They wore tatters of clothing now, shoeless, their shirts ripped,
stained and their pants torn. Their beards were beginning to grow
well beyond stubble.
Krycek had a knife and no left arm; Mulder had a plastic bottle tied
in his shirt, and a remaining few matches. Otherwise they had no
possessions.
The best they could figure was they were in a wilderness reserve,
possibly a national park, hopefully in the US, although it could be
Canada. They had not seen anyone else, or any sign of habitation.
They had no idea how far they were from civilization and hoped the
late summer would last. They had no protection from exposure if the
weather turned cold.
Never heavy to begin with, now they were lean, although not starved,
and the fitful sun had bronzed and roughened their skin.
They did not argue, fight or bait one another. Most of the time they
were quiet. Silently they each believed it was better to attempt to
survive together, rather than alone. They shared what food they found
and bandaged each other's wounds.
Mulder continued to believe Krycek had the capacity to betray him,
and Alex believed Mulder would have him arrested if the opportunity
arose. Otherwise, they had achieved the intimacy of men alone, except
for the other, against the elements and the enemy. The rest of the
world and their typical concerns were distant.
When they found caves, and could blockade the entrance, they slept
apart, sprawled with fatigue and muscle aches. When they had to sleep
on open ground, they did so side-by-side, arms touching, tense,
subliminally aware of each other and alert to danger.
Neither being particularly modest to begin with, they gave each other
privacy for bodily functions, but otherwise stayed together even when
the opportunity to bathe arose.
Krycek, to Mulder's surprise, knew a great deal about plants and
found various leaves, roots or sap to ease their discomforts. He'd
found wild, almost peppermint flavored leaves that they used to scrub
their teeth, and another, more acrid smelling, oily plant which they
used, liberally, to ward off biting insects. From another kind of
plant they used the precious matches to roast some stalks and eat the
flesh, which Krycek said contained a lot of nutrients and a caffeine
kind of boost. They chewed on the bits and pieces Krycek found
constantly, both to avoid thirst and to feel as if they were getting
enough to eat. They had not, as yet, managed to catch and kill an
animal to eat. They had both totally given up trying to catch fish,
either barehanded or using their shirts as nets and strips of cloth
as line.
They both wished they had a vessel to boil water or make soup.
They'd stopped running after the third day, realizing they were using
up precious reserves of energy and risking serious injuries in their
heedless dash. Now they walked doggedly measuring out the day in
lengths of flatland, rocky hillsides, unavoidable mucky swampland or
twisted undergrowth.
When the blade of the knife broke off and sliced Krycek's good hand,
the first waves of real despair took hold. Mulder tore off another
edge of his shirt and bound the cut, and applied pressure within
seconds. "Shit, oh, shit," he said over and over, trying to keep the
panic from his voice. It was a wide, deep cut across the palm, the
kind that required stitches. Once he could stop the blood, if he
could stop it, it would take days to scab over. Krycek's hand would
be virtually useless in the meantime, and painful long after that.
Krycek made soft keening sounds as Mulder worked on his hand.
Otherwise he seemed to be in shock, his face had paled, belying the
recent tan and scraggly almost beard. The bones in his face seemed
suddenly sharpened and his left shoulder twitched uncontrollably.
Continuing to apply pressure, he chivvied Krycek out of the sun, away
from the rock they had been using as a surface to cut up the fruit
they had picked earlier, and into the cooler shade of the trees.
Using his other hand, he struggled to get the water bottle from the
knot in his shirt. Krycek could not seem to grasp the concept of
taking a drink, so Mulder simply poured some over his head and took a
hurried drink for himself.
"Snap out of it, Krycek," he said. "Let's sit down here for a minute.
We'll figure out what to do. It's not so bad; the bleeding is
stopping, see?" He crooned on and on, as much for himself as for
Krycek. He tied the bloody strip on Krycek's hand and ripped off
another from his rapidly dwindling supply of shirtfront. He folded it
into a pad and quickly exchanged the soaked one for the new one. The
blood was congealing slightly, and he gave a small sigh of relief.
"It really is beginning to clot," he said more assertively. Krycek
finally looked at him with a sort of lost dazed expression. "Here
drink some water, you're kind of out of it, Krycek, and I need you to
focus." Mulder did not like Krycek's demeanor; he would trade it for
an annoying smirk and a wiseass 'know-it-all-asshole' expression any
day.
"You should kill me," Krycek said expressionlessly, although his eyes
were open and bereft. "I will slow you down. It's the smart thing to
do, Mulder."
"Shut up. Shut the fuck up!" Mulder pressed harder on the damaged
hand, and Krycek paled even whiter. "Maybe that's what you would do.
It's not what I do. Never."
"Why not? You've tried to kill me before. Nothing's really changed,
you know. This situation is only temporary. Back to civilization and
back to the same-old, same-old crap. So now, when you finally have a
good reason, a fucking real reason, you get all wimpy and shit."
"What 'real' reason Krycek? You're wounded, but you can still walk
and talk and think and keep watch."
"Yeah, well you think about how much good that does for you when you
have to feed me and wipe my ass." Krycek began to laugh; the sound of
it chilled Mulder. He recognized incipient hysteria.
"Look, Krycek," he began, deliberately keeping his voice somewhat
harsh and assertive. He knew Krycek couldn't accept either empathy or
pity right then. "You know what there is to eat and how to find it.
You are alert to danger, and I need that extra pair of eyes and ears.
Okay, okay, this will be tough, and a pain to put up with, and that
you're scared. Is that it? Big bad Krycek is scared and feels
helpless? Well, get over it. We will keep going at whatever pace we
can, we haven't seen hide or hair of pursuers in days, so maybe we've
bought some time." He kept talking and kept the pressure on the
wound. Slowly Krycek relaxed, and his combination of pain and
emotional shock gave way to a restless sleep.
Mulder tore off one last strip of his shirt. They would have to start
using their pants legs next. He was relieved to see the clotting had
taken hold. He hoped Krycek knew of a medicinal plant that could be
used as a poultice. He desperately hoped no infection set in. They
needed to find a place to stay for at least one, maybe a few nights.
He got up and scouted the area, careful never to lose sight of Krycek
completely.
He found a shallow overhang, its protection enhanced by some low
hanging branches. It was, thankfully, high enough for Krycek to walk
under; crawling without hands would be a problem.
There was a small stream within a few hundred yards, so water
wouldn't be a problem. The vegetation was lush, and there were even
apples left on a few trees. He saw a wide leafed fern Krycek had
previously told him to use when they washed. It made pale green foam
when crushed and mixed with water. Mulder hoped it could also be used
to bathe the wound and perhaps what was left of their clothing. A few
hundred feet in the other direction, at the widest point if the
stream was a smooth section of grass open to the sun. It was warm
enough for them to spread out their clothes and have them dry within
hours. He thought it might be a good idea for them both to rest for a
day or so as well.
Krycek woke and saw Mulder scrambling around the undergrowth in the
distance. His hand hurt badly, but the bleeding had indeed stopped.
Ever since his incarceration in the silo, he'd seemed to heal
rapidly, it was the only way he had survived the loss of his arm
under those terrible conditions.
He considered his state of helplessness. Helpless and with Mulder was
a combination he would have put near the top of his all time worst
scenarios. Helpless with Mulder in the middle of nowhere ranked an
even higher place. Helpless, Mulder, in the nowhere, and injured
certainly ranked first place.
A scant two weeks ago, unaware of the coincidence, one minute they
were each doing their thing at a government facility. He'd been
hacking the database for information on an informant who was
withholding vital data for a higher payment; Mulder had been trying
to bully the hapless clerks for entry into that same database. He'd
seen Mulder through the blind-covered window of the supervisor's
office. The supervisor was taking an unscheduled nap, courtesy of a
mild blow to his head, on the floor behind his desk. He knew if
Mulder succeeded in barging into the office the jig, as it were, was
up. So, he copied files as fast as he could and hightailed it out of
the office through the back door. Unfortunately, Scully was making
her way to the office via the back stairway.
Confronting Scully was not a wise move. She was always quicker to
pull her weapon and handcuffs than Mulder, who wanted to make a more
physical production out of their encounters. He'd opted to return to
the office and try to get by Mulder through the front door. If only
two young clerks hadn't been trying to hide from Mulder's demands
behind a bank of filing cabinets, he would have made it. When he
burst through the door, they'd looked up at him with surprised
horror. He'd been taken aback to find someone in his way. They
screamed, of course, and Mulder had come running, and then it had all
gone to hell.
Jumping on the back of the truck that was pulling out of the driveway
was not, in retrospect, a good idea. Mulder, as always, ran faster,
and he'd jumped on too. The truck had sped along for a good while
during the initial fight between them, and then the driver must have
become aware something was happening in the back. He'd attempted to
pull over but the cavalcade that appeared behind the truck, shooting
at it, made the driver panic. He'd sped up instead of slowing down,
and the mountainous terrain had been too much.
He and Mulder had jumped. He was cursing the whole time, déjà
vu all over again, jumping off a fucking truck. This time the
cavalcade had caught up with them.
It wasn't immediately apparent who these guys were; they weren't
friends of either of them, and they weren't inclined to ask for
explanations.
Mulder had tried his "I'm a Federal Agent" shtick, but the men hadn't
stopped to look at his ID.
By some strange unspoken agreement, suddenly he and Mulder were
fighting together against the men. They'd made it to a vehicle and
tried to get away. Caught again, they were stripped of their weapons
and coats and thrown into the back of yet another truck.
The truck drove for hours, and they were constantly buffeted, rolling
back and forth inside the empty container. When the truck finally
stopped, nothing happened. After it had been quiet for a long time,
both of them worked together to break through the door. They got out
only to find themselves on tarmac near a hanger. There were no other
buildings in sight. They could hear voices and smell food coming from
the building. They headed back toward the road, keeping to the wooded
side.
Their breakaway was short lived, and soon they were being chased.
They'd run into the forest, and kept going.
They had an unspoken truce. Krycek was glad he wasn't alone, and he
was sure Mulder was glad not to be alone as well. Mulder was an
enemy, but he was a known quantity. He hadn't tried to explain
himself or his most recent or past activities. Mulder had made a few
halfhearted attempts to get Krycek to give up information and answer
questions, but ultimately hunger and exhaustion carried the day, and
his ire became muted. When Krycek had found the only edible food in
sixteen hours, Mulder had given up on the last of the snide remarks
and, having shared the food, shared the water bottle. Since then they
had simply gone on together.
Krycek tried to reach the water bottle, but his hand was too injured
to grasp it and the pain spiked like a bitch. He felt the
helplessness wash over him again. It wasn't Mulder having control
that was the issue. It was, and he faced it squarely for the first
time, that with this injury Mulder would have to touch him.
Touch and Krycek had been strangers for a long time. Long before the
loss of the arm, long before his months on the run in Hong Kong,
touch had been a rare commodity, brokered occasionally when he was
still young enough and hopeful enough to believe he could stop the
madness and be safe enough to have a life.
It wasn't issues about modesty or privacy or even sexuality. Unending
violent interchanges, threats, some actual sexual harm,
interrogations, and injuries had long since erased any residual
attachment to normal embarrassment or self-consciousness on his part.
It was simply that while Mulder could fight him, beat him up, try to
shoot him and threaten him endlessly, now—during this mutual need
to survive—Mulder would be careful, if not actually kind, and touch
him with sincerity.
He didn't doubt for a minute that Mulder's life had been less empty.
Sure he 'touched' people. He often had a hand on Scully's shoulder or
waist, probably got laid once in a while, and had an occasional hug
here and there from his friends. But essentially, for a person as
needy as Mulder, that wouldn't constitute anything near the contact
his nature cried out for.
He just knew Mulder would find some of that need fulfilled taking
care of him, and he also knew that he was helpless, fucking helpless
to resist needing it in return. Danger signals flashed warnings in
his head. He didn't want to need anyone, and he didn't want anyone to
need him.
Mulder returned to find Krycek slumped over, but not asleep. Silently
he tilted the water bottle and Krycek drank thirstily.
"There's an area we can use, just up the hill. It's protected and
looks relatively rain and wind resistant. The stream is close enough
for fresh water, and there is even a small, flat spot to keep watch
from. I think we should stay here for a day or so and regroup. Your
hand can heal some, and we can get clean and rest. There are apples
and a few other edibles around. I could use some time to rest as well
and try to think this predicament out. What do you say?" Mulder asked.
"Sure, fine, Mulder." Krycek paused, "There is something you should
know."
"What?"
"The wound will heal, probably not even leave much of a scar, and I
won't get an infection, although I might run a fever or something. I
was in that silo, after the alien used my body. Ever since then, I
seem to heal more rapidly than normal and ward off all but the most
virulent of infections," Krycek explained.
Mulder sat down, bemused for the moment by Krycek's revelation. This
was no lie, no game and no exaggeration. Son-of-a-bitch actually
dropped the beginning of something resembling truth and answers right
into his lap. He controlled his impulse to squeeze the shit out of
the wounded hand and make Krycek tell him more. He calmed himself and
drank more water. "Ever since Tunguska," he said, "I seem to 'heal'
in similar ways."
"Well," Krycek said matter-of-factly, "makes sense, since you were
exposed as well."
"No shit," said Mulder.
"No shit," Krycek replied dryly.
"Don't expect me to thank you for it," Mulder couldn't resist adding.
Krycek turned his head and looked out over the hills.
Mulder helped Krycek to his feet and picked up the water bottle. They
headed to the enclosure that would be home for a few days. When they
got to the stream, Mulder had Krycek soak the wounded hand, and then
he peeled away the makeshift bandage. The wound had indeed begun to
solidify into a thick scab. "What say you we wash up now while the
temperature is warm, and before you really pass out? I saw some of
those ferny things just over there," Mulder pointed to the bank.
"Okay," Krycek replied, dreading the onset of Mulder's concern. He
stayed passive as Mulder helped him out of his rags and into the cool
stream. Mulder undressed as well and went to get a large handful of
ferns. He brought the ferns and the clothes into the water with him
and started rubbing it all together. Krycek made a gesture as if to
stop him, and Mulder looked up. "You should clean each thing
separately and squeeze out the excess water. They'll dry faster that
way. When you have a shirt all soaped up, use it to scrub yourself
clean, too."
Mulder grimaced, "I am not a housewife," he muttered under his
breath, but laid the clothes on the bank and washed them the way
Krycek instructed. When he got to what was left of his shirt, he
soaped it up and washed himself and then approached Krycek. He felt
awkward. This was the first time he was going to actually assist the
man instead of attacking him. It was going to be the first of many in
the next few days, so he covered his unease with his usual half-assed
attempt at humor and cooed, "Bath time, Alex."
Krycek took several stumbling steps backwards before he realized he
had done so. Mulder laughed. He neared Krycek and kept the bullshit
going. "I'll be careful to not get soap in your eyes, don't worry."
Krycek stiffened, but held ground. "Are you ticklish? Have any
preferences, you know, front first, face, toes?"
"Bastard," Krycek said, and Mulder pushed the soapy rag in his
face. "Now, now, *Alex* be nice. This isn't the time to piss me off,
you know." Mulder smirked, "I have you at my mercy at the moment."
"I really, really hate you," Krycek spat out, with the soap scum from
his mouth.
"I know," Mulder laughed. "I hate you too."
Krycek stood still, and Mulder got more up close and personal with
the rag, keeping the sass going the whole time. It took Krycek a
moment to realize Mulder was as uncomfortable as he was, and that the
teasing was impersonal. Mulder never actually referred to the
particulars of his body at all, and he did not touch him with his
hand, only the cloth, never getting close enough to bump into him.
He was relieved. When it was done, he leaned his arm on a rock and
immersed himself to rinse. Neither had anything to dry off with, so
when Mulder helped him out of the rocky stream, he sat in the sun by
the bank, and Mulder, after he laid out the clothing and refilled the
water bottle further upstream, joined him.
It was peaceful and warm. After a while, Mulder lay on his side,
propped up on his arm and looked at Krycek, really looked at him, for
the first time. The remainder of his left arm was a ruin, but the
shoulder itself had not atrophied. It was obvious Krycek's upper body
had filled out and become stronger to compensate. His legs were well
shaped and strong and the hair on his groin and legs was a lighter
brown. The scraggly beard was a softer shade as well. He catalogued
Krycek without pity or prurience.
Krycek, his attention no longer caught by a pair of eagles that had
flown too high and far to follow, turned to see Mulder watching him.
He stayed calm. He realized he was going to need Mulder to stay
alive, and reacting in an affronted way would only serve to key
Mulder into his lack of ease.
Instead, he looked at Mulder steadily. Mulder had changed since the
bygone days of their brief partnership. Still lean, he was more
muscular and sported his own array of scars. The one on his thigh
must have been a hell of an injury. It looked liked a bullet wound
that must've clipped the femoral artery. The round one on his
shoulder, he already knew the circumstances behind. He'd been there,
after all.
He considered the track record in pain that showed on their bodies,
wondering how much more was unrevealed, carried deep inside as
unhealed sores and nightmares. As if he sensed the bleak direction of
Krycek's thoughts, Mulder turned and lay on his back, bending his
knee, foot flat on the ground.
When Mulder began to speak, Krycek realized his façade was all for
nothing because Mulder managed to shock the hell out of him
anyway. "Scully was jealous, you know, back when. She resented anyone
who encouraged me to believe in the paranormal as being possible.
When you refused to concede that Cole did not have a 'gun', no matter
what the evidence proved, she took it as a personal affront to her
scientific methodology and thought you were sucking up to me so you
could replace her. When I refused to back down regarding my thesis
that Cole could manipulate minds telepathically, she thought I was
turning against her as well. The file, of course, disappeared, and
all her copies magically vanished too. Left with nothing to take to
Skinner and having to fess up to working on an X-File when she had
been reassigned didn't sit well with her at all. The more cases you
and I worked, the more resentful she grew. She started gently, with
gibes about how young you were and how eager. I didn't pay much
attention, just went along with it. After all, you did seem very
young and very eager. She became more pointed when, after I lost
another tie that time, you stopped at a sidewalk vendor and bought me
those cheap polyester ones for two bucks apiece. Later, she actually
complimented me on one and I told her the 'joke' about the purchase.
The tone of her references to you changed. She started hinting that
you were coming on to me, and I'd better be careful as senior agent,
lest your 'crush' went too far."
Mulder sat up and fingered one of the cloth bandages to see if it was
dry. Krycek hoped it was still wet so Mulder would not want to put it
on his wound.
"I was fairly blown away by these confidences. Scully and I had grown
close and had a trusting relationship, but the type and tone of these
talks was something different altogether. When I took time to think
about it, I got pissed. First and foremost, because I wasn't the
naïve idiot she seemed to be implying. Second, because nothing in
your actions or attitude even hinted at homosexual blandishments. And
third was the backhanded implication that maybe I would be flattered
or even welcome such enticements, had they been offered. So, I did
what I always do when I feel emotionally threatened, I shut down, let
her think what she wanted, and failed to profile the reasons behind
the personal attacks."
Mulder went back to patting the various pieces of clothing. Krycek
wanted to be anywhere but here. A voluble Mulder was certainly a
dangerous Mulder. He could talk himself around and about and decide
that the most unsupported, bizarre theory was the only possible
solution. Krycek felt hounded. Personal confessions and confidences
from anyone, shit, certainly from Mulder, were the last things he
wanted to get into, ever. Ever—especially lying around wounded,
nude, and dependent.
"Mulder," Krycek said in what he hoped was a placating tone, "this
really isn't the time, you know. We have a lot to do just surviving.
I mean, we need to get some food gathered and attempt to secure the
space we are going to slee... stay in and all that."
Mulder simply looked at him and continued, "So Alex, were you coming
on to me as part of your young agent persona or not?"
"No," Krycek said. "I was supposed to be wide eyed and bushy tailed,
and impressed by the great Agent Mulder. I was supposed to get him to
trust me enough to eventually break off with his partner, the
sublimely impartial and effective Agent Scully, and want to work with
me."
"Hmmm," Mulder murmured, "but did you want me anyway?"
"No!" Krycek yelled surprising both of them. "No." He said again in a
more moderate voice, "I am not gay, and while I'm sure you're a fine
specimen, Mulder, you are not my type. Don't start anything, because
I am not your type either. Damn-it! Why do you have to go off on
these weird tangents? Isn't the vast array of our more immediate
problems enough for you?"
Mulder picked up the dry bandage and came towards Krycek, took his
hand and wrapped it tighter than necessary. Krycek refused to cringe.
Mulder laughed, "Got you!" he said, and when Krycek looked at him in
shock, continued, "Took your mind off your hand, didn't I?"
Mulder put on his own bits and pieces and then brought over Krycek's
stuff, helping him to stand and then dress as though it were
routine. "I hate you. I really, really do," Krycek said, not being
able to think of a more pithy remark.
Mulder laughed some more, "Come on, tell me what's good to eat in
this joint, and I'll go get it. I'm starved."
They lay, not touching, on a bed of soft moss beneath the overhanging
rock and tree limbs. The moon made the night more shadowy than truly
dark. Neither of them was asleep. Both were processing the Pandora's
box Mulder had blithely opened earlier. The intimacy of the past two
weeks on the run had subtlety changed to more personal bonding. Food,
rest, and the lack of immediate pursuit or rescue dulled some senses
and sharpened others tonight. Both of them thought that if they had
been friends, they could have joshed about being horny men lost in
the wilderness, made a joke about the movie Deliverance, and maybe
they could have talked sex and women and gotten their vicarious
jollies that way. Not being friends, each thought that anything he
could say at this moment might be misconstrued and open to sarcastic
rejoinder.
That, in the comfort of the evening and after such a long stretch of
fear and harsh conditions, both were aroused, was something they each
acknowledged in the other. They could smell it amidst the pine and
apples.
Krycek finally fidgeted and rubbed his shoulders on the moss to
scratch an itch somewhere he could relieve. He heard Mulder take a
deep breath. He held his own. Mulder turned on his side and he met
Alex's eyes in the semidarkness. He said in a harsh whisper, "I guess
you need a hand." Alex didn't breathe because the world, and
everything he knew, was whirling. "Do you want a hand, Alex?" Mulder
whispered again and put his right one down the front of his own
pants. Alex panted a choked intake of air and nodded. Mulder nodded
back and slid his left hand into Alex's loose waistband and closed
his eyes.
Alex watched Mulder's face as he grasped his cock and then himself.
Mulder's eyes were closed, not squeezed shut as if to deny what he
was doing, more as if blind, he could concentrate better. Alex arched
into the large warm hand as it expertly fingered his length, softly
cupped the smooth head and then began a slow relentless tempo. Saliva
pooled in his mouth and goose bumps broke out on his arm and back. He
felt young and scared and hot and cold all at once. The sensation of
getting 'there' got stronger, and he didn't care if he came in a
flash like a kid, it was good, very good... too good. He moaned, and
Mulder arched into his own hand and sped up the pace. They were both
breathless and panting. Such an innocent thing, he thought, a warm
hand on his hard dick. Such a simple thing, pumping into the hand as
it pumped his cock. It was such an easy thing—floating on touch and
testosterone. "God! Mulder!" he said and came in a gush. "Fuck!" he
heard Mulder moan a brief second later and heard the wet slap of
Mulder's last jerks.
Mulder withdrew his hand from Alex's pants and casually wiped it on
Alex's shirt before doing the same with his other hand on his own
shirt. The odor of semen was strong and dense in the warm enclosure.
Alex desperately wanted to lean into Mulder and kiss his mouth.
They were silent as their breaths slowed down.
Mulder looked at Alex again. Alex was wasted; faint sweaty trails ran
down the sides of his face and neck, gleamed in the half-dark. His
eyes were drowsy, but he wasn't smiling in post orgasmic bliss.
Mulder watched as he awkwardly turned on his side, face away from
Mulder, and continued to watch as his shoulders shook. He heard the
faintest catches of breath. After a while the quiet sounds lessened,
and he knew Alex slept.
Mulder desperately wanted to curl up against Alex's back. He didn't
do it. Instead, he thought about what he'd just done. He'd known,
somehow, that he was going to do something earlier in the day when it
dawned on him that he and Alex were truly alone. He needed his
company—injured, traitor, and assassin, whatever. He'd known when
he faced the fact that Alex was alive and warm and, very possibly,
beautiful.
It had been so long since he had truly been alone with another person
who needed him as much as he needed someone. He thought he'd rid
himself of the attachment to such personal emptiness but, he supposed
now, he'd only repressed it along with a hundred other things he
labeled as 'vulnerable' or 'lonely' or 'emotionally dangerous'. The
sex was both the most of it and the least of it. The 'most' perhaps
because it was Alex, and Alex was a man, and his enemy. The least
because, what did it really matter who it was under these conditions,
and because it was, after all, only sex, and sex didn't have to mean
anything.
Ah, Mulder, you are an ass, he thought to himself. He reached out and
gently touched the bare skin at Alex's waist. It was smooth and firm.
His cock had been smooth and firm, wide at the head and thick at the
base. It had pulsed in his hand, and he'd felt the tremors in his
abdomen. It had been exciting, knowing the sameness and the
differences between himself and Alex at the same time. He thought
about Alex's dick pushing its way into wet pussy, the same way he'd
fucked women, and he felt a second flush of arousal wash over him. He
wondered what it would feel like to have that wide, smooth dickhead
push its way into his mouth, maybe into him. He listened as Alex
breathed. He left his hand at his waist and went to sleep.
Alex slept well into morning, and Mulder rose early. Rested, he went
on a scouting mission and returned with a surprising amount of food,
having found several kinds of edible berries, apples, and some wild
scallions. He put some of the berries into the water bottle and shook
them into mush then added more water. It was a treat to drink
something flavorful.
Alex woke, and Mulder helped him to the streamside. He undressed both
of them, careful to stay neutral. Alex waded into the water, and they
rinsed off. Mulder held the juice for him, and he drank, and then ate
pieces of apple and berries from Mulder's hand. The sensuality and
intimacy of this act, what happened the night before, and their
nakedness combined and finally overwhelmed Krycek. All that went
through his brain, or was it his heart, was—I didn't get to touch
him... I want to touch him... taste him... know him...
Without conscious volition he wrapped his arm around Mulder's neck
and kissed his mouth. The tart berry flavor melted to sweetness as
the lay together on the grass. Alex lay atop Mulder, bracing himself
with his forearm and made a feast of his neck. Mulder spread his legs
and they rubbed their wet bodies together.
The awareness of the night before took hold of Mulder's aroused mind.
He thought how similar they were and how much confidence it gave him
to know Alex was experiencing the exact same sensations. "Feels so
good, Alex," he said aloud and let the thoughts take shape in words
of encouragement. "You and me, so much the same. I can feel your cock
slide against mine, and I know how it feels, cause I feel it too.
Just the same as you... come on, Alex, just like that." He went on
and on, talking them higher.
Alex felt his grip on what he had understood as his sexual reality
shift and wondered if anything else could have ever felt this
good. "Yeah, yea..." he husked out, encouraging Mulder to keep
talking. He felt Mulder's sharp hipbones pierce into the soft weight
of his scrotum, and he pressed harder. Mulder shifted so his own hard
thigh pressed his dick tight against his leg.
Mulder wrapped his legs around Alex's torso, straining to make the
contact harder, hotter, and fiercer. Alex twisted, and his cock
prodded between Mulder's ass-cheeks. They both froze. Mulder
said, "Kiss me." Alex kissed him, and he tilted his lower body,
angling it so Alex's penis rubbed and slid against his anus.
"Fuck, Mulder, oh, fuck..." Alex ground out at the slippery contact,
and the lure of penetration. His body jerked hard, and he came.
Mulder rolled over and kneed Alex's legs open. He too found the hot
groove of Alex's ass and humped himself fast in it. He ejaculated
hard and collapsed.
"We've come a long way, baby." Mulder said when speech was possible.
"This is crazy," Alex said.
"Yeah," Mulder replied, "crazy. But in a good way."
"Yeah," Alex shook his head and smiled, finally meeting Mulder's
eyes, "in a good way."
They rested and ate and talked about how they could make their way
out of the forest. They agreed on finding the highest peak they could
safely climb, and doing a lookout from there. Alex's hand healed to a
tight scab, and they both took care not to do anything that would
tear it open. Alex soaked it as much as possible to try and keep it
flexible. He managed his own bowel movement and cleaned himself
downstream. They slept, sprawled in their enclosure, with Mulder's
hand at Alex's waist.
They awoke, in tandem, early. Without words, Mulder positioned them
and they sucked each other's morning erections to awkward, quiet, and
quick completion. They gathered what food they could carry tied in
the remainders of their shirts and headed north toward the higher
hills.
The day was hot and sweat stung Alex's wound. He called a halt and
had Mulder wrap his hand with damp leaves under the bandage.
It took them two days to reach the top of a peak with visibility
beyond the other hills. It was almost sundown, and they mutually
decided to wait until the next morning to attempt to decipher the
panorama.
They bathed in a freezing river; keeping close to the bank, then lay
beneath the denser pines for the night. Alex's hand was now flexible
enough to use, although it was still wrapped with a single layer of
cloth.
He initiated the sex for the first time. Mulder allowed him, and Alex
found he was not tentative at all. He simply went with his instincts,
which were to do everything to Mulder that he'd always enjoyed or
lusted for himself. He didn't much care which of them was going to
end up fucked, only that someone did this time. He wasn't afraid
because this wasn't about pain. It was about completion.
He made love to Mulder inch by inch. He used his tongue and fingers
and nudged with his chin and forehead. Mulder groaned and whispered
encouragement. "More," Alex said, "keep talking, say anything, get
dirty, Mulder, I like it."
Mulder almost came when Alex encouraged him to talk dirty. He'd
always wanted to do this freely, without worrying about sensibilities
or asking for too much. Sometimes he pleaded, "Alex, suck there,
fuck, please, oh... harder use your teeth, fucker..." Sometimes he
demanded. Together, their lust grew exponentially with each word and
grunt.
They rolled over, somewhere along the line, and Mulder sucked and bit
his way down Alex's taut chest and soft underbelly. "Do you want
this?" Mulder demanded. "Do you want me in your ass? Do you want me
to fuck you?" He licked his way down and spread Alex wide and pushed
his tongue in. Alex made incoherent sounds, and Mulder added his
thumb to the push of his tongue and got it inside. The heat of it
amazed him. He rose, grabbing his cock, and just thrust in, blind to
everything but fucking that hot hole.
Alex choked out a strangled scream when Mulder penetrated him. He'd
been floating in a daze of sensation and lust. The pain of
penetration surprised him. He refused to think of backing away or
pushing Mulder off, instead he flexed against the huge intrusion and
took more.
"Fuck you, fuck you!" Mulder yelled, "Jesus, I'm fucking you, Alex."
He was beyond control and thrust in and out, as wild as any mammal in
heat. Alex let him, meeting the punches of cock inside him just as
mindlessly. Mulder came screaming invectives, then subsided. The
flood of heat inside him finally turned Alex's erection back on, and
the ache of it throbbed.
He smacked Mulder, hurting his hand. "Sit on my cock, Mulder. Do it
now, right now. Get me in, bastard. Do it," he commanded.
Mulder felt Alex's hard body beneath him, and the burning rod of his
erection against his navel. He took a deep breath, summoned the
strength in his legs, and moved to straddle Alex. The pine needles
and small rocks poked into his knees and the faint discomfort made
him more aware of what he was doing. Alex's body was in an agony of
need, and he was determined not to refuse him.
He reached behind and took hold of Alex's thickness, pushing back. It
was awkward, and it hurt from the moment of contact, but he impaled
himself anyway. Alex thrust up hard and tore into him. He screamed
this time, and Alex lost his mind.
Alex felt the primordial instinct to rut himself to orgasm with same
entirety he'd felt his fear of the Oilean and the pain of the
butchery to his arm. He bared his teeth and bit Mulder's chest and
came.
Mulder rolled off of him, and they lay as if they had fallen to earth
from high above. It took them a long time to recover. Everything
hurt—hand, knees, backs and asses, and everything felt wonderful at
the same time.
Mulder slowly got to his feet and helped Alex to his. They washed in
the icy water and drank deeply. The morning sun was bright by the
river. They dressed in their tatters and, gathering what supplies
remained, began the climb to the summit.
The last thicket of pines began to thin, and Mulder stopped. Alex
stopped too. After the next few paces the view below would either
show them the way out, or not. Out and they would return to the world
and themselves. Not and time together extended itself. The both
wished, simultaneously, for both things.
Mulder fingered the bite mark on his chest and then the bruise on
Alex's neck. He felt his own face, the shape of his forehead, nose
and half-grown beard. He looked at his feet and at the rough, torn
toenails. He willed himself back into himself. He was Agent Fox
Mulder. He was dedicated to finding his lost sister and the truth
about quasi government conspiracies and proving the existence of
extraterrestrials. He had a trusted and beloved partner and a place
he called home.
And the one armed man was his enemy, and the one armed man was his
lover, and the one armed man was Alex Krycek.
Alex watched Mulder process the inevitable onset of return. He knew
how it felt. He'd done the same to survive. For Mulder reclaiming
himself this way was survival as well.
He began to mourn internally because he understood this man had to
hate him, had to distrust him, and loved him anyway.
They held hands tightly as they took the final steps to the clearing.
The panorama revealed a logging path to the southwest. They could see
a tiny cluster of buildings and vehicles down the way on the road.
Alex said, "Mulder," and stopped.
Mulder looked at him and his body shook with the effort not to hold
on and turn them both back in the other direction.
"Alex," he said in return, and spoke no more.
They let go of each other's hands and began the decent to make their
way to the road.
Privacy
by Flutesong
They had been on the run for almost two weeks, subsisting on
vegetation and water from puddles and streams.
