He looks over to his left—
And sees Mulder in a dark, fancy restaurant at a table with—Skinner?! But
there's no mistaking who Mulder is with. He swallows and tries to ignore the
pain in his chest as his heart constricts. He can't do that, do something as
innocent as ask Mulder to dine with him—let alone in a public place.
He can't ignore this opportunity though, and he enters the restaurant. He walks
up to them where they sit, eating something. He can hear Skinner saying, "Yeah,
it's crab. See, you have to boil the claws. I like to scoop out the crabmeat
afterwards and then eat them with the dressing. Lemon and butter, with tartar
sauce."
Fucking Skinner, giving Mulder cooking lessons and recipe tips—and the
agent is wide-eyed, paying attention, enraptured, not missing a thing Skinner
says. Like he isn't even aware how much Skinner is coming on to him.
It sounds, looks and smells delicious, making Alex so hungry that he wants to
grab a bite himself, and then go down on both of them right there in the oh-so
public place.
Alex approaches their table and stands beside them. He nods. And says, "Hey,
Mulder. Fancy meeting you in a fancy place like this. The food looks good. I'd
pass on the second course and get right down to dessert though, myself. Well,
gotta go. People to kill, plans to foil. Planes to catch."
He walks away, as casually as he knows how. But from the corner of his eye, he
can see Mulder struggling to extricate himself from the table and chair, getting
up quickly and coming after him, in pursuit.
"Krycek!" Mulder's voice sounds half-angry, half-confused. And totally intent.
Oh shit, Mulder's running.
He breaks into a run too, back out into the terminal, and finds himself getting
away in spite of Mulder's long legs and runner's speed.
He skids to a breathless halt as he sees four men that he thought were dead,
stepping in front of him to cut off his path. He looks behind only to see five
more men coming up behind him. They are armed. He doesn't remember their names
or faces, but he knows, he just knows, that they are several of the numerous,
multiple enemies in his life that want him dead, gone, buried, stabbed, shot,
and just plain disappeared.
Frantically, he looks around and notices a laundry chute in the wall off to his
right. And jumps into it. To his chagrin, several children see this and jump
in after him, inspired by how fun it looks to them, followed by their distraught
mothers.
He and the mothers and the children go through a car wash, all wondering why
they need to go through the process of laundering in order to be processed out
of there.
Alex wakes up with a jerk, and groans. His nap did not help.
Especially not with his subconscious reminding him in vivid Technicolor that he
still hasn't escaped from the specter of Mulder and his feelings for him, nor
his fear of his past catching up with him, and not even his desperate desire to
have all the dirt in his past cleansed away like the innocent children and
mothers he saw in the dream.
He sits alone, in the dark, wondering why he's alone, again. Oh, yeah. That's
right. He WANTED to be alone. It was better than spending time with some
asshole all night long just to get off for a few helpless seconds, afterwards
wondering how quickly he can get them to leave.
The loneliness is all consuming and dark. It's almost comforting. A couple of
hot tears that burn the eyes and a grimace as one's own treacherous cock remains
limp in spite of the need to jerk off.
Anything, just something to pass the time as he waits for the eternal damnation
to come to an end. Too long alone.
He can't believe he's thinking about him again, that beloved lanky figure with
the inherent, passionate indifference.
Sweet anxiety curls around the insides of his chest and makes its home there,
familiar and sickening.
It might be self-pity, but then if it were, it wouldn't hurt so much.
His thoughts are drawn back to Him once more, this time considering getting up
and going to him and... Nah, it ain't worth the hassle, the bruises, the argument,
the pain afterwards. It's happened before and never got him anywhere, after
all. Better to stay here and lick old wounds that never healed, scarring the
heart, rather than go seek fresh ones.
After everything that's happened, to have to sit here alone in the fucking dark
again, wondering what a life is worth—any life... It's enough to make one
grab one's gun.
Yeah, better. Cold metal, heavy and familiar in his grip. He can't help staring
blankly at it, wondering why he doesn't just pull the fucking trigger and get it
over with. With a sigh, he puts it down. He'd rather Mulder did it, actually.
Not a bad thought, he thinks to himself.
In that moment of desperation, he suddenly realizes he doesn't care anymore. He
wants to see Mulder again, even if Mulder does the deed. He doubts Mulder has
the balls, actually. With a cold grin, he realizes he doesn't have anything
left to lose. He might as well get it over with and just go see the son of a
bitch he dreams about constantly in spite of his best attempts not to.
He wonders if Mulder is alone. In fact, he wonders if Mulder will even believe
it's him. He decides to go for a litmus test.
Snatching up his phone, he dials Mulder's number. He glances at his watch.
It's after midnight; Mulder might be asleep.
To his surprise, Mulder answers.
"Hello, Fraulein."
Mulder's voice sounds so droll and endearing.
Alex has to stop himself from laughing. What the hell?! Fraulein?! Mulder
sounds cheerful, playful, even... Wait a minute. Maybe he's waiting for a call.
Maybe he's been watching porn. Maybe he thinks it's Scully... After all, who else
ever calls him? Maybe—
"Hello? Vast ees dees? Hello?" Mulder sounds almost drunk. Or something.
Still, the humor is unmistakable in that familiar voice, and Alex realizes that
he's probably not a clone or alien replacement yet. Mulder really shouldn't try
to speak in foreign languages—it just makes him sound more hilarious. No
one could ever take it seriously. Only Mulder would answer the phone like that.
Alex regretfully cuts the line, wondering if Mulder has been watching a war
movie or maybe even a porn flick featuring a busty, lusty German nurse with a
bad accent, a bad wig and high, high heels— He shakes his head. Mulder.
There was no telling.
He pulls on his boots and his trusty leather jacket, and then picks up his
gloves. Putting one between his teeth, he slides his hand into it while
grabbing up his keys and turning out the lights. Pulls on the other glove,
staring at his gun he's left on the coffee table, and after a moment's
consideration, he picks up the gun again.
There is no way he's going to see Mulder without it. Mulder would need it if he
really wanted to shoot him. Mulder didn't have his FBI issue sidearm anymore.
And besides, no sense going totally unarmed into the lion's den. He winces at
his own thought. Thank God for alien medical technology and Rebel Healers.
Thank God for getting his arm back. And wonders, not for the first OR the last
time, what Mulder thought when he'd found out that Alex Rat-bastard, Scum,
Traitor and Hate-worthy Krycek had lost his arm.
Bastard had it coming? Glad it wasn't me?
Knowing Mulder, he thought gloweringly, mockingly, the Fox would've been
repulsed and yet fascinated and then let drop some searing, sarcastic comment.
Although Mulder had never given any indication he felt either pity or
celebration at his loss in the few times he'd met up with the Agent—scratch
that, Ex-Agent—since the man's revival.
In his car, he finds himself wondering what the hell he's actually doing. He
can't be going to see him. But he is. It's a long drive. Plenty of time to
consider the utter folly of this move, yet also let the anticipation build.
He has a sense of fatality coldly running through him, as though this might
really be the last time. After all, Mulder thinks he's dead.
As he drives through the dark night, along the highway, passing buildings lit
only by streetlamps and car parks, he can't help wondering what Mulder would do
or say if he were to be truly honest with him. Tell him the truth. GIVE him
that precious fucking truth that Mulder is always claiming he's incapable of
giving. Mulder's words from previous encounters ring as an echoing litany
through his mind: 'liar, traitor, coward, murderer'...
Mulder's obviously never heard the expression, 'the enemy of my enemy is my
friend.'
He'd tried to tell Mulder it was something he lived by, that night he'd brought
the clue about the Rebel Leader... Along with that kiss. He can't help wincing
though, knowing that he'd unwittingly told Mulder far more with that wordless
gesture than any impassioned speech might have conveyed.
The real tragedy is that they were both right, Alex thinks as the car eats up
the miles. A white knight in shining armor, and a dark knight, each with blood
on their hands from the battles.
A tacit camaraderie he shared with Mulder was something the ex-Agent would never
admit. Not even with his body lying dead on the concrete, Alex suddenly thinks
vehemently. But that's too painful to remember. Stop. Just... let it go.
A silence descends in his head, allowing him the blessed relief of no more
thoughts, his window down to blow the wind into the car.
He doesn't even want the radio on. Rushing wind is good enough.
He's loving this. A beautiful fugue state of speeding, his reflexes still
effortlessly keen in spite of all the adrenaline shocks and trauma he's
sustained over the years.
In fact, he's enjoying it so much that it's almost with a little dismay when he
realizes he's finally nearing Mulder's neighborhood. Jazzed, he can't help
humming tunelessly as he coasts silently through the dark streets, swinging
finally into Mulder's area.
Oh yeah, the anticipation is singing in him now, thrumming through his body.
Gonna see him, it's been so long... He remembers to scope out the front of the
apartment building for Scully's car. The two have grown so close lately; he
can't help feeling like he's intruding.
Fuck that noise; at this point it's irrelevant. The arrival of the wonder brat
has reduced all hopes he's ever had for any chances with Mulder to itty-bitty
proportions, anyway. He parks on the other side of the street and gets out,
looking around in the cool night air for any sign of life. Place is pretty
quiet. He licks his lips and walks across the street. It's easy to get inside.
He's done it so many times before.
He doesn't stop until he's at the door, staring at the metal numbers on it and
wondering if he really intends to knock. Christ, yes.
Taking a breath, he removes his gloves, lifts a hand and raps. Waiting. And
the moments slip by. His nervousness and tension mount in tandem. He raises
his hand to knock again when he hears movement on the other side. He glances
around the dim corridor.
The door is pulled open and Mulder is staring suspiciously at him.
Shit. He hadn't preplanned anything and now he doesn't really know what to say.
With a little mental shrug, he realizes his presence there is pretty
self-evident. Yeah, Mulder, I'm alive. Surprise.
"Hi, yourself, Fraulein," he says, letting Mulder know who it was that had
called earlier.
Mulder is staring at him still, a curious mingling of horror and awe in his face
shadowed by his uniquely placid expression. Finally, Mulder asks, noncommittal
but confused, "Krycek?"
Uh-huh, like I'm gonna suddenly pull a weapon on him and say, nope, I'm an
alien, Mr Mulder; come to replace you. But Alex doesn't dare say anything about
that because there have been so many close calls, more than Mulder can ever
guess. He doesn't want to have to get into a long, drawn-out explanation as to
how and why each of those instances occurred. Alex swallows and says, "Mulder."
Mulder's eyes narrow but he opens the door further and appears thoughtful as he
replies, "You're dead, aren't you?"
"I was. The Rebels... they, ah, brought me back. They figured they owed me, as I
was the one who brought YOU back. Seems they have a funny sense of honor
regarding vaccines, debts and hybrids." He is trying to keep his face calm, but
his nerves are starting to act up again. He'd forgotten how beautiful Mulder
is, especially in jeans, and—Jesus—bare feet. He quickly forces his
gaze back up to Mulder's face only to find Mulder regarding him knowingly.
Mulder lets his own eyes sweep down over Alex's form.
Mulder chews on his lower lip and asks, "What are you doing here?" As if Mulder
would have expected him to be anywhere else but there at his door.
Alex manages a shrug. "I thought you'd want to know. Guess I was wrong." But
he is a little too nonchalant, he can tell, because now Mulder's gaze has gone
all predatory. He's managed to arouse his curiosity.
"What, no tidbits of information? No arcane, abstract data to titillate me? No
wild goose chases? No peck on the cheek?"
He gives Mulder a stony look that gives away nothing and waits for Mulder to
take the bait.
Sure enough, Mulder opens the door all the way and waits for him to come in.
Gotcha, he thinks.
As he starts to enter the room, Mulder's hand shoots out to feel the back of his
neck.
Fuck!
The shock of the warm touch against his neck is almost enough to make him let
out a grunt of surprise, fear and arousal, but he manages to stifle it. He waits
for Mulder to withdraw his hand, seemingly satisfied with his alien spot-check.
Steeling himself while trying to not look like he's steeling himself, Alex walks
past him into the living room. He's not sure if he should be angry at Mulder's
seeming indifference to his appearance at his door. Just like when he'd taken
that final bullet between the eyes.
But then, Mulder had come back too, from the grave no less. And with no thanks
even for his savior. Alex Traitor and Murderer Krycek, receiving thanks for
administering the very vaccine that restored him to the land of the living?
Surely not, Alex scoffs silently. And besides, Mulder had seen so much bizarre
shit over the years; maybe he had grown inured against shocks of this kind.
He turns and sees Mulder is still standing by the door he's just closed. Mulder
is blinking at him. Hm. Maybe he's more surprised than I thought, Alex thinks.
Dryly, he says, "Do I need to take a blood test? Or will you accept that it
really is me, here?"
Mulder tilts his head slightly. "Why ARE you here?"
Alex lets his eyes dart over the room. It's pretty much the same as always,
from what he remembers. "Figured you deserved to know. I mean, you watched me
die." He can't suppress the resentment that rises at this memory. Mulder
hadn't even batted an eye.
Maybe he was wrong for coming here tonight, like this. He wonders if Mulder will
go for him. Try to pound some truth out of him. Hypocrite, he thinks darkly,
and realizes he ought to milk this for all it's worth, now that he's here. Alex
adds, "I figured it'd be more convincing if I showed up. I didn't think you'd
believe it if I phoned. It's kinda hard to deny I'm not a ghost this way, isn't
it?"
Mulder took a step forward and put a hand on his arm, experimentally. "You seem
pretty solid." As if this is the only proof needed to convince him, Mulder
steps away and goes to sit down on his black leather couch. With a lift of his
chin, folding his arms across his chest, Mulder says, "So what do you want?"
Alex regards him. "Do I have to want something?" He shrugs. "Maybe I just
want to talk about old times. What are you up to these days? Must be hard,
having to watch them screw around with the important stuff, coming to all the
wrong conclusions."
Mulder makes a face, as if it really doesn't matter to him one way or the other.
"Why bother coming here at all? Is it supposed to mean something to me that
you're still around? Still in the game? Why do you think I should care?"
Alex looks around once more, realizing that something does feel different. It's
barer than he recalled. Something is different, in the way that there is less
clutter. Blinking, he notices finally the bag at the far end of the room, by
the bedroom door. "I'm surprised you're still here." They both knew how
Mulder's safety was at risk the longer he remained.
"I was just leaving," Mulder replies, giving away nothing.
Not that Alex expected Mulder to give him anything for free, any hint or clue.
But it's enough of a response to let him know that at least Mulder isn't going
to be sticking around even now with the arrival of Scully's baby. Alex almost
sighs at this thought. He'd tried to save all of them from the pain of that
particular complication. And of course they'd all damned him for it.
And where is Mulder going? At Mulder's closed, hooded expression, he realizes
the truth. Gibson Praise. Who else would be the perfect shelter? He knows
where the kid is, and approves. Mulder would be fairly safe there. But he
doesn't say anything.
With a near smirk, Mulder inquires, "What, were you worried about me, Krycek?"
Alex snorts, "God forbid. I've only saved your ass, what, eight times now?"
"As many as that?" Mulder's voice is mocking.
Alex is weary of this merry dance. Parry, thrust, sharp repartee... and Mulder's
final blow would inevitably be hopelessly juvenile and yet he knew it would
still hurt, unaccountably. He looks down and away. Maybe this was a mistake.
Mulder didn't even want to fight. He feels pathetic and awkward suddenly.
Straightening, he says, "Well, see you around maybe."
He is about to turn to go when Mulder says, without moving from his position on
the couch, "Why?"
Alex stops. "Why what?"
"Why'd you do it? Save my life so many times?"
Alex gives him a withering look. "You have to ask?"
Mulder shakes his head slightly. "Why don't you come clean for once? What have
you got to lose?"
What—? Alex stops at this, hoping Mulder isn't implying what it sounds
like he's implying.
But Mulder is sitting up, leaning forward to rub his face with both hands, and
then standing up, regarding Alex directly, not taking his eyes from him as he
continues, lifting his chin, "I know you can't leave me alone. Your coming here
tonight is about as obvious as you've ever been. What do you want?"
Alex can't stop the hope from flaring in his chest at this. A barrage of words
rises to his mouth and he almost wants to blurt them out. But the main word
remains emblazoned across his consciousness so brightly that it stops him in his
tracks. He wants to say it aloud so badly that he nearly does.
You.
But the sheer stupidity of this luckily stops him from doing so, of course. He
just blinks, wondering what he CAN say to save himself from this suddenly
painful situation. Mulder has never been this blunt before.
"I know what you want," Mulder says quietly, to Alex's horror.
He wants to flinch but doesn't dare. He never expected Mulder to do this; to
make it so... obvious... and discussible. Mulder was supposed to be the one in
glorious self-repression and denial.
He swallows. This was a bad idea. I shouldn't have come. He's gonna eat me for
lunch.
And the image this conjures unbidden in his mind's eye is almost as bad as what
Mulder does next.
Stepping closer, Mulder considers him carefully. Alex has to fight to remain
standing where he is. Mulder is...way too close. And Mulder murmurs, "Tell me.
Tell me what you want."
It's undoing him, undoing all his reserve, all his promises to himself to never,
never give Mulder this much chance to hurt him. He almost gasps with the need
to say it, to reply.
And Mulder is so close now, he wants to close his eyes from the intensity of his
presence, Mulder's warmth radiating from him and that penetrating gaze.
"Alex?" Mulder prompts, using his name with an over-familiarity that's almost
patronizing.
Oh, fuck it, he thinks, letting his breath out loudly. What else was he HERE
for, anyway?! And he grabs Mulder by the back of the neck and brings those
plush lips into contact with his own, firmly.
The contact is sudden. Mulder goes still and Alex can't help freezing, hoping
Mulder won't pull away.
Oh God, warm and soft, surprised and yet somehow inviting under his, Mulder's
mouth is too good, too much, too hot. And then, to his amazement, Mulder's lips
open and that longed-for tongue sweeps into his mouth, between his lips, curious
and questing.
With a moan, he can't help his answering response from escalating into a
full-blown exploration of Mulder, lost in him. It goes on and on, and he wants
it to never end. There is nothing in the world but the two of them. He's
giving it all to Mulder, right here and now, all the pent-up frustration and
desire, all the caring and the pain, all the longing, wordlessly.
Want you. Wanted this, for so long.
And this kiss won't stop. He's so glad. Mulder is kissing him back, Mulder is
returning the excitement, the desire... Alex is so glad he hadn't been wrong.
He's always suspected Mulder felt the same way, that Mulder wanted it too.
His mouth—it's Mulder's mouth. His lips on Alex's.
Alex is dizzy with the knowledge that it's real, that it's him; it's Mulder's
tongue tasting his.
He hadn't realized he'd been holding onto Mulder for dear life, as Mulder
withdraws for breath, and he finds himself staring into Mulder's wry
countenance.
Mulder's lips are wet and shiny and parted, but he says, jovially, "I guess that
answers my question."
Alex lets go of him like he's been scalded, and steps backward.
He can't control his own breathing and he finds himself gasping for air. The
temperature of the room is too hot, and his cheeks are burning. After all this
time, to have finally tasted what he'd been dreaming about, and of COURSE Mulder
is going to cover his own embarrassment at his response to Alex with some kind
of inanity. Just how painfully sharp the barbs will be depends on Mulder's
mood.
But Mulder looks hurt. He looks hurt, for fuck's sake. "What, was it not what
you'd hoped?"
"No," Alex replies, a little too quickly, and then backtracks. "I—yes.
But—" He stops, wondering why the world is spinning lazily. It was just a
kiss for God's sake. He feels sick as he realizes he's going weak at the knees.
Mulder unconsciously brings a hand up to wipe his mouth and says, "I thought so.
I mean, I always thought it was that way between us." Like he didn't want it to
be true, and had doubted it would be.
The sudden, swift jab of pain surprises Alex. He wants to cry out, hoarsely,
always Mulder, I've always wanted it, wanted you, wanted this. It isn't fair.
Something in his face must've showed this to Mulder though, because Mulder
frowns slightly and closes the distance between them, taking Alex into his arms
and just...
Holds him.
Alex mechanically brings up his arms to hold Mulder in return, the leather of
his jacket creaking from the motion, and he can't speak. There isn't anything
he can say.
Mulder's voice is low and comforting as it resounds through him, vibrating
through his chest as he speaks, their bodies pressed together. "I know, I
know."
It makes some kind of sense, particularly on a primal level, and Alex finds
himself relaxing against Mulder, letting the tension leave and just... holding
him.
He's drifting, loving this, loving these moments, wanting them to go on and on
and on.
It doesn't even seem to matter that he wasn't expecting to be trusted. And that
it doesn't make sense that Mulder would accept him now, after all the shit
they've been through, after all the things he's done that Mulder blames him for.
When Mulder moves, shifting and pulling away, he finds himself making a little
noise of protest, and then stifles it. He steps away too, feeling idiotic at
losing control over something so revealing. But Mulder merely pulls at the
sleeve of his jacket as he motions in the direction of the bedroom.
"Come on, let's go."
Alex's mind is whirling. "W-what? Go where?" Mulder can't mean...
Almost impatiently, Mulder says, "Well, that's the direction this is going,
isn't it?"
But—it can't be that easy... And he realizes he whispered it aloud.
Mulder looks into his stunned face and says, gently, "Alex Krycek. You and me.
Yeah, I guess it is kind of unbelievable. But hell, we've been dancing around
this for years. Let's go ahead and get it over with."
Alex frowns at this. He's not sure he likes the sound of it. But then, a
little voice shouts inside him, whaddya want, hearts and flowers?! Go, for God's
sake! And he finds a happy little smile curling over his lips, coloring his
response to Mulder. "Okay. You first."
Maybe it's a dream, and maybe it's not. In any case, surreality is the only
certainty. And whether he's awake or asleep, he still has nothing to lose. Yet.
Mulder bites his lip and turns back to the bedroom, walking slowly forward,
removing his shirt as he does so. Pulling down his jeans and shimmying them
down to his knees, managing to gracefully step out of one leg and then the other
without missing a beat, Mulder is opening the bedroom door and tossing his
clothes inside. He turns to regard Alex, and says, "Come on, Krycek. For
someone who wants it so bad, you sure are dragging your feet." And he pulls
down his shorts as he walks away, into the bedroom.
Fuck you, Alex thinks in response, and almost growls at him. But he bites it
back and thinks, I'll get you, my pretty, and that tight little ass of yours,
too. If Mulder is going to let his guard down this much, and throw him a bone
and some taunts but not even have the decency to treat him with a little bit of
courtesy, well then...
Mulder will only have himself to blame if he gets ravished in the process.
A dark sneer adorns his face as he saunters into Mulder's bedroom.
"Take a load off," Mulder suggests lightly. "And the leather, too."
"Why, should I bother? How long will this take?"
Mulder sucks in a breath, obviously backing up in the privacy of his mind and
reassessing the situation—as well as Krycek. "Don't tell me you're a
two-minute wonder."
Krycek shakes his head slightly. Wrong tangent, Fox-boy, he thinks to himself.
But then, Mulder never did know when to leave off the barely-disguised sexual
slurs and adlibs when they were alone together. It betrayed his lust and
insecurity where he, the 'menace', was concerned.
He slowly continues up to Mulder where the man sits perched on the bed, and
stands there, looking down at him. "Why? Do you really think you're that
good?"
Mulder is sitting on the bed when Krycek's husky, velvet voice throws down this
gauntlet, the challenge so screamingly obvious that he wants to stand up and
shove Krycek, make him react, and then bellow back and go all macho... But he
knows he can't afford to lose it this time. The dynamic is different. It's
still sexual and covert, but something desperate and secret is trying to get
free. He can feel it. He can see it too in the way Krycek's eyes are
practically begging him to take pity on him, all the while his mouth issues
challenges, adorned once more with that trademark smirk.
It begs the question, Mulder thinks. Am I really that good, that I can make you
come within two minutes, writhing and begging under my mouth, my hands... Wouldn't
you love to know, Krycek? Mulder wants to reply and knows he doesn't dare
comment. It would be too much like fighting again.
He's been packing and making arrangements and talking to Scully all day long.
He's ready to sleep. Having Krycek here is the icing on the cake in a kind of
reverse quantum flow of energy. He's well aware that he's more likely to be the
one who loses it first, here, due to the extreme excitement thrumming throughout
his body at Krycek's presence, all tight leather and black and panting for him,
but he knows better than to point this out.
Krycek is so nervous. He can tell in the way the man holds himself tightly in
control, his guard up so stiff against Mulder and what he might say to him...
Tiredly, he sighs silently to himself. He's willing to bet that Krycek is just
as tired of the enmity between them as he is.
But doesn't Krycek KNOW that the only reason he's making comments and jokes at
all is because he's nervous too? As nervous as Krycek appears to be, if not
more.
He wants to stop the posturing but he knows he has to be careful. Krycek is
liable to get all suspicious if he just drops it too quickly. Look how guarded
he got when Mulder invited him in. Like they were supposed to go for the punch
and judy routine every single time. Like he didn't consider Mulder capable of
carrying a civil conversation, for God's sake. Rubbing his face with one hand,
Mulder stares up at him.
"Maybe. Then again, this is your show. Do what you like. You want me, Krycek?
Help yourself."
And he leans back, letting himself fall flopping backwards at an angle onto the
bed, his head resting near the edge of the pillow. The bed wobbles and flows
beneath him.
Krycek gives a start, glaring at the bed with distrust.
"It's a water bed," Mulder explains, superfluously.
"Since when?" Krycek demands.
And Mulder can't help himself; he starts to chuckle. "That is a long, long
story. Do you have the time? Or are you here just for a quick fuck?"
Whoops. Mulder lets out a sigh. Krycek's face is closing up once more, going
all stony and cold.
Ruefully, Mulder realizes it will take more than a long, long time to explain
that he didn't mean it the way it sounded. He's tired and having a hard time
keeping pace with Krycek's insecurity. At this point, he's hoping it will be a
quick fuck, but he can't exactly say that. Krycek will take offense.
"Just for once," Mulder muses aloud, "wouldn't you like to just cut the crap,
get to the point, and—I don't know—be authentic? Sincere? Stop
playing games? What do you really want, here?"
Krycek looks down and away. He looks haunted at this simple question.
Levering himself up on his elbows, Mulder adds, "As much as it might make you
feel like you really have fallen into the Land of Oz, I don't want to fight
anymore. And this is what you really want after all, isn't it?"
"What is, exactly?"
"Me," he clarifies, thinking: it ought to be more than obvious. Why the fuck is
Krycek stalling, now that he's got me right where he's always wanted me?!
The answer rebounds on his heels: he doesn't buy it.
"Jesus Christ on a crutch," he complains. "What do I have to do? Pull a gun on
you and ORDER you to sit your ass down here next to me?" He's aware of the
plaintive note in his voice and congratulates himself for sounding properly
vulnerable.
Sure enough, it works. Krycek licks his lips, wetting that pretty pink mouth of
his, and says, "You do know you're fucking nuts, don't you, Mulder?" But he
sits down next to him, riding the slightly sloshing surface as it responds to
his weight.
"Takes one to know one, Krycek. Glass houses and all that," he says, absently,
without the usual vitriolic sarcastic note that would have made it hurt more.
He's tired of hurting him... and tired of getting hurt by him. Maybe Krycek had
somehow got it into his head to save them both the trouble at last, and allowed
his subconscious desires to propel him into Mulder's apartment tonight.
He regards Krycek, wonderingly. "Alex," he begins, noting with some regret now,
how the man stiffens at the use of his first name. "I don't get it. What made
you come here now? And why tonight, of all nights? I'm leaving tomorrow.
Did—did you know that? Did you come to say goodbye?"
But Krycek just looks away, across the room to the bedroom door. He doesn't
reply.
Maybe he can't, Mulder thinks to himself. Maybe he doesn't know. It's a little
too cold in the chill November night for him to be lying there naked and
exposed. Rolling up slightly, off the edge of the covers, Mulder struggles to
pull the bedcovers over himself. "Come on in, the water-bed's fine," he quips.
And has to struggle not to crack a laugh or even a grin at Krycek's slightly
intimidated, disgusted expression.
Obviously, Mulder hasn't changed where it counts the most. He is still
irritating, and still possesses an outrageously bad and inappropriate sense of
humor, fed by the most paranoid mind incapable of communicating simple
civilities or explanations as to how his own train of thought worked.
Alex lets out a breath. He feels stupid now for remaining clothed. And just as
intensely, he doesn't feel like stripping, either.
No, now that it comes down to the eleventh hour, he thinks with a savage
frustration with himself, I'm choking at the moment of glory. I could have him.
I could have the man I've been torturing myself over for years.
Is it worth it? Hell, maybe all the dreams are better than finally blowing my
wad and having to pick up the pieces of my heart afterwards.
But, he notices surreptitiously, Mulder actually looks—concerned for him.
Alex frowns. For ME, Alex Krycek, the rotten, no-good whoreson bastard son of a
bitch... It must be a hallucination.
Sure enough, Mulder says with just enough of an attitude to nettle him, "Don't
tell me you're having second thoughts, now?"
Bitterly, he rejoins, "What, are you kidding? Me, have second thoughts about
this? About you? About stripping myself bare—body, heart and soul—and
giving you everything I am, handed over on a silver fucking platter so you can
dig in, spit out the bones and say, 'thanks for the fuck, Krycek, see you in
hell'? Yeah, I've got to be nuts to want to pass that up."
Mulder frowns with confusion, looking positively shocked. "Body, heart and
soul?" he repeats, slowly, in what appears to be total disbelief.
"What, did you think I was going to be easy, Mulder?" He gives Mulder a
withering glance.
"Body, heart and soul," Mulder says again, very slowly, obviously mulling this
over, trying it out in his mind.
"Sure, right," Alex snorts, "I'm supposed to believe this little act of yours
and fall into your arms, begging you to be gentle. 'Please don't hurt me any
more, Agent Mulder, don't beat me'—I know you get off on it. It's probably
the only way you can really get it up, isn't it? The only way you'll be ABLE to
get it up with me."
"'Fall into my arms'?" Mulder repeats, quietly, significantly.
Oh shit. Mulder was going into analysis mode. He didn't think he could handle
this, not right now. "If you try any of your psychoanalysis bullshit on me, I'm
out of here," he declares.
Mulder blinks at him. "Body. Heart... and soul."
Alex stares down at him. What the fuck—? "Mulder?"
Mulder is nodding now. "Alex."
Mulder is starting to creep him out. Alex glowers. "You heard what I said.
What are you-"
"I'm supposed to believe that you want to play—for keeps?" Mulder asks, his
voice going up considerably on the last word, sounding puzzled. And hopeful.
Alex feels like grabbing him with both hands and shaking him. He snaps his
fingers in front of Mulder's face. "Mulll-derrrr," he singsongs, "Snap out of
it. You're going all—weird on me, here. I'm not talking hearts and
flowers, I'm talking about your sick habit of beating on me, literally and
figuratively."
"'Hearts and flowers'," Mulder says, as if he isn't paying attention. "You
know, that says a lot, Alex. It says a lot about you." He nods, looking very
thoughtful. "A lot."
Oh fuck. A frisson of cold fear runs down Alex's spine. Mulder thinks he's in
love with him.
Licking his lips, he tries to buy himself some time. "I didn't know you were
leaving tomorrow. Hey, that's lucky though—I caught you here on your last
night. Imagine that. It's spooky. Maybe we're, you know, in sync or
something."
Mulder gives him a weak little smile. "Nope. But maybe later we can be the
Backstreet Boys."
With a groan, Alex says, with an exasperated sigh, "So, are you coming back,
ever? Or are the rest of us, including the lonely Fraulein Scully, just supposed
to pine away after your departure into God knows where, maybe some lost
wilderness in the backwoods of Middle America?"
Twisting his lips, and chewing at the corner of his mouth, Mulder doesn't take
his sharp eyes from Alex's face. "That depends."
"On—?"
"Whether I get any tonight. And you don't even have to worry about Scully
dropping by because she already left, earlier."
"Ah. That is lucky."
"Are you going to stop stalling, Krycek? Or shall I start the party without
you?" Mulder reaches a hand beneath the covers and Krycek can see it moving
down to where Mulder's cock is, moving in a very familiar motion.
The challenge is still mostly unspoken, even in spite of Mulder's words and now
with that additional and rather distracting hand it's even more obvious and
unspoken, but Krycek wonders if he really does want to meet the challenge after
all. He's still feeling the second thoughts battling his urge to fling caution
to the wind and pounce.
Besides, it seems as though Mulder really has got his number, in spite of the
man's seemingly playful behavior in wanting to go along with this weird
seduction. Hell, which one of them was seducing the other? And then he snorts
derisively, silently, at his own reticence. Stupid, to look a gift horse in the
mouth.
He stands up decisively and slowly begins undressing, starting with the leather
jacket.
It feels like removing his armor. The black knight, indeed. He wonders if he's
going to get out of this room in one piece. Somehow, the thought isn't very
funny, considering previous times he's shared situational hazards with this man.
Losing body parts like arms and hearts wasn't exactly pleasant. Neither was
losing one's life, for that matter. But then, they were at least even on THAT
score.
Yes! Mulder has to bite quickly on his tongue to stop an exclamation of
triumph. Krycek is finally taking off his clothes. Thank God. He's going to
get him, after all.
He can't be too nice to Krycek, or Krycek's going to freak out.
It was like trying to coax a wild, undomesticated animal to trust him, to get
close enough to offer food from his hand. In a way, he realizes with a
sickening lurch of self-loathing, Krycek was right: he's contributed to Krycek's
wariness and unease, with all the previous times he's allowed himself to lose
control and vent all his pent-up frustration and rage on him.
He's actually afraid to speak now in case he scares him off.
Truth be told, his heart is pounding in his chest, threatening to leap out of it
completely. He hasn't gone all the way with a guy, ever. Sure, sure, played
around and stuff, but never... all the way. He wonders if he is getting himself
into something he won't be able to get out of. And if he wants to. He has to
admit there's a great deal of curiosity about what it will be like. He's never
been on the receiving end of sexual attention like that. Women are nice, women
are great, he muses, watching Krycek pull down his shorts, watching as Krycek's
fully erect cock springs free.
Oh boy, he thinks, with trepidation... and sudden hunger. Apparently, Krycek's
cock is downright pretty, just like his mouth. And eyes. Not at all menacing,
despite his feline masculinity.
He remains where he is, idly stroking his cock, which has decided to respond to
the sight of a naked Krycek sitting on the edge of the bed looking unsure of
himself.
Hm, interesting. He doesn't really feel like this is a gay scene at all.
Krycek isn't like any other man he's known. For some reason, he doesn't feel
sexually threatened either, which is curious and slightly maddening. Krycek is
beautiful, he decides suddenly. Even more so naked than clothed. In fact, he's...
Something clicks within Mulder's mind.
It doesn't make sense, even seeing Krycek naked like this. The man could take
him on, no problem, and best him with superior strength. Krycek has more bulk,
broader shoulders, and a heftier build. He frowns.
"You're built," he accuses, letting a petulant note creep into his voice. "Not
that I'm complaining," he swiftly adds. "But more than I am and you could have
fought back, you could have taken me any time. Why didn't you?"
For some weird reason, Krycek seems to find this question completely ominous.
Baffled, Mulder asks, "What? Am I not supposed to wonder?" Maybe Krycek's
offended he hasn't really thought about it until he's stripped and nude in front
of him, about to do the wild thing...
The obvious answer dawns. "You can't hurt me, can you?"
The sheer stupidity of ever having hit this man or abused him in any way,
considering his dangerousness, followed by the knowledge that in his position of
power over him that night in his apartment years back, Krycek had actually upped
the ante by kissing him instead... Bypassing the hostility and taking it to the
more honest level... Mulder feels—
Ashamed.
Lamely, he says, "I'm sorry I hurt you."
Krycek gives him a hard look. "Mulder, for God's sake," he retorts in seeming
exasperation, "I'm not gonna hurt you now, either."
"No, I didn't think you were, I'm not implying that you would. I just—I
get it now. I do."
Krycek blinks at him and licks his lips again.
The sight of it, with that curious mixture of hungry desperation, vulnerability
and uncertainty, makes a stab of lust run through him and his cock leaps. He
lets go of it and rises up a little, pulling the covers back invitingly. "Come
on, get in."
He's gotta be dreaming. Mulder? Apologizing? For HURTING him?! The open
covers and welcoming expression on Mulder's face is so at odds with what he's
used to, and so alike to previous dreams and fantasies he's had, Alex is having
a hard time believing this.
Oh well. A dream is a dream is a dream. He slides into the cool sheets, under
the really—fuck that's good—warm covers, and the waterbed is rippling
away beneath him as Mulder's naked and warm calf and upper thigh bump against
his with every slosh below them.
"Wow," he breathes.
Mulder is snickering, quietly. "I take it you approve."
"It's fantastic. Can I have it, when you go?"
"Hold that thought. Do you have somewhere to be, for the next few months?"
He holds himself very still. "What?" he asks, flatly.
"Yeah. It's been a while since I took a road trip. I'm thinking, I might need
someone with your qualifications along for the ride. Besides, I'll need someone
to take turns with me at the wheel. And help me keep warm on cold winter nights
in lonely motel rooms. You've saved my life so many times, I'm sure you'd be
able to save it again if trouble dared to rear its ugly head in our direction."
"Why?"
"Don't panic," Mulder advises. "I'm just thinking, you really must be serious
about this. You must have a serious thing for me, to show up here tonight."
And then to Alex's discomfort, he says again, "Body, heart and soul..." letting
his voice trail, meaningfully.
"Mulder, what qualifications do I need to keep you warm?"
"Well, let's see. You have to be human. You have to emit body heat. And you
have to be cuddly."
Alex nearly chokes on his saliva, as he's in the middle of swallowing.
"Cuddly?" he sputters in disbelief.
"And warm."
Alex is afraid of kissing Mulder again. He knows he won't be able to stop this
time, and he knows they'll go all the way, too. He takes a breath, and then
lets it out again. He still isn't sure what Mulder's going to let him do.
Usually, he'd just pounce, but this is—
This is Mulder. He's built it up so large in his mind that this is practically
the only equivalent to having his dreams come true, heaven on earth, the one
wish he'd wish for if granted his heart's desire. He's afraid to fuck this up.
He wonders if Mulder expects him to make a move.
"There used to be a mirror on the ceiling, too."
Alex finds himself taken aback, both at Mulder's casual remark and the
implications of it... "Used to be?"
"I took it down."
Alex turns his head to regard Mulder's profile in the dark. "Why?"
"Imagine, if you will, a lonely FBI agent who never brings anyone home, least of
all his beautiful, loyal redheaded partner. He sleeps alone in a sumptuous
waterbed and has to wake up every morning with a morning glory that he has to
finish off himself, by hand. And imagine, if... you will... that absurdly alone
agent trying to bring himself off whilst staring up at the ceiling, lacking a
Narcissus complex and seeing his own pathetically mournful reflection staring
back at him. Every single Goddamned morning."
That was his cue. Alex rolls in Mulder's direction and lets gravity do the
rest, his arms coming up to embrace him. With a kiss on that large nose, Alex
says, "If I'd known, you'd have woken every morning to find instead a perfectly
qualified warm human carefully not wasting that perfectly good morning erection
of yours." He's very aware they're using the banter between them to stave off
any possible knotty problems.
Mulder must be aware of it too. "I'm sorry I hit you. You know, before. I am."
Alex sniffs and wrinkles his nose. "It's okay, Mulder. I know you only did
because you want me."
"And I know you only let me 'cause you love me."
Alex can't see Mulder's face too clearly in the darkness, but he can see the
gleam of his eyes and the softened expression. Mulder's voice is so droll that
sometimes it's hard to tell if he's deadpanning or if he's serious. Most of the
time, he is sarcastic. This time, Alex knows he isn't.
He feels a surge of hope flare up inside him.
And wonders if Mulder is going let him go all the way. He feels paralyzed,
wondering what to do. What will Mulder allow him to do? It isn't like he's been
practicing with other men; how can one practice for consummation with someone
who's not only apparently straight —or at least bi—but hates your
guts?
HAS hated, in the past, he reminds himself, trying to control his breathing.
Mulder wants to seize Krycek's head and pull him down into a melting, slobbery
kiss. He wants to paint every inch of Krycek's fever-inducing body with his
tongue. He's painfully aware that if he makes too sudden a move at this point,
he's liable to frighten off his prey. So he lets Krycek make the moves, at the
speed he's comfortable with.
It's so dark, he can barely make out Krycek's face, and Krycek isn't speaking
anymore. He supposes he is going to have to rely on body language.
Not a bad idea. The poor guy's all keyed up. Mulder relaxes, letting himself
slacken in Krycek's embrace, and smiles. "It's sure taken us long enough to get
here," he comments. "It's been years."
Krycek appears to take this as his cue to move, and doesn't even reply, only
dips his head down and begins kissing Mulder's mouth, nibbling gently on his
lips.
Shit, this is so easy. Mulder is beyond astonished. And he never would have
expected such careful, precise attention. He thought Krycek would've attempted
to douse his nervousness with a big dose of bravado and action. It isn't timid,
either. It's very—
Damn. It's downright tender. The light kisses aren't fragile like the ones
that the women he's been with have bestowed on him this early in the game, and
yet Krycek's not overpowering either. Just the right balance of cautious and
caring. Just enough to make him come to the conclusion that he really wants
this, he wants him. He finds himself leaning up into them before he realizes
he's doing it.
He recognizes the time for words is over, they aren't necessary anymore. It's
dark, they're close together, warm and safe and with the future beckoning
brightly with new possibilities. This time was just for them, for exploration
and intimate discovery. Mulder realizes this is just what he's been missing in
his life, for so long now.
He also can't help feeling touched at how devotedly and attentively Krycek is
kissing him, in spite of the fact that his hot mouth is too good and that
wickedly sweet tongue is moving down over his chin, down his neck and over his
left collarbone.
And abruptly, the sweet, wet warmth is gone.
Krycek isn't kissing him anymore... For some reason, Krycek's hovering uncertainly
over him in the dark.
Mulder has to stifle a sigh. "What's wrong?"
Krycek is considering him. He appears to be balking. "Mulder, how..." He trails
off.
Mulder sighs. "You're having second thoughts again? Please don't tell me you're
going to do this just before we reach the end."
Krycek licks his lips, the wet sheen dully apparent in the faint gloom of the
room. "I don't get it. Why are you willing to suddenly let go of everything in
the past that still lies between us? Just like that?"
Krycek sounds honestly bewildered. Mulder can more than relate. He's feeling
rather surreal at the moment, himself. In a soft, wondering voice, he answers,
"I don't know. Maybe because we both died? Maybe the past died with us. You
know the myth of the phoenix? The bird that is consumed in fire and then reborn
out of its former ashes as a golden metaphor of the human soul? Maybe it's
something like that; only in this case, it's not just our lives, our bodies, but
how we relate with each other that's been renewed. This is—what you said
to me before—a singular opportunity."
Krycek nods slightly. And moves, sinks down, laying his head on Mulder's chest
in a surprisingly childlike gesture. Mulder reaches up a hand to run it through
Krycek's hair before he realizes what he's doing. Krycek's voice vibrates
through him as he says, "I guess that makes as much sense as anything else.
Purified... and cleansed by fire. Reborn."
"I'm not saying those things didn't happen, that they aren't still there. But
I'm certainly not going to hit you anymore," Mulder muses.
"Thanks," Krycek replies dryly.
"Hey, if this is too weird for you, I could always slap you around a little."
He's joking, and he says it lightly, but he knows Krycek is all too likely to
take offense. Especially considering the intimacy of what they're doing. He's
careful to keep touching Krycek's hair, stroking evenly, not halting or Krycek
is likely to think he is making a point.
"I'll pass, if it's all the same to you. I never got off on it the way you
did." Krycek sounds like he's choosing his words carefully, too.
A wry smile crosses Mulder. "Bullshit. You loved it. It was exciting."
Krycek lets out a snort of derision. "Now you're projecting. Let me throw a few
at you and you can see how exciting it is."
"Are you going to fuck me, or do I have to beg?" Mulder rejoins, not willing to
rise to the bait and let drop just how sexy he finds Krycek when his beauty is
marred with sweat, blood and tears. In modest droplets, of course.
But he's willing to bet his right—no, left—. Scratch that thought,
Mulder winces, jarred. Suddenly and unpleasantly it swells in his mind—no
more arms; they've had enough arms lost between them.
Still, he's certain that Krycek's pretty lips will be just as appealing when
they're splashed with droplets of his come.
Krycek goes silent. Even his breathing ceases, where his head lies upon
Mulder's chest. Mulder suddenly misses it, realizing the gentle rhythmic puffs
of breath had been very comforting against his skin, in a sweetly erotic way.
Krycek starts up again. "It's just—come on, surely it can't be this easy."
Krycek's voice is rough and it slides pleasantly over Mulder, making him
impatient.
"Sure it can," Mulder instantly offers. He reaches down to grab at Krycek's
wrist where his hand's lying on his bare chest and moves Krycek's hand down,
atop his hard dick. "See?"
With a silent chuckle, Krycek lifts up and seizes him more firmly, saying, "I
always figured you for a meat and potatoes sort of guy."
"Hey," Mulder protests drolly, "I can dig the sweet stuff too. But I usually
eat dessert after the main course."
Krycek freezes again.
Oh for—
Mulder is beginning to wonder just how nervous Krycek really is, when Krycek
starts shaking.
Shit. He really is too tired and too horny right now to deal with Krycek's
emotional problems.
Wait—actually, Krycek is laughing and he appears to be unable to keep
himself up too, as he falls to one elbow, laughing out loud now, unable to hold
onto Mulder's dick, destroying any semblance of dignity or control for either of
them as the bed roils dangerously beneath them.
Mulder can't help cracking a grin as they both fight for stability again.
"What? What is it?"
"Nothing. Just... all this," Krycek chuckles at him, trying to not fall over and
waving his other hand. "You, me, dessert. Crabmeat. And dinner with Skinner
at the airport. Just don't ask me to go through the car wash again."
Mulder purses his lips, wondering if he's the butt of some private joke. Krycek
HAS to be prevaricating, here. He's tired of the dance and now it's time to get
to the action.
He twists, lifts upwards and surprises Krycek, pushing him over onto his back,
grabbing onto his arms and holding him down. He moves his hands up to pin
Krycek's shoulders against the bed, riding the jerking, sloshing waves he's
started again on the waterbed. He's starting to wish the damn waterbed would
hold still. It's proving a real fucking pain in the ass, a hindrance rather
than any help in this difficult attempt to get laid with the one person in the
world that needed careful handling. The accidental rubbing of his cock against
Krycek's body is undoing his self-control. Krycek's going to find himself being
humped.
"Mulder," Krycek says, not bothering to fight him in the least, "we're going to
get seasick."
"Okay. I'm game. But let's fuck first."
Krycek stares up at him. "Not only are you easy, you're a slut."
"Don't tell Scully," Mulder says, and drops to capture Krycek's infuriating
mouth with his. FUCK but Krycek tastes good.
Krycek is laughing again and says, into Mulder's mouth, "She already knows."
"I know. But coming from you, she might take it as a challenge." Mulder
reaches up to hold Krycek's head still, letting himself possess those pretty
lips the way he's always wanted to. Slowly, fully, completely and deliciously.
Krycek is responding with all the abandon of a rat-bastard properly in love. So
much for Krycek's declaration that he wasn't going for the hearts and flowers,
thinks Mulder. Krycek is so ripe for it, and isn't even bothering to hide it
now. Which makes his cock jump with eagerness.
As he starts to slide away into a world containing only his cock, their mouths
sealed together and the sensation of holding Krycek down, he can't help
wondering in the back of his mind if they're going to respect each other in the
morning.
It would be a welcome change. God knows they haven't actually been able to
respect each other properly yet, in all their years of knowing each other.
Lost. In this kiss. In his kiss.
Alex can't breathe. His lungs are screaming for air but it really doesn't
matter. He can die again here in Mulder's arms, under this fierce, claiming
onslaught of passionate, intense regard. Attention from Mulder is something he
never really figured into the equation for his future. Pleasant attention, he
corrects himself, absently. And wonders how long Mulder will be able to keep it
up until he needs to surface for air.
Air is really over-rated, after all. Mulder's tongue is sweet; his mouth is so
lush. God, this was almost better than actually having the man fuck him.
Mulder's mouth against his, and for him to be able to just take it, laying
beneath him and giving it up... it's almost... affectionate, the way Mulder's
behaving with this kiss. He could imagine that it really meant something to
both of them. And he'd be damned before he'd let this moment go now.
Lips, hot lips mashed against his, Mulder moving atop him with sensuous
slowness, that tongue sliding around inside his mouth to lick at his teeth,
tangling with his own tongue before letting him delve inside...
It's dark and quiet and perfect, and he's in Mulder's bed with Mulder holding
him down as the bed sways lazily beneath them. Mulder's skin is actually hot
against his. Their combined body heat is climbing and starting to make their
skin stick in places where it chafed. Mulder's cock is big as it rubs against
his. Wonderful. I'm going to eat him, first chance I get, Alex promises
himself.
Trusting Mulder to not bail out, Alex finally tears his mouth away, gasping for
oxygen, and manages to pant, "Muh-Mulder, you got anything? You know, lube?
Stuff?"
Mulder was catching his breath, and says in an annoyed tone, "What do you take
me for?!"
It's too much to ask him to work out complicated rationale in his current
lust-seized state. Alex can't get it at first, what Mulder is upset about. It
was a simple question. Necessary, in fact.
But Mulder rises and maneuvers off and away, scrabbling in the dark towards the
drawer by his bed. "Of COURSE I have stuff," he huffs.
Aha. Must be that he keeps it in there, now. He knows for a fact that Mulder
used to keep it in the living room close to the TV, standing proudly beside the
little bottle of tape head cleaner, well-disguised to unwitting guests.
Frowning, he says, "You haven't packed it yet?"
"I'm packing, and you better believe it," Mulder promises him, flipping the lid
and squirting a generous amount all over his hands. Then he surprises Alex.
"Give me your hand. Your left one."
Alex reaches up, obediently. And to his utter astonishment finds Mulder sliding
his right palm against his, the lube spreading and squishing between their
fingers. Mulder keeps their hands clasped and moves carefully with the rocking
bed to sit beside him. Time is slowing, coming to a stand-still between them.
Clearing his throat, Mulder says, "Alex." Beginning a strange, wet kneading
motion, almost like he's caressing Alex's hand and wrist while he works the lube
into his skin, Mulder says, "I'm sorry you lost your arm. I never wished that on
you. I'm... kind of glad that everything's happened the way it has, because I
never expected you to show up here again. I thought you were dead, Alex. I
guess you could say I kind of grieved for you. I had always thought that there
would be a time when we could act on this, what we have going here. I always
wanted you to show up, but you never did. I guess I maybe hated you a little
for NOT showing up again after that night you kissed me."
Alex bites his lip, and almost jerks, nearly pulling his hand away. This was a
raw revelation for Mulder to give him now. But Mulder holds on to him. Their
hands are both sticky and wet, and it feels a little weird, but with Mulder
talking like this, Alex can feel a horrible sense of disorientation sweeping
over him. It can't be real, he's got to be dreaming. The realism and poignancy
of Mulder's words, as well as the way he's dropped this bombshell in Alex's lap,
it almost brings tears to his eyes.
Blinking hard, and swallowing, he makes out, "I wanted to. Show up, I mean.
And Mulder," he adds, swiftly, "I never blamed you for what happened. Hell, I
got you involved in that in the first place."
Mulder says, "No, this isn't about blame or responsibility. It's about a second
chance for both of us. I think we owe it to ourselves, to let ourselves forgive
each other. To let it go at last. My father-" He stops. And takes a breath.
Obviously drawing himself up for a resolution of some kind. "My father is dead,
through actions in his past coming back to haunt him in ways neither of us had
anything to do with, and I suppose in a way you paid for taking his life with
your own. All the others, and the things you've done that hurt me, you paid for
when you saved my life, when you brought me back."
Alex feels a tear slide from the corner of his left eye. He can't help it.
This is unbelievably the very thing he never thought Mulder would be ever
willing to do, let alone able to do. It is forgiveness.
Mulder continues to slide their hand together, wetting parts of Alex's fingers
he hadn't yet reached, paying special attention to his first two fingers. This
isn't lost on Alex. The wet sensation of this touch is becoming unbearable. It
feels like fucking...like making love with just the touch of their hands, and he
wants more.
Mulder doesn't show any sign of ceasing that almost comradely kneading of his
hand, as erotic as it is. Alex finds himself shaking, the tremors transmitting
themselves to Mulder where they're joined.
"I have a suggestion. Let's christen your new hand and both our lives with
this." Mulder's voice is soft. "Touch me, Alex."
Alex's mind is whirling and he starts to sit up. Mulder stops him with his
other hand on his chest. "No, I'm not—That's not what I have in mind.
Touch me, but not my cock." And he moves to straddle Alex's upper thighs,
crouching over his lap, and Alex finds an involuntary groan wrenched from him as
the head of his cock is suddenly connecting with Mulder's weighty balls as they
bump against it.
Trying to steady himself on the rocking bed as it jiggles beneath them after
Mulder's movements, Mulder is positioning himself so that he's angled better.
For impalement, Alex realizes. Oh my God. "You sure about this?" he questions,
letting enough disbelief in to allow Mulder to back out.
"I've never gone this far before with it, I figure the whole christening
procedure is more complete this way. Don't you think?"
Alex's mouth drops open. He can't find a reply. Mulder's gonna give THAT up to
him? Now? Here and now, tonight? To HIM? "Yeah," he manages, hoarsely.
The gesture is more than romantic; it's crucial. It's almost more than he can
bear. He wants to shove it into Mulder and at the same time melt away in his
arms. How the hell is he going to bear this?
Mulder laughs quietly, over him. And grabs his sticky left hand. "Here,"
Mulder offers, applying yet more lube. "I'm gonna lube you, while you lube me.
See?" And he demonstrates by pulling Alex's hand under him to touch his ass,
letting his balls rest on Alex's wrist, while grabbing Alex's painfully stiff
cock.
The sound he makes, as Mulder's greased hand closes around him, is unfamiliar
even to his ears. And then remembers he's supposed to get Mulder's ass ready.
Oh fuck, yes. Sliding an experimental finger along Mulder's perineum, he
reaches the valley of his crack and the pucker between.
Mulder's hand starts to clench and unclench around his cock and Alex stops.
"Don't—Don't do that for too long."
"Yeah. Yeah, I hear you," Mulder quietly says, stilling his hand, agreeing that
it will bring this to a premature end. And bears down somewhat on Alex's
finger, offering permission for him to go in.
Alex doesn't know what to say while he does this to him, to make it easier for
Mulder during this act. He hadn't expected this to be a deflowering. But Mulder
seems to be fine, emitting a noise of abandoned pleasure as the tip of Alex's
finger enters him.
It's strangely sweet, what he and Mulder are doing, the tenderness stirring in
his heart with warmth and also a great deal of heat between his legs. The
covers have fallen away since Mulder got up to get the lube and neither of them
have bothered to bring them up so they are completely naked on Mulder's bed,
moving slowly on the waves beneath. It feels right, almost with a sense of
ritual. He supposes in a way, it is a rite.
"Let's hope the waterbed bursts when we come," Mulder suggests, with a touch of
meaning to his voice that is lost on Alex.
Alex lets his finger slide all the way into Mulder and reaches for the gland
there, enjoying pressing and the way Mulder stiffens. "I'm hoping you'll burst
for me," he says, letting his voice drop.
Mulder sucks in a couple of breaths. "Fuck," he says.
"Good?" Alex inquires.
Mulder's got a death grip on his cock and leans a little more into Alex's right
hip where he's holding Alex with his left hand, supporting himself. He nods.
"Keep going."
"You ever, you know, experimented? On yourself?" Alex asks.
"Sure. But it isn't really the same, now is it?" And then stiffens again,
pulling a face as Alex starts to slide a second finger in to join the first.
Mulder lets out a loud, "Jesus."
With his right hand, Alex reaches up to hold Mulder's cock, not enough to
squeeze but just to hold. Comfortingly. Mulder really seems to like this.
Who wouldn't? But he knows Mulder's got to have some anxiety clouding the
experience for him. To have Mulder initiating this to start it off helped, but
now he realizes it's up to him. Mulder wants him to take him literally in hand.
He grins. Twisting his fingers, he loves the way Mulder responds to the
stimulus, arching his back and bearing down farther.
"I think we're ready to go onto phase two," Mulder mutters.
Alex melts inside, the excitement rushing through his bloodstream. "Whenever
you're ready."
The spare touch of Mulder's body against his in places is not enough. He wishes
he could fuse with Mulder, both of them joined and united in the same skin. The
rest of him feels lonely where Mulder's touch isn't.
He realizes that his cock is soon going to be where no one else's has ever been
before though. The thought of it makes his cock stand up even straighter in
Mulder's grip and practically salute.
Mulder feels this and smiles. "Lift-off." He lets himself sink down, lowering
just so that the head of Alex's dick is resting against his anus.
At the warm, smoothly ruffled contact of Mulder's entrance against the flared
head of his cock, Alex gasps. The anticipation rushes fiercely through him,
making him jerk a little, which in turn brings his cock into a surging push
against Mulder.
Mulder backs up a little, not ready for that yet. "Hang on, there."
"Sorry, sorry." Alex is breathing hard. His face feels hot and he can barely
think straight.
And then slowly, agonizingly slowly, Mulder is taking his cock into him, inch by
precious inch. Being sucked into that hot, tight clutching hole is heaven.
There is no doubt about it, this is what he was born to do. This is what Alex
has been living for, waiting for.
He waits for Mulder to accommodate to the foreign intruder, waits patiently as
Mulder finally moves even more, settling down to sink all the way onto Alex's
body, penetrated to the hilt.
Alex lets go of Mulder's cock, scrabbling to clutch at his leg, above Mulder's
left knee. "You okay?" he asks Mulder, who's sitting astride him in perfect,
statuesquely sexual elegance.
"Incredible," Mulder says, a hint of wildness in his reply. Mulder's going to
lose it. Oh yeah.
Alex is deliriously happy. He'll let Mulder stay on top and ride him, until
Mulder needs him to let go. Biding his time, Alex bites his lip, wondering at
what point Mulder's going to lose it and beg him to fuck him harder, deeper,
more.
Mulder is a little scared at how easy and intense it is. He hadn't counted on
it being so engulfing and immediate. He feels cheated: they should have been
fucking all this time, all these wasted years. And then he remembers all the
reasons he'd managed to convince himself he hated this man who's cock is now
wonderfully embedded in him so deep and so far up his own ass that he doesn't
want to move.
Staring down at the barely discernible shadows and planes of Alex's face in the
darkness of his bedroom, amidst his sheets and the pillows, Mulder knows how it
should have been, how it has been all along.
"I've think I've been saving myself up for this. For you," he adds.
"Mulder, oh God, Mulder," Alex sounds strained and unhinged.
With a little victorious smirk, Mulder begins to move, undulating
experimentally, letting the feeling of Alex's cock rub inside of him. He needs
to shift slightly with the angle of Alex's dick as it isn't really perpendicular
to Alex's body, but is curving upwards inside him... Oh wow. That really helps.
The head of Alex's cock is now rubbing right against that enchanting zone inside
his ass.
My God, he thinks. This is beyond good. He is breathing harder, the pleasure
leaching mental functions from his brain. "You may have created a monster
here," he informs Alex.
Alex is chuckling. "Good. Because I can promise you this isn't going to be the
last time we do this."
The sensation of the thick organ inside of him is fantastic and abruptly, Mulder
acknowledges what he was still too reluctant to admit until the present moment.
He wants to be fucked. Properly. No more delay, no more pretending. Licking
his lips, he says in a tense voice, "Fuck me. Hard."
Alex's body obliges even before he has a chance to think. Can Mulder take it?
He bucks upwards again, this time in a harder but more controlled thrust.
Mulder seems to love it though, writhing on him more fervently and cursing.
FUCK. Fucking Mulder. This is too—it's too much, too good. His brain's
going to seize up. He has a fever. Hot shivers are running up and down his
body from his toes to the hair prickling on his scalp. When he finally blows,
he's really going to explode. It's going to be a good one, probably the best
he's ever had. Which is mind-blowing enough, considering he's had some pretty
ecstatic jerk-off sessions thinking about the man currently riding him.
He realizes Mulder is getting needy for harder attention, and he complies,
thrusting upwards into that willful, sinful ass. It's like sliding effortless
in and out of a tight cream glove. He wants to scream.
Mulder is open-mouthed, unable to believe the sensations cart-wheeling through
him, radiating from where his and Alex's bodies are joined. He's going to lose
his load soon, there's no way he can keep this up forever. Not with the
pleasure taking him by storm and shaking every nerve ending in his body. He can
feel sweat trickling down from his armpits.
Alex is making helpless moans and breathy yelps under him, rising upwards with
fast jerking motions, causing his cock lodged inside Mulder to shove against his
prostate again and again.
He growls, "Hold my dick; come on, jerk me off."
Alex fumbles against him, grabbing onto his cock and palming him expertly.
OH SHIT—yes—
It's frantic, all too easy and really not enough at all. Every square inch of
his body is on fire. He almost sobs with exasperation at the need to explode
from the twin stimulation in his ass and on his dick. Alex buried in him...
And the knowledge that it's Alex Krycek's cock inside his ass, Krycek's body
he's squirming around on, that smooth cock of his gliding in and out of him
causing utter fucking mayhem inside his body, starts to make him lose control.
He lets go, feeling the tension rip and give way to the need and desperate cries
of pleasure shooting all over him, collecting in his belly and trying to climb
out of his balls. His balls are drawn up and hard, tight, ready—
Too fucking beautiful, Alex thinks, as Mulder takes to being fucked and fucking
himself on Alex like a duck to water. He's a natural. If Alex had ever
wondered if Mulder might NOT be bisexual, this is the final giveaway. And
Mulder's been hiding this ass away all these years?!
Mulder's so hot, it's fucking unbelievable. Alex is taken aback at the sweet
force with which Mulder's taking him in, taking every thrust and shove, every
push of him into that slick hole.
Mulder's open-mouthed grunts and cries are almost lost to his ears as he can't
help the fact his heartbeat's pounding in them so loudly.
He needs to come. He needs to blast his come inside this sweet ass of Mulder's,
so badly, he can't wait anymore. Jerking harder on Mulder's cock, he snaps his
hips upwards, shoving it into Mulder so hard, so quickly, that Mulder's lifted
up with the force of it. "Come on, do it, Fox, fuck, yes," he roughly commands,
desperately.
And feels a shock of relief wash over him as Mulder cries out, that big cock
spurting in his grip and covering his fingers with wet liquid.
With a wail, he bucks up once, twice, and then again, feeling the thrust and
momentum of the movement merging and becoming one with the pleasure racing up
and out of his dick into Mulder's fuckable, beautiful, sweet and tender ass.
Dark, bright, hot and delicious, the joy is fiery, electric, singing through his
veins and popping off little sparks in his brain. Mulder is strangely in
control of his body, riding the crest of his orgasm on Alex, while feeling
everything leaving him at once.
The sounds Alex makes as his cock floods the insides of him with wet trickling
heat is mingling with his own moans of satisfaction, yet the noises don't seem
to do the moment justice. He wants to hear something louder, in his own mind,
to counterbalance the climactic silence of this explosion inside. And to his
shock, he recognizes it as love. It isn't just physical, nor is it just a
fantasy come true to have this pleasure—to share it. It's a deep, abiding
sense of release and happiness.
My God, Mulder thinks; I've finally found what I was looking for. I was looking
for God, for truth, for answers. And it was right here all along. In me. In
both of us. In this act, however mundane and human it is. However many people
commit it every day and night, restlessly searching for the same thing.
Love.
And with a tender, delighted grin, he looks down at Alex in the darkness and
says, wonderingly, "We found it, didn't we? What we wanted."
Alex frowns, confused and trying to decipher what Mulder is saying, some kind of
epiphany he appears to be having, or something. "What?" he manages to make out
with a voice gone hoarse and almost squeaky.
There is a glowing, shimmering lassitude filling him and he hopes Mulder isn't
going to get excited and move or anything because it feels so fucking nice just
to have his cock still inside Mulder, safe and warm.
"Love," Mulder prompts in that same dreamy, wondering tone.
And Alex feels a smile stretching across him before he knows what it means, or
what Mulder means, or what this means for both of them.
"Yeah, we did. Took us long enough, I'd say. Jesus."
Wow. Fuck Mulder in the ass and win everlasting true love? If he'd known or
had ANY fucking idea before now, he would've acted upon it. And the gritty
harsh knowledge sobers him, that it was only because they've been precisely
through everything they have that they were able to reach this moment.
He gingerly and carefully clenches his hand around Mulder's cock,
affectionately. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get here."
But Mulder seems to have got this idea into his head, that they've rediscovered
the great secret to life, the universe and everything. "I didn't know," he
says, with a hushed awe that Alex finds at first cute and then rather humbling
and admirable. "I didn't know it was this easy. Happiness... is the absence of
pain."
Alex is in no position to argue. Hell, he knows just as well as Mulder does,
how difficult and trying life's vicissitudes can be. "Maybe we've earned it,"
he says slowly, beginning to get the full significance of what Mulder's
discovering.
Abruptly, he knows Mulder's right. It's true. He's been wanting this for so
long, after all. And oddly enough, he realizes he had never, ever, not once,
before this moment, thought of the phrase 'making love' as an activity of
production... only an act. A flowery description of what Mulder was referring to,
a crazed search for happiness repeated again and again without success unless,
or until, one found that significant other.
To actually MAKE love.
Alex smiles again, feeling that happiness and hope inside him even as Mulder
remains sitting on top of him. "You're not going to move, I hope?"
"I have to," Mulder obliquely reminds him, "I have to leave in the morning. But
you're coming with me." The question is unstated, but Alex can hear it.
"Yeah, I am."
And it really is that easy. It's too easy. It's almost frightening in it's
implications and beauty.
But so simple and real that he promises, with a secret silent prayer to whatever
deity appears to be looking out for him—for them both—that this
miracle will not end just yet.
The End
NOTE: This fic is based on two separate dreams I had a few weeks ago. It is
bizarre, what the subconscious tells us about the Rat!
Addendum: Sequel is in progress. Stay tuned for more after this commercial
break.
Hearts and Flowers
by Jami Wilsen
He's walking in a crowded place. He's in an airport. Some undetermined airport
that seems to be an amalgamation of every airport he's ever been in.
