Mulder lay still for a moment, breath coming in reluctant gasps, eyes
squeezed tightly shut. The liquid warmth in his belly was an agonizing shame.
Slowly, he pulled his trembling knees beneath him, and pushed himself away from
Krycek's body. The grip on his now-empty balls never wavered.
It was awkward, but he managed to pull Krycek upright, and they struggled to
their feet together, all the while Krycek continued to hold Mulder by the
balls. Exhausted and ruined, Mulder wanted only to give Krycek the report and
get him out of there. Let him take the printouts—Mulder still had the disk
files. Let him get caught up in the middle of it—his former employers would
deal with him more efficiently and ruthlessly than Mulder ever could. Or let
him figure out a way to steal a new arm from them, more power to him. Mulder
wanted only to be free of him, free of the touch that still burned, still
twisted in his guts, still defeated him more thoroughly than he'd ever been
defeated.
Mulder stood naked in his living room, with the touch of Alex Krycek's hand
tingling on his balls, staring at the door. Fear, pain, adrenaline, he
told himself. Does strange things to the body. It doesn't mean anything.
Krycek's green eyes lingered in his vision. The touch of long, strong,
sensitive fingers seemed imprinted forever on his testicles. Finally, he went
back into the bedroom, and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt. He
didn't ever want to be naked again. Taking a blanket from the bed, he went back
into the living room and lay down on the couch. Shivering under the blanket, he
stared at the ceiling.
Incubus
by Cody Nelson
It was a small scraping noise, muffled through the bedroom wall, as though a
careless thigh had bumped a table. Mulder came instantly awake, snatching his
gun off the nightstand and sliding out of bed in one smooth motion. No time to
get dressed, no time to worry about it. Naked, holding his gun ready before
him, he crept out of the bedroom.
Pale, slatted street light filtered in through the blinds, just enough for
him to find his way slowly through the living room. The aquarium burbled softly
in the corner. There was no other sound, no sign of intruders. But the hair on
the back of Mulder's neck stood up, and a drop of sweat trickled down his
chest. He kept his gun held straight out in front of his body.
He stepped past the end of the couch—
There was a whoosh, and a shadow dashed in front of him, and something hit
his wrists, sending the gun crashing into the floor and skittering across the
room. Mulder launched himself at the shadow, grabbed leather and hard muscle,
and landed on the floor with a thud, atop a gasping, squirming body. A body
with wide, desperate eyes, short dark hair, heaving chest, long sinewy legs. A
body Mulder knew with the intimacy of long-nurtured hate.
Krycek.
Hissing through his teeth in fury, Mulder grabbed for an arm, and came up
with an empty sleeve. Tunguska. One-armed men with machetes. The images
flashed through his mind, sharp and shocking. Krycek's arm severed from his
body. Punishment and horrible pain.
It was only the briefest hesitation, but it was long enough for Krycek's
only hand to snake between their bodies and close tightly around Mulder's
balls.
Mulder squawked, and pulled away in reflex, which was exactly the wrong
thing to do. Pain sliced through him as the hand held him hard, refusing to let
him go. Tears started in his eyes. Gasping, Mulder stopped short, crouching
across Krycek's body on his hands and knees, while Krycek's long-fingered hand
curled around his testes firmly.
"God damn you, Krycek—"
"Easy, Mulder. I'm not trying to hurt you."
True enough—now that Mulder had stopped struggling, the fingers holding
him immobile were relaxed, even gentle, and the pain of the initial jolt was
subsiding. Not that that made it any more bearable, to be on his hands and
knees in his own floor, naked, with his enemy holding him helpless, the hot
flesh of his enemy's hand pressing against his most private parts. Every muscle
in his body tensed against the violation.
"What do you want?" he muttered through gritted teeth.
"I want the report on the limb regeneration project."
Of course. The file had shown up in his email two days ago. However Krycek
had found out about the project, it would certainly be of vital interest to him
in his present condition. But the report was, as usual, more tantalizing hint
than real information.
"It won't help you."
"I'll decide that."
He could feel the heat rising from Krycek's body. The tang of leather and
male musk drifted in the air. Jade eyes glowed in the pale light, like some
wild creature, dangerous and beautiful, trapped in the house by mistake.
Krycek's leather jacket creaked softly as his chest rose and fell, one empty
sleeve outflung, one leather-clad arm lying between their bodies, hand holding
him firmly. Denim thighs stroked the insides of Mulder's knees. Despite
himself, the touch warmed, excited, aroused....
"Let me go, and we'll talk about it." Mulder's voice was choked and
desperate. His treacherous cock rose, swelled, scraping across Krycek's jeans
as it came erect, lifting to rub against the inside of Krycek's wrist. Mulder's
heart thudded in shame.
"Don't be a fool, Mulder. I'm not letting you go." A slight tug emphasized
his determination.
Mulder's balls tightened suddenly, and the unstoppable tide erupted within
him. With a tortured groan, he fell forward onto Krycek's chest, wracked with
unwanted orgasm, harsh and hot, hips thrusting spasmodically into Krycek's
groin, semen spurting onto his enemy.
Krycek made a small, disgruntled noise. "Jeez, Mulder, you got it all over
me."
Mulder's fists tightened in helpless fury. "Let go of me!"
Incredibly, Krycek began to laugh: a soft, throaty chuckle that vibrated
through his chest and all the way to his hand on Mulder's balls. "No way,
Mulder. You had your fun—now I want that report."
And then Mulder laughed, too; a short, unhappy laugh tinged with hysteria,
almost painful. "You're going to have to let me get up."
"Help me. I'm not letting go until I get that report."
They walked carefully to the desk together, where Mulder folded the papers
and stuffed them into the pockets of Krycek's leather jacket for him, since his
one hand was still busy keeping Mulder under control. Then again to Mulder's
door, where they stood for a moment, staring into each other's eyes.
Krycek seemed to want to say something. But finally, he just shrugged, and
his hand slipped away, and then he was out the door and gone.
He knew he would lie awake for a long, long time.
