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Il
TraviatoAct One
by Cody Nelson
Quando non s'ami ancora.
[As long as one is not in love.]
"Agent Mulder."
Fox Mulder looked up from the desk where he sat transcribing his wiretap
recordings, and pulled the headphones down to rest around his neck. "Yeah."
The young agent standing in front of his desk smiled a brief greeting and
held out a file. "It's your three-oh-two. Assistant Director Skinner just
approved it."
Mulder took the file with an inward sigh of relief. Finally, a real case
again—not just this endless eavesdropping on pathetic losers. The death of
Dr. Saul Grissom had all the earmarks of an X-File—a man calls 911 to report
a fire, and is found dead in a completely unburnt apartment. But...?
"There's a mistake here. There's been another agent assigned to the case."
"That would be me." The young agent thrust out his hand. "Krycek. Alex
Krycek."
Mulder ignored the proffered hand, and sat back in his chair. "Skinner
didn't say anything about taking on a partner."
"It wasn't Skinner. Actually, I opened the file two hours before your
request, so technically, it's my case."
Mulder rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "And you already talked to the
police?"
Krycek fumbled in his jacket pocket for his notepad. "Yep. Just hung up on
the officer in charge a few minutes ago. Detective named... Horton. Turns out
Grissom called nine-one-one to report a fire."
"I heard the tape."
"Did you hear that forensics found a spent fire extinguisher on the floor?
Grissom's prints were all over it." He leaned forward to point to the police
photos in the file on Mulder's desk. "The walls and floor in his living room
were covered with ammonium phosphate." There was an eager enthusiasm in the
young agent's voice.
Mulder found the man's attitude vaguely irritating, although he didn't know
quite why. Was it because Scully, at this point, would be dryly insisting that
there was a perfectly logical explanation for why Grissom thought there was a
fire when there wasn't? "But no trace of fire."
"Not even a burnt match."
"Is that all you know?"
"So far." Krycek smiled. "What do you think it means?"
Mulder sighed. He looked up at the earnest, fresh-faced young agent
standing over his desk and bit his lip. It was bad enough they wouldn't let him
work with Scully any more, now they wanted to saddle him with this
wet-behind-the-ears plebe with a two-dollar haircut and a Kmart suit. "Listen,
I appreciate the show and tell, and... I don't want you to take this
personally, but I work alone. I'll straighten things out with Skinner...."
Mulder got up, snagging his suit coat from the back of his chair, and
brushed past the young agent.
"It's my case, Agent Mulder." The determination in Krycek's voice stopped
Mulder in his tracks. "Look, I may be green, but I had the case first. I'm not
going to give it away so quickly."
Mulder turned back, prepared to pull rank, ridicule, threaten—whatever it
took to get Krycek off his back and out of his life. But the words dried up in
his throat. Was it the angle, or some trick of the light? Suddenly, it was no
longer an innocent youth standing in front of him, but a hard-edged fallen
angel, with cold intelligence shining out of those long-lashed eyes. His face
was so sweet it tore at Mulder's heart. Yet there was a calculating hardness in
his stare that made Mulder shiver. The shiver was not quite fear; not quite
lust. It was the inevitable thrill of the unknown, beckoning to Mulder: This
man was not what he seemed. Mulder's paranoia bells began to ring, at the same
time that those deep, curtained eyes drew him in. He did not know which way to
run.
Away. "All right, I'll tell you what. I've got some work to finish up
around here. Why don't you go down to the motor pool and requisition us a car,
and I'll meet you down there?" He felt hopelessly foolish, ditching the man
this way, but he didn't know how to deal with this exotic creature, who changed
from an innocent puppy to a mysterious cold-eyed beauty in the blink of an eye.
Krycek shook his head slightly. "That's all? I mean, you don't have a
problem with us working together?"
"Hey, it's your party." Placating now, wanting only to soothe the beast
back into the puppy, to get him out of here before he changed into something
else.
Krycek nodded, obviously flustered by the easy capitulation. The moment was
gone. "Well, um... I'll get the car." He swept past Mulder with his head down,
a tight smile on his face.
Mulder smiled faintly after him. Then he took a deep breath and headed for
the stairs, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and calling for a cab along
the way.
From Alex Krycek's diary:
I met Fox Mulder today. What a jerk. Brilliant, he may be. Good-looking,
definitely. Seriously lacking in social skills, without a doubt. I thought he
was going to fight me tooth and nail about being his partner on the case—then
he just crumbled. He stared at me like he was seeing a ghost, then he told me
to go requisition a car, and took off in a panic. I thought it was strange, but
I did what I was told. Good little Krycek-puppy, that's me. Then he ditched me.
God, it was every high school nightmare come true. Didn't take any effort at
all to play the hurt-feelings don't-be-so-mean-to-me I-want-to-believe
hero-worshiping little twerp. Creepy how easy it was. Almost like I really
believed it.
Mulder really ate it up. I swear, his tongue was almost hanging out. It's
pathetic—he wants to be believed in so badly, yet he's scared to death to
trust anyone. He's set himself up to be hurt, over and over again. Touch of
masochism, there, Mulder? Or just too deep in your obsession to see what you're
doing? He's got a psychology degree, you'd think he'd be able to figure it out.
And I met the famous Scully. She was about as friendly as Mulder. Did they
go to the same Academy I did? "Treat everybody like you would like your mother
to be treated." Apparently Mulder and Scully skipped that class. Hell, it's not
my fault the X-Files got shut down. I'm just a guy trying to do a job. Trying
to keep Mulder out of trouble. It's all Scully's fault, anyway. If she'd done
her job in the first place and kept Mulder on a leash, they wouldn't have had
to make the two of them go sit on opposite sides of the room. And brought me in
to clean up. If Mulder'd just learn to let go every once in a while, forget
about that damn sister—he wouldn't even know her if he saw her today anyway—and stick to his ghosts and goblins and werewolves and things, we could all go
home and get some sleep.
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Mulder prowled around his apartment restlessly. He stopped himself, for the
third or fourth time, from picking up the phone and dialling Scully's number.
She had never been fond of these late-night phone calls, and now that they were
no longer partners, she'd gently but firmly made it clear that she wanted them
to stop. But he needed to talk to her. The ideas spun so quickly through his
mind that he couldn't get hold of them. He just needed someone to talk to, to
help him get his thoughts calmed down and in order so he could settle down and
get some sleep.
He stopped at the aquarium and dropped a few flakes into the water. His two
fat gold-and-white goldfish bobbled quickly to the surface and sucked the food
into their wide, round mouths. "You'd think I starved you," he said
affectionately, adding a few more flakes to the tank. "So tell me, Mie and Kei,
what do you think about this case?" The fish regarded him with their
inscrutable, unblinking eyes, and declined to answer.
Mulder wandered back over to the phone. Well, it wasn't Scully, but he did
have a partner. Alex Krycek hadn't turned out to be so bad after all. After the
first day, they'd settled into a steady routine. The strange transformation
from raw puppy to cold beauty had not occurred again. Mulder began to think
he'd imagined the whole thing. Too many sunflower seeds, maybe. Too much
paranoia. Krycek was no more than he'd first seemed—green as all hell, and
charmingly enthusiastic. Mulder still had an aching desire to haul the kid off
to a good tailor—but he was bright enough, and worked hard, and seemed open
to extreme possibilities. He certainly was eager. Would he still be eager at
one-thirty in the morning?
He picked up the phone and dialled Krycek's home number. The phone rang
four, five, six times before a sleepy male voice answered.
"Krycek."
"Krycek, it's me. Mulder. I was thinking about the case...."
"Mulder, it's the middle of the night."
"One-thirty A.M., to be exact. Past your bedtime?"
"Mulder...." There was an exasperated sigh. "I just got home a little while
ago. I had a very nice time and I'd kind of like to leave it that way."
"What did you do?"
Another annoyed little noise. "I went to the opera." His voice was
belligerent, daring Mulder to make fun of him.
"Which opera?" So Krycek liked opera. Mulder smiled slowly to himself. He
liked poking into people's psyches, finding out what made them tick. He
especially liked it when they revealed unexpected aspects. He hadn't expected
opera from Alex Krycek.
"La Traviata."
Classic Verdi. Not terribly revealing. "Isn't that the one where the woman
dies at the end?"
Krycek giggled. It was a nice, throaty giggle, with a just the suggestion
of a squeak. "Mulder, that's like saying it's the Schwartzenegger movie where a
bunch of people get killed."
"So what else happens?"
"Mulder, you don't really want to hear about...?" Now his voice had a
charming breathiness.
"Sure I do. Tell me all about it."
"Well... it's about Violetta. She's a Parisienne courtesan."
"Mmm. Sounds kinky."
"It's opera, Mulder. Of course it's kinky. Prostitution, incest, blasphemy,
intrigue, betrayal—you name it, opera's got it. Anyway, Violetta's giving a
party. Alfredo tells her he's in love with her, but she says she can't love
anyone."
Mulder closed his eyes and heard the strains of the brindisi—the
drinking song in which Alfredo expresses his love for Violetta. It was one of
the most well-known and well-loved melodies in opera. "Because she's a
courtesan."
"Right. But he sings to her so beautifully, she can't help falling in love.
That's the first act."
"Not much action."
That giggle again. "Well, you know, they tend to spend more time singing
than racking up a body count in opera."
"Second act?"
Krycek gave a good-natured sigh. "I'm tired, Mulder. You know, some of us
actually sleep at night. I thought you wanted to talk about the case."
"Well... I really just wanted to talk for a little while."
"Oh." A pause. "Don't you have friends you can call? I mean, why me? I
didn't think you even liked me."
"You're my partner. Didn't I tell you? Late-night phone calls are part of
the job."
"No, that wasn't in my job description."
"Special X-Files charter. Junior agent is at senior agent's beck and call
twenty-four hours a day."
Krycek yawned into the phone. "Well, you're going to have to let me get
some sleep every once in a while, or I'll be wacky as those Marines."
Mulder smiled. "Okay. Sleep tight. Sweet dreams."
Krycek giggled. Mulder was glad he didn't giggle like that while they were
together. It was heady enough over the phone. "Fuck off, Mulder."
It was the nicest thing Krycek had ever said to him.
Mulder leaned back in his chair and rolled his head, stretching his neck and
eliciting several satisfying cracks.
Suppressing a yawn, Krycek returned from the coffee station with fresh cups
of coffee for them both. Well, refilled cups, anyway—you could hardly call
the coffee fresh any more at this time of night—it had been cooking in the
urns for hours. Krycek smiled at Mulder as he handed him a cup and sat down.
He'd drawn the chair up sideways to the desk, leaning back against the file
cabinets, and rested his elbow on the desk to doodle on his notepad. Nothing
pertinent had been written there in several hours.
Mulder took his cup and sipped. Krycek had learned right away just how much
whitener Mulder liked in his coffee, and made it perfectly every time, no
matter how strong the coffee was or what sort of creamer was on hand, all the
way from fresh half-and-half to the cheapest powdered stuff. Definitely one of
the perks of having Krycek for a partner—Scully would have laughed in his
face if he'd ever even suggested that she bring him coffee. Scully had never
been anywhere near as deferential as Krycek, from the first day she'd walked
into his office. Of course, as a woman in a hidebound old boy's club like the
FBI, she'd been forced to assert herself early, to project confidence whether
she felt it or not, to defer to no one. Krycek, with no such gender
expectations to overcome, was free to stare at the floor with a tight, sweet
smile on his face as though he was trying very hard not to grin foolishly in
the presence of his senior agent; to gaze up at Mulder from under those
incredibly long, dark, thick eyelashes and hang on Mulder's every word; to
bring his partner coffee and treats from the vending machine as though it was
his due. Every senior agent should have such an adoring young partner at least
once in his life.
Krycek ripped the doodled page from his notepad, and carefully folded it
diagonally. Creasing the long end with his fingernail, he tore it off to leave
a perfect square. The pink tip of his tongue poked from between rounded lips as
he concentrated on his task. Mulder gave up any pretense of trying to think
about the case and watched his partner fold the square of paper in half, first
diagonally, then turning it over, folding it lengthwise as well.
Once you got past the bad haircut and worse suit, Krycek was really quite
attractive. There were those eyes, of course, large and wide-set and thoughtful
and framed by lashes most women would die for. His lips were full and round and
plushly inviting. The slightly breathy quality of his low voice could sometimes
make Mulder's spine tingle. His body—well, that was a problem under those
awful suits—one couldn't really tell what kind of shape he was in. But on the
occasions when Mulder had taken Krycek's arm, he'd found firm, hard muscle
under his hand. Probably he worked out. Perhaps he could be induced to
accompany Mulder on his morning swim sometime. Of course, he'd most likely wear
those horrible baggy cotton swim trunks, if his fashion sense in swimwear
matched his taste in suits. Make it an impromptu invitation, and lend him one
of Mulder's Speedos, then. He looked to be a bit broader than Mulder. The
Speedo would be tight.
Mulder sipped his coffee and watched Krycek folding the piece of paper in
ever-more-complicated patterns. A hazy smile spread unheeded across his face.
Too much caffeine and too little sleep—Mulder was definitely getting punchy.
But he allowed the fantasy to continue. He provided his mental image of Krycek
with a smooth, white, firmly muscled body and a snug, nicely filled Speedo. Not
red, that was Mulder's color. Blue, that was better. He pictured Krycek
stepping out of the pool after some hard laps, chest heaving as he caught his
breath, body glistening with streaming drops like sweat, his hair plastered
flat. He'd lick the water from his lips and his eyelashes would be wet and
spiky....
Mulder sat up abruptly and cleared his throat, embarrassed by the rushing
heat in his groin. Krycek glanced up, eyes narrowed suspiciously. The piece of
paper had become a small, delicate bird. His fingers gripped it tightly.
"I, ah, didn't know you knew origami." Mulder hoped the catch in his voice
wasn't as obvious to Krycek as it was to him.
Krycek shrugged. "I have a Japanese grandmother, on my mother's side."
"The crane is supposed to be lucky, isn't it?"
The smile crept back onto Krycek's face. "Yeah. But you have to fold a
thousand of them to get your wish."
"And what do you wish for?" Mulder asked.
Krycek's smile faded. "It doesn't matter. I'll never fold a thousand of
them, anyway." Abruptly, he crushed the small paper bird in his hand, and
tossed it into the trash.
"Hey!" Mulder protested. "It was pretty. You shouldn't have thrown it
away."
Krycek looked at him curiously for a moment. "Never mind. I'll make you
another one." He got up and walked away.
Mulder sat back, heaving a deep breath. Careful, Mulder, he warned
himself. Having sex fantasies about your partners was all well and good—Mulder had a rich, full fantasy life and didn't mind making anyone fodder for
his wet dreams—but he'd better be a bit more discreet about doing it in the
sex object's presence. He hadn't any intention of acting on it, anyway, any
more than he had with Scully. They were partners and all that, and in Krycek's
case there was the added worry that the man might be offended and start
screaming "Queer!" and get Mulder fired. Hmm. Mental note to casually root out
Krycek's attitude towards same-sex activity one day soon.... Not that there was
any real reason to know. But it would be interesting to find out just how far
that innocence extended. Was Krycek as inexperienced in bed as he seemed in
other areas? Perhaps he needed a senior partner to season him between the
sheets, as well....
Krycek was back. Mulder firmly put that train of thought aside. Later. Much
later. Meanwhile, Krycek had resumed his seat and was opening the candy bar
he'd bought from the vending machine, carefully unfolding the inner foil
wrapper. Absently, he broke the candy bar in two, handing half to Mulder and
nibbling at the end of the other half himself before setting it aside and
turning his mind to the task of folding a crane from the foil paper. He worked
quickly, with practiced ease, and had soon created a shiny gold foil bird.
With an ironic flourish, he presented it to Mulder. "Just for you, Agent
Mulder."
Mulder took it with a grin, his face burning. "Thank you, Agent Krycek."
"Well." Krycek blushed furiously. He stared at the floor for a moment, then
sat up briskly, putting his notepad in his pocket and unrolling his sleeves.
"It's late, and we haven't gotten any work done in over an hour. You can stay
here all night if you want, but I'm going home to bed."
"Good idea." Sweet dreams, Agent Krycek. I know what I'll be dreaming
about.
Mulder wasn't even all the way to his car when the fantasy began again. It
would be late, a night like tonight, when they were tired and a bit punchy from
too much chocolate and caffeine.
How about a little swim before we call it a night? It's a great way to
unwind after a day like this.
Krycek would blush prettily. I don't have a suit.
You can borrow one of mine. Or—this time of night, there won't be
anybody else at the pool. We can skinny-dip.
Krycek would protest, but in the end he'd allow Mulder to herd him off to
the swimming pool. The pool would be empty, except for them. Not even a
janitor, or night watchman. Krycek would insist on undressing in private, and
come out of the locker room with his hands over his genitals, and his face
would be that same charming shade of red it had been when he'd handed Mulder
the golden crane. Mulder would be matter-of-fact and hearty at this point,
pretending not to notice Krycek's discomfort, allowing him to relax in his
senior partner's presence. And they would swim—long, lazy laps at first, just
enjoying the sensual feel of the water caressing their naked skin. He'd dive
underneath and watch Krycek from below, his flaccid penis streaming along
between his powerful legs as he stroked his way across the pool. After a while,
Mulder would start swimming alongside Krycek, urging him to keep up, teasing
him into showing off. Unused to this kind of exercise, Krycek would overexert
himself. Perhaps he'd get a cramp, or just a small stitch in his side.
Grimacing slightly, Krycek would pull himself out of the pool, hand pressed
to his side. Mulder would follow, concerned, taking Krycek's arm. What's
wrong? Do you have a cramp?
Distracted by the slight pain, Krycek would be unconcerned with his
nakedness. Just a little. Shouldn't have drunk all that coffee, I guess.
Come in here and lie down for a little while. There would be a
lounge area off the locker room with massage tables. Mulder would lead him
there and help him up onto one of the tables. Spread out on his back, soaking
wet and vulnerable, Krycek's self-consciousness would return. But Mulder would
press him firmly down onto the table with a hand on his chest, murmuring,
Just lie still. I'll rub it for you. Show me where it hurts.
In an attempt to keep it on the level of a friend helping a friend with a
cramp, Krycek would guide Mulder's hand to the offending pain, trying to relax.
But the feel of Mulder's strong fingers stroking his wet skin would stir other
feelings, and his helpless cock would begin to rise. Mulder would ignore it at
first, continuing to pretend he was only interested in rubbing the cramp. But
the circles his fingers made over Krycek's side would widen slowly, until his
fingers were brushing the pelvic bone, and his thumb dipped into the sweet
puckered navel.
Krycek by now would be unmistakably erect, and he would clench his fists in
an effort to suppress the unwanted arousal. Mulder would take one hard fist in
his hand, stroking the tender area at the base of thumb and forefinger, and
allow his other hand to lightly stroke the underside of Krycek's penis.
Arching off the table, Krycek would cry out helplessly. Mulder, what are
you...?
Shh. It's all right. I want to make you come. Just relax and let me
touch you.
Mulder....
But the cries of protest would soon turn to cries of pleasure, as Mulder
would continue to fondle the warm cock, and tickle the tender balls. He'd keep
holding Krycek's hand, as Krycek would now be gripping it hard, refusing to let
go. The fine sheen of water would evaporate from the smooth white body, to be
replaced by a finer sheen of sweat. Krycek would moan, his head tossing from
side to side, and his cock would thrust into Mulder's hand.
Oh god, Mulder....
When he judged the boy to be ready, he would bend over the table and take
the silky head of the cock into his mouth. He would taste the pre-ejaculate on
his tongue, mixing with his saliva, and he would spread the fluids around the
hard shaft of the cock, taking it gradually deeper into his mouth, until he
felt it swell and Krycek's hips stiffened as he gasped and thrust and warm,
salty semen flowed into Mulder's mouth....
Mulder jerked the steering wheel roughly, pulling the car over to the side
of the road and slamming it into park, rear wheel still several feet from the
curb. Swearing, he fumbled in the glove box for a tissue, while working at the
clasp of his trousers with the other hand. He was only a few blocks from his
own building, but he couldn't wait a second longer or he was going to explode.
It was late and the street was deserted—it should be safe. He unzipped his
pants in a frantic hurry, pulled his throbbing cock free and held the tissue
over it while he pumped it furiously. Only moments later, he threw his head
back and whimpered as his body arched, his thighs jammed against the steering
wheel, and his semen flowed into the tissue.
Mulder smiled to himself as he walked up the front steps of his apartment
building. God, he never even got the chance to finish his fantasy! He'd meant
to pull Krycek down to the end of the table, lift his legs over his shoulders
and fuck him raw after he'd sucked him off. Well, that just left more to think
about for later. He hadn't had this much fun in a long time—probably since
the early days of his partnership with Scully. He'd had a hot-and-heavy affair
with her in his mind for months, until their friendship settled in and became
too real to brook fantasies like this.
Scully. He hardly ever saw her any more. He still missed her, every day.
Much as he was beginning to enjoy Krycek's company, he still ached for Scully's
cool competence, her dry humor, her down-to-earth logic, her compassion. Was
the end of their partnership going to mean the end of their friendship as well?
He didn't want to think so, but they were both so busy with their work, and he
had never been any good at keeping real relationships going. He'd have to call
her, soon. Too bad it was so late, he daren't do it now. Maybe tomorrow, if he
and Krycek finished at a decent hour. Or maybe he could meet her for lunch, if
she wasn't too busy at Quantico. He'd call her in the morning.
As he went through his evening routine, he thought about early days with
Scully. They'd gone to Oregon on their first case. Students were being abducted
and then returned with strange marks on their bodies. A panicked Scully had
burst into his hotel room in her underwear, demanding to know what the red
marks on her back were. He had reassured her, and then they'd talked. He'd told
her about Samantha, and the effect his sister's disappearance had had on his
family. She'd told him about her family. They'd begun the long process of
learning to trust and care about one another. It had not occurred to him at the
time to take advantage of her attack of nerves, but later the incident had
become the jumping-off point for many pleasant fantasies.
Settled on the couch in a tee shirt and sweat pants, with an old movie
playing quietly on the television, he relaxed and let his mind wander. One hand
slid under the waistband of his sweat pants and curled around his quiescent
cock in a familiar routine.
They're just mosquito bites, Scully.
Are you sure?
He smiled. His fingers rested lightly on her sides as he knelt behind her,
inspecting the three small red marks on her lower back. Her red robe lay
hanging from her waist. Her skin was creamy and soft. Her muscles jumped
slightly as his thumb touched the waistband of her panties.
I'm sure. Relax, Scully. You're fine. This time, he would not stand
up and move away from her. He would not hold himself uncomfortably still while
she threw herself into his arms in relief. He would remain kneeling behind her,
holding her gently. He would blow cool air over the tiny red marks. She would
shiver, almost imperceptibly, but she would not pull away. They're just
mosquito bites. They must itch. Let me help.
He would touch one of the bites with the tip of his tongue, stroking it
gently, moistening the tiny swelling. Then he would kiss it, and begin to suck.
As he licked and sucked her tender skin, he would pull her robe away, letting
it fall to the floor. Then his fingers would slowly work her panties down her
hips.
Agent Mulder....
You're too uptight, Agent Scully. You need to relax. I just want to make
you feel good. He would expose the silky white rounds of her bottom,
kissing and nipping lightly at the firm cheeks. A slight moan would escape her.
I have so much to teach you, Agent Scully. Open your mind to extreme
possibilities. He would continue to caress her round bottom with his lips
and tongue, while his hands explored around the sides of her hips to reach the
soft, fuzzy hairs beneath her belly. He'd run his fingers through the luxuriant
thatch of hair that protected her intimate folds, letting his fingers gradually
explore lower and lower.
She would whimper ever-so-softly, and her body would warm to his touch, but
still she wouldn't move. Finally, he'd run his middle finger lightly over her
clitoris, then trail it down to stroke the outer folds of her vagina. Slick
wetness would seep onto his fingers. She'd gasp and twitch in his grasp. She'd
press forward, rubbing herself into his hand. He would open his palm against
her and let her stroke her swollen clitoris on his hand, choosing for herself
the pressure and speed that satisfied her. He'd rest his cheek against her
bottom, his arms encircling her, one hand holding the firm curve of her belly
while the other covered her wet entrance. She'd moan as she thrust against him,
her buttocks flexing beneath his cheek.
Presently, he'd slip two fingers deep into her vagina. Her head would fall
back and she'd moan her pleasure. Slowly, still holding her firmly, he'd stand,
pressing his body against her back and hips. She was so tiny, he'd have to
crouch down in order to mold himself to her. (Here was where Krycek had the
advantage—he was practically the same height as Mulder. One could just walk
up behind him and.... Well, that was another fantasy. For this one, assume
Scully was about eight inches taller. Or standing on a box.) His hard cock
would poke between her legs. (Wait a minute, what about his clothes? Never mind
- let him be naked.) He'd lean back to give himself enough room to unhook her
bra, then slip it down one arm and then the other, tossing it into the floor
with her robe, while his other hand remained impaled in her wetness. He'd take
her full breast into his hand, catching the nipple between his fingers and
rolling it erect.
Then he'd turn her around and urge her onto the bed on her stomach, still
holding her by the breast and crotch. He'd slide on top of her, savoring the
silky softness of her skin, damp with the heat of arousal. He'd kiss the back
of her neck, nuzzling her earlobe and jaw. She'd smile at him over her shoulder
and sigh.
He'd release her then, leaning back onto his knees, and take her by the
hips, pulling her up slightly so that he could enter her from behind. His hard
cock would slide into her soft wetness, and she would thrust her hips against
him, and he'd settle his weight onto her, sliding into her with increasing
heat, while he reached around and stroked her clitoris with his fingers,
bringing her to completion with him.
Mulder was hot and sweaty and his cock was hard beneath his pumping hand,
but he wasn't quite there yet. He needed another fantasy to finish off with....
How about The Bet? He and Scully would bet on whose theories would be proved
correct on the next case. Loser bares his or her bottom and bends over the desk
in their office. Winner applies corrections as desired. Let's see, should he
win or lose this time...?
|
From Alex Krycek's diary:
I like Mulder. This is not a good idea. It's too easy to forget I'm just
playing a role. I can't let him get to me.
I'm good at my job. I'm going to succeed at this. I'll do what I have to
do. My boss told me that Mulder was so paranoid, he'd probably never really
trust me. I told him, just give me a little time, I'll have him eating out of
my hand. And I did. I thought it was going to be a pain, fawning over Mulder
and waiting on him and pretending to be a believer. But he's so eager for the
attention—he tries to pretend he's so cool and above it all, but I can tell.
He loves it. And he likes me, or at least he acts like he does. Calls me at all
hours of the night, just to talk. Keeps me at work till neither of us can keep
our eyes open. God, he must be lonely. Still spends too damn much time with
Scully, though. We'll have to do something about that.
And he's just too damn gorgeous for his own good. Big sad eyes and pouty
lips. If he weren't the mark I'd have a run at him. The way he looks at me
sometimes I half think I'd have a chance at it. Of course I never would. Don't
fall in love with the mark—that's rule number one. It's just a job. Remember
that, Alex. Never fall in love with the mark.
|
Later, Mulder decided that it had to be the full moon that made him act so
crazy. There was just no other explanation for it. Of course, he missed Scully.
He missed her horribly and he knew he was gradually losing their friendship by
working late so often and never having time to spend with her. Every once in a
while he could get her to do the odd autopsy, help him with research, bounce an
idea off her—but he had to get used to the fact that she wasn't his partner
any longer. She had her own work—she didn't want to be bothered with his. And
poor Krycek was obviously resentful of the preference he showed her. But Mulder
wanted more than the occasional hurried lunch date or late-night pizza. He
wanted her around on a daily basis, as she had been when she shared his office.
Perhaps it was also those stupid fantasies, started up again after so many
months. He'd reminded himself of just how lovely she was—her warm,
intelligent blue eyes; full, sensuous mouth; soft, womanly figure. The
attraction he'd always felt for her became strong and demanding. He'd kept a
lid on that attraction while they were partners—their working relationship
had come first, and their friendship had been enough to satisfy him. Now she
was no longer his partner. The closeness he needed was fading away. And there
was no reason to deny his attraction any longer.
He'd even managed to convince himself that she must feel the same way.
It was after two in the morning when he showed up at her door. Scully was
yawning and disheveled in a sweatshirt and jeans. She looked at him with a
combination of exasperation and indulgence, then stood aside to let him in. She
settled him on the couch and went to make tea, leaving him to fidget nervously
and wonder what the hell he was doing there. It had all seemed so clear when
he'd started out. But now that he was here, he wished he hadn't come. What was
left of his good sense told him that he should get up, apologize to her and
leave.
Scully returned with two cups of tea. She handed him one and then went to
sit in the easy chair across from him. He'd hoped she would sit on the couch
with him. This was even more awkward.
"What is it, Mulder?" She was not quite impatient, but it was clear she was
not entirely happy about this late-night visit.
"I hardly ever see you any more."
She smiled faintly. "I'd like to see more of you. But not necessarily at
two in the morning."
"Scully...." He supposed he should have been cooler about it. Made a little
small talk, led up to it gradually. How could he expect anyone to respond
favorably to a bald, blurted-out proposition? But he was floundering, already
convinced it would be a disaster, and just wanted to get it out and over with.
He leaned forward, took a deep breath, and plunged. "I want us to be more than
friends. We don't work together any more. I miss you."
She put her cup down on the coffee table, with a slight shake of her head.
"Mulder, what are you talking about?"
Mulder got up and went to stand in front of her. "I want us to be together,
Scully—Dana."
"Together, as in...?"
His face burned. He bit his lip, and nodded.
She just stared at him. "Mulder, what's this about? What brought this on?"
"Nothing. I mean, I've always thought you and I... but we were partners,
and couldn't do anything about it. Now we're not. Since the X-Files have been
shut down, we hardly see each other. I don't want to lose you."
She shook her head. "Mulder, you just want the X-Files back. You want our
partnership. I want it too, but...."
"No, Scully. I want you."
She stood, and stepped close to him. The expression on her face was kind,
but her answer was clear before she spoke. "I'm sorry, Mulder. It's not for us.
When you think about it, I'm sure you'll see I'm right."
"But Scully—it's been so hard lately—there never seems to be time—"
She smiled faintly. "We don't have time to be friends, so you want us to be
lovers?"
He shook his head helplessly. It was all going wrong, and he didn't know
how to say what he was feeling. "No, it's not like that."
Scully took him by the arm. "Mulder, I'm your friend. I'll always be your
friend. We don't need anything more to stay together."
He pulled away from her. "We could do it. Why couldn't we try it?"
"Mulder, it wouldn't work. You know it wouldn't." She stopped his protests
with a hand on his arm. "You look tired. You know how you get when you don't
get enough sleep."
He shrugged. "I've been working late a lot."
"Your new partner isn't taking care of you. I'll have to have a word with
him."
He managed a smile. "Hey, he brings me coffee. You never brought me
coffee."
"Well, he should be telling you to go home and get some sleep, instead of
feeding you caffeine." She returned the smile briefly. "Mulder, I'm your
friend. That isn't going to change. I'll always be here for you. Now, why don't
you go home and get some rest?"
His choked laugh had a slight tinge of hysteria. " 'I'm here for you, now
go home' ?"
"Yes." Her smile was warm and kind and understanding. It made him feel like
a complete idiot.
Suddenly, he felt extremely tired. And extremely foolish. He nodded and
headed for the door.
Mulder swore at himself in frustration as he pulled up in front of Krycek's
apartment building. Wasn't it bad enough that he'd made a fool of himself with
Scully tonight, now he had to inflict himself on Krycek too? It was nearly
three o'clock. Scully was right, he should just go home and try to get some
sleep. But he couldn't bear the thought of his empty apartment right now—and
he knew he wouldn't sleep anyway, not after what he'd just done. He'd worry and
fuss about it for hours. Unless he talked to someone for a little while. He
could go home and call Krycek—he'd called him this late before—but here he
was, he might as well go up.
Krycek answered the door yawning and rubbing his eyes, rumpled and groggy
in a ragged white vee-neck tee-shirt and shapeless gray sweat pants. Barefoot
and sleep-tousled, he looked far too young to be an FBI agent. Dark eyelashes
batted against his cheeks as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Mulder's
breath caught in his throat, and he knew he'd made a terrible mistake coming
here. Days of unrestrained fantasies about the man, along with the pain and
humiliation of his earlier rejection—he was on the edge of his control
already, and here was Krycek, blinking sleepily at him and looking irresistibly
fuckable.
If he had the least bit of sense left, he would apologize and leave
immediately. Instead, he pasted on what he hoped was a hearty smile, and
shouldered his way past Krycek into the room. "Hi, Krycek."
"Mulder, what the hell are you doing?" Krycek spoke wearily, padding after
Mulder, who was inspecting the furnishings of Krycek's small apartment with
mock cheerfulness.
"Just happened to be in the neighborhood," Mulder replied airily.
"Mulder, for god's sake. Go home. Don't you ever sleep?"
"Sure. Once or twice a week, at least. Nice couch."
Krycek came up behind him, put a hand on Mulder's shoulder. "Mulder. What
are you doing here?"
The hand burned him like fire. The false heartiness drained out of him.
Tears stung his eyes. "I was at Scully's."
"And she kicked you out too? I'm not surprised."
"No, she...." Mulder paused, rubbed a hand over his forehead. "I made a
major fool of myself. I... I made a pass. She turned me down." He pulled his
arms around himself and bit his lip to keep it from trembling.
"Oh, Mulder," Krycek sighed. "You big jerk. I'm sorry." The hand slipped
across Mulder's shoulders.
Mulder turned, blindly, and slid into Krycek's arms. Krycek, startled,
stiffened for a moment, then relaxed into the embrace, and wrapped his arms
tightly around Mulder's back.
Krycek's body emanated a delicious heat. Mulder felt warmly encased by the
strong, hard arms. His hair caught against the roughness of Krycek's unshaved
cheek as he buried his face in Krycek's neck. It was nice, for a change, not to
have to stoop to embrace someone. A bit strange to press against a flat,
muscular torso. Krycek's maleness was comforting, in an odd sort of way, just
by its unfamiliarity. It did not remind him of Scully, and what he'd wanted
from her. Mulder was aware that his erection was hard against Krycek's hip, but
he didn't care. Krycek was a man; he would understand that these things
happened.
As a matter of fact, Krycek was hard, too. Mulder pressed his thigh against
Krycek's groin, enjoying the feel of the stiff cock pulsing against his leg.
Krycek's chest was heaving, and his grip tightened until Mulder thought he'd
crush the air out of his lungs. Mulder smiled; and the movement of his lips
against Krycek's neck caused fingers to dig fiercely into his back. Oh, this
was good. His young partner was aroused by his touch. Krycek wanted him. And it
felt so damn good to be wanted.
For long moments, he just stood there, reveling in the embrace. He fully
intended to pull away before things went any farther; to wrap himself up in
this little moment and take it home to keep him warm on his lonely couch. But
then the subversive thought hit him—Why should he leave? This was no fantasy
- Krycek was here, and real, and stiff with need. Why not take him to bed? He
could never have done this with Scully, but it was different with another man.
They could enjoy a night of friendly sex without all the emotional trappings of
a male-female relationship. Sure, Krycek was his partner, but they could handle
this. It was just a buddy-fuck, nothing to get upset about. And he just
couldn't go home alone and frustrated again. His cock was so hard it hurt, and
he was thoroughly tired of living on fantasies and his own right hand.
Mulder took Krycek's face in his hands, and covered those soft, full lips
with his own. Krycek's lips opened and his tongue met Mulder's.
His mouth was warm and sweet, just as Mulder had imagined it. Mulder closed
his eyes and poured all his need, all his frustration, into the kiss; letting
his tongue roam deep, taking possession as if it was his right. One hand slid
under Krycek's tee-shirt, kneading the hot, muscular flesh of his back; the
other moved down over the sweat pants, gripping one round buttock tightly. They
kissed until Mulder thought he'd faint, and he was forced to pull his mouth
away, sucking in great gasps of air.
"Bedroom," Mulder managed to choke out.
Krycek pulled away. "Mulder, wait. We can't...."
Mulder took him by the shoulders, and stared into the half-lidded eyes.
"Don't tell me no." He pulled Krycek to him and kissed him again. His lips were
so perfect, so warm and soft. How could he expect anyone not to kiss him?
Especially when he was groaning and kissing back with such ferocity.
Krycek broke away again. He stood, breathing hard, mouth working. There was
a desperate look in his eyes. "Mulder, please don't."
"I want you. You want me. Why can't we do this? Tell me why."
Krycek just stood, shaking his head. Shy. A little scared, maybe. Well,
Mulder wasn't going to hurt him. But he wasn't going to go home rejected twice
in one night, either.
Mulder kissed him again, gently this time. "It will be all right, I
promise. I just need somebody to hold me, Alex. I can't be alone tonight. You
understand."
Krycek clung to him. "Oh god, Mulder. All right." His voice was a breathy
whisper.
Mulder's cock throbbed. That beautiful, sexy, low voice—he wanted it
whispering dirty words into his ear. He wanted to hear it moaning and begging
for his caresses. He pulled out of the embrace, smiled reassuringly, and
nodded. Krycek folded Mulder's hand into his and led him into the bedroom.
A streetlight just outside the window shone through miniblinds, lending a
dim light to the room. The only furnishings were a cheap chest of drawers and
an unmade bed. It reminded Mulder of a hotel room—cold and impersonal. Krycek
stood hesitantly by the bed.
Mulder reached out for him, started to pull him in for another kiss. But
Krycek turned his face away. Bewildered, Mulder stepped back. In the dim light,
Krycek seemed to harden before his eyes. Mulder watched in fascination and
perhaps a little fear as his sweet young partner disappeared, and the cold,
beautiful, heartless angel briefly glimpsed at their first meeting returned.
Then Krycek was on top of him, pushing him back onto the bed, kissing him
fiercely.
He let Krycek have him that way for a while, thinking it was nerves that
were making him suddenly aggressive. Let him work it off, settle down a bit
before Mulder took over again.
Then he took Krycek by the arms and firmly flipped him over onto his back.
The move took Krycek by surprise, and he lay quietly, staring at Mulder, wary
and a bit sullen. His beauty was breathtaking, but there were dark thoughts
roiling behind his troubled eyes. Mulder felt as though he'd captured some
fairy creature, fey and lovely and not quite human. The sweet mouth hardened,
then trembled. Mulder kissed the trembling lips gently, stroking the jawline,
running his fingers through the short, dark hair. Patiently, he soothed the
wild creature, stroking and taming him with tender care. Finally, with a groan,
Krycek opened his mouth, slipped his tongue under Mulder's, tightened his arms
around Mulder's shoulders, and yielded.
The fey creature melted away, and Mulder's sweet innocent young partner was
back. The body trembled slightly, but there was no resistance in it. Open and
accepting, his wide eyes stared up at Mulder. Mulder sighed, giddy with relief.
Now he would have what he wanted. First, he sat up and began to undress,
leaving his clothing piled carelessly in the floor. Krycek watched him,
dark-eyed, lips slightly parted. Naked, Mulder sat on the bed, and began to
pull Krycek's tee shirt up. Krycek pushed himself upright, lifted his arms over
his head, and allowed the shirt to be removed. Then he lay back down as Mulder
eased his sweatpants down over his smooth, muscular hips and legs. Mulder drank
in the sight of Krycek's nude form by the pale glow of the streetlight outside
the window. Yes, he worked out. Perhaps indulged in a few too many chocolate
bars, and didn't burn it off in nervous energy like Mulder did. That was all
right. The smooth contours softened his appearance, enhanced his apparent
youth. (He was in fact only a few years younger than Mulder—Mulder had
checked his file, of course, within days of being assigned to work with him.
But Mulder enjoyed thinking of him as a child, and his wide-eyed sweetness did
nothing to dispel that notion.) His bottom would be nice and cushiony. Mulder
ached to turn him over and slide his cock between those round cheeks.
But he'd better not. The poor kid was nervous enough simply about kissing.
Keep it simple—lots of hand and tongue and pleasant friction. Perhaps a blow
job. Nothing too intense to deal with in the morning.
His inspection complete, Mulder stretched out at Krycek's side, kissed him
again, and whispered into his ear, "You're beautiful."
"Oh, Mulder...." There was as much protest as passion in his breathy voice.
The voice that sent delightful tingles down Mulder's spine.
"Tell me I'm beautiful. I want to hear you say it, even if you don't mean
it."
A pause, then a sigh. "Mulder. You are beautiful."
Mulder slid on top of the still-acquiescent body, surprised when Krycek
opened his legs for him. Was he offering...? But still, Mulder would not take
more. Not this time. He took Krycek's face in his hands and kissed him again.
Krycek kissed like an angel, completely open and yielding. His arms curled over
his head, and his legs lay apart. The only motions of his body were the
searching of his tongue in Mulder's mouth, and the tiny rotations of his hips
as he ground his groin into Mulder's. Mulder found the total surrender
unutterably sweet. It was wonderful to stroke his burning cock against
Krycek's. He wanted more than ever to sheathe his cock in this
angel-beast-child's pliant flesh. But his need was driving him too hard—he
was already near the brink, just from rubbing his cock against Krycek's body.
If he was going to do anything but rub himself off, he'd better stop now. Right
now.
Gasping, Mulder tore his mouth away and buried his face in Krycek's neck,
while his hips thrust spasmodically and his semen spurted between them.
Krycek's arms came down to circle his back, stroking him gently, petting him
like a cat, while the waves of his orgasm subsided. Nice. Very nice. He
snuggled closer and nibbled at Krycek's small, delicately-shaped earlobe.
Krycek's cock was hard under him. He considered what to do while he recovered
from his own release. Hand? Mouth? Maybe he should just ask.
"What do you want me to do?" he whispered into that small ear.
"Go home." Krycek's breathy voice blew warm air across his cheek.
Mulder chuckled. He slid half off of Krycek and trailed his fingers down
Krycek's side, to run them along the underside of the stiff cock. Krycek moaned
and writhed at Mulder's touch. Just a slight touch, and his eyes were turning
back in his head. It was so sweet being able to provoke such a response. He
still didn't understand why Krycek resisted it. He gripped Krycek's cock
tighter, and began to work his hand up and down.
"Still want me to go home?" he whispered.
"God, Mulder...."
"Is that a yes or a no?"
His only answer was a tortured groan. Smiling, Mulder left off teasing and
moved down until his face was by Krycek's hip. His own semen still pooled in
the hollows of Krycek's pelvis. He touched his tongue to it gingerly, then
decided to let Krycek clean himself up. Maybe he'd swallow Krycek's, though. He
knew he shouldn't, but he wanted to try it, just this once. Krycek seemed so
innocent—he must be safe. A bit tentatively, he ran his tongue up the shaft
of Krycek's cock. In his fantasies he gave great blow jobs, but in reality he'd
had few cocks in his mouth. Carefully, he placed his lips around the head,
stroking it with his tongue, still gripping the shaft with his hand. He licked
the tender underside just behind the crown, where his own cock was particularly
sensitive. Apparently, Krycek's was too. His fists pounded the mattress at his
sides. A small, keening sound emerged from deep in his throat. Mulder had never
heard anything quite like it. He pulled the cock deeper into his mouth, and
applied his tongue with more vigor. The keening turned to a wail; then Krycek
stiffened, the cock swelled in Mulder's mouth, and warm, sticky fluid was
flooding onto his tongue. Mulder swallowed, shuddered, and swallowed again. It
was strange and bitter and he wasn't sure if he liked it. But he liked Krycek's
sobbing gasps and quivering belly, and the small throbbing spasms in his cock.
He held the cock in his mouth until it started to soften, then let it slide
from between his lips and made his way back up to the head of the bed.
Krycek was pretending to be asleep. Mulder sighed, and touched Krycek's
shoulder, stroking it with his thumb. He didn't want to just leave—but Krycek
was making it clear he wanted no more of Mulder that night. Better let him be.
Gently, he kissed the stubbly cheek and murmured softly into the delicate ear.
"Good night, Alex. I'll see you in the morning." That was only a few hours away
now.
Mulder slid from the bed, pausing to pull the covers up over Krycek's naked
body, smoothing the sheet over his chest. Krycek remained motionless, although
his breathing was too measured for sleep. Mulder searched the floor for his
clothes. Cold reality was already starting to set in as he dressed. Poor Krycek
would probably be in Skinner's office first thing in the morning, demanding a
transfer. Or worse, filing sexual harassment charges. Mulder's gut went cold.
Oh god, this had been a mistake. What should he do? Apologize? Beg for
forgiveness? Plead with Krycek to say nothing?
He sighed. It was so late. Let the poor kid alone. Talk to him in the
morning. He paused at the bedroom door to look once more at his young partner,
tousled and sated and precious. Krycek still hadn't moved. And, god help him,
Mulder still wanted to fuck him.
"Good night, Alex." He pulled his jacket around himself and left.
The morning after was just as painful and difficult and humiliating as
Mulder had known it would be. Krycek was already at work when he arrived,
sullen and pasty-faced. He'd cut himself shaving; the small red cut stood out
sharply against the pale cheek. When he saw Krycek's grim, angry expression,
Mulder's gut twisted in fear, wondering if Krycek had been to Skinner's office
already, but his question was answered with a sharp "No." Mulder's sick relief
only slightly alleviated his worry.
Krycek refused to refer to the events of the previous night at all. He cut
off Mulder's pitiful attempts to apologize with curt demands to "Forget it." He
snapped and growled and changed the subject repeatedly.
Mulder was too shaky to press the issue. Maybe it would be better just to
let Krycek stomp around a bit, get it out of his system. They could talk later,
after he'd cooled down a little. God, he was angry! But at least he was here,
still trying to work. They ought to be able to work it out eventually.
Two hours later, they were on their way to Lynchburg, following up a lead
in their case. It was a long drive, and a very grim one. Krycek sat pressed
against the passenger-side door, staring out the window, unspeaking. Mulder had
even offered to let him drive—Krycek's only response was a disgusted grunt.
This was why sexual relationships between partners were not allowed, Mulder
thought miserably. Misunderstanding, resentment, hostility. How could they work
like this? Someone would take a potshot at him while he was distracted by worry
and fear, and he'd end up in the hospital, or worse. Krycek's fury would cause
him to hesitate in a crisis situation. Or even if their lives weren't in
danger, they would miss clues. Their thinking would be cloudy. This could not
go on.
Mulder pulled the car off at the next exit. Krycek glared at him, a
question in his face but not spoken aloud. Mulder just ignored it, until he
found a convenient pullout on a frontage road. Then he stopped the car and
waited.
"What?" Krycek demanded flatly.
"We need to talk."
Krycek shifted in his seat. "Let's just get back on the road. We've got
work to do."
"No." Mulder turned to look at him directly. "We need to settle this. Now."
Krycek groaned in frustration. He refused to look at Mulder. "Look, Mulder,
it wasn't... it was just... the heat of the moment. Can't we just forget it?"
"Heat of the moment, huh." Mulder sighed. "Maybe. It's just that you're
really, really, really pissed."
Krycek closed his eyes tightly, lips pressed together for a moment before
answering. "I'm mad at myself. For letting it happen."
"I didn't exactly give you a lot of choice."
"Mulder, I'm a big boy. I know how to say no."
"Then why does it upset you so much? I know I'm your partner and we
shouldn't have done it, but it's more than that. Is it because I'm a man?"
The choked noise that emerged from Krycek could have been a laugh. "I've
had sex with men before. A lot more than you have."
Mulder flinched slightly, but let the dig pass. "So it's just me you're
upset about ending up in bed with."
"Mulder, we're FBI. We could lose our jobs. And it's not like it meant
anything," Krycek snapped. But his voice had gotten husky on that last retort.
Mulder sighed. Krycek was feeling used, and well he should. Mulder had
practically announced that Krycek was taking Scully's place for the evening.
But it hadn't really been like that. And surely, once they were in each other's
arms, all thought of a small, red-haired female had gone completely out of his
mind.
Then he supposed he ought to tell Krycek that. "Alex, I know you think I
was just there because Scully turned me down, and I guess I wouldn't have been
at your door at three in the morning if she hadn't, but that wasn't all there
was to it. I mean, if all I wanted was a Scully substitute, I think I could get
a lot closer. You don't even have red hair."
Krycek's short laugh wasn't quite as choked this time. Encouraged, Mulder
continued. "Maybe... the only reason I was at Scully's in the first place was
that you've been driving me crazy lately."
"You're such a fucking liar." But that tight little smile was on Krycek's
face.
Mulder smiled back. "I'm sorry, Alex."
Krycek shrugged. "Never mind."
"Sure?"
"Yeah." Finally, he looked at Mulder. "It's not going to happen again."
Mulder nodded. Maybe. But now was not the time to pursue it. He started the
car and headed back for the freeway.
|
From Alex Krycek's diary:
Never fall in love with the mark. Oh god. But they don't tell you how to do
it, do they? Especially when the guy shows up at your door at three in the
morning, rejected and crying, and throws himself at you. I tried to say no—yeah, right—but hell, it's three in the morning and he doesn't want to take
no for an answer and I've been wanting this guy since the day I set eyes on him
- so I caved. Thank god he was awkward and inexperienced and didn't go for
anything more than a little frottage and a blow job. And lots of kissing. God
he can kiss. Still it was a hell of a lot more than I was ready to deal with.
So we had sex. That doesn't mean I have to fall in love with him. Except
he's so pathetic. So hungry. Does it like a straight guy, all sweet and gentle,
like you're made out of glass. Like he's going to freak if you move. (Then asks
me if I'm upset about doing it with a man—no, Mulder, are you?) Obviously
hasn't had much practice. But I'll give him an A for effort. He even swallowed
it, though it just about made him choke, the stupid fool. I know I'm negative
so I let him do it, but he didn't know that. God. Then this morning he lied his
head off to me about how it wasn't just because Scully tossed him out on his
ear and how crazy I make him. Liar. Liar. Because if it isn't a lie, I don't
know what the hell I'm going to do.
Like I know what the hell I'm going to do anyway. I already liked him way
more than I should. He's just a dumb jerk with a cold bastard for a father and
a doormat for a mother and a missing sister, and he's hanging onto his Truth
and his "I Want to Believe" and his "Extreme Possibilities" for dear life, and
he doesn't mean any harm, he's just searching for something to hang onto, just
like the rest of us. And here we are sneaking around behind his back, doing
everything we can to make sure he never finds what he needs. Acting like the
world would come to an end if he ever found his sister. I can't do it any more.
I don't want to do it any more. He's been hurt enough.
But what the hell am I going to do about it? If I go to my boss and tell
him I'm out—well, I don't think this is the kind of job you quit. I'm in this
up to my ears and they're not going to let me just walk away. And even if I
could, they'd just get somebody else to spy on Mulder. Somebody who wouldn't
care like I do. Somebody who'd pull the trigger if they told him to. I can't
tell Mulder, either. He's so paranoid, he'd never believe I'm on his side now,
he'd turn me in and my boss would find out and I'd be in the same trouble,
except worse. I've just got to hang on here. Tell my boss only what I have to
and try to protect Mulder and hope to god he never finds out. Thank god they
don't want Mulder killed. He told me Mulder won't be killed unless it's
absolutely necessary. As long as they don't ask me to kill him I guess I can
stand it. I've got to be careful not to let Mulder get too close—that's going
to be the hardest part. I told him it wasn't going to happen again, but I don't
think he's given up on the idea. Mr. Obsession—once he gets an idea into his
head, he doesn't let go. I should never have played the hero-worship angle so
hard—but how was I supposed to know he was an equal-opportunity sex maniac?
The files all said he was straight. So much for my employer's thorough
background research.
The irony of it is, my boss would absolutely love this. It would be a
perfect way to get Mulder discredited, get him tossed out of the Bureau and
derail his work without any danger or violence or stirring up his high-level
contacts. Just another night like last night, with a strategically-placed video
camera. I bet Skinner would get off on the tape as much as he'd get off on
kicking Mulder's ass out of the Bureau. But I'd never do that to Mulder. Never.
Even if I didn't care about him, I'd never use his sexuality against him like
that. He's got a right to his private life, it's nobody's business but his. And
mine now, I guess.
Damn it, Mulder. Never fall in love with the mark.
But I did.
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Continued in Act Two: Scene One
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