The soft light from my fish tank is just enough to illuminate the disarray of my
desk. Actually, it's not disarray. My papers are neatly stacked, almost
organized—not how I left them.
That's what tells me someone's been here.
He's back—I know it. Krycek and his games... my games. I draw my weapon and
search the apartment. No sign of him.
Returning to the living room, I sit on my couch. Head down, weapon dangling
between my legs.
This game we play... enticing, violent. I beat him, he takes it. Sometimes with
a smile that makes me...
I slowly sit back and stare at the dimly lit ceiling, the weight of my weapon
against my growing erection.
Unspoken knowledge shared between us. The first time, drug addled, ready to kill
him—to seek revenge for my father—stopped just in time by a bullet from
Scully. The periodic ache a reminder...
Hong Kong, his heat, his blood. "Just do it, Mulder," he said, knowing what I
wanted.
That night at the warehouse in Queens, stopped again by Scully. What would have
happened if she weren't there? If she saw my hard-on?
Tunguska, that cold, dank cell, with him telling me never to touch him again...
all a game. His words a taunt, a challenge. He knows what I really want, what he
can—will—give me. If I succumb.
My dick is now fully erect, throbbing with the need for release. I reach up to
touch my cheek. His quick, gentle kiss. All the more intriguing when juxtaposed
with the violence I felt... feel. I close my eyes, remembering. I wanted him to
hit me, not kiss me. I wanted a way to strike back, feel my fists connect with
him.
"No. Not this time. No more," I hear myself say... knowing I don't—can't—mean
it.
I lean against the brick wall. My leather jacket protecting me from the cold as
I wait for Mulder to show.
Will tonight be the night? Will he finally break down? For years he's wanted
me... but he cloaks it in righteousness. The white hat beating up the black hat,
for the good of mankind.
But what does this say about me? Never fighting back, letting him pummel me
until I feel his dick, hard against me. Watching his face as passion and lust
war with self-hatred and guilt. Why do I-
My reverie is broken by a sound in the alley. My turn to lay in wait.
I wince when I hear myself step on broken glass. Shit!
Senses heightened, I look around, straining to see, to hear him. Maybe he's not
here.
I continue cautiously down the alley. Coming to the edge of the building, I
ready myself for the turn. A quick step out, weapon ready, reveals-
A sudden hit to my knees and I'm down, gun flying from my hand. Krycek scrambles
on top of me, arm against my throat.
"Full circle, Mulder... where it all started," he says, voice low, menacing.
A flash of memory... Krycek, on his back, my gun to his head. With a rush of
adrenaline, of testosterone, I begin to struggle. The pressure against my neck
cuts off my breathing, but it's not enough stop me. I pry at his arm.
His eyes widen and he continues pressing down on me, a feral smile coming to his
face. "Not what you expected? Does it take the fun away?"
I start gasping, losing my grip as dots swim before my eyes. Just as sudden as
he attacked, he stops.
"This what you want, Mulder?"
I gulp deep breaths and swing at him. My fist connects with his jaw and his head
snaps back. Krycek rolls off and onto his feet—catlike, graceful. He kicks my
side, and I hear myself grunt as I curl into a ball, protecting myself.
He kicks again, then kneels down and grabs me by my hair. Pulling my head up, he
looks into my eyes. "What's the problem, Mulder? A fair fight for a change? Not
used to me fighting back?"
I respond by knocking him over. Scrabbling on top of him, I start punching,
hitting his side, arms, anything I can get to. Krycek headbutts me and I see
stars, but never stop swinging.
His knee to my balls finally stops me. I roll off him, my hands cupping my nuts.
My forearm pressing against my hard-on.
"Hurt, Mulder?" I ask, hearing my own voice, ragged and breathy.
A muffled grunt answers my question. Damn, it shouldn't have taken a kick in the
balls to subdue him. I must be losing it.
I move so I'm facing him, but just out of his reach. No telling what he's liable
to do, regardless of how hurt he is.
"What do you want, you rat-bastard?" His words, a harsh whisper through gritted
teeth.
Good question, Mulder. What do I want? Why have I been playing this game with
him? I don't really know, but it's somehow vital that I play... and win.
I risk moving closer to him. "The same thing you do." I watch his eyes,
glittering hate and... something more. "You know what you want, Mulder. I want
to hear you say it."
"Fuck you."
"Well, that's a start. But don't you want to get fucked more?"
My words trigger his rage and he launches himself at me.
My fingers brush Krycek's jacket, but fall short of purchase. He kicks out and
connects with my groin.
White-hot pain rockets through me, hurting enough to make me want to vomit. All
my focus is on my balls, intense pain shocking me to stillness.
I hear myself groan and feel him roll me onto my back. I automatically pull up
my knees. I feel his hands on my chest, but it's remote, as if in the distance.
He's speaking, but I can't make it out.
He moves something close to my head, and with my next breath, he's gone.
I stop before exiting the alleyway and turn to look at Mulder. In the dim light
I can see his outline, moving... like a sick child rocking away the pain.
Standing in the shadows, I continue to watch him. He struggles to rise, groans
accompanying every move. When he finally gets to his hands and knees, he drops
his head and I hear him retch.
Turning away, I walk out of the alley.
He'll find the note... and when he's ready, he'll call.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Lifting my head, I look for Krycek.
Gone or hiding? I don't give a damn right now.
Looking down, I see my gun. He must have moved it close to me. Damn, wish I had
seen it earlier.
Slowly, I stand up, weapon in hand, and walk back to my apartment.
March 11, 6:00 A.M.
I awaken with a dull ache between my legs. Still dressed from last night, I make
my way into the bathroom.
After a close inspection, I tell myself I'm okay—not even bruised. My typical
morning erection not in the least bit inhibited by any injury.
I strip and step into the shower. The water pounds down on me as I relive the
events of last night.
Gingerly, I begin to wash myself as images play though my mind. His weight
pressed against me. My soapy hand moves to my erection, and I begin stroking.
His heat, his scent... remembering... Krycek hitting me, me hitting back. I jerk
off faster... His arm at my throat, cutting off my air supply... I roar out my
orgasm, falling back against the tiles.
Shit, what did I just do?
The bruise on my jaw is barely noticeable. The one good shot Mulder gave me. I
touch it gently, lovingly.
He's so close... I'm so close.
I shake my head, wondering why I'm doing this. It's not just wanting his barely
contained lust to break though.
There's something else... something more... something I need.
March 29, 1:15 P.M.
I throw another pair of jeans into the overflowing laundry basket—I really need
to do laundry more than once a month.
Moving to another pile of clothes on the floor, I pick up a shirt. The shirt I
wore the last time I saw // got nailed by // Krycek.
I crush the fabric and hear a faint crackle. I reach into the shirt pocket and
pull out a piece of paper.
"When you're ready for it. 919-555-1492"
"You fucker," I hear myself say as I smooth the paper and place it in my wallet.
March 31, 10:00 A.M.
I pick up the phone on the first ring. "Mulder."
"It's Danny. That phone number you asked me to check doesn't exist."
Why am I not surprised? "You mean there's no listing?"
"No, I mean it's never been in service."
"Thanks, Danny." I hang up and pull out the note, lightly running my finger
across the numbers.
April 17, 10:00 A.M.
"Mulder, are you there?" Scully's hand waving before my eyes.
"Yeah, I'm... I've been distracted."
A look of concern crosses her face. "You've been like this for a few weeks now.
Do you want to talk about it?"
"No. At least, not yet." Yet? Ever. How would I begin to tell her... 'Scully,
it's like this... I beat off constantly to a fantasy of fighting with Krycek
until he hurts me.' // Fucks me. //
I give her a smile that I hope isn't as bleak as I feel.
"Well, just let me know," she says with a look that conveys worry.
The phone rings, saving me from my own thoughts.
April 17, 9:15 P.M.
I pull the note out of my wallet. I've handled it so much, the paper's gone
soft, kind of fuzzy. Why have I kept it? I memorized the number long ago.
This plays out every night. I look at the number and start dialing, stopping
before I reach the last digit. Following the aborted call, I dream... fantasize
about that night. About where I really wanted it to go, and moments after that,
wipe cum off my hands.
No degree of introspection gives me reasons for this... this perversity.
I have enjoyed rough sex, but never violence... at least I didn't think I did.
I've tried to imagine this degree of violence with someone other than Krycek.
But it does nothing for me. I've even imagined less violence with Krycek, not
bad, but not what I want.
I can no longer deny how long I've desired him... this. The desire that evolved
from my wanting to beat the shit out of him and jacking off on his unconscious
body to...
What is it that I see in him? What part of me does he represent? And will
getting beaten, fucked by him absolve me of my guilt?
Rubbing my fingers on the note, I pick up the phone... knowing what I will //
must // do next.
April 17, 9:38 P.M.
The ringing phone disturbs the quiet of the room. I pick up, but say nothing.
A heartbeat passes, then another until finally, "Krycek, it's me."
"I know," I reply. Of course I know. Only Mulder has this number.
More silence.
"Say something, you rat-bastard." Mulder's usual monotone is tinged with anger
and impatience.
"Are you sure you're ready, Mulder?"
"Let's finish this, Krycek."
Finish? Does he think there's an end to this? "A week from tonight, 10:00 P.M.,
Arlington." I give him the address of an abandoned building and hang up, knowing
he'll be there.
I sit back, wondering what I've just put into motion.
I gently cradle the receiver long after Krycek disconnected. 'Are you sure
you're ready?' he asked. No, I'm not ready... I will never be ready. But this
can't continue.
Dropping my head in my hands, I replay events, relive feelings...
My thoughts turn dark, violent... imaginings of what will happen in a week, of
what I will do to him... // of what I'll let him do to me. //
Will it be hand-to-hand combat? Or will I just shoot him? Will his death relieve
me? Am I seeking my own annihilation?
April 24, 6:30 P.M.
"Mulder?" Scully's voice pulls me away from my monitor. "I'm leaving soon. Do
you want to get dinner?"
She's been worried about me, with good cause. I know I haven't been acting like
myself. Her attempts to draw me out are touching.
"No, Scully. I've got... uhh, some expense reports to finish."
Her raised eyebrow lets me know she doesn't buy it for a minute.
April 24, 9:48 P.M.
The knob turns under my hand, no need for the picklocks I brought. The door
swings open soundlessly, and I step into a foyer. He must have oiled the
hinges... but why? He's purposely allowing me silent entry.
I wouldn't have thought Krycek would make this easy. I would rely on the sounds
of break-in to give me an advantage. So he's either a better man than I am, or
he's watching from some vantage point... he must be watching me.
"Krycek." I call out drawing my weapon and looking into the darkness. Nothing,
not even an echo. I am ten minutes early... but again, I would have thought that
Krycek would be here, ready.
Taking a step forward, hearing the floorboards squeak underfoot, I make my way
into the darkness.
Suddenly a click, and light blazes in my eyes. I bring my hand up, momentarily
blinded. Behind the light source, a voice... his voice.
"Drop the gun, Mulder."
I don't move until I hear the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.
Blinking, I crouch down and place my weapon on the floor.
"Push it away, and lose anything else you're carrying." The voice moved... no
longer behind the light. I pull out a small revolver from my ankle holster and
fire two shots at the voice.
The light goes out. My vision, reduced to white dots against a pitch background.
I wait for retaliation, or the sound of injury. Did I hit him?
Moments pass, no sound, no light... nothing. When I'm acclimated to the dark, I
look around. Shapes in the shadows, all frozen—inanimate.
"Krycek?" I hear the desperateness in my own voice. "Where the fuck are you?" I
step back, floorboards squeaking in response. I wait again, until I realize I'm
alone.
April 25, 1:25 A.M.
Entering my own apartment cautiously, I look through each room before making my
way back to the couch. I sit down, thoroughly tired, and pick up the phone,
dialing a number that's burned into my mind.
"The number you have dialed is not in service. Please hang—" Pulling the phone
away from my ear, I let the mechanical voice drone on, until I disconnect by
throwing the phone across the room. I drop my head back, staring at the ceiling.
I've been assuming this posture much too often of late.
I spent an hour searching the building—what a waste of time. I knew I wouldn't
find any sign of Krycek.
No footprints in the dust, no other sign of disturbance. All that was left was a
remote control device for the high-powered lamp.
How long did I drive around? I parked in front of Scully's for a long time, but
knew I wouldn't ring her doorbell.
Sitting forward, elbows on my knees, face in my hands, I begin to wonder. What
the hell happened? Was I so spooked I had to fire? Was it knowing he had the
advantage?
I'm filled with a sense of loss // of longing. // I don't know what was going to
happen tonight, but whatever it was, I blew it. How long will it be until I find
closure to the insanity of Krycek?
Sighing, I lift my head and see an envelope taped to the front of my television.
I almost stumble trying to get to it.
It's a plain white envelope with 'Mulder' printed in neat block letters. I open
it and pull out a single sheet of paper.
"I guess you weren't ready yet. But I'm willing to give you a chance. That's
more than you ever gave me.
No games, no guns, just you and me. 703-555-1957"
I observe Mulder reading my note. It amazes me... Mulder, paranoia incarnate,
doesn't even close his drapes.
My telescope is trained on his face and I watch emotions play over his
countenance. From despair to eye-widening rage to... relief.
He folds the sheet carefully and tucks it into a pocket. Picking up his phone,
he returns to the couch.
I watch as he stares at his phone, watch his abortive attempts at dialing. His
disgust with himself as he puts the phone down on the table.
He's a man at war with himself... and it's beautiful. The way his eyes narrow,
in pain, fear... lust.
I am burned into his soul, and he is burned in mine.
Fuck. Krycek's 'giving me a chance.' A chance for what? I want so much to call
the number and tell him to just fuck off, that it's over... What's over?
Is not knowing what would have happened worse than my violent fantasies? As if
triggered by that thought, my mind goes into overdrive.
I'm in the building, blinded. But instead of firing into empty space, he kicks
the gun out of my hand. We grapple with each other, my fist connecting, hearing
him grunt in pain.
I reach down and open my pants, my erection pushes out. I spit into my hand, and
rub the slickness on my shaft. Shuddering at my own ministrations, I let my
fevered thoughts take over.
Fantasy merges with reality as I see his face, bloodied, in pain—his body bent
double from my blow to his abdomen. All fantasy now, ripping his clothes off and
forcing him down... seeing my bare fists connect with his body, sweat and blood
mixing together on his face. 'Just do it, Mulder.'
In the distance, I hear my phone ring... let it ring. The answering machine
picks up, the voice tinny and remote, but distinctive. "Thinking of me, Mulder?
Imagine it, your cock, mine... your mouth..." Krycek's baritone, edgy, breathy.
"Yeah, think of me. Come for me." A click... the tape stops.
I'm too far gone to stop... the images blur and change. A gun to my head, his
cock tearing into me. I pump faster—to the cadence of an imaginary Krycek
fucking me. I hear my own voice, calling to him... cursing him... begging him.
I cry out in a rush of breath and semen. Then I just cry.
Mulder mouths my name when he comes and my own orgasm rips from me when I see
him crumble.
As my breathing steadies, I peer into the telescope again. He's lying on his
side, curled up, anguish painted on his face with thick brushstrokes.
Moments pass while I watch Mulder's shoulders heave... heavy sobs, cries to
heaven. He finally composes himself and sits up. He wipes his hand on his pants
and rises.
His movements are slow and methodical as he makes his way to his answering
machine. He lifts the cassette out and twists it. The plastic shatters and I
watch him slowly pull out the tape.
May 14, 3:25 P.M.
"... Mulder, have you heard a word I'm saying?" Scully's raised voice catches my
attention
I blink at her, realizing I zoned out. // Again. // "I, uh... I'm sorry, Scully.
I've been—" "Preoccupied, I know." Her voice softens with concern. "Mulder,
I've never seen you like this... I'm getting worried. You've lost weight. It
doesn't look like you've slept in days. You walk around like an automaton." She
places her hand on my shoulder. Her touch, so gentle, so different from... No,
stop thinking that.
I put my hand over hers and give it a squeeze. "I know you're concerned, but
I'm..." What I am is at a loss for words... there is no way I could confide in
her about this. "I'm having... personal problems."
Her eyes widen in surprise. I can't blame her; I don't have a personal life. She
slowly nods, and takes a deep breath. "I respect your privacy, but this is
getting out of hand. Whatever's happening is destroying you. Maybe you're too
close to the situation to see that. You need help, Mulder. If you can't talk to
me, please see someone... soon."
"Scully, if I thought that therapy or medication could..." I stop, closing my
eyes and shaking my head. "But it's not... Damn, I can't explain this." I open
my eyes and look deeply into hers. "Just let me handle it for a while more. Give
me a week, okay?"
She looks at me apprehensively. "A week? And if there's no change, you'll... get
help?"
I smile at her, knowing she's fighting the urge to immediately check me into
some hospital for a full neuro/psych workup. "If I can't do this on my own, I'll
get help, I promise."
May 14, 9:40 P.M.
'You can do this,' I tell myself. My promise to Scully sets my resolve and I
dial the number he gave me.
Two rings and the line is picked up. As usual, no acknowledgement.
"It's me." Is that quaking voice mine?
"This better be real, Mulder. I don't have the time to waste on games." His
voice is cool, neutral. A traffic report is more animated.
For some reason, I feel better than I have in days. "It's real, your rules. No
guns, no games." I bite my tongue before I say 'Let's get it on.'
"Half an hour. 1013 Oswald, the back door's open." A click... he's gone.
May 14, 10:00 P.M.
I sit in the dark, waiting for Mulder. Just a few minutes to go.
What will I do if he doesn't show? Will I let this go? Can I?
I thought that watching him crumble—knowing I made him crumble—would be enough
for me. And, on some level, it was enough, but...
The game has changed. So subtly, I no longer know what the rules are... or
what's at stake.
All I know is I must play, but I'm not as sure about winning.
May 14, 10:07 P.M.
I step out of my car and take a good look at the house. Thanks to the moonlight
and a streetlamp, I can make out a single-family dwelling, a little run down,
empty looking, but well tended. The houses on either side seem to be vacant,
'For Sale' signs on the overgrown lawns.
While making my way to the back of the house, the sense of calm I felt earlier
is replaced with anticipation. An excitement that borders on fear and relief...
Or is it release?
The back door is ajar. I take a deep breath and step into the kitchen. Flipping
the light switch does nothing. Not that I expected it to.
Stopping in the middle of the kitchen, I look around. No kitchen table, bare
counters. No signs of occupancy
"Mulder."
I turn to the direction of the voice. It's coming from down a hallway. I stand
there, and as if to signal me, a dim light comes on in one of the rooms.
"I'm waiting, Mulder." There's no impatience in his voice, but it spurs me into
motion and I find myself in the doorway.
Between moonlight shining through a window and the table lamp on the floor, I'm
provided enough light to take in the surroundings.
The room is empty, save for the lamp and Krycek. He's leaning against the far
wall, wearing only gym shorts. I focus on his left arm, truncated at mid-biceps.
'I can beat you with one hand' he said once... now I know what he meant.
I don't know if it's his near-nakedness, or the realization that my T-shirt and
jeans restrict my movement, but I strip down to my boxers. I'm covered with a
mild sweat. Good, I'll be slippery, harder to hold on to... but then, so will
he.
Knowing I need to keep him off balance, I charge at him, but he dodges me
easily.
"What's the rush? You've waited this long," he says with a lilt that brings my
rage rushing up.
My feet are knocked out from under me and I land on my back. My head bounces off
the hardwood floor with a resounding thunk.
Despite the pain, I roll to my feet and see Krycek hunkered down in the corner
of the room.
Moments pass with our eyes locked on each other, neither of us moving, speaking.
I use the time to compose myself. I know if I let my rage get the better of me,
he'll win.
Slowly, Krycek stands up, his gaze never wavering. "Are we going to stand here
and stare at each other?" he asks in a voice that seems genuinely interested,
not taunting.
"Why me, Krycek?" I'm startled at my own question. Do I want to know?
He shrugs then cocks his head to one side. "Because of who you are. What we
are."
"And what are we?"
A brief smile comes to his lips. "We're one man, Mulder. Just different sides of
the same coi-"
I launch myself at him... he's fucking wrong!
Mulder's fast, but I'm ready. I duck under his swing and slam into his chest,
knocking him off balance. He hits the floor with me on top.
Scrambling, I sit on his chest, my knees pining his arms. He bucks, trying to
throw me off. I rise up, settling my weight on his arms.
Slowly, he stops struggling, but I feel his tension, a hair's-breadth from the
surface.
"Not only are you a traitor and an assassin, you're insane. I am nothing like
you. I will never be like you," he hisses at me though clenched teeth.
Is his denial that powerful? "Then why are you so hell-bent to be here?" I ask.
"What are you trying to defeat? Why do I... does this, never leave your mind?"
I lean over him. "Ahh, Mulder, I am what you desire and..." His eyes bore into
me. I say the words we both know, "I am what you despise about yourself."
A pained look crosses his face just as he closes his eyes. Turning his head away
from me, his body sags... in defeat.
Krycek's words, his damnable truth, sink in. He's right.
I have wanted to be like him... to have the courage, the ingenuity, to avenge,
to retaliate. Instead, I hide behind the guise of being moral and ethical.
Knowing I have baser desires, but holding myself above them.
But how many times have I broken the law to justify my actions? How many times
have I backed down because of my belief in... in justice? How many times has
this so-called justice failed me?
Baser desires... My rage at Krycek for assassinating my father. I hated my
father, and I despise myself for never having the balls to confront him, to hurt
him like he hurt Samantha... // like he hurt me. //
I realize that I hated Krycek not because he pulled the trigger, but because I
didn't. Any opportunity I had to punish my father, to make him suffer, was
forever taken from me.
For the first time, I allow myself to admit that I want to do what he does... to
move in circles that allow me to defeat the enemy without compunction, to expose
the truth.
I covet him... I have always.
I get off Mulder's chest and move away. His face... eyes squeezed shut, jaw
muscles clenched so tight I can see the cords in the dim light. He's the picture
of anguish, of despair, of passion at its most beautiful.
Yes, Mulder, we are different sides of the same coin. And we need to possess
each other to be whole.
I am ready...
My eyes fly open when I realize that Krycek's no longer on me. I sit up to find
him kneeling a few feet away.
I throw myself at him, swinging wildly. I'm caught in a tactile rush. The feel
of my fists connecting with his body, the satisfying whoosh of his breath being
knocked out. "Table's turned," I rasp out as I roll on top of him.
Over and over, the thud of my fists striking him, his grunting response to my
blows. I realize he's not defending himself. "Hit back, you fucker." My face
inches from his.
He licks the blood in the corner of his mouth. "Not what you want," he replies,
throwing his arm around the back of my head and pulling me down.
A metallic tang fills my mouth as his lips, bruised and bloodied, press against
mine.
My lust, so long denied, responds instinctively. I grind against him, feeling my
erection rub against his.
A low moan escapes me as his hand moves down, cupping my ass. He reaches between
us and strokes my cock. I throw my head back, shuddering at the sensation.
He strokes me slowly, stopping to squeeze, then returns to stroking. My head
falls forward, arms straining to support my weight when he stops.
I watch as he brings his hand to his mouth, wiping blood and spit into his palm.
His hand disappears between us and he begins pumping me hard and fast. Pre-cum,
blood and spit make it slick and smooth.
"This is what it's about, Mulder," he mutters, his lips barely touching mine.
"My absolution in blood." His kiss, quick, just a taste.
"Yes, yes..." I repeat mindlessly as he grips me harder.
"And yours? What's your penance?"
"Fuck me!" I cry out before I can think.
Of course, Mulder. There's never been a choice. I let you beat me, I bleed for
you. You let me fuck you, you come for me. And with that, we become one. Equals,
not rivals. The best and worst of ourselves.
As I let go of his cock, he groans, "No," but nods and rolls off me.
I pull off my shorts and stand. Mulder, face filled with hunger, strips and
crawls to me. He takes my cock into his mouth and wraps his arms around my hips.
The sensation of his wet mouth...
Krycek's hand grips my hair, pulling it, pain and pleasure mixed. He holds my
head steady and pushes deeper into my mouth. I can't breathe around him, but I
don't care. He pulls out of me and I gulp air.
"Turn around." Krycek's voice is raw, guttural. A primal command.
I'm on all fours, feeling Krycek behind me. He thrusts and I feel him tearing
into me. I cry out at the intense pain, but, against all reason, lean back,
pushing him deeper into me.
When his cock is completely buried in my ass, Krycek rests on my back, forcing
me to support his weight and mine. His hand reaches around and grips my dick.
He starts stroking me, hard and fast. His fucking, a counterpoint of short,
quick thrusts sends me over. I'm nothing but a mass of sensation, no thought, no
logic. I drop my head, murmuring at first, then crying out, "Take me away, take
it all away. Take me, fuck me."
A roar fills my brain, and I explode... shouting out his name.
Mulder's ass clenches around me. I feel his cum jetting over my hand. Blood,
sweat and semen, cleansing us both.
He screams out my name... and my own orgasm rocks me.
Take me, Mulder.
I collapse under Krycek's weight and my own exhaustion. I am weak and
vulnerable, but it doesn't matter... I am whole.
Krycek rolls off me, and I breathe easier. I sense, rather than hear, him moving
in the room. I open my eyes and see him clothed, walking to the doorway.
"Aren't you going to kill me?" I ask, realizing that's what I would do to him...
that it's what I want him to do for me.
He turns to look at me, gives me a sad smile then slowly shakes his head. "No,"
he says quietly.
And with that, he's gone.
May 15, 7:15 A.M.
Draping my jacket over my chair I spot an envelope propped up on my keyboard.
'Agent Fox Mulder, Personal and Confidential' written in his neat, familiar
hand. The envelope contains a single sheet of paper and a small plastic access
card with '2005' printed under the magnetic strip.
I unfold the page. Computer printed with a date, location and roster listed at
the top, a graphic of a floor plan beneath. Isn't technology wonderful? There
are handwritten notations in red. 'Morley' by one of the names, 'The Brit' next
to another. Arrows pointing to the access card reader and various exit routes.
My eye is drawn to the note on the bottom of the page. "They'll all be there,
with limited security. The last full meeting before the colonization."
I feel myself smile as I contemplate what to do with this information. My
options are much broader than they were just twenty-four hours ago.
My mind wanders... Should I share this with Scully, and do the FBI thing, hoping
that justice will prevail? Or do I go in alone and make sure of it?
The door opens and I bid a good morning to my partner.
Scully looks at me quizzically, a brief smile playing on her lips. "You sound
chipper this morning." She steps closer. "Looks like you got sleep last night."
Still smiling, I fold the page and put it in my shirt pocket... option selected.
"Yeah, I feel like a new man."
END
No feedback, no fiction.
Loren Q (loren.q@att.net)
Baser Desires
by Loren Q
March 10, 8:00 P.M.
Mulder's Apartment
Mulder's Apartment
FBI Headquarters
Basement Office
FBI Headquarters
Basement Office
Mulder's Apartment
Chapel Hill, NC
FBI Headquarters Basement Office
1207 Robert E. Lee Boulevard
Arlington, VA
Mulder's Apartment
FBI Headquarters
Basement Office
Mulder's Apartment
1013 Oswald Alexandria, VA
1013 Oswald Alexandria, VA
FBI Headquarters
Basement Office
1 September 2001
