Keep telling yourself that, Mulder.
I rifle through my sock drawer looking for the plastic baggie with my secret
money stash. Hope they didn't find it. The light from my flashlight is
dimming. Great. Batteries are going ka- shit just like everything else in my
life right now.
I flick the light switch one more time to see if the electricity has been
restored when I know good and well it hasn't. Flick- flick. Hello, darkness,
my old friend.
There's a burning in my stomach that's spreading throughout my body...an awful
fear that she's lost to me already. That they've killed her...or worse. I
can't imagine. Don't think about it, Mulder. Don't.
It would shatter me.
Digging in my sock drawer, my fingers find the plastic baggie filled with 500
dollars. I hold my prize up to my fading flashlight, then shove the baggie
into the pocket of my leather jacket. The light fades, then comes back on a
little more faint.
It's hot in here. My clothes are sticking to me and I want to throw up. Any
minute the police should be here. Fuck, I'd be lucky if only the police came
here. I really shouldn't have come here. They had to have known I'd come
back. How obvious can I get.
I have to find her. If I lose her, I lose everything. I was happy to be
miserable before I met her. At that point, I had nothing left to lose. But the
universe saw fit to hold something in front of me, something more precious than
I could ever imagine... just so it could show me what real pain was by jerking
her away from me every now and then.
Well, God, you've proved your point. You win. I'm pathetic, ok? You've had
your laugh. Now let me find her. I know what real pain is. I know...what real
pain could be. And I don't want to think about it.
Finally, my flashlight gives it up and fades to black. Rest in peace, I think,
and I toss it to the floor. Keys. I grab them off the coffee table, then
freeze.
I hear whispers outside my door. They're here. And I don't think they're here
to throw me a surprise birthday party. I pull out my gun and hold onto it
tightly. Too often, it finds itself separated from my hand, for some fucking
reason. I flatten myself to the right side of my door, waiting for them to
crash in and start shooting.
Then I hear it. The short, subdued whine of a silencer. Shots being fired,
bodies falling to the floor, then no more whispering. I can smell the faint
smoke of gunpowder in the air. The door knob is slowly turning. I raise my gun
up, bracing myself to do what I know I must.
The door swings open and the man steps through, his head turning to me, his
intense green eyes locking onto mine with a smile.
"Peek-a-boo," he says.
"Krycek," I respond, quickly lowering my gun so it's pointed at his grinning
face.
"Careful. You might hurt yourself with that thing." He brings his finger up to
the barrel and gently nudges it away. For a second, I find myself letting him,
wondering what stupid game he's playing this week.
I bring it back, carefully pointing at his forehead. "If you have her,
Krycek—"
He walks over to the sofa and plops down, seemingly unconcerned that I have a
gun pointed at him.
"Beautiful night, ain't it?" He flashes me a smile of pure pleasure. He's
fucking enjoying himself. "Got any beer? I'm parched."
Sonofabitch. He's baiting me. Like he wants me to beat the crap out of him.
Well, fuck him. I'll gladly oblige. I toss the gun onto the chair and leap at
him, determined to make his face a lot less pretty.
He's fast, I'll give him that. Before I know what's happening, his leg is
spinning around and his boot is connecting with my face. I can't even register
the pain and he's up, and his fist has slammed into my ribcage. Hitting all my
pressure points...can't even tell where I hurt. His elbow in my gut. He pushes
me back onto the coffee table. Surprisingly, it's holding together...much more
than I am.
How does he do that Crouching Tiger shit? I don't care. I actually welcome the
physical pain...it distracts me from my emotional pain. I deserve to have my
ass kicked...can't protect Scully, what good am I?
He picks up my pistol, then does the last thing I expect him to do. He
straddles me on the coffee table, holding the gun to my head with one hand, and
the other around my throat. I hear the table strain and creak underneath us.
He's chuckling lowly and shaking his head.
"You... you always think you can take me. And yet...here we are. It always
comes back to me and you. You and me."
I struggle underneath him and succeed only in getting our crotches to rub
together. My dick starts to swell and I immediately stop struggling. God, I
hope he doesn't notice. I think of Tooms slime and it recedes.
"I usually expect dinner and a movie before I let things get this far, Krycek."
That's it. Distract him with a quip.
He laughs, lifting his head to the ceiling. The pressure of the gun at my head
remains steady. "You're always good for a laugh, Mulder. I'll give you that."
He lets go of my neck and sets the pistol down on the floor.
Sighing, he says, "I'm here to help you."
"Gee, thanks," I say with a big Beaver Cleaver grin. "That explains the
whole..." I make a wave with my right hand motioning around. "...you know. Am
I bleeding?"
"Just a little bit." He wipes a small stream of blood from my lip with his
thumb. I flinch slightly at his touch. "Mulder, I just saved your ass. There
were two men in your hallway about ready to shoot you and burn down this entire
apartment complex."
"And you shot them in cold blood."
"No. I gave them a verbal warning and told them never to show up in these parts
again. They said they were duly chagrined and left. "
He waits three seconds, then continues. "Yes, I fucking shot them, Mulder!
Then I put their bodies down the laundry chute. "
"Well, the landlord will be thrilled. There goes my deposit."
"Mulder, I'm looking out for you. I want Scully alive just as much as you do.
Look at you. The authorities are after you. Even Skinner isn't sure if you're
in your right mind. The consortium has decided to kill you once and for all.
Scully has been kidnapped and the Lone Gunmen are chasing their tails in Mexico
City. Face it, Mulder. I'm the only friend you've got."
"Just my luck." I hate it when he's right. I need every edge I can get.
"What's in it for you, Krycek?"
"Does it matter?" he snaps. He actually sounds hurt by the implication.
Probably just acting, the same way he did when I first met him. Well, if I can
just keep in mind that this man will betray me, then I won't get hurt again. I
can take that risk, if it means getting Scully back. I can handle it.
"You're not going to... kiss me again, are you?" I finally say, breaking the
silence.
"You've got a one track mind, Mulder," he says, getting off me. I strain to
sit up, but everything hurts. I find I'm at eye level with his crotch. His
jeans look tighter than they did before. I quickly make myself stand up.
"Um, ok. You're my pal. We're chums. Let's team-up. Gosh, this'll be fun.
Shit." I run my fingers through my hair. "We need... We need... Let me grab my
credit cards."
"I can guarantee you they're cancelled." I stop and turn around. "It's what I
would have done," he says with a shrug. I shoot him a disgusted look. "It's
true," he says defensively.
He strolls into the kitchen, opening the fridge, more than likely looking for
that beer. I wonder how he'll find anything when he's only got the light of the
moon and the stars coming through the window. "These men are powerful and
single- minded, Mulder. I know. I've worked for them," he says into the
fridge, squatting.
"You were a telemarketer for MCI?"
He turns, holding up a Coors Lite, squinting in the darkness. "Is this all
you've got?"
I nod, feeling somewhat stupid and embarrassed that I don't have a better beer
selection for my nemesis.
"It was on sale." He shakes his head, grinning. "Call ahead next time. I'll
pick up something special."
He takes a swig, then wrinkles his face up in disgust. "This shit really sucks,
Mulder. You drink this?" He looks more than a little incredulous.
"It's not so bad," I lie. Holy shit. Coors Lite. I bought that back in...'96?
Oops.
"You hungry? I'm hungry."
"You won't find anything in there. Nothing that's not toxic, anyways."
He slams the door. "You got that right. Damn, Mulder. You live worse than I
do."
"Listen, this repartee we have going on? I love it. I really do. But I need to
find her, Krycek. I don't expect you to understand. You'd have to care about
something in the first place to know what it's like to lose it." He remains
motionless, his eyes locked onto mine. Oh, don't tell me you're hurt by this.
More acting, Krycek? I bet you have a dozen Stanislaski textbooks in the hole
you call a home. "You obviously know something. So talk."
"Not here. I bought us some time." He chokes down the rest of the beer. "But
I'm sure they've got buddies anxious to pay me—us—back in kind."
I cannot believe I'm having this conversation. I cannot believe I'm trusting
my life and Scully's to a man that I've never been able to depend on. I can't
let my guard down and get suckered in.
"Let's go," I finally say, taking one last look around.
"Aren't you forgetting something, Mulder?" he says somewhat icily. I give him
a blank stare, quite unsure what he's referring to.
"Your fish." Ok, now I'm confused. "You're not going to feed him? You don't
even deserve to have a pet." He huffs off and grabs the container of fish food
and drops some in for little Earl. "There ya go," he says, almost cutely,
watching Earl rush toward the floating food granule like a kid getting a present
from Santa. It's official. Krycek is scaring me.
"What the fuck is your game, Krycek?"
"Don't presume you know everything there is to know about me, Mulder," he says
curtly and heads for the door. "Let's go. I'm driving."
"Tell me again why we're breaking into this man's office," I whisper, looking
down the deserted hallway.
"Dr. Merkle. Go. Go! Third door. We don't want the guards to see us. Have
you ever done this before?"
Yes, I have, thank you very much. But never with the distraction of Krycek,
that's for sure.
I make a run for the third door and try it. It's locked. Krycek is there
instantly, quietly. He's on his knees working on the lock with an
impressive-looking set of lock picks. Where does he pick this shit up?
Spy-Mart? He is pretty good at this stuff. And how he keeps that jet-black
hair looking so perfectly wild and tousled—
"Hey Mulder," he whispers, looking up at me. I raise my eyebrows. "Quit
looking at me and keep a lookout for the guard. You're making me nervous."
Oh shit. I was, wasn't I? I was distracted by his lock-picking technique. Not
by the fact that his face was three inches from being buried in my crotch.
Fiiiiine lock-picking going on there.
"Um yeah." I scan up and down the hallway, which is illuminated by a few lights
left on for security. I hear the click of the door unlocking and indulge myself
by looking down at Krycek again. He's smiling. "And there you have it, Mulder.
Less than ten seconds." He opens the door and we sneak in.
"Dr. Merkle. Explain to me again why this is important." He slides into what
must be Dr. Merkle's chair and begins rifling through the papers on the desks.
"He's one of ours, Mulder. The consortium. He and several others had done
experiments on Scully when she was abducted. There's shit they've done to her
that you don't even know about."
A surge of anger overtakes me. Bad memories. Is he trying to piss me off?
"Real proud of yourself, Krycek?"
"I protected her at every turn, Mulder. You too. I am the only reason you two
are alive."
"That's an interesting spin."
He tries a file drawer, but it doesn't open. He gets out his lock pick thingy
and starts to jimmy it. "Believe it or don't, Mulder, but you've got to
question your extraordinary ability..." The drawer comes open with little
effort and Krycek grins. "...to, uh, stay alive. Damn, I'm good." He sets down
the lock pick set and begins going through the files.
I say nothing. Fuck. It does make sense, but Krycek has a way of making
anything sound good. Ever since we met, I've wanted to trust the bastard, but
he betrayed me and left me feeling like a fool. I know he had something to do
with the death of Scully's sister. I think he killed my father. And yet...what
he says sounds like the truth. But I can't bring myself to fully believe him.
If I do, I'm leaving my throat exposed for him to slit it. He could be using me
for God knows what...and when I've outlived my usefulness, he'll shoot me, and
laugh while I'm bleeding.
"I can practically hear you thinking, Mulder. You're wondering if you can trust
me. I empathize. I know I've been a shit. I wouldn't trust me either. But
I'm on your side. And I've never actually made an effort to kill you or Scully.
You've got to know that."
He pulls out a file and thumbs through a few papers, settling on a red carbon
copy. "Here we go," he says, scanning it. He holds it out, offering it to me.
I take it, looking it over.
"It's an invoice going to BioData Labs, across town. That must be where they're
doing most of their experiments. And I'm betting that's where Scully is right
now."
"I don't understand."
"Dr. Merkle. He heads up a lot of these experiments. Trust me. This is our
best bet."
"I don't know—"
"SHHH!" Krycek brings his finger up to his lips and we both become silent.
Guards. Walking down the hallway. One on each side. I can hear them jiggling
each door handle as they walk on down. Fuck, they must be two doors away. If
they figure out our door is unlocked... Krycek and I look at each other, both
thinking the exact same thing. We both nod and he runs stealthily over to the
door, locking it.
"Closet," I mouth silently, pointing to a tiny supply closet. I tiptoe over to
it and promptly tip over a metal trash can, which proceeds to roll across the
room.
I wince and Krycek shoots me the Look of Death. He mouths something to me and I
think it's not nice.
"Did you hear that?" a guard's voice says, closer than I'd like. "It sounded
like it came from Dr. Merkle's office." I watch the door knob jiggle as the
guard tries to open it. "Still locked," he says. "Better open it and see."
Krycek opens the supply closet and is motioning me in. I hear the key go in the
office door lock and the guard is turning it, trying to get it to work. I rush
in, following Krycek, and shut the closet door. My head hits something hard...
a shelf maybe, and I grab my temples in pain. Fuck. Not enough head room. I
slump down to my knees, and wait in complete darkness.
"You see anything, Tim?" The guard's shoes squeak lightly on the tile. It's
been raining outside. Sounds like he came in not too long ago.
"Nope." Krycek must have put the trash can upright. The guard's footfalls are
coming closer. Squeak. Squeak. I hold my breath. The door knob moves
slightly. Gotta get ready to take this guy out fast. Before Krycek kills him,
anyway. He pulls on the handle, but the door does not open. It's locked.
"Well, looks ok to me. Let's check next door, Carl." The squeaky soles move
away. "Didja see the Lakers game today?"
"Awww, shit, don't get me started."
The door slams and is relocked. Their voices and shoes grow more distant. I
breathe again. Only then do I realize how close I am next to Krycek. My knees
are on the hard floor, my chest is lightly brushing his blue jeans... His dick,
snuggly inside those jeans, so close to my lips. Well, I can't see it, but I
can sense it. Goddamn if I can't. I wonder if he can. My own cock is
swelling at the mere thought of it.
Krycek's hand is on the doorknob, jiggling it. "Locked," he growls.
"Well, you can always pick it, can't you, spyboy?" I whisper.
The tiny space is silent for twenty seconds as Krycek lets me come to my own
realization. My thoughts fly back to the desk—
"The desk. You left it on the desk," I say, laughter in my voice. I'm trying
not to laugh. It's not funny. We have to get out of here. But still...
"You're so cool, Krycek. I haven't seen that move before."
I can feel his leg muscles tense against me. "Shut up. You're throwing me
off. I'm not used to having a tag-a- long. Plus the whole trash can thing! "
"You sound kinda pissed, Krycek," I say good-naturedly. "You need to chill."
God, I wonder what it would feel like. I can't believe I'm having these
thoughts. I can't afford to have these thoughts. I'm close enough to smell the
leather of his jacket. To hear him shift every time he breathes.
"So what do you suggest?" I say, hoping a change of subject will get my mind out
of Krycek's pants.
"Well, I have a lighter here somewhere. Seeing would be good. " He feels his
jacket pockets, then moves down to his pants, patting himself down. As he
reaches down to put his hand in his pocket, his fingers graze my face. For a
second, my lips are brushing up against his fingers. For a second, he leaves
them there. Or does he? All too soon, his hand is gone. Did I imagine it? I
wonder.
He's found his lighter, and he flicks it a few times until it flares up and an
orange glow fills our space, illuminating it. I look up at him, the green in
his eyes practically glowing preternaturally in the shadow of the Zippo's flame.
"We meet again," I say with a wry smile, looking up. Ow. Hurts my neck to look
up at this tight angle. More comfortable to keep it down here. Right near...
He shakes his head, trying to force back a smile and failing miserably. It is
kinda funny, the situation we've found ourselves in.
"Ok, Agent Mulder, how do we get out of this one?" He surveys our meager
environs, which seem to be overstocked with economy-sized bottles of Windex and
other assorted cleaning supplies. Somebody must have had a coupon. Mops to the
left. Shelves to the right and above me. Here I am, stuck in the middle with
you.
"What's that?" I point to a grate in the ceiling. Krycek looks up.
"Looks like a ventilation grate...I think it leads to the next—OW! Fuck!" The
flame goes out and I hear the clang and skitter of the Zippo hitting the floor,
sliding to parts unknown.
"Fuck! Burnt myself. Shit!"
"I think it went this way," I say, not having a fucking clue, but wanting him to
feel a little better. Trying to reconstruct the room in my mind's eye from
memory, I start to pat the floor, feeling around for the silver lighter. "How
bad is it?"
"How the hell should I know? It just hurts."
"Haven't you ever been tortured before?"
"What?" he spits.
"Well, for a tough-ass spy, you sure whine a lot, Krycek."
"Fuck. You. It's... flame . It burns. I say ouch. That's the way it works."
I roll my eyes, for my own benefit. "Let me see."
"What?" he repeats. "You can't see it, you idiot."
"No, but if I get close enough, I can tell how bad it is. Give me your hand."
He doesn't move and I just kneel there at his feet. "Give it. I'm going to
stop looking for your lighter, tough guy."
His hand brushes up against my face and I grab it. He breathes in sharply as my
fingers brush across his burn. There is a small blister forming, but nothing
serious. Krycek is just being a whine-tit. Maybe he likes the attention.
"Too bad we don't have any ice," I say, trying to sound casual.
"Too bad."
I don't say anything and neither does he. It feels hotter in here for some
reason. I don't let go of his hand and he doesn't attempt to move. What is he
thinking? The same thing I am? What if? I can't believe I'm thinking of doing
this. I can't believe. I. Can't. Believe...
In the darkness where I can't see Krycek, I can truly see him for the first
time. Free of the bullshit, he's just a man, burned by the flame and burned by
life, just like me. We're so alike in ways I've never let myself consider. I
don't want to be betrayed all over again. I won't. And yet...
Trapped in a closet, freed from everything else, I place his burnt finger
tenderly up to my lips, the greatest gift of kindness I've ever given him.
He shudders and I hear his other hand gripping something, his fingernails
scratching wood. I know it must hurt, but it can't all be pain. I can't help
myself now. I lick his finger, then blow, soothing it. He breathes in sharply.
It is hot in here.
I softly lick up and down the base of the finger and blow gently. Then I take
it in my mouth, lightly swirling my tongue around the injured finger. I search
out the tiny web of flesh between his fingers and flick it. I can feel his body
tense up. His breaths seem to pierce the air with each flick of my tongue.
I run my free hand up his leg, the coiled muscles of his calves feeling tight
underneath the denim. My fingers find what they're looking for, the
uncomfortable bulge of his hardened cock, desperate for freedom. Still licking
and sucking his finger, my hand grazes his crotch, just barely.
He thrusts almost imperceptibly to meet my touch, and the thought kills me.
Alex Krycek wants his dick in my hand as badly as I do. What a strange night
I'm having.
It's about to get stranger. My fingers are undoing the buttons on his 501's.
I've turned off all thinking. I'm way past that. I've ignored every single
danger sign and I'm racing down this highway faster than I should. But I don't
have a choice anymore.
I've given in to pure feeling. I feel for this man. This enemy. This one whom
I once called my partner. Whom I would like to trust again. Maybe I'm ready
for it. God, I don't know.
But I want it. And I want him. I want to feel his smooth cock in my hand, in
my mouth. I want to make him cry my name in a way that he's never cried it
before. How would that sound, to hear him say "Mulder", not out of pain, fear,
hatred, or disdain, but of something else entirely?
The last button slips undone rather easily. Careful. Don't want him to think
I'm too proficient at this. Like I do this every Friday night or something. I
pull down his underwear, and his hardened cock is free. I wish I could see it.
I let go of his hand, now more interested in something else.
"Mulder," he says, his voice wavering.
"It's ok," I whisper. "It's ok."
I feel around the zipper, fumbling for the prize. My fingers touch the shaft
and it feels just like I imagined it; hard, but smooth. Not too long, but no
lightweight either. Damn, I wish I could see it!
I touch him slowly and tentatively, letting my fingers run up the shaft as
softly and lightly as a feather would. He gasps in response, and I hear him
gripping the shelves above me.
I've never done this, but I don't want to say it. I don't want to say anything,
lest it breaks the spell we're under. Best to just shut up and go with it.
My fingers grip the base of the shaft, keeping it steady. I find the tip in the
darkness somehow with my lips and softly kiss it. So much of my life doesn't
make sense. Why does this? My lips are barely brushing the tip, kissing,
kissing. Do I? I do. What's the point of restraint? Fuck. I can't stop
myself. I let my tongue do what it wants to, to go to him.
It slides around the tip and swirls lightly, making it wet. Krycek moans softly
and I don't think I've heard anything quite as beautiful come out of that mouth
of his. I never knew he could make such a tender sound. I never knew.
I take the tip fully into my mouth, flicking clockwise, trying to gauge from his
whimpering if I'm doing this correctly. Sounds like I am. I know what I like,
but haven't had that done since the early '90's. Arsenio Hall still had a TV
show.
Krycek's got one hand in my hair now, his fingers running through it, then
grabbing it, firmly but tenderly. He thrusts a little into my mouth, and I
figure out he wants me to take him a little deeper. I gladly oblige, taking
more of the shaft into my mouth, then backing off again.
From my own personal experience, I know the underside is the most sensitive.
Apparently this is true for Krycek as well as I stroke firmly the underside of
his cock in a strong "s" motion, up and down.
"Ahh...aaahh...ohgod...Muhl...." His grip on my hair grows tighter and my cock
swells in response.
I bob up and down slowly, savoring the sensation of him in my mouth. He was
hard before I took him in. He seems harder now if this is at all possible. The
throbbing of his cock in me, the feeling of my tongue stroking it, is made all
the more vivid by the absence of light. In the black, everything is stripped
down to the essentials.
His fingers, holding onto my hair more desperately than he holds onto a secret;
the sound of him moaning, trying to cry my name and not being able to form the
words I so want to hear; his cock held firmly in the grip of my hand and the
warm embrace of my open mouth. What else matters?
He moves the hand that isn't grabbing me by the hair and cups the side of my
face, firmly, but with great tenderness. His palm feels hot to the touch and I
wonder if I could come from this small amount of Krycek flesh alone.
I let him guide me where he wants me to go, as fast as he wants me to go. It's
as close as we get to a mutual surrender. Me, to his dick in my mouth and his
hands on my face. Him, to letting me know how much he wants... needs me to do
this.
I taste the light tang of what must be his pre-come and know that he's close to
losing it. Yes. I want you to lose it, Krycek. Give this to me. I spiral my
tongue around fiercely as he fucks my mouth, his guttural moans getting louder
and more impassioned.
"Ahhhhh.... guhh....uHH....uHHHHH!"
The sweat of his palm on my face, his fingers, gripping the base of my neck,
it's almost too much. Grunting, he thrusts into my mouth and he begins to cry
my name, and it truly sounds like a sob.
I take him in as deep and hard as I can. I grab him by the waist and pull him
in closer, my tongue flicking mercilessly at the sensitive spot on the
underneath of the shaft as he fucks my mouth.
"Muhl...ahhhH...mullllld...ohgod........muh-mulder..."
He can hold back no longer, and I feel his nails dig in as his orgasm overtakes
him. His hot, salty come pulsates into me, and it's the next best thing to
coming myself.
His grip doesn't relax in the least, but he stops thrusting, letting his
still-hard dick lay there in my mouth as I struggle to swallow his essence.
I could get used to this: the way he tastes, the way his whole body tenses up
and becomes rigid when I make him come. I tenderly coax the last bit of come
out of him with my tongue, not wanting this to end, but knowing it has to.
Finally, he lets go of my head and my hair. I let his dick slide out and take a
breath. I miss his touch already. Similar thoughts must be coursing through
that mind of his, because just like that his fingers return, this time to caress
my hair and wipe the sweat from my brow. These hands which have managed to
bring me such pain in my lifetime now seem more than ready to heal it.
I look up wanting to see into those green eyes and read them. To know what he's
thinking. Hell, who am I kidding? Even if I could see him, I know his thoughts
would be closed to me. Just like mine would be to him. Wouldn't they?
He traces his calloused hands down the curve of my cheeks, down my arms to my
hands. Fingers intertwine with mine. It almost scares me. It somehow feels
even more intimate than me giving him head. What's up with that?
Backing up, he pushes some Windex-filled boxes out of the way. I nearly fall
over as he moves away. I would, if he wasn't holding me by the hands. Fuck,
my knees ache.
He pulls me up to a standing position, but my knees are threatening to buckle
underneath me. I brace for something hard to collide with my head like before,
but Krycek's shift in space has afforded me some head room. I can actually
stand.
We stand, chest to chest. My heart races and I feel his breath and sense his
lips inches away from mine.
"You're... you're not going to kiss—"
I feel his hot breath signal the arrival of his lips and then they're on me. At
first they kiss the corner of my mouth, then find their way to the center. His
breath seems to take mine away. They're warm and soft. So not like Krycek.
Hard to believe these are the lips of a cold-blooded killer.
A tidal wave of desire crashes through any vestiges of good sense that I might
have been holding onto, and I grab his face and hold it to mine, slipping my
tongue into his mouth, searching him out for his. It finds me. Great minds.
As we kiss, hands still entwined, I rub my hardened cock against his now
receding one. I can't help it. I'm shameless. Then we hear it. A sound in the
distance.
We stop for a second and freeze, our mouths still mashed together. Sounds
faint. I push my tongue around his and begin kissing him again. He follows,
unable to resist my lead.
There it is again. Fuck. We both break away at the same time. Sirens. Now
they're definitely getting closer.
"Wanna bet..." he says.
"They're for us."
"Think we pissed off the neighbors?"
"Well, you were rather vocal there at the end. And strangely religious
sounding."
"We gotta get out of here. Now." He lets go of my hands. I back up, and I
hear him buttoning up his jeans.
"Listen, Krycek..."
"Don't. Not now, Mulder. There's not enough time. You and I both know that.
Let's try this door." He pushes on it and it rattles, but refuses to give.
"Help me out here."
We slam into it and it shakes beneath our combined push. Again. Slam. Again.
I find myself incredibly distracted by the grunts Krycek makes every time we hit
the door. But I think it's weakening. One more time...
We hit it and the bolt finally bends enough for the door to push open. We both
fall to the ground and a box of Windex bottles comes with us, scattering to the
floor. Two hours, and I've managed to give my enemy a blow job and liberate a
box of cleaning products from the evil Dr. Merkle. I so don't deserve Scully.
My eyes blink, adjusting to the meager light of the moon and stars coming
through the window.
"Well, that was relatively—"
"Hold it right there!" Okay, that'd be the security guard—Carl? Or the
other one?— who's holding a semi-automatic weapon on us. Holy shit.
"Who were you guys expecting, anyways?" I say, nodding towards his gun. "Iraq?"
"Shut your lip and get up slowly. Hear those sirens? They're pulling up now."
Krycek and I share a look for a second, and it's easy to forget that there's a
weapon pointed at me. Minimum wage security guy would get a shock if me and
Krycek suddenly embraced in a lip-lock, wouldn't he? Maybe later. We both move
to standing, as slow and unthreatening as we can make it.
"Police, eh?" Krycek says. "Good. They'll be interested in what your boss is
up to. There's some fascinating reading in those files over there." Krycek
points to the desk and the guard looks over. I almost feel sorry for him.
Almost.
One second. That's all it takes. In one fluid moment, Krycek has snatched up
a bottle of Windex and lets it fly. The guard turns his head to look at him
just as the bottle of liquid hits his wrist, knocking the gun out of his hand.
A moment of euphoria overtakes me as I realize that in normal circumstances I
probably would have been on the receiving end of that unlikely weapon.
I take a run and leap towards the confused guard, tackling him. Krycek, now in
James Dean mode, saunters over to the gun and picks it up, looking at it like
it's a new toy. He turns it over, admiring the craft that went into creating
it.
"Just what I always wanted," he says with that dangerous smile in his voice.
I've got the guard wrestled to the ground, but he's tougher than he looks. My
fist has connected with his face about three times, but I get the feeling I'm
doing more damage to my fist than I am to his face. The guard is swinging
wildly and finally, one of them connects with my nose. The pain disorients me,
and he pushes me off and begins to wail on me. Hello, Krycek? Gun?
"Krycek! Could!" Hit. "Use!" Ow. "Some!" That's going to hurt tomorrow.
"Help!"
With my one eye that isn't being beaten, I see Krycek just standing there, doing
nothing.
"He's got problems of his own, I'm afraid," a familiar voice says, conveying a
lazy confidence.
Aw no. Not him. But it is. I can smell the cigarette smoke. And I know the
brand. Fuck. I hear the rustle as about a dozen men rush into the room.
Krycek is flanked by two men in riot gear who quickly take away his new toy.
They push him up against the wall and handcuff him, which under different
circumstances would be turning me on right about now. He's not resisting. He
knows the odds.
The security guard gets up, and two of the Smoking Man's goons pick me up and
cuff me. A hand on my neck and gun in my back direct me to the center of the
room. Krycek's friends do the same with him and we're side by side again. I
know we're in deep shit, but it's thrilling to know we're on the same side for
once. I wonder if old Smoky will be able to tell.
"Well, well," he says, stopping to take a drag off his Morley. "My two favorite
people. Together at last." He exhales and smoke circles our faces." What will
Scully think?" He looks back toward his men and cracks the thinnest of smiles.
Nervous laughter fills the room. They have no idea who Scully even is. They
just know a good laugh cue when they hear one.
"You bastard!" I spit, lunging toward him, almost slipping past my captors. "If
you've hurt her!" Nazi #1 hits me in the back of the head with a black
truncheon and I collapse to the ground. I'm going to need a whole bottle of
Advil, I just know it.
"We've been looking for you, Alex. You had given us the slip. We looked
everywhere." He pauses, both for dramatic effect and to tap his ashes onto the
floor. "What a surprise to find you palling around with Fox Mulder."
He says nothing. Fuck, is he embarrassed? I push away the pain in my head with
worry in my gut. Have I been played? Is he regretting what we did?
The silence is unbearable. The Smoking Man crouches down to my level,
presumably so he can kill me by secondhand smoke.
"Don't worry. She's safe. Safer than you two."
I cough on his fumes and the blood in my mouth is erasing the taste of Krycek.
Still, I manage a smile. "Thanks. That's a comfort."
"Quite a corner you've gotten yourself into, isn't it?" He stands back up.
"Get him up." The men roughly pull me to standing. "Take them to the car.
Their banter isn't up to their usual standards," he says, sounding bored.
He pretends to focus on the moon hanging outside of the window as his
rent-a-thugs push us out of the office and down to our fates.
We're in the back of a Lincoln Continental. CSM is riding shotgun. And here I
thought my night couldn't get any weirder. We're still handcuffed with our
hands behind our backs, but he's keeping his eye out and his gun ready in case
we try anything. The car has been silent for ten minutes. I wish I knew what
Krycek is thinking. His face is unreadable. He looks so far away to me now.
Probably mortified. Or laughing at my stupidity. How easy it was to get me to
suck his dick.
"Are we there yet?" I say, channeling my inner 8 year old.
Smoky looks genuinely tickled. "Now that's the Fox I know."
Way to deflate my balloon. I want to annoy him, not make him laugh. Fuck him!
Fuck Krycek. I'm not going to let the bastard give me the silent treatment!
I turn to Krycek and just look at him. He's staring straight ahead blankly. I
stare, willing him to look back. He doesn't. C'mon. My eyes are on you,
Krycek. Look at me. Look at me, you fuck!
Finally, he turns, his eyes saying, What?! "Knock it off!" he hisses.
"There's something left unfinished, Krycek," I whisper back.
He tilts his head and looks at my crotch in disbelief. He opens his mouth, his
forehead wrinkling up. "Surely..."
"No!" I say. "That's not what I mean!"
"I'd tell you both to shut up, but you sound so cute," the smoking man deadpans.
If our hands were free, we'd both kill that motherfucker. As it is we just
give him a really mean, petulant look. Krycek squirms in his seat like he has
to pee.
"What I mean is," I say loudly, before returning to whispering. "What I mean
is... us. Who am I to you now? I thought... I had hoped... things had
changed."
"Now is not the time, Mulder." He becomes incredibly fascinated with the trees
whizzing by out the car window.
"Krycek, I'm not the same person anymore. What happened back there in that
supply closet—" The smoking man looks back at us, interested, and I start
whispering again.
"There's something between us neither one of us can deny." The smoking man pulls
out another cigarette and digs for his lighter in his jacket.
"And you've got nothing to say. Nothing." Krycek turns to me and he's...
smiling? He pulls one arm into view, free of his handcuffs. He shows me his
other hand, which holds a bent-up paperclip. Ah. Ahhhh.
"Fuck you, Mulder," he says slowly and deliberately. "You cramp my style." He
winks. I get it.
"Damn you, Krycek. I'll fucking see you in hell!"
He jumps on me, making it look like he's strangling me. Suddenly his lips are on
me and his tongue is in my mouth, and we're kissing each other like reunited
lovers finding each other after war's end.
In between kisses we exchange insults.
"You piece of shit! I fucking hate you!" Lips on lips. His tongue with mine.
"You lousy cocksucker!" His breath. Mine. Together.
"Lousy?" I whisper, smiling, and he's burying his face in my neck. "I know it
was my first time, but, Jesus, that's so harsh."
"Oh god, they're going to kill each other!" the driver yells as I rub my crotch
against Krycek's.
"Pull over! Pull over!" the smoking man urges. They're buying it. "I should
have known better than to put those two in the same car."
You got that right, buddy.
The car screeches to a halt and we rock rather pleasantly on top of each other.
His erection is back and rubbing up against mine. The smoking man pokes his
head back with his gun pointed at Krycek's head. Then his mouth drops open when
he sees our deception.
"You two... are..." he stammers. It's almost too easy. Krycek's hand swoops up
and relieves him of his gun. He raises up off of me and does something I've
always wanted to do. His fist connects squarely with the smoking man's face.
It looks incredibly satisfying. The old man collapses backwards into the dash,
and Krycek aims his weapon toward the driver.
"Krycek... Don't..." I say. He looks down at me, then back towards the driver.
"Give me the keys." The driver stares back at him. "DO IT!!" With shaking
hands, the driver holds them out, and Krycek grabs them. "Now get out. And
start running." The driver opens the door and starts scrambling into the night.
Krycek looks me in the eyes, his icy green softening just a bit. "Don't say I
never gave you anything." The smoking man stirs, trying to shake off Krycek's
killer punch. "Let's dump the stiff and get out of here."
I nod and smile.
He pulls up to the building. BioData Labs. Here we are. "Okay. Here's the
plan. I'll cause a disturbance in the second building. Say a little fire. I
don't know. I'll improvise. Meanwhile, Scully is in building one. The security
will be on my ass while you waltz right in and grab Scully. I have a ghost-key
card which should get you in."
I should be wondering where he got such a gadget, but my only thought is what
will happen once this is all over.
"Then what?" I say.
"Then you two drive away. It's better you don't know where I'm going." He
looks away for a second, then back to my eyes.
"And what if I say that's not good enough?" I touch his hand, but he pulls it
away.
"Mulder," he says with an anguished smile. "Mulder."
"I'm through being angry with you, Krycek. There's still some things I don't
know about you...but for the first time in my life, I'm willing to listen to
your side of things. And you're turning your back to me. Why?"
"Why, he says," Krycek says to the steering wheel. "Because you love her,
dumbshit." He lets the words sink in. "Scully. You always have, you always
will, and I don't..." He looks out the window, not wanting me to see his face,
but I do in the window's reflection, and I see his eyes glisten up oh-so-
slightly. "I don't belong." His voice falls at the last syllable and I think my
heart might break from the sound.
But he's right. I do love her. And I don't know where he belongs in all of
this. But I know there is something too real between us to deny.
"Krycek, you may be right. I do love her. But I think I... I love you, too."
I watch Krycek's eyes close and it's as if I've slapped him. "And I can't
believe I'm saying this, but I think you owe me enough to stick around and see
where you do fit."
He sniffs and laughs. "Yeah, I do owe you, don't I." He shoots a leering
glance my way and I can't help but smile. "But not tonight, propezdoloch. Not
tonight. Go to her. Because if you don't, I'm going to fucking kick your ass."
"Krycek, just because I love her doesn't mean I don't—"
"Mulder, just... please... shut up... I can't do this. I'm going. Give me ten
minutes. Then go to her." He opens the door and steps out, walking into the
darkness.
"Krycek, wait! Wait!" He doesn't look back and he disappears into the night.
Fuck. I think it would've been easier if he had slugged me like he usually
does. I won't pretend to understand everything that has happened between us.
But I know it will never be the same between us. For me, him, or Scully.
Love is hard, hate is easy. And I don't know where this will take us. But I
do know I'm sure as hell going to find out. I don't think I can live without
either one of them. One way or another, I'm going to find out.
I sit and wait for the fires to begin.
It's Probably Me by Sting
If the night turned cold
When your belly's empty
You're not the easiest person I ever got to know
When the world's gone crazy, and it makes no sense
I hate to say it
It's Probably Me
by David S
Damn her. Shit. Shit. Damn her. Why? It was so much easier before she came
into my life. I could afford to be single-minded. I could be obsessed and no
one would call me on it. Well, no one whose opinions I valued. And now...now
I don't know how I feel about her.
And the stars looked down
And you hug yourself
On the cold cold ground
You wake the morning
In a stranger's coat
No-one would you see
You ask yourself, 'Who'd watch for me?'
My only friend, who could it be?
It's hard to say it
I hate to say it
But it's probably me
And the hunger's so real
And you're too proud to beg
And too dumb to steal
You search the city
For your only friend
No-one would you see
You ask yourself, 'Who could it be?'
A solitary voice to speak out and set me free
I hate to say it
I hate to say it
But it's probably me
And it's hard for us both to let our feelings show
Some would say
I should let you go your way
You'll only make me cry
If there's one guy, just one guy
Who'd lay down his life for you and die
It's hard to say it
I hate to say it
But it's probably me
And there's only one voice that comes to your defence
And the jury's out
And your eyes search the room
And one friendly face is all you need to see
If there's one guy, just one guy
Who'd lay down his life for you and die
It's hard to say it
I hate to say it
But it's probably me
I hate to say
But it's probably me
I hate to say it
I hate to say
But it's probably me
I hate to say it
I hate to say But it's probably me
