Fish Are Jumping by Jane Symons When the phone rang, Krycek was busy. Cheung was spanking him with hard methodical slaps that resounded excitingly around the room. Soon Krycek's buttocks would be on fire. He lay sprawled over the man's legs, firm upturned cheeks high in the air, head almost touching the floor. Each time Cheung's hand delivered a punishing slap, Krycek gave a yelp of pain, contracting his ass muscles in anticipation of the fucking that was to come, hopefully as hard and forceful as the treatment he was getting now. Pleasure is nothing else but the intermission of pain. It could be glorious —if only it wasn't for the damn phone. "Cheung!" Krycek's voice sounded strangled from the effort of talking upside down Cantonese. "Let me up, for God's sake!" Cheung resolutely continued, a glazed look in his slanted eyes. He seemed to be enjoying himself. "Godammit, I have to answer the phone!" Krycek struggled briefly, lost his balance and fell in an untidy heap on the floor. Cheung was unusually tall for a Cantonese and his strength matched his height. When it came to sex, this was a great advantage but in this delicately urgent situation, Cheung's physical prowess was something of a drawback. Krycek made a grab for his cellphone which was on the floor with his clothes, trying to ward Cheung off with his free arm. "Krycek!" He was breathing heavily. "Alex? What the hell are you up to?" It was Jerry Kallenchuk. "Oh, I'd say about page 25 of the Kama Sutra." "God, you're a little pervert." Well you're not such an angel yourself Krycek thought. He knew about her taste for black males with ten inch dicks and he also knew —which often made him smile when he looked at her— that she liked them to sing 'Summertime' to her after sex. Still, maybe he shouldn't knock what he hadn't tried. Cheung attempted another tackle and Krycek managed to fence him off, giggling breathlessly, while still hanging onto the phone. "Alex? Do you think you could remove your brains from between your legs for a moment and put them back between your ears where they belong?" "I'm listening, really I am. Go ahead." She gave a heavy sigh. "I've had just about enough hassle for one afternoon. Those French guys have been on the phone yet again wanting to talk to you. Plus I've just had a visit from the FBI." "The FBI?" At this Cheung backed off and knelt on the floor watching Krycek's face. FBI meant trouble in both Cantonese and English. "This guy was waving a letter that I'd sent to Gautier under my nose. Wanted to talk to Mister Kallenchuk. A real chauvinist. Thinks if a girl sits behind a desk, she must be someone's secretary. Came all the way from Washington to insult me." "Washington?" Krycek suddenly had the feeling there was nothing underneath him and that he was falling into a black hole. "Did you get his name?" "Sure, he left a card. Special Agent Fox Mulder." "Mother of God..." "Alex?" "Are you sure?" "Of course I'm sure. I've got the damn card right in front of me." "Listen, Jerry: destroy all the information we gave to the French. Go and see Gautier and find out how Mulder got that letter. Then you'd better get on the next plane over here. I'll warn Fu-Sheng." "Alex?" She sounded intrigued. "Who is this guy?" "He's dangerous and he's bad news, that's all you need to know." "One of your many ex's?" Krycek sighed. "No way, the guy's terminally straight. Believe me, I know. I used to work with him." He switched off the cell phone. "Okay?" Cheung asked. 'Okay' and 'fuck' were the only English words he knew but Krycek had assured him that they were sufficient vocabulary in any language. "A ghost," Krycek said. He was sitting cross legged on the floor like a Red Indian warrior holding a Council of War for two, his penis half erect, dispirited by the turn of events. Cheung frowned, uncomprehending. "Someone from my past," Krycek explained, rising unsteadily to his feet. "A ghost." Cheung nodded, smiling, pulling himself up to stand almost as tall as Krycek. The word for ghost held no fear for the Chinese. Normally it held no fear for Krycek but not this time. Cheung gave Krycek's left buttock a tentative slap, wanting the game to start up again. "No. No more." But his cock gave a twitch of excitement. Cheung slapped him again, on the other side. "Well. Maybe. Just one more time." Krycek coquettishly presented his left flank for another slap, his penis now rigid with enthusiasm. It was difficult to protest effectively when the evidence was clearly to the contrary. Laughing, Cheung grabbed hold of him and pulled him down onto the bed. He fucked Krycek as hard and relentlessly as he'd spanked him. Since his arrival in Hong Kong, Krycek had for some reason been attracting men with small cocks. He had been beginning to wonder where all the well endowed men had gone when he met Cheung, who was somewhere between medium and large. What Cheung lacked in size, however, he made up for in sheer effort and soon Krycek was giving himself up to a moderately satisfying orgasm, arching his body in whorish delight, the stinging pain of his backside fusing with the pleasure to give it a sharper edge. Finally Krycek collapsed face down onto the bed, tingling, sweating, throbbing. That hadn't been bad, not at all bad. Definitely worth repeating in a little while, once the circulation had returned to his brain cells. "Do you know the song 'Summertime'?" Krycek mumbled into the pillow. "No," Cheung said. "Doesn't matter." He lay thinking about his conversation with Jerry, going back to the last time he'd seen Mulder. The last words he'd heard him speak. "No, Scully, he killed my father!" Teeth bared, bright red marks on his face where Krycek had gripped him, finger pressing the trigger. It wouldn't take long for an obsessive like Mulder to make the connection with Jerry's Hong Kong office. The FBI agent was out to find him, to hunt him down and kill him, with no Scully to stop him this time. Krycek was absolutely sure of it. No amount of false scents and burrowing underground was going to shake Mulder off. Well, so be it, Krycek was tired of running and Mulder would at least make a clean job of it, not like one of the Smoking Man's MIBs who'd make the ordeal last as long as possible. "How about 'Bess You Is My Woman Now'?" "No." "Never mind." Krycek sighed and switched on the bedside light. He reached over for his phone. "I have to make a call." Wong Tai Sin is a temple with a reputation for aiding fortune seekers and since the Chinese are a nation of enthusiastic gamblers, the god has an almost fanatical following. It was no mere whim on the part of Fu-Sheng to ask Krycek to meet him here. Apart from the fact that it was an ideal place for a clandestine meeting, being constantly full of tourists and fortune hunters, the Hong Kong racing season began that weekend and Fu-Sheng had some serious supplicating to do. The temple nestled awkwardly between the exit of the railway station and a herbal medicine shop advertising Strong China Penis Pills. Nothing for improving the size, Krycek noted ruefully. Doesn't matter how strong the damn thing is if it's still only as big as my thumb. Krycek walked into the temple through a side entrance. Looking out of place, wickedly beautiful in black leather jacket and jeans, he stood in the shadows for a while, checking for exits, plain clothes security men, familiar faces in the crowds. Since he'd been run underground, he always took these measures wherever he went. It would probably be impossible for him to walk into McDonalds and order a Big Mac in a normal fashion anymore. Satisfied, he began wandering graceful and catlike through the crowds towards the shrine, losing himself, another face among hundreds of others. The smoke from countless joss sticks caught at the back of his throat. Even at this early hour of the morning, all around him petitioners were laying out elaborate offerings before the statue of Wong Tai Sin. One very ancient woman had somehow struggled in with an entire roast pig and Krycek tried to picture how she had travelled from home, maybe on a bus with the pig sitting next to her. Along with the pig were piles of exotic fruits, multi-coloured silks, tins of Carlsberg, packets of cigarettes. Apparently Tai Sin was partial to a quiet smoke with his drink. Some of the brands were Morleys. Small world. Krycek looked up at the statue of the god, a mythical shepherd boy, taking in the serenity of the features, the eternal knowing in the stare. You have no idea, Krycek thought bitterly, you have no damn idea of what it's like being human these days and trying to survive. It was all right for you, poncing about the hills with your little shepherd's crook and water bottle, chasing after half-witted woolly animals. Things are a tad more complex these days... Lost in his internal dialogue with Tai Sin, Krycek was oblivious to the fact that he was being carefully scrutinised. A large, fair haired man was watching him from the crowd with narrowed eyes. [I've found him]. He was communicating telepathically with a companion some distance away. [He has an unusual mind, devious, inventive, profoundly prurient. He's expecting something, waiting, ah waiting for death... ] Still, Krycek continued, I don't suppose it could have been that easy to get a decent fuck in those hills. You probably had to take it out on the sheep. Then maybe there's a chance you might understand how I feel right now. So if you really can grant wishes, before I have my brains blown out of my head, could you at least grant me one decent fuck, say a ten inch member, okay let's not be too greedy —nine and a half inches—with a base diameter of three inches and two inches around the head... Krycek's specifications were interrupted by a gentle finger tapping on his shoulder. He turned, right hand tensed ready to reach for his gun, but it was only Fu-Sheng. "Ah, dear boy," Fu-Sheng said gently, "you seemed lost in thought." Yet another Chinese body that barely stood higher than his erect aching nipples. "Hey," Krycek said. He smiled. Fu-Sheng made him smile because Krycek knew that he had a taste for 15 year old female virgins in white lace, making them call him Daddy. It was important to Krycek to know the sexual preferences of both friends and enemies. Such information should never be underestimated, useful either for blackmail or making sure of getting one's way. "Jerry's had a visit: FBI." He spoke so softly that Fu-Sheng moved nearer to him. "What on earth do they want?" Fu-Sheng's English was perfect. He'd been educated in China, at an expensive private school, and there was something a little Berty Woosterish about him which sat oddly with the slanted eyes and colour of his skin. Krycek shrugged. He didn't want to go into any complicated explanations about Mulder. "I think they've made a connection with the French salvage operation. And it's not going to take them long to make a further connection with Jerry's office here in Honkers." "My dear fellow, I do wish you wouldn't refer to this beloved country as Honkers." "I've told her to clean up and come straight over here." "Good." "You'd better clean up too." "Of course." Once Fu-Sheng had started cracking the code used on the digital tape, Krycek had wasted no time in selling the first piece of information they had gleaned from it, having run desperately short of money. Fu-Sheng was a computer wizard, a master hacker, a solitary Chinese version of The Lone Gunmen. "I presume you'll want the tape back in its hiding place." "Yeah." Krycek scratched the stubble on his chin. "For now." He stared down at the ground, eyelashes sweeping his cheekbones. Fu-Sheng looked up at him kindly. "You seem troubled. Why don't you go and have a chat with Wong Tai Sin?" "Oh, we've been talking. I think we've come to a mutual understanding." Neither of them saw the fair-haired man leaving the temple. Almost as soon as Krycek had let himself into Jerry's office and closed the door behind him, his cell phone began to ring. He lifted the aerial, pushed the talk button and tucked it under his chin. "Krycek." He moved over to the stack of filing cabinets against the far wall and pulled open a drawer. "It's too late," Fu-Sheng said. "Someone got there first. There's been a fire in my office. The bastards." "What?" Automatically, Krycek peered through the blinds down to the street below, as if it might be his turn next. "It's not possible. How could anyone know, how could they have found out so soon?" "What about the FBI?" Krycek shook his head and walked back to the filing cabinet. But he was too disturbed to stay there and began pacing up and down the little office. "They've only just made the connection with Jerry. And anyway they'd have arrested you, not set fire to the evidence." "Possibly this has nothing to do with anything terrestrial, old chap. This fire, there's something very odd about it, and that was a UFO the French were salvaging." Krycek stopped pacing and stared down at the carpet. "That's not funny." "I'm not joking, I assure you." Fu-Sheng gave a polite cough. "Or perhaps it was simply a coincidence that the fire occurred less than an hour after we met in the temple—" "Fu-Sheng?" The man's voice had cut off with a little choke, hardly perceptible, and it could have been his imagination. In any event the line was dead. Krycek dialled Fu-Sheng's number with shaking fingers and there was no reply. Whatever was going on, it was dangerous and it was strange. Jerry wouldn't arrive before evening set in. He could be dead by then. Absentmindedly he peered again through the blinds, scanning the street. He saw two dogs fighting on the pavement, people walking gingerly round them, giving them a wide berth. If Fu-Sheng was here, he'd say that was a sign, a warning, that it meant something. The thing to do would be to clean up in here, check on Fu-Sheng, then lie low in his apartment till Jerry arrived. Krycek turned away from the window. Someone grabbed hold of his neck in a grip of cold, shivering steel and a knee or a fist—he wasn't sure which -drove into him viciously. As the pain threatened to make him pass out, he thought stupidly: Kidney punch, that's not really fair, and then as he fell to the floor, he decided he must be losing his touch for he hadn't even heard anyone come into the room. Vaguely, through a mist of pain, he felt hands searching him in a thorough, professional way. They found his gun. Moments later he felt the metal pressing into his back. On all fours, wheezing from the pain, he braced himself for the bullet he was sure would follow. "On your feet, Krycek! I didn't hit you that hard." Might I be the judge of that? I was, after all on the receiving end, and actually it hurt a great deal. That voice, though, did seem oddly familiar... He was grabbed by his jacket collar and yanked roughly against the wall, the gun now poking into his forehead. He found himself staring into the angry face of Fox Mulder. Typical, the first decent sized dick I meet up with in months and it has to belong to him. "What's the matter, Krycek?" "You can't be—". "You look like you've seen a ghost." Oh, this was beautiful, he even used the damn word ghost. What a peculiar day this was turning out to be. Fox Mulder, last seen in San Francisco mid afternoon yesterday, single-handedly defies the laws of plane travel and arrives in Hong Kong seven hours before Jerry. There was no airline that could have got him here so soon. Maybe he hitched a lift with some little green friends, oh sorry Mulder, grey, silly me... "How did you get here so- ?" "I thought you'd fall for that little visit to Miss Kallenchuk." Mulder leaned menacingly nearer to Krycek, the smell of root beer and sunflower seeds on his breath. "You'd better tell her that if she believes every ID that's stuck under her nose, she has an even more slender grip on reality than you have." And this from someone who believes Elvis is still alive. "If it wasn't you, then who—?" "A friend of mine—it doesn't really matter, does it. It bought me some valuable time, gave me the element of surprise." He pressed his body harder against Krycek's. In other circumstances, Krycek could have believed he was in heaven. "After I'd talked to the French diver, I did some investigating into the Kallenchuk company. When I discovered she had an office in Hong Kong, it all fell into place for me. The missing digital tape, the information the French had been given about the UFO, your disappearance. I just knew this was the kind of place to attract a slimy little rat bastard like you." "Oh really? I'd have thought it was more your—" "Sleazy short stay sex hotels, pornography, drug trafficking—" "For Christ's sake, Mulder!" By now Krycek had recovered both his breath and his temper. In spite of the gun at his head, he drew himself up to stand as tall as he could. "I happen to be very attached to the ends of my sentences, and damn you, I'm going to finish this one if it kills me!" The hatred in Mulder's eyes burned even harder. "Funny you should say that, Krycek." The gun, his gun, pressed harder into his forehead and he heard the click of the safety catch. Krycek closed his eyes. His mother had often told him that his mouth would get him into trouble and he'd phone her to let her know she was right if he knew where she was. Moments passed, with only the sound of the traffic outside and their laboured breathing. Mulder was either hesitating or playing with him. Either way, there was a chance that his mother was wrong and Krycek could talk himself out of this. He opened his eyes. Mulder was staring back at him with an odd unfathomable expression on his face. Maybe it was disappointment. He must have been looking forward to this moment for months and perhaps it was somehow falling short of how wonderful he thought it was going to be. "That digital tape you're after, Mulder. It's just been destroyed in a fire. And you're going to love this: my friend said he thought the fire could be extraterrestrial in origin." He saw Mulder's eyes lose their focus, the brilliant brain kicking up into top gear. How could anyone so one-track minded have survived this long? "At least that's what he said before he died." It was possible that this was an exaggeration, that Fu-Sheng had merely been overcome by hiccups or any number of things, but Krycek had never been one to pass up on an opportunity for dramatic licence. The gun was still digging into his skull, but now it was a mere token gesture. For all the intention behind it, Mulder could have been holding it to his own head. "How did he die?" Krycek shrugged. "I don't know. I was about to investigate." Mulder stepped back. He wore the are-you-really-telling-me-the-truth-you-lying-little-toad expression that Krycek found so endearing. "Okay," Mulder said reluctantly. "Tell me about it." Hey mama, your baby boy knows what he's doing after all. Mulder searched Fu-Sheng's office as thoroughly as he could while still keeping a careful watch on his prisoner. He was downplaying everything which meant that he was nearly beside himself with excitement. Krycek wandered around the office rather aimlessly. He used to love this room with its view over the bay and its atmosphere of tranquillity. Fu-Sheng had it painted white, with white carpet and white furniture and it gave an almost ethereal feel to the place. White, according to Fu-Sheng, was the most harmonious of colours, energising and pure. The evidence left by the fire revealed that it had been accurate and selective. It had consumed the safe where Fu-Sheng stored the tape but hadn't touched a single fibre of the carpet surrounding it. And it had consumed Fu-Sheng, had broken, chewed, pulped and spewed him up onto the floor in a small pile of remains, beside his mobile phone. Krycek took a look at the little heap that had been his one reliable friend in Hong Kong and felt his stomach rebel. He cleared his throat, swallowing down the bile, and realised that Mulder was staring at him with the same pitying look on his face that he had used way back in the morgue with gruesome Grissom. Yes, Mulder, unpalatable though it may be for you to realise, there is still a human heart beating in this evil chest of mine. Kneeling on the carpet in front of Fu-Sheng's remains, putting the gun carefully on the floor beside him, Mulder looked for a moment as if he was going to say a prayer but instead he pulled a forensic bag and scoop from his coat pocket and began to collect a sample. Krycek studied Mulder's face. He could have been helping himself to ice cream. How can he remain so impassive when all anyone sane would want to do is jump screaming out of the window? Krycek cleared his throat again. "Are you— it is him, is it?" "I believe these are human remains and this presumably is his mobile phone. And his secretary told us he hadn't left his office." Krycek jammed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "So, Mulder, would you say this fire is extraterrestrial in origin?" He sealed up the bag. "The evidence would seem to point that way." "Oh come on, what else could have done this to someone?" Mulder retrieved the gun. "I'm sending this off to Scully. I'll know more when she's had a look at it." He got to his feet and stood scrutinising Krycek carefully, as if checking that he had himself under control. Nothing worse than an hysterical prisoner, is there, Mulder? "I'm almost certain that whatever caused this is not the same as whatever caused the death of those Frenchmen." "Oh well that's all perfectly clear then. We can pretty much wrap the case up and go home." Mulder grabbed hold of Krycek's collar once again and jerked it hard. Works for me, Mulder. If only you were gay, you and I could get something really dark and interesting going here. "The only place you're going is jail, Krycek. For as long as I can arrange it. Murder and treason. If you believe in reincarnation, you may not have enough lifetimes to serve it all." He let go of the collar so forcefully that Krycek had to stagger back a step or two before regaining his balance. "Where's a good place to eat round here?" Well, never let it be said that Mulder's thought processes were predictable. Jail and lunch, perhaps for him the two went together as inevitably as love and marriage. Krycek chose the Sun Tung Lok in Harbour City, one of the most expensive restaurants in Hong Kong. Well, that was fine, as far as he knew prisoners weren't expected to pay for lunch. The interior of the Sun Tung Lok was brassy and shrill, a cacophony of mirrors and lights that seemed brighter to the eye than the sunlight outside. They were shown to a table for two by the window and given a pot of tea with two small porcelain cups. Mulder picked up his menu warily as if the contents could be dangerous. "I've never eaten in a real Chinese restaurant before," he admitted, frowning at the bewildering pages. "Any special customs I should know about?" Krycek was ignoring his menu. He knew exactly what he was going to have, had in fact promised himself this treat if he ever had the money for such an expensive meal. It was not beyond the realms of possibility to be charged $500 for a single course here. The condemned man ate a hearty lunch... "Well the idea is that you order a balanced meal so you can include the five tastes— acid, hot, bitter, sweet and salty. It's considered bad manners to leave rice so don't order more than you can manage. No need to be delicate about eating, the Chinese usually raise the bowl to their lips and shovel the food in with their chopsticks. Oh and don't rest your chopsticks upright in your bowl when you're not eating—it's a Taoist death sign." And we can all do without that today. Mulder gave him an unexpected smile, a glimpse of blue sky through storm clouds, brief but welcome for all that. "You're better than a Baedeker, Krycek." Maybe so, but I'm certainly going to cost you a lot more. "What are you having?" Mulder raised inquiring eyebrows. "Squid, cooked in its own ink, then deep fried in batter with garlic." "Must you?" It was warm in the restaurant. Krycek was tempted to take off his jacket but an opportunity might present itself for escape and he didn't want to leave it behind. "Maybe you should try the house speciality—shark fin." "No wonder you like it here. You must feel at home." Krycek lent back in his chair, wishing that Mulder's bottom lip wasn't quite as full as it was. It used to provoke enough lurid fantasies when he was working with the man, it seemed almost unfair for it to be back here haunting him now. "I have to say that I do feel a certain affinity for the shark. It kills to survive, otherwise it'd get eaten up by other more powerful creatures. Did you know that the Chinese hunt shark only for the fins, they cut them off then throw the fish back in the sea and leave it to die. Without its fins it can't swim, it can't get home, so it drifts aimlessly around until it dies." He saw Mulder swallow hard and lick his bottom lip in the process, making it glisten in the restaurant lighting. No don't do that, Mulder, it only makes it worse. "Think I'll stick to the bean curd," Mulder said. They made their order and sipped tea while they waited. It was difficult to admire the harbour view from the window. The garish lighting reflected the restaurant interior back onto the glass. Krycek sat frowning moodily, affecting to stare out of the window, but studying the interior instead, working out distances to exit doors, making calculations. He wondered if there were any windows in the men's room. When he turned back to Mulder, the man was staring at him. If Krycek didn't know better he would have taken it as a look of intimate appraisal, as if the decision had been made to bed him after the meal. On any other man, the look could have sent a thrill through Krycek, but coming from Mulder, it made him shiver. Mulder was probably measuring him up for a prison outfit. And he didn't look away either, even when Krycek began staring back. This was strange: what was going on now? Death by staring? I'm warning you, these pupils can kill... "You know, Scully said once that she thought you were gay, but I could never see it myself. You seemed so old-home-week and conventional back then. But now I'm not so sure." "You're the behavioural psychologist. You figure it out." "Well, a large percentage of traitors have been known homosexuals, which could be due to a sense of alienation from society. And gay men often favour leather. But these are just tendencies, they don't help me to prove anything about you." "Isn't the proof of the pudding in the—" "I think you're a whore, but predominantly gay. You'd let more or less anything in pants fuck you if it would save your skin." How well you know me. "So are you saying that my street-wise, street-slut look is an improvement on the suits?" "A monk's habit would have been an improvement on those suits." "They were more or less the same thing, weren't they? A real turn-off." Mulder broke off eye contact to replenish his cup. It was something of a relief to Krycek for his eyeballs felt as if they were beginning to sizzle. "That would depend on whether the habit's dirty or not." Oh very droll, Mulder. "Tell me, I know it's ironical of me to remind you of correct police procedure, but when are you intending to report Fu-Sheng's death to the local authorities?" "Later." Mulder took another sip of his tea, his eyes burning into Krycek's again. "I'll bet that leather goes down well in the gay bars round here." Obviously and uncharacteristically, Mulder didn't want to talk shop. And this sudden interest in Krycek's sex life seemed so strange, not at all Mulder's style. Mr Straight Guy. Or was it simply a side of him that he had never allowed Krycek to see while they were partners? It was a well known fact that people felt less restraint outside their own country. This tourist version of Mulder had certainly undergone a sea of change and if he was honest with himself, Krycek felt more comfortable with the professional Mulder. He knew where he stood with that particular model. On the other hand, part of him—the foolhardy part, the part that said things like "I can handle that old guy with the Morleys any day"—was responding enthusiastically to the situation. A dirty talking Mulder, a wet dream come true. And as if Krycek wasn't in enough trouble already, his cock began to harden, straining against the cloth of his jeans. He shifted slightly in his chair to make himself a little more room for expansion. "It's not just the leather that goes down well," he murmured huskily. He saw Mulder's eyes darken, the pupils dilating and swallowing him in. "Yeah, I'll bet." Krycek searched for any rebuke or sarcasm in the smouldering hazel eyes but found none, only a savage hunger reflecting back at him. Mulder was blatantly and cerebrally fucking him, and Krycek could feel his balls tighten up in response. The air between them was thickening with all the force of an impending storm, a Pastoral Symphony storm with all the accompanying clashing of cymbals and drums. Was it possible to have a cerebral orgasm? He could be due to find out any moment. How could I have been so wrong about you? Saved by the beancurd. There was a sudden flurry of Chinese waiters and with magician's hands, they filled their table with a selection of different dishes. The moment of sexual tension dissipated in practicalities while Krycek explained what each dish was, how to dip it in the sauce, drop it in the rice bowl and shovel it in to the mouth. He wondered if Mulder noticed how his fingers trembled slightly. It seemed to Krycek that the past six months had somehow evaporated and all the longing that he had felt for Mulder when they were partners was returning with renewed force. Memories tugged persistently at his mind like neglected children. Cramped lunches in cars on surveillance, a shared can of Coke, brainstorming together late evenings at Mulder's desk, an occasional brush with his shoulder... The need to rekindle, relive and develop those intense sensual memories overcame any minor misgivings Krycek was feeling, such as the consideration that Mulder could kill him or take him back to Washington which amounted to much the same thing. His responses were deteriorating into those of a lovesick teenager. He had an IQ somewhere, a very high one in fact, but it was slamming the door on him and going out in disgust. "I'll leave you to come back to your senses." Funny how it sounded just like his father... For a short while, Mulder concentrated on achieving a comfortable ritual of dipping, dunking and shovelling. Like everything else, he mastered the new skill quickly and efficiently. But it gave Krycek time to briefly admire the dark, shiny hair, the broad swimmer's shoulders, that bottom lip which grew shinier, greasier and more provocative with every passing item of food. "This is good, Krycek," Mulder was saying with his mouth full, waving vaguely at the dishes with his chopsticks. "Now where were we, oh yeah, gay bars and leather." As if they had been discussing basketball. Dunking his squid into some sauce, playing for time, Krycek tried to get his feelings under control. If only for the sake of appearances, he felt he should put up some kind of protest at the way things were going. "Tell me, Mulder, why this interest in my sex life? You've never showed the slightest curiosity before." "That," said Mulder, delicately retrieving a noodle that was hanging from the corner of his mouth, "was because we were working together professionally. Or at least I thought we were. I don't know anything about Scully's sex life either." He sipped some tea. "It could also have something to do with the fact that you look so damn sexy in that leather jacket." Krycek tensed. Do not blush, on no account must you blush, I will never forgive you if you blush, godammit... "You're blushing, Krycek." Mulder looked smug. "Makes you look so cute. You should do it more often." Krycek contemplated tipping the contents of the tea pot over Mulder's shiny dark head. He thought about ramming the empty tea pot down the man's throat. The mad hatter putting the dormouse outside it for a change. "You've been such a naughty boy lately," Mulder continued conversationally, "that you seem to have made enemies everywhere. And a man with no friends is highly vulnerable. He can't make appeals. He has no come back. No redress." Each phrase delivered with the subtlety of a nail being driven into his coffin. I did have a friend, but he's doing a very good impersonation of the contents of an ash tray. Feeling suddenly vulnerable, Krycek's eyes automatically strayed back to the exit sign. All at once, he felt something forcing its way between his legs, pressing menacingly against his erection, making him gasp out loud. It was Mulder's foot. Without its shoe. "Don't even think about it, Krycek." Good God, how did he know? The foot stayed where it was, the heel digging into his testicles but not hard enough to cause pain. Mulder continued to eat his meal. The tablecloth was long enough to hide his leg and no-one in the restaurant would be able to see what he was doing. "The trouble is, Krycek, your vulnerability is really turning me on. The murders you've committed, your part in Scully's abduction, the theft of the tape and the sale of its secrets, they're all heavy charges, and who would really care if anything happened to you while you're in my custody? They'd say: oh he had it coming to him. So if I want to fuck around with your mind and your body for a while, there's not a damn thing you can do about it. In fact you could almost say that you owe it to me for how you treated me, what you've done to my family and friends." Krycek put down his chopsticks, taking care not to assume the Taoist death sign. So Mulder was getting turned on... Partners and lovers, threats and sex, leather and death, his head was beginning to whirl. The foot lying between his legs began to tease him gently and his penis twitched against it. "Jesus, Mulder —" The pressure was exquisite. If he'd been alone with Mulder, Krycek would have opened his legs wide in sluttish invitation and given in to the pleasure. But here... Krycek tensed in an attempt to fight off his mounting excitement. "You like that, Krycek?" Mulder's voice was quiet and menacing, turning him on even more. He began to slide his foot slowly up and down the fly of Krycek's jeans, making him gasp again, his eyes widening like a startled deer's. "You're a very dirty bad boy, aren't you?" "I thought," Krycek said through gritted teeth, "that you were supposed to indulge in polite conversation in restaurants." His tormentor leant forward. "There's nothing polite about what I'm going to do to you, you little whore." He increased the pressure of his foot, making Krycek inhale with a tight rasping sound. "You know why I like beating up on you, don't you?" Krycek shook his head helplessly. "Because when I hit you, your face contorts in pain and I imagine that's what you look like when you come. When the pleasure overwhelms you. And I want to see you look like that now." Krycek stared at him in disbelief. This was the Mulder he hadn't dared touch because he seemed so straight, so incorruptible? Again he found himself wondering how he could have been so wrong. Mulder's foot continued to rub sensuously and insistently, sending shafts of wicked electric ecstasy through his cock and shooting up his spine, all the more intense for being experienced in such an inappropriate setting. Krycek started to squirm under the treatment, his breathing ragged and uneven. It took all his self control not to moan from the pleasure. For God's sake, think about something else, anything! What had I just been talking about, ah polite conversation. "So," Krycek made another effort to speak normally, which failed utterly, "I hear cattle mutilations have been on the increase lately." "Shut up," Mulder said in the same quiet voice, his eyes devouring him. "Don't talk. Give in to it. I want to see how your pretty face looks when you come. Do you close your eyes or do you keep them open? Do you groan, do you cry out, or do you scream? I bet you scream." "Mulder, please, not here." Krycek was panting now, desire about to overwhelm him. He could see the headlines: Man Arrested For Grossly Indecent Behaviour in One of Hong Kong's Finest Restaurants. "My place. Let's go—to my place." Mulder shook his head. "I want you to come here and now." He was managing to eat at the same time, looking so relaxed and controlled that it gave Krycek the surreal sensation that the foot must belong to somebody else. "The ultimate humiliation, eh, Krycek? Being made to come when you don't want to." Oh, Mulder was so very good at this. His words, his cruel detachment, his torturingly persistent foot—all unbearably appealing to Krycek's deviant sexuality. He felt orgasm closing in on him like an attack on his senses. He grabbed his napkin and with both hands held it over his mouth, biting into the material and breathing fiercely, his eyes tightly closed. To all intents and purposes, he could have been overcome by a particularly spicy piece of food, except that his hips were jerking convulsively against Mulder's foot. For a few dangerous moments, blinkered by orgasm, lost in his own personal ecstasy, Krycek was only vaguely aware of the sounds of diners talking and eating, and Mulder quietly urging him on with obscene little comments. Then as the pleasure subsided and a wet warmth spread around his groin, Krycek realised that Mulder was calling a waiter over to them, making excuses ("My friend is a martyr to severe allergic reactions"), pressing money into the man's hand, lifting Krycek to his feet as if he were ill, and helping him out of the restaurant. "Nice place you've got here, Mulder." "It's your place, stupid asshole." He pushed Krycek inside his apartment so that he tottered forward a few steps. Krycek turned round to fix him with an accusing stare, his green eyes flashing. "Strange. It seemed almost as if it were yours. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that you knew your way here from Harbour City so well you didn't even have to consult a map." Mulder ignored Krycek and closed the door behind him. He didn't look round the room like someone seeing it for the first time. He must have been here before. Though there was little enough in the room to look at. It wouldn't have shamed Mahatma Ghandi in its severe simplicity. A polished wooden floor, a chair, a double sofa bed that was currently being more bed than sofa, showing the disarray of the previous night. Like a forgotten understudy, the sofa rarely took the limelight. A pile of books by the bed served as a night stand, Ronald Firbank, Jean Genet, Truman Capote — Krycek was going through a Classic Gay Period. A large fitted cupboard by the window was the only concession to western luxury which Mahatma would probably forgive as it was a permanent fixture. Two doors at the further end of the room led to the little kitchen and an even smaller bathroom. Mulder obviously felt that he should say something to give the impression of a first visit. "Jesus, Krycek, you planning on staying long?" "Oh I'm all settled down here," he lied. "Minimalist but with a certain air of quiet sophistication, wouldn't you say?" He started to pull off his jacket. "May I offer you something from the wine cellar?" "Leave that on and shut up," Mulder growled in a voice replete with sexual tension. "No wait. Take your sweatshirt off and put the jacket back on." How very Robert Mapplethorpe of you, Mulder, but I'm happy to oblige. Krycek peeled off his sweatshirt, throwing it over the chair, and put the leather jacket back on. Mulder inhaled sharply, drinking him in, indulging in another cerebral fuck. After the intensity of his orgasm in the restaurant, most of Krycek's fear had dwindled to mere background static which could be comfortably ignored and drowned out by the louder demands of his body. It wanted more, a lot more. Krycek asked for it the only way left to him since he wasn't allowed to talk. He shifted his weight onto one leg, letting the other hang loosely, provocatively, like a whore intent on a potential client, his eyes falling to the interesting bulge in Mulder's pants. Mulder loosened his tie. Briefly he tore his eyes from Krycek to remove ammunition from the gun, placing the ammunition and the gun in opposite pockets of his coat—an admirable precaution by a man so sexually aroused —and then throwing his coat over the chair on top of Krycek's sweatshirt. His jacket followed suit. Emboldened by desire, Krycek moved forward to fulfil a fantasy he'd nurtured since seeing Mulder for the first time— he undid one of the buttons on the crisp white linen shirt, reaching inside to feel the muscular chest and to play gently with an erect nipple. What had Edmund White called it? 'The Joy of Executive Sex.' Well this was technically Federal sex but who wanted to quibble at a moment like this? Mulder gave another swift intake of breath as Krycek squeezed his nipple between fingers that trembled with hunger. The man did an excellent line in gasps. Inches away from each other, their eyes held and the space between them seemed to brew up another storm, rolling, curling, crackling. When Mulder suddenly grabbed hold of him to kiss him, Krycek fully expected a severe electric shock. Mulder's lips burned against his, hot, sweet and lush, followed by an unexpectedly sensuous tongue which thrust into his mouth, plundering it violently. It was more of an oral rape than a kiss. Mulder's hand grabbed the back of his head, holding him in place, grinding their mouths together so hard that Krycek began to fear for his teeth. Even so he answered Mulder's ravaging tongue with a ferocity of his own which had nothing to do with hatred or anger but sheer animal passion. Clinging hard to each other, pressed chest to chest, erection sparking against erection, their tongues fought in a feverish bid for dominance, and because he knew which side his bread was buttered, Krycek let Mulder win every time. He allowed himself to be kissed over and over again until his tongue ached and his lips bruised and he was dizzy from lack of oxygen. The kissing was stirring up his emotions to screaming pitch. In Mulder's arms at last, Krycek was forced to admit that it was his ex-partner that he had been longing for during his lonely exile, all the men he'd had mere pale reflections of this true desire. Mulder's arousal was scorching through the fabric of his expensive shirt, burning Krycek's hands as he ran them lustfully down his back. Only the most desperate of men could have kissed Krycek —his mouth was about 75% vol. garlic—without hopping around on one leg and asking for water afterwards. But Mulder seemed oblivious and when he broke off kissing it was only because he had no more oxygen left in his lungs. Panting and sweating, he stood gripping Krycek for support, that sumptuous lower lip stunningly bruised and wet. "Suck me!" It was more of a groan than a command. He sounded so needy and desperate that Krycek slid down Mulder's body in immediate obedience, the leather of his jacket creaking as he moved, kneeling at his feet like an eager supplicant at the foot of Wong Tai Sin's shrine. Reverently, Krycek released the throbbing erection, made his fantasy Mulder flesh by drawing the magnificent organ towards his mouth, offering up silent thanks to the shepherd boy god for granting his wishes in such a surprising and comprehensive way. Mulder's cock was massive, the requisite length, maybe up to ten inches, and rather thick, one of those deliciously meaty ones. Krycek's mouth began to water. Gently, he licked at the tip to savour the taste of the pre-ejaculate gathering there. Mulder cried out in what sounded like surprise at the sensation. Krycek glanced up at him. Surely looking like you do and with a dick this size, this can't be the first time someone's done this to you? Mulder grabbed Krycek's hair and pulled him back to his erection. His balls were hard and drawn up tight; this was serious hunger requiring absolute concentration. Krycek went to work enthusiastically, surrounding Mulder's huge sweet cock with his mouth, enjoying the way the silky skin snaked easily between his lips to probe down the back of his throat. The largest dick he'd sucked in a long time and the beauty of it was that it belonged to Mulder. He drew back, letting his teeth glide softly over the skin until he had just the spongy mushroom head between his lips. He ran his tongue over and over it, up and down, around and around, until Mulder's thighs began to shake and he was whimpering in sheer excitement. "I said suck it, Krycek," Mulder groaned out, "you're gonna lick me to death here." He grabbed Krycek's hair again, causing pain this time, and shoved his erection back down his throat, taking Krycek off guard, making him gag. This didn't seem like a good time to explain that a cock of such beauty is a joy for ever, deserving prolonged and thorough devotion, so Krycek tilted his head to accommodate the onslaught and let Mulder drive into him furiously. "That's it, I'm gonna fuck your mouth so hard, you little whore, you better be able to take it." Mulder was beginning to sweat now, still gripping hair, his hips thrusting violently and relentlessly into Krycek's eager mouth. It was so good, even though Krycek's eyes were watering and he choked every now and then. It was usually difficult to persuade a man to be this rough and Krycek loved it. Of course, Mulder had no scruples about hurting him and no incentive to give him a good time. This was one way street sex, the driver in complete control with no law enforcement around to help. When Mulder finally came, it was with long tortured groans as if he was holding far too much back. He was pumping feverishly, load after load, as if he would never stop, and there was the oddest sensation that his erection was growing rather than diminishing, until for a moment it seemed to be stretching Krycek's jaws apart. So much for an overactive imagination. Krycek sucked greedily, swallowing down as much sperm as he could, letting the surplus dribble down his chin, moaning as he drank, longing for release of his own. "Jesus Christ!" Mulder seemed to be impressed, either by his own performance, or Krycek's, or both. His legs giving way, he staggered to the bed, dragging Krycek along the floor with him and they fell on it together, their bodies heaving for breath. Blindly Krycek grabbed Mulder's nearest leg, forced it against his erection and squirmed all over it, grinding his hips in savage hunger. If he carried on like this, rubbing up against various parts of people's anatomy like a demented tom cat, he would probably be put down. But if Mulder wasn't going to give him any release, he'd take it where he could and this was all he needed. Krycek arched luxuriously into orgasm, giving out cries of ecstasy that sounded utterly shameless in comparison with Mulder's tight control. Mulder grabbed Krycek's head, holding it between his hands, watching his face with the kind of fascinated concentration he gave to alien autopsy videos. "Oh yeah, go wild for me, that's right, go wild!" Well, if wild is what you want... Krycek writhed against him with obscene emphasis, crying out and moaning with almost theatrical intensity but there was only so much wildness to be got out of a leg fuck —even if the leg did belong to Mulder— and his performance naturally began to subside. His jeans were becoming increasingly insanitary. Mulder's disappointment was tangible. He was gazing into Krycek's eyes, painfully eager for more. "I had you down for a screamer," he said accusingly, as if he'd put money on something which wasn't up to standard. Krycek had been with some demanding men in his time, but Mulder was certainly the weirdest. "If you want screaming," he panted, "all you have to do is put that enormous dick of yours up my ass. You'll get screaming." He saw Mulder's eyes light up immediately as if such a thought had never occurred to him. This guy is seriously weird. "Great! What are we waiting for?" Krycek grabbed Mulder's arms and pulled him down over his body. "Recovery, that's what we're waiting for." He felt Mulder relax against him and hold him in an embrace that seemed almost affectionate. Now that Mulder had climaxed, his anger seemed to have been temporarily dispelled and it was dangerously tempting to attribute the change in him to emotions he was unlikely to be feeling. Be that as it may, a little post-coital dreaming could do no-one any harm and as they lay there together, Krycek ran his hands in gentle exploration over Mulder's body, fantasising about breakfast in bed, a house in the country with roses round the door, a joint bank account... Alex Krycek, you are a very sick boy. "Okay, you've had enough recovery time." Mulder was on his knees, unzipping Krycek's jeans, his hair falling into his eyes like a schoolboy's. Here is the Washington News. The famous obsessive drive belonging to Special Agent Fox Mulder is currently alive and well. However, we have reason to believe that it has been seriously side-tracked, concentrating neither on aliens nor conspiracy theories. Special Agent Dana Scully is reported to be growing increasingly concerned... "What the hell are you giggling at, Krycek?" "Nothing. Sorry. Do carry on, don't mind me." "Crazy asshole." Roughly, he tugged Krycek's jeans down to his ankles, pulled off the sneakers without bothering to undo them and flung the jeans across the floor. This man was in a hurry. "What about my socks?" Krycek complained. "I can't take myself seriously if I fuck with my socks on." Mulder was pulling his own pants and boxers down to his thighs. Already standing eagerly to attention, his impressive cock was dancing with anticipation. "Don't worry, I'll take you seriously enough for both of us." That sounded oh so very nice. Krycek took hold of Mulder's head and, full of emotion, planted a series of big, wet puppy dog kisses gratefully all over his face. Mulder humoured him for a brief moment, then pushed him back down on the bed. He began collecting fingerfuls of Krycek's sperm, using it for lubricating his own erection and then Krycek's anus. Though Mulder didn't seem to believe in the existence of foreplay, those were clever things he was doing with his fingers, running them around Krycek's tight ring of muscle, then pushing through using sexy little circular movements that stretched and titillated at the same time, making Krycek curse under his breath with need. When Mulder's exploring fingers located the prostate, Krycek's whole body contracted in a wave of blinding pleasure. "Fuck!" "Hey, that was nearly a scream!" Mulder was like a child playing with a Christmas present. He repeated the action. "God!" Krycek cried out, half scream, half sob. Mulder was actually smiling, thoroughly pleased with himself. How would he explain away the afternoon on his form 302? Lunch, followed by an in-depth interview with my ex-partner. "I'm going to do that to you with my dick," Mulder said, "and drive you crazy." Well thanks for the warning, I'll adjust my nervous system accordingly. Offering up yet more thanks to Wong Tai Sin, Krycek lifted his knees to his chest and watched his beautiful dream-lover arrange himself for entrance. Krycek waited for the pain in a mixture of lust and apprehension but there was none and Mulder's cock glided inside as effortlessly as his fingers. Now this was really strange, for Krycek knew from experience how much pain an erection of this magnitude would cause—it was all part of the fun. It was as if Mulder was somehow able to adjust the dimensions of his penis to accommodate the size of Krycek's entrance. This was utterly crazy. "Mulder—" "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you." Krycek lifted his head, agitated and confused. Mulder was buried right inside him up to the hilt. "But that's just it—it should hurt." "Is that what you want? Well okay then." Either Krycek was going completely out of his mind, or Mulder's erection was actually getting bigger, seeming to have a life of its own, expanding inside him until he was feeling stretched and filled to capacity. Krycek gave out an anxious groan. "Is that enough?" Mulder asked solicitously. Panic finally set in. "What do you mean is that enough? What the fuck are you doing? What's happening?" Krycek began to struggle but Mulder pinned his arms down onto the mattress, feeling unnaturally strong. With his legs over Mulder's shoulders, impaled by a substantial erection, Krycek was trapped. Maybe this was the kind of thing people should expect when they read Naked Lunch for the second time. Suddenly everything was out of joint — Mulder's untimely arrival, his strange desire to keep Fu-Sheng's death secret, his familiarity with the apartment... Jesus Christ, what was going on here? "Relax, Krycek. You're gonna scream for me, right?" Well at least the one-track mind is comfortingly Mulderish. Oh, pay no attention to my dick while it contracts and expands, just a weird little party trick I picked up somewhere. Without waiting for an answer, Mulder began to move inside him, starting up a sensuous rhythm. Krycek grabbed hold of the arms that held him down and gave out a wail of helpless pleasure. He felt a sheen of sweat breaking out over his body, slicking the movements of Mulder's body over his own. Damn everything else, it was so good to feel a prick of this size inside him. He'd make the most of it while he could. He met Mulder thrust for thrust, bearing down on his erection with strong internal muscles, squeezing hard, willingly impaling himself. His wails turned to hungry cries. Mulder was starting to tremble with excitement. He altered the angle of his entry a little so that he stroked across Krycek's prostate. The young man let out a strangled scream, his nails digging into Mulder's forearms. "Oh yeah, that's great." Mulder was sweating hard now, droplets falling onto Krycek's face. He gave another pile-driving thrust. It felt as if Mulder's erection was growing again, not widthways but lengthways, and that Krycek's prostate was not only being scraped but invaded and possessed, sent into a singing bliss that put Krycek's nervous system into overload. He screamed again. Oh God, what's going on? Each time Mulder thrust inside him, he seemed to penetrate further and further, introducing the most stunning internal sensations that Krycek had ever experienced. He imagined that this would be the nearest to being fucked by ten men at once that anyone would ever get. "Mulder!" His voice was cracked and hoarse. The omnipresent erection seemed to have possessed the lower part of his body entirely, as if every organ was filled and congested, and every thrust resonated through them. Krycek screamed out again. Doing anything else was out of the question except clinging onto Mulder's arms and hoping that this didn't end in a permanent stay at the local psychiatric hospital. Orgasm came rushing towards him like a dangerous animal, savage, wild, unstoppable. Krycek rode it out crazily, screaming until his voice was in shreds. But Mulder kept on thrusting, making him come and come again. Krycek's body felt as if it was on fire, contracting and convulsing on a spit of flame, basted by relentless waves of pleasure. He screamed until he lost his voice completely, his mouth wide open but no sound coming out. Tears of ecstasy and fear fell from his eyes, mingling with his sweat, dripping into his wet hair. At last, Mulder suddenly cried out and collapsed on top of Krycek. It seemed as if molten lead was being poured into Krycek's intestines. One last orgasmic wave shook him in its jaws and then gradually the fire began to die down. Krycek shivered uncontrollably in its dying heat, holding onto Mulder like the survivor of some awesome natural disaster. Sweep me away like a storm... Whoever wrote that knew what they were talking about. Odd to be coming to his senses in an ordinary little room, with comfortable traffic sounds outside. Krycek's heart beat, like Mulder's, was beginning to slow, his breathing to calm. The weight of Mulder's body was starting to crush him. He hadn't figured the man for such a heavyweight. "Summertime, when the living is easy, fish are jumping and the cotton is high..." That wasn't Mulder's voice, though the singing was coming from him, breathing hotly down his ear. Krycek turned his head to find that the man now lying over him was black, powerfully built and naked. He would have screamed if he had any voice, he would have run away if he had any strength left. Instead he lay under the man frozen in fear, a strangled sound coming from his throat. "Wassa matter, honey chile? Don't like de song?" Krycek shook his head blindly. The weight over him lessened considerably as the black man turned into a frail teenager in white lace. "Daddy?" she was saying, her arms folded around his neck. "Daddy kiss his little girl?" "Jesus Christ!" Krycek found his voice, hoarse and rasping but in some sort of working order. He pushed the girl away from him so violently that she fell off the bed onto the wooden floor. "Mulder! What the hell's happened to Mulder? What have you done with him?" Krycek watched in horror as the girl changed before him into a fair-haired man. He was massive, with heavy Germanic features, fully dressed in European clothes. There was an old Chinese curse that Krycek had never fully appreciated until now: May you live in interesting times. Things were getting much too interesting round here. "Mulder is on the 01.30 flight from San Francisco, with your friend Jerry." Krycek moved up the bed, huddled on top of the pillows, trying to get as far away from the man as he could. When he spoke again, his voice was breaking. "Then who have I been with if it wasn't him? Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?" The man wandered casually over to the chair where now only Krycek's grey sweatshirt was hanging over it. He tossed it onto the bed and sat down. "You've been with me. Your friend Fu-Sheng was right, it was a UFO the French were salvaging and as you were responsible for its discovery, you have to accept the consequences." "You're from that UFO?" "No, but I received a distress call from the occupant. We're not from the same planet but we can communicate. The fact that the digital tape has fallen into the wrong hands affects many forms of alien life." At any other time, Krycek would have been on the floor with laughter listening to such a story but he'd seen too much that day to doubt it. "So why have you been fucking about with me? Why not just kill me like you did Fu-Sheng?" The man smiled. "I'm not here to kill you. You only have a few more days to live anyway, someone else will do that for me. No point in unnecessary slaughter." Krycek felt his mouth go dry. "That's very public spirited of you. Who's going to kill me? Mulder?" "No." He closed his eyes briefly. "No-one will kill you. A dark place, you're shut in there, no food, no water." Obviously an Edgar Allen Poe fan. Get a grip, Alex, he's only trying to scare you some more. "So what was the point of— of being Mulder?" At this, the man-alien actually looked uncomfortable. "That was—" He cleared his throat. "That was wrong." Confession from an Alien. Krycek longed for Mulder to be there in many more ways than one. Damn right it was wrong, but wasn't it fun? "I saw you in the temple with your friend. You were so... beautiful. I read your mind, felt your desires. I knew the Mulder form was what you craved. I wanted to be the object of all that longing." Krycek stared at him, all the smartass replies he could think of dying on his lips. He searched the man's eyes for the smallest essence of Mulder but found none. "I use this body as a disguise. Normally my body is astral. Usually I have no senses with which to experience the world and no emotions to express how I feel." The man spread his hands and gazed down at them, almost in wonder. "Your feelings were so strong that I found them irresistible. Mulder found them irresistible." "What?" The man-alien looked up. "The physical attraction between the Krycek form and the Mulder form is very strong." Krycek felt something inside him melt. "Wait a second, are you saying that Mulder wants to do to me what you just did?" "Yes of course. Within his own limitations." Pity you couldn't have showed up and told me this about six months ago. "Excuse me? What sort of limitations?" "He's unable to alter shape like I can, he can only be erect or flaccid." Krycek almost broke into a smile. "Well actually that's kind of what I'm used to, I can live with that." His mind dusted over the memories of Mulder, polishing them up to a brighter shine until Krycek could see his own face in them. Not so one sided after all. But it was too damn late now... "I must go." The man stood, buttoning up his raincoat. "Wait!" Krycek was surprised at the emotion weighing down his voice. "Can you—could you just do something for me? Seeing as I'm about to die?" The man-alien searched Krycek's eyes and then nodded. He walked to the door where he turned once more into the form of Mulder. "I love you, Alex," he said. He opened the door and walked out. Krycek slipped down the bed, pulling the sheet over himself. He buried his face in a pillow and with Mulder's voice still in his ears and Mulder's sperm trickling down his thighs, he started to cry. All that time, all that wasted time. It might just have taken a touch, an over the shoulder glance, a lingering smile. He'd taken Mulder's professionalism for disinterest and his lack of interest at face value. And it had taken a weird shape changing alien to come along and put Krycek right. The irony of it was that Krycek at last had something to share with Mulder that the FBI agent would truly value— a close encounter with an alien and surely encounters couldn't come much closer— but he would probably never see Mulder again to be able to tell him. How did that song go? So love is a hoax, a glittering string of little white lies, So these are the jokes and what if they bring the tears to your eyes? It was starting to grow dark in his room, the light fading first from the corners, smoothing them over. Don't just lie there feeling sorry for yourself. Oh brilliant, his IQ was back, treading roughshod over his bleeding emotions. He could picture the arms folded in impatience, fingers drumming, the sarcastic little smile. So what is this, a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions? Frailty, thy name is Alex Krycek? "Oh fuck off," Krycek muttered, his voice broken. Pull yourself together, for God's sake. Jerry's flight is due soon and you have to go to her office and clean up. Krycek sat upright in the bed. Good grief, it was right. Mulder! Mulder was on the same flight. He heard Mulder's voice first, outside the door, muffled but so familiar. "Open it." Krycek switched off the lights and aimed his gun, willing his hands to stop shaking. Then the door was kicked open. Mulder made some crack about gender type and shoved Jerry into the room. She looked scared. She had reason to be. Mulder walked in after her and then Krycek saw that they were handcuffed together. "Where are the lights?" He stepped forward, aiming the gun at Mulder. "Right here." Mulder whirled round in surprise. "Krycek!" Hello Mulder form. Guess what I've been up to today. It was so strange, meeting him once more in this room, several hours later, in such a different way. Krycek had thought he wouldn't live to see Mulder again. "I thought guns were against the law here." Garish red and yellow street lighting flooded in through the blinds. Even in its harsh colours, Mulder looked incredibly beautiful. Krycek wondered how he must look to Mulder. Sweaty, unshaven, unwashed and exhausted. Well okay but maybe a little bit sexy? After all, he knew now that Mulder liked him in leather. "Yeah, well you know what they say. When guns are outlawed..." It was the only answer he could think of, lost in Mulder's beauty. He trailed off, uncertain about what exactly it was that they said. And who were they anyway? Clear thinking was proving to be awfully difficult. Staring at Mulder's bottom lip, he couldn't get past the memory of how it tasted. "Why don't you take that gun and shoot yourself in the head like you shot my father?" Krycek gritted his teeth, trying hard to fool himself that the words didn't hurt, even while they made his eyes sting with tears. He tried a bitter joke with himself. So much for romance. Jerry suddenly piped up with, "Oh God, High Noon in Hong Kong." He'd almost forgotten she was there. He had to talk to Mulder alone and get her out of the way. What he wanted to tell Mulder was going to be difficult enough to say without a female comedian coming up with the occasional one-liner. Irrational anger flared up inside him. Why does she have to be here now, I know I asked her to come but that's beside the point. "Oh why don't you just shutup!" He grabbed Jerry's arm, pushing her outside, slamming the door shut on the handcuff chain. Mulder, now pinned to the door, was looking at him as if he'd lost his mind. And in a way Krycek knew he had. "That's no way to treat your business partner," Mulder reprimanded, "especially since she seems to be moving those secrets you're selling so well." They stared at each other, panting a little. Now that he had Mulder to himself, Krycek felt a little foolish. What after all was there to say? Was there one sentence of his conversation with the alien that he could confidently repeat without making himself look ridiculous? But then was it worth losing Mulder again for the sake of wounded pride? Krycek opened his mouth to say something at the same time as shots rang out in the hallway. He heard Jerry's cry, saw the handcuff chain sink down as she fell, dragging Mulder's wrist with it so that he was forced down to the floor. There were voices outside. Those French bastards... God, would nothing ever go right for once? Krycek pushed aside a chair and made for the window. Only one floor down. After all, he'd done it before. He looked back wistfully over his shoulder at Mulder. He'd be safe enough, the French weren't interested in him and would hardly want the death of an FBI agent on their hands. It was too late to help Jerry now. He pictured her lying dead outside in the hall and flinched away from the image. "Looks like she's your partner now." Well, Mulder would expect some smartass reply and Krycek wouldn't want to disappoint him. With one last lingering look at Mulder, he climbed out through the window. Krycek was only barely aware of being lifted like a rag doll, up off the concrete floor, hardly registering the warmth of the strong muscular body that held him close. He wondered dimly whether the sensation of being carried was just another of the hallucinations that had begun to trouble him over the last few hours. Or days. He had been told that he would die here in this place by someone who seemed to know what he was talking about. If he was being moved, he supposed they were going to finish the job properly. Or maybe they didn't know there was still the faintest glimmer of life in him and they were going to bury him. What difference did it make if it was a hole in the ground or the silo, he was still buried alive. Warmth began to seep into his body all along the side that was pressed against his current means of transport. With the warmth came sensation and that was accompanied by pain. His joints appeared to have frozen in place. He made a dry rasping sound that was supposed to have been a groan but someone had lined his throat with heavy duty sandpaper. "Shush," said a voice somewhere above him. "You're safe now." Most definitely an hallucination. That had sounded so like his shape changing alien friend. Without the strength to fight it, Krycek decided he'd ride it out like he had the others. He faded in and out of consciousness. At one point he had a dream where someone was giving him water with the patience of Job, teaspoon by teaspoon. Another moment he felt the pull of an engine as if he was in a car. "Alex? Alex!" That voice again. Someone was lightly patting his cheek. Krycek tried to open his eyes but the light hurt them too much. "What? What's going on?" The sandpaper had gone, leaving a dull ache. He felt a pair of glasses being pushed onto his face. Oh look, I haven't done my Groucho Marx impersonation for years and I'm really not up to it at the moment. "Try opening them now." Dark glasses. Clever idea. That was better and now he could see that his hallucination was really shaping up. He stared up into the worried face of the shape changer. "Hello Alex." "Christ." "How are you feeling?" "You read minds. You tell me." The alien moved away from him then, reaching out behind him. He showed Krycek some large plastic bags. Oh that's nice, he's had a little shopping spree, maybe things are cheaper here than where he comes from. "Listen, there's enough food and drink here for four days, by which time you should have enough strength to look after yourself. There's a grocery store just round the corner." Krycek was lying in a double bed, under a duvet edged with lace frills. He'd been stripped and washed, the perpetual smell of oil was gone. He looked around him cautiously. The room was pink, cosy and feminine, like a womb, with a collection of teddy bears that smiled cheerfully at him from the dressing table as if they were delighted with his recovery. I hate to say this, it sounds so horribly corny, so soap opera. "Where am I?" "Carrington, North Dakota. The owner of this place has just gone away on a two week business trip. She lives alone, has no help around the house. You should be safe enough." Krycek stared at the alien for some time, then reached out and touched his arm. This was no hallucination, he could feel flesh and bone through the sleeve material. "Why?" he asked simply. The shape changer got to his feet. "I must go." "You said that before." "I've already done far more than I should." "Why?" Krycek repeated weakly, determined for an answer. "Was I really that good a fuck?" The alien walked over to the window, staring out, his broad back to Krycek. "Remember when you made a last request, thinking you were going to die? When I told you I loved you, I didn't say it just because you asked me to and I didn't say it entirely as Mulder. I meant it as myself as well." Krycek swallowed. Good grief... The shape changer turned to look at him. "I know it's absurd, I can barely understand it myself. I found it impossible to sustain the thought of you dying in that silo." He looked down at his flesh and blood hands, as if to say to them, Look at what you've made me do this time. "What do you want from me?" Krycek had always had a practical attitude to life and the alien must be expecting some kind of return for his efforts. "Nothing. Something. I can do no more for you, I can only stay in this form for a short time before turning astral again to renew my resources. But there's someone who can help you and make you happy. Find Mulder. I want you to find Mulder." Krycek stared back at him in silence, totally dumbfounded. "Find Mulder," the alien repeated. He gave Krycek one final glance and then left the room. Krycek stared after him, bewildered. Now what was this, alien matchmaking? Lonely, disillusioned, shut up in a silo for too long? We will travel millions of light years across the universe in order to find you that special someone. He had found Mulder. Twice, actually. And neither encounter could be counted a great emotional success, the second being even worse than the first. Mulder hadn't taken to being left handcuffed to Krycek's dead partner and had strongly registered his disapproval. He had conducted most of his conversation with Krycek through bared teeth like a hungry dog defending its bone. Being squashed between a bank of telephones and Mulder's body had been promising but any erotic illusions had been destroyed by the gun that Mulder had kept pressing into his stomach. So was the alien wanting him to try again? And why, for God's sake? It was hard enough to understand the motivations of fellow humans, let alone those of an alien being. Krycek tried to imagine the change from having a body made only of energy to one of extraordinarily intense passions, desires and sensations. The sex with 'Mulder' had been mind blowing, even for someone with Krycek's experience. How would it have been for someone used only to operating on some delicate extraterrestrial energy frequency? It must have short circuited its little astral nervous system. Again the practical side of him questioned what the alien could possibly hope to gain from their union. Did it have shares in Trojans? Having once established an intimate acquaintance with Mulder's molecules, could it tune in on him from the comfort of an astral armchair on its home planet, enjoying their lovemaking like an earthling watching a porn video? Or was it simply a form of selfless alien love that only wanted happiness for its beloved, the kind of love that an earthbound and selfish human like himself could never hope to understand? Krycek realised that his head was throbbing from the effort of thinking. He really had no energy for anything but sleep. And he would sleep the next few days away and heal vocal chords he'd ripped apart from yelling for help and fingers he'd torn from trying to get out and the mind he'd nearly destroyed by peering too far over the abyss. He snuggled further into the comfort of the bed, his every move monitored indulgently by smiling teddy bears. Something that almost felt like hope began to warm his frozen insides. He'd been given back his life and if in return he was expected to achieve a miracle by getting into Mulder's bed, then it seemed like a deal made in heaven. The glasses still sat on his nose and, surrounded by lace frills and teddy bears, he felt like an eccentric rock star. A slight smile curved the edges of his mouth as the song from Sweet Charity occurred to him: 'If They Could See Me Now.' Chaps was one of the seediest gay leather bars in the district of Washington. It boasted a back room where men could find anonymity in its darkness and heavy duty sex. When Krycek watched Fox Mulder walk inside the bar, in a black leather jacket and blue jeans, he wondered if his hallucinations were back. He waited in a doorway on the other side of the street. Mulder would probably chicken out as soon as he discovered the kind of place he'd walked in to. Krycek had spent his first week back in Washington shadowing Mulder, acquainting himself thoroughly with the man's routine. As routines went, Mulder's was pretty routine and Krycek was discovering that his options for seduction were extraordinarily limited. Mulder lived like a monk, a monk who happened to be an FBI agent who enjoyed Chinese takeouts and porn videos. But there had been moments of great promise. Krycek discovered that Mulder had begun subscribing to "Boys in Leather" magazine after his return from Hong Kong. And breaking into Mulder's apartment while the FBI agent was enjoying a swim, Krycek found that his latest video acquisition was entitled "Leather Love", the hero tall, fine featured, with dark cropped hair, leather jacket and black jeans... It had taken all of Krycek's minimal self-control to stop himself from lying decoratively on Mulder's sofa for the man's return. But though he may know Mulder's secret, Mulder was by no means won yet. A look-alike was one thing, a safe outlet for fantasy, but the real thing was quite another. Even though tonight Mulder appeared to be taking a tentative step towards that reality. It would be so easy to ruin this. Krycek knew it was important to pick the right moment and if only Mulder would stay inside the bar long enough, this could be it. His heart dancing wildly in his chest, Krycek moved across the street, pulling up the collar of his leather jacket the same way the porn video hero liked to wear it. He breathed deeply, trying to lighten the mood by imagining himself with one of those Star Trek communicators. Earth to shape changer. Earth to shape changer, I'm moving in. Krycek walked into the bar. His first impression was: Oh no, not fucking Abba again. Leather everywhere. The centre of the room was filled with a circular leather covered bar. Around it there was clusters of men in leather —jackets, trousers, waistcoats, dog collars. The smell of excitement, beer and poppers, almost enough to induce another state of consciousness. The lighting was sufficiently subdued for Krycek to have to take a few moments to adjust in order to search individual faces and he kept moving, trying to avoid being too conspicuous. Finally he managed to pick Mulder out. He was staring in fascination at the sign over the back room door. "All ye who enter here," it said, with a neon lit arrow indicating the condom dispenser at the side of the door. Well here goes nothing. Krycek walked up to him. "All in the best possible taste," he said cheerfully. "They have raspberry, blackcurrant, but no vanilla, of course." When Mulder turned to gaze at him in disbelief, it was obvious that he thought he was having an hallucination of his own. Embarrassed and confused, a beautiful flush lifted the colour of his face. So very strange meeting up with Mulder yet again, four times in as many weeks. Only this was the original version. As far as he knew. "Do you come here often, Mulder?" Krycek pressed ahead while he had the advantage. "Took you long enough to pluck up the courage to come in. I saw you outside, indulging in some heavy displacement activity, checking to see if your sidelights were working for half an hour." Mulder's fury finally surfaced. "Krycek!" In a ritual that was becoming as formalised as the mating courtship of two tropical birds, he grabbed the collar of Krycek's leather jacket, pulling him closer, baring those white teeth. "I thought they'd left you to die in the silo." "As you can see, I'm disgustingly healthy. How about a drink to celebrate my return to life?" The alien had left him money, quite a large sum of money, and Krycek felt sure that under the terms of their agreement, he should spend some of that money on Mulder. Almost speechless with indignation, Mulder gave Krycek's collar an angry shake. "The only thing I'll celebrate is seeing you behind bars." Krycek shook his head. He looked meaningfully around the room. "This is no place to play the FBI agent, Mulder." "I agree. Let's go outside." He tugged at the collar. "Oh no. I feel much safer inside. It would be so awkward for you to call for back up to a place like this." With a slight nod of his head towards the exit door, Krycek indicated a beefy looking bouncer wearing a thick leather collar. Mulder turned briefly to follow Krycek's gaze. The man looked like the cartoon bulldog out of Tom and Jerry. "And besides there are people in here to protect me." Mulder gave a predatory smile and reluctantly let Krycek go. "Maybe so, but you can't stay in here forever. And I'll be waiting for you." "That sounds nice," Krycek said, and seeing Mulder growing even angrier, he gave a disbelieving laugh. "Hey, Mulder, I can't believe you don't want to know how I got out of the silo." Mulder sighed. "How did you get out of the silo, Krycek," he repeated flatly. Krycek felt sure that the disinterest wasn't entirely genuine. That bottom lip, it gets fuller than ever when he sulks. Krycek smiled. He smiled because he knew exactly what those juicy lips tasted like and how sexy it felt to have them sucking at his neck. And he smiled because he knew about Mulder's taste for pretty boys in leather. Krycek thought again how good it was to know the sexual preferences of friends and enemies, though he wasn't sure yet which Mulder would turn out to be. "When you paid Jerry Kallenchuk a visit, she called me right away and I knew you'd soon be onto me." Krycek moved a little nearer to Mulder, invading his personal space but Mulder didn't back off. So far so good. While he talked, Krycek feasted his eyes on the features of the man's face. Mulder, he noticed, seemed to be equally fascinated. "So when I went to Jerry's office to destroy the evidence, imagine my surprise when you were there waiting for me." Mulder seemed to jolt out of his reverie. "What the hell—" "You beat me up a little, having just killed a friend of mine, but we investigated the death anyway just for fun, then we went to lunch. You took me back to my place and we had some really hot sex." Mulder was silent for a few tense moments. Then he said in his usual monotone, "So when did they let you out of the strait jacket, Krycek?" "Hey, Mulder, this is the truth I'm telling you here!" Mulder took a few steps away, as if intending to end the conversation as soon as he could. "I hope you realise how funny that is coming from you." "It was a shape-changing alien, man, just your sort of thing. He was pretending to be you." "Shape changer," Mulder repeated, nodding understandingly. "Listen, Krycek, maybe you should go lie down in a darkened room with a flannel over your face or something." Krycek stubbornly persisted. "He could change into anyone he wanted to be; you'd have loved it. But he had this particular persona he took on as a general disguise. You should have seen him, massive, with heavy features..." All at once, Mulder's face took on a more focussed expression. "Heavy features? What colour was his hair?" Krycek hadn't expected this. Mulder was talking to him as if he was a fellow human being. "Fair, brushed back over his head. Why?" "What was his voice like?" Mulder moved in closer, staring intently into Krycek's eyes. "He had an accent, sounded as if he could be German or something." "Christ. The alien bounty hunter." "Bounty hunter? Well that figures, that would make sense." This was surpassing all his hopes, he'd actually made a connection with Mulder. "You've met him then?" Mulder snorted in disgust. "You could say that. Left me to die on an ice pack." Now that was naughty. I hope you're thoroughly ashamed of yourself wherever you are. "Maybe it was something you said, Mulder. He was real nice to me." Careful, don't spoil this by getting too smug. "So you're saying that he killed your friend but took you out to lunch and fucked you? Now why do I find that so easy to believe? Maybe it's because you're a self-serving, manipulative, lying little toad who would let anyone fuck you to save your skin." Abba were singing 'Knowing Me Knowing You'. "It's really funny you should say that," Krycek said brightly, "because that's more or less what he said to me when he was being you." "Well he certainly got in character then." Mulder searched Krycek's face, looking as if he was thinking things over. "So the bounty hunter killed your friend, presumably because he was helping you to decode the DAT tape. Why didn't the alien kill you? That is, after the wine and romance?" "This is where it gets even more interesting, Mulder." "More interesting?" Mulder looked as if he was in danger of enjoying himself if he wasn't careful. "When he left, he said he didn't need to kill me because, being psychic, he could see that I was about to die in the silo anyway. Maybe there are alien union regulations to follow about that kind of thing. But he saved me, Mulder, he rescued me from that hell hole, found me somewhere to rest up, left me food and drink and money." "But why?" Krycek insinuated himself a few inches nearer to Mulder. Intrigued, Mulder hardly seemed to notice. "Because he knew how I felt about you. And when he was being you, he knew how he felt about me." I hope you're following this, Mulder, because I'm not even sure that I am. "He told me that there's this really strong attraction between you and me and I can tell you that he's right. You and me, Mulder, we're red hot, we're dynamite, we're fireworks on the 4th of July..." When Mulder shoved him hard in the chest, pushing him away, Krycek knew that he'd lost his audience. The blow felt more bitter than any Mulder had previously delivered. "When I asked the alien why he'd saved me," Krycek carried on stubbornly, "all he would say was 'Find Mulder'. So here I am." Mulder went straight into defensive mode. He jabbed angrily at Krycek's chest with his index finger. "You little shit, you're just setting me up again with this pantomime about alien matchmaking." "How the hell can I be setting you up?" Krycek snapped impatiently. "What sort of an idiot would believe what I've just told you? If I was going to set you up, don't you think I'd make up something at least halfway plausible?" The sheer logic of this briefly rendered Mulder speechless. Krycek watched him as he struggled to find a flaw in the argument but it was as water tight as any Socratic discourse. So Krycek quickly followed it up with, "Do you think I'd risk my neck meeting you like this if I wasn't half crazy with need for you?" Chaotic shades of emotion were playing over Mulder's face, most prominently confusion and pain. Krycek longed to kiss them away. Mulder gave him one final jab in the chest. "Stay away from me, you dirty little faggot, do you hear? Just stay away!" He hurried out of the bar. Krycek watched Mulder go. No point in following after him, the man had probably heard enough for one night. Hell, he'd be back. Wouldn't he? It wasn't the end of the world. Was it? Krycek felt his eyes pricking with tears and rubbed at them angrily. Damn smoke, just the damn smoke. But Mulder had actually heard him out. That was good. Wasn't it? Well, it was more than he'd hoped for. And by some ludicrous coincidence, Mulder had met the shape-changing alien before so that he actually knew what Krycek was talking about. Mulder simply needed time to think about things. Maybe he needed to go home, put on his Leather Love video and then he'd know that perversely it all made some kind of weird sense. Right. Just give the man time. Everything would work out somehow. If Krycek came here every night for the next couple of months, Mulder would show up sometime, surely. Simply a matter of patience. He rubbed his eyes again, surprised at how wet they were. Who the hell was he kidding? He'd lost Mulder once more, a habit that seemed to have dogged him for the past year. Suddenly Krycek clenched his fists together and even though it had been several minutes since Mulder had walked through the door, Krycek yelled after him through the crowd, "Fuck you, Mulder!" His voice sounded wild and desperate, even to his own ears; Cathy wailing across the moors for Heathcliff. Heads turned, eyebrows lifted. Sorry if I interrupted. Angrily, Krycek turned on his heels and made for the back room, grabbing a handful of condoms as he walked inside. Abba retreated into the background as the door closed behind him, punctuated by the sounds of lovemaking in various different stages. Sighs, gasps and groans, and from the far corner of the room screams resulting from an enviable orgasm. Fuck you, Mulder. The smell of musk, sweat and semen, and a variety of heady aftershaves. And poppers, dear old poppers. Krycek walked further into the room, picking his way through the couples, adjusting to the light that was a few shades darker than in the bar. Half dressed bodies, writhing and bucking, the creak of leather, raw need exuding like a pungent smell. Someone behind Krycek passed a bottle of poppers under his nose and the resulting wave of vibrant animal lust nearly made him lose consciousness. He leaned back against the body behind him and moaned loudly, his hips beginning to take up an almost unconscious rhythm. Two strong arms wound round his waist, muscular and hairy, and a giant cock insinuated itself between his denim covered buttocks. Krycek leant back into the strong neck, closing his eyes, writhing his hips so that they rubbed over the man's huge erection. "Oh yeah," the man breathed into his ear, "this gorgeous baby wants it bad." Another man, this one tall and thin, moved in to join Krycek's partner, standing in front of Krycek's twisting form, watching him for a moment, pleased with what he saw. He leaned in to make a trail of sucking kisses down Krycek's neck and chest. Krycek opened his eyes, gave out a throaty groan and pushed forward to press up against yet another bountiful erection. Sandwiched between the two giant cocks, Krycek arched up and pulled his sweatshirt out of his jeans, lifting it in wanton invitation so that the man in front could suck his nipples. The man behind took one nipple between two of his fingers and squeezed hard. Krycek wiggled and gasped in pleasure. Yet another figure moved in on their little group, somehow oddly familiar. Krycek gave out a small cry of pleasure, not from the stimulation he was receiving but from the delight of recognition. Mulder! Almost delirious with popper-induced lust, having his nipples worked thoroughly by the two men, one now pinching with his nails, the other biting with his teeth, Krycek was in no position to fight them off, and Mulder didn't seem to want him to. He just stood a little out of reach, watching intently, not joining in. And from the size of the erection jutting against his jeans, Mulder was enjoying every minute. Of course, Krycek realised dazedly, this must be better than sitting at home watching the video . Not taking his eyes off Mulder's, submissive and smouldering, Krycek gave into the pleasure the two men were giving him, as if Mulder was making love to him through them. He made husky little moans, his hips moving in a kind of delirium. The man in front of Krycek stopped biting the young man's nipples and unzipped Krycek's jeans, roughly pulling them halfway down the muscular thighs. Mulder took a step forward. "Kiss him," he said. It was as if Ken Russell had appeared from nowhere to direct one of his more perverse films. Mulder wouldn't have looked out of place holding a megaphone. Krycek's partners both turned to look at Mulder, with no suggestion of anger or resentment at the intrusion— all's fair, after all, with love and poppers -but only a curious interest. The thinner of the two glanced from Mulder to Krycek and then back again, figuring them for a couple who liked to play games, breaking into a lecherous smile, happy to play along. He made a show of running his hands through Krycek's hair, holding his face between his hands, then baring down on him possessively to kiss him long and hard. Krycek was still trying to keep his eyes glued on Mulder throughout. He gave out a series of whimpers, the man was growing excited and kissing him harshly. When they broke apart, Krycek's lips were swollen and glistening and he was panting heavily. The man behind was running his hands hungrily over the rounds of Krycek's buttocks. Mulder tried to say something but had to clear his throat before being able to speak. His voice was thick with lust. "Finger fuck him." Enthusiastically, greedily, the man behind Krycek spat on one of his thick fingers and thrust it inside him. Krycek gave out a loud groan and started to pleasure himself hungrily on the finger. "Two fingers," Mulder suggested helpfully and watched in rapt fascination as Krycek took the invasion with an even louder groan. Clever, knowing fingers searched for Krycek's prostate and rubbed over it rhythmically, creating waves of searing pleasure. "Oh God, yes," Krycek ground out, "just there, oh yes, just there." The movements of his hips grew more frantic and erratic, his erection, purple with need, thrusting and twitching helplessly in the air. "Jerk him off. And add another finger." Krycek's eyes widened, staring over at Mulder in a mixture of disbelief and wild excitement. He'd been in some outrageous situations in his life but this was way out of line. Mulder seemed so very at home, Krycek wondered if he made a habit of this, doing a sort of director's tour of gay bar backrooms. When he felt three thick fingers pushing into him, heading unerringly for his prostate, and a hand clasping his throbbing erection, Krycek finally closed his eyes in complete sensory overload. Crazily, he thrust forward into the hand surrounding his cock and backwards to impale himself on the fat fingers. Every blissful sensation magnified by the poppers, Krycek was speeding towards orgasm, thrashing deliriously but being held in place by the strong arm of the man behind him. Krycek screamed "Mul-der!" and flung out his arm, grabbing onto Mulder's hand, convulsing into climax at the magic touch, pulse after pulse of semen spurting into the fingers that were pumping him so efficiently. Mulder gripped Krycek's hand, squeezing it between both his own, watching spellbound at Krycek's stormy orgasm. "Mulder... Mulder..." Krycek was sobbing his name like an incantation, while wave after wave of orgasm washed over him, prolonged by the effects of the poppers so that it seemed as if he had always been coming and would always continue to do so, his existence stretching out into one extended climax, and he decided there were worse ways he could spend his time. Krycek's partners grinned wickedly at each other, as if to say Here's a bad case of the hots. Taking this as the cue to claim his prize, Mulder pulled on Krycek's arm, drawing Krycek against his body, holding him tightly and possessively. Krycek ground out the last dying spasms of his climax over Mulder's steel hard erection. Accepting the change of events in philosophical spirit, Krycek's ex-partners grabbed hold of one another hungrily, adjusting sexual focus, tearing at each other's jeans. Mulder dragged Krycek's boneless body away from them and propped him up, still moaning gently, against the wall. "You okay, Krycek?" Mulder touched his cheek, running fingers over a combination of soft skin and stubble. Krycek the boy-man. "Did they drug you?" "Yeah, but it's all right, I'm coming down off it now." Krycek leant his head back against the wall, still not taking his eyes off Mulder, panting and sweating, the beauty of his neck exposed to full view. Mulder sank his teeth vampire-style into the flesh, sucking on it hard, bruising it mercilessly. Krycek gasped out in delight. "Oh... oh Mulder!" He took hold of Mulder's head, encouraging him, relishing the feel of the soft hair between his fingers and the sharp teeth in his neck. "Oh that's so good. Do it, Mulder, do it to me!" All at once, the combination of pain and possession was too much for Krycek and he came again, taken over by raw ecstasy, convulsing against Mulder's hip in a swooning moaning orgasm. Mulder finally released Krycek's flesh and, from the expression on his face, he seemed taken aback by the sheer force of their passion. He looked aghast at the vivid red mark on Krycek's neck. "Christ, Alex, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" "You called me Alex!" Krycek panted, delighted and scared at the same time. "Is this really you, Mulder?" Krycek ran the tips of his fingers over Mulder's face, like a blind man enjoying an object of priceless value. Was he really touching and holding this man for the very first time? "You're not going to change into something else, are you?" Mulder was grinning at him lasciviously, running his hands over the silkiness of Krycek's thighs. "Well I have a tuxedo at home if you'd prefer me in that," he drawled. Krycek batted at his arm. "You know very well what I mean. And I don't want any black men singing songs or girls in white lace." "Maybe later." Mulder was exploring the inside of Krycek's ear with his tongue, pushing suggestively at the entrance, making Krycek slide a little down the wall, his legs giving way. Then Mulder kissed him with the same suggestiveness, his tongue playing possessively over Krycek's. "Mulder," Krycek complained with a moan. The kiss had made his toes curl. "Okay, okay." Mulder looked at him seriously, attempting to control himself. "You want proof that I'm not the bounty hunter. His blood is green and toxic, you know. Prick my finger with something and there's your proof." He held out his forefinger. Krycek took it in one rapid movement between his lips, sucking on it with obscene emphasis, gazing hungrily into Mulder's eyes, running his tongue around the tip. Mulder's breathing was beginning to quicken. "God, Alex, you're sexier than all my videos and wet dreams put together." This was good to hear. And so comfortingly Mulderish. Though of course that didn't necessarily mean that... "There's a much more enjoyable way to find out." Krycek undid the belt of Mulder's jeans, slippery with his semen. "Fuck me." This was absurd. Just saying this to Mulder was making him grow hard again already. Mulder laughed in excitement. "Well I'm not going to argue with that, Alex, but how will that show you the difference?" Krycek tugged impatiently at the zip of Mulder's jeans. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." "Hey," Mulder smirked, helping Krycek to pull his boxers down over his impressively rampant cock, "you know me, I want to believe." "Shut up," Krycek smouldered, "and fuck me." He leant forward and gave Mulder a deeply sensuous kiss, hot and wet, putting all the emotion he could into it, leaving Mulder's lips satisfactorily swollen and bruised, letting him know how much he was needed. In a mirror image of the scene in his Hong Kong apartment, Krycek knelt down in awe before Mulder's magnificent penis, taking it between shaking fingers, licking the precum from its hot glistening tip. Mulder cried out but this time it didn't sound like surprise, more like a wild kind of joy. And when Krycek took the length of the massive cock into his mouth, the dimensions still remained the same, which was a considerable comfort. So far so good. But oh how delicious he tastes... Krycek became aware of Mulder's hands pulling at his hair in distress. "Alex, stop," he was saying, "keep that up and it'll all be over in a few seconds." Krycek pulled away, giving the tip a soft little kiss, looking up at Mulder's flushed features. Was this really Mulder? Why had he come back so soon? Had he heard Krycek's agonised cry and even if he had, would it have been sufficient for such a change of heart? Krycek broke into a slow smile. Yes, of course. Curiosity, that was it, that was Mulder's bete noir. At that moment, Krycek was Mulder's own little walking talking X-File. Not only had he been the lover of an alien shape changer, but he'd spent several dark days in the company of another kind of alien altogether. What with all that and the leather, Mulder must have his investigative mind firing on all obsessive cylinders. What a mind blowing turn on this must be for him. Only too happy to be the recipient of all this focus, Krycek took out one of the condoms from his jacket pocket. He waved it between his fingers. "Lubricated," he explained. "Ah," said Mulder, trying to pay intelligent attention. Krycek guessed that he was too far gone to be worrying over such practicalities. He pulled the condom on with practised efficiency. Normally Krycek liked to use a condom as part of foreplay, taking the coldness out of the act of putting it on, but Mulder was far too over-sensitised for any such fun. Krycek reached over to massage Mulder's rock hard testicles, softening them a little. He wanted this to last longer than a few seconds. "Alex, please." Mulder's thighs were trembling violently. He placed two strong hands under Krycek's armpits and lifted him to his feet. Mulder was strong, but not too strong. With a coquettish glance, Krycek turned to face the wall, putting his outstretched palms on the cold surface for support, opening his legs as far as he could with his jeans round his knees, bending over a little to expose himself to Mulder. Krycek knew what he was doing. In that position, with his buttocks sticking out from beneath his leather jacket, he was making a sexual parody of surrender to a police officer and from Mulder's appreciative groan, the idea was not lost on the FBI agent. Mulder grasped Krycek's slender hips, the man's cock rubbing tantalisingly up and down the warm slick cleft. Nice idea, Mulder, but I'd get on with it if I were you before you lose it completely. As if drawing rapidly to the same conclusion, Mulder took hold of his erection and began pushing gently at the hot entrance to Krycek's body. Krycek took a deep breath, relaxed his muscles and pushed back, impaling himself on the first few inches of Mulder's cock. They both cried out in pleasure. Mulder clasped Krycek's thighs and pushed in a little further. Krycek could feel the ecstatic twitching of Mulder's erection inside him and knew that it would be short and sweet. Never mind, though, from the look of things there would be plenty more where this was coming from. He gave out a loud wrenching moan as Mulder drove into him, buried inside him up to the hilt. "OhGodohGodohGod," groaned Mulder, somewhere behind Krycek's neck. He began to thrust, adjusting his angle, rubbing deliciously across Krycek's prostate, making an enormous effort to stick to some semblance of rhythm and for a while at least succeeding. "Mulder, yes, oh keep doing it like that, that's incredible. That's so good." Krycek closed his eyes tightly, riding blissfully onto Mulder's erection, bracing himself for weird things to start happening and at the same time hoping fervently that they wouldn't. Pleasure was taking him further and further to the edge and he daren't quite look over yet. But the hard thrusting cock inside him was doing nothing that it shouldn't, only making him gurgle out in mindless desire, pleasuring him and burning him, making him want to weep for sheer ecstasy, nothing that it shouldn't. Krycek leant his forehead against the coolness of the wall, not minding that it grazed his skin with each of Mulder's thrusts. He made a grab for his own erection but Mulder quickly pushed his hand away, groaning out something that sounded like, "No, that's mine", and then their rhythm dissolved into mindless animal thrusts. Feeling himself surrounded by Mulder's hand, knowing himself to be safe with him at last, Krycek let climax take him, hard and brutal, making him scream out Mulder's name again, this time much louder, more certain. His sperm splattered dramatically over the wall, with such force that Krycek thought he might black out. Then he felt Mulder's cock pulsing deep within him, three, four, five times, and Mulder was calling him 'Alex' over and over again in a voice choked with passion. Sweep me away like a storm... Gradually they slid together down the wall, ending up on the floor in a tangled heap of arms, legs and jeans, clinging to each other furiously, waiting for the room to stop spinning. A few feet away, sprawled all over the floor, two teenagers were sucking hungrily at each other in an energetic "69" clench. "Well," Mulder panted, "what's the verdict?" Krycek giggled breathlessly. "You're hot and you're powerful, and you're sexy, and you're beautiful, and you're a little weird. It's you, Mulder, it's you." "There's a song in there somewhere trying to get out." "No," Krycek insisted breathlessly, "no fucking songs." Mulder laughed and ran his hand over Krycek's cropped hair. Wet with sweat, it was sticking up in spikes, making him look even more impish than usual. "Hey," he said, taking Krycek's chin gently between thumb and forefinger. "Can I ask you something?" Krycek's eyes narrowed fractionally, suspiciously. Oh no, had it started already, was he after information so soon? Was this all there would ever be between them —Sex, Lies and DAT tape? "What?" he whispered warily. Mulder kissed the bruise that was starting to appear on Krycek's forehead. "What are you doing for the rest of your life?" "Good afternoon, Sun Tung Lok restaurant. How may I help you?... Yes, sir, table for two, tomorrow evening, 8 o'clock... Table 18? Yes, it's still by the window, sir. Marvellous view over the harbour... An anniversary, sir? Yes, of course, champagne and roses... And chocolates... And a long tablecloth... Bean curd and squid in batter? They're both still on the menu, yes... Very well, we look forward to seeing you then, sir. What name shall I book the table under? ...Mr Alex Krycek. Thank you, sir. Good day." end... FEEDBACK: janesymons@hotmail.com

This contains graphic sex between two adult males (Mulder and Krycek). If you're under 17, don't read this or you may spontaneously combust. All X-Files Characters belong to Ten-Thirteen, Chris Carter and 20th Century Fox and are used without permission. back to top

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