The Buckmaster Fertility Clinic had been founded in 1922 and, as Nurse
DeWinter took his completed donor form and led him to a seat, Alex Krycek
wondered if she was one of the original members of staff.
But as he sat idly opposite her desk in the little waiting area, he decided
that she wasn't actually as old as he had first thought. Years of working here,
dealing with row upon row of testosterone-laden young men whose sole purpose
was to jerk off either for posterity or profit, had obviously hardened her. She
was the front line, probably the butt of a constant stream of ribald jokes.
Krycek vowed that he would never be so cheap as to make a joke at Nurse
DeWinter's expense and then immediately thought of one. DeWinter of her
discontent. He giggled.
She regarded him severely, looking up at him from a close examination of his
form. "This is your first time here at the clinic, Mr Whittaker?"
"Yes, ma'am," Krycek replied, a little too enthusiastically, for the young
man sitting next to him snorted derisively into his morning edition of the
Washington Post. Nevertheless, Krycek firmly adhered to his enthusiastic
expression, his eager to please, puppydog persona. Hell, it had fooled the FBI.
Nurse DeWinter was only Skinner in a skirt. The surname and address on his form
were false but the rest of the details were as near the truth as he'd dared go.
In any event, it was unlikely the clinic would check up on him. Who needed a
reference for masturbation technique?
The wisdom of hanging onto his first name was dubious, he knew, but then a
certain someone had once called him Alex, his hand on Krycek's shoulder, and
he'd loved the name ever since.
Krycek glanced across at the two other young men waiting with him. Both
professional, with the polished aura of success. They must be here due to the
desirability of their genes—designed, of course, by Calvin Klein. In his
black leather jacket and denims, dirty t-shirt and newly acquired urchin crop,
Krycek felt his current predicament rising up, stretching and yawning, casting
its usual shadow over his day.
He really ought to leave for Hong Kong soon, where he'd been offered
protection. Staying in Washington was suicide but he only needed a few more
days in which to implement his plan for revenge. And since the plan involved
meeting up with Fox Mulder again, Krycek was anxious to carry it through. But
his main problem was money—which was why he was sitting in the Buckmaster
Fertility Clinic.
Absentmindedly, Krycek stared ahead at a poster on breast feeding and
wondered if it was possible to jerk off as a full time career. Granted the
clinic was paying $50 a go but in order for someone to live comfortably, they'd
have to masturbate so many times each day that they'd be on their knees in no
time. And could the clinic really afford someone like that anyway?
Krycek wondered if he would be able to find work in Hong Kong and whether a
9 to 5 job with pension, life insurance, a desk diary and one of those plastic
tidy things for pencils and pens was entirely out of the question. The fact
that his last employer had tried to blow him up with a car bomb wouldn't look
too good on his resume but that only meant he'd have to be a little bit more
creative than most people when looking for work.
"Alex Whittaker, please."
Krycek got to his feet with some relief. The poster was beginning to make
him feel queasy.
Nurse DeWinter showed him into a small cheerful room, painted grass green
with a border of flowers. In true businesslike fashion, the nurse handed him a
plastic beaker and said briskly, "For your donation."
"Right." Krycek felt a sudden irrational nervousness, as if absurdly he may
not be up to the task in hand, as it were. The room, Nurse DeWinter and the
plastic cup were all combining to produce a state of temporary impotence. "Um...
how long have I got to... um..." He trailed off awkwardly. A moment ago
he'd been laughing at this woman's expense, now it seemed as if she was fluent
in a language he was only just trying to master.
A tiny slither of warmth seeped through a crack in Nurse DeWinter's frosty
exterior. She patted Krycek's shoulder. "As this is your first time, son, you
take as long as you need." She indicated a magazine rack in the corner of the
room. "There's some pictures over there that may help."
Krycek felt pathetically grateful to her. As she closed the door behind her,
he rushed over to the rack and rifled through the contents. Spice Girls,
Madonna, Daryl Hannah, gross. He checked further into the depths of the rack.
Soft porn with women holding their legs wide apart. Triple gross. Not a
millemetre of naked male flesh to be found. This was intolerable. He walked out
to Nurse DeWinter's station.
"Are those the only kinds of magazines you have in stock?" he asked her.
"This is a sperm bank, Mr Whittaker, not a public library."
Krycek felt his testicles shrivel up a little bit more. "Well it's just that—that they're not much help to me."
The nurse narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "How long is it since you last had
sex?"
"I'd say..." Krycek checked his watch, "about three quarters of an hour
ago."
"Oh really! Weren't you told when you made the appointment that donors
should not have had sex previously for two days."
"Two days!" Krycek shouted this so loudly that a passing clinic attendant
jumped like a startled hare. "But that's absurd. Twenty-four hours maybe. How
could I possibly survive without sex for two days?"
Nurse DeWinter looked him up and down disdainfully. "I'm sure it wouldn't
prove fatal. For either party."
Krycek winced as he felt his puppydog persona going out of the window. "Hey,
I can make it with almost anybody almost anytime but—" He saw the nurse's
expression change to one of interest. "Well, that is, maybe not just anybody. A
certain proportion of the population. The male portion," he added with an air
of finality. Nurse DeWinter backed off as if he'd given her an electric shock.
"But being on my own and in such a clinical sort of setting, my sperm needs
some inspiration. All the magazines you've got have women in them. Haven't you
got any pictures of naked men? Naked dark haired FBI agents, that kind of
thing. Or do you have a George Clooney lookalike doctor around here at a loose
end? Ha! Loose end!" Krycek giggled over his own joke.
Nurse DeWinter's mouth remained fixed in a firm straight line. She stared at
him for some time trying to find the right words. "Just use your imagination,"
she said finally in a sour tone. "You look as if you have plenty of it."
Krycek walked back into his little room. There was only one solution. It
wasn't quite how he'd intended things to work out but then again he'd always
believed in spontaneity. Just thinking about phoning the man up was giving him
a hard on. Krycek unzipped his jeans and released his growing erection, running
his fingers over the crown the way he liked it, tickling the underside. With
his free hand, he pulled the mobile out of his jacket pocket and punching
Mulder's number—slowly and deliciously—added another inch or so to his
length. "Mulder's office." Scully's voice.
Oh this was unexpected. Was Mulder ill or was he so paranoid these days that
he wouldn't even answer his own phone? "Hi Scully." Only slightly breathless.
"It's Alex Krycek. Remember me?"
"Alex Krycek." She said the name in a vague sort of way, as if trying hard
to remember someone she met once at a party. She was cool that Scully, nothing
seemed to phase the woman. But he was sure that behind the scenes of that
detached voice pandamonium was breaking out, she was busy setting up a trace,
switching on a tape machine and if Mulder was there she was probably
gesticulating wildly at him like a demented mime artist. That's okay,
Scully, take your time while I really get myself going here. Drops of
precum started to ooze from the tip of his penis and Krycek smoothed it
sensuously over his length. "Yes, Krycek, I remember you. How can I help you?"
What you mean, Scully, is how can I keep you talking for a little longer
so that we can trace you and Mulder can finally get hold of you to beat you to
a pulp. That idea made his erection twitch in delight. He stifled a groan.
"Can I speak to Mulder please?"
"Sure." There was a pause, more delaying tactics, and then Mulder was on the
line.
"What the fuck do you want, you lying murdering little piece of shit?" His
voice jumped a little on the last word and Krycek heard what sounded like a
slap. Scully was probably offering her opinion that Mulder was not conducting
the interview in a professional manner.
"Oh God, Mulder," Krycek groaned. Oh yes, talk dirty to me, Mulder,
that's so good. Unconsciously, Krycek's fist started to work hard at his
cock. He was growing a little breathless. "Hey, you may not believe this but —
"
"May not?"
"—but I'm in a Fertility Clinic here in dear old Washington DC, trying to
do my part to provide a better future for the American people." Surprisingly
there was no smartass reply to this, merely a stunned silence and so Krycek
continued. It wouldn't be long now, he was almost on the brink from the
pleasure of hearing Mulder's voice and the danger he was putting himself into.
He moaned deeply. "Well actually I'm broke and they pay good money per cup
here."
"Krycek, have you finally gone out of your mind completely? What the hell
does all this have to do with me? And what the fuck are you doing?"
"What the fuck do you think I'm doing, Mulder?" Krycek's voice was
suggestive and breathy. "Ahhhh! I'm working hard at my donation. It's awfully
cold and clinical in here. Urghh!" Definitely not long now. A moment's
panic when he thought he'd mislaid the cup. And then he was ready, cup in
place, phone tucked under his chin. "I was in need of a little help and
inspiration. I was thinking of you. Needed to hear your voice. Oh God, Mulder!
Was thinking of your fingers round my cock. Squeezing it. Your long beautiful
fingers. Round my cock. Working it hard. So hard. It's so good. Oh fuck!
Mulder! Argghhhh!!"
Nurse DeWinter sat at her station, filling in more forms, trying to ignore
the crescendo of sexual excitement emanating from Mr Whittaker's room. She
glanced over at the three young men waiting their turn. They were making worthy
efforts to ignore what was going on, one of them staring hard at the carpet,
the other two studying magazines.
"It's so good. Oh fuck! Mulder! Argghhhh!"
By now she could sense all three men staring hard at her, perhaps wondering
whether to run away or not. She looked up at them with what she hoped was a
reassuring expression. "You know, some of our clients like to put everything
they've got into their donation."
"Arggghhh! Arggghhh!!"
Mulder was holding the phone away from his ear, looking at it in disbelief.
He was inventing new ways to kill Alex Krycek for putting him in this
ridiculous and embarrassing situation.
Scully was listening in on her own extension, wincing as her eardrums were
assailed by Krycek's screams. She looked as if she could hardly believe what
she was hearing. Mulder wondered how he could talk himself out of this.
"Have you got the trace?" he asked quickly.
"Yes. The Buckmaster Fertility Clinic. I've put out an APB. It's a 25 minute
drive from here." Scully paused. "Mulder, what is going on?"
He replaced the receiver gingerly. "History, Scully. A few years from now,
the place could be littered with tiny Alex Kryceks. There's a thought to put
the fear of God into anyone."
"Except Krycek. I doubt if he'll ever be fathering the species in the usual
way." Scully put her pen to her lips and looked hard at Mulder. "I meant,
Mulder, what is going on with you two? How long has Krycek felt like that about
you?"
"Like what, Scully? That was just Krycek playing one of his sick little
games." He was on his feet, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door.
"C'mon, let's go."
Scully was staring pointedly at Mulder's crotch. "And how long have you been
feeling like that about him?"
She wouldn't drop the subject even in the car, hanging onto it tenaciously
like a bloodhound on a fox trail. Mulder always appreciated her staying power
but not when it was directed at him. He didn't feel like talking about Krycek,
not at that particular time. He hadn't yet had a chance to marshall his own
reactions to Krycek's bravura performance, to inspect the little army of
emotions waging war inside him or to check for any casualties. Mulder had been
taken by surprise, ambushed into betraying feelings that he could barely
acknowledge, even to himself.
"I have never in my entire life," Scully was saying as if she was as old as
Methusula, "heard such a raw, uninhibited and desperate display of sexual
obsession from anyone."
Mulder glared across at her, willing her to be silent, nearly missing a red
traffic light and shoving his foot down hard on the brake. They both jolted
forward. He would have replied, "Yeah and wasn't it sexy as hell?" if he'd felt
more sure of himself. And it had been. And it still was. Krycek's voice, so
husky and deep with need, was continually resonating through his mind.
Thinking of you... I needed to hear your voice... Mulder turned on
the car radio to drown it out but Scully immediately switched it off, thinking
that he was trying to finish the conversation.
"Did you hear what I said, Mulder?"
"Yeah, I heard." He stared into the distance.
She sighed, loudly. "This isn't just prurient interest, you know. That man
is a murderer. He killed my sister and your father and I want him apprehended
today and put behind bars. I need to know that you're one hundred per cent
behind me on this, Mulder. So, are you going to tell me, were you and Krycek
lovers?"
He didn't want to know why even that question excited him and added yet
another notch to his sexual tension. "No we were not. And I want him
apprehended today every bit as much as you do." He noticed he couldn't quite
bring himself to add "and put behind bars". He told himself it was because he
didn't want to sound like a parrot.
"So why did he do it then?"
"I told you, Scully, it's just one of Krycek's sick little games."
She snorted. "Some game. We know he's on the run, that Cancerman's tried to
get rid of him. It's a very dangerous game he's playing, if you ask me."
I hadn't actually Mulder thought and then chastised himself for being
childish. "This may seem hard for you to believe but Alex Krycek does have a
highly developed sense of humour. Sick, maybe, but highly developed. Hard to
reconcile with the temperament of a cold hearted assassin. He must have been an
awful headache for the black lunged bastard."
"And you expect me to feel grateful to Krycek for that?"
"Think about it, Scully." Mulder felt a sense of relief. He'd at last
thought of something intelligent to put before his exacting partner. "Why do
people usually attract attention to themselves? Because they need help. I think
Krycek wants our help to bring Cancerman down. He knows he can't do it on his
own."
Scully gave Mulder a sideways glance. "There are some things he can manage
very well on his own."
Mulder didn't bite. He'd risen to the surface enough for one day. He took a
deep breath and tried to ignore the sound of Krycek's voice in his mind and the
feeling of anticipation churning in his stomach.
In spite of the fact that local law enforcement officers had been promptly
deployed to the clinic, sealing the place up like a vacuum, Alex Krycek had
somehow managed to leave the building. Although Mulder felt a keen sense of
disappointment, he wasn't surprised. This was probably the first phase of
whatever plan Krycek had in mind. Contact had been established.
Mulder interviewed a terrifying looking woman, Nurse DeWinter, who seemed
less troubled by Krycek's extraordinary behaviour than the fact that he had
taken his donation with him.
Sperm may live in the human body for two to three
On leaving his apartment the following morning, Mulder discovered a canister
on his doorstep. It was about 20 centimetres tall and looked like the kind of
equipment used to keep material in a frozen state. It might also be a bomb.
Knowing that Krycek was around, Mulder always had to allow for the fact that he
could be his next victim and this sense of potential danger perversely only
made Krycek more alluring. There was a label around the neck of the canister
which read "Drink me". Well, curiouser and curiouser. But it could still be a
bomb... After all, he had a reputation for paranoia to keep up.
Mulder stayed in his apartment and phoned the Lone Gunmen. They were there,
bless them, within 15 minutes, with their little black box of tricks.
"Maybe your mother was passing by and dropped you in some hot chicken soup,"
Langley suggested helpfully.
Mulder rolled his eyes. "Don't you think if your mother had driven 300 miles
out of her way to bring you some chicken soup, she'd at least say hello?"
"Dunno," Langley shrugged, "as far as I know I never had one."
"One what, a tin of chicken soup or a mother?"
"A mother."
Mulder wondered why it was so easy to get into a discussion over absurdities
with Langley. "Don't be ridiculous, you weren't just found under a gooseberry
bush, were you."
"It could be set to detonate on touch alone," Byers announced grimly,
bringing a touch of reality to the proceedings.
Frohike finished waving a wand-like sensor over the canister and then sat
back on his heels, wiping his brow in a dramatic kind of way. "There's no
detonatory device in here," he said. "More like frozen chicken soup."
Mulder grinned. "Well that's solved my lunch problem then."
"Leave it with us," Byers suggested in a business like way. "We'll analyse
the contents for you."
With some reluctance, Mulder told Scully about the canister with the Drink
Me label that had been left on his doorstep earlier that morning. He didn't
particularly want to lay himself open to further ridicule but neither did he
relish the idea of being accused of withholding information from his partner.
"Ah," Scully said, as if something had just occurred to her. "Alex in
Wonderland."
Mulder laughed in disbelief. "What, you think Krycek is following a Lewis
Carroll script?"
"What happens to Alice when she drinks the bottle marked Drink Me? Does she
get bigger or smaller?"
"I think she gets smaller," Mulder frowned. "Then she eats the cake with the
Eat Me label and gets bigger."
"Hmm. Neither scenario is very helpful to our investigation," Scully mused.
"Though it might be worthwhile putting a 24 hour watch on your apartment to see
if Krycek intends to deliver anything else."
"We're not 100% sure yet that he left the canister, Scully." Mulder lounged
back in his chair, one long leg dangling over the arm rest.
"Who else could it be?" She stood up, adjusting her skirt, brushing off a
speck of fluff. "Anyway, I'm going to get some coffee. I don't want to even
think about what makes Alex Krycek smaller or bigger."
Five minutes before he was due to leave off for lunch, Mulder received an
email from the Lone Gunmen, inviting him to call round to their office.
Grinning wickedly, Frohike greeted him with, "Chicken soup's off. You'll
have to make alternative arrangements for lunch."
Flinging his jacket over a chair, Mulder braced himself to endure yet more
ridicule. Langley was smiling like Carroll's Cheshire Cat and even Byers was
sniggering. Oh deep joy. What on earth had they found?
"Okay boys," Mulder said with a sigh, "let's hear it. What was in the
canister?"
Byers paused for dramatic effect and then announced, "Sperm." The word
seemed very odd coming from his business-like mouth.
"Excuse me?" Mulder looked so taken aback that Langley and Frohike began to
giggle helplessly.
"Sperm. Originally delivered to you in a frozen state but it's now defrosted
and at room temperature."
Frohike managed to say, "That means you've only got about 24 hours, Mulder,
if you want to get pregnant."
"Yeah but that would play merry hell with my promotion prospects," Mulder
drawled. "Well there's no need to tell me whose it is. Only Krycek could pull a
sick stunt like that."
"That boy may be sick," said Langley fondly, "but he is so gorgeous."
"Langley," Frohike put in, "has created a screen saver that says Krycek
is a babe in large purple letters."
"Christ." Mulder absentmindedly reached for a sandwich that was lying edges
curling on one of the desks. He bit into it ferociously as if he held it
personally responsible for all the nonsense currently surrounding him.
"I wouldn't eat that if I were you," Byers warned him, "it's been there at
least five days to my knowledge."
Mulder glanced briefly at the half eaten sandwich in his hand and then
stuffed the remainder in his mouth. "Tastes fine to me."
"Yuck." Frohike grimaced fastidiously. "You'll eat anything, Mulder, it's
truly disgusting. It defeats me why you bother going out looking for X-Files
when, even as we speak, the contents of your refrigerator are growing mould so
monstrous and hideous that it would make any form of alien life look tame and
uninteresting in comparison."
"You mean the Chinese meal I ordered six weeks ago? I'm saving that for
Halloween. Thought I'd scare the neighbourhood kids with it."
"Hey, Mulder!" Langley was seated at his computer, busily tapping at the
keys. "Come over here. Look at this. I took a surveillance photo of Krycek
yesterday."
Mulder swallowed down the last of his sandwich. "You did what?"
"He heard the APB," Byers explained, "so as he happened to be in the area,
he thought he'd see if he could take a few shots."
Mulder was rooted to the spot in disbelief. "You mean while were were all
breaking our necks trying to apprehend a dangerous killer, you were sitting in
your car, taking snaps of him for your photo album?"
"Hey, Mulder, I would have let you know where he was but after I'd taken the
first shot, he just disappeared into thin air. That guy's a real pro, you know.
Just slips through the fingers."
"Like Astroglide," Frohike put in with a leer.
"Dig this," Langley said proudly, going back to his computer, ignoring
Frohike. "Dig this babe."
"Mulder," Byers added confidentially, "this may be useful information for
you since Krycek has recently changed his appearance."
Reluctantly, Mulder moved over to Langley's screen. There was a photograph
of Krycek, glancing cautiously over his shoulder before crossing the road. Nice
to know he was officer friendly.
"I'm really glad you showed me this, Langley. He's changed his jeans and had
his hair cropped short. Wow, I may never ever have recognised him otherwise."
Langley was staring starry-eyed at the screen. "Yeah but dig that babe. He
is so—" He searched for an apt description.
"Scruffy?" Byers suggested.
"Christopher Robin?" from Frohike.
"No, no, he's so—so alleycat! That's the word!"
Mulder stared at the photograph. Damn. Langley was right. And Mulder really
didn't need any more adjectives to associate with Alex Krycek. He had enough of
his own. Beautiful, sleek, sensual, dangerous. Yes, alleycat was the word. An
image occurred to him of Krycek, wild with passion, digging those alleycat
nails into his back, yowling with pleasure. No, he had to stop this, he
couldn't face Scully with yet another erection.
"Well, boys," Mulder straightened up and reached out for his jacket. "This
has all been very entertaining but I'm no further forward now than I was this
morning. What I need to know is what Krycek wants."
"I'd have thought that was painfully obvious," Frohike said with another
leer.
"What you mean, Mulder," Byers interpreted effortlessly, "is that you want
to know Krycek's larger game plan."
"Exactly," said Mulder gratefully.
"We'll try and find out for you."
"Thank you," said Mulder, even more grateful.
"Here!" Frohike handed the canister back to him. "Don't forget your sperm.
And I can hardly wait to see what he leaves for you with an Eat Me label on."
Only one sperm fertilises each egg, even though
"Here, puss puss!"
The canister was standing on Mulder's bedside table. In honour of the
occasion, he had removed the files, books, clothes and videos that normally
took up residence on his bed and celebrated with sheets fresh from the laundry.
He'd even sprayed the room with air freshener.
Still tingling from the shower, Mulder lay between the crisp sheets, running
his hands lazily over his body, getting into the mood.
"Here, puss. Come here, you dirty little alley cat."
At that, Mulder imagined Krycek looking up from the sofa where he lay
sprawled out, washing himself. No, maybe that's carrying the cat analogy a
little too far.
Krycek is laying sprawled out over the sofa naked. Hot, hungry and willing
as a tom on heat. Better.
Hearing Mulder's voice, he moves with easy sensual grace from the living
room into the bedroom. As he stands in the doorway, he seems to be all points
like a siamese—pointed ears, nose, chin. Jutting purple erection. Even his
hair is spiky. Oh yes, good, very good.
Mulder moves aside the sheet in invitation. Bounding in one playful movement
on top of Mulder, Krycek licks his face with a pink sharp tongue and rubs his
beautiful sleekness all over Mulder's body. He's making breathy little moans
that could almost be a purr. He runs his stubbly cheek harshly over Mulder's
chest and stomach, leaving a trail of delicious prickly heat. Then he's back
working on Mulder's face, licking and sucking at his lips, driving that sharp
rough tongue between them, ramming it hard against Mulder's.
Krycek is all need, burning, sluttish, rampant need. And because of his
animal passion, he gives no thought to Mulder's pleasure, grabs Mulder's hand
and slaps it onto his own erection. When Mulder fingers have tightened
satisfactorily around his shaft, Krycek humps the grip shamelessly, knees
either side of Mulder's hips, hands on Mulder's shoulders, wailing in need.
"Work it hard. Hard. So good. Fuck!"
It is, as Scully put it, a raw uninhibited and desperate display but there's
something magnificent about being the recipient of all this need. Mulder starts
to moan too, becoming as turned on as his lover, writhing under him. It doesn't
take long for Krycek to reach climax, snapping forward, screaming and yowling,
burying his face in Mulder's chest hairs, sinking teeth into his flesh, nails
into his shoulders. He shoots load after load of sperm onto Mulder's stomach.
Mulder spreads the sperm over his lower body. He rubs it into the flesh of
his thighs, his pubic hair, all over his testicles and then finally applies a
generous coating around his throbbing twitching erection. It smells and feels
so good, wicked and tangy. Mulder can feel Krycek's cat green eyes burning into
him, watching him in breathless fascination as he teases the tip of his penis
with his thumb, then runs gentle fingers up and down his slick shaft, teasing
himself until it becomes impossible to hold back, then gripping hard, pumping
his length with rapid even strokes until he's crying out with his own release,
his sperm blending with Krycek's, covering his stomach in splashes of white
cream.
"Christ!" Mulder groaned. "Oh Christ, that was amazing." He must have passed
out with the strength of his orgasm. Extraordinary. The best fantasy he'd had
in a long time. Maybe the best ever.
The empty canister lay beside him on the bed, the Drink Me label smudged and
damp. Fascinated, Mulder ran fingertips over his stomach, collecting an amalgam
of sperm, placing it on his tongue. Their combined tastes made him moan in
pleasure. Mulder/Krycek. United. Connected. That which sperm hath joined...
He had just been enjoying a fantasy about having sex with the man who
murdered his father. Why didn't it feel like betrayal? Why did it feel, at this
point in his life, like the only thing he wanted? I must be sicker than I
thought, Mulder decided. He would put himself in for therapy next week.
Meanwhile, he hugged his pillow, his wicked alleycat lover, and fell into a
deep satisfied sleep.
PART TWO
The oddest little group he'd seen in a long time. Krycek peered through the
spy hole in the front door of his apartment, rifling through his memory, trying
to recollect where he'd seen them before. Then he remembered the file he'd seen
on them—the Lone Gunmen, Mulder's weird anarchic friends.
Lined up in a row, gazing patiently and innocently at the door, they could
have been carol singers hoping for mince pies. Or maybe not. The one he
remembered as Frohike looked more like a reject from a Snow White audition.
We're sorry, Mr Frohike, but we wouldn't want to frighten the kids.
Langley was all hair and glasses. Only Byers gave a flavour of normality to the
group and for that reason Krycek trusted him the least. He put the safety chain
on the door.
The Lone Gunmen stood in front of the door to Krycek's apartment in a little
line, aware that they were being carefully scrutinised through the spy hole.
They heard the sound of a safety chain being put in place.
"Remember," Byers whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "this man is a
liar and a murderer. However charming he may appear on the surface—" this was
aimed specifically at Langley—"he cannot under any circumstances be trusted.
He is extremely dangerous."
"Roger and out," Langley said with heavy sarcasm.
"Shall we run away," Frohike said with a grin, "now that we've rung his
doorbell?"
The door clanked open, rattling on its chain. Two large green eyes peered at
them through the gap. Krycek was holding a gun so that they could clearly see
it. "Hi girls," he said brightly. "Kind of you to call but I'm all stocked up
with Avon right now."
Langley snorted in amusement and Frohike poked him in the ribs with his
elbow. Byers stepped forward. He gave the impression that, had he been wearing
a hat, he would have lifted it politely.
"Ah, Mr Krycek, if I may refresh your memory, we're Mulder's friends, the
Lone Gunmen. I wonder if we could have a word with you in private."
Frohike was holding a small box between both hands, as if it was something
precious.
Krycek regarded it suspiciously. "What the fuck is that?" He indicated the
box with his gun.
"Chocolate cake," Frohike said proudly. "We know you like chocolate."
Krycek's eyes narrowed. He glanced at Langley who was staring at him
longingly and then back to Frohike. "How'd you know that?"
"Mulder told us," Langley said.
"Mulder told you I liked chocolate?"
"Sure." Langley shrugged, not understanding and rather resenting the fact
that this seemed to mean so much to Krycek. "He often mentioned it when you
were partners. That Krycek, he'd say, he really loves chocolate."
It was like finding the correct password, a magic key to a door. Krycek
fumbled with the chain and opened up. "One at a time," he said.
Byers walked in first, submitting to a thoroughly professional body search.
Then Frohike, still holding the cake box. Then Langley, who appeared to be
having some trouble with his breathing.
"I have to say that I strongly approve of your level of paranoia," Frohike
said earnestly.
Krycek let out a breathy sort of giggle which made them all jump a little in
surprise. Langley studied their host more carefully. He wore a baggy jumper and
jeans which made him look more like a college freshman than a dangerous
assassin and this, combined with the giggle, made Langley wonder if his
alleycat was more domesticated than he'd realised.
"Come into the kitchen and I'll put on the kettle for tea." Krycek gestured
vaguely across the living room with his gun. "You picked a good time to call.
I've just finished my book and I hate that moment when you come to the end of a
really good book and for a while you don't know what to do with yourself. Know
what I mean?"
They all looked at him blankly for a moment. Langley pushed his glasses
further up the bridge of his nose, a gesture he made when confused and
considered whether to revise alleycat to pussycat. If it wasn't for the gun
which Krycek handled with the nonchalance of long familiarity.... Langley
followed the other two, bouncing slightly on the plush living room carpet. The
apartment was well decorated and expensively furnished and they were all
wondering how Krycek could afford to live there. The kitchen alone was bigger
than their office, table and chairs in the centre of the room, expensive
looking tiles on the floors and walls. Maybe this is what blood money had
bought him.
"Nice apartment," Byers offered.
Krycek grinned disarmingly. "I know. Normally I couldn't afford a place like
this, furnished and everything, but the landlord fucks me once or twice a week
and that seems to take care of the rent."
Langley made a funny little moan and Frohike delivered another sharp dig in
the ribs. Byers gave a polite cough and remarked on the pleasant view from the
window.
Krycek watched them with a faintly amused expression. "Hey, let's have a
look at that cake." He pulled a china plate from out of one of the expensive
fitted cupboards and placed it in the middle of the table.
Frohike proudly arranged the cake. In the middle of the thick chocolate
butter icing was a label with "Eat Me" printed on it. The Lone Gunmen waited
for Krycek's reaction.
It came in another surprising breathy giggle. "So Mulder got my little
present then."
"Yeah he did and it was certainly a surprise," Frohike said in careful
understatement.
"And did he?" Krycek asked innocently.
"Did he what?"
"Drink it?"
There was an awkward silence. No-one knew quite what to say to this.
Byers cleared his throat again. "That's a question I think you'll have to
ask Mulder himself."
"Can't wait," Krycek said. And then, with a hint of awe in his voice, "And
is this cake from Mulder?"
"Certainly is."
Krycek gazed at it longingly, with an expression of reverence on his face.
His colour seemed to heighten, his cheeks turning pink. Langley figetted
impatiently, bringing Krycek back to earth.
"Okay, guys, sit down and make yourselves comfortable. Only you should all
sit one side of the table, you know, like in the Mad Tea Party."
"Well Byers can be the Mad Hatter," Langley said somberly, "I'm not in the
mood."
"Guess I'll end up being the Dormouse," Frohike muttered, taking the chair
in the middle.
"And it's ten to three," Byers said, settling himself down. "Perfect."
Krycek had been putting the kettle on the stove and searching out tea cups.
"No," he said firmly, "it should be 6 o'clock for the Mad Tea Party. It was
Rupert Brooke who said Stands the church clock at ten to three And is there
honey still for tea?"
"Christ," Langley said under his breath. He buried his face in his hands and
groaned. "Don't tell me he likes poetry."
"Well guess who's Alice." Krycek fluttered his eyelashes and took the chair
at the head of the table, dropping his gun on his lap. But he managed to go up
a little in Langley's esteem by waiting until they had all taken a mouthful of
cake before eating any of his own portion. And the Lone Gunmen went up in
Krycek's estimation by waiting until he had taken a sip of tea before drinking
any themselves.
Paranoia was alive and well and living in Wonderland. "How did you guys find
out where I lived? I thought I'd covered my tracks pretty well."
"You don't honestly think we're going to tell you." Byers leant back in his
chair with a self satisfied smile. "But I will say that Mulder would never have
found you on his own. We had to use our combined resources to find you."
Krycek looked pleased at this. "Man," he said fervently, "this cake is
amazing." He grabbed another slice, without offering any more to anyone else.
It was as if he thought he'd never eat chocolate cake again in his life. "So
you're here to sound me out, huh? Will you be reporting back on my table
manners?" He took an enormous bite of cake, his cheeks filling out like a
hamster's.
Frohike grinned at him. Devoid of Langley's jealousy and Byer's
fastidiousness, he found that Krycek was rapidly growing on him. He could see
why Mulder had been so enchanted by his partner. "The parameters of our
investigation could be broadly defined as Twinkle twinkle little rat, how we
wonder what you're at."
Krycek came dangerously near to laughing out loud and losing most of the
cake in his mouth but he kept himself under control. He wouldn't willingly part
with any of his cake. His shoulders shook with amusement.
"In other words," Byers continued, "Mulder wants to know your game plan."
"Well," Krycek said indistinctly, his mouth still very full, "master and
slave could be fun."
Byers winced in that fastidious way that he had. Langley huffed loudly with
impatience. Frohike was beginning to realise that negotiations with the plain
speaking Krycek would only progress if they loosened up a little and neither
Byers nor Langley seemed capable of doing so.
"I wonder," said Frohike, "if the Mad Hatter and the March Hare would mind
leaving Alice and the Dormouse to talk things over."
There was a short silence, punctuated by the sounds of Krycek innocently
chewing cake and slurping tea, while the two Lone Gunmen thought over this
proposal. As Mulder's closest friend, Frohike's opinion in this case carried a
good deal of weight and when Krycek sat back in his chair, rubbed his stomach
and belched vociferously, Byers came to the conclusion that Frohike was right.
"Langley and I will attend to matters at the office," he announced gravely.
Smiling to himself, Krycek put on the kettle for more tea.
"You did that on purpose, didn't you," Frohike said when they were alone.
Krycek grinned at him sheepishly and sat down again. "Well, I can't stand
prudes."
"Is that why you shot Mulder's father? I understand he was a bit of a
prude."
Krycek looked at Frohike sadly. Without Byers and Langley to torment, Krycek
seemed suddenly to have turned from naughty college boy into what Frohike
supposed must be the real Krycek, a scared and confused young man. "You're
Mulder's closest friend, right?"
"Yes, I have that dubious distinction."
Krycek appeared to be satisfied that he was as near to Mulder as he could
get for the moment. "I shot his father, yes, but I had reasons for doing it.
And I didn't kill Melissa or Duane Barry or even the damn tram driver."
"Regular little Snow White, aren't we. So what were the reasons?"
Krycek ran his fingers absentmindedly through his hair, making it spike up
charmingly. "The bastards were delighted when I fell in love with Mulder. Made
me so much easier to manipulate. I'd do more or less anything they wanted as
long as I could see that it was in Mulder's best interests. They briefed me
that on no account was Bill Mulder to tell his son about the Project because
that knowledge would make Mulder too much of a danger and he'd have to be
eliminated as well."
"Well I can see your reasons but to kill—"
Krycek exhaled sharply. "If it makes you feel any better, I see that old
man's face every fucking day of my life. I live in dread of him coming back to
haunt me and dragging me off to hell like Don Giovanni."
It was a chilling picture. Krycek obviously possessed a vivid imagination
and a good education. At least he could suffer with classical elegance. "But
Mulder found out about the Project anyway and he's still alive."
"For God's sake, Frohike, he doesn't know what's really going on. He
discovered a few tidbits along the way and that's all."
"And you have this information?" Frohike's mouth was beginning to go dry,
remembering what had happened to The Thinker.
"Yeah, most of it anyway, enough to put the Smoker away for life. And I want
to give it to Mulder."
"Aren't you putting Mulder's life in danger if you do? I thought you didn't
want to do that."
Krycek fiddled with the cake in front of him and disconsolately put a small
piece of it in his mouth. "He won't be in any danger this way because they
won't know he has the information, that's the difference. But once he does have
it, he's got to use it effectively. Thorough groundwork, then move in on the
Consortium fast and clean so they don't know what's hit them."
Frohike smiled at him. "So it's not just sex games you want to play with
Mulder."
"Let's face it," Krycek sighed without returning the smile, "I'll be lucky
if Mulder so much as spits at me, let alone has sex with me."
Frohike regarded his host solemnly. Krycek looked so forlorn that it was
tempting to tell him that, in Frohike's opinion, Mulder was actually as much in
love with him as Krycek was with Mulder. But that was an item of dangerous
knowledge if ever there was one. So Frohike contented himself with saying,
rather obliquely, "You know what the Buddhists say, don't you. The trouble with
desire is that one achieves it."
The rituals which precede mating in many
"Hi Mulder. A deserted warehouse, what an original meeting place. Oh, by the
way, you owe me $50 for the sperm."
"Krycek, you little bastard, you finally admitted to killing my father."
"I admitted something else too which explains why I did it."
"You think I believe all that shit you gave Frohike about being in love with
me?"
"You're very selective about your shit, aren't you. You believe the shit
about your father but not the shit about love."
"Don't lecture me on being selective! If you'd been more selective about who
you worked for, my father might still be alive."
"No he wouldn't, Mulder. I think even you will admit that he was involved in
the conspiracy right up to his drunken eyeballs. He was going to talk and they
were determined to eliminate him."
"How dare you talk about my father like that, you of all fucking people, you
treacherous, murdering, lying piece of shit!"
"Oh we're back on the shit now, are we?"
"Yeah, well maybe that's all I can think about when I look at you!"
"Fuck you, Mulder, and you can tell your weird little friend where he can
stick his fucking Buddhist koans!"
Advantage: Mulder.
"I can't believe you blew that meet. After all the trouble we took to set it
up."
"He's just impossible, Frohike. I was fine, I was really cool until he says
in that whiny teasing nasally sort of tone he can put on you owe me $50 for
the sperm."
"That was a pretty good impersonation, Mulder. But why do you let him get to
you like that? You're not like this with anyone else."
"And what exactly are you implying by that? No, I don't want to hear any
more of this crap about love. He shot my father for money, I know he did.
That's the only reason."
"So how come Krycek's jerking off for money in a fertility clinic?"
"Whose side are you on, Frohike?"
"Well, look, cupid or no cupid, we're going to have to try another meet."
"Is this venue more at one with your sensibilities, Krycek?"
"Well, yes, you're really making an effort here, Mulder. A bookshop, one of
my favourite places."
"That's what Frohike said."
"I like Frohike."
"I understand the feeling is mutual. But then I expect you can ingratiate
yourself into more or less anyone's affections given sufficient self-interest."
"You're standing right next to the Gay Male Interest section, Mulder. Could
you be trying to ingratiate yourself into my affections?"
"You little rat bastard, you were standing here waiting for me."
"What can I say? It just proves we're made for each other. And keep your
voice down or we could get thrown out and I like this shop."
"Jesus Christ, I just don't believe you, Krycek, you go right out of your
way to wind me up, don't you."
"If I recall correctly, you stepped out of line first with that remark about
ingratiating."
"Look, I'm not interested in a session of Transactional Analysis. Do you or
do you not have information that you want to give me?"
"Yes I do."
"And what do you want in return that doesn't carry an X-certificate?"
"Protection."
"If the information is as hot as you say it is, then you'll get the best."
"I want personal protection. I want to be able to lay low in your apartment.
The only place I'd feel sufficiently safe because it's the last place anyone
else thinks is safe."
"You have got to be joking, Krycek. No way, there is absolutely no way."
"Okay. Bye Mulder!"
"Krycek! Krycek, come back here!"
Advantage: Krycek.
Krycek walked into Mulder's apartment and back into his life carrying a
shabby leather overnight bag. Mulder had the distinct feeling that things would
never be the same again and he was surprised to find it wasn't altogether
unpleasant. He watched as Krycek, covered from head to foot in melting snow,
shook himself like a homeless puppy who'd just found shelter. The young man
still wore only his leather jacket, jumper and jeans, sadly insufficient
protection against the weather. Mulder thought back to what Frohike had said
about Krycek being short of money and then chastised himself—Krycek had made
his own choices. Nevertheless, Mulder felt almost apologetic about pointing a
gun at him.
"Hi Mulder." A shy smile and a glance from under those wicked lashes.
Oh no, that's not going to work with me, you little asshole. "Where
are the rest of your things?"
Krycek dropped the bag on the floor, sending snowflakes all over the place
and gestured to it as if making an introduction. "This is it, Mulder, these are
my wordly goods." He watched as Mulder opened his mouth to say something, then
closed it again. "Oh I know what you're thinking. You're thinking it's not much
to show for 30 years of living. And then you're thinking, why should I care, he
made his own choices, he brought this all on himself."
Mulder took refuge in a higher philosophical stance. "Krycek, you and I will
get along much better if you don't try to second guess what I'm thinking."
"So I was right, huh?" Krycek giggled. The breathy sort of giggle that had
so surprised the Lone Gunmen was no surprise to Mulder, only an unnecessary
reminder of the effect Krycek had on him when they were partners. That giggle
used to create wicked fingers of pleasure tickling at Mulder's testicles and
those fingers were back again now. Time to establish some control before those
fingers found their way up his ass.
Mulder sauntered away from Krycek into the living room. "I'm sure you don't
need a guided tour. God alone knows how many times you've broken in here.
You're intimately familiar with the plumbing system, of course, and you
probably even know my favourite brand of toothpaste."
"Sensodyne for sensitive teeth and gums."
"You have no shame, do you, Krycek."
His new lodger smiled and lowered his lashes like a beautiful pet used to
receiving caresses and compliments, then looked up again to gaze with
devastating accuracy into Mulder's soul. Krycek seemed to like what he saw. His
smile deepened.
Mulder found himself staring into wide set jungle-green eyes with the
chilling certainty that they had killed. Not so much an alleycat, more a hungry
lion. Maybe if I lock him up somewhere and throw the odd gazelle into the
room every now and then, I'll get to live through this. Mulder fought back
a wave of panic—or was it a sudden rare attack of common sense that told him
this wasn't a very sensible thing to be doing. Listen, he told himself,
you must keep your cool. You are after all the one holding the gun, though
admittedly it may feel more like the other way round. You're the one in
control, you know how Krycek feels about you but he has no idea how you feel
about him. For all he knows, you could be planning to chop him up into tiny
little pieces once he's given you the information. That felt a lot better.
"Listen," Mulder said generously, "make yourself comfortable and help
yourself to a beer. And you can use my bedroom—as you probably know, I like
to sleep on the sofa."
"Okay." Krycek picked up his bag. "Thanks."
Not surprisingly, it didn't take Krycek long to unpack. He moved with that
effortless grace he had through the living room and into the kitchen. Mulder
switched on the computer, trying to get the evening off to a professional
start.
There was a sudden strangled cry from the kitchen. Mulder found Krycek
backing away from the refrigerator in horror.
It was Mulder's turn to giggle. "It's okay, Krycek, that's just my Chinese
meal celebrating its six week anniversary." Yes, indeed, no doubt about
who's in control around here.
Advantage: Mulder.
It was a long time since Krycek had woken up with a smile on his face. And
that morning he considered he had cause for celebration. He was after all lying
in Fox Mulder's bed. No point in bemoaning the fact that Fox Mulder wasn't in
it. It was an excellent start.
He got up and took a hot shower, contemplating his current situation with
satisfaction. Mulder had managed to persuade Skinner that his apartment was the
only safe place for Krycek, and Skinner had agreed to a maximum of two days for
Krycek to come up with an in-depth report on the Consortium. Apparently, the
Assistant Director was as anxious as Mulder to bring them all to justice,
particularly the Smoking Man who had been a thorn in his side for so long.
Skinner seemed willing to hold charges against Krycek until he'd seen his
report. Krycek agreeing to a 24 hour guard finally clinched the deal.
They're going to love my report, they're going to go mad for it. When
they read it, it'll blow their minds and they'll forgive me everything. He
studied his wet naked reflection in the mirror with satisfaction. Being on the
run was good for the figure. It had toned him down to lean, nervous muscle, no
spare flesh anywhere. He wanted Mulder to be the lucky man to enjoy this
beautiful, sexy body.
Krycek lifted up Mulder's towelling gown from the floor and put it on with
some reverence. It was still damp from the man's shower. His body had been
inside it only an hour or so ago. Krycek took hold of some of the material and
lifted it to his face, inhaling the smell of fresh clean Mulder.
The living room smelt faintly of Mulder's breakfast, coffee and toast. An
FBI agent was already on guard, sitting in Mulder's armchair, holding a gun in
one hand and a copy of one of Mulder's porn magazines in the other. He was well
built, with a physique almost matching Skinner's. Not an easy obstacle to
overcome.
Krycek smiled at him. "You're nice. What's your name?"
"Special Agent Valentine."
"Be mine?" Krycek inquired seductively.
There was no response, only a cold glare. Well he's not going to be much
fun, Krycek decided. Very quietly, he intoned a series of Russian words and
Special Agent Valentine fell suddenly into a deep sleep. Krycek took away his
gun and patted him lightly on the cheek. "Spah koynuhy nawchee." Agent
Valentine slept on.
Krycek looked around the room. He gazed for a moment at the indentations in
the sofa, marking the length and breadth of Mulder's restless form. Then he ran
his fingers over the cushion. The excitingly familiar smell of Mulder was
everywhere. It was like living in heaven. Krycek switched on Mulder's computer,
hacking effortlessly into his email. Nothing particularly diverting. He sent
Mulder an email, telling him he'd just read his email, suggesting that he
thought up a more exacting password and got some more interesting friends.
There was a note from Mulder in the kitchen, Mulder in full Jewish Mother
mode, telling Krycek not to do this and that, telling him he didn't know what
time he'd be back that day. Avoidance tactics will not help you, Mulder.
And there was a PS: Don't eat the fish. Ha, ha.
Krycek opened the refrigerator door to get some milk and then wished he
hadn't. Alien 6 was still there, making his stomach turn over. How can
Mulder live with this? And if he can live with this, he should be able to cope
with me better than he does. Krycek searched for rubber gloves and
eventually found some that looked and smelt as if Mulder had spent an afternoon
wearing them in a sewerage processor. Gingerly, Krycek put the grostesque
remains of the Chinese meal into the waste disposal unit and switched it on
with as much relief as Sigourney Weaver must have felt when she blew the alien
out into space.
Well that's a lot better except that there's still some mould in the
refrigerator. It badly needs a clean. And come to think of it, when had these
kitchen shelves ever had a wipe over? Or the floor a scrub? Krycek wondered
if Mulder lived by Quentin Crisp's principle that dust and dirt got no worse
after five years.
Okay, Mulder, this entire apartment is going to get a clean whether you
like it or not. You should be here to stop me.
Advantage: Krycek.
Mulder sat opposite Skinner, watching his face as he leafed through the
first part of Krycek's report. The Assistant Director was giving nothing away.
Occasionally he would stop at a particularly interesting paragraph and stare at
it for some time but otherwise, for all his animation, he could have been
scanning an airline timetable. Mulder glanced across the room at Scully. She
was gazing down at her folded hands. He wondered what she was thinking.
Finally Skinner looked up. "And he says there's more?"
"Yes, sir. He's divided the report into two sections, this is an indepth
expose of the Consortium members that he wrote last night and today he's
working on a full report of their projects."
Skinner leant back in his chair. The office lights reflected on his glasses
and for an eerie moment, Mulder couldn't see his eyes. "I don't need to tell
you how dangerous this information is, Agent Mulder. There's enough material
here to put Cancer Man away for life and every single Consortium member with
him."
"Yes, sir," Mulder said cautiously, uncertain where Skinner's train of
thought was leading.
"God knows what Krycek's report on their projects will reveal. To be frank
with you, Agent Mulder, we're dealing here with crimes of such magnitude and
significance that, even from my level, I'd be powerless to initiate the
necessary proceedings against them."
Mulder nodded briefly. "I understand what you're saying, sir, but Krycek has
some ideas on how we can work most effectively with the information he's giving
us. And he'll include those in the final part of his report."
Skinner sighed. "Well I guess he'd hardly give us all this if he didn't
think we could use it. We'll wait and see what he has to say. Meanwhile I hope
you have somewhere safe to keep this." He waved the report in the air.
"Personally I'd feel safer babysitting an unstable atom bomb."
Mulder fought back a grin. His cellphone began to ring, a reminder of his
own babysitting duties. His grin quickly faded. "Excuse me, sir. That may be
Agent Valentine."
"Go ahead."
Fumbling in his pocket, Mulder extricated his phone from the tangle of his
handkerchief. "Mulder."
"Oh hi, Mulder. How's it hanging?"
"Krycek! What the hell are you doing?"
"Relax, Mulder, I fitted a scrambler to this phone ages ago. It's perfectly
safe to use. Don't let me put a strain on your nerves."
A suitably cutting reply was on the tip of Mulder's tongue but he was fully
aware of Skinner and Scully watching him intently. He swallowed down the remark
and tried for the sort of tone he used on people nursing delusions, such as the
idea that Elvis was really dead. "What do you want, Krycek?"
"Parsley and coriander."
"Is this some kind of code?"
"I do so love the way your mind works. Nice try but no. I'm cooking Harira
with Kefta for this evening."
"Harira with Kefta?"
"Balls to you, Mulder."
"Excuse me?"
"Minced lamb balls. You have most of the ingredients I need but I've just
done an inventory of your spice rack and you only have ground coriander and
parsley. I need fresh."
Mulder said with deadly calm, "Krycek, I am going to count to three and then
I am going to switch off my phone and you will manage with dried ingredients
and then you will get back to your report." He noticed the corners of Scully's
mouth begin to curl.
Skinner gave an impatient exhalation of breath. "Give him to me," he said
sternly.
Oh man, Mulder thought as he handed Skinner his phone. Krycek,
you're really in for it now.
"Krycek?" Skinner snapped. "I hope you specified Italian flat-leaved
parsley. You can't seriously consider making Harira without it."
"Well obviously, who do you take me for, but Mulder can't get past the dried
stuff, let alone what kind of fresh stuff to get."
"That's okay, I'll make sure he gets it. Do you have fresh lemons?"
"No, only preserved but hell I'm just slumming it here. Do you use fresh
lemon as well?"
"Every time. It makes one hell of a difference. Preserved lemon in the dish
itself but fresh lemon quarters to squeeze onto the Harira when they're served
up."
"Mmm, sounds like a great finishing touch."
"I'll see you get what you need."
Skinner handed Mulder back his phone. In a kind of bewildered daze, Mulder
put it back in his pocket. He watched Skinner scribble out a brief shopping
list, wondering if at some stage during the afternoon, he'd fallen asleep like
Alice and this was all some kind of dream.
"Here," Skinner said. "Get these on the way home. And I want you both back
here tomorrow morning at 9 o'clock with Krycek and his final report."
When Mulder got to the door, Skinner called out, "Agent Mulder?"
He turned. "Yes, sir?"
"Enjoy your dinner." The light glinted again on Skinner's glasses. "You have
a treat in store."
Scully was waiting for him in the corridor, wearing a Cheshire cat grin.
"Well, well, Mulder, if Krycek was female, I'd be listening out for wedding
bells. And my money would be on Skinner for best man."
Mulder watched her walk off with a self-satisfied gait. It just simply was
not fair. Why did everyone enjoy playing with his head so much?
Advantage: Krycek.
When Mulder walked into his apartment later that afternoon, it was like
stepping into an unfamiliar world. For one thing, his furniture and floors were
shining brightly in a most unsettling manner. And classical music—worse,
opera—was pouring out of the kitchen, accompanied by rich and spicy cooking
smells. It was as if his mother had suddenly come to town.
Krycek was out of sight, toiling happily in the kitchen, judging by his
efforts to sing along with the soprano who seemed intent on making a
record-breaking attempt to shatter all the window panes. Mulder winced.
Special Agent Valentine was sitting in the armchair, looking
uncharacteristically dazed and uncertain of himself. Mulder felt a twinge of
sympathy for him—he deserved a special commendation for working under such
conditions.
"You okay?" Mulder asked, raising his voice to be heard over the music.
Valentine focussed on him and made an effort to pull himself together.
"Yeah, fine, Mulder, fine." He looked around him, puzzled. "Everything's fine."
He got gingerly to his feet, as if uncertain whether the floor would hold his
weight.
"Nothing to report then."
Valentine turned a little vague and then re-focussed. "Nothing to report.
No. Everything's fine."
Mulder frowned at him. "Well look, you go home. I'll deal with the prima
donna in the kitchen."
Valentine nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Mulder." He looked around him again,
as if unable to believe where he was and then stumbled out of the apartment.
Mulder went into the bathroom. He substituted the Sensodyne for a tube of
Ultrabrite that he'd bought that morning. Wouldn't do any harm to shake
Krycek's confidence a little. Then he took a deep breath and strolled into the
kitchen. Krycek was leaning over the stove, tasting something out of one of the
saucepans.
"Mmm-Mmm," said Krycek approvingly. "You are going to love this, Mulder. Did
you get the coriander and parsley?"
Mulder tossed a couple of packets over to him, followed by a lemon, and then
switched off the radio. The silence seemed almost too much but he couldn't
switch it back on—he needed to make his point and stick with it.
"Oh Mul-der!" Krycek complained. "How could you do that to the poor girl?
She's just been duped into a bigamous marriage, the guy wants to take her baby
away and you've just deprived her of the satisfaction of stabbing herself to
death."
"It's less messy this way," Mulder said firmly. He pulled off his jacket and
slung it over the door knob.
Krycek began chopping up the coriander. "They used that aria in the film
Fatal Attraction, you know."
"I don't see how that has any relevance," Mulder replied flatly, lying
through his teeth.
Krycek glanced at him over his shoulder. "I get the distinct impression that
you're angry with me, Mulder."
"Angry with you?" Mulder repeated, crossing his arms and leaning back
against a counter. He could feel his heart racing and knew it had nothing to do
with anger. For some reason, Krycek seemed even more alluring than ever, his
hair shining in the kitchen lights, t-shirt fitting snugly across his
shoulders, buttocks upturned and firm, slightly separated by black jeans that
rode up into the crack. Mulder ached to plunge himself between those cheeks.
"What possible reason could I have to be angry with you? You hacked into my
private email, you nosed through my apartment under the pretence of cleaning
it, you made me a laughing stock by phoning me up at work about your cordon
fucking bleu and you've done something very odd to Agent Valentine."
"Is that all? Must be a good day because I'm usually much more of a pain in
the neck than that."
Mulder smiled, knowing that Krycek couldn't see him. He watched in
fascination as Krycek skilfully gathered all the ingredients together. "Well?
Aren't you even going to try to justify yourself?"
Krycek turned to look at him. "Not much point, is there? You already know
I'm a bad bad boy."
"I'd be interested in what you have to say for yourself."
"Okay." Krycek went back to his ingredients. "I hacked into your email
because I wanted to check if you had a lover and if I had any competition.
You'll just have to believe me when I tell you I was only cleaning your
apartment. I have very little time to prove to you how multi-faceted and truly
wonderful I am so if it seems like I'm overdoing things, I'm sorry, but I do
have my work cut out for me. And it's not cordon fucking bleu, it's Moroccan
fucking cuisine."
Mulder gave what he hoped was a nonchalent carefree kind of laugh but his
heart had given a little leap at Krycek's words. "What about Agent Valentine?"
"Ah, well that was out of line, I guess." Krycek emptied the saucepans into
a casserole dish with all the flair of a professional cook. "I dated a Russian
hypnotist for a while and he taught me some interesting stuff. Valentine'll be
okay, I just sent him to sleep for a few hours. He was a damned nuisance
though, I had to vacuum round him. Maybe next time you could send someone
smaller who I can tuck away into a cupboard for the day." Krycek shoved the
casserole into the oven and turned round to face Mulder with a devastating
smile. "There, that should be ready in about a couple of hours, we have plenty
of time to make love."
Mulder stiffened and bristled into denial. He was afraid. He wanted Krycek
so badly that he feared he might die from the experience. "Krycek, by
definition, the term making love assumes that both parties are consenting to
the experience. When only one party is willing, I think the term is rape."
"I don't like the sound of your party much, Mulder." Krycek was walking
slowly towards him. "You should have come to mine. I was blind for three days."
"That's Groucho Marx. Night At The Opera."
"See? I knew we were made for each other." He was getting closer. "We even
like the same films."
Mulder floundered around helplessly. The water was deep and dangerous but it
had an irresistible pull. "You're very sure of yourself, aren't you. Are you
such an egotist that you need no encouragement at all?"
Krycek was standing only inches away from him, so close that Mulder could
see the faint boyish freckles on his nose and cheeks. Wicked green eyes hovered
in front of him, confirming his happiest dreams and worst nightmares. "I'm sure
of you, Mulder, and that's enough. I know the signs and you've been sending
them out loud and clear."
"Oh really?" That put paid to his final card, the one he'd tucked so
hopefully up his sleeve—deny everything. It worked for Cancer Man but then he
probably hadn't had to stand in a hot kitchen with a very sexy and determined
Alex Krycek. Or maybe he had, who knows. Damn, I'm rambling like a lunatic
while he's—God I don't believe this—he's got hold of my hand and now he's
kissing it. Groucho Marx meets Jane Austen. "No, Krycek." It wasn't as if
he meant it, he was just testing that his voice still worked. The touch of
Krycek's hand and lips were sabotaging Mulder's nervous system.
Krycek stopped kissing his hand but didn't let go of it. When he looked up
at Mulder, his eyelids were heavy with desire. "Let me make it easier for you,
Mulder. As you know, I'm not above blackmail. I finished my report this
afternoon but there's no way I'm going to let you or anyone else see it unless
you fuck me first. Look at it this way—by taking me to bed, you'll be doing a
service for your country."
"You know me," Mulder managed to say. "A patriot first and last." He gripped
onto the counter with his free hand as if it was a piece of wood in a stormy
sea.
"I'll be whatever you want," Krycek was murmuring huskily, kissing with the
softest lips along Mulder's left cheekbone, sending goosebumps all over
Mulder's body. "What would you like to play? Doctor and patient, bored
househusband and delivery boy, alien and abductee, republican senator and
construction worker?"
"Yes," said Mulder who had never found making decisions easy. He couldn't
believe he was holding hands with Alex Krycek.
Krycek giggled and close to, that giggle was as heady as a glass of
champagne on a summer's day. It vibrated through Mulder's cheek, heading
unerringly for his groin. "Come on, which one? I'll even pretend to be female
if that's what you want."
Mulder groaned and shook his head. No, that wasn't what he wanted at all. He
took a deep breath and let go of the counter as if making a dive into the deep
end of a pool. Okay everyone, into the water! He swept Krycek into his
arms and buried his face in his neck. Krycek smelt wonderful. He felt the young
man wrap his arms around him tightly and heard him sigh. Felt his erection
digging into his thigh.
"Alleycat," Mulder murmured into Krycek's neck. He waited for another giggle
but it didn't come.
Instead, Krycek pulled away a little and stared back at him seriously. It
seemed he recognised and respected a fellow pervert. "Alleycat is good, I like
alleycat. Good for you, Mulder."
Krycek didn't appear to need time to get into character. He wasn't a method
fantasizer who would want to know what breed he was, whether he was neutered,
if he came from a happy home and whether his coat was long or short. It was as
if he instinctively knew what Mulder wanted. Instead of kissing Mulder's face,
Krycek began licking it, in long firm strokes, just like a cat.
PART THREE
"Christ," Mulder whispered, feeling as if his knees might buckle under him.
He noticed that Krycek too was beginning to tremble with excitement. "I think
we'd better take this into the bedroom."
Krycek smiled wickedly and allowed himself to be led away. Keeping the
seductive flow, he began undoing Mulder's shirt and tie while walking backwards
into the bedroom, ripping off some buttons in the process, pulling the clothes
off Mulder's body. Then he flung off his own t-shirt, sending it flying
dramatically through the air. By the time they'd reached the bed, they were
both naked from the waist up, panting and tousled. Krycek was bringing new
meaning to the term hot date.
"Lie down for me," Mulder whispered. He pulled off his shoes and socks, not
taking his eyes off Krycek for a second. His lean cat-lover lay down on his
back, pulled off his jeans with practised ease and sprawled in sluttish abandon
on the bed.
Mulder believed he had never seen a more beautiful sight. Krycek's pale,
perfect skin was highlighted by a sheen of excitement. His chest was baby
smooth, his legs and arms well defined with muscle and sparsely covered in soft
blond down. He was uncircumsized, his cock long and pretty, twitching in need,
the sac below rock hard. It didn't look as if he was going to last long and
Mulder didn't want him to. In his fantasies, Krycek was always multi-orgasmic
and Mulder was already planning to make him come so many times he wouldn't know
which way up he was.
With trembling fingers, Mulder unzipped and pulled off his pants and briefs,
leaving them in a heap on the floor. It occurred to him that his bachelor
apartment had been transformed into a scene of domestic bliss, clothes all over
the place in seductive disarray, and dinner in the oven. He hadn't imagined
that he could derive such pleasure from it. It was a state he thought only
happened to everyone else. And Krycek seemed happy about it too. As Mulder lay
himself over the young man's heavenly body, Krycek was all but purring in
delight.
Mulder kissed him, taking it slowly at first, wanting to savour the taste of
those divine full lips, licking and sucking at them, then plunging his tongue
firmly between them, making Krycek moan with each thrust as if he was being
fucked. Krycek's mouth was sweet and welcoming, like the rest of him, his moans
vibrating through Mulder's body, driving him on to kiss with brutal insistence.
Krycek began to writhe like a flame underneath him, then becoming more
frantic, he started digging his nails into Mulder's back, alleycat style.
Mulder broke the kiss, smiling down at the needy panting Krycek. "Hey, take
it easy," he teased. In answer, Krycek dragged his nails down hard over
Mulder's back, leaving angry weals from shoulder to waist. Mulder cried out and
grabbed Krycek's wrists, pinning them down on the pillow over his head.
"Hellcat!" he snapped.
Krycek looked up at him innocently. Then he somehow managed to topple Mulder
over and landed up on top, rubbing himself lasciviously over Mulder's body,
licking his chest and nipples with rough hungry abandon, nipping the flesh here
and there with his teeth. He was proving to be far more of a handful than
Mulder had anticipated, the sexiest, most delightful and demanding handful. It
was a wonder Krycek had managed to get through life so far without being eaten
alive or fucked to death.
On an impulse of sheer lust, Mulder grabbed hold of Krycek's swollen cock
and gripped it hard, needing to make him come, wanting to tame and subdue this
extraordinary wildcat lover. In a mirror image of Mulder's fantasy, Krycek
pulled himself up on all fours and began furiously humping Mulder's grip,
giving into his demands with the ease of one who could produce an orgasm any
time he wanted. Krycek threw back his head and thrust with delicious obscene
appetite. He seemed to be saying, see how beautiful I am when I move like this,
how lucky you are to be able to watch me, enjoy it, fuck me with your eyes and
your fist, see how handsome I am when I come...
All at once, Krycek gave out a rigid choking sob, shooting white strings of
semen all over Mulder's chest and stomach. He reacted to each contraction of
pleasure with a wrenching, almost painful cry, as if the bliss was costing him
more in emotion than he could afford to give. Then he collapsed, boneless and
satiated, beside Mulder, hugging him tightly as if needing an anchor to
reality, overcome by his own demonstration of passion.
What was it Alice had said? "You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
Well, yes, Mulder supposed he ought but he wasn't, he was feeling incredibly
pleased with himself, the world in general and Krycek in particular. As he lay
beside him, gently kissing his wet forehead, listening to his breathing
gradually return to normal, Mulder felt super-charged and vibrant, a powerhouse
of sexual desire. His erection was throbbing with the need for release but not
unpleasantly so. Mulder could be as obsessive and focussed about sex as he was
about his work, able to maintain an erection for as long as he felt driven to
do so. And he felt driven to fuck Alex Krycek all night. He'd wanted him for so
long, as long it seemed as Krycek had wanted him. Who knew when this absurd
dream might be over—he may never have the chance again.
Running his fingers over his stomach and chest, Mulder collected together
some of Krycek's sperm and smoothed it over his erection. When he rose up onto
his knees, collecting more of it on his fingertips, Mulder met Krycek's eyes.
They were hungry again, heavy lidded with lust and longing.
"Alex," Mulder said softly, "you're enough to tempt a yogi down from his
sacred mountain."
Krycek broke into an answering smile. "Hey, you called me Alex," he said
with awe. This obviously meant more to him than the compliment itself.
Mulder considered a smartass put down but decided against it. Krycek seemed
so vulnerable and open, lying there in a post coital daze, who was he to spoil
the mood? Still holding fingerfuls of sperm in one hand, Mulder used the other
to stroke and caress the silkiness of Krycek's thighs. Luxuriating in the
sensual experience, Krycek began to twist slightly under Mulder's hands,
opening his legs in silent provocative invitation, already half erect.
Slutcat! Mulder grinned down at him.
"You're beautifully hung, Mulder," Krycek murmered, as naturally as if he
were complementing Mulder on his eyes. "And so big, so very big. Can't wait to
feel that beauty fucking me."
Oh God. Mulder closed his eyes, feeling a massive surge in his
erection that took him almost to the edge. That was cheating, alleycats
weren't supposed to talk. But, then again, if they did, I guess that's just the
sort of thing they'd say.
"Up, Alex!" he encouraged, as if to a lazy pet. "I want you on all fours,
there's a good boy!"
Krycek rolled his eyes mildly, looking at Mulder with an indulgent
well-if-I-really-must expression but he wasted no time in arranging himself on
hands and knees, thrusting his buttocks in the air with greedy anticipation.
Seeing such a mouthwatering sight before him, Mulder decided against using the
sperm. He'd been given a better idea. He grabbed hold of Krycek's muscular
cheeks and pulled them a little apart, revealing the dark puckered opening
there. Exquisite. It twitched a little in excitement. Mulder buried his face in
the sweet crack and began licking thoroughly at Krycek's anus.
"God!" Krycek nearly shrieked, clutching violently at the bedclothes. "Oh my
God!"
I think he likes it, Mulder decided. He revelled in the fact that
he'd taken someone of Krycek's obvious experience by surprise and licked
harder, pushing at the tiny opening with the tip of his tongue. Krycek tasted
marvellously rich and musty.
"Mulder!" Krycek's voice was a mixture of lust and terror. Mulder wondered
if this was the first time anyone had had the imagination to do this to him. He
remembered the first time he'd had it done to him—he'd nearly hit the
ceiling. Krycek's anal muscles suddenly gave and Mulder shoved his tongue
inside as far as it would go. Krycek screamed out, his voice cracked and
panicky, thrashing about wildly while Mulder explored his inner channel,
revolving his tongue to lick at the walls, then fucking him hard with it.
Without even having his penis touched, Krycek screamed again and launched
into an explosive climax, collapsing onto his chest so that his buttocks were
even higher in the air. Mulder didn't stop tonguing him until Krycek's protests
started to get tearful. He was almost weeping Mulder's name over and over
again.
Drunk with the effect he was having on the young man, Mulder felt helpless
to hold back. Those succulent cheeks were still in the air, anal muscles open
and throbbing. Guiding his erection, Mulder pushed firmly all the way inside in
one go, his balls bouncing against Krycek's smooth thighs.
"Mulder, you bastard!" Krycek screamed out. "You're so big, so fucking big!"
Mulder made a mental note to look into getting the place soundproofed. But
in spite of his protests, Krycek had lifted himself up on his hands again,
thrusting back hungrily against Mulder's onslaught, squeezing down on his cock
with strong internal muscles. So strong, in fact, that Mulder knew he couldn't
hold out for very long. Being inside Krycek at last, he knew that this was all
he ever wanted, he belonged here, this was pure bliss, finally possessing and
enjoying this beautiful man. Mulder thrust for as long and as hard as he could,
trying to maintain his rhythm, giving his boy-cat a run for his money, soon
having him collapsing down onto his chest again, wailing and moaning, digging
nails into the mattress instead of Mulder's skin.
"Oh, Alex, what a beautiful little fuck you are! Alex! Ugh!" And he was
coming, screaming out his own release, pumping hot jets of sperm deep into
Krycek's trembling body. And miraculously Krycek was coming too, weaker this
time, but there were the unmistakeable inner contractions of climax bearing
down on Mulder's cock, milking him with exquisite fingers of muscle. So good to
come together like that... magic... white rabbits... sleeping gryphons...
The best orgasm of Mulder's life seemed to have sent his brain cells out to
dinner. He wondered distantly if it was just for a snack or a full three course
meal.
Slowly, Mulder gave up the feeble fight against gravity and let the whole
weight of his body bear down on Krycek. Together, they sank heavily down onto
the bed like rocks falling to the ocean floor. Krycek let out a moan of protest
as his over-sensitised penis was squashed under their combined weight. Mulder
moved onto his side and pulled Krycek into his arms. They fitted together
snugly, two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. If only everything else around them
would fit...
Krycek was resting his cheek on Mulder's shoulder and it felt wet and hot.
His chest was heaving a little as if he was trying to bring himself under
control. Mulder ran his fingers gently through Krycek's silky hair.
"Hey," he whispered, making an attempt to lighten the mood, "does this mean
I get to read your report now?"
Krycek gave a damp snuffly grunt but kept silent.
Mulder tried again. "I know it's bad to ask for ego strokes but tell me when
you first wanted this."
Krycek sniffed. "When I said Agent Mulder? and you said Yeah?"
His voice was huskier than ever.
"But you'd only just met me."
"That's right." He cleared his throat. "When did you first want this?"
"When you said Agent Mulder?"
They both laughed.
"Mulder?"
"Mmmm?"
"Are you sorry it's happened?"
Mulder squeezed him. Hard. "No, not sorry at all. Though I have the feeling
I ought to be. It just feels so—inevitable, as if I've been waiting for it to
happen."
"Yes. Yes, that's exactly right." He fell silent. And then: "Mulder?"
"Mmmm?"
"I'd love a beer, I'm parched and it's another half hour til dinner's
ready."
Mulder grinned. His pussycat was feeling better and just like a cat, had him
catering for his every need.
"Sure." Sure, no matter that I can hardly walk or function properly yet,
no problem.
When Mulder staggered into the kitchen, the delicious smells coming from the
stove reminded him forcibly that he had skipped lunch that day. Running a hand
through his untidy hair, he opened the refrigerator. It sparkled like the rest
of his apartment. An exotic looking salad lay in a bowl all ready to eat.
Wait a minute... No, he's not getting away with this, however beautiful
and sexy and adoring he is.
Mulder grabbed two beers and stormed back into the bedroom. The window was
open, the icy breeze reminding him that it was snowing outside.
Krycek and his overnight bag were gone.
"Hi, Mulder." Frohike strolled into his living room an hour later, clapping
his mittened hands together for warmth. The snow, it seemed, had stopped. He
looked cold but dry.
Mulder groaned in greeting and remained lying on the sofa. Someone on TV was
assuring him that their product killed every known germ to man. "Why don't I
feel surprised to see you? Did you bring along any white rabbits? Any
opium-smoking caterpillars?"
Frohike ignored him and walked through to the kitchen. "There, I told him,"
he called through, "I told him you'd never think to get dinner from the stove."
"Not much point," Mulder drawled, easing himself up into a sitting position.
"I can't even pronounce it. I wouldn't know what to do with it."
"It's just food, Mulder, real food. You know, that stuff that goes on plates
rather than coming from a carton."
He got to his feet and stumbled into the kitchen. Frohike was serving up the
dinner that Krycek had prepared with such flair. Mulder couldn't help but
wonder at the contrast he made with Krycek. Beauty and the Beast. "Any chance
of someone telling me what's going on round here? Where's the Galloping
Gourmet? Gone off to clean someone else's apartment, cook their dinner, fuck
with them and then disappear into thin air?"
"Krycek said you'd be angry. Come on, eat up." Frohike carried two plates of
Harira into the living room.
"You're both crazy if you think I'm going to eat that. I want to know what's
going on."
Frohike looked at him severely. "Eat. I'll tell you while you eat."
It was yet another ultimatum. Mulder was growing tired of them and yet it
did make sense. His stomach was almost turning in on itself with hunger. He
took a desultory mouthful and caught himself just in time before going "Mmmm!"
and spoiling his show of indifference. It was incredibly delicious, exotic and
spicy, just like Krycek himself. May he rot in hell.
"You forgot the fresh lemon segments," Mulder said with his mouth full.
"Skinner says you have to serve this with fresh lemon." It was good to be able
to find something to bitch about.
"You can't blame him," Frohike said suddenly. "There was no way he'd have
lived through all the investigations if he'd stayed here. He's given you all
you need." Frohike tossed a digital tape onto the coffee table. "It's all
there."
Mulder stared across at the tape, taking another mouthful, finding to his
surprise that it was more important to him to know where Krycek was than to
snatch the tape up and shove it straight into his computer.
"You're going to love it, Mulder. Apparently, part two's even hotter than
part one. You even get to find out Cancer Man's real name!"
"Betty MacAllister?" Mulder suggested.
"Don't let's be silly."
"Where's he gone?"
"Hong Kong. He knows someone who can give him protection there."
Mulder sighed. "Why couldn't he tell me himself?" He remembered Krycek's hot
tears on his shoulder.
"He told me he wasn't sure what you'd do with him once you had the
information."
Christ, no wonder the poor kid had cried. He trusts me about as much as I
trust him. We're going to make a wonderful couple. "What if I want to see
him?" Mulder asked simply.
"Ah," Frohike said, with the air of a teacher whose student had just come up
with the correct answer, "he was really hoping you'd say that. That's no
problem. He has a friend who works in the Kowloon Hotel. Once you book in
there, he'll let Krycek know you've arrived."
"That'll be convenient if I'm here in Washington fancying a quick lunchtime
fuck."
Frohike gave him a severe look. "Think how romantic it'll be. And then when
you've locked up the entire Consortium singlehanded, you can bring him home and
live happily ever after."
"You know, Frohike, sometimes you really worry me."
"You're not the first person to say that," Frohike said cheerfully.
I have very little time to prove to you that you can't live without
me. Mulder put down his plate. "There's one thing I can never forgive him
for."
"Only one thing?" There was a tense silence while Frohike wondered what was
coming. "What?" he asked finally.
"He threw out my Chinese meal."
"The boy deserves a medal," Frohike said fervently.
"I told you, I was saving it for Halloween!"
"But Halloween is eight months away."
"Exactly! Think how impressive it would have been by then."
Mulder took their empty plates out into the kitchen and divided the remains
of the meal between them. He added a little fresh lemon juice with what he
hoped was flair, smiling a little as he remembered Skinner and his hot cooking
tips.
He glanced over to the counter where Krycek had so blatantly and efficiently
seduced him and broke into a grin. He wondered how soon he could get away to
Hong Kong and if Krycek would be in the mood for alien and abductee.
Although it is true that children tend to
Standing at the reception desk of the Kowloon Hotel, Mulder wondered if he
should be making some special sign or acting in a certain way. All he knew was
that a friend of Krycek's worked in the hotel. This could mean anyone from the
cleaner to the owner of the place.
And since the arrangement was that this friend would let Krycek know when
Mulder had booked in, the most obvious candidate seemed to be the desk clerk.
But when Mulder gave the man his name, enunciating it rather loudly and clearly
as if to someone hard of hearing, the clerk's expression remained inscrutable
and unencouraging.
Mulder wondered if he should go to the bar and announce to the bartender in
a loud and expansive kind of way that he was an American named Mulder just
arrived in Hong Kong for the first time and, say, did the guy know a friend of
his, Alex Krycek? Back home, admitting to having Krycek as a friend was
tantamount to an acknowledgement of insanity in the family but here in Hong
Kong things could be different. Or should he use his charm on every waiter in
the hotel he could find? Or rather, since jet lag was making his legs feel like
lead, shouldn't he simply go to bed for a few hours' sleep?
He'd been allocated room number 42. Nice touch. The answer to Life, the
Universe and Everything. No, that was Alex Krycek. God. Mulder caught
that thought and held onto it in a mixture of fascination and horror. That had
quite possibly been the most dangerous thought he'd ever had in his life. He
felt himself breaking out in a sweat and checked over his shoulder as he walked
towards his room, hoping that no-one else had picked up on it.
Fantasies of Krycek arranged provocatively on the bed for his arrival turned
out to be misguided. Damn. They only had four days. Mulder wanted to make the
most of every precious second, why didn't Krycek? Maybe the little wretch had
changed his mind or his location or his object of desire. Maybe Cancerman had
somehow managed to get to him, maybe he'd been kidnapped by the Triads.
Maybe I should soak in the tub and anaesthetise my imagination with
alcohol. It was just possible that Krycek was giving him this time to rest
up. Had you thought of that?
Because Krycek had a history of surprising members of his family in the
shower, Mulder opened the bathroom door and carefully checked around. No Krycek
but there were a variety of toiletries to experiment with. He poured two
different oils into the running water.
As he undressed, Mulder looked around his room. It was like countless other
hotel rooms he'd stayed in, but the bed was excellent, a modern looking four
poster, voluptuous and promising. He threw back the cover to reveal a single
red rose which made his stomach churn in excitement. Krycek had been here.
Mulder inhaled the smell of the rose and closed his eyes, revelling in the
romance of the moment. Obviously going to bed had been the right move. He
placed the box of chocolates he'd bought for Krycek on the nightstand with the
rose.
The bath failed to relax Mulder as much as he'd hoped. He'd been strung out
on longing for days now, unable to concentrate or sit still for long. There had
been a suggestion of relief in Scully's wave as she'd seen him off at the
airport and he couldn't blame her for it. The plane journey had been hell. He'd
visited the bathroom simply for something to do so often that the air hostesses
had begun to smile at him sympathetically, as if he had a bladder disease.
Mulder flopped into bed, smelling like a Hong Kong whore, and flicked
through early evening programmes on the TV. Just like home, with the distinct
advantage of being completely unintelligible, and just like home, it finally
sent him to sleep.
"Be still, earthling!"
Mulder had been dreaming that someone was trying to handcuff him to the bed
and woke to find dream state and reality to be one and the same thing. "Krycek!
You fucking idiot!"
Illuminated from behind by the TV, Krycek was busy handcuffing Mulder's legs
to the bed. He was giggling to himself in a maniacal sort of way and, combined
with the alien voices and sounds from the TV, the effect was a little weird.
Mulder thought of the smiling, doll-like air hostess on the plane. Welcome
to Hong Kong. We hope you enjoy your stay.
"Krycek! Stop fucking about and come here and be kissed!" He pulled
violently at the handcuffs clamped round his wrists, frustrated at being unable
to grab hold of his lover.
"My name's Vortex," Krycek insisted pedantically. He was kneeling between
Mulder's splayed knees, smiling gleefully at him. "You smell nice."
"What kind of name is that for an alien?"
"Okay, you think of a better one, you're the expert." He was moving
stealthily up the bed on all fours.
"You're out of luck, I'm not familiar with alien names."
"Then stop bitching." Krycek was right over him now, still on all fours,
tantalisingly out of reach. The eternal leather jacket was still present,
Mulder was glad to see. "And why have you stopped calling me Alex?"
Mulder longed to feel Krycek and leather against his skin. "Because I'm
still feeling angry with you for ditching me in Washington. I'd have thought
you of all people would have a nodding acquaintance with conditional love."
"Call me Alex or I won't kiss you. How's that for conditional love?"
Jungle green eyes glowed down at him in the half light cast by the TV.
Perhaps this wasn't the best of times to worry about a little thing like pride.
"Okay. Hi Alex Vortex." He could smell leather with a hint of musk, eau de
Krycek. Mulder was already as hard as it was possible for him to get.
"I wouldn't try making jokes with my alien name," Krycek warned, his lips so
close now that Mulder could feel their heat. They touched his, briefly and
cruelly. "You know the figurative definition of vortex, don't you. A thing
viewed as swallowing up those who approach it."
"Sounds good to me," Mulder managed to say. Now Krycek was nibbling his ear
lobe.
"Not good, earthling, terrifying is more accurate. My mission is to test the
limits of your endurance of pleasure." He pushed his tongue inside Mulder's ear
and licked around it wickedly. "But I'm only a simple minded alien—I might
push you too far and you may die a violent but extremely pleasurable death."
There was such menace in Krycek's voice that Mulder had to remind himself
that this was just a game, though the idea of Krycek killing him with pleasure
really didn't seem all that implausible. "No shit," he said through gritted
teeth.
Krycek was running his tongue along Mulder's chin and down his neck, keeping
it flat and moist, not rough and pointed as he'd done as an alleycat. It was
almost unbearably sensuous. Mulder groaned and grabbed hold of the bedhead. The
tongue continued on its way, following a path down his chest and settling for a
moment on his navel, where it licked and prodded until Mulder was writhing to
try to get away from the intolerable pleasure. The tongue moved on, towards his
rampant cock.
"Oh God, yes please," Mulder breathed fervently.
All at once, Krycek sat up. "Don't get your hopes up, earthling, it's all
part of the torture." Taking no notice of Mulder's agonised groan, Krycek
suddenly noticed the box on the night stand. "Ooooh! Chocolates!" The alien
grabbed hold of it, tearing off the cellophane and sat squinting at the picture
of contents while Mulder quietly made plans for what he would do in retaliation
to keep him from moaning and losing face. "Oh, almond whirl, my favourite!"
Krycek took hold of three chocolates and shoved them all in his mouth. He was
quiet for a while.
Mulder was reminded of the picture of Tigger at Pooh Bear's table, trying to
chew on a mouthful of honey. He cleared his throat meaningfully. "If it's not
too much trouble, my favourite happens to be toffee."
Krycek rumaged in the box. "In that case, earthling, you can have a lime
cream."
"Well, all I can say is that you're the cruellest, most ruthless alien I've
met in a long time."
"Damn right," the alien said with satisfaction. He lay himself over Mulder,
who almost came with the pleasure of delayed contact, holding the chocolate
between his teeth, Carmen Miranda style. "Come and get it," Krycek said
indistinctly.
Lifting his head off the pillow, Mulder tried to make a grab with his teeth
for the chocolate but Krycek only pulled back and took the sweet into his
mouth. Mulder was about to protest when the alien bent to cover his mouth with
his own, slowly passing the sweet to him with his tongue. Their mouths mingled
in an obscenely sensuous mixture of saliva and chocolate. To Mulder, death by
pleasure really didn't seem that far away. Their tongues played hard against
one another in a passionate bid for dominance and chocolate.
Krycek was making little moaning sounds, moving his hips hungrily, his cock
as hard as iron against Mulder's thigh. Apparently it was getting to him too.
Serves you right, Mulder thought with satisfaction, if you will be
this sexy, what do you expect? Finally the alien broke the kiss, flushed,
panting, full lips lush with chocolate and saliva, and climbed off the bed.
"Where the fuck are you going?" Mulder complained with his mouth still full.
And it wasn't lime, after all, but toffee.
"To prepare the torture," said the alien, walking a little unsteadily to the
kettle, switching it on with a flourish. He treated Mulder to a form of
extraterrestrial strip tease, twirling items of clothing around on one finger,
then sending them flying through the air with careless abandon. Mulder chewed
and watched him with narrowed eyes. Alex Krycek, you little bastard, just
wait until you let me loose, you're in sooo much trouble. Smiling sweetly,
Krycek pulled down his jeans and turned his back to Mulder, moving his bare
behind in a teasing obscene pantomime of intercourse.
At the moment when Mulder had reached screaming point, the kettle clicked
off and Krycek was diverted. Divinely naked, he poured some water into a cup,
added a small amount of cold and walked back to Mulder. "Now then, earthling,
as they say on your planet, check this out."
It was at this point that the full extent of Mulder's insanity was brought
home to him. Thousands of miles from home, handcuffed and imprisoned in a hotel
room by the man who had betrayed him and murdered his father, he was about to
indulge in something dangerous and kinky involving a lot of hot water. He
should face facts. He wasn't safe to be let out on his own.
Krycek took a mouthful of hot water, swishing it vigorously around his
teeth. Holding onto it, he bent over Mulder's trembling expectant form,
swallowing at the last moment, then dragging a red hot tongue from Mulder's
chest down to the line of his pubic hair. Mulder yelled out. The sensation was
extraordinary, creating a path of fire which culminated in his groin, where it
felt as if every single cell in his testicles was on its back, legs in the air
from shock.
"Alex," Mulder croaked, when the faculty of speech had returned to him, "do
that again and I'm a dead man."
"Nonsense," said the alien cheerfully. And then, looking Mulder up and down
as if assessing him, "well, you were warned."
"Oh my God." Mulder watched helplessly as Krycek took another mouthful of
hot water. "If I quoted the terms of the Geneva convention, would that do any
good? Arghh!" That tongue was busy turning his balls to fire, licking
mercilessly around them, then sucking them into boiling hot satin. Krycek was
skilled at this, he knew exactly when to withdraw, leaving Mulder tottering at
the edge of orgasm but not quite able to make it over the brink. Prolonged
disembowelment with a blunt instrument seemed like the only fitting death for
Krycek at that moment.
"You're doing exceedingly well, earthling," said the alien, watching
Mulder's tortured, breathless form. "But now, prepare to die."
Mulder had no breath left for protest. Swirling more hot water round his
mouth, Krycek was settling himself resolutely over Mulder's erection. "Please
God, let it be a quick painless death. Suddenly Mulder's cock was
completely enveloped by boiling hot sensation. Krycek was pulling out all the
stops, sucking him deeply into his mouth, running his tongue around him and
humming, all at the same time. Somewhere, Mulder felt sure, there had to be a
federal law against giving someone so much pleasure all at once. Orgasm was
absolutely inevitable and as scary as hell. It felt as if Krycek was intent on
sucking his brains out through his cock, the pleasure so intense it seemed like
pain. Mulder screamed himself hoarse, as much in fear as in ecstasy. Krycek
kept sucking relentlessly, giving Mulder the benefit of every possible
sensation of pleasure. And he stopped, as well, just at the right moment, when
Mulder's penis was becoming oversensitised. Krycek was obviously a Master.
Mulder lay wrecked and satiated on the bed, pinned down like a butterfly
under glass, trying hard to pull himself out of post coital daze. He became
very aware that his alien was awfully busy where he was crouching between
Mulder's legs and that could surely only mean trouble. Mulder slowly opened his
eyes.
Krycek was lubricating himself and for a full heart-stopping minute, Mulder
watched him running fingers slick with Astroglide along the length of his
erection, looking down at himself, lost in the sensation of his own touch and
the sight of his own beauty. He was breathtaking, his smooth skin irridescent
with the light from the TV, lashes sweeping his cheeks, lush moist lips parted
and smiling softly. Mulder tried to imagine sharing his life with this
beautiful man and failed utterly. It felt cruel somehow, like keeping an exotic
creature in a cage, but Mulder knew that like some mad and obsessed scientist,
it wouldn't stop him from trying.
Looking up to meet his gaze, Mulder's alien broke into a wicked smile. "Bet
you can't guess where I'm going to put this, earthling."
Mulder said with all the dignity he could muster, "I don't subscribe to Omni
for nothing, you know. I've read all the reports." It dawned on him that Krycek
had freed his ankles from the bed, although the handcuffs were still clamped
round them. If Mulder could summon up the energy, it would be perfectly
possible for him to kick Krycek off the bed onto the floor but then again the
boy was having such fun. And the idea of being fucked by Krycek was undeniably
exciting. Would he give it as well as he took it?
"Prepare to die." Krycek lifted Mulder's legs, his hands under his knees.
"You keep saying that," Mulder pointed out, "but I'm still here."
"Well okay then," the alien retorted huffily, "this time I really mean it."
One slick slender finger found its way inside him, heading with deadly
accuracy for his prostate. Mulder groaned. Another finger was added and after
two or three delicious strokes which broke wave after wave of desire over his
nervous system, Mulder had shifted rapidly from blissful daze to rampant
hunger. It hardly seemed possible, but then, with Krycek, sexual dynamics could
get entirely out of hand. Mulder was bent almost in two as Krycek arranged
himself for entrance, an intense look of concentration on his face. He was
sweating and breathless, shaking in need, the game forgotten in his urgency.
Though he was surprisingly gentle, pushing inside Mulder only inches at a time,
groaning and frowning with the effort of controlling himself and, once inside
to the hilt, staying still to allow Mulder to adjust to his size.
But Mulder neither needed nor wanted to adjust. He was feeling wicked. He
wanted to give his alien a surprise. Gritting his teeth in concentration, he
clamped the full force of his inner muscles round Krycek's erection. His eyes
wide with surprise, Krycek yelped in pleasure, snapping forward over Mulder's
body, grabbing hold of his shoulders. Mulder repeated the action.
"Oh Christ, Mulder! You're gonna squeeze me to death!" Krycek hadn't had a
chance to work up any rhythm and he began to thrust haphazardly into Mulder's
body, wildly seeking relief. "Do it to me!" he was begging, "do it to me
again!" Mulder complied, half laughing, half groaning. Krycek's crazy need was
infectious. And confusing. It was becoming difficult to tell who was doing the
fucking. Mulder's cock was sandwiched deliciously between their writhing
bodies, building up a driving momentum of need. "Oh God, Mulder, yes! Do it, do
it, yes!"
Krycek was going wild, crying out in pleasure, kissing and biting whatever
part of Mulder's body he happened to throw himself against. He was magnificent
in his desire, out of his mind and unashamed, whipping Mulder's need along with
his own. Finally, with a scream of fulfillment that must have woken the entire
hotel, Krycek launched into orgasm, driving hungrily into Mulder, who came with
Krycek as if he was caught up in a whirlwind of frenzied pleasure. Vortex had
certainly been a suitable name for Krycek to choose.
It was unbelievably overwhelming. If it hadn't have been for the pain caused
by Krycek's grip on his shoulders, Mulder was sure he would have blacked out
completely. As it was, he was barely aware of anything but Krycek's fingers
digging into his skin and his sobbing gasps in his ear. Any more fucks like
that and Mulder would have to see about raising his life insurance cover. They
lay together fighting for breath like two asthmatics surrounded by pollenating
flowers.
"Incredible," Krycek panted.
"Fucking fantastic," Mulder agreed. And then, when his breathing finally
began to slow down, "Alex, could I have my shoulders back, please? You know,
when you've finished with them."
"Oh, right." Krycek seemed to come back to reality, lifting himself wearily
off Mulder's body. "Sorry. That was powerful stuff."
Mulder stretched himself out on the bed gratefully. "You're telling me." He
rattled the handcuff chains. "And if I could also have my wrists back?"
Krycek giggled lazily, lying beside him, running his fingers through
Mulder's damp hair. "You're not going to beat me up if I do?"
"Listen, I haven't the energy. Tomorrow, maybe, if you get lucky."
"Frohike did explain things to you, didn't he."
Mulder focused on Krycek's perfect features, arranged now into an expression
of mild anxiety. He was obviously concerned, even a little frightened. Mulder
thought back to when he'd pinned Krycek down onto the hood of a car, poking a
gun into his bleeding face. It was quite a novelty for a man with the nickname
of Spooky to be taken so very seriously. He gazed back into Krycek's eyes and
acknowledged that the feeling was good.
"He did explain, Alex, yes. But I wish you could have explained to me
yourself."
Krycek sighed. "I know." He looked even more uneasy. "Trust, as you've
probably gathered, is a big problem for me."
This was perhaps the closest Krycek could get to a sincere apology and
Mulder accepted it in that spirit. "It's a problem for both of us. But we're
gonna work at it and we're gonna talk it all over. Right?"
"Sure, Mulder, sure." The reply came too quickly, too easily, but delivered
with such enthusiasm that Mulder hadn't the heart to labour the point that it
was more than sex games he wanted to work out with Krycek for the next few
days.
"Well?" He rattled the chains again. "For fuck's sake, Alex, I want to hold
you so badly."
Krycek fumbled underneath the pillow for the key and unlocked the cuffs from
Mulder's ankles and wrists, kissing them earnestly as he did so. Immediately he
was freed, Mulder enveloped him in his arms. Krycek stiffened a little and then
relaxed, allowing Mulder to roll over on top of him and cover his body
entirely. Mulder sighed with happiness. "Jesus Christ, I've missed you."
Krycek moaned, a sound that came from deep within him as if it originated
from his soul, and wrapped his arms tightly round his lover. "I've missed you
too."
Mulder hugged him harder and received another satisfying moan in response.
"So how are you making out in Hong Kong?"
"Okay. Yeah, okay." Krycek nuzzled his face as close to Mulder's neck as he
could manage, like a shy child trying to hide.
"That's it? Just okay? That's all you have to tell me?"
Krycek sighed sleepily. "I've only been here six days, Mulder. It takes a
while, you know, to get the feel of a place. But I have found myself somewhere
to live so I guess that's a start."
Mulder closed his eyes dreamily. "That's good, Alex. Maybe you'll show me
your place tomorrow."
"Mmmm." It was a non-committal, evasive sound that should have set off alarm
bells but Mulder was too sleepy to pick up on it. He wanted so much to stay
awake but he was rapidly losing the battle against tiredness. He stifled a
yawn.
"Hey, Mulder, you've had a long flight. Go to sleep now and we can talk
tomorrow."
Unconsciously, he tightened his hold on Krycek. "You'll still be here, won't
you." Damn, why did he have to feel so very tired? "You won't fuck off anywhere
and leave me behind?"
Krycek laughed softly and brushed Mulder's forehead soothingly with his
fingertips. "No, I won't fuck off anywhere. I want to feel you holding me all
night long and I want to wake up with you in the morning. Now, go to sleep."
Mulder knew he would have to let go. He was vaguely aware of discordant
sounds coming from the TV and Krycek settling himself comfortably underneath
him and then he lost the fight to keep awake.
The terrible opening discords of Don Giovanni, warning the audience of
something dark and terrifying, jangled in Krycek's dreaming brain, pulling him
further and further into a familiar nightmare world.
Bill Mulder, pale and ghastly with a hole in his temples, stood in the bath
waiting in the same way that Krycek had stood once, waiting for him. Though
he knew the man was in there, there was always something to lure Krycek in,
he was never sure what it was, only that the force of it was irresistible. And
Bill Mulder held out his hand to him, like the ghost in the opera, inviting
Krycek to hell.
There was nothing else to do but take the offered hand and feel the
awful cold of that death grip. As the cold passed along from Bill Mulder's
hand, up Krycek's own arm into his body, a howling wind began to pull at them
through the plug hole in the bath, which gradually widened until it was large
enough to suck them both down it. Down into darkness and fire and
screaming heat...
Krycek let out a strangled cry and sat up in bed. It was daylight. The
TV was still on which lent no comfort, only added to his disorientation. He
was shaking uncontrollably.
"Alex?" Mulder sat up beside him.
"Bath," Krycek mumbled, shaking off the arm that Mulder had put
around him.
"Alex, it's okay. Come here."
"NO!" Krycek was out of bed, grabbing hold of his clothes. "Going for
walk," he muttered. Getting outside, walking around, was the only way he
could ever shake off the dream. He caught sight of Mulder's beautiful face,
his expression confused and conflicted then suddenly resolute.
"Okay," Mulder said matter of factly, "let's walk."
It appeared that Mulder was used to being dragged suddenly out of bed
early in the morning. He was dressed as quickly as Krycek and followed close
behind his lover as he hurried out of the room.
"I get it," Mulder said in an attempt at levity, "you want to show me the
sights and you're trying to avoid the rush hour."
Krycek was pulling on his leather jacket as he walked. "Something like
that," he said grimly.
Mulder fell silent and walked beside Krycek with his hands deep in his
jacet pockets.
They hurried through pale early morning streets as if they had
somewhere to go and were late getting there. Litter lifted into the air and
chased them down the sidewalk, caught in the breeze coming from the docks.
A ship's horn sounded from somewhere behind them in the distance. Krycek
shivered and pulled up his jacket collar.
He was well aware of Mulder sticking doggedly to his side. If he'd been
in bed with anyone else but Mulder, Krycek knew he'd be out walking the
streets on his own. No-one understood nightmares better than Mulder. But
then again, Mulder was the last person he could confide in about this
particular night terror.
It had been a bad idea, this fairy tale romance, attempting to turn
fantasy into reality. Krycek's original intention had simply been seduction,
to
experience the man who'd obsessed him for so long, to take only memories
away with him to Hong Kong, salvaging some small good from the wreckage
of his mistakes. Now Krycek was sure that even that small good was about
to turn sour on him.
They reached a main street where the traffic was thicker and there
were more people on the sidewalks. The nightmare was beginning to lose a
little of its potency. Gradually, Krycek began to slow his pace, to walk a
little
easier. Mulder slowed with him and soon they were strolling, glancing into
shop windows, looking like a couple of early-bird tourists.
Mulder stopped short outside a herbal medicine shop. Inside, the
shelves were lined with old fashioned glass jars containing an unlimited
variety of extraordinary herbs. Some looked like thistle heads, some like
dried twigs, all of them peculiar. Trust Mulder to be drawn to this particular
shop.
"Hey, Alex," he was pointing at the jar of twigs, "imagine how much
water you'd need to get those down."
As they stood gazing through the window, their shoulders touching,
Mulder put his arm round Krycek's back, squeezing him affectionately.
Krycek felt his stomach churn over. "You don't take this stuff like Western
medicine, Mulder." His voice was husky with emotion. "They choose herbs
suitable for your condition, then you take them home and boil them and drink
the infusion."
Mulder wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I hear the Chinese have
some hot aphrodisiac receipes."
"You are such a perv." Krycek shook his head, smiling in spite of
himself. "You're a fucking aphrodisiac on legs, you are."
"I won't be on legs much longer, Alex, unless I have breakfast soon."
There were shadows under Mulder's eyes, adding a few kilos to the weight of
Krycek's guilt.
"Can you make it to the next block?" Krycek gave Mulder a quick
appraisal. After breakfast, they should get a taxi home and go straight to
bed. To sleep, he chided himself, feeling a jolt of pleasure in his
cock at
the thought. The poor guy needs to sleep. "There's a great Dim Sum
restaurant on the corner."
"...And it was so weird because every so often the view through the
windscreen would flicker, as if I was watching a film of where I was going."
Krycek lifted his eyebrows. "So what did you do?"
"Well, I stopped the car and got out. And I found I wasn't in Alexandria
after all. I was in New Jersey."
"So, what you'd been seeing through the windscreen didn't relate to
where you really were." Krycek took another bite of Dim Sum.
"No, not at all. And it gets even weirder because I decided I should
phone Scully to ask her advice and I found that I'd brought my remote control
unit for the TV, instead of my phone."
"Jesus, Mulder, only you could have a crazy dream like that."
Mulder took a sip of tea. The food was beginning to energise him and
put some colour into his face. "But that's not all—when I pressed a number
on the remote, what do you think happened?"
"Let me guess." Krycek was very much aware of how they'd slipped
easily into their partner routine. When they'd worked together, exchanging
dreams from the previous night had been an established practice. Krycek
knew too well what Mulder was leading up to. "You found yourself on the
Larry Sanders Show."
"Wrong." Mulder grinned. "The scenery changed. Every time I entered
a new number, I found myself somewhere else. New York City. Detroit. So I
figured it was just a matter of finding the right number and I could get myself
home."
"If I found myself in Detroit, I'd want to get home too. So did you?"
"Sure. I'm not an FBI agent for nothing, you know."
Krycek smiled and looked away, avoiding Mulder's gaze. The tiny
restaurant was filling up with shoppers and yawning office workers. Waiters
moved around the confined space with practised ease, carrying baskets of
Dim Sum balanced on the ends of their fingers.
Here it comes.
"So, Alex, are you going to tell me about your dream now?"
Godammit, Mulder.
"No, not now." Krycek's voice became dangerously soft. "Some other
time."
"Okay." Mulder appered to accept this. "Any other dream you'd like to
tell me about? Any recurring dreams?"
They'd moved onto less dangerous ground and Krycek did in fact have
another recurring dream he'd like explained. "Well, yeah, there is this dream
I
sometimes have... I can see a stretch of beautiful deep blue sea ahead of
me and I'm longing to get there and plunge myself into it but I can never quite
make it. Either it's too far away or when I finally get there, the tide's
right
out and I can't reach it."
Mulder nodded. "Sounds like the sea represents something you want
very much but for some reason feel you can't have." He paused, staring
hard at Krycek. "Can you think of what that might be?"
Krycek looked down at his empty plate. "No. But I'll think about it."
"You're so beautiful." It was a gentle whisper, barely audible over the
incomprehensible chatter going on around them. "Your features are almost
perfect, do you know that?"
"Cut it out, Mulder." Krycek laughed awkwardly. He looked around him
for a waiter. Later on that day, Mulder would want to see the place where he
was living. Krycek couldn't possibly take him there. And he couldn't tell him
about his dream. Krycek felt a wall of denial closing in around him, shutting
him off from the only person he wanted to be close to.
"What's the matter?" Mulder was frowning. "You usually like
compliments."
"Guess I'm still a little edgy." He caught the attention of a waiter and
motioned for the check.
"Right," Mulder said with heavy emphasis. "Your dream."
They travelled back to the hotel in a silence that seemed to collect in
the taxi like heavy fog.
Once he had closed the door of their hotel room behind him, Mulder
took Krycek into his arms. The young man tried to shake him off at first but
then, receiving a well placed kiss on the neck, melted into the embrace
willingly enough. Mulder was beginning to learn the extent of his power over
Krycek and he was discovering that his touch seemed to be irresistible to
him. This was worth bearing in mind, particularly for moments like this when
words had brought them to a stalemate. He ran his hands over Krycek's
back, soothing him, treating him like a skittish nervous animal. Mulder didn't
let go of him until he felt the muscles begin to relax. Krycek sighed, a sigh
that was a little ragged around the edge.
"Bath time," Mulder suggested gently.
"Then bed time," Krycek added, brushing back the hair that fell over
Mulder's forehead. "You must be bushed."
While he ran the bath, Mulder took another inventory of the different
oils and settled on the rosemary aroma which he thought might appeal to the
chef in Krycek. He undressed quickly, throwing the clothes in a heap in the
corner. He tested the temperature of the water with his foot. Perfect. He
climbed in, standing in the water, deciding whether to be a hero and take the
tap end.
Krycek walked in through the door, wonderfully naked. Mulder held out
his hand to him.
In a matter of seconds, all the blood seemed to drain from Krycek's
face.
"Fuck." A small strangled sound. He backed out of the bathroom in
such a hurry that it seemed to Mulder as if Krycek had seen a ghost.
"Alex?" Mulder stood helplessly in the water. "Alex, what the fuck is
with you this morning?" He waited for a reply. When none came, he sighed
heavily and climbed out of the bath. He took a few soggy steps into the
bedroom.
Krycek was pulling on his jeans with shaking hands. Where have I seen
this before? Mulder thought tiredly.
"Alex, if you think I'm accompanying you on yet another whirlwind tour
of Hong Kong, you can forget it. As you put it so poetically yourself, I'm
bushed."
Nothing. A frantic scrabble for shoes.
"What the hell is wrong now?"
Krycek grabbed his leather jacket.
"You little bastard, for Christ's sake talk to me, say something!"
Krycek opened the door. "It's not going to work, Mulder," he said, his
voice cracking.
He slammed the door behind him.
Mulder wasn't surprised by the message, only by the method of
delivery.
A young Chinese dressed in a business suit, carrying a tray, knocking
on the door of his hotel room.
"Morning coffee and cakes, sir."
"I didn't order any."
"On the house," the young man said.
Mulder let him in. If this was Krycek's friend, he wanted him where he
could beat the hell out of him. Someone was going to have the hell beaten
out of them today and it may as well be him. There was an envelope on the
tray, addressed to Mulder in Krycek's neat handwriting.
"Where is he?" This wasn't so very far from the scene he'd had with
Frohike. Did Krycek ever do any of his own communicating? What was it
about him that had people going out of their way to protect him?
The young man looked uneasy. "Please read letter. It will explain."
"It says goodbye. I don't need to read it. I have strange telepathic
powers." The irony of this was lost on his visitor. Mulder was glad that he
hadn't listened to the demands of his body for sleep. Fully dressed, he was
ready for what might happen and it had happened sooner than he had
expected. "You're Krycek's friend. Tell me, how do you manage to get to
know him? I can't get him to stay still for long enough."
"Enjoy your coffee, sir." The Chinese was backing politely towards the
door.
Mulder grabbed a knife from the tray and waved it under the young
man's throat. "We're going for a visit," he said menacingly. "And I think you
know who I want to see."
There was excitement in the slanted eyes where Mulder had expected
to see fear. "We playing American gangsters?"
Jesus. Still it was absurd to expect normality from a friend of
Krycek's. "That's right. And if you don't help me, you'll end up wearing a
cement overcoat."
"Cement overcoat?" He looked puzzled.
Maybe they were out of fashion in gangsterland these days. "Move!"
Krycek's friend, Mulder discovered, was called Kat, though he seemed
confused when asked if this was his surname or his first name.
Kat had known Krycek back in Washington when he used to frequent his
father's takeout. Kat's father had been seriously behind on the rent and late
one night, a couple of heavies paid him a visit, making lurid threats over what
would happen if he didn't give them the rent money. Unseen in a quiet
corner, Krycek had been waiting for a number 12 and 54—Kat obviously
remembered the occasion vividly—and had drawn his gun, issuing some
colourful threats of his own and seeing the two men off the premises. Next
day, Krycek went to see the landlord and came to a sensible arrangement
with him regarding repayment of the rent.
Yet more facets to Krycek's character for Mulder to add to his growing
collection: hero, social worker, loyal friend. For what could Krycek hope to
have gained from helping an impoverished Chinese family but friendship?
Curiouser and curiouser indeed.
They drove further and further into the heart of the Tsimshatsui
district until Kat stopped outside an enormous seventeen storey building,
euphemistically called Chungking Mansions. The mere sight of it had a similar
effect on the spirits as the house in Psycho.
Unbelievably, it was worse inside. To look up the stairwell serving the
seventeen floors was to have an unwelcome vision of Dante's Inferno. Dark,
dirty, festooned with pipes and wires and covered in what appeared to be the
debris of half a century. Clothes were strung across on washing lines and
they too were covered here and there in rubbish, discarded plastic bags,
newspapers, used toilet paper.
"Christ," Mulder said.
He called up the lift. When the door heaved open, the smell of urine
strongly suggested that people used it as a toilet as well as a means of
transport. A notice on the far wall read "The Irresponsible for Accident due
to Overloading" in uncertain letters. A couple of cockroaches ran out, taking
a short cut from floor to floor.
Mulder swallowed. "I think we'll take the stairs."
As they climbed, cockroaches scuttling away from their feet, Mulder
felt a surge of anger. Kat was supposed to be Krycek's friend. The quality
of his suit suggested that he had a good position in the hotel—after what
Krycek had done for his family, how could he let him live in a place like this?
By the time they'd reached the fifth floor, Mulder could no longer restrain his
feelings. He told Kat exactly what he thought of him.
"Hong Kong rents sky high," Kat replied, holding his hand above his head
to demonstrate just how high they were. "This place okay. Some hotel staff
live here. You should see building next door."
Mulder shook his head and carried on up the stairs. "Not if I can
possibly help it."
"Cockroaches not too bad here," Kat continued, sounding like someone
from the health department. "Next door, they aggressive. They attack
you."
Mulder made a mental note of this, filing it away for possible
investigation later. Meanwhile, he decided that six days in this building had
to
be sufficient penance for every single sin that Krycek had committed from
the age of 10 onwards. Kat finally stopped outside number 901 on the sixth
floor, next door to the toilets. Maybe they were used when the lift was
engaged.
"Here. Krycek live here."
"Do you have a key?"
Kat fumbled in a pocket and pulled out enough keys to serve a
maximum security prison. They jangled ominously. He hesitated. "He'll be
angry. Very angry."
Mulder nodded at the lock. "You don't have to stick around for the
showdown."
After he had unlocked the door, Kat melted away into the shadows of
the hallway. There were plenty to choose from. Mulder edged inside the
room, bracing himself for what he might find.
The place was barely large enough for a bed. Rush matting lined the
floor, looking as if it was used by the local rats to exercise their jaws. A
coat was flung over the window in place of a blind. There was a futon on the
floor, the only comfort in sight, and it was occupied by a barefooted Krycek,
aiming a gun at Mulder's head. Kat was right. Krycek was angry. A half
empty bottle of wine stood on the floor beside him. His eyes seemed even
larger than usual, swollen and red rimmed.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Mulder?" It was almost a snarl, he
was like a cornered wounded animal. Mulder ached for him.
"Put the gun down, Alex," Mulder said gently. "You're not going to use
it, so put it down."
Krycek jumped to his feet. He was in that state of mind where alcohol
barely has any effect. He pressed the gun against Mulder's temples and his
hands were steady, deadly. "How can you be so sure I won't use it? I shot
your father, right here."
"I know." Mulder fought to remain calm. Nothing would be gained from
both of them going out of control. "And you've been dreaming about it,
haven't you? How often do you have that dream, Alex?"
Krycek backed off at this and stood staring wildly at Mulder with the
gun hanging by his side. "You knew the dream was about your father? You
knew all the time?"
"No, no I didn't. I only realised it had something to do with him when you
fled out of that bathroom." Mulder took a step forward. Strangely, even
though he was armed, Krycek flinched at the movement. "But this isn't
about the dream, is it? Or even the fact that you think I can never forgive
you for my father's death." He saw Krycek begin to tremble, the gun shaking
in his hand. "This is about your inability to forgive yourself, isn't it,
Alex?
That's why you ran away from me in Washington and that's the reason why
you're running now. Hiding from the Consortium, bad dreams, they're just
smoke screens covering up the real truth you can't face up to."
Krycek seemed to crumple up at this, folding down into a tight ball on
the futon, his arms around his knees. All Mulder could see was the crown of
his shiny hair.
"I bet you thought that giving us that information would have the same
effect as the confessional for a Roman Catholic. You hoped it might purge
you, that you could push it all behind you and move on. And it might have
worked if you hadn't got yourself involved with me. I'm a constant reminder,
aren't I, Alex? Death's Head at the feast. The ghost in Don Giovanni."
At this, Krycek jerked his head up to look at Mulder, his face wet with
silent tears.
"I phoned Frohike. He told me what you'd said." Mulder shrugged
apologetically. "Hell, I'm a psychologist, it's a bad habit of mine, I know,
but I
was trying to piece together your state of mind." He heard Krycek give out a
painful shuddering sigh, burying his face back between his knees. Mulder
knelt down in front of him, softening the tone of his voice. "I know how
terrible it is to live with guilt. For me, it's most terrifying feature is its
omnipresence. You wish you could impose on it some kind of latitude and
longitude, and be able to say, okay, this is its length and breadth, it starts
here, it stops there, this is what I have to deal with. But it doesn't work
like
that, does it, Alex? If only it could."
Mulder put out his hand, giving Krycek's hair a tentative stroke. His
touch wasn't rejected. "Thing is, Alex, we're two of a kind, we can help each
other." Using slow calming strokes, Mulder ran his fingers over Krycek's hair
from the top of his head down to the back of his neck, trying to soothe away
some of the pain. "You haven't asked me how things are going in Washington,
guess you were so hung up on guilt you didn't want to know. Truth is, Alex,
we need you there, I need you there. I keep coming up against information I
don't understand, I have so many questions for you to answer that I'm not
sure I can do it alone."
Mulder eased himself down on the futon to sit beside Krycek and place
a comforting arm around him. "Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't stay in
Hong Kong. After all, you've got yourself a really nice place here, why should
you give all this up for me?"
"You're a real comedian, Mulder," Krycek mumbled to his knees.
"All I'm asking is that you consider acting out a little fantasy of mine,
in which you come and live with me in Washington and transform my lonely
bachelor apartment into a home. And I have the kitchen redecorated and get
stocked up with every fresh herb and exotic spice known to man. And I even
let Skinner come round to talk cuisine with you. There'll be clean sheets and
dirty movies and chocolate and a continuous supply of astroglide."
Krycek looked up at him. "And we all live happily ever after."
"Now you're getting the hang of it." Mulder smiled at him happily.
"You're sick, Mulder. Even sicker than I imagined."
"That clinches it, then. Right? We're made for each other." There was
a scuttling sound behind him. Mulder preferred not to look round and see
what it was.
"Fantasy and sickness," Krycek said thoughtfully. "You think they're
good foundations for a relationship?"
"Sure," Mulder drawled. "When I think of all the lousy relationships
going on around me, they're as good foundations as any."
Krycek shook his head, laughing softly. He untied himself from his knot
of arms and legs and snuggled against Mulder's chest. "I love you."
Mulder held him close, closing his eyes. "I love you too, Alex."
They sat holding each other for some time. A baby was crying in the
next door room. Further down the corridor, people were arguing. The drama
of life was playing out all around them and for the first time, Mulder felt
like
one of players, instead of an outsider looking in like a child with its nose
pressed up against a window.
Finally they decided on a late lunch in the Dim Sum restaurant. Mulder
packed up Krycek's overnight bag and they walked down the stairs, Mulder
leading the way through cockroaches and rubbish, Krycek following close
behind, like two protagonists in a fairy tale, facing the first of many trials
together on the road ahead.
end...
Drink To Me Only
by Jane Symons
Every sperm is sacred
Every sperm is great
And if a sperm gets wasted
God gets quite irate
("The Meaning of Life"—Monty Python)
days after mating. It can also be stored in a frozen
state for months or years and still retain the capacity
to fertilise eggs when thawed.
300,000 to 400,000 sperm are contained in an average
ejaculation.
species are often long and elaborate.
enhance a relationship, many childless
couples have found it possible to enjoy a
rich and fulfilling union.
