, unable to control his own reactions. Mulder felt his own cock stir. And here they were, stuck on a plane somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. Never mind, they'd figure out a way. If the alien would go for it.... He chuckled softly, let his voice go soft and seductive. "It does feel good, doesn't it? But it gets better. A whole lot better. You really should experience the act of sex while you're in a human body. It's probably our greatest physical pleasure." "So the bodies I've inhabited seem to think." He nodded. Krycek's huge green eyes glittered. "Yes, I'd like you to show me how it feels." Mulder leaned closer, until his face was only inches from Krycek's. "How does he feel about it?" Krycek smiled. And suddenly, it truly was Krycek's smile: that eager, curious, show-me-everything smile, that Mulder once thought was so charming. Mulder suddenly wanted to wipe it off his face, and replace it with hazy-eyed, slack-jawed, pain-fueled lust. He wanted to see those soft, ripe lips wrapped around his cock. He wanted to strip him of his black leather and denim, to parade him naked through the aisles, to bend him over the seat and take him right here, in front of a whole planeload of people. "He thinks he'll kill you for it one day, if he gets the chance." Krycek's low voice was barely more than a murmured breath. "But meanwhile, since he has no choice, he hopes you'll turn out to be as good as he's imagined." Mulder grinned with pure delight. "I'll do my best to oblige. But I'm afraid we're not going to have the most ideal conditions for it. We'll have to do it in the lavatory. It's going to be small and cramped and awkward, but that can add to the spice under the right conditions. I think Krycek might appreciate it." A frenzied, hurried coupling in an airplane lavatory, driven by pure lust and hate and twisted need. Mulder chuckled again. The alien nodded slowly. There was a sudden swirling of oily darkness in his eyes. The laugh was low and breathy, almost a moan. "He says, one of the things he always liked about you was your sense of humor." Mulder turned to look down the aisle, towards the lavatories. They were unoccupied at the moment—good. He turned back to Krycek and nodded. "Just one more thing. Who am I going to be fucking, you or Krycek? Will the body's responses be yours or his? Because pain is a rather specialized taste. You might not like it yourself." The man glanced down, pursing his full lips slightly. It was Krycek's look again—the intelligent, thoughtful mind working away at a problem. Then he looked up under those improbably long, thick eyelashes—another of Krycek's tricks—the expression was slightly deferential, intimate, even coquettish. "I'm not sure. The responses will be mostly his, I think, since I have none of my own that I know of. Perhaps...." he frowned, looked away again, and conducted his inner conversation for a moment. "I think it will be best if I return some of his control to him while we do this. Just enough for him to guide the body to its greatest pleasure." Suddenly, a flush rushed to his face. The improbable eyelashes fluttered; the chest rose and fell more quickly under the grey shirt and black leather jacket. It was a beautiful sight. Mulder's breath caught in his throat. "Yes," Krycek moaned softly. "I like how this feels." Mulder had to suppress the urge to stroke that lovely face. Or to strike it. Not out here, where anyone could see them. "All right, let's go now. You first. Close the door, but don't let it latch. I'll wait a minute, then come in after you." He stood, and moved up the aisle to allow Krycek to pass him, then stood and watched him walk away. Mulder stood leaning back against the wall opposite the lavatory, waiting a moment to be sure no one saw him enter the lavatory with Krycek, pausing to take a deep breath and bask in the anticipation of what he was about to do. Initiate an alien into the pleasures of sex. Punish Alex Krycek for his betrayals. Have sex with a man in an airplane lavatory. He laughed softly to himself. His entry into the Mile High Club. It was all too perfect. Too bad he couldn't tell Scully about it. Then he pushed himself away from the wall, and went into the lavatory. They stood facing each other in the tiny, cramped space. Krycek was just as tall as Mulder; his eyes gazed across a distance of mere inches directly into Mulder's eyes. In the harsh flourescent light of the lavatory, he could now plainly see the inky swirls within those liquid eyes. He could feel the slight movement of air from Krycek's breath; feel the heat of his body. He should have told him to leave his jacket in the seat. On the other hand, the black leather was dark and exciting. Comfort wasn't exactly the watchword for this encounter, anyway. The tang of oil was stronger in the close confinement of the lavatory. Ordinarily, it would be an unpleasant odor coming from someone's body, but knowing what it meant sent shivers down Mulder's spine. Within that oil was an alien essence, a living being now suffused through Krycek's body. Mulder reached out to touch Krycek's face. He ran his fingers along the stubbly cheek, frowning in concentration. Was there anything alien in the feel of it, or was it purely human flesh under his fingers? The alien didn't have a body of its own. Where was its existence? The alien watched him calmly as he made his explorations. There was no discernable expression on his face, but his breathing continued fast, and his lips parted slightly as Mulder's fingers brushed against them. They were beautiful lips; soft and full. Mulder wanted to know what they tasted like. Kiss him? Why not? If it were only Krycek, no. He didn't deserve that simple pleasure. Krycek alone would receive only pain and rough treatment at Mulder's hands. But the alien shouldn't be deprived of this most basic expression of human intimacy, just because he was borrowing the enemy's body. He took Krycek's face in his hands and pressed his lips to Krycek's. They were warm and soft and deliciously inviting. He pulled Krycek to him, wrapped his arms around the leather-clad body, and ran his tongue over Krycek's mouth. Krycek leaned into him, arms sliding around his waist, and let his lips open, gasping into Mulder's mouth. He tasted faintly of diesel oil. His mouth was hot and wet. Mulder sent his tongue deep, running it along Krycek's strong white teeth, sucking Krycek's tongue. It was good to stand here, bodies pressed together, feeling Krycek's heat. And Krycek must think it was good, too, or the alien did, because he was clinging to Mulder hard, kissing him like he'd never kissed anyone before. Of course, if it was the alien, he hadn't. Fascinating, to be with someone at once worldly and virginal. Finally, he pulled away, smiling. "Are we having fun?" The alien smiled back. "Yes. Two of us are, anyway. Perhaps... two and a half?" His eyes fell half-closed. "He suffers. His mind twists and struggles like a frail thing caught helpless on the wind. He cries, 'Do not expose me like this to my enemy! Don't let him punish me!' But at the same time, he craves it. His need is thick and sweet and full of bright knives." His head fell back, exposing his pale throat. He laughed softly. "I've never felt anything like this. Maybe I'll keep this one." Mulder bent forward to press his mouth against that tender white throat. He tasted the pulse of Krycek's life under his lips, mouthing the soft skin. At the same time, he reached down to pull up Krycek's shirt, running his hands up the firm ribcage until he found the sensitive nubs of his nipples. He took each one between thumb and forefinger and pinched them hard, twisting and pulling them. He heard Krycek's gasp, felt the rush of air past Krycek's throat on his mouth. God, it was good! And there was so much more he wanted to do—but there was no time, they couldn't stay in here very long. Later, after they'd gotten to Washington and retrieved the tape, they'd hole up somewhere to make plans, and he'd show the alien hours of pleasure. Get him to rifle Krycek's mind for some of his most shameful fantasies, and amuse themselves by playing out a few. And Mulder had some fantasies of his own he wanted to try out— But this time, make it fast and hard and simple. Turn Krycek around, bend him over the toilet, and ream his ass. No time and no room for anything more exotic. Later. Later. He released Krycek's nipples and moved his hands down to the waistband of his jeans. Krycek's hips thrust forward into his hands. Mulder gave his neck a final nip, then stood back to watch the green eyes as he slowly pulled the zipper open. The wide-set eyes were barely focussed, and dark oily swirls played across them. The round lips were wet and parted, ready to be kissed. These were Krycek's responses, he knew, Krycek's desires—and Mulder had been handed them like a gift, invited to use them for his pleasure and Krycek's punishment. It was glorious. He worked Krycek's jeans and shorts down to his thighs. Krycek had nice strong hips. It would be a pleasure to thrust his cock between them. He looked down at Krycek's cock and balls, took them in his hands and inspected them, keeping his touch clinical, impersonal. The hard cock twitched in his grip. Krycek's breath was coming in short gasps, and he reached out to either side to brace his arms against the confining walls of the lavatory, squirming helplessly under Mulder's hands. The overwhelmed reactions of an alien who'd never felt another's touch on his genitals before? The response of a man whose own resistance was fueling his need to be used and taken by his enemy? No doubt it was both, and it was beautiful. "Turn around," Mulder instructed, in a voice low and rough. He stood back a little to give Krycek room. Krycek turned, wobbling slightly, and arranged himself to be taken. For this, the alien was clearly pulling the knowledge of what to do from Krycek's mind, for he spread his legs as far as the narrow room allowed, and bent over the toilet, resting his crossed arms against the wall. Mulder allowed himself a few moments to savor the sight: Krycek's broad back bent to him, leather jacket just brushing the tops of his hips; black denim jeans down around his thighs, exposing the firm rounds of his bare buttocks. He should have done this ages ago. That first day Krycek had walked into Mulder's office and forced his way into Mulder's case—he should have showed him who was boss right then, fucked him thoroughly, kept him satisfied and kept him in line. The image made his cock burn. And how would the alien feel about that? But the alien was feeling Krycek's responses, responding to Krycek's needs. He seemed amused by Krycek's shame; confused by his ambivalence. He had no cultural conditioning to tell him that a man should not be aroused by sexual domination; he only knew what felt good. And Krycek's poignant lusts felt good to him. It felt good to Mulder, too. He reached out to stroke Krycek's hip. It quivered and flexed under his hand. He stepped close, and spread Krycek's buttocks with his hands. Krycek's whole body was trembling, and his hips twitched, pulling away slightly, then thrusting back. He would have to use the liquid soap for lubricant, but it should work all right. A little water would make it nice and slippery. It might sting a bit, but Krycek would probably like that. Fortunately, Mulder had a condom in his wallet—he always carried it, just in case. He released Krycek to open his own trousers, and pulled out his cock, heavy and aching with need, already leaking a few drops of fluid. He found his condom and rolled it on, then squirted some of the soap into his hand. "Tell me what he's feeling," he whispered, as he slid his soapy hand between Krycek's buttocks. "He... he wants it," the alien gasped. Mulder pressed one finger into Krycek's anus. "He... his heart breaks, but it doesn't matter any more. It feels too good." Krycek moaned as Mulder's finger explored, feeling the firm muscle as it tensed and relaxed. "He says, 'Damn you, Mulder. Fuck me.' " Mulder sighed deeply, let his finger slide free, and held his cock to the entrance. Easy now, don't rush. He's ready, he wants it, it'll go in easy if you just take it slow for now.... And Krycek was working with him, moving his hips, adjusting the angle, taking Mulder's cock inside. There was a brief resistance, then Krycek whimpered and thrust back and his body opened up and slid back onto Mulder's cock. Mulder gripped Krycek's hips and held him still, savoring the feeling of Krycek's tight ass around his cock, allowing Krycek a moment to adjust. Then he moved, slowly at first, then faster and harder, until he was standing triumphantly, head thrown back in joy, fucking Krycek's ass as hard as he could.... Mulder groaned and pushed himself up from where he'd slumped down on the couch, pulling his hand out of his pants. He'd better go change, he was going to get his suit dirty if he went on like this. With a hazy smile, he levered himself to his feet and headed into the bedroom, loosening his tie as he went. Now, that was how it should have gone. God, wouldn't that have been sweet—curious alien, helpless Krycek—it was just too perfect. Holed up with him in a hotel room after they got back to Washington, too—there were myriad possibilities with this one. He was going to have lots of fun with this. But first, he'd run through the plane trip again, from the top. Get undressed and find a video—Mars Needs Women? Invasion of the Body Snatchers? —and do the whole thing again. Maybe even go back to that bathroom in Hong Kong. He'd followed Krycek into the bathroom to keep an eye on him, and was watching from around the corner when the woman came in, and saw the alien change bodies. The oil flowing from her body into his.... Which orifices did it use to enter its hosts? Yes, he was really going to enjoy this. FOUR: KRYCEK It was nearly three in the morning when the phone rang. Mulder jerked awake, thrashing, succeeding only in tangling himself further in the sheet. The phone had shrilled six times before he managed to free himself, tumble out of bed, and lurch his way to it in the dark. "Mulder," he gasped into the receiver. "Good morning, Mr. Mulder. My apologies for the hour." The voice was smooth and cultured, with a faint British accent. Mulder came immediately alert. It was the man from Cancer Man's consortium—the one who'd warned Scully of the attempt on her life, and traded him for information about Krycek. If he was calling Mulder at three in the morning, he had a good reason, and one that Mulder wanted very much to know about. "No apology necessary. What have you got?" "I wonder if you're still interested in Alex Krycek." "Always." Mulder sat heavily on the couch, his heart pounding. "You were very close, you know. He was there at the silo when you were. He's still there, in fact." "Alive?" "I believe so, although he won't be for much longer, unless someone gets him out." "Why should I want to do that? I've wanted to kill him myself." "He has information. Under the circumstances, he'd probably be willing to give it to you." "Why would you want me to have it?" There was a pause. "The internal squabblings and factions of our group are not your concern. Suffice it to say that what Krycek knows is not enough to destroy our project, but it is enough to destroy certain members of it. It would be to my advantage if someone had this knowledge who was in a position to use it." Mulder had to force his excited breathing to slow. It had to be a trap. Didn't it? "What's the silo's security like?" "I'm afraid there has been a lapse in security. If someone were to arrive there within the next twenty-four hours, he would find it unguarded." "And after I get him out of there, then what?" "That would be entirely up to you." Mulder chewed his lip. "I'll have to think about it." "Of course, Mr. Mulder. However, not for more than twenty-four hours. Lapses in security are rare and not likely to happen again." There was a click as the phone was hung up. Mulder sat with the receiver in his hand, staring into the darkness. Mulder parked the rental car in front of the silo. The area was deserted, just as his informant had promised. But then, the area had appeared deserted four days ago when he and Scully had first come here. They hadn't gotten far before the Cancer Man and his goons had shown up. But they'd seen the men dead from radiation burns, the evidence that the alien, inhabiting Krycek's body, was there. It looked just the same as it had four days ago. This time, though, he was quite alone. He hadn't brought Scully with him, hadn't even told her he was going. For one thing, it was probably a trap, and it didn't seem right to involve her, especially when they'd just been through so much. And if it wasn't a trap, there was only one other person here—a frightened, exhausted, starved Krycek, who'd just spent four days locked in the bottom of a missile silo with a UFO. He wouldn't be in any shape to put up a fight; Mulder felt he could handle him easily enough. No need to trouble Scully for this. And, to be honest, he felt a strange sort of reluctance to have anyone at all see him as he brought his enemy out of the silo. This was between him and Krycek. He wasn't sure what he might decide to do, but there might be things he didn't want Scully to see. He entered the silo carefully, but once again there was no sign of life. And all the way down, eight stories, to the bottom of the silo, he met no one, saw no one. At last he stood before the door marked 1013. Emergency lamps high on the walls shone eerily into the dark, casting a shadow-painted glow on the door. He peered through the window, but saw nothing inside. So he stood back, and turned the wheel to unlock the door. He pushed the door open slowly, shining his flashlight around the interior. Nothing. Well, if he were Krycek, and conscious, he'd be standing just inside, pressed up against the wall beside the door, hoping to get the jump on anyone who might come for him. Mulder wasn't going to play that game. "Krycek. I'm here to take you out. I'm not going to kill you, but if you don't come out this door now, very slowly and with your hands in plain sight, I'll just close the door and leave you here." "All right," the answer came, in a voice weak but steady, and from right beyond the door, just as Mulder had expected. "I'm coming." Mulder glanced beside him again, at Krycek sitting calmly, staring out the car window, handcuffed hands folded in his lap. He'd allowed Mulder to cuff him without a murmur of protest, followed him out of the silo without question. Tipped up his head to drink from the bottle of water Mulder had held to his lips. Eaten the cheap dime-store sandwiches Mulder had given him, ignoring the awkwardness of eating with cuffed hands, forcing himself to eat slowly, to fight back the urge to wolf the food down. Oily and filthy, several weeks unshaven, red-eyed and starved and face pinched with pain and remembered fear, he still managed to maintain a weary dignity. Or perhaps he had just given up, broken by the horror he'd been forced to endure, and the prospect of a slow, cold, lonely death. He smelled like oil. Mulder shifted in his seat, feeling the heat rush to his face as his cock tingled. Damn his fantasies—was he going to get hard over auto mechanics now? He'd better watch himself next time he took his car in for service. And what would he have to tell the next woman he managed to snag into his bed? I'm sorry, but would you mind if I spread this motor oil all over your body? I'm not a pervert, really, I just like the smell of it. It wasn't just the oil, though. It was Krycek, sitting there in handcuffs, eerily still, looking more beautiful than anyone in his condition had a right to be, unwashed and half-starved and without hope. It was the damned fantasies, he knew—he'd allowed himself to use Krycek as a sex object, and now his body was confused. It thought Krycek was here to be fucked, not interrogated and disposed of. But Krycek was beautiful. How had he managed never to notice before? Oh, he'd seen the eyelashes, the huge lemur-like eyes, the soft mouth. With his photographic memory, he'd catalogued every feature of Krycek's appearance, knew each one intimately. But somehow, the total effect had never registered as beauty—until an alien had inhabited his body, and Mulder had stripped and punished and used him in his mind. And until Krycek sat defeated and helpless beside him, as good as dead and without defense. Who would be the wiser if he entertained himself with Krycek's body while he mined him for his secrets? Krycek certainly would have no right to complain. What was it like having the alien inside you? he would ask, while his cock explored Krycek's ass. Were you frightened? Did it hurt? Could you feel the oil oozing in all your passages, filling your throat and your ass like a huge, shapeshifting phallus, fucking your whole body at once? There was a spike of heat through his cock, heady and sharp and almost painful. Swearing inwardly, he pushed the roiling images out of his mind. Get a grip, Mulder, he warned himself. He mustn't forget that this was Krycek sitting here. A clever, desperate man who wouldn't hesitate to grab any advantage he could. And a Mulder lost in a haze of lust-fueled fantasy would certainly be at a disadvantage. All right, it looked like he was going to go through the next few days with a raging hardon. He'd just have to ignore it and keep his mind on the job at hand. He shifted in his seat and kept driving. He wanted to get at least two states away before he stopped. His informant's assurances notwithstanding, he wanted his trail to be cold and dead, just in case someone decided to come looking for them. He needed some time and privacy to figure out exactly what he was going to do with Krycek. He planned to drive until full dark, then find the nearest motel and get a room. Then he and Krycek would have a little talk. Hole up in a hotel room somewhere and make plans.... The fantasy suddenly surged up again, overlaying itself over Mulder's vision like one of those magic 3D pictures that pop up when you manage to stare yourself crosseyed. Mulder gave himself an angry little shake, and stepped harder on the gas. This was not an alien sitting next to him. It was only Krycek. The alien was gone, back into its ship.... Wasn't it? He glanced over at Krycek again. Eerily still, staring out the window, smelling faintly of oil.... "Krycek." Krycek snapped instantly to attention. He stared blankly at Mulder. His green eyes were tired, red-rimmed and bloodshot, and the beautiful eyelashes were grimy with oil. But they were human eyes, unclouded by inky swirls. "Are you okay?" Krycek shrugged. "I'm hungry. And I could use a bathroom." Mulder took a deep breath. It was Krycek's voice. Not the low, silky purr of the alien. It was only Krycek. "Okay. Next place I see to stop." Krycek nodded briefly, then returned his gaze to the window. The overlay had faded, and it was only weariness and defeat that held Krycek still in his seat, staring dully out the window. No alien. Just a tired, beaten man. Mulder let the car slow to just over the speed limit, and continued down the road. The motel was lonely and dilapidated and a bit sad. A lone breeze swirled around the parking lot, carrying a bit of discarded paper in lazy circles. Mulder left Krycek handcuffed inside the car while he went in to book a room from the statue-like man installed behind the front desk. Keys in hand, he returned to the car and roughly hauled Krycek and his duffel bag out and into the motel room, tossing the duffel bag onto one of the twin beds and Krycek onto the other. Krycek stayed where he'd been dropped, cuffed hands folded in his lap, gazing around the room as if he couldn't quite comprehend what it was. A crummy motel room—hadn't he seen dozens of these in the months he'd been on the run? Perhaps he'd lost hope of ever seeing one again? Or anything else but the dank walls of an underground prison? Four days locked in the bottom of a missile silo—what went through a person's mind during four days of cold, damp, silent darkness? He'd found water somewhere, most likely, or he wouldn't have lived this long. Condensation on the walls, or in shallow puddles on the floor. No food, unless there were rats he'd managed to catch, and could force himself to eat. If he had hope for escape, for rescue, he might find a desperate satisfaction in such an existence. But if he felt himself alone, without friends or allies, it would be a cruel temptation, dragging out the inevitable, making his final days a crushing misery. Mulder gave himself a little shake and went to check out the rest of the room. There wasn't much to see, only the closet and bathroom, which he was pleased to find was an interior room, without windows that Krycek might be tempted to scamper out of. And that was it. He returned to stand at the foot of Krycek's bed, watching. Krycek looked up at him wearily. "Do you mind if I take a shower?" Wash off all that oil? Mulder's first impulse was to say no. He sighed, then nodded slowly. "Go ahead." Krycek wobbled slightly as he pushed himself off the bed. But he stopped as he passed Mulder, and held out his cuffed hands, with that familiar long-lashed secret smile, part innocence and part gutter rat. "Or would you like to wash my back?" It was not a question Mulder wanted to be asked. "Fuck you." He fished in his pocket for the key to the handcuffs; but paused with it in his hand. The smile disappeared from Krycek's face, leaving only a downtrodden sadness. "Look, Mulder. You saved my life. I know you didn't do it because you like me. You did it because you think I can help you. And I can—I'll tell you everything I know, do whatever you want to help bring the Consortium down. I want to help you. You're the best chance I've got to stay alive." He laughed shortly. "Okay, not much of a chance. But you're all I've got." Mulder just stared, for one very long moment. Then he unlocked the handcuffs and pulled them from Krycek's wrists. The skin under his hands was warm and slick. He gestured Krycek towards the bathroom. Krycek paused in the doorway of the bathroom. "Mulder. We want the same thing. I want to get that bastard just as bad as you do." Mulder nodded once. Then, "Krycek." Krycek stopped again. "I've got some extra clothes you can borrow." Krycek's gaze raked Mulder's body. Mulder felt the heat rush to his face. Krycek's cockiness faded. "Thanks," he mumbled, and went into the bathroom. Mulder dug distractedly through his duffel bag. Surely he should have foreseen this. After four days in a silo, the man would obviously need a change of clothes. It was just another sign of how foggy his thinking was where Krycek was concerned. At least he'd brought a spare pair of jeans. They would be tight on Krycek, but they would have to do. He certainly wasn't going to go out shopping for him now. Possibly there was a laundromat nearby where they could wash Krycek's things. Meanwhile, he'd just have to make do with Mulder's clothes. The tee-shirt would be fine. And the underwear? Mulder stood with a pair of his shorts in his hands. Krycek's firm hips and heavy genitals straining at the soft cotton.... Ridiculous. The blood rushed to his face, again. Anyway, it would be absurd not to give the man underwear to wear. The jeans would be uncomfortable enough as it was. Krycek's own shorts were probably sticky with oil.... With a little noise of disgust, Mulder took the pile of clothing and headed for the bathroom. But once again, he paused at the door, his hand trembling. He could hear the water rushing inside the room. Krycek, naked and wet, rivulets of soapy water carrying the oil away.... His cock felt huge and hot in his jeans. Good lord. This was really getting out of hand. He shook himself angrily and opened the door. The shower curtain, dingy white plastic, was drawn across the tub, and Krycek was safely hidden behind. Mulder stepped in just far enough to put the clothes on the back of the toilet, then retreated, sweating and shaking. He stalked around the room, arms gripped tightly around his chest. This couldn't go on. He had to do something to calm his raging hormones. The best thing—well, next best after throwing off his clothes and storming into the bathroom to assault Krycek in the shower—would be to just pull out his cock and beat off, release a little of the tension, bring down the heat a few degrees so he could get a grip on himself. Mulder was so wound up he would probably only take a few minutes, and Krycek would likely be in the shower for a good, long time. But what if he wasn't? The very last thing Mulder wanted was for Krycek to pop out of the shower unexpectedly and find him masturbating. And, as if to demonstrate to him just how useless were his hopes for relief, the bathroom door promptly opened, and Krycek peered out, his face damp and pink, his hair wet and spiky. "Mulder, I hate to ask you this, but I'd sure like to shave. And brush my teeth." The pinkness in his cheeks deepened. And it was Mulder's own damn fault he'd come completely unprepared, and had only his own shaving kit. The image of his toothbrush in Krycek's mouth made his stomach churn. His cock was almost an alien thing in his pants, throbbing and growing until he felt that it would squirm out of his jeans and fill the entire room. Krycek had to be able to see it. Mulder's hands went involuntarily to cover himself. Which only made his condition more obvious. Angrily, Mulder whirled to his duffel bag and pulled out his shaving kit. In three quick strides, he was at the bathroom door, shoving it roughly into Krycek's hands. "Here. Use whatever you want. I'll get new things in the morning. For both of us." Krycek blinked, his face now flaming, and disappeared back into the bathroom. Mulder sat lengthwise on the bed, his back against the headboard and his legs stretched out, eyes closed, breathing deeply. He held a cold can of soda in his lap, occasionally bringing the dripping can up to press it against his neck, then drink, then rub the condensation against his wrists, then return it to his lap. Another can sat on the dresser, waiting for Krycek when he got out of the shower. A Coke, which was what he liked, Mulder remembered from the days when they'd worked together. And the image appeared: Krycek in his cheap suit, FBI-white shirt and conservative striped tie, and two-dollar haircut; wide-eyed and earnest, loose-limbed and energetic as a puppy; those long, graceful fingers wrapped around a can of Coke, thumb stroking the metal; his throat exposed as he tipped his head back to drink.... All right, maybe it was time to admit that Krycek had gotten to him back then. It wasn't sex, not then, and not even the hard lump in his pants that wouldn't subside even with a cold can of Coke sitting on it could change his mind about that—but Krycek had been more than the uninteresting nuisance Mulder had tried to relegate him to ever since he'd learned of Krycek's betrayal. Krycek's enthusiasm, his innocence, his wide-eyed willingness to believe had been appealing, and soothing to a man who was used to being ridiculed and brushed aside. Not even Scully, much as he loved and needed her, had ever made him feel so... believed in. That was what had made the betrayal so crushingly painful—to realize that it had all been a lie. And worse, to realize that he was vulnerable; that for all his paranoia and "Trust no one" credo, he'd been gotten to by a clever liar in a bad suit. And now what? He'd been offered Krycek on a plate, and he'd rushed off in righteous rage and fantasy-fueled lust, without a thought for morning after, without Scully's steadying influence, without even an extra toothbrush for his captive. Handcuffs he'd brought, and—his face burned to think of it—condoms and a small bottle of lubricant. And a belt, though he didn't usually wear one, with only the vaguest thought of what he meant to do with it. Perhaps, at the time, if anyone had asked, he just would have said, Let him wear what he's got on; his clothes aren't my problem. Let him stay unshaved and filthy and uncomfortable. Let there be streaks of oil on his butt when I bend him over to use him.... (But that wouldn't be good. Petroleum degrades latex; the condom would leak. So forget your fantasies of using motor oil for a lubricant, it isn't safe. And if he's still got oil inside him, he isn't safe, either. Would it all be flushed out after four days? Assuming the alien abandoned him as soon as it found its ship, of course. He imagined it would be. Whatever traces might be left wouldn't be enough to damage the condom, especially if he coated it with plenty of lube....) And how had he gotten off onto this train of thought again? Mulder sighed, and sipped his soda. He needed to be making plans. Find out what Krycek knew, of course, but then what? It was true that now Krycek had just as much reason to hate the Cancer Man as he did. Possibly even more, having been betrayed and used and left to a cruel, harrowing death. It would be good to make use of that hatred. But never trust him, that would be the problem. He'd have to find a way to use him without giving him the chance to betray him again. Mulder wasn't sure he could do that. He couldn't watch Krycek every second, and he wasn't sure it was worth the risk to have Krycek running around loose again. But the only other alternative was to kill him, and Mulder wasn't sure he could do that either. Not in the cold light of day. Not when the guy was helpless and dependent and wearing Mulder's clothes. Not when he was playing the loyal, believing partner again for all he was worth. And why not take advantage of that? Mulder couldn't imagine Krycek working for the Cancer Man again, no matter what. Was he really a danger any more? Only inasmuch as desperate men were dangerous, and he'd do what he had to to protect himself. As long as he wasn't protecting himself against Mulder, he'd have no reason to make trouble. Keep him around. Use him. The image was far too appealing, and the throb in his cock was why. It was hopeless. He'd let sex into the equation, and now he couldn't even trust himself. Maybe the only thing to do was to tie Krycek to the bed and fuck him until he ran dry, and then he could think again. It was nearly an hour before Krycek finally emerged from the bathroom, fresh-scrubbed and shaved and damp. His face was still pink, whether from the heat of the shower, or vigorous scrubbing, or a sudden attack of shyness, Mulder didn't know. His eyes were still red, though, and circled with darkness like bruises. His full lips were bitten and chapped, making them red and slightly swollen. He looked terribly young. He offered Mulder a tentative smile as he crept into the room. "Thanks," he said softly. Mulder nodded, then gestured toward the dresser. "I got you a Coke." "Great." Krycek's hand trembled as he reached for the can, and he stood for a moment with it pressed to his forehead. When he brought it down to pull open the tab, both hands were shaking, and there were spots of red high on his cheeks. He laughed a short, breathy laugh. "I... I never thought I'd see one of these again." Mulder nodded again. There was a strange knot in his chest. "There's a machine out front. I'll get more later." Krycek returned the nod, downed half the can in a single gulp, then went to lie on the other bed, his position matching Mulder's. They finished their Cokes in silence. It was a strangely companionable moment, though Mulder couldn't quite figure out why. There was a kind of intimacy in being such close enemies. His hatred felt lazy and comfortable, and didn't require anything more than having Krycek at hand, vulnerable to his whim. There was an almost affectionate tone to it, as if kindness would be just as satisfying to inflict as cruelty, since Krycek was helpless to it either way. He'd nearly made him cry, just by giving him a can of Coke. How easy would it be to make him break down? He must be shaken to the core by what he'd been through. And Mulder had saved his life. Could he make Krycek fall in love with him now, treating him gently, keeping him dependent? Maybe that was the answer, and the ultimate revenge: Krycek his adoring slave. "Now what?" Krycek's voice startled him out of his reverie. Mulder stared. There was no longer any sign of shakiness in his captive. His breath was slow and even, and his eyes were cold. Mulder sighed. Caught by his own stupid fantasies again. "Now you tell me everything you know." Krycek nodded once. "And then?" "I don't know. That depends on what you tell me. And how well you make me believe that you're on my side now." Krycek's cool gaze never wavered, but there was a slight roughness in his voice as he responded. "What do you want me to do?" Mulder felt his jaw tense. "I want you to tell me the truth. I want you to stop playing me, and just tell me the damn truth." "All right. Then I'll tell you this—I've made mistakes, and I damn near got killed for them. But I'm not going to apologize for anything I did. I'll tell you the whole damn story, and maybe you'll understand why I did it. Probably you'll still hate me, but that's okay. I can help you get that bastard, and that's all that matters. "I'll do anything you want, Mulder. Anything, for a chance at him." Krycek's eyes flashed, and the secret smile was back on his face. "I'll even let you fuck me." Mulder felt the air rush out of his lungs. The room seemed to tilt crazily. Had he really heard what he'd just heard, or had he finally gone mad, fallen off the edge into his own fantasies? "You... you what?" He could barely get the words out. He thought his face would burst into flame. "Mulder." Krycek was patient, even gentle. "I'm not blind. You've been wanting to throw me down and ream me out ever since you brought me out of the silo. I don't know why. Maybe it's your way of marking me, establishing dominance. It doesn't matter. If you want to, go ahead." The smile faded suddenly. "I don't mind. It's been a long time for me. And... like the Coke, it's something I thought I'd never have again." "And maybe you think I'll be nicer to you, once I've fucked you." A slight shrug, and a conceding smile. "Maybe." Well. Mulder had no illusions that he had the slightest chance of turning this down, once it had been so plainly offered. And why should he even try, when it had all been spelled out so clearly? Krycek knew what he wanted. He knew what Krycek wanted. For once, it would be simple and honest between them. Mulder felt the slow smile spread across his face as he got up off the bed and crossed the short distance to Krycek's bed. He stood for a moment, looking down at him, drinking in the sight of the body that was soon to be his. The throbbing erection in his jeans was a burning pleasure, now that he knew it would be satisfied. Then he sat, arranging himself beside Krycek, and draped an arm around Krycek's shoulders. The sticky alien fantasy was gone, leaving only a clean, strong body wearing Mulder's clothes, smelling faintly of soap, and gazing up at him from under an impossibly thick curtain of lashes. But this was good, too. Forget the fantasies, this was a real man, real flesh and blood under his hands. It had been a long time for Mulder, too. So, what to do first with this body, sitting here so pliantly, waiting to be taken? Kiss him? Once he had said, Never Krycek. Never give him that simple human pleasure. But what about Mulder's pleasure? He wanted everything from Krycek, every thrill that sweet body could provide. He wanted to taste that ripe mouth. He brought his hand to Krycek's face, and lifted it to meet his. There was a spark of confusion in Krycek's eyes as Mulder moved to kiss him, a moment's hesitation; and then Krycek's mouth was on his, answering his need with a passion that could have been simply the joy of finding himself alive after all, but which felt an awful lot like desire. And Mulder meant to make the most of it. He pulled Krycek tightly to him, and let one hand stroke Krycek's still-damp hair while his thumb played along Krycek's smooth jawline. He tipped Krycek's head back and kissed his throat, feeling the throb of the pulse under his mouth. He kissed the small, delicate ears, one then the other, running his tongue along the shell and teasing the lobes with his teeth. He kissed Krycek's eyes, running his tongue along the lashes, leaving them wet and spiky. And he kissed Krycek's mouth, possessively and thoroughly, until they were both out of breath. As Mulder finally pulled back, Krycek clung to him, face buried in Mulder's neck, gasping Mulder's name. His voice was a plea, desperate and undone. Krycek hadn't expected this, Mulder thought with hot delight. He'd thought he'd turn over and receive Mulder's cock with all the passion of a doctor's examination, a simple receptacle for Mulder's lust, their coupling a cold transaction of favor for advantage. No surprise—Mulder had thought so too. But something else had happened. He found that he wanted this for no other reason than that he wanted it. Not for domination, or revenge, or punishment, or fantasies of alien-possessed bodies. Just because it felt good. Was it dangerous? No doubt. No doubt it had been dangerous to come here at all, alone, on the word of an enemy. It was dangerous to fight the Cancer Man and his Consortium. Dangerous to search for the truth. Dangerous to get up in the morning, come to that. But few dangers felt as good as this, and promised so much pleasure. He moved away from Krycek, just enough to pull the man's face from his neck, and brushed their lips together. Then he urged Krycek down onto the bed, with kisses and firm hands. He took his time, stripping them both, thinking cheerfully that they were his clothes, and he could take them off Krycek if he wanted to. He took his time exploring Krycek's body, discovering all the sensitive spots—the tender nipples, the inside of the thighs, the base of the throat—and using them to work Krycek into a frenzy. Well, he'd been in a frenzy for hours and hours, it was only fair that Krycek should feel some of that driving need, too. He took special care approaching Krycek's cock, playing in the dark fur above it, tickling his balls, then teasing him with light, quick strokes, never enough to settle into a satisfying rhythm. Krycek was almost weeping with need by the time Mulder finally turned him over and readied himself, finally, to take his conquest. And wasn't it a good thing he'd packed the condoms and lube after all? —In the shaving kit. Which he'd given to Krycek. Mulder stopped, hand frozen between Krycek's buttocks. His embarrassment was dizzyingly thick. "Mulder?" Krycek's face was dark with passion, but oddly stricken, eyes heavy-lidded and muzzy with confusion. Mulder gave a choked laugh. All right, so he'd been dense as well as obvious. Krycek sure didn't look like he minded. "I've got to get the stuff," he said hoarsely, giving Krycek a pat on the butt as he levered himself off the bed. The supplies in the shaving kit might well be why Krycek had felt safe enough to offer himself to Mulder, knowing Mulder was prepared and wouldn't ask him to take any more risks. Mulder fetched the kit and returned to Krycek, lying just as Mulder had left him, smiling sweetly, face in the pillow, arms curled at his sides, legs open, looking like a lost angel who'd fallen to earth in just this spot, just for the first human who came along to take advantage of. You're no angel, Mulder thought, as he lay back down at Krycek's side. But you feel like one. Especially like this, with his round, firm bottom in the air and ready for taking. Especially in the hot crevice between his buttocks, in the tight, puckered opening to his body, that flexed under Mulder's slick fingers and opened to the easy strokes of Mulder's hand. An angel for fucking. He took his time here, too, enjoying the soft, hot wetness inside Krycek's body. And the tiny whimpering noises emerging from Krycek's throat, and Krycek's hands scrabbling softly at the mattress. At last Mulder let his fingers slide free, pausing to roll a condom onto his aching cock, and settled himself onto Krycek's back, guiding his cock into Krycek's ass. It was so good he nearly came right on the spot. But he managed to gather himself up and began to thrust slowly, trying desperately to make it last. But he knew, after the prolonged and heavy arousal, he wouldn't make it very far. So he worked his hand under Krycek's hips to curl it around Krycek's cock, and sighed, and stopped thinking, and let himself go. It wasn't long, but it was good, slapping his groin against the cushion of Krycek's round buttocks, driving his cock into Krycek's ass, coming with his cock impaled in this fallen angel. And it was good feeling Krycek's cock jerk and spurt in his hand. It was so good that he lay heavily on Krycek's back for a long time afterward, absently playing with Krycek's hair, planting wet kisses on the back of his neck. It was so good that even after he finally withdrew his softening cock from Krycek's body and tossed the condom into the trash, he settled back at Krycek's side, half on top of him, and pulled the blanket over them, planning to nap for a little while before leaving for his own bed. It was so good that he had forgotten he was sleeping with his enemy. Mulder didn't know how long he had slept. Several hours, at least; probably more. He had a vague sense that it was around three in the morning. And he was still tucked up next to Krycek, whose hot hand lay across Mulder's chest, forehead pressed into Mulder's shoulder. Mulder swallowed uneasily. This was far more than he'd bargained for. Make Krycek fall in love with him, he'd thought—but what about himself? Dangerous, dangerous game, Mulder. But was it really? He wasn't going to fall in love with Krycek, the notion was ridiculous. After all, what had they done? Had sex, that was all. Hot, delicious, steamy sex. He was just horny. He'd gone too long on fantasy, and the pleasure of having a real body to enjoy had been a little overwhelming. So what if it was Krycek. His mind might be evil, but there was nothing wrong with his ass. All right, he hadn't planned on enjoying it quite as much as he did. That certainly wasn't a bad thing. And if he'd fallen asleep in Krycek's bed, well, that was no wonder. It had been a long, stressful day. They were both exhausted. After a round like that, of course they'd both gone right to sleep. Mulder turned onto his side, holding Krycek's arm around his chest, pressing his butt into Krycek's hip. No problem at all. Krycek was still his, still firmly under control. And if there was any question about that, he'd just turn Krycek over and show him again. Krycek's hand tightened on Mulder's chest, and he moved onto his side, too, lining his body up against Mulder's. Mulder felt a little thrill of—fear? pleasure? It was good having Krycek's warm chest and stomach pressed against his back. A little frightening having Krycek's half-hard cock teasing at his butt. This wasn't supposed to happen. But Krycek was probably just shifting in his sleep. No reason Mulder couldn't enjoy it. The Cancer Man fantasy teased at him. Tied and helpless, open to his enemy's cock. Mulder shifted a little, letting Krycek's cock settle in the crevice between his buttocks. Another illicit thrill, this one tingling in his filling cock. He slid his arms under Krycek's, pretending that Krycek was holding him immobile. He squirmed a little, pretending to struggle. No! Don't make me! he protested against the Krycek in his mind. But the fantasy Krycek was powerful and implacable. Of course I'm going to make you. Admit it, Mulder, you've been waiting all your life for someone like me to come along and fuck your ass. Mulder felt the delicious, shameful need welling up in him, thick and sickly sweet, turning his belly to water and his cock to stone. God, it was good! But he'd trapped his own arms under Krycek's, and he couldn't reach his cock. And if he wiggled around much more he'd wake Krycek. He should just get up. Go into the bathroom and finish himself off. But he couldn't bear to leave the warm pleasure of Krycek's body covering his back, the heady sensation of being held from behind, the piercing sweetness of his fantasy, so close to being real. He dared another squirm, trying to get Krycek's cock further between his legs. His heart was pounding so hard, he was sure Krycek must hear it. He thrust his hip ever-so-slightly, trying to rub his desperate cock against the mattress. He felt Krycek's cock hardening against his ass. Then suddenly, Krycek's arm was tightening around him, and Krycek's knee was pressing between his legs, spreading them, and with one powerful motion, Mulder was on his stomach, legs splayed, with Krycek lying heavily on his back. Mulder tried to protest. But the pleasure that crackled through his nerve endings was so sharp, he couldn't speak. He tried to struggle. But his struggles seemed only to spread his legs further, and to lift his ass hungrily into Krycek's groin. The hard cock rubbing between his thighs drove him crazy. No! No! his mind cried out. But that was part of the pleasure, being swept away and taken in spite of himself, and his body refused to take it seriously. So he lay there, gasping and squirming and thrusting his hips and acting for all the world as if he actually wanted Krycek to fuck him, hating it and loving it and not knowing how the hell he felt about it. Krycek retrieved the lube from the nightstand, and Mulder felt the cool, slick gel between his burning buttocks, as Krycek's fingers entered him, gentle but inexorable. Mulder sobbed and surrendered to the sensation, so good and fine in his ass. He groaned when the fingers were removed. He barely registered the motions as Krycek found a condom and put it on; had just enough presense of mind to be grateful that Krycek, at least, had remembered. Then Krycek's cock was pressing into him, and all presense of mind fled. Now he was nothing more than a hungry animal, sick with need. He fought his way onto Krycek's cock, crying with pleasure. Afterwards, he couldn't honestly say that he remembered much of it. He knew that Krycek had ridden him hard. He knew that the feel of Krycek's cock thrusting in his ass had been consuming and overwhelming. He knew that his orgasm had been almost painful in its intensity. But the details were lost in the haze of powerful physical sensation. And he knew that Krycek had held him when it was over, stroking and soothing him until he fell asleep, in Krycek's bed and in Krycek's arms. A sick feeling washed over him the moment he awoke. God, what had he done? He could still feel the stickiness of the lube between his buttocks, and the soreness in his ass. Damn his fantasies! He should never, never have let Krycek fuck him. Now what the hell was he going to do? If he thought he'd gained any sort of advantage over Krycek with their earlier encounter, he'd lost it and then some with the later one. He ventured a glance at Krycek, lying sprawled on his face, one arm flung over Mulder's stomach, one leg hanging over the side of the bed, still sleeping the sleep of the righteous. Did he think he'd secured his safety by discovering Mulder's secret desire? Mulder suppressed the urge to hit him, then carefully lifted Krycek's arm from his belly, and slid out of bed. His shower was nearly as long as Krycek's had been the night before. He still didn't feel clean. He could wash the lube from his butt, but not the memory of Krycek's cock in his ass from his mind. He did feel marginally better, though, even using the same razor and toothbrush Krycek had used. Well, he'd had the man's tongue in his mouth, and his cock up his butt. No point in being squeamish about using the same toothbrush. Krycek was sitting up in bed when Mulder came out of the bathroom, rubbing his eyes and blinking sleepily. He smiled at Mulder, a smile so sweet and open Mulder nearly forgot why he was upset with him. His own attempt at a smile was tight and unfriendly, and Krycek's smile faded. "Everything okay, Mulder?" "No, everything is not okay, and you know damn well it isn't." Krycek looked away, staring at the window, still shaded and offering no view. There was a desolate look on his face, as though he'd played his last hand and lost, and now there was nothing to do but walk away empty-handed. Mulder shook himself angrily at the pang of sympathy that welled up. Damn it! How dare he look like a puppy with no idea why it's been hit with a rolled-up newspaper? Surely he knew Mulder hadn't wanted— But of course he hadn't known. And how was he supposed to know? Mulder hadn't even managed a token protest. He'd practically handed him an engraved invitation. He sighed. "Everything's fine, Krycek. Don't worry about it." Krycek frowned at him. Well, of course he knew Mulder was lying, but maybe he'd just let it go. No such luck. "Are you upset because I fucked you?" Mulder gritted his teeth, damning the answering flush he knew was on his face. If he just said no, could they possibly just forget it? "I know I took you by surprise. You were half asleep, and didn't know what was happening until it was too late. Maybe you were dreaming, and thought I was somebody else, or something." And here was Krycek, valiantly offering up a way out, backpedaling like he thought his life depended on it. Maybe he did. Mulder smiled grimly. "Yeah. Something like that." "Well, I'm sorry, Mulder. I didn't mean.... I mean, we don't have to do it like that if you don't want to. We don't have to do it at all if you don't want to. It's just sex. Great sex, but...." Krycek grinned for just a moment, then became earnestly serious again. "Look, Mulder. Anything you want, I said, and I meant it. You're the best and only chance I've got to crawl out from under this black hell my life has become over the last five months. I'm not going to throw that away just to get my cock in your ass. No matter how good it was." Earnest, he looked, and so sincere. But Mulder had seen that sincere look on Krycek's face before, when Krycek was lying like a dog. It didn't mean anything. Still, what he said made sense. And, to be fair, he hadn't done anything Mulder could legitimately complain about. So give him this chance, and see what happened. He still meant to get his story out of him, anyway. "Okay. Go take a shower and we'll get some breakfast. Then you can start talking." Krycek nodded, smiling tightly as he pushed himself out of bed. He gathered up his borrowed clothes, casually unconcerned about his nudity, and headed for the bathroom. "Oh, Mulder." He paused at the door. "I've got some money stashed away in a Swiss account. As soon as we get somewhere I can get to it, I'll pay you back for everything." A shadow flitted across his face. "For the the hotel and food and everything, I mean." Mulder nodded. "Okay." Krycek went into the bathroom. Later that afternoon, they were sitting on their beds, drinking Cokes and taking a break from the debriefing. Krycek had talked all morning and all afternoon, stopping only for two brief meals. Mulder felt a lovely warm glow inside from all the delicious information. Krycek had already repaid his rescue several times over, with just this. And he'd barely gotten started: names, dates, places—it was far from the whole picture, but pieces were falling into place with dreadful clarity. And— Your sister's alive. No, I never saw her but he told me she was. Yes, he could have been lying to me about it, but why should he? He just sounded exasperated about it. 'If she were dead, we could show him a body and that would be that. Things would be so much easier, if she were dead....' Mulder smiled happily to himself. This was going to work out just great, after all. Krycek cleared his throat, and smiled diffidently. "You know, Mulder, I'm not trying to talk you into anything, but you really should think about last night. It was good both times, but which time did you really like better?" "Forget it." Krycek nodded. His voice was a soft purr. "Okay. Like I said, I'm not trying to talk you into anything. Just think about it." "All right. I'll think about it." Mulder's tone was flat, and clearly said he had no intention of even considering it. "Now, can we forget it?" "Sure." Krycek's face was open and sincere. But there was a tiny glint in his eye. And the hint of a knowing smile. Damn Krycek. Mulder should have known it wouldn't be this easy. Still, he'd said, whatever Mulder wanted, and Mulder meant to hold him to that. Krycek wasn't going to get into Mulder's ass again, even if it did make Mulder scream with pleasure. Even if it was what he'd wanted and daydreamed and fantasized about for years. Even if the memory of it was right now making his cock stiffen. The Beast Woman, holding him down and taking him by force— The aliens, tying him to a table and performing vile experiments on him— The Cancer Man, forcing his cock roughly into Mulder's wide-stretched ass— And the oil alien? Be honest, wouldn't he have gotten around to having the oil alien turn the tables on him, using that inhuman strength and mental clarity to assume control of its human partner, to soothe the tortured wails of the man whose mind he'd trapped and whose body he used? The other had just been preliminary, a buildup to the inevitable conclusion, giving the alien and Krycek all the more reason to use him roughly once they'd come to an agreement. And here was the real Krycek, willing and eager and desperate to be accommodating. Maybe they'd get around to trading places. Maybe. Mulder smiled to himself. Looking down at his lap, he spoke. "Krycek. Next time, do you think you could pretend to be the alien?" Krycek giggled softly. "Sure, Mulder. Like I said, anything you want." And Mulder meant to hold him to that. end... codyne@netwizards.net

Rated NC17 for explicit m/m sex. Mulder's fantasy life begins to overlap with reality, in some very unexpected ways. Follows "Piper Maru"/"Apocrypha." X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting. No infringement is intended. Feedback: codyne@netwizards.net back to top

[Stories by Author] [Stories by Title] [Mailing List] [Krycek/Skinner] [Links] [Submissions] [Home]