The fog comes in
He almost turned around. Almost. But the tip seemed so promising... Surely
it was worth a little risk.
Mulder crept along, his speedometer barely quivering over zero, peering
through the windshield. It was almost like having a bale of cotton wool
pressed against the glass. The radio said that this was the worst fog to
hit the area for the last twenty years. Fox could believe that easily. He'd
certainly never seen anything even remotely like it.
The radio was also advising anyone who didn't absolutely have to not to
drive. In fact, they were recommending staying indoors, period. The disc
jockey had used a patently fake Boris Karloff voice. "Nothing toxic in this,
but the poor visibility makes any form of travel hazardous, and it's perfect
weather for lurking, dear people."
"No shit." Mulder muttered. He cut the wipers up from slow to fast, but it
didn't make much difference. The rubber blades sliced away a film of
water with each stroke, and the glass was blurred again before they could
make a return pass.
He should be close by now. That was, unless he'd missed a turn in this
mess. He didn't THINK he had. Twice he'd stopped in the middle of the road
yeah, dangerous, but fuck. With this pea soup no one would have seen my
tail lights no matter WHAT and gotten out to go check street signs. The
beam of his high powered flashlight barely penetrated the few inches needed
when he stood right below the signs
Why the hell do informants have to choose places like this to meet? Why
docks and warehouses and parking garages? What ever happened to diners?
Didn't informers used to meet cops in diners? I could do with a cup of
coffee right now.
His right front tire bumped up on a curb, and Mulder swung back into the
street, cursing under his breath. Better ease over some more. Someone may
be parked on the side, waiting out the fog. Instead of driving in it, like
me. Like an idiot.
Thank God it was blacktop. If it had been cement, he never would have been
able to see the center line. As it was, it was a faintly luminous strip,
reflecting the diffused beam of his headlights. He hugged it, trying not to
go over into the oncoming lane.
Fox noted that he was gripping the steering wheel so tight that his hands
ached. His knuckles were bunched and white with strain. My fucking blood
pressure is probably off the scale right about now. Damn, I don't like not
being able to see...
He leaned forward till his chest was pressed against the steering wheel, his
nose only inches from the windshield. It occurred to him that if someone
came barreling out of the fog and rear ended him, he'd make a swan dive
through the glass.
Finally there seemed to be a break in the curbing to his right. He once
again stopped the car, offering up a prayer against fast driving idiots, and
got out to check his location. It was the entrance to the dockside parking
lot. Hallelujah!
Mulder pulled in carefully, and parked almost immediately. He wasn't going
to chance either running into a parked car, or driving off into the water.
Much as he hated the idea of walking through this fog, he'd just have to
hoof it down to the dock.
Fox climbed out of his car, and immediately his clothes were clinging to
him. It was like he'd been sprayed with a fine mist. The fog was so thick
it was only a fraction of a percent away from rain. He pulled on his trench
coat in a vain attempt at some dryness. He had to leave it open so he could
reach his gun, just in case.
Fox had left his headlights on as he got prepared, and now he shut them off.
Visibility went from a few yards to approximately a foot. He tried cutting
on his flashlight, but after a moment he tossed it back into the car. It
did absolutely no good. He'd be better off with his hands free.
It was surreal. The mist that floated around him was white and wispy. A
little farther away it thickened abruptly to a dense gray mass, looking
almost solid.
Well, I know which direction the docks are in, because I was pointing that
way when I parked. I think. And I can hear the water lapping. Okay.
Slowly now.
Mulder advanced cautiously. He'd only gone a few steps when he turned back
to look at his car. He couldn't see it. He had no doubt it was THERE,
but someone might as well have drawn a gray velvet curtain between him and
the vehicle.
He paused for a moment, listening. God, it was quiet. Up ahead he could
hear the faint slap of water against piers, but that was it. No engines, no
radios blasting, no gun shots. None of the noises you'd expect this close
to an urban area.
"The fog crept in on little cat feet..." he muttered. Who wrote that?
Frost? Whitman? No, Sandburg. Carl Sandburg. Yeah, that was a good
analogy. Or was it a metaphor? And why was he worrying about English terms
NOW? Cause I'll grab at anything to keep my mind off how creepy this is.
He didn't even hear the cries of the sea birds who eternally circled this
area. Even they must have been grounded. This was confirmed when he walked
past a number of sea gulls huddled on the moist surface of the lot. They
regarded him with calm, beady eyes, not even bothering to stroll away.
Why am I here? I could be home on the couch, eating take out Chinese and
watching porn. I still haven't seen 'Forest Hump' or 'Good Will
Cunting'. He sighed gustily, and answered himself. I'm here because the
email that ended up in my mailbox said they had information that could
affect an investigation. And they knew things. The email had contained
certain details about Mulder's life that he had been fairly sure no one
knew, not even his parents or his partner, Scully. The fact that The Lone
Gunmen hadn't been able to trace the source of the email was another
argument for it's authenticity.
Mulder started forward again, resisting the urge to stretch his arms out in
front to feel his way along. He advanced a step at a time, not wanting to
risk falling down a flight of stairs, or off into the harbor.
"It sits looking over the harbor and city on silent haunches," he
continued. I didn't know I knew that. Yeah, I memorized it in high school.
We had to have five poems by heart, and this one was short and easy. And
kinda cool.
He'd made it out onto the docks, and walked along the water's edge. Vast
ships loomed to his left, vaster warehouses to his right. Now, where was
his contact? 'I'll find YOU' the note had said. He did't like that, but he
didn't have much choice in the matter. He paused near a dark gap between two
buildings. He only knew it was there because a security lamp on one of the
structures cast a muted, underwater type glow that managed to penetrate
almost to the ground.
Then he heard it. It was a footfall, he was certain of that. But the
acoustics were distorted by the fog, and he was disoriented by the swirling
mists. He couldn't tell where it came from, or how far away it was. It
came again, and he turned nervously, trying to pinpoint it, to no avail.
"Hello?" Fuck, that's stupid. I HATE it when people say 'Hello' trying to
get someone's attention. "I'm here. Show yourself." Huh. For all I
know, he could be TRYING to show himself. He could be right behind me...
A hand fell on his shoulder, and cold steel nudged the back of his neck. A
soft, hissing voice said, "Take your gun out very carefully and pass it
back."
Mulder obeyed, removing his gun with the tips of his fingers and passing it
back over his shoulder. It was taken. He heard the clip ejected, and then
it was handed back to him, empty. "Put it away."
Mulder reholstered the gun, and said, as calmly as possible, "You don't
need the gun."
"Maybe not, but they're so much fun."
He frowned. "Alez?"
"Well, you finally hit bingo, Mulder, but it took a lot of numbers, didn't
it? Step back into my office." A hand gripped Mulder's collar, turning him,
and he was guided back into the alley.
Oh, I don't like this one little bit. The alley was littered with junk,
and Mulder stumbled, would have fallen if Krycek didn't haul him back up.
They went deeper into the cave like space, till the entrance was only a
distant, hazy glow.
Fox was shoved up against a humidity sweating metal wall, then turned. The
gun muzzle came to rest under his chin this time.
He could barely see Krycek, even as close as he was. All he could really
make out was the pale blur of his face, and the odd, almost luminous green
of his eyes. Oh, and his smile. It gleamed.
"Fancy meeting you here."
"Cut the bull shit, Krycek. It's too nasty to waste time out here. Spill
what it was you brought me her to tell me."
"Fox, Fox, Fox." His voice was chiding. "No hello? No how have you been?
I'm hurt."
"Fuck you."
The smile broadened. "You had that chance. Passed it up, as I recall."
"Why am I here?"
"What did I want to tell you, and why are you here. Those are two separate
questions, Fox. I'll answer both, if you ask me nicely."
Fox scowled. Grudgingly he put a veneer of politeness in his voice. "Would
you care to give me the information you hinted at in your message?"
"Oh, that's MUCH better. I'd be delighted. That senator you've been
looking at? He was more involved in his mistresses' death than he'd like to
let on. If you check a little cabin up around Lake Trevor, you'll find
enough evidence to hang him. It's in his sister's name."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"That's a third question. I don't owe you an answer for it, but I'm
feeling expansive tonight. Because he's a naughty boy who won't follow
orders, that's why."
"All right."
"Now, do you want the answer to the second question?"
"Why I'm here? Yeah, might as well."
"You're here because I want you here." He stepped close, and his hand
darted toward Mulder's crotch. Fox squeezed his eyes shut, braced for
intense pain. He was sure Krycek was going to punch him in the balls.
Instead the hand settled lightly on his fly, and stroked. "You're here
because I want you. Here."
Shocked, Mulder opened his eyes. The gun was still tucked under his chin.
Krycek was studying him closely. The fog drifted behind him, and around
them both, obscuring everything else. It was as if they were floating in a
void.
"You're kidding me, right?"
Krycek rubbed firmly. "Does it FEEL like I'm kidding?"
No, it felt damn serious. It felt... It felt... good.
"Get your hands off me." Even Fox recognized the lack of conviction in his
tone.
"No." Alex continued rubbing and squeezing. Mulder started to get hard.
Krycek felt the thickening, and purred. "Oh, so you ARE happy to see me.
I'm so glad."
"I'm not gay."
"You just keep telling yourself that, if it makes it any easier for you.
But I'll tell you a secret, Fox." He leaned against the FBI agent, and
Mulder could feel his hard on pressing into his thigh. "A stiff cock
doesn't care WHOSE mouth it slides into."
The gun was withdrawn, and Alex pushed it up under his leather jacket,
tucking it in his waistband at the small of his back. He could get to it
easily, but it would be difficult for Mulder to snatch it.
Krycek reached between them, and Fox heard the rasp of a zipper being
lowered, then another. Krycek's hand slipped inside his fly, big and warm,
and worked his dick out into the moist, chill air.
If I clip him under the chin, I might be able to knock him down long enough
to run. But he could draw down on me. His aim wouldn't be too good in this
fog, but even if he just fires randomly, there's a chance...And I could run
straight off the pier in this mess...
The thoughts skittering across his mind stopped abruptly as Krycek's hot,
hard cock slid against Mulder's erection. Suddenly his mind went blank,
except for the urgent desire for more of that delicious friction.
Alex seemed to read his mind, because he undulated his hips, thrusting
against Fox in a slow, rocking motion. "Nothing to get angsty about, Mulder.
Just a little frottage. God, I love that word. The French really have a
way with language, don't you think?"
"You're crazy."
"I suppose you're right, from a purely clinical standpoint. But what's
more sane than doing what gives you pleasure?" He pushed more strongly,
humping against Fox. Fox's head fell back against the slick wall, and he
whimpered. "Oh, and I AM enjoying this. But I want a little more."
He took a half step back, and Fox almost whimpered again at the loss of
contact. Alex murmured, "God, this ground is scummy. I hope you appreciate
this, Mulder. I'm probably going to have to burn these jeans." He sank to
his knees, gripped Mulder's hips, and took his cock into his mouth.
Fox gasped as he was enveloped in what felt like heated wet satin. Alex was
talented at this, and he took Mulder's entire length in one long gulp.
Mulder felt Krycek's warm breath ruffle his pubic hair, his chin bump his
balls. He scrabbled frantically at the wall behind him, nails screeching on
metal.
Alex bobbed up and down. Occasionally on the backstroke he would pull
entirely free of Mulder's prick, lashing the swollen, weeping head with
his tongue before swallowing it again. Soon Mulder was trying to shove
himself even deeper into the oral embrace, but Krycek was keeping him
pinned. He groaned in frustration.
Krycek relented. He let go with one hand, reaching down to begin
masturbating himself, and his grip on the other hip gentled into a caress.
Fox buried his hands in Krycek's dark hair, holding him so he could fuck his
mouth more strongly. Alex didn't protest or try to pull away. He just
sucked harder, his hand moving more quickly.
Alex gave a groan, muffled by the flesh in his mouth, and thick white semen
spurted from his cock, coating his hand. Mulder was close now. The sight
almost brought him over the edge. What finally did it was when Alex jerked
Mulder's pants and boxers down, reached back, and roughly plunged a cream
coated finger up his ass, pumping hard. Fox stiffened at the jolt of
pleasure/pain, and came in Alex's mouth, screaming his pleasure. It was
oddly muffled, the impassive fog seeming to absorb it.
Now Fox was grateful for the warehouse at his back, leaning against it
heavily as his knees shook. Alex turned his head and spat, then got to his
feet. Once again he pressed against a trembling Mulder. He fitted his
mouth to Mulder's, sliding his tongue past unresisting lips, and Mulder
tasted himself.
After a moment or two of wet, thorough exploration, Alex pulled away and
whispered, "You have a nice, full bodied flavor, Mulder." His hand slid
down over Mulder's ass, spreading a film of cooling spunk. "Next time,
I'll fuck you. You'll like that."
"Next time?"
Alex stepped back, zipping himself up. "Next time, Mulder." He grinned.
"...looking over the harbor and city on silent haunches, and then moves on."
He was backing away from Mulder. The fog swirled in, obscuring him. The
next time he spoke, he sounded far away, but he hadn't really had time to
move that far, had he? "...back to crossroads."
Mulder stayed like that for a moment more, then pulled up his pants and
refastened them with shaking fingers. He wiped his face, unable to tell if
the beads of moisture were from the fog, or sweat.
Just when he thought he had a handle on Alex Krycek...Just when he thought
that he might know how his mind worked, what made him tick...
"Back to crossroads." Fox breathed, and began to make his way back to his
car.
Little Cat Feet
by Scribe
Little Cat Feet
by Carl Sandburg
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over the harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on,
back to crossroads
