The leaves are turning gray, falling.
It leads to winter, and few people look forward to
that—just like few people enjoy the idea of
approaching the autumn of their lives.
Mulder looks into the mirror, and the dark rings
around his eyes tell him that he's stepping beyond a
brighter, simpler season into a darker one.
Maybe he crossed that threshold a long time ago, but
he has been too busy to see how life has passed him
by.
Splashing water on his face, driving away
alcohol-driven dizziness, he heads for home.
The dashboard clock reads 11.30pm. Scully left an hour
earlier, but he stayed and drank some more. He even
felt like dancing, actually looking around to see if
there was anyone interesting enough to pick up. It was
one of those places his friend had dragged him to in
order to show him how to get a life. A mature
environment, full of decent people with decent clothes
and decent attitudes. Somehow, Mulder felt out of
place.
Feeling tired and dull, he left. All he needs now is
just to lie down on his couch and forget what day it
is.
Years back. A lifetime back. Summer. Another birthday.
His bed. Bodies tangled, cuddled together. Sweat.
Semen. Krycek's sweet scent and lies. Mulder outgrew
innocence that night.
A summer night.
Dropping his coat, pulling his tie away, kicking his
shoes off angrily, Mulder stumbles toward his couch
and falls into drowsiness.
Here comes your birthday, boy...
I don't want to remember that. I don't want to
remember something I could never have.
What do you have for me, Mulder?
It had felt real, but maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was
just another lie, designed to get me to suck him and
let him fuck me.
How much do you suppose he laughed about it after
that? How many times do you think he jerked off from
the thought of fucking me over?
Kiss me.
Will he ever remember that night? When his real
birthday comes around, will he think of that long
night of lovemaking he called a birthday gift?
This year you won't have to celebrate your birthday
alone, Spooky. Tell me what you wish for.
It was all a lie. And all I want is you.
Mulder jerks awake. He still feels it in the air.
Krycek smiled contentedly as he combed his fingers
through Mulder's hair. Mulder rubbed his cheek against
the younger man's belly and looked up,
smiled back, relishing the bitter-sweet semen in his
mouth. Beer and pizza and ice-cream—they'd consumed
it all together, wrapped around each other,
and Mulder had thought it was one of the happiest
moments in his life, feeling close to someone else,
just being a part of him.
Krycek's fingers stroked his cheek, running down to
his chin and slowly caressed his lower lip, gently
wiping away the remaining cream at the corner. He
snaked up, and their mouths met in a hungry kiss.
"Fuck." Mulder mutters under his breath and gets up to
go to the bathroom.
Unzipping and pulling his half-hard dick out, Mulder
lets the stream and the anguish flow out of him. It's
one of the moments when his mind can go blank.
He wishes he could diminish his memory as easily as he
can piss.
Everything in him still remembers.
Tucking himself back, he steps out of the bathroom and
sees that Alex Krycek is standing in his doorway.
As he stares into Krycek's emotionless eyes, he
recalls every single word and shuddering sigh in his
ear, every deceit and fairy tale, while in those
arms Mulder had believed he was in heaven.
It felt real and it was damn sweet.
It feels like a lifetime ago.
"Krycek." He chokes.
The assassin takes in Mulder's rumpled hair, sweaty
shirt and exposed chest. Buttons are missing from the
torn shirt, and he knows Mulder doesn't realize
he's ripped his shirt while dreaming.
Mulder is still drunk and caught up in pain, held so
fast that he doesn't react violently. He wishes he
could jump at the killer, snatch his gun and
shoot him in the balls, but he is tired. He looks at
the gun in Krycek's gloved hand, and he closes his
eyes momentarily.
"You came here to blow my brains out?"
Krycek looks at the gun. "No." Pacing toward Mulder
slowly, he whispers, "This is your gun, Mulder."
Mulder stands still, measuring Krycek; Krycek keeps
his eyes on Mulder the whole time he's drawing nearer.
He's so close now that Mulder can smell the
leather and the scent that is Krycek's own.
Stopping a few inches away from him, Krycek looks
intensely into his eyes. "Fox."
Mulder's jaw tightens.
Lifting his hand up, Krycek offers him another gun.
Mulder looks at it, realizing that this one isn't his.
"Use it." Krycek speaks almost inaudibly.
Fixing his eyes on the younger man, Mulder takes the
gun. Krycek takes two steps back and slowly lowers
himself onto the floor in front of Mulder.
Mulder is biting his lip, looking down at the kneeling
man. He lifts it to point at Krycek's forehead. The
assassin looks up at him, eyes dark and mysterious.
"It's your birthday present."
Mulder has an impulse to backhand the bastard with the
gun, but something in the younger man's eyes halts
him. It is almost invisible, but it's there, a
whirlpool of emotions. Krycek's eyes betray him
painfully.
Mulder just stares. The leather-clad body is tense, as
if it is ready to snap, but he sees the undercurrent
of a shiver running through it, denying
the cold, cool mask Krycek's wearing. His right hand
clenches on his thigh, and Mulder realizes that he is
anticipating Mulder's decision.
You're afraid that I will finish you off.
Mulder's lip twitches. His gut is reeling; he feels
sick, and he feels his cock stirring inside his pants.
"A birthday present, huh?"
He cocks the gun. The sound is loud in the night.
Krycek doesn't even flinch. Instead, he leans closer,
lips parting, and takes the barrel into
his mouth.
Mulder is trembling, his index finger curls a fraction
tighter around the trigger. The other man looks up at
him in challenge, fixing his eyes on
Mulder, who is furious to see that his hand is shaking
as he tries to hold back his tears and anger.
"How can you?" He sputters, "How could you make it so
sweet, Krycek?"
The green eyes are wide and innocent. Mulder snatches
his gun back violently that it scrapes Krycek's teeth
and lips, almost knocking him down. Before
Mulder can step away, he grabs Mulder's hand and
presses it to his lips.
"Because it was real, Fox."
He kisses the back of Mulder's hand, feeling it shake
and turn limp. Then, as if drained, Mulder sags, and
the younger man grabs him before he falls.
The lean body is trembling like a leaf threatening to
fall from its stem. Krycek's heart beats louder, and
soon the sound is joined by Mulder's quiet sob. His
body aches, and his heart clenches, and he holds onto
Krycek and cries. He buries his face in the dark hair,
his arms clutching the broad back, fingers digging
into the hard body that is keeping him from falling
apart.
How could you love me so sweetly, then break my
heart in cold blood?
Questions run rampage in Mulder's exhausted mind, and
finally he lets them all go to turn to the present.
Krycek is embracing him, clinging to him, burying his
face against Mulder's body, his lips a tight line from
holding his own moans back. His face grimaces as if he
too is feeling pain.
What do you know about it?
Krycek steals a glance up at Mulder who is
straightening himself up. The older man's cheeks are
flushed and damp from tears. He remains on his knees,
never letting his arms go from around Mulder's waist.
"Mulder."
Mulder blinks away his tears, then his lips curls up
in a feral snarl. His hands come down around Krycek's
throat to close and squeeze.
The younger man's eyes widen in shock, a wheeze
catches inside his chest as Mulder's grip tightens
painfully around his neck.
His veins are bursting, his vision of Mulder blurring
as Mulder slowly pushes him onto the floor, following
him down.
"You're ready to die, Krycek?" Mulder grits. He
presses harder, seeing the green, green eyes
darkening. "You came back to die for me?"
I can kill you now so you will never haunt me
again. So I will never have to wait for your empty
promises.
Never dream again.
"I'm going to kill you, fucker." Mulder grits and
leans his whole weight onto the choke-hold.
Just die. Yeah. Die for me, bastard.
He feels throbbing pulses against his palms, and a
croaked whisper, "For you."
Mulder closes his eyes as the words hit him,
crisscrossing his body like a knife. He howls and lets
his body fall on top of Krycek.
Everything has been real. All of the pleasure, the
pain and the promises.
He cries harder this time.
Moments pass, and they lie there on the floor,
unmoving, Mulder atop Krycek, exchanging warmth and
quiet breaths.
Time passes.
It feels like a lifetime as they rest, so close they
each hear their heartbeats synchronizing. Rise and
fall. Rise and Fall. Racing pulses return to rest.
Krycek lifts his arm and places it across Mulder's
back, pulling him closer. Mulder lets the heat seep
into him, and closes his eyes.
"Let's go to bed," Krycek murmurs. Mulder nods, and
together they get to their feet, Krycek holding
Mulder's shoulder, heading for the bedroom door.
Reaching the bed, Krycek lowers the still-drunken man
onto the mattress. Mulder keeps his eyes open,
watching Krycek take off his jacket and glove
before climbing into the bed after him. The trail of
tears is still visible on his face, but the crying has
stopped. Krycek sees hope in them. He lowers his body
next to Mulder, who turns his face to look at him with
eyes wide and full of wonder.
Lying down, he runs his hand down Mulder's face, thumb
tracing the tear on his cheek to the lips. He caresses
it lovingly, watching Mulder's face brighten up.
Krycek smiles.
Mulder looks lost, naive, and those boyish eyes have
changed from hurt through hatred to rage, to doubt, to
defeat, and now amazement. He looks at Krycek as if he
were something new. As if the man himself were new to
the world before him, and had just become a man before
his eyes.
Knowing he has to reassure him, Krycek whispers, "I'm
here, Mulder," and runs his thumb over the lush, lower
lip, fondling.
Mulder closes his eyes and leans into the big, warm
palm. Krycek feels a heated thrill running through him
as he moves in closer to claim Mulder's lips, which
part and welcome his tongue as they kiss each other
breathless. He allows himself be pulled into Krycek's
embrace as their legs and arms entwine.
Parting, Krycek speaks softly, "Sleep..."
Mulder gives him a nod, his arm snaking around
Krycek's waist possessively, and holds him.
"You might be born alone," Krycek whispers into
Mulder's ear as the man tries to reopen his eyes. "You
might die alone." He rubs his nose against
Mulder's temple, nuzzling the sweat-filled hair full
of Mulder's scent, inhaling deep. "But you'll never be
alone in the time between, Fox."
Mulder purrs.
And Krycek starts singing a lullaby.
Pust vsegda budet solnce, pust vsegda budet nebo.
When Mulder finally lets himself falls into warm,
silent slumber, he takes with him Krycek's gentle
sighs.
Let the sun shine forever, let the sky last forever.
Mulder wakes up feeling a warm breath against the back
of his neck, and the arm around his waist that hasn't
released him during the night. He feels an
overwhelming joy sweep through him.
He's here.
Mulder lays his hand on Krycek's arm, touching him,
feeling the younger man's body heat. He replays the
event of last night and feels as if he just
woke up from a long, bad dream.
Then he feels a soft kiss on his neck, the hand that
trails up to stroke his chest, and a husky murmur,
"Make love to me."
Accompanying the best greeting of his life, Mulder
feels a stirring of the other man's cock against his
buttocks, waking his own already half-hard
member to life.
Turning around to face his lover, Mulder stares into
Krycek's eyes, seeing wonderment, and reaches down for
the zipper.
"After all these years I'm going to fuck you good,
Alex."
Krycek laughs quietly. "Hey, it's your party."
Mulder grins, "Yeah." and kisses him, hand insinuating
itself into the leather pants. "What did you sing to
me last night?"
Krycek gasps against Mulder's lips as he feels the
gifted fingers closing around his erection, "It was
my... my favorite lullaby... back when I was
very... young."
"How young?" Mulder murmurs against his neck, nibbling
between strokes.
Krycek arches into the touch. "Younger and more
foolish than I am now, Fox." And he cups Mulder's
bulging groin, quickly opening the pants to take what
he needs. "But old enough and smart enough to fall in
love. With you."
And those words make Mulder feel like his life is
starting anew.
For A Middle-Aged Boy
by Ilya
I'm sorry you are wiser,
I'm sorry you are taller;
I liked you better foolish
And I liked you better smaller.
—Aline Murray Kilmer (1888-1944), U.S. poet.
'For the
Birthday of a Middle-Aged Child'
Autumn.
Fall.
Not a particularly good season despite the clear sky.
