Part VI
"Hey, Scully!"
"Mulder, you didn't have to come pick me up." It was impossible not to
smile back at him.
"What, and trust you to a DC airport limo? Someone might have mistaken
you for a White House intern and abducted you for a prolonged debriefing."
As he often did when he was glad to see her, he rested his hand in the
small of her back and matched his walk to hers.
"So how's your sister-in-law?"
She shook her head cheerfully. "She's fine; little Billy is fine; it's
Chris who's a wreck."
"Aha!" His returning grin held no sign of strain. "Mother Gives Birth,
But Father Feels Pangs. Face of Elvis (or is it Jesus?) Appears in
Spilled Formula."
"Opening a casefile already, Mulder?" God, it was good to see him like
this again, as if the darkness and agony of their past years had left
no mark on him. Last week she'd left a broken man alone with his worst
enemy despite her better judgment. And now look at him. "So what's this
I hear about VICAP and Omaha?"
"Yup," he said, and tipped an invisible hat to her. "We got the
Northside Mangler. Anderssen, Tors Anderssen. Got him clean. So if
you're planning to retire there, put on twenty pounds, and dye your
hair blonde, you'd no longer be at risk."
"Mulder, that's wonderful! Are you—I know profiling serial killers
can be pretty hard on you," she probed delicately.
"Well, this went pretty well for once. No shoot-out, no last-minute
victim, just a straightforward collar and solid evidence to back it up."
"How did you get onto him?"
"Those choke-chains. VICAP was looking for someone associated with dogs
or hardware stories, but I figured it was more a fascination with
hangings. So we hit the public library and got a list of people who'd
checked out books on executions..." He spotted her luggage before she
did, and scooped it off the carrell over her protests. Dear God, he was
actually whistling.
She had to ask. "Mulder, is he—Did you—"
He didn't pretent not to understand. "Gone since Monday. Took off when I
was out running—I thought he might—but I'm not worried. He left me a
note. Well, sort of a note."
She raised one eyebrow in query.
"He stacked all my Schwartzenegger movies on the couch. The way I look
at it, that means either he's left me for a European bodybuilder, or,
like Arnie says—"
Shaking her head, she couldn't stop herself from joining in: "'I'll be
baahck.'"
Mulder was still whistling when he let himself into his apartment that
evening, so he didn't even hear movement before the arm was around his
neck and a cold muzzle stirred the hairs at the base of his skull.
He knew who it had to be, even before he fully registered the inhuman
hardness of the forearm across his throat. A flood of emotions paralyzed
him—fear, lust, anger, relief, hope... He made himself relax and speak
casually. "Hi, honey, I'm home. I hope the Beaver's been a good boy."
He tried not to look too smug when he heard Alex snerk. But the plastic
arm and the steel gunbarrel didn't yield. "So, Mulder."
"So, Krycek."
"Second thoughts? Now that you've had a week of what passes for real
life, and time to think about it?" Alex's voice was smooth and faintly
mocking, and Mulder couldn't hear the faintest trace of real emotion in
it.
Fuck! What if the man had come to his senses and was laughing at him?
What if the whole thing had been a horrible set-up? No, the hell with
it. Better to look like a fool than risk losing—losing—
"Alex, I'm hurt." He tried to match Krycek's tone. "You think I'm the
slam-bam-thank-you-ram kinda guy? Cuff and tell? No, I haven't changed
my mind. Have you? I'd have gotten you a card, but Hallmark doesn't
seem to have the right category."
"Mmm." Krycek sounded thoughtful. "Would that be a variant of Get Well?
Love you like/Stars, sun and moon;/Hope those bruises/Fade real soon?"
"You know, Alex, might be some money in that. Belated Birthday Beatings;
So Glad to Hear You're in Bondage; Missing You (Because I'm Still
Learning to Use This Whip)."
"Happy Birthday, Bottom. You're Invited to a Golden Shower. Thank You
for Coming."
"You got it. So, could you either let go of me or put on some waltz
music?"
"I don't think so, Mulder." The regret in Krycek's voice chilled him,
until the younger man spoke again. "Don't worry, I wouldn't shoot you
at this range; this jacket's a bitch to clean. And I'm not selling you
to the Samoans or my secret cadre of deaf albino Basque separatists. I
just want us to talk elsewhere, and I don't feel like arguing. So let's
ditch your guns and cellphone, shall we?"
Suppressing his first impulses towards violence, Mulder decided to
comply. "So you're the one with second thoughts?"
"Maybe. But not the kind you're thinking. Okay, let's see... Handcuff
yourself—no, in front—and hand me the key. Careful! Good."
Not serious restraint, then, or he'd have my arms cuffed behind me.
Baffled, feeling both anger and affection twisting in him, Mulder went
where Krycek directed: to the elevator, down to the basement, past the
cramped laundry room and through an unmarked door beyond it that Krycek
unlocked without effort.
The water heater; water-softener units; fuses. A faint smell of mold
and dust, and a trace of cobwebs in the corners.
Krycek closed the door behind them, placed his gloved right hand on
Mulder's chest, and pushed him sharply back against the wall. "Stay
there."
"Krycek, what the fuck is this about?"
"Mulder, I meant what I said last week. All of it. But we need to get a
few things straight." Pacing, Krycek still watched him with a predator's
eye.
"Like what?" God, the traitor's abrasive tone was getting to him, as it
always had.
"Ownership, for one. Which is mutual, or it's nothing. You nearly killed
me for cutting myself, you know that? Fucking stupid solution, isn't
it."
"And cutting yourself isn't, asshole?"
Krycek leaned back against the closed door, but Mulder could see the
vibrating tension behind his casual mask and hear the iron control in
his voice. "You nearly killed me. And you know, I couldn't tell whether
that was because you l-loved me and didn't want me to be hurt, or
because you felt like you owned me and I'd fucked up your property.
Well, guess what, Mulder? You don't own a fucking thing that I don't
give you. I'm not your slave. I'm not your dog. Either I'm your lover,
or I'm out of here."
"So what do you want, Krycek?"
"I told you that, remember? I want everything. And that includes the
pain. But it's not something you take; it's something I give you. And
something you give me. If there's ownership, we own each other. Mutual
or nothing. No, you're fucking right I don't want to hurt you, and you
know that sometimes I want you to h-hurt me. But I'm not your property."
"Fuck, Krycek! Did I treat you like it? I—I... Oh, hell, maybe you're
right. Maybe that was part of it. That old testosterone crap, wanting
to claim my territory and roar. But mostly it was because I couldn't
stand to see you hurt."
Mulder heard his own words even before Alex snorted. "Damn it, Krycek,
you know what I mean. I—When you want pain and I give it to you,
that's a bond, you know? A—a sharing, an act of love. But to cut
yourself like that, that's just self-hatred, and I'm damned if I'm
going to let you do that."
Krycek was still shaking his head, his teeth just showing in a
half-bared grin. "Yeah, Mulder, I know what you mean. But I dare you
to explain it to anyone else."
"As if I'd want to. Okay, so what else?"
"Well, for another thing, this," and Mulder hadn't even seen him moving
up, but suddenly he was almost too close, close enough that Mulder could
smell the leather and musk, the faint beer-and-smoke scent of a bar
lingering stale from another night, the slightest tang of gun oil and
the smell of Alex under it all. So close that Mulder could feel Alex's
heat against his skin, the warmth of his breath as those lips found him
and came home. Ah, God, the feel of him, the unbearable rightness of
their mouths together...
Krycek pulled away with obvious reluctance, and Mulder forced himself
not to stop him. "Mulder—" the voice was gentle, strangely sad, and he
felt the chill of fear again.
"Mulder, look around. Did Scully tell you about seeing me here?"
"What?"
"No, you probably weren't very coherent. Scully saw me deliver an
altered water-softener unit, back when... after you had gone crazy in
the hall and attacked Skinner. After your father's death."
Something coiled cold and sick in Mulder's belly. "She did tell me. She
said I'd been drugged."
"That's right." Krycek spoke with the distant kindness of a surgeon
with bad news. "I saw the report afterwards too. It didn't just affect
you; one of your neighbors shot her husband, another tried to kill
himself..."
"Why?" The word hurt his throat. "Why did you do it?"
"That's what we have to get straight. You see, Mulder, I'm not going to
justify myself to you. Not ever. Not for that, not for your father's
death or Scully's abduction or any of the other things you've hated me
for. There's no point in my giving you reasons. I did those things. I
did other things. Some of them turned out to be worse than useless;
others saved more people than you'll ever know.
"But that's who I am, Mulder. I'm the man who did all those things. And
you knew it when you hit me; you knew it when you raped me with a
knife-hilt. But I'm not sure you're remembering it very well any more."
"Oh, I remember it, you son of a bitch."
Krycek shook his head with something like pity. "Do you? You just
kissed the lips that betrayed your partner. I told them how dangerous
she was, how dangerous she made you, and they decided it was time to do
something about her."
"Damn it, Alex! Why are you doing this?"
Alex's eyes closed for a moment, as if he were very tired. "Because
you're going to remember it eventually. Because some time when my hand
touches you, you're going to remember that it pulled the trigger.
Because the last time we were together, you sucked the cock of your
father's killer. And if you hide from that truth, it'll destroy us."
"STOP IT!" Mulder's raw scream startled them both. "God damn you,
Krycek, do you really think I could forget? Do you think I didn't know
that? Yes, I want to know your reasons; yes, of course I wish you did
it all for something noble and heroic. Because I love you. But no
reason in the world could change the fact that you killed my father.
And I can't forget or forgive that. Ever.
"So I can either hate you or love you. We're stuck with each other.
"And God help me, I love you."
And then he was shaking too hard to talk, and Krycek bowed his head
briefly before reaching out that gloved hand to brush away his furious
tears. "I'm sorry, Mulder."
Mulder could only nod. Me too.
And then, seeing Alex's eyes still masked against the fear of loss, he
reached out slowly with his cuffed hands and spread them to frame the
half-healed face and bring it gently to his own. God, Alex, how could
you have betrayed Scully to them? And how can I betray her now by
loving you? But if he could not forgive, then what was this nameless
tenderness he gave him now, this need to put some kind of healing in
his kiss?
Alex made a small noise and pulled Mulder to him as he traded him kiss
for kiss, soft and light like rain falling. Mulder tried to hold him
tighter, but growled in frustration as the cuffs intervened. The younger
man shuddered at the sound and leaned into him, pinning him back against
the wall as his kisses deepened. One leg slid warm and solid between
Mulder's thighs, and he thought the lightning would burn him alive.
Finally Alex pulled away, and Mulder caught a ragged breath. "So,
Krycek, is that all? Can we go upstairs now and do something about
this?"
Krycek's eyes glittered under their long-lashed veil. "Mulder, I want
you to fuck me. I want you crammed all the way up my ass and pounding
so hard I can't find breath to scream."
Mulder felt his lips pull away from his bared teeth. "Yes. Let's do it."
He was so hard it hurt and he'd never done that but he'd figure it out
somehow and God upstairs was too far away and he wanted it right now—
"But—" Krycek added with a sidelong smile.
"But what, you fucking asshole!" Christ, was the man just playing with
him again?
"But there's one more thing."
"Then get it the fuck over with and let's GO, damn it!" He was going to
strangle Alex, he was sure of it. This was no time for playing games—
And that leather-gloved palm slid firehot down the line of his arousal.
"When you fuck me, I want you to know what you're doing to me."
"What?" God, were his hormones completely fogging his brain?
"When you're inside me. When you do me. I want you to know what it
feels like, so you know exactly how you're making me feel." And his
hand slid further down between Mulder's legs.
"Uh—" Mulder was sure his brain had shorted out.
"So I'm going to fuck you first. Now. Unless you stop me."
One part of Mulder flared into rage; was the traitor changing the terms
now, expecting Mulder to roll over and take it? But those eyes glittered
warm, not cold, and in them Mulder could see the hope and fear, the heat
and the desperate plea.
And knowing that he was indeed being offered a gift and not a vengeance,
Mulder chose consent. Raising his cuffed hands to rest behind his head,
he offered his undefended body, throat and belly and groin, to the man
who had betrayed him more than once and might again.
Those green eyes masked themselves in shock or something else, and
Mulder heard his breath catch.
And then that hand fisted itself on his belt buckle and pulled him in
for another kiss, body hot against body all down their near-matched
length. Stretched this way, Mulder could feel the hard metal at Krycek's
breast grinding against him, and the raised lines of the arm-straps
beneath his shirt. And below, welcome madness, the hidden shaft that
rubbed against his own and made him drunk with fire.
He could have stood there burning forever, lost in the frictioned
rightness of this embrace, but Krycek's hand moved to open his belt and
free him from his all-confining clothes.
He surrendered to the traitor's touch and closed his eyes, the better
to feel the brush of fabric against sensitized skin as Krycek stripped
him. Finally, the younger man unlocked one cuff so he could work the
sleeves free. A soft warmth moved against his freed wrist, and he opened
his eyes again to see those lips pull away and smile.
"Here, Mulder," and Krycek pulled his right glove off with his teeth
and wrapped it around Mulder's wrist before he closed the cuff again.
Then he peeled the other glove off the prosthetic and padded Mulder's
other wrist. "I'm leaving the cuffs on in case you want something to,
you know, struggle against, but despite all the kinky stories they can
be pretty hard on the wrists."
Mulder, remembering the terrible bruising of Krycek's wrist after the
night on Skinner's balcony, was grateful and surprised at the courtesy.
Krycek turned half away to strip, and Mulder saw that even after all
they had done the younger man was blushing faintly as he exposed
himself, fair and flawed together, to Mulder's view. Most of the
bruises had faded, shadows of purple and green staining the pale skin
as if an artist had done him in watercolors, highlighted with one small
curving gleam of gold.
And he was beautiful, so beautiful in form and movement that it hurt to
watch him but hurt more to look away.
Mulder had never cared about other men's looks before, never even
admired, much less ached as he did now. But O God the lines of him
were so clean and sharp, so right. The long, strong legs; the lean and
powerful torso; the arms whose imbalance seemed a fitting match for the
traitor's mind.
And then Mulder let himself look fully at the straining shaft that
speared out from Krycek's groin, dark and heavy with blood.
And sheer terror washed over him.
That's a man's dick, a dick, and he's going to shove that thing up
my ass and I'm going to just take it like any little faggot whore or
prison bitch and I'll never be able to call myself a real man again and
Jesus Christ that's big and it'll hurt like hell and why did I ever even
think about letting him do this my God this is Krycek traitor enemy
and he's getting back at me for that arm and he'll laugh at me while he
makes me take it up the ass Jesus I've got to get out of here fight back
stop him stop—
The face in front of him was moving, saying something, and he stared at
it without understanding as his eyes blurred and stung with sudden sweat
and his heart tried to crowd all air out of his lungs.
"...der, Mulder, can you hear me? It's all right, Mulder."
Words. Voice. Alex. What...?
"Mulder?"
Alex. Talk. "A...lex." God, he was shaking so hard—
"Mulder, it's all right."
The words were meaningless, just empty sounds. His hands hurt; he only
realized that they were cramped into claws against Alex's chest when
that pale right hand came up to raise them to the bared throat.
"It's all right, Mulder. See? I'm not going to hurt you. It's all
right." Alex's face was sheened with sweat but his voice stayed level
and calm. "You're in control here. Okay? You can kill me at any time,
but you don't need to because everything's all right." Under Mulder's
aching fingers, the still-bruised throat swallowed convulsively.
"Al-ex?"
"That's right. It's Alex. It's all right, Mulder."
All right. Mulder blinked the stinging sweat out of his eyes and tried
to focus. Alex. Alex Krycek. At his mercy, the neck vulnerable under
his hands. No threat.
Mulder made himself let go and leaned back against the rough cold
concrete before his knees could give way. Jesus!
Krycek stood unmoving and wide-eyed, and waited for him to sort himself
out.
A panic attack. I haven't had one of those since that hotel fire. And
for what? The sight of another guy's dick? Jesus, Mulder, get a grip.
You know he isn't going to do anything you don't let him. You know that
by now. And you've seen the damned thing before, idiot. You sucked it
off and even fucking swallowed and it sure didn't make you less of a
man. Hell, you threatened it with a knife, for God's sake, and he
didn't pass out like you almost did just now.
Look at him; he's terrified of you. Or for you. Say something!
"Sorry, Krycek," he managed to croak out. "Just realized I forgot to
pay my cable bill. Now, where were we?"
And by God the son of a bitch laughed. Laughed! Mulder found that he
could smile himself after all, and even breathe.
Alex visibly made himself relax, and ran his fingers through his own
hair. "Mulder... Do you really want to try this?"
Deep breath, Mulder. Okay, another one. There you go.
"Krycek, will it spoil my reputation as a world-famous stud if I admit
I'm scared shitless?"
A flash of white teeth in that boyish grin he'd always wanted to smash
or kiss away.
"Krycek—Alex—"
"Hush..." Alex laid one long fingertip on Mulder's lips. "Don't
distract yourself with words. Just feel."
And he leaned into him again. They had never touched this way, fully
bare; Mulder felt dizzy with the whole of Alex against him, soft and
hard together, the warm silk of his skin and the textures of his body
hair. Hesitantly, Mulder raised his cuffed arms and dropped them over
Alex's head and shoulders to bind them together, feeling the knobbed
perfection of his spine and the hollow of his back. He buried his face
where Alex's neck met his shoulder, inhaling deeply, trying to drown
his fear in the intoxicating scent of his lover's skin.
Krycek moved against him subtly and let his hand slide down Mulder's
hip and thigh, and Mulder felt his shrunken groin stir again. Then Alex
dipped his head and ran a warm, soft tongue flat across his nipples in
wide strokes that started a deep ache within him, like a hook catching
in his gut with a tug half pain, half pleasure, and he felt his penis
bloom and swell in the secret heat of Krycek's cupping hand.
Against his inner thigh the hard pressure of the other man's cock
burned red-hot and he knew himself marked for life, branded with this
touch.
Shaking, he waited for a sudden move, a nip or squeeze that would give
some punctuation to this slow torment. But Alex's inexorable tongue
continued its gentle strokes and the hand on him moved soft and slow,
the palm drifting warm down his length. The long fingers never even
touched his skin, only brushing the hair of his testes like moving air.
The hook in his gut twisted, wanting more and now. Tightening his arms
around his captive lover, Mulder bent his head to kiss his hair and tug
one dark strand between his teeth, hoping the sting would drive Krycek
to action.
But the younger man only hummed and licked him again, the vibration
maddening against his aching nipples. Then Krycek's mouth pulled away
and he twisted in Mulder's arms to grin up at him, his lips wet and his
long-lashed eyes gleaming bright and wicked. With lithe grace, he slid
downward along Mulder's protesting body like water pouring through
fingers and knelt at his feet.
Now, oh now please—
But Krycek's open mouth came no closer than to breathe warm air over
his burning cock.
"Damn it, Krycek!"
A chuckle.
And then the velvet heat of that wet mouth at last, sliding down his
aching flesh and taking him in, until he was fully sheathed in Alex's
throat. Around his shaft and head, he felt the muscles shift gloriously
to swallow and seat him into position.
And no more.
Frictionless, unmoving, the fire held him and would not give him relief.
Teeth grinding, he snapped his hips and tried to rub himself against
that infuriating mouth, but Alex rode the movement and refused to yield.
Only a quiet chuckle shivered against him and stopped.
Mulder dug his cuffed hands into Krycek's hair and tried to force him
to move, but Alex would not give.
Finally, almost sobbing in frustration, Mulder surrendered, letting his
hands rest soft on the dark hair like a benediction as he yielded to
the waiting. In reward, he felt the tongue move minutely against his
length, its subtle friction a promise, a kiss.
Then Alex ran his hand up Mulder's belly and chest, brushing smoothly
over one nipple and along his throat to come to rest on his lips. He
could smell himself on those long fingers, a rich musk both like and
unlike his lover's, and without conscious thought he opened his lips
and the fingers slipped in.
Sweat-salted, they tasted of sex and hidden pleasures and he claimed
them with lips and teeth and greedy tongue, sucking and biting as he
wanted Alex to do. And the fingers stroked the inside of his mouth in
a lingering caress and slipped free.
And as silent laughter moved against his cock, he felt the wet finger
slide up the crack of his ass and touch him there.
Convulsing, he hit his head against the wall behind him, but not even
that jarring pain could blot out the feel of that touch.
It was wrong, it was maddeningly wrong and alien and not sexual at all,
like being tickled or poked in the armpit, and yet the sheer wrongness
of it almost made him come. Just the feel of that fingertip resting
against his anus shot fire through him and he was burning and cold with
sudden sweat.
When had he closed his eyes? But he hid in panic in the darkness
behind his eyelids and fought to make it stop, to brace himself and
feel nothing as the finger touched him and began to move in slow
circles on his skin.
He couldn't stop feeling it. Even that delicate motion cramped his gut
with lust and terror, and he could have sworn he felt Krycek's heartbeat
through the flesh that held his cock in unbearable stillness.
And then the tongue moved fractionally on him again, and even as he
cried out the finger slipped inside him. Just the tip, but the invasion
burned with rough fire and his body tried desperately to expel the
intruder. For a merciful second, the finger held still, but then it
began to touch him inside, using every cramp and spasm to slide deeper
and move against him, opening him to its touch.
O God stop it! Stop it I can't—I can't—O God this is too much I
can't survive this stop no Jesus no I can't please make it STOP—
A slow friction along his cock at last, tongue and throat caressing
him as a second finger forced him open and split him wide. O God, the
burning agony of the invasion, and yet the mouth moved on him, the
doubled hook in his gut twisting as he screamed with inseparable
pleasure and pain.
If his muscles had been his own, he would have beaten Alex around the
head with his clenched fists, killing them both if he had to to make
this stop. But all his body was weak and shaking, all his strength gone
to the muscles that fought to drive the invader out, and in the mindless
fire that drove him into Krycek's mouth.
He was sobbing openly now, unable to control himself as the fingers
probed him in unspeakable intimacy and the mouth on his cock soothed
and maddened him beyond bearing.
Pinioned between heaven and hell, he convulsed helplessly in painful
pleasure and wanted most desperately to be dead; anything to make this
stop, to free him from this battering flood of sensation that drowned
and choked him with fire.
But there was no escape, no hope of rescue, until his racked and
spasming body could take no more and slammed all its rejection into
Krycek's throat, screaming and coming and coming until the explosions
drove all else away in the blinding flare of release and he could let
himself fall into the welcome darkness beyond.
The room was cold, but a warm body held him close and he was wrapped in
something that smelled like leather.
"Mulder, you wuss," the voice was quietly affectionate. "You're not
supposed to faint until I bring out the studded zucchini."
"i didn't faint, i swooned in your arms," Mulder managed to whisper
past a throat that felt like torn parchment.
"Arm," Alex corrected him. "Well, you're not supposed to do that
until I sweep you off your feet and ask for your hand in marriage."
"on your knees, with a ring"
"Um. Well, yes..."
"you did that"
"Oh."
"i do," whispered Mulder decisively and settled back against him.
Hilt
by Nonie Rider
The Pommel, or Butt-End
Scully saw Mulder waiting at the gate as she disembarked, and was amazed
to see that he looked relaxed and healthy.
