Mulder's first thought upon awakening was, Shit, I am never
drinking Margaritas with the Gunmen again because his head hurt,
bad, and his mouth tasted like old beach sand, and felt just as
gritty.
Mulder's second thought was, Damn, what's that awful smell? at
that same moment his stomach rebelled.
He opened his eyes, preparing to roll off his couch and run to the
bathroom to heave, but he was already on the floor, and it wasn't his
apartment but he made it, by instinct, to his knees and hurled anyway.
Mulder's third thought was, This is not right but he just had to
lie down, as far away from the vomit as his uncooperative body would
allow him, and passed out again.
Alex Krycek might have had thoughts about his situation, except he
was unconscious and being dragged down a corridor towards the cell,
and, thus, was so far spared the dubious pleasure of thinking at all.
Mulder's first thought upon reawakening to the sound of the cell door
being opened with a tremendously loud, high pitched squeal, was, I
should try to make a run for the door Which was overlapped by the
thought, What the Hell am I doing in jail? his eyes opened,
unwillingly, but before he could enact movement or formulate a plan,
he saw another body being unceremoniously dumped, perilously close to
the vomit, and the door slammed shut again.
Mulder's second thought, by far the most concise one, was, This is
a very, very nasty way to start the day he closed his eyes and
gathered up his slender resources of strength of body and will,
determined to actually wake up and keep his eyes open. He sat up and
tried to take stock of the situation.
He saw that he was indeed in a cell. But it wasn't a regulation jail
cell. It was a huge, commercial sized freezer; a fan in the ceiling
spewing dusty, but not frigid air, running halfheartedly with an
annoying clackity-clack sound that was already echoing in his head.
The floor was cement and sloped down to a drain in the center.
The other body occupying the space was facing the other way and
seemed dead or unconscious. It looked familiar in black, though
filthy, ripped jeans, and a once white tee shirt. The body's feet
were bare, and surprisingly clean.
Mulder thought about this and looked at his own feet, which had gone
unnoticed so far on this busily mental morning, to find they were
also bare and clean. He continued his perusal of himself, and found
that he too, along with the body across from him, was clothed in
filthy jeans. At least he was clothed.
His concentrated notice also brought to light the distressing
conclusion that his unconscious, possibly dead cellmate was none
other than Alex Krycek.
Mulder attempted to put his thoughts in order, deciding that the
unconscious or dead Alex Krycek was no immediate danger to him, and
being reluctant to move, in any case, because it meant,
well, 'moving' and getting closer to the vomit, he decided to start
with what he remembered about the night before.
Alex Krycek's first thought upon awakening was, No way, not again
He smelled something noxious and felt his gorge rise. He scrambled to
his knees and looked wildly around through slitted, gritty
eyes, 'thought' he saw Mulder, decided that was just too, too bizarre
for even this new nightmare and retched into a puddle of what ...
oh ick already seemed to be vomit. He grabbed his head and moaned
aloud, "I fucking hate to puke", then everything caught up with him
as a result of his sudden movements and, still clasping his head, he
passed out again, fortunately back in the direction from which he had
arisen; although he did scrape his elbow on the rough cement floor as
he collapsed.
Mulder, seeing this display and deciding that even a rotten, lying,
murdering, bastard couldn't fake that much wretchedness, smiled to
himself at Krycek's plight. Then stopped smiling when he realized he
was in the same 'plight'.
He stopped thinking altogether at this point, when the urgent need to
urinate suddenly overtook him, and it was his turn to look wildly
around him for a place to pee. Given that it was a commercial freezer
it was unlikely to contain a toilet. He had a brief hope that maybe
he would find a carton or a pot or something, and that, sadly, made
him realize he was terribly thirsty.
He dithered for a second between deciding which need was more
compelling; when he felt the unmistakable sensation of imminent loss
of bladder control, he hastily made it to the far corner of the cell,
and yanked down his fly. He had the first good feeling of this
horrible day when his body yielded to nature and his aim was dead
center in the corner and didn't splash onto his clean feet. He
decided that this victory, however small, was noteworthy.
He shakily moved to the corner on his right and sat down. He was very
thirsty, but a strange sort of calm came over him. He didn't think
that things couldn't get any worse, he knew better than that. Things
could always get worse, and why tweak fate into proving that maxim
true, anyway. What he thought was that he was rapidly running out of
space, what with the vomit, the urine, and Krycek's body. He knew he
should get up and try the door, just in case it was miraculously
unlocked, but decided that was unlikely. Maybe Krycek, when he woke
up, could help or at least get out of the way.
Krycek's first thought upon reawakening was, Why do my nightmares
always include Mulder in them? realized he was not in a bed in a
motel somewhere, but lying on a cement floor facing what appeared to
really be Mulder and a puddle of... well, he didn't want to think
what the puddle was, except that it wasn't blood. More specifically,
it wasn't his blood on the rough cement floor. Then he realized he
was terribly thirsty, had a desperate need to piss, a headache, and a
pain in his right elbow.
Krycek's second thought, coming immediately after the first,
was, Maybe I really am in hell. Another room of Hell than the silo,
but then he'd once learned that God's House was a mansion and had
many rooms, so why not the other place? he slowly maneuvered
himself to his feet, keeping an eye on Mulder, just in case he wanted
to start swinging at him, but Mulder just watched him calmly.
"Piss over there," Mulder said, indicating the corner with a thumb.
Krycek nodded, and carefully stepped over the 'puddle', noting that
his feet were bare, and took the few steps to the corner where he saw
another 'puddle'.
He briefly debated not turning his back on Mulder to do his business,
but decided goading Mulder into a fight in the midst of this mess
would be crazy, and Krycek had never thought of himself as actually
insane. So, he turned his back on Mulder. He was glad to note his
urine had no blood in it and counted that a victory, and along with
the other puddle's lack of blood, as a hopeful sign that maybe he was
going to get out of this intact.
He hated bleeding even more than puking.
When Krycek turned around, Mulder said, as he slowly rose to his
feet, "We should try the door."
Krycek followed Mulder's careful steps over the puddle, and went up
to the door. They pushed and pulled and yanked and battered it, alone
and together, but it did not budge.
Now sweaty, tired, and more thirsty than ever, they retreated back
across the puddle, and each taking a dry corner, sat down.
Mulder initiated dialogue. "You're alive."
Krycek closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the
wall. "Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"Well, I have considered this could be Hell. Then we would be dead,
and in Hell, together."
"You're the one who'll end up in Hell, Krycek."
"Whatever you say, Mulder." Krycek kept his eyes closed.
"We are not dead," Mulder stated flatly. "How did you get here?"
Krycek frowned and tried to recall the events of the previous
night. "I got off the plane at the airport, and rented a car. I
stopped at a Palermo's and got dinner. I got a room in a motel, took
a quick shower, and turned on the TV. I had a drink with me, so I
didn't leave for ice or anything. Then I was here, puking, with you.
Since I ordered lasagna and," he shuddered slightly, "I see no sign
of it there," keeping his eyes closed he tilted his head marginally
towards the larger puddle, "I guess I didn't have time to eat before
whatever else happened, happened."
Mulder experienced an uncomfortable moment of recall to the days when
he and Krycek had worked together; back then, Krycek had given him
similar, precisely detailed reports.
"What about you?" Alex asked in return.
Mulder also closed his eyes and reported, in an uninflected voice, "I
got home from work about nine, ordered Chinese, took a shower, turned
on the TV and the computer, opened a new carton of ice tea, woke up
here alone, threw up, and then you were dumped here. The Chinese food
hadn't arrived yet."
They both opened their eyes and looked at each other at the same time.
"We were drugged somehow," Krycek stated.
"Yeah," Mulder answered, "but for what purpose? Why are we here? I
mean why are we 'both' here?"
"Hell if I know. I don't work for them anymore."
"What, Krycek, you get fired?"
"Something like that, only I was supposed to get dead."
"Too bad they didn't succeed. What'd you do? Betray them, too?"
"Fuck off, Mulder."
Krycek closed his eyes and thought in a contemplative manner, that
like the vomit and the piss, Mulder's hate was, at the moment, blood
free. That alone kept it on the plus side of still alive vs. almost
dead equation. He didn't hate Mulder, although it was a less than
charming proposition to meet up with him these days. Punches,
accusations, guns aimed at his gut, aliens, the silo and now this.
It had been charming, briefly, back in the day.
He had been an ambitious ass to think he was cutting years off of
paying his dues in the FBI bureaucracy by accepting a 'special'
assignment from the Smoker's covert agency. He was a patriot, wasn't
he? And Division Chief Blevins himself had come down to Quantico and
sat in on the meeting.
It hadn't taken very long to realize that Mulder was the real thing,
and not some wacko with connections on Capitol Hill, as well as an
impeccable familial bloodline of government service. But, it was too
late. If Blevins was in on it, then Skinner must have been too, and
trying to get Mulder aside to confess his stupidity would have
accomplished nothing when there was no higher authority he could
trust to protect them.
Those cases with Mulder, if the accelerating death spiral he seemed
to twist in these days was any indication, might well have been the
highlight of his life.
It hadn't hurt either that Mulder was his beau ideal for a lover. Not
that he had ever given a hint of any such thing, other than a
tendency to stare when Mulder spoke. He stopped that soon enough as
well, once he saw Scully looking at him, one brow raised and lips
pursed in disapproving conjecture.
Krycek didn't open his eyes; he didn't want to spoil his often-
remembered picture of Mulder, laughing in a relaxed moment, long lean
legs displayed in running shorts and chest outlined in a worn tight
tee. And that ass, that perfect ass, when Mulder had limbered up for
his run, wow. Ah, well, there had been little hope of pursuing that
objective when he had been fairly innocent of intrigue, and now that
he'd been bloodied with it, no hope at all.
He drifted, glad of the distraction from his thirst, and
wondered, What would Mulder would think about the
elaborate 'romantic' encounters I played and replayed in my head to
allay the cold dark fear in the silo?
Mulder watched Krycek relax, knowing that he wasn't sleeping, knowing
he was alert to danger or opportunity, but able to conserve energy
this way. Krycek had always been a quiet sort of guy. It had been one
of the things that had pleased Mulder the most. No extraneous chatter
or debate to interfere with whatever Mulder wanted to think about.
Although he had never wholly trusted Krycek, he had begun to do so
back then. He had become more relaxed himself. The betrayals had hurt
him deeply; Melissa Scully and his father's deaths were unforgivable.
Looking at Krycek now, very thin, bedraggled and worn, he wondered
why he had done those things. How he had become enmeshed in the
Smoker's net to begin with.
Mulder wasn't about to ask. Asking meant reciprocity, and possible
understanding. He didn't want to understand; he didn't want to
forgive. He'd been open and forgiving so many, too many times in his
life already. He'd drawn the line in his psyche, with Krycek on the
other side.
He was glad, he assured himself for the thousandth time, he had never
allowed Krycek to see his yearning for anything other than the truth
or the solution to a case while they had worked together. He had
spared himself that personal tragedy, at the very least.
Krycek's first thought when the noisy fan ceased and the light went
out was, No way, not again he lurched to his feet and tried not
to panic or step into the messes around him. He became immediately
aware this might mean someone was going to open the door when they
thought the he and Mulder were confused.
Mulder's first thought was, They'll probably shine a bright light
into my eyes, don't look straight at the door but it was already
too late as the door squealed open, and the lights shone in. The
outline of machine guns, and men holding the machine guns, quickly
came into view.
"Jeeze Louise," a highly put-out and unknown female voice said from
behind the lights, "it smells like a sewer in here. Men are just so
disgusting."
Jeeze Louise? Krycek thought, what the fuck is that? He felt
the almost irresistible urge to reply, "Are not!" He bit his tongue
instead.
Jeeze Louise? Mulder thought, what the fuck is that? He felt
the almost irresistible urge to grab a hank of her hair and pull it
hard, but since he could see nothing beyond the flare of the lights,
he clenched his fists instead.
"I bet you're thirsty," the singsong female voice taunted.
Mulder did not bother to reply.
Krycek did not utter a word.
"Ooh, tough guys," the female giggled. "I am impressed. Hey,
Bertram," she went on, "they're the strong silent types, just your
style. What do you say we clean them up a bit and give them something
to drink?"
"Okay by me, Peaches. Let it go, boys," a bass voice replied.
Mulder's first thought when the cold water hit him in a ferocious
blast was, I knew that's what they were going to do, I just knew
it but the thought afforded him no comfort.
Krycek thought, as the water hit him full force was, Bitch, mean
bitch
By the time the water stopped and the door was slammed shut, Mulder
and Krycek were shivering violently.
When they opened their eyes it was still dark, but by the time they
got their bearings, the light and the fan were on again.
The cell was transformed. The last of the filth was swirling down the
drain, and in the front of the door was what, in these circumstances,
seemed virtual manna from Heaven. A bucket with a lid, a bucket
without a lid filled with water, two blankets, a large foam rubber
bed roll, a pile containing two clean sweat shirts and two pairs of
sweat pants, a clear plastic tub full of sandwiches and fruit, and
best of all, two extra large containers of hot fragrant Starbuck's
coffee.
"Jeeze Louise," Mulder said and whistled.
"Peachy Keen," Krycek replied.
Mulder almost laughed.
Part 2: Pick
Mulder went for the coffee right away and thought it had the most
wonderful aroma and perfect flavor of anything ever gifted to mankind.
Krycek picked up a pair of sweats, peeled off his wet torn clothing,
rubbed himself dry with one of the blankets and dressed. He looked
around for a pair of socks, but didn't find any.
Mulder watched the whole thing while slowly savoring the coffee. He
realized he was still cold, although not in every part of his body.
He put down the coffee to change his clothes, with the blanket
wrapped around him. He thought he heard Krycek snort.
Krycek, propped up in a clean and rapidly drying corner of the cell,
was eating an apple, the coffee untouched beside him.
"You think the coffee is drugged?" Mulder asked.
"No more than I think any of this stuff could be drugged or
poisoned." He slowly munched the apple.
Mulder got out a PB&J sandwich and began to eat.
"Why the bare feet, Mulder?" Krycek asked.
"What? Oh, I don't know. Maybe Peaches has a 'thing' for bare feet."
"You know this has to be one of yours, don't you?"
"What do you mean, Krycek?"
"I mean, Special Agent Mulder, bizarre kidnapping by a kooky chick
with a thing for clean feet and well fed prisoners, and a guy named
Bertram, for God's sake.
Gotta be one of your X-Files."
"I resent that. It's not as if you socialize with the upstanding and
elite, you know."
"Resent it all you like," Krycek replied and put the apple core back
in the plastic tub. He waited a few moments, pressed his hand to his
stomach and reluctantly but firmly closed the tub.
"You sick?"
"No," Krycek said shortly.
"Why don't you eat then? They could come take it away at any time."
Krycek ignored him, took the foam and unrolled it on the far side of
the cell, sat down on the right side of the foam, near the edge,
wrapped himself in a blanket, and closed his eyes. "You can have my
coffee too, Mulder. I'd like the empty cup for water, though."
"What's with you?"
"What's with me? What's with me?" Krycek took a deep breath and tried
to push down the pent up anger he'd held back for so long. He'd
promised himself never to let Mulder know how much or exactly what
he'd felt about the events that had taken over his life the last two
years. He knew Mulder would either gloat at his suffering or launch
into a diatribe of wrongs done to him, or even decide to start
beating up on him again.
Krycek opened his eyes and looked at Mulder, sure to keep his voice
steady and his gaze unflinching, "I haven't eaten in almost two days.
I haven't slept, other than being drugged, for almost as long. Not
too long ago I became severely malnourished and dehydrated. Coming on
top of several months of rather precarious survival, it almost killed
me. I finally had it arranged to hole up for awhile, and this
happens. I would rather not hurl again, so I ate what I could
tolerate. You don't have to worry, Mulder, or trust me, because when
the least possible opportunity to escape comes up, I will be ready."
Mulder's first thought upon hearing Krycek's litany
was, satisfaction it was only right that the bastard suffer as
long as he was lucky enough to be alive.
The second thought was, triumph Krycek was seemingly at the end
of his rope, possibly at the end of his recourses.
His third thought, however, had nothing at all to do with
satisfaction. Mulder's third thought came to him clearly. The past
is a burden, all of it the momentary, occasional triumphs and rare
times of happiness were far and away, outweighed by pain, sorrow,
loss and defeat.
If he took vengeance on Krycek, there was no doubt that he would be
the instrument of his death. Arresting him and bringing him up on
charges, which could never be proven, would in fact be a death
warrant from the Smoker. Killing him outright would make Mulder a
murderer himself.
Believing Krycek had had good reasons for what he had done was not an
option. There were no good reasons to be part of the assassinations
and other brutalities attributed to him. Forgiveness was also not an
option, and not his alone to give, in any case. Others had suffered.
Mulder felt the burden of their ugly and violent past keenly.
"Truce," Mulder declared.
"What?"
"Truce. We don't forget, I don't forgive, you don't sell me out, and
we don't start over. We just stop fighting. We find a solution to the
mess we are in and help each other get out of it. How we go on after
that is moot at this point. We have to get out to go on."
Krycek's first thought upon hearing Mulder's proposal was, relief
maybe he could rest now and not worry Mulder was going to attempt to
kill him outright while he slept.
The second thought was, hope maybe Mulder couldn't forgive, but
he wasn't looking for forgiveness anyway. Maybe there was hope in the
bare possibility of getting to retire from Mulder's enemy list.
His third thought was, optimism perhaps with Mulder's offer he
could maybe, oh, possibly, find himself again, and get some small
measure of his life back.
It wasn't hard to choose.
"Truce."
Mulder finished his coffee, filled the cup part way with clean water,
and handed it to Krycek.
Part 3: Lick
Mulder finished his sandwich, ate an apple, and drank Krycek's coffee
before it got completely cold.
Krycek went back into closed-eyes mode and allowed himself to bask in
being warm, clean, dry, and in no immediate danger from Mulder. He
thought Peaches and her minions could barge in anytime, but somehow
he doubted it. Just like he doubted their food or water was poisoned
or drugged. Whatever conundrum he and Mulder were part of; it seemed
to be over for the rest of the day, or possibly the night. He
couldn't be sure of the time or how long he had been unconscious.
He thought he might actually be able to eat soon.
He thought about Mulder being clean, warm and naked under those
sweats, too. They had shared rooms before. But in those days he had
been modest and straight Agent Krycek.
Not that he was going to test the water, so to speak, anytime soon.
At this juncture spooking Spooky was probably not the best idea.
Besides, he felt a little self-righteously, this particular
incarceration had to be due to Mulder, and he was very interested to
see what Mulder was going to do about it.
Mulder, meanwhile, debated keeping to his corner and his blanket and
forgo sharing the foam pad with Krycek, but reason, comfort, and the
fact that he had already spent most of a day on the hard floor won-
out.
He joined Krycek on the pad. He contemplated his bare toes and
noticed he had big feet. He contemplated Krycek's bare feet. They
were big, but not quite as big. Krycek's toenails were clipped
neatly. Mulder wondered at the implications of that. It struck him
that he had not considered exactly what was included in the lifestyle
of a Consortium Assassin. Maybe it was like being in the infantry and
good foot care was imperative, so as not to develop foot rot or
something.
He wondered why he was wondering about Krycek's feet at all.
He looked to the side and saw Krycek had his eyes open and had seen
him looking at their feet. It was a weirdly intimate sort of
knowledge.
Krycek got up, fetched a sandwich and a tangerine from the tub, and
returned to the pad.
"You going to eat in bed, Krycek?"
Mulder wondered how in the Hell that comment had made it out of his
mouth.
Krycek looked at Mulder intently, but replied innocuously
enough, "I'm sick of
being on the hard floor."
Krycek munched on his sandwich and drank some water. "So, Mulder,
what's up with the bare feet thing?" He was careful not to over
emphasize the word 'up'. "I mean we were both torn and dirty, but not
injured. How did that happen?"
Mulder contemplated their feet some more. Now that Krycek knew he was
looking it was somehow both more comfortable and well, slightly
erotic. He kept that thought firmly in the background. "Did you put
shoes and socks on in the motel room after your shower?" Mulder very
firmly kept the idea of Krycek in a shower in a motel room very
firmly in the back of his mind, although it wanted to get pushy and
come to the forefront, so to speak.
Cool Krycek thought, Mulder is thinking Mulder-like
thoughts "No. I had socks on. I got dressed in jeans, a tee shirt,
and put on socks. I always put on socks in case I have to leave in a
hurry. I can just put my boots on quickly. Did you have socks on?"
Krycek was enjoying himself hugely. He thought, what a
conversation! Maybe we can get to underwear preferences or debate
sleeping in the nude He must have grinned because Mulder was
looking at him intensely all of a sudden.
Is he baiting me in some way? Mulder thought, nah. Well maybe.
Possibly. All right, of course he is baiting me
He replied, "Yes, I had socks on."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you put socks on? You weren't going out again, were you? No
one was coming over except the food delivery? Don't you have slippers
or something if your feet get cold?" Down boy Krycek
thought, don't get carried away
"Do I look like a 'slipper' sort of person, Krycek?" Mulder was
pissed; did Krycek think he was a wuss who wore fuzzy slippers when
he was at home alone?
Krycek peeled the tangerine and offered Mulder a couple of
sections. "I don't know. What does a slipper sort of person look
like?"
Mulder took the fruit unthinkingly, and bit into it rather savagely.
The juice filled his mouth and got on his lips. As he licked his lips
he heard Krycek choke quietly. He smiled to himself and thought, we
can see who can bait whom chewed some more, licked his lips again,
and looked at Krycek. Krycek's lips were also shiny with juice and
slightly parted.
Krycek thought, it's been a long time, really a long time, but I'm
not dead yet "Do your feet get cold, Mulder?" He saw Mulder blink
slowly and thought, this has to be my cue leaned over and quickly
licked the juice from Mulder's lips.
Mulder looked at Krycek's still parted and juicy lips and
thought, it's been a long time, a really, really long time. What
the hell, 'hard' times and 'strange bedfellows' and all that
The light went out, the fan stayed on, and no lights, guns, guys
named Bertram or kooky women named Peaches came to the door.
After a few tense moments, Mulder thought, this has just got to be
my cue and found the still juicy Krycek, unerringly, in the dark.
Whoopee thought Krycek, and didn't think about past or lost
opportunities, future peril or what tomorrow might bring, if there
was a tomorrow. He just reached out and held on, tight.
Part 4: Slick
Mulder wasn't thinking. Panting? Yes. He was panting.
Krycek wasn't thinking either. Moaning? Yes. He was moaning.
Mulder's hands were holding Krycek's head, keeping it in place, in
the pitch black, so he could have total access to Krycek's lips.
Krycek was rapidly searching for warm bare skin and finding it
beneath the sweatshirt, stroked as much of it as he could, as quickly
as he could manage.
They both attempted to remove each other's clothing at the same time,
but were equally hampered by also attempting to not break the kiss.
Mulder's laughter came first, and that broke the kiss.
Krycek laughed second, but kept his hands moving at the same time and
yanked Mulder's sweatshirt off, momentarily muffling some of the
chuckles.
"Slow down, Slick," Mulder said, still laughing. "It seems we have
all night or all day or whatever."
Krycek grumbled between kisses and licks and soft bites. "No, not
slowing down. Gonna do everything. Now. Waited—forever."
Mulder's first and not altogether coherent thought was, yes, I
think I have been waiting forever too which was followed by, yes,
there! There! and he realized he was only thinking and not saying,
said aloud in a not altogether coherent manner, "Yes! There. Fuck
yes! There."
Krycek's first and altogether blissed out thought was, I'm gonna
eat him up alive and then do it all over again His second thought,
as Mulder ripped off his shirt and immediately pushed down his pants
was, there 'is' a Santa Claus, and an Easter Bunny, and... Jesus!
Yes!
They wrestled for position, each unwilling to stop exploring.
Licking, sucking, and kissing everywhere, all at the same time until
they were wet with sweat, spit, leaking juices, and completely out of
breath.
"If there is a God," Mulder said both piteously and
breathlessly, "Peaches put condoms in the tubs along with the
sandwiches."
"Fuck the condoms. I'm clean and you're clean and just forget it. I'm
not stopping now to fumble around in the dark with kooky Peaches'
tubs of bounty."
Krycek gained the position he'd dreamt of forever, on top of a
breathless, willing Mulder.
"No. No! No!" Mulder gasped and quickly twisted himself and Krycek in
a rollover until he was where he'd fantasized being forever, on top
of a breathless, aroused, and impatient Krycek. "Don't want to fuck
around with anything other than you."
Mulder reared back, grasped both cocks in his hand, and gathered up
as much juice as he could, then added spit too, just to be sure, and
found Krycek's opening.
Krycek went entirely still. His first thought was, no way I'm gonna
let Mulder get inside of me, I can't let him have this much of me
But as Mulder gentled his touch and stroked his entrance, his second
thought was, well okay, maybe I can wait for my turn and enjoy this
ride first
Mulder felt Krycek go still, and as he fingered him more intimately,
his first and only thought was, Oh—Alex—please and he gentled
his touch and after a moment felt Alex relax and, ever so slightly,
tilt his hips forward. "Oh yes, Alex," Mulder crooned, 'yes, yes,
yes,' and he leaned down and found Alex's lips, unerringly in the
total darkness, and kissed him as he inserted first one, then two
fingers. He remembered a long unused technique, and twisted them as
Alex moaned, arched, and whimpered, "Yes, Mulder," in return.
Yes, Mulder. Yes, Mulder—what the hell am I doing? Krycek asked
himself. Yes, Mulder then Mulder did a twist motion, and hit a
spot Krycek had almost forgotten existed; the only internal processes
he was experiencing was pleasure, and more pleasure as the kiss went
on and on, hotter and wetter until he thought no more. His mouth went
on without his brain attending, and he cried out, "Fuck, Mulder! Yes!
Come on. Fuck me, fuck me." And Mulder did.
Mulder couldn't believe, well, of course 'he' could believe that the
hot giving body rapidly being reduced to pure lust beneath him was
Alex Krycek. He could never have imagined, however, that he would be
as equally driven to 'want' to give and 'insure' pleasure for that
same body. He withdrew his fingers and positioned himself and began
to impale Alex with a shaking surety that had him holding his breath.
When he found his way inside the heat, and the tight, tight sheath
made way, lightning and lust coursed through his veins and cock, and
he 'believed', and thought no more.
Part 5: Flick
Krycek's first thought about twenty minutes and a lifetime later
was, I'm still a young guy. I'll just rest for a few and be up for
it again but he actually felt like he had died in some place of
perfection, and wasn't going to be up for anything anytime soon.
Krycek's second thought was, I'm not gonna go soft on Mulder, well
not that kind of soft This kind of soft was okay, momentarily, but
he was afraid that the other might well be his undoing, permanently.
Mulder knew he had died and gone to some sort of bizarre, dark
heaven, which didn't particularly surprise him. Since his life was so
strange, why not his afterlife, too? Then he thought about how he'd
gotten to this dark heaven. He thought about it for a long time. He
had first, then second, and then fifteenth thoughts. He came to no
conclusions, except that this changed things. Then Mulder knowingly,
uncharacteristically and surprisingly, made a decision to just leave
his thoughts there, at that fifteenth thought. He left them there, at
simply 'this changed things', and left out figuring out all the whys
and the wherefores, why-nots, and caveats.
He turned on his side, closer to Alex, stroked his warm chest and
said, "Whenever you're ready, Alex, I want you to fuck me, too." He
felt Alex go from languorous to alert in a nano-second.
Fuck me too? Alex thought, did Mulder just say, Fuck me too? As
in we are not going to pretend this didn't happen? Not going to chalk
this up to dark insanity or drug induced licentiousness? What came
out of his mouth was, "Mulder, are you sure?" And then he cursed
himself for sounding like an insecure teenager.
Mulder laughed. "Can't handle something so direct, Krycek? What's the
matter? Want to pretend this isn't happening or make it fit into some
scenario you concoct, wherein you don't have to be responsible?"
Mulder said with a sneer in his voice, "Want to pretend later that
you weren't even here? Is that how you live, Krycek? Pretending away
the real things you do?"
Krycek got angry, then livid. "Damn you, Mulder. I'm not the one who
lives in a fantasy world in which I am the 'special' victim of a
worldwide conspiracy. I don't pretend anything. You want to get
fucked? I'm glad to oblige. Just don't you pretend you don't
know 'who' is up your ass. It may be darker than hell in here, but
I'm the one with you, and it's not some weird wet dream, either."
This time it was Krycek who found Mulder's lips, unerringly, in the
dark and pushed his tongue inside the wet, citrus flavored orifice,
pushed Mulder down and lay atop him and attempted to consume all of
him at once.
"Come on, Krycek," Mulder taunted between moans and cries. "Make sure
I'll never forget this. Come on baby, do it. Do it hard and tough,
like you mean it."
Krycek caught his breath on a near sob and knew Mulder was going to
be the end of him. How in the Hell could he ever, ever match this
need, this taste, and this dark perfection? He didn't care if Mulder
heard his labored breath or felt his frantic heartbeat. This was a
moment he knew would have to sustain him when the lights flicked back
on, and Mulder remembered to hate him again.
Mulder, who, for once, was feeling and not analyzing, was surprised
at how warm, smooth and supple Alex's body felt above him, how young
and malleable. He realized between breaths and moans, Alex had calmed
his actions, if not his heartbeat, and was making love to him. It had
been so long, so long since he had been made love to, and never
before with this wholehearted intensity and appreciation. He panicked
for a moment when the thought came to him, as Alex ever so carefully
drove himself inside, I am ruined he caught his breath, Alex
could ruin me with tenderness more than he ever could with terror
Krycek found himself gentling his touch, when he really wanted to
just ream Mulder. He found himself; instead, crying out praises and
curses between licking, kissing, and sucking every inch of Mulder's
body. And when he reached Mulder's ass and had him splayed wide with
his fingers inside, he was the one whose pants and moans were
loudest. He pleaded, even though Mulder was urging him on and wanting
it bad. "Are you sure Mulder?" Krycek whispered over and over while
his thoughts were a tumble of confusion. The only clarity was, if I
take Mulder, I give away myself
"I'll do it so you won't forget, Mulder. I'll do it like I want it
and how I mean it," Krycek said low and husky, in a voice more naked
than he'd ever imagined words could be spoken through his mouth. He
entered Mulder in a fit of exhilaration, fear, and wonder, plowed all
the way in and thought one more time, everything is backwards. I
should be taking, not giving He wondered where his sense of self-
preservation had gone to. When he withdrew and plunged home again, he
gave up all attachment to thought, and just felt.
A long time later, after they had each inched their way to the
buckets, and got it very carefully correct which one was fresh water
and which wasn't, then made it back to the pallet, dressed and lay
down to actually sleep, Krycek said, "You are one hot fuck, 'baby',
wish I'd know that back in the day." But he said it in a voice that
contradicted the scorn and sarcasm the nasty words were meant to
communicate.
Mulder thought and understood Krycek's need for distance and
autonomy. He thought it might be a very good thing to get some
distance for himself. "Just cause you're a hot piece of ass doesn't
make you any less of a lying piece of slime, just a slut as well,"
Mulder replied.
"Takes one to know one, Mulder," Alex sniped back.
Mulder smiled in the dark and thought the totally adolescent nature
of the reply from Krycek confirmed how unguarded he'd allowed himself
to become in their unlit sanctuary, and how in the light of day he
would have covered himself with his world-weary cynical leather
toughness.
Krycek frowned into his pitch colored surroundings and heard Mulder's
breaths even out into sleep. He wondered why this time he wasn't
afraid of the dark. Then he knew why, and was afraid. Not of the
dark, but of what it meant.
When Peaches flicked the light back on several hours later, Krycek
was sprawled on his stomach. Mulder was sprawled beside him, on his
back, with one hand casually and possessively cupped on Krycek's ass.
They were both sleeping like babies.
Part 6: Chick
"Rise and shine, boys," Mulder and Krycek heard the hateful coo of
Peaches voice from the doorway.
Mulder sat up and Krycek turned over, got to his feet, and started
towards the door in one smooth motion. Peaches stepped aside with a
flourish as Krycek barreled past her and out the door only to be
immediately brought up short by a squad of rifles aimed his way.
"Shit!" Krycek said angrily.
By the time Krycek was escorted, at gunpoint, back into the cell,
Mulder was on his feet. "What is this, and who the Hell are you?" he
demanded angrily.
Krycek took a stand beside Mulder.
Peaches smiled at Mulder. It wasn't a nice smile and it got less nice
as Krycek instinctively took a step forward to move in front of
Mulder.
Mulder's thoughts were amazed, confused and slightly miffed. Krycek
is moving in to protect me? Is he nuts? If it wasn't an X-File
before, it sure is one now!
Krycek merely asked himself, what in the Hell am I doing?
"I am your worst nightmare, boys, don't you recognize me?" Peaches
smiled more broadly still.
Mulder searched his mind for a resemblance between Peaches and
anyone, 'anything' or any experience he had ever come in contact with
and found nothing to compare.
Krycek looked at Peaches and tried in vain to match her with any
possible nefarious activities. He went back a long way, surprised
himself at what he was remembering, dismissed those as irrelevant and
found nothing.
Mulder stepped up and aligned himself with Krycek. The guards put
their fingers more firmly on the triggers.
Peaches positively grinned.
Peaches began to morph.
Mulder and Krycek took a simultaneous step backwards.
Peaches turned into a tall thin old woman with a tight rope of
graying braid wrapped around her head. She scowled at Krycek, who
took another hasty step backwards, and she spit out a long string of
Russian, in a quite horrible, raspy voice.
Mulder actually felt Krycek cringe. He knew if he lived through this,
he would take great pleasure in thinking about that again sometime.
At the moment, however, he was intensely curious.
Krycek didn't answer the old woman's speech. He moaned very softly,
but he didn't answer.
The old woman shook a gnarled finger at Krycek and said, this time in
English, "Where is my crystal vase, Alexander? I brought it all the
way across the ocean, sacrificing space in my one suitcase for
clothing, other treasures or food. Five days in this country with you
and it is gone! Tell me Alexander!" she demanded.
"You are not Grandmamma," Krycek replied in a sulky voice. "She's
been dead for twenty years, and anyway, I don't have it. I never had
it." Krycek stopped. "Stupid hunk of glass," he muttered under his
breath as an afterthought.
Mulder wanted to laugh. He didn't, of course. Krycek would surely
kill him with his bare hands if he did, but he thought it was the
funniest thing he had ever heard in his life. He could hardly wait
until he and Krycek were in some desperate straights some other time
and he could use this gem.
The old woman turned to face Mulder and began to morph. Mulder
thought, Oh shit quailed, and wasn't surprised to find himself
backing up, even again with Krycek.
A lovely, blonde teenager quickly took the place of the old woman.
She scowled, and pointed a perfectly manicured bright pink finger at
Mulder's face. "God," Mulder said.
Krycek patted Mulder's shoulder. Mulder knew he must be on the edge
of hysteria because he actually found Krycek's comfort,
well, 'comforting', and not sarcastic at all.
The blonde spoke in a high whiny voice, "Foxy, you dumped me right in
front of the whole school! I'll never forgive you! One minute you
were dancing with me, and the next you were leaving with that awful
queer basketball player. I mean it Foxy, why pick that moment to do
such a thing, and Jeeze Louise, he wasn't even wearing a tux!"
Krycek sputtered. He tried manfully to hold it back, but he just
couldn't. He choked, saw Mulder's hands clench into fists, and the
choke turned into a chortle.
Mulder said in a grim voice, "Krycek, you are a dead man."
Krycek started to laugh. "I know, Mulder," he said, "you're gonna
kill me, but damn if knowing this isn't worth it."
Blondie morphed back into Peaches. "See boys," she said, "I am your
worst nightmares."
Both men found themselves nodding, rather emphatically, in agreement.
"But why?" Mulder asked. "And how do you know all this? Who are you?"
"Questions, questions!" Peaches made a shooing motion with her
hand. "You two have become way to full of yourselves. Secret this,
spying that, lying here and bemoaning fate there, dark holes in the
ground and people dead all over the place." Peaches drew herself up
imperiously. "You just don't get it, boys. There IS a higher power
and I am SHE! So you two get your act together, and stop wasting time
being fools. Fuck each other if you must, but stop fucking each other
over!" And with that, Peaches morphed one more time into a hideous
three headed creature with a long neck and the faces of Skinner,
Scully, and the Smoker all leering and grimacing and puffing smoke at
Mulder and Krycek.
She/he/it backed its way out the freezer door, the armed men
followed, and by the time Mulder and Krycek got to the door they were
gone. All of them.
Mulder looked at Krycek, and Krycek looked at Mulder. "Let's get the
Hell out of here."
They ran.
Finding themselves at the end of a long corridor with an open door at
the other end, Krycek paused, grabbed Mulder's arm and swung him to a
halt. "I knew this had to be one of yours, Mulder," Krycek panted. "I
may know a lot of lowlifes and aliens, but I don't know any vengeful
spirits!"
Mulder stared at Krycek, shell-shocked. "Vengeful spirit? Yes!" he
raised his fist in the air. Krycek got out of the way, but Mulder was
only celebrating. "Alex," Mulder grabbed Krycek and kissed him full
on the mouth. "It was a spirit and we both saw it, you just said you
did! You can't take that back!"
Krycek burst into laughter and hugged Mulder hard. "I won't," he
promised. "I don't know whom we could ever tell about this, but I
promise if we ever can, I won't deny it."
Mulder nodded. "I didn't think I would say this in a million years,
but thank you, Krycek. Thank you for not denying what we saw."
Krycek saw Mulder meant what he said, and to cover how his heart
started to pound and ache in his throat he grinned and said, "But
Mulder—we still don't know..." and started to sprint away into the
night.
"What?" Mulder called out.
"Just what is it with the bare feet?" Alex yelled back, rounded the
corner of a building and disappeared from Mulder's view.
Ick
by Flutesong
Part 1
