Another Me by Sebastian Chapter 1 In which I am surprised to see Mulder I was bored. Bored, bored, bored...Bored with a capital B. My latest target had been felled by the wrath of God before he could experience the warmth of a heart to heart with yours truly; the dumbass had been struck by lightening on a golf course a week ago and several more empty weeks yawned before the next job. Nothing new had come up to fill in. Maybe because of the heat, 100 degrees and humid as hell. Even conspirators want a vacation sometimes and I guess my clients were out of town on their yachts and so forth. Y'see my lifestyle isn't geared to inaction, I'm off to a different destination almost every week; a break-in here, an assassination there; even the monotony of surveillance didn't bore me like this. And of course, with a life like mine, you don't get a chance to make new friends (except in the line of business, and they're reluctant to socialise after you've betrayed them) and old friends are either to be avoided or dead. So there was no one to hang out with: I was reduced to redecorating my latest apartment during the daytime with an occasional foray downtown to scout round the private galleries. I was hoping to pick up a couple of new pictures for my freshly painted walls, I'm not short of money and I like modern art, and it's kinda fun to see if the critics pick up on the artists I've chosen. Well that was office hours, but evenings and nights I had a hobby; Mulder-watching. Lurking outside his apartment, following when he went out, like some flaky twitcher crouched behind a bush with his binoculars observing the habits and behaviour of the Lesser-spotted green-winged crossbeaked pine-warbler. Go on, pity me, I know it's adolescent, I know it's sad, I know I should get over it, but Mulder's been my obsession since I first laid eyes on him. Y'know, I could take that birdwatching analogy further. Like the dedicated scientist, I knew Mulder's daily routine, his feeding and grooming habits, his height and weight, I'd inspected his nest (many times), the extent of his territory, his reaction to threats (same and alien species)...God help me, I've even seen his excrement! I could write a thesis on Home Sapiens (subspecies Fox Mulder). Information was lacking in one important area, however. At least ornithologists get to study their specimen's sexual behaviour. Now, unless you count Mulder's love affair with his hand and his eclectic collection of porn videos, I hadn't observed the Mulder-bird's mating ritual at all. Oh, he's a master of the smutty remark, the double entendre, and I know he's had lovers in the past (sadly all female), but recently nada. It's a shame, because even though memories of his expressions as he jerks off on his couch are useful props for my Fox-fuck fantasies, I'd have expected my diligent voyeurism over the years to have yielded better fruit. So this night I was watching his door as usual when he got back from work. It was about 6.30pm I suppose, and still sweltering. Mulder was in his shirtsleeves when he got out of his car and even from across the street I could see he looked limp, despite the air-conditioning. No run tonight, then. He'd probably go out in the early morning, when it was cooler. Up to his apartment, and a few minutes later I saw him pass the window. Another half-an-hour passes and the pizza van arrives; I know all the pizza places he uses, the Chinese too. A nasty thought sprang into my head, Don't you think you ought to give this up and get a life, Alex? But I know I can't, not now, not yet anyway, not while my face flushes and my breathing quickens when I think of the times I've spied on him naked in his home; not while I feel faint and get butterflies in my stomach if I'm in his presence; not while I nearly come in my pants if he touches me, if he hits me. I'm hopelessly infatuated, and despite the history between us, which he'll never forgive or forget and which my actions will probably worsen as time goes on, I illogically hope that he'll be affected by a magical love potion, and fall into my arms. Hey, how much of a loser can I be? About 8 he came out again and drove off. I followed him carefully, I don't think he ever realised how often I was tailing him. We arrived at the building where Mulder's three geeky friends live and I expected that if he wasn't out within a few minutes, I'd be here for quite a few hours, maybe overnight. If I were to be truthful with myself, I'd have to admit that despite his physical charms, Mulder was a geek too: but, you know, his obsessions, his arcane knowledge, even his na€ve desire to believe in the most obvious of shams just make him more endearing to me. So he and his buddies would probably be sticking UFO reports into their scrap-books, or searching the 'net for alien conspiracies or maybe just playing Scrabble until the early hours. I didn't know, because the Gunmen's hideout was one place I'd never managed to penetrate. If there was a prize for paranoia, those three would walk off with it. The place is one big booby-trap, it bristles with spy cameras, listening devices, pressure pads, trembler switches—it would be easier to smuggle a blue whale into the White House than pay them a surprise visit. There was no sign of Mulder after 20 minutes, so I knew that I'd be sitting here for hours. It was pointless to wait, really. Mulder would be safer there than almost anyplace else and I was wasting time hoping for a glimpse of him. Fuck it, I thought, it's been months since I've done anything but work, or if I go out, sit and drink alone in a bar. I'm squandering my life wishing for the unobtainable and making myself miserable. I decided to abandon my post, go home and change and visit a club. Then maybe I'd meet someone amusing to talk to and there'd be a chance of a night of meaningless but relaxing and distracting sex. For once, and probably because I'd been bored all week, I decided to act on my impulse. Soon I'd been home and changed into my baggies and a loose T-shirt and was off to Bruce's. Yes, perhaps you've guessed, run by an Ozzie, very laid-back, and with the added merit of a roof-top terrace open in the summer. I admit, I hadn't been there since the previous summer and the clientele had changed somewhat. From being gay-tolerant the emphasis had changed to 75% gay and the atmosphere was distinctly hot, and not just because of the weather. Well, all the better, I thought, for a lonely hit-man on his night off. I perched on a bar-stool and gazed around the meat on offer. Somehow the barman talked me into trying the "Cocktail of the week". Christ knows what was in it, it was luminous green and bristling with little umbrellas and plastic swizzle sticks shaped like sharks; but it was long and cold and slid easily down my throat, and after I'd imbibed a couple the view across the city lights took on that twinkly, spikey look that you get with a starburst filter on your camera. Pretty. The talent on display was pretty too, and I was just wondering whether to ease myself through the crowd round the bar and go downstairs to check out the dance floor when I felt a warm body press against my back and a familiar voice whispered in my ear, "Hey, big boy, want me to show you a good time?" Ê My head whipped round so fast I almost dislocated my neck. I know my jaw must have dropped open with the shock and I managed to utter a totally uninspired "Unnhh" before Mulder put his forefinger gently under my chin and pushed my mouth shut and said "Come on Alex, you'll be catching bugs in there if you keep on with that guppy impersonation." I was even more dumbstruck when I saw what he was wearing, in fact my higher cortical functions completely shut down as my brain's blood supply was diverted straight to my prick. Sandy-coloured combat trousers, one of those loose singlet things with the enormous neck and armholes that showed generous amounts of golden Mulder skin, a tight leather thong round his neck with a little pewter alien head hanging from it, and the ensemble was topped off with spiked up hair, a stud in the top edge of one ear and I swear a touch of eyeliner round those beautiful eyes of his. I nearly melted off the stool with desire. As my senses returned a whirl of thoughts raced through my head. He was at the Gunmen's, so how come he was here? What was with the outfit? Was he working under cover? This guy was grinning at me, no sign of hostility, it couldn't be Mulder. But it was Mulder. I recovered the power of speech "Uh, Mulder?" and suddenly realised I should be searching for my gun, not drooling like a St. Bernard when it hears the rattle of the Doggy-bix packet. "Mickey," Mulder called to the barman, "get Alex here a beer. That Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster he's been drinking has addled his brain. Get me one too, while you're at it." He pushed past me to the bar and suddenly I had Mulder's cotton covered ass pressed firmly against my thighs. "Uh, Mulder" I managed again, though this time it came out as a strangled croak. He wriggled round and handed me a frosted bottle. Now I had him facing me, close enough to feel his breath. The crush round the bar was so great he'd ended standing between my legs as I sat on the high stool, and I could smell him, musky and slightly sweaty and oh so delicious. Thank goodness for baggies, I thought, there's no way he could miss the state I was in otherwise. "I'm Fox, Alex. No one has heard of Mulder here. You must call me Fox, too, 'cos I don't answer to anything else...except perhaps 'Hey gorgeous where have you been all my life?'" He raised his eyebrows and took a swig from his bottle, then gave me a big grin. "C'mon Alex, don't say you're not pleased to see me, 'cos the Fox is definitely glad to meet you at last" he purred as he ran his hand down my chest, hesitating at my waistband before continuing down and resting it on the top of my thigh. It was suddenly too much. "What's with you Mulder? What the hell are you on?" I hissed. "And what are you doing here? I haven't seen you here before. And get your goddam hand off my leg." "Fox is here, Alex, not Mulder. Mulder doesn't visit bars like this, you must know that. He doesn't go clubbing, he calls you Krycek, not Alex, he's never friendly to you, and he definitely doesn't grope beautiful men in public places. I do though." I felt his hand slide down and then up inside the leg of my baggies. I couldn't stop a moan escaping and I was sure a damp spot was forming on the front of my clothes where my cock was leaking. If his hand got any closer I would have come there and then. My potential embarrassment was spared, however when Mulder was grabbed round the waist in a bear-hug and lifted off his feet by a huge blond apparition that would have looked right at home in a 'Conan the Barbarian' movie. "You little slut," growled Mr. Universe "five minutes late for our date and already you're hitting on another guy." He began nuzzling the side of Mulder's neck, making him giggle. "Stoppit, Joe, that tickles! And put me down. Anyway, I got lonely when you weren't here and you know how I hate to be alone...Alex, this is Joe...Joe, Alex." Mulder was set back on his feet but the Incredible Hulk kept his arms round him, and very sensible too, I thought, he needs restraining if he carries on all the time like he just did with me. My mind did a back-flip; this is Mulder I'm thinking this about, Mr. Reserved, Mr. No-Relationships, Mr. Definitely-not-Flirtatious, Mr. Straight; remember him Alex? Jeez, it was easier to believe in the tooth fairy than the Mulder fairy wriggling sensuously in the arms of Joe-the-giant. My hand was taken in a crushing grip and shaken vigorously. "Pleased to meet you, Alex. Haven't seen you in here before?" "No, it's been about a year... I don't get much time for relaxing in my job. A lot of travelling, y'know, and irregular hours." My attention was wrenched away from the conversation by the sight of Joe's muscly hands working their way inside Mulder's singlet and his thumbs rubbing on his nipples until I could clearly see them standing proud under the thin cloth. He arched his back in pleasure and looked up at Joe, licking his lips lasciviously, his chest rising and falling with deep shuddering breaths. My mouth went very dry and I took a big gulp of my beer. "You better stop that, baby, you're making Alex blush. And don't forget we're supposed to be going on to a party... we're not going to get any further than a nice dark corner downstairs if you don't." Mulder murmured. "So what do you do for a living, Alex?" Mulder interrupted Joe before I could think of an innocuous reply, though I suspect with the distraction their floor-show was providing I might even have blurted out the truth. "He's in the same business as me, aren't you Alex? We've known each other quite a while, we used to work together, but then he had a better offer from a rival so now we're on opposite sides." He quirked an eyebrow at me and shook his head very slightly. So we were keeping secrets from Joe then, were we? Mulder obviously didn't want his cover blown, but if this was all an act, he had certainly thrown himself heart and soul into his part. I smiled back at him and drawled, "Yeah, yeah. It's like he says, we go way back, but I can't say I've met Fox socially before today." "Hey, I didn't know the IRS had any rivals" "Oops.. so it was you who got the tax inspector story," sniggered Mulder, "I couldn't remember whether I'd told you that, or the marketing consultant for linoleum sales one. I so loathe talking about my work, Joe, I always say something really dull so people will stop asking." "Now that's a shame. It really cheered me up to think that when the IRS come to look over my accounts I might get a session over my desk with someone as cute as you" Joe bent his head down and, tilting Mulder's face towards him, put his lips on Mulder's and kissed him. I forgot to breathe as the kiss went on and on; the sight of Mulder getting it on with this mountain of a guy was so hot I could feel my whole body flushing and my head began to swim. I stumbled from the barstool and they broke off their kiss and looked at me. Joe grabbed my arm to steady me. "That'll teach you to keep off Mickey's 'special' cocktails next time you come here" said Mulder, righting the bar-stool. "Anyway we've got to go, got some serious partying to do. Have a nice evening, Alex. 'Bye" and he pecked me on the cheek, took Joe's hand and had disappeared into the crowd before I could come to my wits. By the time I'd realised they'd gone and started shouldering my way through the exit to follow them there was no sign, no hope of finding the direction they'd gone in. The doormen had seen them leave the club; after all, who could miss Joe, he must have been six-five and had a body like one of those TV wrestlers, but they'd hailed a cab and were streets away by then. I returned to the roof to question Mickey the barman. 'Fox' had been a customer for at least 3 years, but Joe was new to him, he told me. Came in about once or twice a month, usually with a different guy, or if he was alone he wasn't when he left. He'd overheard him talking about other clubs, too, but he didn't know which ones. He said if I had an itch for Fox I'd have to get in line, he was pretty popular, and I'd not have to be a shrinking violet because he was totally uninhibited and up for anything. My mind was reeling; this was not Mulder, even working undercover this couldn't be the Mulder I'd known for so many years. I walked out of the club in a daze, found my car and drove home. The encounter had totally put me off my original purpose, finding someone to take my mind off Mulder for a few hours. How could I fuck someone else now with the vision of his mouth open and eager for that muscle-man's tongue, his skin being caressed by those enormous hands, his lean body made to look delicate and fragile as it rubbed against the wall of hard flesh that was Joe? My hands were shaking as I unlocked the door of my apartment. I slammed it behind me and dragging my baggies off as I crossed the room, threw myself on the couch and grabbed my dick. I pumped gently, I seemed to have been hard for hours and would come in seconds if I wasn't careful. Thinking about what I'd seen at the club, I took Mulder and his boyfriend on a few hours...on to a bedroom somewhere; not Mulder's, definitely not Mulder's, there was no way I could see Mulder entertaining a guy like Joe in that dismal hole Mulder called home. Anyway, it wouldn't fit with the 'Fox' image, Fox would live somewhere trendy, not too expensive though, and the rooms would be bright and full of kitch accessories and new-age paraphernalia. I smiled to myself as I imagined the mood-crystals, the meditation pyramid, the scented candles. Maybe a full range of skin cleansers and 'revitalising body lotions' in the bathroom, jostling for space with the designer towels and potted ferns. It got me wondering whether he actually had a secret bolt-hole, 'cos I sure as hell hadn't seen anyone like Joe visiting No. 42, and I hadn't seen Mulder leaving there dressed in anything outlandish. In the end I chose a 'Joe' bedroom for my fantasy, because my flights of fancy with a 'Fox' boudoir were making me giggle too much. A large plainly decorated room sprang to mind, with an enormous bed, built-in closets with mirrored doors, a couple of side-tables with lamps on, and, in the corner a rack of weights and a rowing machine. The door opens, and in comes Joe with Mulder wrapped round him like ivy. Mulder's arms are around his neck, his legs wrapped round Joe's waist and Joe's arms are under Mulder's ass for support. They are kissing passionately and Mulder is grinding himself against his lover's hard body. Joe backs up to the bed and flops across it with Mulder on top. Mulder sits up and kneels across Joe's groin, rubbing himself against Joe's hard-on through their clothes. He pulls off his singlet and Joe reaches forward to pinch his nipples. Mulder groans and says, "Yeah, that's good, do it harder. " He's biting his bottom lip and his eyes are closed. He pushes his hands up under Joe's tight T-shirt and leans forward and rests his weight on Joe's chest. "Let's get the rest of those clothes off" says Joe, and rolls Mulder off him so he's lying on his back with his legs dangling over the edge of the bed. He straddles Mulder's legs and unbuttons the combat trousers and pulls them and Mulder's thong (now, 'Fox' wouldn't wear boxers, would he!) right off together. He looks down at the man on the bed, who begins to caress himself sensuously while waiting for Joe to strip. Mulder's body is lean and wiry and his skin is golden-brown. From the sparse down on his chest a narrow dark line of hair descends to merge with the luxuriant pubic curls from which his cock springs, hard and smooth, the tip reddish-purple and glistening. Mulder rubs his hands across his thighs and cups his cock and balls, squeezing gently as he watches his body-builder's glories being revealed. You can see every flexion and relaxation of the muscles under Joe's skin as he pulls his clothes off. His body has been evenly tanned and, apart from his groin, has been shaved of hair so that his admirers may better appreciate the effort that has gone into this body. He wouldn't have been my choice, I find such over-development grotesque, but the Mulder of my fantasy doesn't share my taste. He's licking his lips in anticipation, his breathing deepens. "C'mon Joe, I need you now " he gasps. Joe's dick springs out of his shorts. It is a monster, thick and rosy red where the blood shows through Joe's fair skin. Fat veins snake along it, and the tip looks like a ripe plum, dripping in anticipation of burying itself in Mulder's body. Mulder sits up and cradles Joe's enormous balls in his hands as his tongue stretches out and strokes the head of the penis bobbing in front of him. Joe moans and, grabbing Mulder's hair in one hand and his shaft in the other, rubs the tip of his cock over Mulder's face, leaving a shining trail of mucus over his cheeks and chin, before nudging it against Mulder's lips until he opens his mouth and sucks the first few inches in. Mulder's lips are stretched wide around the thick organ that is invading his mouth, and Joe fucks his face slowly, gradually driving himself deeper into Mulder's throat. Mulder braces himself on Joe's hips, pushing back as Joe's hand on the back of his head urges him to impale himself more deeply on the huge dick. "Oh, that's good babe, so good" sighs Joe. "But you're going to have to stop 'cos I want to feel it in that tight little ass. Turn over, babe, and spread yourself for me." He pulls his cock from Mulder's mouth. The shaft keeps coming and coming, even more engorged, and glistening with Mulder's spit, momentarily leaving a gossamer thread connecting it's head to the swollen lips that have just been straining to take it all in. Mulder gazes up at Joe, his eyes dilated with lust, his breath shuddering. His own penis is leaking and twitching. He rolls over and scoots up the bed and crouches there on his knees, his legs wide apart and his shoulders and face pressed against the mattress, presenting his spread buttocks and asshole to his giant lover. "Fuck me Joe," he whimpers, "I can't wait. I want you to split me open. Please hurry, please..." "Ok, babe, let's just stretch that little hole of yours. I'll be wanting to screw you again later, and I don't want you so sore you can't take me" and he pushes an enormous thumb well coated in lube into Mulder' ass. Mulder gasps and his muscles clench as he is penetrated, and his neck snaps back, his eyes are squeezed shut and he's biting that lip again as his mind savours the mixture of pleasure and pain. Joe pulls out his thumb and inserts a couple of fingers, then, as Mulder relaxes round them, a third, rooting around until Mulder gives a shriek as his prostate is rubbed. "Please Joe, I'm ready, fuck me , fuck me hard " he shouts, and Joe pulls out the fingers and presses the bulb at the end of his prick against the opening. One beefy hand guiding his prick, the other clamping Mulder's thighs, he forces it inside the tiny hole. The skin around the sphincter is tensioned to nearly breaking and white where the blood has been forced from the tortured flesh. Mulder is groaning from the pain, yet forces his hips up to help the invasion. "Take me," he whispers, "I want you all the way". "That's what I'm planning on", growls Joe. "Here it comes, open up, boy" and he pushes himself slowly and steadily, inch by inch, into Mulder's body. The shaft seems to go on forever, becoming ever thicker near the root and Mulder's cries turn to exclamations of pleasure as he is stimulated and filled by Joe's member. He rams home the last couple of inches, his hips slapping against Mulder's ass and eliciting a howl from the man pinioned on his huge cock. Joe begins to pump gently, and Mulder sighs and groans, his ass writhing as he seeks the most pleasurable position. The thrusts become longer and more brutal as Mulder's sphincter relaxes around the invader, the powerful strokes pushing him toward the head of the bed until Joe grips Mulder's hips and virtually lifts his legs from the mattress, holding his body at a convenient angle to penetrate as deeply as he can. Mulder is helpless in his grasp, his hands convulsively clutch the bedcovers and his face grimaces in almost unbearable ecstasy. Joe is panting and grunting, his steady thrusts becoming more jerky and spasmodic as he nears his climax, and suddenly Mulder screams and shudders, his anus clenching round Joe's prick as he ejaculates, the forceful grip from his ass muscles taking Joe with him. The fantasy had brought me right to the edge, and as I imagined Joe's seed pumping into Mulder's body I came hard myself, covering the front of my T-shirt with sticky semen. I slumped back into the cushions of my couch, and overwhelmed by the surprises of the evening, fell asleep. It was the early hours when I woke and I was sorely tempted to go over to Mulder's place and find out what the hell was going on there and then, but it occurred to me that he could still be somewhere with Joe, and it would probably be better if I gave what I had discovered more thought and try and work out what I was going to say when I next saw Mulder. This would have to be soon though, 'cos I was burning up with curiosity. Accosting him in the street or bothering him at work wouldn't be a good idea, I'd more than a suspicion that a lengthy face-to-face chat was needed, and I expected that I would have to hold my gun on him to encourage him to open up to me. As I cleaned myself up in the bathroom and climbed into bed for what remained of the night, reasons for what I'd seen swirled through my brain. Topmost on my list of possibilities was the undercover work idea, but while I could see the Mulder I thought I knew going along with such a task for a week or two, and finding it a laugh, I couldn't imagine him being so dedicated to the FBI that he'd be willing to virtually prostitute himself for years, and without me finding out about it. Unless it was to do with the X-files, of course. But how does living a life of gay abandon fit in with the X-files? Perhaps Mulder had a theory that his elusive aliens were all queer...he's come up with crazier notions. Perhaps, as I'd said to him, he was high on something. If he was gay anyway, and just repressing his feelings, some drug might allow him to shed his inhibitions and express his needs. How couldn't I have noticed that he liked men, though? He must've buried it very deeply, and would he be willing to compromise himself by using drugs to indulge his sexuality if he was so repressed? I didn't think he'd risk being so out of control. He had a low enough tolerance for alcohol and I'd found him wary of getting drunk, I couldn't imagine him screwing up his mind with more powerful chemicals. It couldn't be a bet or some practical joke just to wind me up, 'cos it was a long term thing. So the only other idea that occurred to me was that Mulder was even kookier than I suspected and was like Jekyll and Hyde, a split personality, maybe the Mulder part being unaware of the other's existence. Tonight I would be waiting at apartment 42. The truth was out there. Chapter 2 In which Mulder is not surprised to see me 5.30pm saw me ensconced on Mulder's couch, a cup of tea in one hand, a copy of Seamus Heaney's new translation of Beowulf in the other and my gun lying ready on the coffee table. I'd already ransacked the apartment looking for evidence of 'Fox's' presence, but as I expected I found no clue that he even existed; I'd searched the place many times before on various pretexts, there'd been nothing to make me wonder then if Mulder had an alternative social life, why should there be anything now, now that I knew he did? As I heard the key scrape in the lock I grabbed my gun and nipped behind the door. He was early home from work as I suspected he might be, no doubt regretting flaunting his secret before me (why had he done it? He could so easily have slipped away in the crowd, I wouldn't have known he'd been there.) He'd probably been unable to concentrate all day, expecting me to confront him in a car park or a remote corridor of the FBI building as I've done in the past. Now he was home, and he knew that if I wasn't waiting for him I'd be calling soon. I readied my gun. Y'know, in the circles I move in, the approved way of keeping a secret is to eliminate anyone who shouldn't know it, and if Mulder had regrets, he might be considering this option. Yesterday, well yesterday's Mulder wasn't the one I was going to meet. He might have given me a beating but I wouldn't have even considered him killing me, at least not in cold blood. But I didn't know the man coming in the door, so I needed to get my move in first. The door opened and in he came, pretty much dressed as he'd been when I watched him arrive home from work just a day ago. It was almost as much of a shock to see the old Mulder as it had been to see 'Fox' at the club; I found myself staring at him for traces of that other self, a forgotten earstud maybe, or the hole where it had been, hickeys on his neck from his activities with Joe. He glanced at me, completely unsurprised, then turned and gently closed the door. Dumping his jacket and briefcase, he walked over to the couch, sat down and bent over with his head in his hands and his elbows resting on his knees. "OK, Krycek," he said, his voice expressionless, "what's the price? Or have you already told your employers my sordid secret, and this is purely a courtesy call to inform me that my future may not be quite as I planned it" It hadn't crossed my mind to blackmail him over this. Right , you're thinking, Alex Krycek, 'Rat Extraordinaire', passing up a golden opportunity to get a hold over Mulder. Of course, as soon as he put it into my mind I could see the possibilities, but up to then I'd been confounded by what I'd discovered, and my only coherent thought had been that maybe I had hope and I wouldn't need that magical love potion after all. "Why the fuck did you speak to me then, Fox , if you didn't want to face the consequences?" I sneered at him. He flinched and looked up at me sadly. "Don't call me Fox. I'm Mulder. Fox spoke to you, Fox betrayed me, he wouldn't listen, I couldn't stop him." "Jesus Christ, you're not going to tell me that you've got a twin brother, with the same name as you, that you've been concealing in your closet all these years? Or maybe it was a green blooded alien Mulder clone that was coming on to me last night, with its hand right up my pant's leg? C'mon Mulder, if I hadn't been rescued by Mr Muscles you would have been sucking my dick right there at the bar within five minutes." He shook his head. "It wasn't me, I told you, it was Fox." He spoke the words slowly and clearly, as a patient parent would to a child who was refusing to understand an obvious fact. " I don't do that. Fox was with you, Fox wanted to touch you, and, yeah, give you a blowjob if there'd been a chance. But he's not Mulder, and I c-couldn't stop him" Mulder's voice broke and I swear he was going to cry. He looked so forlorn I wanted to hug him and tell him not to worry, Uncle Alex will make it all right. But I didn't...I'm not renowned for my altruism and I didn't want Mulder even more confused than apparently he was already. Well, there goes the undercover cop theory, I thought. Let's put our money on Mulder being a complete fruitcake shall we? He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. The guy can be so gross sometimes, well, the state of his bathroom is evidence of that. He took a deep breath and said, as if he'd read my mind, "I'm not quite ready for the funny farm, Krycek. In fact you could put the gun away, I won't start foaming at the mouth and biting your ankles. I really don't want to talk about this, so can you just accept that the 'Fox' is another me , an alter ego that crawls out of his hole occasionally and takes over my body. I have all his memories, he has mine; I'm not so divorced from reality that I'm going to deny he exists. OK. Now can we get to the nitty-gritty and talk about what you're going to do with your new-found discovery? I never thought I'd be willing to say this to you, and I have limits, but as you found out yesterday they're probably more relaxed than you thought. So what do you want from me; what's it going to cost me for your silence? Or am I too late?" I looked him in the eyes and smiled. "You're not too late Mulder, I haven't told a soul, hence the insurance." I gestured with the gun. "I thought you might be regretting letting me in on your secret, and you might've decided to repair the damage by a bit of rat extermination. And, well, my price is negotiable, because, to be honest, while I'm not going to pass up this juicy morsel, I'm not sure what to do with it. Maybe a bit more research is required, a little more frankness on your part." He got off his couch and stood in front of me, his body tense, his mouth grim, but his voice was back to its normal even tone when he said "I'm not discussing my behaviour with you, Krycek. I don't owe scum like you any explanations, any excuses. I've got myself into a situation where I'm forced to bribe you to let me get on with my life, so make up your mind what you want. I warn you, if it's something I find intolerable, I'll kill myself rather than face people knowing the truth." "You dumb shit, you forced this on me, you knew what would happen" I yelled at him. I hauled him over to me by the front of his shirt and pushed my gun up under his jaw. His body was hot against mine, his heart beating wildly. "Maybe you'd like me to sort it right away. I could kill you and your problems would be solved...or you could try and kill me... hmm? Then it'd all be tidy again." "I told you" he whispered fiercely, "didn't you hear me? It was Fox. Him. Not me. I never wanted you to know, but he's been nagging me for years to meet you. I've stopped him seeking you out, but last night your paths crossed accidentally and there was no way I could stop him. And now you know, and I can't take the knowledge away, and I can't kill you because he won't let me. He'll let me hurt you ... the sight of your skin, bruised and bloody, excites him. But I can't kill you. So, rat-bastard, you're safe to practice your extortion skills. Call me when you want to discuss terms. Now let go of me." I released his shirt and stood back. "All right Mulder, a little something on account will do for now. You can let me have the balance later. I want Fox, I want to talk to him, find out what's going on in that sick brain of yours. You may not want to share but he seemed very keen to establish a rapport. Give him to me for an evening and maybe I can work out what I want." Mulder lifted an eyebrow and gave a knowing leer. "Yeah, well even I can work out what you want if that's part of your price. It must have been obvious to you that Fox's interests are mainly in non-verbal communication not chit-chat. Have you got the hots for me, Ratboy? You want to fuck my body like you've fucked with my life?" I could feel myself blushing and glanced away. "Well, well...and I thought your interest in me was purely professional. I didn't realise you were getting your rocks off by making me suffer and screwing up my work." I forced myself to look back into his eyes and say, "Don't flatter yourself, Mulder. Just think how I'm going to enjoy seeing you squirm with embarrassment, with humiliation, after I've let Foxy-baby play his games with me. You'll have no dignity left by the time he's sated himself on Alex Krycek. What does he like best, hmm? Is the vanilla stuff good enough or has the strangle-hold you've got on your warped emotions perverted his tastes to balance the scales? I could see he's not shy about public performances, and if he wants me, he thinks it'll be rough." I stepped forward, pressing my gun to his temple to hold him in position, then ran my hand across his cheek and mouth, pausing to trace his lips with my fingers. Throughout the whole of our encounter I'd been hard, desperate to drag him to me and grind my throbbing groin into his. I wanted him to know how I adored him, but there wasn't a way to tell him that here, now. I thought if I could delve into 'Fox's' motivations, get close to him, then, maybe, there would be some way of building a different relationship with 'Mulder'. But I couldn't show any weakness, I was afraid he'd back off if I didn't turn my proposal into a dare. Mulder is petrified of allowing others close to him, but he dives into physical danger without a second thought. He had to believe it was a thug that wanted Fox, a criminal with no sensibilities and no morals, so that he wouldn't stop to analyse my motives. So instead of declaring my love I licked my lips and murmured lewdly, "Does he liked to be spanked...or I could tie him up and use my belt on that beautiful little butt instead. Make it all hot and sore so that later, when he's gone, you'll have to think of me when you sit on that hard office chair of yours. And then when I've had my fill and he's lying on the floor, bruised from his beating and sticky with my semen, I'll piss on him. I bet he'd love that, Mulder, he'd roll around in it and rub it into his skin. He'll be on his knees holding his face into that hot stream, it'd be dripping off his hair and running into his eager mouth. Would that turn him on, Mulder? Would that make him come?" Mulder's eyes were wide with shock, and he had turned quite pale. Shaking his head he tried to back away from me, but I wound my hand in his tie and dragged him back. "You're a sick, sick cunt Krycek. You're filth. Get out of here...get away from me." he rasped. Gotcha! I thought. Let's wind you up a bit more, Agent Mulder. "I've got a lovely little knife, too. Sharp...pointed...clean as a scalpel. Does he like the sight of your blood Mulder? A few little cuts in that silky skin Fox was showing off in the club yesterday and we could watch it dripping down his body. I could lick it off as I fuck him. I could carve my name in his chest, leave some pretty scars, and then you'd belong to me too, you would be marked as mine as well. He'd like that, wouldn't he Mulder? He said he'd been waiting a long time to meet me; the little faggot wants to take it any way I want to give it to him, he wants to be abused and he wants you to be left with the pain and the humiliation while he gets the fun. Are you going to let him, Mulder? Are you going to give him to me?" "You disgust me, Krycek, you and your twisted fantasies," he spat at me, struggling to pull his tie from my grasp. Suddenly he went completely still and started gasping for air through his mouth. Then, in a different tone, putting his hands on my chest and pushing hard, "Quick! Let me go...let me go dammit...I'm gonna puke" I'd seen Mulder do that before, under stress. I dropped his tie like a hot coal and leapt back from him as he made a dash for the toilet, but he'd only got halfway across the room before it caught him and his stomach ejected its contents onto the lounge floor. The foul stench and sounds of Mulder's heaving followed me into the kitchen where I gathered up a glass of water and a dampened towel to clean him up. When I returned Mulder was on his hands and knees over the mess, panting like a dog, a string of drool dangling from his mouth, and as I touched his shoulder I could feel him trembling. "Sit up" I said, pulling back on him, and I offered him the cloth. He sat back on his heels and took it from me, wiped his face and reached for the water. Aft er a couple of sips he spoke, his voice low and quivery, "You can have him, Krycek, you can have him and you can keep him. You're what he deserves. Use him however you want, just keep the fuck away from me. And if you leave any permanent marks on him, I swear I'll cut your balls off. This is between you and him, I don't want any reminders of you filthy hands on this body." "When?" "Two weeks." "Two weeks? I think tomorrow would suit me better, Mulder." "You don't understand yet, do you?" His voice was becoming more ragged and when he looked up at me there were tears on his cheeks. "I can't choose to be him, it builds and builds in me until I can't hold him in any more. Sometimes I can keep him in check longer, but usually after two weeks he's ready to take over. It literally can't happen before then. At that club, two weeks from today, 9pm." Wow, I was thinking, he is one seriously disturbed guy. Do I really want to get tangled up in Mulder's psychoses? And, more to the point, he's the psychologist, he must know how screwed-up he is, he must know he needs help. But, y'know, I'd found a seriously big chink in his armour, and I wanted to wriggle right inside there with him. This was no time for sentimentality or pity, not when I had the physical embodiment of Mulder's libido at my beck and call in the shape of Fox. Jeez, I wasn't just pandering to his delusions; he almost had me thinking of himself as two people now. I looked down at him, still on his knees, his shoulders shaking as he wept silently into his hands, the picture of defeat. I put my hand down to his head and gently stroked the dishevelled hair. He didn't flinch away. "OK. Two weeks." I collected my book and my gun and let myself out. Chapter 3 In which the fish are pleased to see me It was a damn good thing that there was a message waiting on my e-mail that evening with details of a job that needed doing immediately. Chasing round California after a guy that had been supposed to be laundering some money for my client, but had decided instead on an impromptu vacation using the funds, kept my mind off Mulder most of the time. But I would wake up in the night and be unable to sleep again, brooding about what I had said to him. I was torn between the guilt I felt by driving Mulder to tears with my cruel and crude suggestions for Fox's entertainment, and the fact that I got so horny thinking about really doing some of them to Fox, when, to be frank, my feelings for Mulder were of a nauseatingly romantic (not to say soppy) variety. How could I reconcile wanting to debase Fox and cherish Mulder? They were the same person, I had to remember that, no matter how much Mulder denied it. My attitude to one part of him would influence how the other part felt about me. My emotions swung from lust to love, from fantasies of strewing his path with rose-petals to ever more inventive uses of ropes, clamps and gags. It was enough to drive a man to drink. However the oblivion wasn't worth the hangovers, and the brevity of the relief I got taking out my frustrations on a hapless rent-boy didn't justify having to scramble out of Carmel in such a hurry after I'd tossed his battered (but still breathing) body out of my car at the local hospital's front door. I was home with a couple of days to spare, with only a few bruises and scrapes, the missing money and a severed hand in a cool-box. The client had wanted to verify I'd got the guy...he'd said fingerprints would do for proof. As the evening of my date with Fox approached I became more and more jumpy. Waiting doesn't agree with me anyway, and here I was as nervous as a teenager going out with his first girl-friend. It took me hours to decide what to wear, by the time I left the whole contents of my wardrobe were strewn around the bedroom. It would have been reassuring to wear my favourite jeans and old leather jacket, but the weather was even hotter than it had been a fortnight ago, so I settled for a pair of light loose pants, and a RATM T-shirt that until recently had belonged to my playmate from Carmel. Stowing essential hardware in my pockets, I grabbed my keys and headed for Bruce's. I arrived with a few minutes to spare and took a seat at the bar. Discretion being the better part of valour, I resisted Mickey's latest concoction and settled back with a beer to wait for Fox. An hour later I was on my fourth, and still no date. Y'know, standing up Alex Krycek is not recommended if you want to live a long and healthy life, and I was seething with rage by the time I left the club and cursing myself for not insisting I collect him from his apartment to stop him chickening out. The windows of Mulder's place were dark when I arrived and it was then I had a sickening thought. Maybe I'd been the last straw, maybe Mulder couldn't face Fox meeting me, maybe the only way to stop him was to stop himself...to kill himself. My skin went cold and I thought I was going to faint. He'd been so overwrought when I left him two weeks before; he might have done it then... I dashed out of the car and up to number 42. For once, I knocked, but there was no answer, and my fingers were shaking so much it took me a couple of minutes instead of seconds to pick his door lock. Inside it was silent and dim, the only light a restful green glow from the fishtank. There was no smell of rotting Mulder, and none, thank God, of vomit, though when I flicked on the lights the floor where the mess had been was several shades lighter then the area around it. Dammit, Mulder, I thought, you could have washed the whole thing while you were at it, it can't have been scrubbed for years. A quick look in the rest of the rooms confirmed that there weren't any corpses of attractive FBI agents to be found, and I slumped down on the sofa with a sigh of relief. It was then that I noticed the slip of yellow paper stuck to the TV screen. I peeled it off. Sure enough, it was for me. "Called away for work. Back Thursday morning latest. Be outside here Thursday 10pm. or leave a contact number" Damn. I hadn't remembered he might need to get in touch. I'm so much in the habit of hiding, I'm not used to handing out my phone number. I wasn't about to leave it for anyone to find in Mulder's empty apartment either, so I scrabbled round on his desk till I found a highlighter, scrawled OK in large letters on his note and stuck it back to the TV. Before I left I fed his fish. Y'know, I reckon it's only the softheartedness of people who break into Mulder's apartment that keeps the little buggers alive. Chapter 4 In which we go on a date Thursday came, and the weather broke. The thunder roared and crashed and constant flashes of lightening strobed the wet streets, illuminating the heavy raindrops that bounced and splashed on the road outside Mulder's apartment block. No dithering over my outfit tonight—the leather jacket was back. Hey, a heavy coat's a darn sight more useful than any number of pockets when you've got weapons to hide. On the dot of ten a tall figure in a long raincoat and umbrella emerged from the door of the block. I switched on the car lights and he dashed over and jumped inside, tossing his umbrella on the rear seat. "Watch the upholstery, Mulder, this car's only on loan." He paused in his struggle to wriggle out of the raincoat, and turned and looked at me, raising his eyebrows questioningly. "Sorry—. Fox " "Right. Try to remember, please, Alex. You don't want to ruin a beautiful friendship before it's had a chance to begin by calling me insulting names." The sodden raincoat joined its partner in the back. "Anyway, for 'on loan' don't you mean 'stolen'. What's your worry if the seat's wet?" I shrugged. "Silly me—not my problem is it? You'll be on the bottom ." His face creased up and he began to snigger. I snapped on the interior light to take a look at my companion for the night. Gone was the FBI agent with his business suit, his neat hair and his serious pale face. The creature beside me wore a faded black T-shirt, ragged where the sleeves had been ripped out, a pair of extremely tight black leather pants and heavy boots that sported far more buckles than was decent. The spiky hair was back, along with tiny dagger-like ornaments through his earlobes and a generous brush of black around his eyes giving him a gaunt and feral look. He had demonstrated his tastes ran on similar lines to my own by completing the ensemble with a leather bondage cuff on each wrist and a narrow studded collar round his neck from which a ti ny metal tag dangled. A sturdy silver chain hung round his neck as well. Christ, however am I going to keep him glued together as one person in my mind? I thought. However long has this split being going on for? His whole body language is different—it's not just his clothes, his attitude. "Well, Alex, d'you like what you see? Look, I even wore a label so you won't forget who I am." He jingled the tag on his collar at me and as I leant forward to take a look I felt his warm tongue caress my ear, a hard something catching in the folds as it stroked. I jumped back as if he'd given me an electric shock and he began to laugh in earnest. "Stick out your tongue" I demanded. As I suspected a tiny metal stud was embedded in the flesh. "How many fucking holes have you got in your fucking body? Are there any bits that aren't pierced?" "Not many. Wanna look?" he said, grinning at me and fumbling with the fastenings of his flies. I gulped. "Not right now, thanks" I hurriedly replied and tried to grab the hand that was busily undoing buttons. Before I could blink he'd got his hand on top and my palm was pressed firmly against the warm, hard, leather-covered bulge between his wantonly spread legs. "Oooh Alex," he crooned, "see what you do to me." "I bet you say that to all the boys" I said dryly, snatching my hand back. "True." He cocked his eyebrow at me. "Shall we be off?" I started the car and set off down the road. "Where are we going?" "The Pit. After your cosy tete a tete with Mulder it seemed like the appropriate place to go to start our session together." The Pit is a fetish club in a rather seedy part of town. I'd been there once or twice; it's dark and rambling and equipped with convenient frames, cages and other paraphernalia for use by customers who like to make public displays of their kinks. Just about anything goes as long as all the parties taking part are agreeable, and there's no damage to the premises. The booze is cheap, the clientele ranges in age from 18 to 102 (I was once told this was their oldest member) and covers all sexes (definitely more than your standard two.) The police tend to leave it alone 'cos they're pretty picky about letting in under-agers, and they discourage drugs. They were sued once by a guy who was too stoned to notice that someone had used a branding iron on him—cost the club a fortune in plastic surgeon's fees. "You're a member then? It's never come up in any of the files on you." "Oh come on, Alex, you don't think Mulder would let me join anything under our real name, do you? I've had several false identities at various times, and it's been a piece of cake since I've known the Gunmen." I goggled at him, causing him to warn me to watch my driving. "The Gunmen know about you?" My voice came out as an embarrassing high-pitched squeak. I felt his hand grip my thigh and gently squeeze, and he said in a low breathy voice "Don't worry darling, they don't know a thing, they aren't your rivals for my affection." He let his hand run firmly up and down my leg, and, struggling to keep my mind on the road and away from the uncomfortable tightness of my clothing, I asked, "So what do they think you're up to? Don't they want to know why you need false credentials?" "Oh, you know them, they see danger and conspiracy round every corner." "So does someone else not a million miles from here!" "Yeah, right. Well it's his job to worry and mine to have fun. Anyway, Mulder only has to drop a few hints about traitors in the FBI, nervous informants and UFO's and they come up with the goods. They're how Mulder manages to become me, too. He's seen you tailing him sometimes, but you'd never seen me until Bruce's, had you?" I shook my head. Fox's attentions to that thigh were causing me to lose the power of speech. "I keep my stuff there—I've got a room, no more than a large closet really, at the far end of their building. They think it's full of evidence and dangerous alien artefacts, I've let their imaginations run riot and they're too scared, and I s'pose too respectful of Mulder, to pry. We sorted a route connecting old service tunnels, empty buildings and so on for me to get in and out unnoticed. It has to be modified sometimes if one of the buildings gets a tenant, but at the moment it comes out a block down and nearly two buildings over from their front door. I insisted on no cameras around my area, so they retaliated with extra locks." He jingled a bunch of keys in my face that an Alcatraz gaoler would have been proud of. I cleared my throat and said, "How come you're telling me all this? Mulder wouldn't give me any personal information voluntarily for fear of what I'd do with it." "He shouldn't have let me loose with you if he didn't want me to blab. He's the one with issues here, not me. I don't give a gnat's fart if he thinks you're a traitor, a spy, the guy that killed his father or even the guy that shot JFK. My goals, my raison d'être, they're different from his." "Hey, I wasn't even born yet when Kennedy was assassinated." " That wouldn't stop him from suspecting you." he replied cryptically. The rain was still belting down when we reached the club, and Fox insisted we share his umbrella to make a dash for the porch. There's usually a small crowd outside of people coming and going, waiting for friends and so on, but the weather was so foul even the bouncers had taken refuge just inside the doors and we had it to ourselves. He stuffed the thin wallet he had retrieved from his coat into his back pocket with some difficulty. There really wasn't room for anything but Fox inside those pants, they could have been painted on. He handed me his membership card to look after while he fiddled with something at his neck, then, taking it back, he passed me a thin leather strap instead. "Hold tight" he said, "you wouldn't want to loose me. It can be pretty crowded in there and I don't always come back when my master whistles." By this time he was grinning widely at the expression on my face as I realised, with horror, that I was holding onto one end of a leash. Fox had attached the other end to the chain round his neck, not an ornament, as I now saw, but one of those choke chains that you use to curb impatient dogs. "I can't do this," I exclaimed "What the hell are you thinking of, Mulder?" "If Mulder were here it'd be round your neck and he'd be doing his damnedest to throttle you with it" he answered tartly. "I'm just trying to make sure Mulder's side of the bargain is kept. He gave me to you—..but you've got to keep me on a short leash if you want me to stay with you. When he said we deserve each other he meant that I can be as much of a lying, cheating, manipulating cocksucker as you, sweet Alex. And I like to fuck—and there'll be no shortage of offers in here. So if you want me to stay around so you can use me like you promised, you'd better hang onto that strap." "You little whore" I growled, giving the leash a sharp pull so he stumbled toward me, "You do what I say tonight or Mulder will face the consequences." "Make me" he managed to rasp out through his constricted windpipe, his lip curling in a sneer. Y'know I just don't think sometimes, and this time I walked right into it. I backhanded him across the face and he flopped to his knees in front of me. Loosening the chain round his neck, he turned his face up, and his bloodied mouth lifted into a dreamy smile. His eyes were black with desire and his voice shaking with passion as he groaned "Oh yeah lover, that's so good, you never hit him, never fight back. Make me your victim, babe. I'll take it any way you want to give it, just like you said." I felt like someone had poured a bucket of cold water over my head. The simmering lust that had been clouding my judgement cleared and I began to get an inkling of what was going on. Consciously or not, Mulder had set up a trap for me by letting me meet Fox. We weren't here because Fox needed a good reaming, or because Mulder was scared of exposure. I was starting to wonder if I was a punishment, the fate Mulder had earned for his failure to keep Fox subdued; he'd convinced himself he was worthless and so he'd given himself as a plaything to his most despised enemy. I'd be useless for his purpose if he knew that I loved him, that I was knotted with guilt for having made him bleed. He'd turn his back on me and find someone else to make him suffer. Somehow I had to play along enough to keep him by my side without becoming irrevocably linked in his mind with the 'Fox' part of him. Some might say he'd be even more degraded by being the object of my love, I thought wryly. A sudden vision of Wayne and Garth chanting "We are not worthy" flashed into my mind. I smiled to myself and my mood lightened. Maybe I wasn't worthy, but this time my intentions were, even if my methods were dubious. I took his arm and pulled him to his feet, and carefully wiped the blood from his face with my handkerchief. "Come on, you're asking for dessert before we've even started our meal. You might be happy to be arrested for lewd behaviour in public, but us spies have a certain anonymity to preserve. OK, if you want to be my bitch this evening, I'll play along" and I gave his leash a little tug, "but don't provoke me. I don't want the Canine Defence League down on my head." Inside the club was dim and noisy. The heavy throb of Rammstein's 'Bestrafe Mich' could be heard intermittently as the soundproofed doors of the dance area swung to and fro. Appropriate, I thought, glancing at Fox's face where a livid bruise was beginning to form. However in this company injuries could be considered a designer accessory and didn't excite comment. In fact I was the one who stood out in my plain jacket and jeans, amongst the rubber-clad 'French Maids', the bondage clothing and the androgynous guys in tightly laced corsets and stockings. We got some beers, and headed for a table by the dance floor. Fox was obviously a regular visitor to this place, because he exchanged nods and smiles with several groups of people on the way, though they seemed surprised by the leash, judging by the lifted eyebrows and speculative glances at myself. A live group began to play, mostly death metal and industrial rock. The music was far too loud for any conversation, so we sat silently watching the uninhibited gyrations of the tightly packed crowd for a while until he twitched the leash from my grasp, took my hand and plunged us both into the thick of them. I was immediately surrounded by a blanket of seminaked sweaty flesh, surging and heaving with the activities of the bodies in the mosh-pit. For a while I was l ost in the hypnotic and ear-splitting rhythm, the bass notes vibrating through my body, until the music slowed and became more melodic and suddenly Fox was back at my side. For a short time he just stared at me, and the music and the other dancers receded from my consciousness until he and I seemed to be alone in a vast echoey space. Then he smiled gently and my mouth went dry and I began to shiver; I felt as if I should run for my life, for my soul, run as fast as I could away from this man who had unknowingly owned me for so long. He reached out, and cupped my face in his hands, and drew me towards him. I was shaking like a leaf, I couldn't breathe, and all I could think as I watched his beautiful mouth approach me was that I was dreaming, it wouldn't happen, I would wake up unfulfilled as I had on so many lonely mornings. But this time the alarm clock didn't ring, the mouth found mine and Mulder's tongue brushed my past my lips and battered against my teeth until I submitted to his will and found myself penetrated, invaded, conquered. On and on went that kiss, our lips caressing as our arms drew us together and we slowly swayed with the music. It was the song finishing that brought us back to reality and as the kiss ended he lay his head on my shoulder and I blew gently into his ear and explored his lobe and its vicious little ornament with my tongue. "What's the matter, you're shivering" murmured Fox. I was so overwhelmed I replied without thinking, "I'm scared stiff. I've wanted this for so long, wanted you for so long, it feels like I've wanted that kiss for my whole life, Mulder." I felt him stiffen in my arms and, pulling away from me, he snarled " Not Mulder", and he was suddenly pushing past the dancers to get away. Fuck, what have I just said, I thought. Could I have said anything more stupid? I reached out and snagged the leash that he had looped loosely round his neck while we were dancing, bringing him to a choking halt. Then I set off for one of the side-rooms without a backwards glance, keeping a firm hold on the strap, and letting Fox follow as best he could to avoid being strangled. By the time we'd forced our way out of the crowd and away from the loudest area of the floor Fox was staggering and wheezing, pulling back on the leash with one hand so that he could release the tension enough to insinuate his fingers between his skin and the chain that had been embedded in the muscle of his neck. People watched with amusement as, coming to a clearer space, I gave the lead an extra tug, and catching Fox off balance, sent him sprawling, face down, at my feet. The guy was messing so much with my head, sending my emotions on a sickening fairground ride, I was appalled and terrified by my helplessness in the face of this new intimacy with him. The mixed feelings, as usual with me, were expressed by violence. I walked up to him and kicked him hard a couple of times in the belly. He tried to curl up the floor to protect himself but I reached down, relieving the constriction on his throat, and pulling hard instead on the leather dog-collar round his neck, got him up on his knees. "Did I tell you that you could leave, bitch?" I said, shaking him. "I think we better take some time to sort out the rules here. If we don't stop running on instinct you're going to be in the ER before bedtime." But I was thinking about my fantasies and how they were coming true—.worship for Mulder, abuse for Fox—already I was out of control—- how could I let Mulder use me as a punch bag, and yet want to beat Fox to a pulp, and how could both scenarios make me so hard that I couldn't control my reactions. I let go of the collar and he reached out and steadied himself on my hips. I thought he was going to get up, but he leaned forward and began licking the cloth over the bulge in my jeans, earning applause and cat-calls from the audience we had acquired. I blushed hotly and tried to lever him off, telling him to stop between gritted teeth, but I couldn't back away because the people behind me were pressing forward for a better look. Someone behind me called "Where did you find him, Fox? Can I have a taste too?" Fox looked up and smiling at him, replied, "I found him in the sewer. That's where rats live, isn't it Alex? I found him in the sewer and he tastes of disease and shit and rotting corpses. My Ratboy is so delicious, and if you want risk trying him, be my guest, but I warn you he's vicious!" I finally managed to pull him to his feet and bundled him out of the main area into the quieter room, leaving our erstwhile audience behind. I thrust him onto a bench in one of the booths and was annoyed to see he was helpless with laughter. I sat opposite him and said curtly, "What the hell were you thinking of? Don't you think we should keep a lower profile?" "Come on, Alex, you started it" he guffawed. "Even here you can't kick the shit out of someone on the main dance-floor and attract no attention. You've just tetchy because your pants are damp." "And about to get damper." said the voice from the dance-floor as a hand gripped my shoulder. "Good evening, Alex. Wie geht, Füchsin?" "Es geht mir gut, Siggy" Fox replied in the most execrable German accent I have ever heard, standing and greeting the speaker with a kiss on both cheeks. Which freakshow does Mulder find his friends in? I thought, taking in the appearance of this latest specimen. He was tall, and rail thin with sharp features and a wide happy smile. His skin was paper-white and dotted all over with the freckles that went with his orange curly hair and albino-white lashes. His eyes were the palest blue and very large and at that moment running over my body as if his sight could penetrate my clothing. "Mmm, er ist toll. Where is this sewer, Füchsin? I would like one of these rats for myself." "I too" piped up another voice, and suddenly another pair of blue eyes were contemplating me. I glanced questioningly at Fox and said "Well, aren't you going to introduce us then, Füchsin ?" "Oh, yes—- Alex, this is Natalie and Sigismund. Twins, this is Alex." "Guten Abend, es freut mich, Natalie, Siggy," I said, shaking their hands. At first glance, I had taken them for identical brothers, so alike were their faces and build, but you could tell one was female when she moved and her tiny breasts and rounded stomach were outlined against the loose weave of the sloppy knitted sweater that was the match of her brother's. They sat down either side of Fox. Siggy immediately turned to Fox and, clasping the back of his neck in one pale spider-fingered hand, began running his tongue over the bruises I had made with the choke-chain. Fox sighed and stretched his neck for the caress, glancing at me through slitted eyelids. Natalie gave the leash a little shake, jangling the chain around his neck, and with her other hand stroked the welt on his face. "So, what is this, Alex? Have you tamed die Füchsin ? Has he given himself to you? We will be very upset if you keep him all to yourself. My brother and I enjoy his company so much, he has such enthusiasm for our games." "He had no choice. He was given to me this evening as part-payment for a debt. If he pleases me," I drawled, with a suggestive smile, "I may decide to keep him, and write off the debt. That is, if his owner and I can come to an agreement." "I did not know he belonged to anyone, Alex. He has not ever mentioned this to us." The turn of the conversation had attracted Fox's attention and he was looking at me in alarm. "Oh yes," I replied, "He's been under someone's control for some years, isn't that right, Fox? I believe he's not allowed out on his own very often, and maybe from now on, not at all, if he becomes my property." "But surely you could share him sometimes. I find it hard to get suitable play-mates for my brother and die Füchsin is so obliging, so obedient." The brother under discussion had by now pulled Fox's T-shirt up and was running his hand over Fox's stomach. "You surprise me" I said, frowning at Fox. "I've never known him to do what's expected of him; he's a real expert at pissing people off. As you can see, I've already had to correct him a couple of times this evening." "Such a pretty bruise—he marks so nicely, and heals up so quickly, I have noticed. Not like my poor brother, who cannot suffer as much as I would like him to because his skin is so easily damaged, and I do not wish to make too many scars. I expect if you are having trouble with him you have not made it clear who is in charge, or maybe he is trying to force you to be harsher with him. I have found it necessary to limit him sometimes, he would let me flog him so hard he would be useless for fucking afterwards. But you must know this, you have known him a while?" The images that were springing to my brain had left me speechless, and it must have been obvious to Fox how freaked out I was becoming as each revelation distorted further the assumptions I had made about Mulder. Stifling a laugh, he decided to add to my discomfiture. "He's known me and my owner a long time, Natalie, but it was purely through business. He only had the first hint of how I spend my leisure hours a few days back, so I think you're going to shock him if you tell him in detail about how you like to whip Siggy and I, and how you like to watch us fuck each other. Perhaps you'd like to watch too, Alex? Natalie says we put on a good show." I goggled at him. "What here ?" I exclaimed, and glanced round at the dais in the corner of the room, where a couple of dykes were demonstrating their enthusiasm for cunnilingus. "We prefer more privacy for those sort of games." But not all your games, I was thinking, as I noticed Siggy was making a determined assault on Fox's flies. Fox realised where I was looking, and smirking at me, asked, "D'ya mind, Alex? Siggy loves sucking dick, and he's excellent at it, they both are—or you could have one and I'll take the other?" "Fine—go ahead, don't worry about me—I'd really like to see this." I stuttered. Natalie scooted round the table and, snuggling up to my side, put her hand on my crotch and felt the contours of the hard-on that was threatening to split the stitching of my jeans. "Are your sure, mein Freund? This feels like a good mouthful and Siggy and I were not joking about wanting to try a taste of the rat that unsere Füchsin finds so appetising." "Oh, I'm sure—but thank you, maybe another time. Remember, tonight I've got Fox for a 'trial run' and I'll need all my stamina so I can test his talents thoroughly." I grinned nastily at Fox. "But you don't mind—?" and she gestured at the couple opposite. I shook my head. "Sehr gut. Let us sit back and enjoy the performance." I lifted my arm and she settled against my side with my arm around her shoulders. They were broad and boney, I could feel the tight muscles in her arms, muscles that felt capable of inflicting a long, thorough beating, and I wondered if I would surrender to my sadistic desire to show Fox that I could better her. Fox slid down in his seat to give Siggy better access to the zip of his pants, a prudent move, given their tightness and his apparent lack of underwear. Siggy's hands looked ghostlike, so thin and pale against the black leather and the golden tone of Fox's skin. The right one delved inside and eased out Fox's cock, not an unknown quantity to me considering my hobby as a Peeping Tom, but now assuming a different significance, because, although Fox's hands were stroking Siggy's head and back, his hazel eyes were staring relentlessly at my face. Fox was already hard and drips of pearly liquid were oozing from the slit in the ruddy head of his cock. Siggy gripped the shaft with the tips of the fingers of his left hand, as one might hold a clarinet or flute, then collecting the liquid with the slender forefinger of his right hand, reached across the low table between us and offered it to me. Never taking my eyes from Fox, I presented my tongue as people do for the communion wafer and let Siggy anoint it with my love's juices. He gave a little smile to his sister, then bent to his task, working Fox's shaft with his right hand, his left buried in the dark curly hair at Fox's groin, stroking his thighs and scrotum. His long pink tongue travelled all over the cock-head, teasing and tickling, and then, slipping from his seat and wriggling down between the table and Fox's spread legs, he took it in his mouth and drove his head down to Fox's groin. I was mesmerised by the sight of Fox's thighs, tightly imprisoned in shiny black, bucking and straining to push his prick ever deeper into the man at his feet, the tangle of ginger hair bobbing with the rhythm of Fox's thrusts. Fox began to pant and whimper, dragging my attention back to his face, his eyes, his lips. Those eyes had not a single glance to spare for the man who was sucking him, his whole attention was focused on me and my reaction to his arousal. A wave of heat flushed through my body, and the air seemed suddenly as thin as if I were on a mountain top. My mouth opened and I ran my tongue over my lips, as if I could taste him, as if I were the man kneeling for Fox, forced open for his pleasure. I didn't need to watch the act any more, didn't need to be touched, the bliss on his face was enough, we were making love to each other just as surely as if we were in each other's arms. He was gasping for breath now, groaning and arcing his body back, his hands clenched in Siggy's hair, and I could feel myself approaching my climax too, and I knew I was going to come in my pants like an overexcited schoolboy when he gets his first real kiss. He gave a little cry, and as his whole body tensed and shuddered he smiled sweetly at me and pushed me right over the edge; my body spasmed, my prick throbbed and a warm wetness spread across the front of my groin. I was brought back to earth by Natalie's giggle as she remarked "You should have accepted my offer to take care of that, Herr Rat. It would have been less messy." I looked ruefully at the dark stain on the front of my jeans and replied, "Guess your brother was right about me getting damper after all." I excused myself and headed for the john to clean up, trailing Fox behind me on the end of his leash, to the amusement of his friends. When he protested I retorted, "You've managed to convince me about keeping my eye on you. If I don't, I reckon you'll have screwed your way right round this room by the end of the evening." "Christ, Alex, I'm not that cheap. The twins are old friends, it would have been rude to ignore them. Looks like they'd like to know you better as well, though I get the impression that tonight you've only got eyes for your Fox?" He stopped in front of me, lifted an eyebrow quizzically and squeezed the wet cloth between my legs. "Does this happen when Mulder looks at you, too? When he asked if you had the hots for him I think he'd have had an apoplexy if he'd known you'd got it this bad." I blushed and looked down at my feet, then back at him with a wry smile. "Too many secrets, I'm on overload here, Füchsin. Hey, why do they call you vixen, not Fox, anyway?" "They think Fox is a nickname, and Siggy said it reminded him of people like Zorro, or the hero of a trashy detective novel or some gung-ho bomber pilot. They said it didn't suit, I was too sly and selfish—and ruthless. So they gave me a sex-change. It's OK." He shrugged his shoulders. "Helps keep my secret. Some of the others call me that, too" "Then why didn't you use a completely false name? You've got the paperwork." "Because when I'm not Mulder, I have to be Fox. I'm not pretending here, Alex. I'm not playing a part. This is the only chance I get to be myself, I won't spoil that by hiding behind a different identity. Mulder won't allow any physical evidence, so we have counterfeit credit cards, driver's licences and so on. But I'm not giving up the chance for people to know me and call me by my real name." This was too much, and I began to laugh. "Let me get this right—are you telling me that Mulder is a party to credit card fraud? Or does he end up somehow paying the bills?" He bit his lip and tried to look serious. "Well—yeah—I suppose that makes him a criminal, because I have no idea who pays the bills—.the Gunmen just lose them somehow. Don't worry, it's not weighing on his conscience." He looked sidelong at me. "Wanna know another secret? One that Mulder and I both enjoy?" "OK" "When one of the twins is blowing me I'm usually thinking of Scully. It's the red hair—And when Mulder looks at Scully and she's putting him down in that oh-so-reasonable manner of hers, or showing him up in front of someone, he thinks of the twins and how he'd like to shut her up by stuffing his dick in her mouth." "She'd bite it off." "Umm—you've got a point." Chapter 5 In which I find out more than I should Fox's friends had replenished our drinks by the time we returned. Natalie rose as we approached, and taking the leash from me, said, "May I have your pretty pet for a while, Herr Rat? A little exercise on the dance floor would be good for him, and if you are going to be claiming his time in future I would like to enjoy his company while I can. Don't worry, I'll keep him under firm restraint." Fox's throat received further punishment as she pulled the strap sharply to bring him to heel. He tried to hook his fingers inside the chain and rasped, "Shit, I must have been mad to come up with this idea. If I ever suggest it again, talk me out of it would you?" "Nonsense, you have found the perfect means to enforce your obedience. I wish I had thought of it myself. Now let go and follow me quietly, or your voice will be permanently silenced." She tweaked the leash and winked at me over the top of Fox's head. With her stilletto-heeled boots on she towered over Fox, barefoot, she must have been at least six feet tall. "You're welcome, Natalie. When you return, perhaps you can give me some advice on how to control him, should I become his new master?" Fox looked startled. "You've got enough evil ideas of your own, Alex. I'm sure Natalie can't have anything to teach you." "Your opinions aren't really important, now are they, bitch? For someone who's only interested in 'non-verbal communication' you sure have a lot to say; I think you should keep that lovely mouth for what it was designed for - " I took his chin in my hand and kissed him hard, earning a rude gesture as Natalie towed him off to the larger room. I sat down by Siggy, who was watching their departure with a thoughtful expression on his face. He turned toward me and frowned slightly. "You understand, this situation is a surprise to us, one that we must think about." "Frankly, it's a surprise to me too, Siggy. I can't say much, because this isn't settled, and involves secrets that aren't mine, but this has happened suddenly, and, I think, unintentionally. I knew nothing of Fox's life outside his work, and when his owner offered him to me, I didn't realise—I still don't realise what I may be in for." "Whatever you decide, we hope that we may still keep die Füchsin for a friend, that you will not claim all his time. We do not often see him anyway, and as we are due to go home to Germany soon, probably before the baby is born, we would like to make the most of the weeks that are left. I think this is so for Füchsin as well." Paralysed, motionless, the word tumbling over and over in my mind baby— .baby—baby . I turned my head very slowly, as if the slightest jar would send it crashing from my shoulders to roll across the floor, and fixed Siggy with a look of disbelief. "Did you say what I thought you just said? Are you telling me that Natalie is pregnant ?" "Why, yes!" he gave a little laugh and shake of his head, "You think she has a little beer-gut, perhaps? Die Füchsin did not say anything about this?" "And Mul—- Fox is the father." I made it a statement, not a question. Siggy became coy, "W..e..ll, we are not completely sure, it was not planned, you understand, an accident, even these days such things happen. But Natalie and I found that we were so happy about it, that there was no way we would get rid of it." "And he's happy too?" Siggy pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders. "Yes, and no. I feel he is happy that there is a baby, that he may have a child which is his, but he is unhappy that it happened in the first place. He fills Natalie's head with vague warnings of danger, warnings that he will not make clear, except to say emphatically that no one must know he is the father." "But he may not be the baby's father, you said. What about the other possible man or men?" "There is only one other that it could be." Siggy looked down at his lap, where his pale fingers writhed with each other like the tentacles of a sea anemone. He glanced up briefly, and then back to his hands. "It could be me." "I see. You know, people here wouldn't be tolerant if that were so." He took a deep breath and fiercely looked at me. "It is so in Germany, also. But even if we had known for sure that it was my baby, there would have been no abortion, unless the doctors had said it was abnormal. There is no sign of any problem with it, and there are no genetic diseases in our family— not even shortsightedness, certainly nothing serious like cystic fibrosis. Unless you count our complexion—not a survival trait in a world with no ozone layer, hmm?." He looked at me questioningly, seeking understanding. "We have arranged all the tests we could. We do not want to make a child who will have a life of suffering or severe disability. But my sister and I love each other dearly, and though we would not have chosen for this to happen, we cannot kill a part of ourselves. It is, however, more likely to be Füchsin's baby." "You're only telling me this because you may not see him again, right? Despite him asking you not to tell anyone he is the baby's father." "No—no—you are different—he has had many boyfriends since we have known him. But he has allowed none of them a 'relationship'. With die Füchsin it is all for pleasure, there has been no meaning, no love, no hate, just lust. You say that you may own him now, and if you had been just been another man on the 'scene' we would have said nothing, though we would have tried to keep in touch with him. But you are the first person we have met who knows who he really is, who has known him as something other than the sex toy he pretends to be. Many people here, of course, conceal who they are, and until this happened it was not important to us that Füchsin did too. Now, though, now this is hurtful, especially to my sister." "So you're asking me to betray him, to let you know things that he wants to hide so badly that he won't even give you his name, so that one day his child can know who it's father was." He reached over absently and took my hand and began to stroke it. I don't think he realised what he was doing, his concentration was all on our conversation. "Yes, I suppose I am, or at least to tell me why he keeps himself a secret from us. We met him a while ago you know, last time we were in America, and he has visited us in Germany. We like him very much and we thought he was a friend, and assumed he was happy to be our lover for so long because we needed no commitment from him, no promises, because he understood that Natalie and I are complete together. He knows us well enough to realise that we can be discreet, that we're not interested in blackmailing him—he knows we don't want money, or to cause him embarrassment, and he need not be involved in bringing up the child. He knows we care for him. So what is it that stops him telling us his name? It doesn't have to be written anywhere, the birth certificate can be blank, but how can we tell our child that we knew it's father but he did not care enough even to be a real person." He gripped my hand harder, and his voice became bitter, "I would not be ashamed, I would be the father, but I must not be. I can never be more than a doting uncle, even if it is my baby, I can never claim it, it would never know how deep my love would be. He has this—this honour, and he throws it away and insults us by giving no reasons." I could see an abyss opening before me. One way or another I was going over the edge. The piece of information I had just been given was going to shove me right in, Mulder too, and probably these poor unsuspecting bystanders. I couldn't imagine the uses the Consortium would make of it, how much it could be worth to me to tell them. And all the twins would be thinking of would be cheated wives or blighted political careers. They would have to go on thinking that, there was no way that the truth would make their position less dangerous. "You shouldn't have told me this, Siggy. You should have kept the secret. Listen to Fox's warnings and don't let anyone link him with the baby, and don't tell him you've told me; he'd be petrified to hear that I know. " "Surely he will be pleased that I have told you, he trusts you. I saw how he looked at you, how he responds to you. He loves you Alex, I've seen him with many men and he's never reacted like he does with you, the emotions are like a radiation pouring from him. I have heard him say your name in his sleep, you know, and the way he says it is like a caress." He smiled crookedly, and gave my hand a little kiss. "I must say I have not been disappointed by the man who gives meine Füchsin his wet dreams." I shook my head sadly. "He can't love me, Siggy. He desires me, but the only other emotion he feels for me is hate. I've hurt him and cheated him, though some of the things he thinks I've done weren't my fault. He doesn't believe me if I tell the truth, because he's believed so many of my lies. He'll be sure to expect me to find a way of hurting him through the baby. He might be right—I've done quite a few despicable things to ensure my survival." I pulled my hand from his and leant back in the seat, studying him from under my lashes "I've been dragging him round on a dog lead all evening, for fuck's sake. You saw me kicking him, you've heard me abusing him. Maybe that looks to you like foreplay, but to me it looks like he's using me, goading me, to be a person I don't want to be, to make me lose my self-respect. He and I, and his owner, we have quite a history. There have been a lot of business disagreements—a lot of bad blood. I'm sorry to beat about the bush, I can't be any more explicit." "So, your answer is 'no'." "It's not just 'no', it's no, don't even consider asking anyone else, and it's no, you can't be his friend any more, you mustn't be seen with him. The danger is real, and I am not going to explain either." He frowned at me and said crossly, "You are both ridiculous with your talk of 'secrets' and 'dangers'. You are both just frightened of a little scandal, and if there were one, we would not cause it." He tensed himself to get up, but I gripped his arm and stopped him. "Please Siggy, believe me," I pleaded, "forget Fox, let the baby be nameless, go home and stay away from Washington. Imagine Fox as being involved in a gang war. Each side has ruthless men, men who don't flinch at murder, at threats against a helpless baby, anything to get their own way. Don't get involved, please don't get noticed by these people." "Next you will be telling me that he is Salman Rushdie in disguise," he sneered, "or maybe Hilary Clinton's gigolo, or the leader of the Ku Klux Klan. OK, we won't ask any more questions, we will try to make sense of this." He bit his lip, and took my hand again, and gently ran the tip of one finger over my knuckles. The he said quietly, "I am sorry I spoke of it to you, but since I have, please let me know if die Füchsin changes his mind, or if you do. May we let him know when the baby is born?" I put my hand up to his cheek and looked into his sad eyes, and, feeling like a complete bastard I said "Really, Siggy, it's essential that there is never any more communication between you. If I take him on, I'm not going to let him contact you, though I won't tell him I know about the baby. I'll pretend it's selfishness, that under his new regime I get to choose or discard his friends. If you run into him at all, ignore him, show him you don't want to know him any more. I'm sorry about this, it's obvious that you care about him, and there aren't many who do. Give me you number, and if I can, I'll get in touch and pass any news between you. If things change, I promise to tell you. OK?" He nodded his head, and scribbling on one of the drip mats, said, "Here is our address while we are still in America, maybe two more months. There is also our e-mail—this will not change when we go home." I stowed it away in my coat. I sighed and smiled at him, and giving a self-conscious laugh, said, "I'm sorry about this for my own sake, too. Sounds like M—Fox has been having a hell of a lot more fun than I have lately, I reckon I could have enjoyed being part of your menage." He lifted his eye-brows and pursed his lips. "Does this mean, Herr Rat, that I get to taste before we part forever." "That's what I was hoping you'd say." I purred, and ran my eyes greedily over his long, slim legs, the lithe body revealed where his sweater was pulled taut against his chest and that enormous smiley mouth that had been doing such luscious things to Mulder a while ago. Freaky, yeah, but damn sexy. "But I'm not up for a public display. Have they got anywhere more private?" "Yeah—yeah, not completely, but more than this—" He licked his lips and grinned, took my hand and pulled me to my feet. "C'mon." He lead me over to the bar and, whispering something to one of the staff, was pointed towards a curtained door to the side. "They have a couple of rooms for patrons who are a bit shy. But one usually has to share still, you understand. So if you cannot perform in front of others we will have to find ourselves a quiet alley out in the rain." "S'OK, that's cool. It's just that out there in the club I'd feel like a circus act, y'know." "I find that adds a certain frisson—" "Hmm" Through another curtain and we were in a shabby, dimly lit room, three of whose walls were lined with wide benches covered in scuffed leather. A low table in the centre of the room was covered in empty beer bottles and glasses, and a bin completed the furnishings, thoughtfully provided by the management for used condoms. The room's only occupants were a couple of muscular black guys, totally naked, engaged in a vigorous 69 on the left hand bench. Either they didn't notice or politely ignored us, though Siggy and I took a moment to admire the glorious tight buttocks of the one on top as they flexed and thrust. I felt Siggy's breath on the back of my neck as he pulled my leather jacket from my shoulders and dumped it on the bench behind him. Then he was kissing me, licking me, his chest pressed against my back and his long sinewy arms clamping me still against his body as his hands explored the skin under my T-shirt. Like his sister, he was wearing boots that exaggerated his height, and when he turned me round to take my mouth he had to bend down to reach. "Do you want to bare all too, little rat?" he asked. "Yeah, and get those damn boots off, unless you're planning to screw me through my belly button." That belly button was being crushed against the impressively large bulge between Siggy's stilt-like legs. I pushed up his sweater and gave my attention to his tiny pink nipples and the smooth china-white skin of his chest. I licked and nibbled at them as he struggled out of his knit-wear, then tilted my face up and pulled his head down for another kiss. His long tongue slipped between my lips and explored my mouth, and my cock began to throb, reminding me that it would appreciate a bit more freedom. I took his hand and put it on my flies and he obligingly started to undo my jeans as I slipped my own hands down his back and inside his pants to caress his backside. He broke off the kiss and said, "Come, let us remove the rest of our clothes or we will fall over in an inelegant heap on the floor, and I, for one, do not fancy that." It was, indeed, unsavoury-looking. We helped each other undress and I pushed Siggy down on a bench and proceeded to give him a thorough examination with my mouth and tongue. I'd never before been with someone so ginger-haired, and it was fascinating to see how his skin was mottled in elegant patterns with swirls of freckles, down his back and across his shoulders. The orange hair on his head gave way to gleaming gold wire on his torso, before darkening again to a fresh copper hue at his groin. His erect penis was sea-shell pink, long and slim, with a scatter of freckles at its base; and crowned with a softly wrinkled foreskin, whose secrets I began to explore with my tongue. He groaned and reached down to fondle my hair as I pushed it back and caressed his naked cock-head with my lips, so much juicier and more sensitive than a circumcised one, then sucked the skin back and nipped at it teasingly. "You had better tell me how you want this, or the decision will be made for us, if you continue doing that" gasped Siggy. I stopped immediately and sat astride him , undulating my hips so that my prick was rubbing delightfully against his. "Would you fuck me, Siggy? I'd really like that. Take me up against the wall and nail me to it." "So" he said, looking at me speculatively, "You did not give the impression that this is what you want when you were with your Fox, huh?" I sniggered. "We don't have to tell him. He thinks I'm a real 'hard' man, I don't want to disappoint him." I tugged him to his feet and ran my hands over his hips and groin, while he began to nibble and suck at my neck and ear again, covering my skin with goosebumps. His hands clasped my cock and balls and fondled them firmly, then reached round and parted my buttocks and his fingers ran up and down my crack, tantalising my anus with little rubs and nudges. Soon I was moaning with need, thrusting myself back onto his hands and pumping his shaft to encourage him. "Go and brace yourself, Herr Rat. I will prepare myself and then I will make you into the piece of pussy that you wish to be, nicht wahr?" My legs were quivering as I crossed the room to the clear bit of wall beside the entrance. It must have been over six months since I had let someone fuck me, I'm usually too on edge, watching for danger, expecting betrayal, expecting a bullet or a knife—I can't relax and let someone else take control. It's easier to get release when I'm sure I'm in charge of the situation, and that usually means a hooker or a blowjob. But this is what I like best, to give it all up and let my lover take what they want, to make my body respond at their pace, not mine. I put my hands against the wall and let my forehead rest there too, taking deep breaths as my heart-rate slowed a trifle. Siggy's hand stroked down my back to my buttocks and I bent forward a little and spread my legs for him. His hands felt somewhat slimy with lube as he parted my butt and positioned himself at my hole, but that was all the notice I got before he grabbed me by the hips in a vice-like grip and slammed his cock into me. The world went white with pain, and I shrieked and tried to pull away from him, but those skinny arms were as strong as steel hawsers and he held me fast as he thrust himself in and out, ignoring my whimpers and pleas. Slowly the pain subsided and an aching fullness replaced it, and I realised his voice was hissing in my ear, a litany of filthy endearments, suggestions, in his own guttural language. There's nothing like being fucked in German for making you feel dirty and decadent, I don't know if there's a name for a kink like that, but it sure does it for me. Soon I was begging him to do it harder, faster; pleading with him to touch my cock, to finish it. Suddenly a warm softness engulfed it and when I looked down I discovered one of the guys from the bench was at my feet, and my prick had disappeared, right up to the root, down his throat. He began to work it with his lips and tongue, and it was just too much. I vaguely heard myself groaning over and over, "Jesus, oh Jesus" before I came, spasming violently and filling the mouth below me with my come. I would have collapsed, my legs were like jelly, but Siggy held me up as he thrust into me powerfully for a few more times and before climaxing himself, biting down hard into my shoulder muscle as I felt his cock pulsing inside me. Chapter 6 In which Fox stays too long It was well past 1am when we emerged from the back room into the noise of the club. I hadn't known what to expect of this 'date', but in my most lurid dreams I don't think I would have come up with anything to rival the revelations and events of this evening. I hadn't exactly managed to start forging a relationship with Fox, unless hitting him a few times and fucking one of his friends counts, and, I was thinking as we made our way back to the table, I wasn't going to achieve much more tonight. I'd said earlier to Fox that I was on overload, well now I felt like a computer with too much data and not enough memory... y'know when they're so busy shuffling stuff around to fit that they can't process any of it. Add to that the lassitude you get from the comedown after all the adrenaline and sex, and a sore butt—(Siggy had been rather apologetic about that, especially when he saw a smear of blood, but I told him he was more than welcome.) and you've got an Alex Krycek who's ready just to go home and sleep. What a wuss, you're thinking... must be getting old... The others were sitting at the table when we returned, and if they were in any doubt what we'd been up to, Siggy made it quite clear. "You have excellent taste in rodents, leibe Füchsin," he said, putting his arm round my shoulders, "But I found him not at all vicious. Maybe you are not used to handling him, hmm? He responds beautifully to my touch." I was amused to notice that Fox looked a bit peeved. "You shouldn't have offered him that taste, Fox. He's been rather greedy and I don't think there's any Alex left for you now. I'm exhausted, so say goodbye, 'cos we're going home." I clasped my hands round the back of Siggy's neck and pulled myself up to reach his mouth for a long tender kiss. "Goodbye, Siggy," I whispered in his ear. "I wish it could be 'Auf Wiedersehen'. Please remember what I've said and keep away from Fox." I said goodbye to Natalie as I took Fox's lead from her and urged him to his feet. "C'mon, someone has to work in the morning and he'll be mad at me if I get you home late." We started to make our way to the door, but Fox had other ideas. "Hey, I'm not tired. You go if you want too, but I'm still having fun." "Oh, I don't think so. Hasn't that neck of yours had enough punishment for one evening, or do I have to drag you along again? By the way, how are you going to explain the bruises to Scully?" "Not my problem, is it Alex?" He gave an evil smile. "He's had to think up reasons for a hell of a lot of strange marks over the years. Luckily most of my souvenirs are covered by the suit. Mulder can cope with this sort of thing because it fades, but he gets wild if there are any lasting marks... makes him feel soiled.. Usually he pushes my existence right to the back of his mind, but of course if I acquire a scar he can't deny me to himself. Otherwise he'd have a tattoo or two by now, but unfortunately I couldn't convince him that people would believe they'd been done by aliens." "But what about this?" I asked, taking his earlobe in my fingers, and nudging the spike in it. "He got some of them before I appeared, so they don't count. Remember he was at Oxford in the early eighties, with the punk movement on its way out, and the 'New Romantics' starting." He shrugged, and continued dismissively, "He was a teenager, as much of a fashion victim as any of them. It's just one of those things you did when your parents weren't around to stop you. He's let me do some more where they're not obvious. You've seen one of them," he stuck out his tongue and waggled it at me. "And you know I'm looking forward to showing you the others." He pouted and rubbed his crotch suggestively. "I'm sure you are, but not tonight. You're going back to the apartment, back to being Mulder, and I'm going to bed. To sleep. On my own. OK? You can give me that treat when Mulder lets you out again." "And how am I supposed to get in touch? Y'want me to set the Gunmen to trace you, or do it through the FBI, uh? I didn't think you or Mulder would want to attract the attention." "Yeah, good point. Here... " I found a ballpoint in my pocket and scrawled one of my e-mail addresses on his forearm. "This one shouldn't be traceable." "Gee, thanks, use me for graffiti. Be my guest... " By this time we were at the door. The storm had passed and the gleaming street was garnished with tendrils of mist, as the heat stored in the asphalt during so many hot days evaporated the rain-water. Our footsteps echoed in the quiet street as we walked back to the car. "You're being a total drag, Alex. I really don't want him taking over again so soon; honest, he usually lets me be until early morning, then just goes back to the Gunmen's to shower and change and goes straight to work. C'mon, one sleepless night a fortnight can't hurt him. God, listen to me, I sound like a kid trying to wheedle a few minutes extra before bedtime." He twined his arms round me and pushed me back against the car, rubbing his cheek against mine. "If you take me back now, I'll just sneak out again once you're gone." he murmured. I pushed my hands up under his T-shirt and rubbed his warm back. "I could cuff you to a radiator, or knock you out. Then you'd stay put. Look, I'm not kidding you, I'm so tired I'm going to drop on the sidewalk any moment. So why don't we go back to your apartment, and I'll crash on your sofa if you like. You can do what the fuck you want, be Fox all night, but you'll have to be him in my company, sleeping or waking, because you were given to me for this evening and that's that." I turned my face in towards his neck and began giving him little kisses along his jaw-line. "Give me a break, eh? I need my beauty sleep." He pulled back and looking me in the eyes, he smiled softly and said, "No you don't. Beauty sleep would be wasted on you. Nothing could make you more beautiful to me, Krycek." Suddenly his mouth was on mine, and his tongue inside me and he was kissing me demandingly, brutally, pinning me painfully against the car. It dawned on me that this wasn't Fox, this was Mulder, breaking through. The kisses were like his blows, full of anger, spiteful and selfish, pounding against the wall of hurt and blame that he had gathered from his life and embodied in me. But he must have realised what was happening too, because he abruptly stiffened and jerked away from me, holding me at arm's length with an expression of horrified disgust on his face. His hands clawed into my jacket and he span me round and threw me across the sidewalk. I lay there dazed as he scooped up the keys I'd dropped, jumped into my car and screeched off down the road. Chapter 7 In which Mulder pushes me I woke midmorning still feeling pissed with Mulder. I'd got a cab home easily enough, but it had taken me forever to break into my apartment and disable the alarms without my keys. Maybe Mulder can sleep at night with a door lock that I could have picked in elementary school; I'm not so complacent. But it was warm and comfortable in bed, and as I dozed, watching the specks of dust dancing in a shaft of sunlight across the room, I turned over the events of the previous night in my mind and began to feel more charitable towards him. He'd obviously had his life in a sort of order, a balance, albeit an unhealthy truce between how he thought he ought to be, and all the feelings that he didn't want to have. In typical Mulder fashion he'd gone over the top with both behaviours. I suspected that as Fox became more outrageous, Mulder compensated by inhibiting his feelings even more, and focusing on his job. Now Fox had thrown a spanner in the works, and, I supposed, for the first time, he (they?) had to cope with the two lifelines crossing over. Well, Mulder certainly needed to sort his life out, but there was no point in me pussy-footing around and trying to be Mr. Sensitive. If he'd let it go on this long (and I wondered exactly how long) then my recommended solution would be to put a bomb under him and see how the pieces put themselves back together. I rolled over and picked up the phone and dialled Mulder's office. "Scully" "Hiya, Agent Scully, and how are you this beautiful morning?" "Well, it was a beautiful morning until I heard your voice. What do you want, Krycek?" "My keys, Scully. My house and car keys. Lover-boy helped himself to them last night and it's a damn nuisance without them." I swear I could hear the sound of furniture falling over in the background and Mulder's voice calling urgently for her to give him the phone. "And by 'Lover-boy' you would be referring to... " "Why, Agent Mulder, of course," I sighed passionately. Mulder was now demanding that she should pass it to him. "Is he there? You can tell him I'm not mad at him anymore for running out on me last night." There was a scuffling noise, and Scully's voice saying "Mulderrrr". Then Mulder snapped "Coffee table" and slammed down the phone. And I love you too, I thought, chuckling as I hung up. I pushed the bed-covers down and stretched thoroughly, basking in the heat of the room. By rolling over on the bed, the sun-beam I'd been watching fell on my naked back and ass, warming my skin, and I wondered how many years it had been since I'd lain on a beach, dug my fingers into the sand and let it glide out between them. I felt good, more optimistic than I'd been in a long time, and I knew it was because my relationship with Mulder was going finally to be sorted. Y'know, it really didn't matter to me at that moment whether the outcome would be good or bad, whether we'd be lovers or mortal enemies. I'd been in limbo so long, on hold so long, any resolution would be a relief, a chance for my emotions to be let out of that cell in which they'd been locked since I first met him. I bussed over to Mulder's that afternoon. Sure enough, my keys were on the table, resting on a sheet of paper bearing the single word 'Again?' He'd left a pencil alongside, so I wrote 'Yes', adding a few XXX's beneath. I couldn't resist having another look around while I was there, and soon found a sports bag containing last night's outfit. There was also a little box with quite an assortment of body jewellery, some of which left me baffled, a wicked-looking switchblade and the wallet I'd seen which had a set of documents made out in the name of Marvin Aday. Someone had a sense of humour. I rummaged around until I found the leather collar, and helped myself to the metal dog-tag, then putting everything back as I found it, I let myself out. He'd parked the car right across the street from his apartment, and I'd soon driven home. However, it wasn't until I was opening my front door that I realised that there was an extra key on the ring, one of the same make as the lock on Mulder's apartment. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ That evening the Smoker sent me out of town to raid the files of a microbiology lab on the outskirts of Baltimore. It was a cinch, their security was laughable, and by early morning I'd delivered the copy I was ordered to get, to him, and received an edited version for Mulder's perusal. I was told to hand it over in person, and for once I discovered I was reluctant to face him, sort of embarrassed, y'know, like when you get blind drunk and don't want to face your friends because you don't remember what stupid things you may have done? But the Smoker insisted the postal service wasn't good enough, it didn't introduce that 'element of doubt' that receiving information from me did. So 9am. found me back at Mulder's place, bleary-eyed, sweaty and unshaven from my all night shift. I used my new key to let myself in, half-hoping Mulder wouldn't be there, but, surprise, surprise, he was snoring gently on his couch clad only in a pair of boxers. The noise of the TV tuned to some inane kid's cartoon effectively blocked out the sound of my entry, and he slept on, oblivious to my presence. I tip-toed over and studied him, and a warm, kinda cosy glow swept over me. It took all my self-control to keep from kissing him, on that pale tan chest, maybe, or on those inviting lips, or even his fingers which were twitching slightly, as baby's hands do, while he dreamt. I let him sleep on, and watched him for a while, until it occurred to me that he'd given me a key, which could be interpreted as an invitation to use the place as my own. Leaving the file I'd brought on the coffee table, I braved the slime-pit, which Mulder fondly believes is a bathroom, for a shower and a shave, and then wandered back into his bedroom, wondering if he'd blow a gasket if I borrowed some of his clothes, since mine were pretty rank. I could've only sat down on the bed for a moment, but I must have totally zonked out, 'cos next thing I knew something cold and hard was butting against my forehead. My eyes snapped open, and for a few seconds I was completely disorientated, until I realised that the person attached to the other end of the gun, my gun, was Mulder. He was squatting on his haunches at my side, still just in his boxers, and with his hair sticking out at peculiar angles from being messed in his sleep. "I didn't anticipate you'd interpret the key as an invitation to cohabit, Krycek." he said quietly. "What happened, your landlord couldn't stand your foul stink any more?... .or maybe you regard my humble abode as a step up from the cess pit where you belong." "What can I say?" I replied, with a little laugh, scooting up on my elbows to look at him. "The thought of living with you was too tempting. All that laundry, spring cleaning, tidying, just begging to be done. My mouth was watering at the prospect. Why did you give it to me, anyway?" "Not sure... I think fear of you finally getting caught breaking in, and either getting arrested, or splattering one of my neighbour's brains all over the wall. Your welfare is more my concern now, I guess, since you might be tempted to tell on me if you're in trouble. The longer you keep my secret, the less I'll be worried, though. Your bosses would be seriously angry if they knew you're keeping this information quiet." I was letting my eyes wander over his body. I could see the bruises I'd made now; two sharp-edged black brands on his torso, a fading red mark on his face and a necklace of overlapping stripes round his throat, all the proofs of my love, all the kisses, my kisses. My cock was hardening rapidly, pushing aside the inadequate towel that I'd wrapped round my waist. Consciously I knew I should fight my arousal, but my subconscious had other ideas about me lying semi-naked in Mulder's bedroom, an equally unclothed Mulder not two feet away. My deepening breathing must have alerted him to my condition, because he glanced down at my groin, his lip curling disdainfully, and delicately took the top edge of the towel between a finger and thumb and twitched it loose. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Krycek?" he asked scornfully, staring at my twitching cock, which was more swollen and hard than I could ever remember it to have been. "Aren't you disgusted to be such a dirty queer? Why don't you try to hide your perverted lust from me? Or is being a fag just the cherry on the cake, the ultimate qualification for a motherfucker that's passed his examinations in lying, treason and murder?" I sat up and looked him in the eyes. "I'm ashamed of myself for a lot of the things I've done, Mulder, not least the things I've done to you. I'm an evil person, I'm a violent man, and I've done some dreadful deeds, some of which even I'd rather not believe I would be capable of doing. But I'm not ashamed of being homosexual, because for me it's normal, and natural, and I'd only be perverted if I tried to deny it. It could be normal for you too, if you'd only let it. You've torn yourself in half, trying to refute what you were born to be. Why the hell haven't you had professional help to sort yourself out?" "I had it sorted, Krycek, 'til you came along. Mulder was who he was supposed to be, who his parents taught him to be, and anything he wasn't supposed to be was taken care of by Fox. OK?" "I don't think it's OK, Mulder. It's a long way from that." I grabbed his wrist, and tore off the dressing he had on his lower arm. I'd been wondering what it was for, and it had finally connected. The flesh beneath was deeply scored with fresh cuts, criss-crossing over the area where I could still see faintly the pen marks I'd made on his skin. His face went blank, and his eyes empty, and in a scary little voice he said, "It wouldn't wash off. So I used a razor on it... . You were mean to Fox, Alex. Why didn't you write him a love poem instead, a little love poem written on his neck, instead of these nasty bruises." I was clutching the arm with the gun, and he began to massage and pull at the skin on his neck with his other hand. His voice turned into a harsh rasp. "I would have had an excuse to slit his throat." He shook me off and jumped to his feet, cocking the gun. "Anyway, he didn't get long enough last night, Krycek. I pushed him out too soon, and now he's needling me to let him come back. I'm twitchy, I can't concentrate, I'm irrational, and if I'm going to get through work next week I'm going to have to have a bigger fix. Do you want him tomorrow? I'm assuming that you want to continue with the arrangement" he added sarcastically. "All right," I answered. "tomorrow's all right. But I didn't realise I was going to be the guardian of your sanity, Mulder. Last time you called me depraved for the suggestions I made to you. Now you're virtually encouraging me, using me as human Prozac." "You are depraved," he sneered, "and I am disgusted by you, but no more disgusted than I am by Fox. He's done all the things you taunted me with, and more. I don't deny him anything, any vice, so long as he keeps our secret and doesn't do major damage to this body. That includes precautions against disease, in case you were worried." "He didn't keep your secret, though. He's told me, and he's put you in danger. So he's broken your agreement, hasn't he?" "That's why I was so upset when you came to see me that night after you met him. I was livid at what he'd done, and terrified you would expose me. But I needn't have worried; you're just as interested in keeping this quiet as I am, aren't you? So long as you can enjoy this body, you don't care a shit about advancing your master's business, do you Krycek? You first, and let the rest of the world go to hell. Look at you, you can't control yourself, can you?" He stepped closer, and ran the gun down my stomach, giving my hard-on a little tap with the barrel. "Shall we see just how desperate you are, my cocksucking friend? Lie down again, I'm going to try an experiment." I grasped his gun hand again and snarled, "Go screw yourself, Mulder. You can't kill me, you told me yourself. We're on my terms here." "Maybe, maybe not. I won't have any problem with maiming, though." He captured my other hand and slapped the palm against the muzzle of the gun and pulled the trigger. My heart stopped, time stopped. There was no pain, no blood. I began to shake violently, and from a distance I could hear Mulder's voice calling me. It slowly dawned on me that I hadn't been shot, and Mulder was telling me my hand was still whole. I looked at him dizzily. "I took some of the bullets out, Ratboy. Three of them, to be precise. I don't know which ones... wanna try it again?" "You bastard... you fucking bastard, Mulder." I screamed at him. "You lunatic. It's not loaded at all is it? Christ, I nearly shit myself." There was an almighty explosion as Mulder's TV shattered into a million pieces. He'd shot it through the door. "Again, Krycek? Are you going to lie down like I said, or do you want to gamble?" He cocked an eyebrow at me. I lowered myself slowly onto my back, and lay still. My erection had completely subsided and my pulse was fluttering. Mulder looked at me pensively for a few moments, then went over to a chest piled with boxes. Rummaging in one of them he unearthed a small bottle, half-full of yellowish liquid, and put it beside the bed. A hunt in the jacket of a suit, hitched onto the closet door, yielded a coin which he put beside the bottle. He sat on the bed beside me, close enough that my bare thigh was resting against his boxers. He idly ran the gun barrel up and down my chest, teasing my nipples erect, and then down to my groin where my irrepressible penis was stirring again. "How much do you want me, Ratboy? Are you game for a bit of fun? D'you think you can get it up for me if your life depends on it, eh? I'm going to stick this gun up your ass. You can try and jerk yourself off. If you can come in, say, fifteen minutes, I'll pull it out and toss that coin. If it's heads, you can have the gun and shoot it where you like... at me, I suspect. I'll have a one in four chance of not being shot. Got that?" I was shaking my head. "You're not serious, you can't.." He pushed his face up to mine and barked, "I said got that ?" "Yes" "If it's tails, nobody shoots. OK?" I nodded. "On the other hand, if you don't come, the gun stays put, and I toss the coin, as before. If it's heads, and there's a bullet in the chamber, you get shot in the ass. I guess there'd be three possible outcomes if that happens, depending on the angle of the gun. You get a perforated gut, but they'd probably be able to patch you up, assuming I bother to call an ambulance. Or you die." He grinned. "Or, and this is my favourite, dear Alex, I shatter your spine, and you spend the rest of your days in a wheelchair." "And what about if I say, 'No fucking way, Agent Mulder, you are completely out of your addled mind if you think I'll play Russian Roulette with you'" I spat at him, catching him on the cheek. He laughed at me and, digging the gun into my navel, he murmured, "Why then, Alex, I forget the coin and shoot anyway, straight through here and splinter your backbone. Alex the cripple. 75% chance." "Please, Mulder, don't do this. Give me to the law if you want revenge for all the things you think I've done to you, but don't make me play this stupid game." He was awkwardly opening the bottle one-handed, keeping the gun trained on me. "No police any more, not now you know my secrets, Krycek. Go on, beg me to stop. I'd like to hear that." He wasn't going to hear me beg, though, because I'd started to get angry, and when that happens I forget caution and common sense. "Screw you, and your stupid ideas." I said defiantly. "I'll do it, if you've got the guts to do something for me. Afterwards, if we're both still in one piece, you kiss me Mulder. A proper kiss, and from you, not Fox. Deal?" He studied me, pursing his lips, and then shrugged. "Deal. Hold out your hand, please" He poured a little puddle into my palm from the bottle. It was gun oil, and he held out the weapon for me to slick it. "Now you." He gave me a little more, and I worked it into my asshole, wincing as it seeped into the sore areas I'd got from Siggy's fucking. I'd actually been thinking I'd have no problem masturbating in front of Mulder, because it usually felt like I had to concentrate to stop myself coming when I was with him, but this turned out to be different. I pulled my knees up and opened my legs, and he knelt in between, spreading my cheeks with one hand and gently working the gun-barrel in with the other. It went in easy enough, it was smooth and slippery, and no bigger than a thumb, and soon warmed to my temperature. He and I both glanced at the wall clock, and I grasped my half-hard cock and started stimulating it, running my other hand over my chest and pinching my nipples. I gazed into his eyes, a little pleadingly, if you want the truth, but his expression remained calm and inscrutable, and he made no effort to fuck me with the gun, to give me any encouragement at all. After a few minutes, with my cock, if anything, getting limper, I shut my eyes and tried to conjure up a fantasy. But the images that kept recurring were of my time in the FBI, of interviews with the Consortium when I'd agreed to sabotage Mulder's work, of Scully's sister, of all the dirt on my hands. I knew it was no use, and he did too, and we watched the last two minutes ticking away together. There were tears leaking from my eyes and running down the sides of my face, into my mouth, and I savoured the salt, the last thing I might ever taste. He said, "Just in case, 'goodbye', Krycek. I won't wish you good luck." He threw the coin in the air and I saw it spinning over and over, before it landed with a little plop on my stomach. There was a long silence, and I felt the bed rise as Mulder got off. "Get dressed and go, please, Krycek." he said, and he slipped on a pair of trainers and went out into the lounge, crunching across the broken glass. I squinted down at the coin. Sure enough, tails was uppermost, but, y'know, instead of being relieved, I felt guilty for surviving, for failing to atone for my crimes. I put the coin on the table by the bed, and gingerly removed the gun from my anus. The oil on the barrel had mingled with smears of shit and a hint of blood, and I wiped it clean on Mulder's towel before checking the bullets. The next two shots would have been live rounds, before another empty appeared; I automatically refilled it before stowing it in my coat. So, he had been telling the truth, the toss of a coin had saved me, and I popped it into a pocket as well, with vague thoughts about talismans. I redressed in my soiled clothes. I was weary, drained, empty, my feelings about Mulder, love, rage, and now fear—of him and for him, were like the far gleam of the sea when the tide has ebbed, leaving a vast plain of rippled sand. He was sitting on the couch, blankly staring at the ruin of his television when I entered the lounge, but got up when he saw me. I pointed out the envelope on his table and explained where it had come from. He nodded, but didn't comment. I knew I had to talk to him about the twins as well. "Mulder, if we're going on with this relationship, I want you to keep away from Siggy and Natalie, and any others that Fox is particularly friends with." "Or else?" he asked quietly. "No 'or else'. I'm not threatening them, but being seen with us is a threat in itself. If they're spotted with both you and I, they're sure to be investigated, their private lives pried into. It wouldn't be fair to drag innocents into this business, and make our unscrupulous 'masters' aware of them—I'm assuming they are completely ignorant of your work, by the way?" "They don't know anything. They're hydrological engineers... . flood control, groundwater pollution, aquifers, that sort of thing. They're on a government contract, but that's all our jobs have in common. I'll speak to them." "Don't bother. I've already told Siggy not to get in touch. I tried to warn him, without saying why. Sounds like you'd already put them on guard, though." He glanced sharply at me, but tried to sound unconcerned as he asked, "What did he say?" "Just wondered why you were so secretive, and pumped me for information, as I know you in a different context from the club scene. He was unconvinced by my warnings, though. I reckon he thinks you're a cheating husband. Sleazy, uh?" "If only! Are you still up for tomorrow, or have you had enough of me now, Krycek?" "Tomorrow's cool. Meet me at the Athene coffeeshop near 7th and D, 10.30am. Make sure Fox drops the Tommy Lee look, please, aim for yuppie casual." I bit my lip and looked at my feet, and muttered, "I learned something today, Mulder. I discovered I must have more of a conscience than I knew. I was actually sorry that you didn't shoot me, I felt I deserved to die for my sins." He held out his hand and said, "Give me the coin, Alex." I retrieved it and put it on his palm. Tails was showing. "Turn it over." I turned it, and looked again. That was tails too. "Not even you deserve to go like that, Alex." He cupped my face in his hands, and said, "We made a deal, remember?" Then he kissed me, long and hard and thoroughly, hugging me close, giving me absolution. Chapter 8 In which I push Fox Y'know, I don't think Mulder ever imagined I had an existence outside our encounters. I believe it never crossed his mind that I didn't spend my whole life making shady deals in fetid alley-ways, or having oblique conversations in smoke-filled rooms, or that my idea of the outdoor life wasn't to lie on a sweltering desert hill-side amongst the sage-brush, trying to avoid fidgeting because of the ants in my underwear, as I watched a secret government base through binoculars. I don't know what he'd expected of my Sunday with Fox, but I suspect it involved a seedy hotel and enough condoms to build your own bungee rope. Thankfully, however, Fox had obliged me about the clothing, for, as I came into the coffee shop, I could see him at the counter, dressed in cream pants and a long-sleeved white collarless shirt. He hadn't quite been able to ditch the jewellery, there was a discreet gold hoop in one earlobe, but the hair and face were all Mulder, so much so that I wasn't sure which one of him I had in front of me. As soon as he saw me, he came over and took my arm and hustled me out of the cafe, donning a pair of aviator sun-glasses and scanning the street thoroughly before venturing out of the door. "Jesus, Alex, why the hell did I agree to meet you here. I'm sure I saw someone from work just now, and I feel fucking naked dressed like this." He scurried into a service alleyway and I followed him round the back of the stores until we were out of sight of the bustling street. Taking his glasses off again, he looked me up and down with a greedy expression on his face. "Maybe I shouldn't have worried, you're the one that's unrecognisable today. Nobody'd bat an eyelid seeing Mulder in your company. What are you supposed to be, hmm? A scion of the Rockefeller family on his way to brunch with the President? Whatever you are, you look good enough to eat. If I wasn't wearing these damn stupid pale pants I'd wrestle you to the ground and screw you senseless here and now. As it is, I'll have to make do with second best." He squatted down, and reached for my flies, but I took his arm in a firm grip and hauled him back to his feet. "It's broad daylight, there's a busy street not fifty yards away, and a security camera pointing this way, and you and I are supposed to be shopping, not fucking, OK, Fox?" "Oh, c'mon, it won't take five minutes, and I promise I'll use my tongue, not a gun. Bet you can get it up for me better than you can for that crazy, Mulder, eh, Alex?" His voice grew taunting, jeering. "Did he scare you, Alex? He's a total head case, and he's gonna really enjoy screwing you up and sending you on the sort of guilt trip that he wallows in." The calm I had been drifting on, since the catharsis of the previous day, began to crack, and I grabbed his arms and shook him. "Shut up, Fox. He's allowed, he's got reasons... " "Sure he's got reasons," he mocked, "Reasons to humiliate you, to make you crawl, to make you cry. Now he's got you, now he knows how much you need him, he can use you just like he's using me. And you've got no defence, have you, sweet Alex, because you love him, don't you?" "Shut up, just shut up," I was saying, shaking him harder and harder, the anger steaming and swelling within me. "You're not going to let him, are you Alex? Let him drop you into that pit he's been digging all his life, and let him pile all his shit on you. Go on, you know how to stop him. Make him stop, make me stop." The calm snapped back into place and I dropped him and stood back with a shaky laugh. "Je-sus, you are one manipulative bitch, Mulder...Fox... whatever... Why don't you just ask me outright if you want a reaming?" He shrugged and smiled smugly. "You refused the blowjob, so I didn't think there was any point in asking politely. Got you going though, didn't I? Christ, you're hot when you're angry," he licked his lips and rubbed his hands over his body. "How come Mulder can't get you worked up, why d'you let him hit you and not retaliate?" I looked away and bit my lip. "Don't you think I haven't wanted to?" I muttered. "Then why not? Orders, Alex? Or do you l—o—o—ve him so much you don't want to hurt him?" "Concentration." "Uh?" "Concentration. I'm concentrating on control. If I lifted a hand to him, just once, I'd lose it, Fox. I couldn't afford it, I had a job to do, have a job to do, and if I'd lost my cool I wouldn't have stopped until I'd gone all the way." I gave a self-conscious little laugh, and looked away from him. "It's a bit too late for me to deny the effect Mulder has on me, I suppose. You could say it was staring him right in the face yesterday. And it's been like that for a long time; if I'd let instinct take over I expect I'd have beaten him into submission and raped him. Still, if I'd known about you, I'd probably have cracked anyway, but as far as I knew, Mulder was straight, and so that wasn't on the agenda." He laughed. "So Ratboy can torture and murder but draws the line at rape. Very honourable." "I didn't say that." I replied darkly. He raised his eyebrows at me. I shrugged. "Anyway, c'mon, we've got places to go today." "Not round here, I hope. Makes me much too jumpy being near the Bureau dressed like this, and I won't be able to do Mulder if someone spots me, you realise; I can't just switch on and off like a TV channel. I rarely go out in daylight without the Goth clothes, y'know, it's a damn sight safer." "Hasn't anyone ever linked the two you's?" "Twice. Mulder's only twice had people ask him if he's been someplace when it was me. He did the blank face bit and bluffed them out. Never had it the other way round. Even your eyes skittered over me at Bruce's. Hell, I virtually ran straight into Skinner once, dressed in the leather stuff like on Thursday. A group of us were walking home from an all-night party early one morning, went round a corner, and there he was, right in front of me. I thought my heart would never start beating again. But he looked me right in the face and didn't see me. People, conventional types at least don't see your features. They see the hair, the makeup, the facial hardware... ..the tattoos... .and then they look away fast and try to pretend you're not there. It's like being invisible. On the other hand, there're the ones that notice all too well, like red-necks and gay-bashers and the pigs." "Pigs?" I said, amused. "Hmm, well, my experience of law enforcement officers has been at odds with Mulder's, somewhat." "OK, well, thanks for making the effort to look respectable today." I said sardonically. "We're going to need an air of understated affluence this morning, though I'd say, in those clothes, you've achieved understated camp affluence. Probably even better suited to where we're going." "Oh, I can do camp, sweetie," he cooed, quirking a smile. "And would you care to elucidate this morning's itinerary, or have you planned something on the lines of a magical mystery tour?" All of a sudden the strangeness of what was happening between us struck me again. I could hear Fox's voice and see him smiling gently at me, his poise relaxed, trustful, teasing; but superimposed was the man of yesterday, so coiled, suspicious, and yet beneath all sincere and innocent. I saw my hand reach out and stroke the side of his jaw, and as it approached his mouth the tip of his tongue emerged and danced against the ends of my fingers, the same fingers that he would have happily have blown to bits just a few hours ago. "Are you trying to re-establish your secret?" I mused aloud. "Are you trying to turn me into two people as well, so you can go on pretending that Fox and Mulder are separate entities, because there'll be an Alex for one and a Krycek for the other?" "Well, it might make things safer, and calm Mulder down, 'cos he's so stressed over this he could seriously lose the plot, but I'm finding this spices up the situation amazingly. You can act the heartless criminal as much as you want with me, Alex. Go on... see how far you can push me... .and I'll leave it to Mulder to be the martyr and wring remorse from your tarnished soul. You were positively revelling in all the angst yesterday, you do suffering so well together" he sneered. "OK, if that's how you'd like it, we can see how many devious ways you can find to entertain me, so that I'll want to keep his secret to myself. Maybe we'll discover just how much he'll let me put you through before he stops me." He shrugged. "He won't stop you, if you keep to his rules." He said dismissively. "He told you, I've no limits... " "But that was when there was no-one who could look at him , and see instead the guy who knelt at my feet, begging to be abused. Or the guy licking my crotch on a public dance-floor. How much provocation d'you think it'll take to drive him over the edge?" "Do you really want that, Alex? To turn his reputation for instability into a reality?" "I think you're more than halfway there already, Fox Mulder. I think I'm going to see if I can force you back to sanity, it'll be more of a challenge" "In your dreams" he laughed. I put my hand on his shoulder and turned him towards the alley's entrance. "Put the shades back on, you've got to brave the street. We've got art to view this morning, because there's a big blank space on my bedroom wall just aching to be filled." "Whoa, Alex," he exclaimed, "There's no way I'm going to trawl the galleries on 7th Street, in or out of your company. And that goes for Mulder too. I reckon you just found the limit we didn't know I had. Apart from being bored out of my brain, we could bump into anyone out there. Christ, I must know of at least half a dozen people at the Bureau that mooch around down here lunchtimes... .even Scully's mentioned doing it." I urged him into motion. "Don't sweat it, Fox. I'm taking you to a couple of obscure little places off the main drag. Unless your acquaintances are devotees of the more outré forms of modern art you won't see anyone you know." His eyebrows almost shot off the top of his forehead and he said in a delighted voice, "Hey, you're not going to buy a sheep in formaldehyde, are you. I've always wanted one of those." "No, Fox, I'm not . Even if I thought a preserved animal with all its guts showing would enhance my home, I couldn't afford Hirst's prices. Neither have I a taste for pictures of bricks made out of human excrement, or furniture that looks like naked crouching figures. Though if you want to volunteer for that last item, I can always use another footstool." "Gladly" he replied, leering at me, "so long as I get to lick the feet clean first." As we walked to the first gallery he quizzed me about my living accommodation, and as I suspected, seemed surprised to hear that I had an apartment, was interested in its decor, and had the money to spend on it. "For pity's sake, Fox, you don't think I sleep in doorways and live out of trashcans, do you?" "Not quite, but I didn't envisage you as a fan of Martha Stewart either! I supposed that you were always on the move, living out of a suitcase, and were probably not very affluent." I shrugged. "It's been true sometimes, might be again, though these days I've got plenty of money stashed away. When you've got no morals, it's damn easy to make a good income doing things others are too squeamish to do themselves. There's no price controls on hit-men, Fox, and my aftercare schemes can be quite lucrative." He looked questioningly at me. "Blackmail." I said baldly. "And how much did you get for my father, Ratboy?" "Enough" His jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists, but there was barely a tremor in his voice as he said "Good". ++++++++ooooooo++++++++ By the time we'd arrived, I'd primed him that I was a regular customer at some of the galleries and known to them as Alex Edmonds. He didn't want me to use his name, and when I flatly refused to call him Marvin, he suggested James, which was evidently a previous incarnation dreamed up by the Gunmen. Out of curiosity I asked what James' surname was, and virtually went into hysterics when he told me it was Osterberg. "OK, OK, I get the picture. What God-awful practical joke have those bastards played on me this time, Alex." "Don't you know who they are?" I giggled. "You're the one with the eidetic memory." "I can't remember things I don't know. C'mon, give, or I'll be forced to tickle it out of you." "Tickle all you want, we spies are trained to withstand the most dreadful of tortures before revealing our secrets." I replied, skipping out of his reach and through the door. Apart from the usual artists on display, there was a temporary exhibition of pictures by an 'exciting and innovative' French artist, Meurnis, and I made a beeline for this, with Fox trailing behind me, muttering under his breath about 'false friends' and 'tearing their livers out'. He caught up with me as I was accepting a slim catalogue from the gallery owner, saying, "You're not getting away with this. Tell me, Alex, or you'll get no peace to look at your pictures." "Oh, don't say that, Mr... .?" "Call him James, Delores. James, this is Delores, the owner." She shook Fox's hand and continued, "Please don't stop him looking at our little collection. He's a good customer, and we poor shopkeepers find it hard to earn a living nowadays." "I'm sure you do," replied Fox, with heavy irony, taking in the encrustation of rings on her scarlet-tipped fingers, and the trim Chanel suit encasing her over-thin body. "But you see," he said, turning to me, and running his forefinger down my shirt, letting it catch briefly on each button, "He's being really mean to me, he's teasing me, and I so hate that in a boyfriend, don't you, Delores?." He glanced sidelong at her and smiled sweetly. "I'm sure Delores isn't interested in our domestic disputes, darling... .C'mon we have to choose a new picture for our bedroom. Remember, you said 'The Man in the Polyester suit' made you feel quite inadequate?" Ignoring the sharp dig in my ribs, I threaded my arm through his and towed him towards the maze of temporary screening that bore the pictures, feeling Delores open-mouthed stare boring into my back. The pictures were appalling... technically brilliant, I suppose, but the subject matter was magnificently unappealing, as Fox lost no time in informing me. I was happy to agree—monochrome photorealistic renderings of shabby offices, each with a scuffed desk as its centrepiece, evoked all too well the leaden boredom of hours whiled away in KGB anterooms, awaiting meaningless audiences with minor officials. The monotony of studying identical sets of fire evacuation notices, curling stiffly from the door panels, counting the tiny silhouettes of dead flies clustered in the bottom of the dingy light fittings. Since I'd bothered to visit the show, I wanted to grant the artist a reasonable amount of my time, turning each corner of the temporary labyrinth in the hope that a fresh subject had taken his imagination. Fox, having delivered his judgement, simply regarded the privacy granted by the screens as an opportunity to nuzzle and stroke me, all the while whispering a chorus of lewd invitations, interspersed with derogatory remarks about the paintings, and continued attempts to persuade me to reveal the trick that the Gunmen had played. His tirade became more and more irritating, his hands on my body more and more distracting, so that, at last, having found a deserted cul-de-sac, I was forced to silence him. I trapped his wandering hands in one of my own, and twining the other in his hair, pulled him towards me. "Shut up, Fox, haven't you any respect for artistic inspiration?" "If that's inspiration, I'm a cuttlefish." he snorted, leaning forward and brushing my lips with his tongue. Instantly, the inappropriateness of the location and the proximity of the other patrons vanished from my mind, and I opened my mouth and invited him in. His lips were hot against mine, and his tongue, firm and muscular, explored me completely as he pressed his hips against me, kneading our joined hands against his groin. I could feel the hard swell of his cock against the back of my hand, and I released my grip so that I could run my fingers along its length, my thighs separating reflexively at the promise of accepting its throbbing bulk. His hands were rubbing urgently up and down my back, and I was on the verge of investigating how to undo his flies when I was brought to my senses by a deliberate cough. Fox, who had been facing the entrance to our alcove, jumped back in shock, causing the hoarding behind him to wobble violently, and I span round just in time to see Delores' back as she ushered a small group of people round the corner and out of sight. I shut my eyes and blew out sharply, then turned to Fox and said, with a slight grimace, "Oh, fuck." He was hunched up, with his hands over his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter. "Can we go now, please." he said, his voice unsteady. "I think we can assume that Delores won't think we were interested in the paintings." We slunk out of the gallery, with muttered thanks to its owner, whose carefully expressionless gaze followed us from her store. Fox was unrepentant, and gleefully needled me about the opportunities unfurling in his cunning imagination to further embarrass me. "At least it'll stop her hitting on me, I suppose." I said, "But if we carry on like that in front of Stephen, at our next stop, you'll just encourage him." "Mmm, fun. You got me really charged back there, Ratboy. Hope he's got a few secluded nooks, too. Or would you prefer to take me and my boner back to your place for a private interlude?" Y'know, by this point, Mulder had slipped totally away from my mind. Trying to shop with Fox was like dragging a bitch on heat around a dog show. His rampant and undisguised need to fuck made my attention wander from the half-formed purpose of this expedition... .to show Mulder I was human, with a life and needs and preferences, and not simply a murderous thug and a convenient focus for his self-loathing. However, I was determined not to cut our trip short, and was mulling over various options for sating him and relieving the thoughts he was arousing in me, when we reached our next port of call. There were only half a dozen other customers milling around Stephen's gallery, and the owner was nowhere in sight as we delved in amongst the paintings. A variety of styles was on show, by various artists, but my attention was grabbed by a set of enormous canvases in shades of cerulean blue and limpid green, the mottled textures dragging me into their surface like submerging in a tropical ocean. Fox fell silent too, as he studied the paintings. Then he turned and studied me instead for a few seconds, frowning a little, before returning his gaze to them. "D'you like the sea, Krycek?" "Yes" I whispered, forcing the word past the bands that had suddenly wrapped round my chest. "So do I. I don't know if he does, y'know. The subject's never come up." Carefully clasping his upper arm in case he tried to bolt, I looked across at him and said, "Mulder?" His eyes flickered over my face and he bit his lips nervously, but gradually a look of irritation appeared and he snarled at me, "The little prick keeps trying to butt in. I told him you were mine today, but he's not listening." He dragged me against him, and between bites and sucks at my neck, he mumbled, "C'mon Alex, shove that big dick of yours right up inside me and push that sad piece of shit out of my head." For the second time in a hour, our embraces were interrupted by a gallery owner, only this one stood silently enjoying the show until we noticed his presence. "Hey, don't mind me, Alex. You two're beating the porno channels hands-down. Who's your eager friend here?" He moved closer and ran his eyes over Fox's body, then, using his thumb to flick his forefinger against Fox's butt, said "Wouldn't mind a bit of that pretty ass myself. Wanna share him?" Fox turned in my arms, leaning back against my chest and stretching his neck for my attention. I held him possessively and ran my tongue in a long swipe across the almost-faded ligature marks on his skin. "No-o-o," I said slowly, tightening my arms around his body, and smiling knowingly at Stephen, "But I'm willing to trade." I felt Fox gasp and stiffen, but he remained silent. Stephen raised a shaggy eyebrow in speculation. He's very swarthy and bearded. I'd guessed he was probably hairy all over, judging by the growth on the backs of his hands, which, combined with his broad chest, and slightly short stature, give the impression that he should be hunting mammoths with a club, not running an effete art gallery. I've been tempted to succumb to him myself, but as a rule, I prefer to keep my sex partners and my domestic life at arms length. I'm sure Stephen would have concurred too, had he known of my habit of eliminating fuck-buddies that get to know me too well. I tell myself it's for security, but sometimes I can't deny that it's just because I want to, 'cos it makes me hard. But then, you'd have expected that, wouldn't you? "This work here," I said, nodding my head in the direction of the painting to my right, "It's taken my fancy. Never heard of the artist, someone new I suppose?" It might have been one of Stephen's teenage toy-boys; he's usually got some chicken in tow, some needy art student willing to spread himself for a chance to exhibit his talent in the gallery. "Mmm, yeah, she's new, shows promise. I think she'd be a good investment, Alex, and you've got a chance to get in at the ground floor... " "As if I haven't heard that spiel a hundred times before. OK, I'll consider buying it, if you're willing to give me a decent discount... say 20%... and you get to fuck 'James' here. What d'ya say?" Stephen pursed his lips and examined the goods on offer critically. "Twenty's a bit steep, I guess. He's cute, but he's getting on a bit." There was an outraged "Humph" from Fox as he continued, "Looks fit though. How about ten?" "Oh, come on, you'd drop that much without an added incentive." "Fifteen, then. But that's it, OK?" "Done." I said, holding my hand out to shake on the deal. "D'you think we should ask James if he has any thoughts on this arrangement?" asked Stephen, cupping Fox's crotch and grinning at me. "Nope, I don't think that's necessary, I'm sure he'll be complemented that you're willing to spend $1500 dollars to screw him." I may have sounded confident, but actually I was on tenterhooks, expecting Mulder to emerge and either take a swing at me, or make a break for the door. But neither happened, Fox was firmly back in charge. He put his hand over Stephen's and massaged his cock with them, simultaneously grinding his ass into my crotch. "Sounds like you got yourself a lay, Stephen, but only if Alex watches us, all right?" "S'OK with me. You?" he asked, tilting his head, and grinning at me. "Cool." "C'mon then, follow me." Stephen walked off toward the rear of the gallery, calling to an assistant to take charge. Fox strutted after him, throwing me a challenging glance over his shoulder, and I trailed behind, my dick so stiff with anticipation I could hardly move. Talk about fantasies becoming reality, I was about to get the quadruple cheeseburger with extra relish here, my very own blue movie with Fox as the star. I suppose I'd suggested the deal to freak Mulder into reappearing, but whoring obviously didn't faze Fox in the slightest. Instead, he obviously expected me to find it difficult to take. Some hope. Maybe Mulder would make me feel ashamed later, but right now I was avid for the show to start. Chapter 9 In which there's just sex Stephen lead us down a flight of concrete steps into a large, brilliantly lit basement, securing two doors behind us as we descended. The area was a framing workshop, heaped with scraps of gilded moulded trim, wooden board, and card in a thousand bright shades. Cutting machinery and frames for clamping and mitring lined the walls, and the centre of the room was dominated by a huge workbench, littered with wood shavings, tiny nails, offcuts of glass, and picture wire. Grabbing a broom from the rack near the door, he swept the junk on the bench to its far side, and then cleared a patch of floor in front of it. "I'd better put a dust-sheet on this floor as well," he remarked. "I've probably swept away the panel pins hidden in the sawdust, but I won't have got all the splinters and shards of glass." As he made his preparations, I brought a tall stool from behind the bench and siting it to one side of his 'performance area', hitched myself onto it. Fox was silent at last, and he leant casually against the edge of the bench, his hands in his pockets, studying me broodingly from under his brows. Against the curtain of shimmering excitement tingling in my brain, a ghost of doubt began to appear; is this really something I should do to Mulder, someone I think I love? What sort of a sick fuck am I to throw him into this situation? I looked at Stephen, then looked back at Fox questioningly. He gave me a tight grin, rolling his tongue lewdly around the inside of his cheek, then sauntered over to Stephen and helped him arrange the dust-sheet. "Have you got somewhere for our clothes, Stephen?" he asked, a hint of laughter in his voice, "We can't give them to Alex to hold, he'll need at least one hand for his cock." Stephen looked at me and sniggered, and I felt a hot blush rise to my face. He dumped a pile of papers from a plastic chair, sat on it, and started to remove his shoes. As Fox leant over to do the same, tiny twists of panic were pulling at my gut, and I croaked, "Fox?" He came right up to me, close enough to feel his hot breath on my cheek, and whispered viciously, "Too late, baby, you've sold me now. If you haven't got the stomach to watch, you'd better get out right away, because I intend to give Stephen his money's worth." "I'll stay." I snapped. Fox went back to Stephen, who asked, "Is he OK?" "Oh, yeah." drawled Fox. "He's peachy. C'mon, kiss me, and then you can help me with my clothes." He sat back on the bench, to make himself more Stephen's height, and drew him closer, their mouths joining in a long, sensuous kiss. As they embraced, Fox undid Stephen's shirt, pushing it down from his shoulders, laying bare a muscular back covered with fine black hair, which fanned out from a thick stripe down his spine. Never breaking the kiss, Fox disengaged him from the shirt, and flicked it at me, then began to run his smooth hands over the furry flesh, delving into the top of Stephen's pants and squeezing his ass. By the time Fox's shirt was undone and Stephen's tongue was teasing Fox's nipples, my misgivings were forgotten and my hard-on was screaming for attention. A pair of nipple rings adorned the tiny brown nubs this morning, and Stephen was exploring their possibilities, nudging them from side to side, and nipping them with his teeth and fingers, pulling so that the skin stood up in little taut cones. Fox was moaning, and urging him to twist them, to tug harder, his legs wrapped round Stephen's hips so that he could grind his pelvis against the other man. As Stephen's pants came undone, and started to slide down his thighs, he drew back from the bench to allow Fox to remove them. Stephen's chest was covered in a thick black pelt, but it didn't disguise the firm development of his pectoral muscles and his hard ridged stomach, a physique only attained in a gym, not by lugging paintings around. Standing to undress his partner, Fox's eyes drifted to my face, then down to the hands clasped over my crotch, and he smiled smugly. Grasping Stephen's pants and boxers, he pulled them down, sinking gracefully to his knees to disentangle them from his feet. The curled dark hair covering the man's stomach merged without a break into the wiry cushion of pubic hair and sparser growth on his sturdy legs. Only his buttocks were reasonably bare, his olive-toned skin gleaming and tight over the full round cheeks. On his knees at Stephen's feet, Fox took a little time to study the equipment in front of him. Stephen's penis, engorged and purplish-brown, though of average length, was extremely thick; squat and hulking, like its owner. Fox rolled the heavy balls, hanging loose in the long scrotal sac, in his hand, and, pulling the cock to one side, buried his face in Stephen's groin, breathing in deeply to capture his scent, before running his nose along the shaft, and lapping gently at the ripe crimson head. Looking down at Fox, Stephen growled, "Smell good to you, does it, slut?" "Uh-huh" "It'll taste good, too. First you can show me how well you can suck cock, and then I'm going to stretch your little butt-hole wide open with it. That's what you want, isn't it." "Yeah." "And I'm going to really make you squirm. I want to see Alex's whore earn every cent. Get your clothes off, and let me see what I've bought." Fox got to his feet and tilted his head back, gazing at Stephen's stiff prick through his lashes, and licking his lips hungrily. He wriggled sensuously out of his clothes, adding each item to the pile accumulating on the chair. Stephen's brows rose as the scars marring Fox's golden skin were revealed. However, when he saw the deep bruises I'd made on his side, and linked them with the mysterious lines on Fox's neck, he looked over at me in puzzled shock and said, "Did you do this, Alex?" I looked back woodenly and replied, "He makes trouble for himself. He doesn't always need me to be there." He gasped, and looked at Fox in concern. Fox laughed and said lightly, "Chill out, Stephen. He's just yanking your chain. I'm forever doing the 'rushing in where angels fear to tread' bit, getting myself injured. Alex wouldn't hurt me unless I asked for it, would you, my love?" "I hope not." Stephen looked unconvinced. I was inwardly quite amused to see his illusions about the mild-mannered dilettante 'Alex Edmonds' undermined, but in reality it was dangerous to make people question my identity. "C'mon, Apeman. Don't mind him. Get these boxers off me and you'll see just how hard that macho body of yours is making me" Fox purred, pulling Stephen close and rubbing his skin against the other man's. Stephen hooked his thumbs in the back of Fox's underwear and yanked it down, and as Fox manoeuvred it off with his feet he grabbed Fox's ass and ground their cocks together, sucking and licking at his throat. From my position Fox's body was obscured by Stephen; but over his head I could see Fox's face, flushed with arousal, his full lips parted and glistening, and his eyes, once again those eyes, impaling me with their brilliant intensity. I climbed jerkily from my stool, and, as if under the control of some inept puppeteer, slowly circled the two of them, Fox's eyes following me all the while. Against the darkly furred bulk of the storekeeper, his body looked svelte, graceful, and rather incongruously I imagined them as Gimli and Legolas, snatching an illicit coupling away from Gandalf's watchful eye. It was the first time I had seen him this closely, completely naked, and I couldn't resist running the tips of my fingers down his back to the parting where his buttocks started, feeling him shudder at my touch. Fox's eyes dropped from mine, and, easing Stephen away, he slithered down the other man, swirling patterns with his tongue into the hair as he went. Closer and closer he came to Stephen's groin, teasingly approaching and drawing back, until Stephen, overcome with impatience, knotted a handful of his hair in his fist and positioned his head in front of his prick, saying, "Open up, cocksucker, let's see if you can take it right down your throat." Fox stretched his mouth around the end of the fat shaft, and Stephen urged his head closer, until the whole of the cock had disappeared inside and Fox's nose was pressed against his body. I staggered back to my stool, unzipping my pants on the way, and grasped my penis, whose requests for attention had become too urgent to ignore. I could see that Fox was having little problem giving Stephen the treatment he'd asked for; his cheek and neck muscles were working energetically to stimulate his partner, while his hands roamed over Stephen's ass, pinching and kneading, expertly controlling the depth and speed of penetration. Stephen gave himself up completely to sensation, his eyes were shut, and his hands, relaxing their grip on Fox's hair, stroked gently over his head and ears, as he moaned and whimpered in pleasure. The whimpers slowly deepened to groans, and Fox, bringing his hand round to feel Stephen's balls tightening, pulled away slowly, swirling his tongue round the dripping glans, and looked up at Stephen, saying, "Y'ready to fuck me now, Apeman, or d'you want me to finish it like this?" "I'm not paying all that for a fucking blow-job. I want you leant across that bench, face down, butt in the air, because that's how tramps like you are supposed to take it, OK?" Stephen growled, pulling Fox to his feet, and squeezing Fox's stiff cock in his brawny hand, making him jump and gasp. "OK, it's your shout" replied Fox, in a strangled voice. Stephen turned to me and said, "Hey, Alex, is your whore safe to ride bareback, or should I use a rubber?" Startled to be addressed, it took me a few moments to realise my input was needed. Meanwhile, Fox had strolled over to me, a little smile on his face, and his erect penis bobbing and swaying as he moved. "C'mon Alex, stop jerking off and put your brain back into gear," he murmured, gently removing my hand from my prick and replacing it with his own. Working my foreskin round over the tip with his thumb, he pulled my hand over to his own member and clamped it around the shaft. It was at that point I noticed the two tiny beads apparently stuck to the top and bottom of his cock-head. My eyes flew back to his face in surprise. "You can play with that later, Ratboy. Right now my client and I need a condom. Some lube would be good too. Got any?" "Yeah... yeah." I stuttered, snatching back my hand and groping in my pockets. I passed him a small tube of lube, and after further rummaging, unearthed a packet of condoms. "Unwrap one for me, please, Alex." I complied, and held it out to him. With a wide grin and a wriggle of his brows, he opened his mouth and held out his tongue to receive it. I watched, flabbergasted, as he adjusted its position, then returning to Stephen, fell back on his knees, and slipped it neatly and fluidly onto Stephen's cock with his mouth. After applying a liberal amount of lube to the sheath, he stood and handed the tube to the other man, then bent himself belly down over the edge of the workbench, spreading his legs and wriggling his beautiful smooth ass. Why had I suggested this? I thought. It ought to be me there, slicked up and ready to plunge myself into that hot little hole. My balls were shrivelling and tightening, and I had to concentrate very hard not to come as I watched Stephen greasing up Fox's asshole, sliding his fingers in and out and gently tugging on something which was invisible to me, but was obviously another piece of jewellery. Fox was resting on his elbows, his head strained tautly back, breathing in shallow gasps through his parted lips. Though I could see his face, I don't think he saw me, he was focused on the sensations Stephen was producing, the muscles in his back and thighs rippling as he worked himself on the fingers inside him. Stephen withdrew his fingers and stepped back a little, causing Fox to moan in protest. Here it comes, I thought, here's what I spent all those nights outside his apartment hoping to see. But I was taken utterly by surprise when Stephen drew his arm back, and swept it back down to give Fox's ass a resounding smack. "Christ, what the fuck are you doing, Stephen" I shouted, leaping from my perch. I lunged over and seized his arm, twisting him round to face me. He looked me in the face, and sneered, "Getting my money's worth, Alex. Doesn't seem to me I'm doing anything to him that his pimp doesn't. Your whore doesn't mind, looks to me like he's lapping it up. D'you see him trying to get away?" I looked over at Fox. Sure enough he hadn't moved, and the outline of Stephen's hand was blossoming, cherry-red against the fair skin. "Fox?" I said, my voice unsteady, as I released Stephen's arm. His eyes fixed on mine. His pupils were huge, despite the brightness of the room, dilated with arousal. "Don't stop him, Alex, please." he whispered. "I want... I need... " He looked away and buried his head in his arms, saying, in a firm voice, "I like it." Stephen grinned at me triumphantly and turned back to the bench. I slunk back to my stool, forcing myself to watch as Fox's butt was painted a bright, burning red by at least a dozen blows. By the last few, Fox was yelping in pain, but in between, begging Stephen to enter him, to fuck him. In spite of the shame, the humiliation that I felt, the situation was still bringing me off, and I was right there with them as finally Stephen forced his thick cock inside Fox, and began ramming unmercifully into his anus. Fox drew himself up on his arms and arched his spine, and I could see the tendons in the backs of his legs tightening as he tried to impale himself further on the other man. Now Stephen's hairy paw was on Fox's prick, pumping it as he thrust into Fox with an elegant undulation of his body. My own hand was working faster and faster, the other digging clawlike into the flesh of my thigh through my thin pants. With a final shuddering groan, they both came, and, as I watched Fox's seed splattering onto the floor, I gave a final spasm, filling my hand with semen, and my eyes, once again, with regretful tears. Chapter 10 In which we go upstream OK, something was wrong here. Something was really going wrong. I was in charge, wasn't I. Correct me if I'm in error, but wasn't it me who'd been handed a secret, a secret Mulder wanted to keep so badly that he'd tried to keep it from himself? All right, yeah, Fox wanted me to know, and, despite his protests, his histrionics, Mulder had shown me he'd got a speck of compassion for me, so I suppose, deep down, he could've wanted to tell me too. OK. So why was I falling apart over this? I thought I was pretty much together, master of my emotions, my reactions. I've had years of dissembling, denial, rationalisation of things I've done, effectively training myself to be a psychopath, all in the name of 'the greater good'. Along the way I've got so hardened, jaded by the killing and the deceit, that I can calmly perform acts purely for profit that it once took me days to psyche myself up for, days of soul-searching, of battering my conscience into submission, of convincing myself that I had 'God on my side.' I'm not saying I want to go back to that tortured boy, the idealist swept up by cynical men into a war that I still don't understand...or even quite believe. I'm used to what I've become, frankly proud of my callousness, my indifference. It's satisfying to see the old men look at me with that mixture of disbelief and disgust as they hand me a task they're going to do their best to forget about as soon as it's in my court. Even more satisfying is the horrified respect with which they greet my successes. But, Jesus Christ, I was not dealing with this, I was unravelling and there was no chance in hell that I could force myself to break away from the situation. It was see it through, or 'goodbye Alex Krycek', because I couldn't walk away from the person I now knew was the core of my existence. And Mulder, Mulder had kissed me. He'd agreed to that price, knowing his game was rigged and that he couldn't win. Ergo, he must care for me. Maybe he wasn't trying to punish himself by giving Fox to me, maybe he was trying to prove my behaviour would fulfil all his worst expectations, in a last ditch attempt to quash any attraction he had towards me. Well, prostituting him was a good start...Way to go, Ratboy. Right. So much for the philosophical bit. Here we are, back in Stephen's basement. I was over by the wash basin in the corner, apparently cleaning myself up, but in fact trying to compose myself, because I didn't want either of them to see how ashamed I was, how much of a stupid prick I thought I'd been. Yeah...I knew I wouldn't hide it from Fox. I was beginning to think he could read me like I had a neon sign on my forehead detailing my every motive and emotion. But at least I wasn't going to let them see me in tears. I could hear the murmur of the other's voices across the room, and then the buzz of a phone. Glancing round, I saw Stephen scrambling into the last of his clothes, the phone wedged under his chin. Putting it down, he said, "Gotta go, important client's just come in. Thanks for the use of your buddy, Alex...brightens up the business day. Just let yourselves out." With a wave, he slipped out of the door. Fox re-bolted it after him, and joined me at the sink. He was still nude, the relics of his encounters with myself and Stephen making his body seem like the canvas of a vicious mugger. He handed me a sheet of paper, looking amused. "Here's your invoice, Ratboy, including your discount. Stephen said he'd ring you to arrange delivery. He offered to take me off your hands, too. He seemed quite concerned that you were mistreating me. "Well, what's next? D'you need some groceries? We can probably find a Walmart with a manager susceptible to my charms. I think I'm rather too mature to enhance your income greatly by peddling my ass on the street." I looked at my feet and mumbled sheepishly, "Mmm, not today. I, er, I don't think I've got a vocation as a pimp." He put his finger under my chin and made me look him in the eye. "What's this?" he asked, in a tone of mock surprise, "Contrition? The heartless Alex Krycek, feeling remorseful? No need, you know. We're only doing what he expects of us. "Yeah, whatever." I turned away from him and busied myself by assiduously washing my hands. I felt his arms enclose me and my back firmly pressed against his warm chest, his chin resting on my shoulder. He remarked, "It didn't work for Lady Macbeth, Alex. What makes you think it'll work for you?" Shrugging him off, I span round and forcefully shoved him from me. He staggered back, tripped over some stacked frames and crashed to the floor. In an instant, I'd straddled his hips and grabbed his wrists, pinning him to the ground. Time seemed to hiccup, and suddenly I realised I was covering his neck and chest in frenzied kisses, working my ass against his naked and rapidly hardening cock. Fox was babbling in a rapturous voice, "Oh, yeah, that's good, Ratboy. So good. Are you going to fuck me now? Please...please ...I want you so much...he's made me wait so long." I jerked back, looking at his flushed face in wonder. "No. No, I don't believe I am." I said, astonished at myself. I released his arms and sat back on my heels, studying his frustrated expression with a slight smile. "I don't think I want to, not now. What I really want is Mulder, telling me what a creep I am for making you my whore. I want him to curse me, and beat me, and take my guilt away with his fists. I want him to drown me in his hate, 'cos that's how I know he loves me." Fox gave a snort of laughter and slithered out from beneath me, kneeling to bring us face to face. "Love you, Rat-bastard? Love you?" he scoffed. "Fat chance. He can't love you, he can't love himself. He can't love anybody. That drivelling maggot can't even stand to be himself, let alone love himself" He jumped to his feet and began yanking his clothes on. "Take what you can get, Krycek. Screwing Fox is the closest you'll ever come to anything I know about love." "Mulder?" He studied me dispassionately, and nodded. I bit my lip. "You going to bolt?" He shook his head. "Don't think so. Can't say I don't want to, though." "Why have you surfaced?" He shrugged. "Beats me. I think you pissed him off by saying you wanted me not him. This hasn't been working the usual way since you entered the equation. For instance on Thursday night, outside the Pit, I was truly shocked when I came back. And there was that weird flash upstairs. However this thing with you is an unprecedented situation. The only other time he's abandoned me like that was when Fox was in a minor car crash, and his boyfriend was injured. It turned out not to be bad, but there was a lot of blood. He just went, and left me to hold the baby. I suppose, being the hedonist he is, he doesn't like dealing with heavy stuff. Anyway, what's with all this 'love' shit, Krycek? All the 'make me feel guilty' crap?" He walked back to me and searched my face with a slight frown. "You were snivelling at my place yesterday, too." He brought his hands to my neck and circled it, forcing my head up and back, and rubbing his thumbs unpleasantly firmly into my windpipe. My skin puckered into goosebumps at his touch, and my cock stiffened to aching hardness. "Are you going soft on me, my dearest Alex? I don't think I'd like that. I've come to depend on you for reliable treachery, shameless corruption." He began to press more harshly, and, although I was regretting limiting my weaponry to a tiny gun in an ankle holster, I still couldn't prevent myself from groping behind me for the sink to provide leverage, so that I could angle my groin against his thigh. "You've become a certainty in my life, someone even more contemptible than Fox and myself, and now you're trying to change the pecking order." He began to rock the leg I was pressed against, causing a twisting, pulling sensation on my shaft, and a tingly glow to spread through my body. I was becoming light-headed from the arousal and the restriction of my throat, and from that beloved deadpan voice generously telling me what I needed to hear. "You're a slimy piece of shit, Krycek, so depraved you get off on being told what a low-life you are." "Yeah." I gasped. "You don't want love, you don't want guilt, you simply want to revel in your vileness. The more I denigrate you, the more inflamed you'll get, just like now, getting your sordid pleasure humping my leg like a fucking cur." "Yeah." "Come on, cunt, work it. Show me how my sweet Alex loves me. Make me understand why I should be happy that a sodomite is using me for his jerk-off fantasies." I let my ass fall against the edge of the sink so that I could pull him against me and brazenly rub myself on his leg. Every time I managed to draw enough air into my lungs to spare enough to speak, the only words that I could utter were about how I adored him, how I needed him, thanking him for his love. At last I felt the climax throbbing through me, and stilled against him with a whistling groan. Immediately he released my neck and twisted from my grasp. Without his support I collapsed, finishing my ejaculation on all fours at his feet. He gripped my hair and pulled me up on my knees. The expression of disgust on his face was so intense, I thought he was going to vomit on me. "Fucking fairies." he spat, his lip curling. I coughed, and in a raspy whisper replied, "You're right. I'm a fucking fairy. Alex Krycek the fucking fairy—the one that's in love with you. Deal with it, Mulder, or kill me. Those are your options." He gave a cynical laugh. "Fox Mulder the fucking fairy...don't forget him. And the options are the same, now. You're forcing me out of hiding. Deal with it, or kill myself. Unless I can persuade you to bump me off, my dear Alex?" I shook my head, and said, "Never." "Well then, maybe it is time I tried to cope with it. Are you going to crouch there all day, or hadn't you anything planned after your foray into whoremongery?" I climbed shakily to my feet, and cleaned myself once more. "I didn't plan for that to happen, Mulder." I said contritely. "It was your charming idea." "You know I regretted it as soon as we were down here, but Fox wouldn't back out." "And would you have had any second thoughts if Fox had just been Fox...if you hadn't had to account to me?" I swallowed. "No. No, I guess not." "So we can conclude...?" "That I'm happy to be a pimp?" "Congratulations, Krycek. I knew you wouldn't disappoint me. Your reputation as all-round bad guy stands, unblemished." "Why, thank you for the accolade, Agent Mulder. Now, about those groceries Fox mentioned..." He grinned. "No way. It's my turn next time. I'd like to see if your skill as a whore is as good as his. I've been thinking about a new car...?" "Well, if you're talking Corvettes, I'm your man. There's a dealership I know, out towards Rockville, where the manager's the spit of Brad Pitt." "Enticing as the thought might be to you, it wouldn't be a fair test of your abilities, now would it? I wondered if you'd be able to get it up for someone along the lines of say, Danny DeVito?" "Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Yes, Mulder, I can do that." I said bitterly. "Just be thankful that such things aren't included in your contract of employment." "It was your choice, Krycek." "Yeah, it was." He looked at me speculatively. "So, what are we doing now?" "You want to carry on with today? You're not going to freak out on me?" I asked, surprised. "Depends. I'm calmer than I was about this. Maybe spending time with you in some trivial manner might help muffle the rage I feel in your company." He shrugged. "Today was put aside for you, and I'm sure you know full well I mostly just mooch around at weekends. So, what's the plan?" "Well, if you're interested, I was going to take him sailing, down near Cambridge. Then back to my place for supper. And finally," I leered, "a night of wild, sweaty sex." "OK, I'm game for the first part, anyhow. I've never been entertained on a luxury yacht." "You won't be now, either. It'll be a twelve-foot dinghy, and you and I will be the crew." I said, chuckling. "I know you can sail, I've seen your file." "It may have said I know how, it obviously didn't say how good I was at it. If we stay close to land, wear life-jackets, and the water's never more than waist deep, we may survive the afternoon. Oh, and an outboard would be good, as well." "I've done some wind-surfing, I expect that'll help. How hard can it be?" "Hum." replied Mulder. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A short while later we were heading out of the city on my veteran Indian. I'd brought a change of clothes, shorts and T-shirts, for the two of us, and a light picnic. The air was balmy, sweet-smelling after we'd left the fumes of the town behind us. Mind you, Mulder had nearly balked when he'd realised that we were travelling by motorbike. Y'know, I'd completely forgotten about the state of his ass, but the accommodating old leather seats of the bike were well sprung, and he only winced at pot-holes. The little towns along there on Chesapeake Bay are quaint, and quiet compared to the bustle if you go out to the resorts on the Atlantic coast. Within a couple of hours we were ineptly navigating our boat up one of the many rivers that empty into the bay, and soon found ourselves gliding gently against the current, with only marsh, and sky, and occasional convoys of waterbirds paddling past. We'd been too busy with the sheets and the boom and the tiller, each of which had a mind of its own, to converse. Needless to say, eventually we sailed too close to the inside of a bend, and grounded ourselves on the shingly river-bed. Since someone was going to have to get out and push, it seemed an appropriate point to stop for a late lunch. Making the boat fast, we waded ashore with the picnic, and an elderly blanket we'd scrounged at the boat-yard. I'd packed just bread, a ripe camembert and a couple of crisp, tart apples. There was fizzy spring water to drink. I think Mulder had expected me to be equipped with wine, or at least beer, but the combination of alcohol and sunshine always gives me a headache, so I hadn't bothered. Little was said, and after we'd eaten we lay back on the blanket and dozed. All I could hear was the splashing river, birds twittering, with the occasional plaintive cry of a seagull, and the light breeze rustling through the ripe grass stems in the field behind us. I think it must have been his shadow that woke me up. I suppose I should have been grateful at this point for the years I've spent living on the edge, it's automatic now to lie motionless when I awake, and take a few seconds to assess where I am, and who's with me. I couldn't see his face, just the shape of his head silhouetted against the sky, the sunbeams diffracting through the tips of his hair, turning its deep brown into copper and bronze. His arm and hand were there too, and lightly clasped between the tips of the forefinger and thumb was an object that caught the light and simmered and sparkled as he let it swing lazily to and fro above my face. What subliminal clue I'd received I couldn't tell you, but something made me turn my head to the side, and all I felt was a riffle through my hair and the thud of its landing. Holding my breath, I waited for his next strike. I can sure recognise the feel of a knife passing and, if I hadn't moved, this one would have been embedded in my left eye. He gave an ugly high-pitched giggle, and pulled his switchblade out of the turf. "Deal with it or kill me, deal with it or kill me" he began to chant, in the odd 'mad Mulder' voice I'd heard in his apartment. "I can't fucking deal with it." he shrieked, lunging at me with the knife. I was ready for him this time. He's usually a good fighter, but his concentration must have been affected by the state he was in, because I easily and painlessly overpowered him, and quickly had him pinned down with one arm twisted up behind his back. His shrieks slowly subsided into sobs, and as the tension left his body I could hear he was still mumbling his mantra over and over. I let go my hold and rolled him over, pulled him up into my arms and tried to soothe him with endearments and kisses. I should think it was at least ten minutes before he fell silent, and another couple before he said, in a quiet but calm voice, "OK, Krycek, let me go now, please." and tried to ease himself from my arms. I tightened my grip, and looked over to where the knife was lying, just out of my reach. He tracked my eyes, and I felt him shrug. "You keep it for me, if you're worried. But I think you're safe for now, I've got a grip again...I was dreaming, y'know, and I woke up in a strange place, with you at my side, and it felt like it was still a dream." He sighed deeply, and continued, "Fox is right, isn't he? Losing the plot, he said. Inside I was gibbering in panic, like when I did this." He held out the arm he'd cut, which was still bandaged. "Logically, I knew that the ink would scrub off in a day or two, and nobody would see it under my shirt. But instinct told me it had to go, and that razor looked so attractive. It's an old straight-edge, belonged to my father, Mom gave it to me when he died." Looking up into my eyes, he asked, "Why did he die, Krycek? Why did you kill him?" "Is there any point in you asking, Mulder? Whatever I say, you'll think it's bull-shit. But, for what it's worth, he was in it with them, the guys who run me, he definitely was one of them. But as for why he had to go, all I know is that I was ordered to do it and I did." "No remorse?" he said in a tight voice. "Nope." "Not even because he was my father?" "I've read your file. I would have done him for free." I sneered. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm not sure that he was your father. From the rumours I've heard, if cannibals ever get round to banning GM foods, you won't be on the menu." "OK. So now you're telling me I'm an alien." I sniggered. "It's perfectly obvious to everyone but you, Mulder." "In that case, why are you still hugging me. I thought you'd had enough of getting 'up close and personal' with aliens." "Not the ones I want to fuck." "Jeez, you really have a delicate touch when it comes to seduction, Ratboy. C'mon let me go." He made another half-hearted attempt to wriggle free, but I held tight. He sighed, and relaxed against my chest. "Well, what the hell. Have it your way, Krycek." "You surrender?" "Uh-huh." "Good. Let's get comfortable, and you can tell me all about Fox. Where he came from, how you talk to each other, that sort of thing." "WHAT," he squeaked, "No way...I can't talk about his depraved life. It'd be too damn embarrassing. Ask Fox." I worked myself back, until I was leaning, using the empty cool-bag for padding, against a tree stump, pulling him with me, and arranging him until he was sitting between my legs with his back against my chest. Clasping my hands around his waist, to prevent escape, I said, "You don't have to look at me, imagine you're taping it, or something. You said you'd have to deal with it, and I think if you can tell me how this situation came about, it'd be a start." "Yeah." he drawled cynically. "And while I'm telling you dirty stories you get to rub your boner right up against my ass." "Maybe. You'll just have to cope with that too, won't you." "And when I'm done, what then? A nice after-dinner joke to laugh over with Cancerman?" "Maybe. How much worse can it be than what I already know?" "Yeah," he sighed resignedly, "How much worse can it be." Chapter 11 In which Mulder tells a story So I said, "Go on then, let's start. When did Fox first appear?" "Where should I begin? If you ask Fox, he'd say, "When Fox Mulder was born" because he believes that he's how Fox Mulder was as a child, before life got to him. But I don't believe that. I'm the real one, the original one; all Fox possesses is the equipment, and a basic instruction set... though he's evolved over the years, sort of deepened. Anyway, he arose from the primeval ooze of my perverted imagination, when I was at Oxford." He took a deep breath, and tensed, saying deliberately, "Anyway, this is nuts, Krycek. What the hell am I doing, sitting here with you, letting you fondle me, for christsakes? You're a cheating, murderous, stinking cocksucker. C'mon, let me go, this is a major mistake." "Oh, no. I've got you this far, I want to hear this. It's for your own good, Mulder, and remember, I'm in no position to judge you or condemn you, am I? And I'm the only one you've allowed to know about Fox, so in my book, that means I'm the one you want to bare your soul to, huh?" I began to rub my hands over his stomach, and I could feel him start to tremble. "OK, he started at Oxford. Why then?" "God," he said, in a quivery voice, "this is deeply embarrassing. Well, he started then, but to understand why, I'll tell you about my last few years at school, first. You know what my father was like, Mom too, to a lesser extent. Authoritarian, distant, still more so after Sam went. They expected a lot from me, and being the obsessive I am, looking back on it, I suppose I ran with it right to my limits. I couldn't disappoint them, and once there was just me, I knew I had to shoulder the burden of perfection alone. But I was never the son Dad wanted... too fey, too imaginative, letting my enthusiasm carry me completely away from common sense. And, I didn't play the right sports. Not the team sports, the ones that made you 'one of the boys'. So I got a bit of a reputation for being odd, and got picked on. Once that happens, you get all sorts of rumours about you, from eating worms, to belonging to some strange religion, and always, if you don't have a constant string of girlfriends, they say you're a sissy, a queer. Of course, Dad picked up on this, and I got even more lectures about being 'the all-American boy', and Mom started dropping hints about what 'nice girls' her friend's daughters were... and all I wanted was for the earth to open and swallow me. I had no doubt what they were on about, and, while I could let the rest of the crap roll off me, that was sure going to stick, because I knew it was true, and I felt everyone else did too; they were just waiting for me to be the first to announce it." "Please say you don't want to listen to this stuff, Krycek." he said, abandoning his belly to my wandering hands, resting his head on my shoulder, and laying his arms on my thighs. "Let's call a truce for the afternoon. I'll pretend you're not trying surreptitiously to insinuate you hands inside my shorts, and you can tell me you don't want to know any more." I replaced my hands in their original position, and replied, laughing, "Nothing doing Mulder. As far as I'm concerned, this story's going to be better than 'Gone with the Wind' and 'Citizen Kane' rolled into one... with maybe a topping of 'Last Tango in Paris'. Anyway, I thought perhaps you needed some help relaxing, but if you like, I'll try to keep my hands off your equipment. Get on with it, so why didn't Fox happen then?" He sighed, and continued in a near-whisper. "I had a reprieve. I was close to despair, trying to hide my need to spend 'too much' time with some of the guys at school, trying to stop myself deliberately brushing up against them when there was a crush in the corridor, and trying to hide my growing collection of pornography from my family." "Porn?" "I was amazingly ingenious with mail-order, and conning the local library, Krycek. By the time I was fifteen, I must have been an expert on every way humans find to achieve orgasm, and desperate to try for myself a few of the ones that required another person's input. Do I need to tell you," he said dryly, "that I fully explored as many of the other methods as possible? Anyway, I had a reprieve, in the form of a new girl at the school. She slotted into some of the fantasies my research had fuelled, as if she'd been vacuum molded to fit. Suddenly, I was saved, I'd found a way to get girls into my sex-life." "So what was special about her?" He drew a juddery breath and clenched his hands over mine. "Fuck, Krycek, adolescent sex fantasies must be the hardest thing in the world to confess." "OK," I said, "Just to get you going, I'll give you one of mine. I got a desperate crush on the local Catholic priest when I was about fourteen. So much so, that I seriously considered telling my parents that I wanted to convert, just so I could get near him in one of those confession boxes and jerk off without him knowing." He snorted with laughter. "Nice... But I had Clare, in full goal-keeper's kit, doing unspeakable things to me with her hockey stick, after tying me spreadeagled across the goal-mouth." "Lovely." I said, ironically. "You sure are a wierdo, Mulder." "Tell me about it... Anyway, she was a tall, brawny girl, sorta imposing, with quite a bossy attitude. I don't think I ever actually spoke to her more than three times, but I realised that I could use fantasies of being controlled by women, to get off on them. After that, I dated a few girls, ones that would bully me, and managed to have adequate, if unspectacular sex with a couple of them. It wasn't fair on them, really, they were being used. I didn't have any problems making friends with girls, but as girl-friends they never lasted long. They must have sensed that my heart wasn't really in it. However, it did stop the gossip, and appeased my parents." "So that's how it was 'til you went to England? You never had any homosexual encounters?" "Only in my head. The very idea of acting on any of my feelings made me sick to my stomach. Look, Ratboy, what I'm doing here, just sitting with you, is giving me butterflies, so please don't push it, unless you want me to throw up on you." "I won't find that easy. Shit, I've been baring my fucking soul to you Mulder. You couldn't have got the message any clearer about how I feel if I'd taken an advert out on national TV." "Well excuse me if I doubt your veracity, darling Alex," he replied sarcastically. "Your idea of the truth and mine seem to occupy different universes. D'you want me to go on with this life history or not?" "Yeah. Go on, Oxford. That's where you met Phoebe, right?" "Uh-huh. It was good at Oxford, away from my parents. I could be someone different, there was no-one to remind me of how I should act. But despite the openness about queers there, the tolerance, Jeez, virtually the fashion for being gay, I was too pre-conditioned and repressed to come out. I remember thinking that if I ever had the courage to admit to being a poof, I'd never be able to go home again. I wouldn't have been able to go back in the closet, and I wouldn't have been able to face my parents with the truth. How about you, Krycek? I suppose you've got parents, do they know you're gay?" "Yes, Mulder, I had parents." I replied acidly. "Contrary to what you believe, I wasn't expelled, fully-formed, from Satan's asshole. My father is dead, he never knew. My mother sure knows, it's even how she met my step-father." "You fucked your step-father!" he squawked. "Sadly, no, Mulder. It was his brother. I'll tell you about it sometime. C'mon, back to Oxford." He looked round at me and grinned. "You're kidding, right?" "Nope. If I thought I could trust you not to upset her, I'd give you her phone number and you could ask her yourself. Oxford Mulder." "Mmm, Oxford. Well, I might not have come out myself, but it didn't stop me from acquiring a few gay friends, and living a vicarious sex-life. I got to know where all the gay haunts were, even flirted a bit, but nobody took me seriously, because I generally had a girlfriend. There's plenty of strong-willed eccentric females at the University, and the more outrageous your own world-view is, the better the Oxford types like it. That's when I got my ears pierced, too. I felt really decadent at the time. My wardrobe became a lot less conservative... well I expect that's all on file, huh?" "Unfortunately there are no decent pictures, Mulder." "Thank God. So, then I met Phoebe. I don't know where she picked up her skills, but she took me to places in my head that I had no idea existed. Although I'd had a string of domineering lovers, any kinky sex was all in my imagination, until Phoebe. She had me under her thumb right from the start, and I knew I couldn't trust her, in our sex games, or in our relationship, but that just made it more thrilling. She was the one who took me to have that hole made in my cock. She said it would make sex more pleasurable for her." "She forced you to do it?" "Oh, I went willingly enough. But I did everything she wanted willingly. She took me, told the guy what to do, and watched him do it. It didn't hurt much at the time, I was so hyped by the thought of doing it for her. Christ, I was out of my mind with lust all the time I was with her." "So now do I get to inspect it?" I said, reaching for the waistband of his shorts. "Oh, no." he said, slapping my hand away. "What did I tell you just now?" "Don't push it?" "Clever little Alex." he replied patronisingly. "Why don't you count your blessings that I'm sitting quietly in your arms instead of beating the crap out of you?" I tried to suppress my laughter, but, of course, he could feel my ribs moving and turned round to give me a puzzled look. I grinned at him, mockingly, and watched the realisation dawn on his face. "Oh, shit. You said it yourself, didn't you? You want me to hit you, you've been getting your rocks off all this time by letting me do it... " He let out a big breath, and mouthed again, "Oh, shit . " He turned away again, and continued, "Phoebe dumped me. I was heartbroken, bereft, shamed. I was desperate for her to take me back under any terms, but she wouldn't, she was tired of me. I didn't have anyone to talk to, not about the things I'd wanted, and Phoebe's response to my needs. No girl could possibly replace her, and I couldn't turn to guys, so I turned to drugs instead." "Is that in your file on me, Krycek?" he mocked. "No." I replied, astounded. "It mentioned that you drank rather heavily, for you that is, at that time, that was all." "I'm not surprised. I only did drugs alone, in my digs. Didn't want be stoned out of my skull and blab about my problems. Out of curiosity, I tried quite a selection and worked my way through a lot of money, before I'd finished. I didn't find the perfect solution, though, until I tried heroin. It was wonderful," he reflected, dreamily. "My head seemed to swell and I was floating inside, at the top, looking down at my tiny problems, miles below. My concerns seemed so petty, so insignificant. Have you tried it, Krycek?" "I can't believe I'm hearing this." I murmured, stupefied. "I've never put junk like that in my body. I would never have dreamt that you could've." "I only did the heroin once. But for someone like me, that's all it takes to know you'll always need it. The second time, I sat for an hour with that needle in my hand, going through all the arguments against sticking it in my vein. That would have been a total commitment. No going back, because I was already an addict in my mind, and if I'd given in that time, I would always have succumbed. My money would be gone, my parents would find out and disown me, or send me on a 'program'. In two or three years I'd be dead. I knew I wouldn't care, the drug would be the only thing in my life. At last, freedom from my guilt, my responsibilities." He turned to me and smiled sweetly and gave a little laugh. "I threw the needle away. But it's comforting to know I've got that to save me, if I haven't got the guts to kill myself when things get really bad." I shivered and turned my eyes from the sadness in his face. "I'm sorry Mulder." I whispered. "Can't blame you for this stuff, Krycek." he said lightly, pulling one of my hands up to his face, and absently stroking the back against his cheek. "I decided that there was one thing left I could try, to make my life better. I could have the sort of sex I really desired. I could do it secretly, and then I wouldn't have to worry any more about those sort of relationships again. All I'd need then was friends, the sex part would be taken care of separately. So I dressed to look as much the tough young punk as I could, and went cottaging." "Sex in public restrooms, right?" "I really don't think the word 'restroom' is at all appropriate for most of the 'Public conveniences' they have in England. They have a tawdry mystery that's uniquely their own. Some popular ones really are like ornate miniature cottages, and inside all Victorian tile and brasswork, with layers of graffiti that's like a book of social history. The dingy lighting, the smell of piss and sweat, the grunts, and slap of flesh on flesh, with hardly a word spoken; it all combined to make me feel exquisitely defiled. That first time I couldn't do more than watch, but for days afterwards I was at peace, in harmony with the world." "Sounds pretty sordid to me, Mulder." "Precisely. I loathed needing men for sex, so by dragging it down to its basic level, by eliminating romance, relationships, I could sever it completely from the real part of my life, while still keeping my libido happy. I think Fox's emergence finally occurred when I decided that to get the most out of my corruption I'd have to surrender to it completely. You don't benefit from a purging if it isn't thorough, if all the dirt isn't flushed from your system." "I stepped back, and pretended it wasn't me that was indulging in unbridled sex, with filthy, maybe diseased strangers. Being fucked up against a shit -smeared wall by several guys in succession and not knowing which ones it had been. It was magnificent. Me, Mulder, I could get on with my life. When I put on the shabby leather jacket and the studs in my ears and nose, I was gone and Fox took over. Fox is the cocksucker my father saw in me, the effete bum-boy they knew I was at school. And, as I said before, Mulder is as close as I need to be to someone of whom my parents would approve." "So it's really your choice to become Fox?" He gave a snort of laughter and replied, his voice full of self-disgust, "I discovered it wasn't under my control any more after the first few weeks. I'd started getting over Phoebe, so I thought I'd get back to my old friends, pick up some suitable female, and go back to how things had been. I lasted just over a week before I noticed myself running down the road one evening, dressed in full 'come-fuck-me' regalia, towards Fox's favourite haunt. I had no idea how I got there, I don't think I'd blacked out, I think I'd just gone on autopilot, y'know? Like when you lock your door and wonder later if you have. That evening was the first when it really seemed that there was another me inside my head. As if I was the audience at a play, I heard myself saying words that hadn't come from my consciousness, doing things that I hadn't willed my limbs to do. Worst of all, there was a voice in my head that replied to my panicky questions about what was going on. I remember thinking what a fuck-up I'd made of myself, what a loser. There I was, all smug about sorting my problems, and in reality I'd sacrificed my sanity to my cowardice." He yawned and stretched sensuously, rolling his shoulder-blades against my chest, then looked up at me over his shoulder, grinning. "Lighten up, Ratboy. Don't worry, I've always known it wasn't the voice of God, or Napoleon Bonaparte, or even Elvis. I've lived with it now for more than fifteen years, and so's Fox. We function... well we did, until the stupid prick included you in our secret. But something's changing now, something's breaking. Look, I'll show you." He twisted round in my arms, and studied my face, his eyes shifting from my own, down to my mouth, and back up, holding my gaze unflinchingly as he leant towards me and brushed my lips with his tongue. I felt as though I'd been thrown into a pit of lava, my skin burned and prickled, the touch of his tongue a fiery path to blissful immolation. "Mulder" I breathed, as he gently brought his mouth to mine, and opened himself to me. Our tongues brushed together and then I was inside him, his body lax and pliant against my own as he allowed me to caress his lips, to explore him, to map him. My hands found the hem of his T-shirt, and pushed up inside. I ran my fingertips over his skin, tracing his spine, the hard ridges of his ribs under the firm flesh. I could feel him quivering beneath my touch, but as my passion built, my kisses became more demanding and he started to tremble violently and pushed me away. Sitting with his knees drawn up he ducked his head between his legs and drew several deep shuddery breaths. I wanted to fling myself on him, drag him back into my arms, and take forcibly what his lips had offered. In the state I was in, any other guy would have been given no alternative. I was irrationally angry, Fox would have put out, it was the same fucking body , for pity's sake, why did Mulder have to be so precious about it, yet I understood how momentous it had been for him to initiate that kiss. "That's the third time I've kissed you." he said unsteadily. "The third time I've kissed another man and enjoyed it. Why the hell, of all the guys I've met, did I have to pick you as the one to fall for? I want you, I want to trust you, and know you. I want to let you seduce me and give me the courage to do all the things that I've let him do all my life. But I had to go and choose a soulless assassin. Out of all the people, out of Fox's men too... and a lot of them have been great. What a screw up. What a fucking mess." Chapter 12 In which we don't go home It was late, the birds had fallen silent, and the gently swirling surface of the river had taken on a lilac sheen from the glancing rays of the setting sun. Our expedition, this strange afternoon, this peculiar intimacy, had passed. It was time to return. The current carried us back to our starting-point, the untidy little boatyard which had seemed so picturesque in the hazy afternoon sun. Now harshly lit by a halogen spotlight, the tarpaulined hulks and coils of rope traced a bizarre and eerie tangle of pathways around the workshops and jetties. It was deserted. The place was locked up for the night, along with our belongings, and the bike, which had been wheeled into a boathouse for safekeeping. "Damn," I said, "he promised he'd be here 'til we got back. D'ya want me to break in and get our stuff, Mulder, or do you want to do it the legitimate way and see if we can find the owner?" He shrugged. "It's a pain, when I know you'd have the doors open in an instant, but duty tells me we ought to go look for him." "OK, I'll be a law-abiding citizen for once, and you can demonstrate your FBI sleuthing skills and track him down, G-man. Why don't we start at the nearest bar. Not meaning to horn in on your territory, you understand, but if they don't know him they might have a Yellow pages." "Good thinking, Watson." he replied, smiling. "And while we're there...?" "We could have a beer" Yeah, they knew him at the bar. And yeah, his name and number too. But it wasn't going to do us any good, because 'ol' Andy had him a new lady-friend somewhere down Annapolis way, and she was sure keepin' him busy.' We took our drinks outside to a table on a deck over the river, and I said, "Well, it seems like we'll have to pay for a taxi, or you'll have to be accessory to a crime. You choose." He looked down into his drink, his knuckles whitening round the glass, biting his bottom lip. The silence lengthened. "Spit it out, Mulder." "We could eat." "Yeah, supper would be good. And...? " "We could s-stay" he stammered. "Until they open. In...in the morning." I cocked my eyebrow at him. "As in together, in one bed, Mulder? As in the night of wild sweaty sex I mentioned earlier?" He gulped. "I could try." "You'd have to do a whole lot more than try , Mulder. If I get you alone in a hotel bedroom, I'll be thinking with my cock, not my brain. You'd have to fight me off, or fuck. Don't go getting any illusions, lover . You know I'm not one of the good guys." "I know." he whispered. "But you said you loved me?" "Love you, adore you, worship you. Take your pick, they're all true." I mocked. "You can trust me on that, but you can't trust me to control myself if I get you into bed. You'll have to control me. You'll have to stop me taking what I want if you don't like it, 'cos I won't listen if you say 'no'." "You'd rape me? Even though you love me?" "I've had all the correct emotions cauterised, Mulder. The only way you can be sure I love you, is because I bothered to warn you beforehand that I would. Anyway, you're a fine one to talk, always lashing out at me when we meet, your jolly little game with my gun, yesterday. And Fox, inviting me to use him like he was my slave." He looked me squarely in the eye and smiled wryly. "Yeah, you're right. What a pair. Let's go for it, Ratboy. And, just in case, my apologies in advance if I get totally terrified, and run out on you. Don't take it personally. Oh, one more thing; Fox might take over. He'd do anything to get his hands on you." "At least I'd get laid without a fight." "But that's not what you want, is it, my sweet Alex?" I didn't bother answering with words. I lifted his hand to my mouth and ran my tongue languorously over his knuckles, and then lewdly around my smiling lips. Mulder didn't eat much of the light but delicious meal we shared at a nearby seafood restaurant. He can usually sustain a conversation single-handed in social situations, too, if you're prepared to be educated about stuff that you always thought belonged in the pages of the National Enquirer, but his loquacity had gone the way of his appetite that evening. It was perfectly obvious that he was brooding over his decision; that he was having second thoughts. It was my own fault, I'd scared him by being brutally honest with him. I'd hoped I was exaggerating, but the whole few of the past days had been a continual cocktease, and if I got him in a bedroom, well, restraint would be almost beyond my power. So by 11pm we were standing side-by-side before the blue door of a motel room. I offered him the key. "You first, Mulder. If you want this, invite me in. If you don't, shut the door, and I'll see you at 7am at the boatyard." "Thank you, Alex." he whispered, took the key from me and opened the door. Holding my hand, he entered the room, pulling me with him, and closed the door behind us. He looked at me shyly, warily, expecting, I suppose, an instant savage fuck, just so that I could take the edge off before the main event. But although I was implacable, I was not impatient. How many years had it been to get to this moment...to the point of taking Mulder for my own? (Or maybe not...even as I thought that, it crept into my mind that he might yet escape.) Holding him with my eyes I gently ordered, "Take my clothes off, Mulder." "Sit." he said, quietly, but firmly, gesturing to the wide bed that dominated the room. I sat down, and he knelt at my feet, picking clumsily at the laces of my deck-shoes with shaking fingers, eventually managing to loosen them enough to drag them off. Tossing them to one side, he glanced up at me and smiled. "You've got nice feet, Alex. They smell a bit though." "When you've stripped me I'll shower..." "No." he interrupted. "If I'm going to do this, I want all of you. All the sweat, the grease, the musk; I don't want to be able to close my eyes and pretend it's not you." He ran his fingers, light as thistledown, across the sensitive skin on top of my feet, then up my bare legs to my knees, his hands quivering, as if palsied. His breathing was ragged too, and his face and neck wet with sweat, not from arousal, but from dread. "Relax, Mulder, we're going to take this real slow." I said, standing up, and pulling him to his feet as well. "I think I'd rather you just fucked me quickly, and got it over with, so I can run away and hide." he blurted. "It's not as though you'd hurt me, this body's well-used." "You want me, don't you Mulder?" "You know I do." "Well then, you're going to take me. I belong to you, Mulder. Mark me as your property." "My property?" he said scornfully, "I would be ashamed to admit to owning you. Puts me in some pretty dubious company, Ratboy." I felt tears prickling my eyes again at his rejection. What the hell was going on inside my head? Why the fuck did I have to fall in love with him? My life was going to be ripped apart, I was being a traitor to myself by allowing, by revealing, my weakness. Swallowing hard, I replied, "Well then, take me and destroy me. Rid the world of a piece of vermin. I don't give a damn what you do to me. So long as it's at your hands, it'll be ecstasy, rapture, the Second Coming of Jesus fucking Christ." I took his hands, and brought them to either side of my waist. "Now, strip me, Mulder." He gripped the bottom of my T-shirt with both hands, yanking it up over my head, then deftly twisted it round my up-stretched arms so that my wrists were trapped. Holding the bundle of cloth in his left hand, he forced it down behind my head, and looked at me with a slight frown, his head cocked to one side. Those luscious lips of his were gleaming, moist, his tongue flicking over them in a restless, nervous dance. Kiss me, I was thinking, kiss me; willing him to approach my face so that I could touch his seductive mouth with my own, but he didn't. Instead, he reached out with his right hand and grasped the muscle at the join of my arm and body, grinding his thumb painfully into my armpit, then bent round and buried his face there too, sniffing at me with that long nose of his, and tugging the sweat and salt off the hairs with his tongue. Releasing my flesh, he stroked his hand down my back towards my shorts. I could still feel a tremor in his touch, but did it matter? At least it was him , here, consciously, voluntarily, feeling my body. The hand didn't delve inside my clothes, as I'd hoped, but fiddled with the button on the back pocket of my shorts and snaked inside. Oh shit, I thought, that's where I put his knife. I heard it 'snick' open, and he stood straight again and waved it between our faces, staring pensively into my eyes. "Open your mouth, Alex." he said. He carefully laid the knife handle across my teeth, the blade pointing to his left. "Hold it for me, please" His free hand moved down to the fastening of my shorts. Do I have to tell you how tight, how uncomfortable they felt? Yet my longing that he should see how my body yearned for him was tempered by sheer funk at the significance of that switchblade. Now his moves became confident, and I was the one shivering from his caress, inwardly cringing away from the danger his long-repressed cravings might pose. Slowly he popped the buttons on my shorts open, his knuckles brushing against my hard-on. His eyes were down-cast, hooded, his expression abstracted. The garment slithered to the floor, and he looked puzzled, and studied it for a long moment, as if he'd forgotten about gravity, that things should fall. His eyes jumped back to my face, and a brief smile darted to his mouth. "Fox is clamouring in my head, my love. He's screaming at me to let him in, telling me what I ought to do. But it's not his time tonight. I'm going to quieten him. You know how I have to do that." I nodded, and dropped the knife into his waiting hand. "Just a little cut, sweet Alex. Just a warning to him that the toy he covets is mine to damage, mine to despoil." "Yes." I whispered, and with my capitulation came an icy tingle in my groin, a monstrous need to be defaced, to be ruined, so that he would be the last ever to desire me. "Do it." He laughed gently, reading the naked hunger on my face. "Not yet, love. It'll come to that, no doubt. But not today. Open your mouth for me again." I complied, and stood unflinching as he pressed the tip of his knife against my tongue and jabbed briefly. My mouth filled with the iron taste of my blood, and I felt a trickle start down the side of my chin. "There," he sighed, "he's gone." He flicked the knife over my shoulder and I heard it embed itself in the wall. Finally, releasing my hands at last, he wrapped his arms round me and pulled me to him, laving the blood from my face and lips, then taking my mouth in a wanton kiss. Though I responded to his kiss, I didn't try to trap him in my arms. For as long as I could hold myself back, I wanted this coupling to progress as he chose, hoping that he would be able to accept and embrace his desire and not hide behind an excuse of coercion. He tugged at my briefs, unhooking them from my stiff shaft, and eased them down my thighs. Toeing them off, I spread my legs a fraction and tilted my hips towards him, allowing myself the luxury of rubbing my aching groin against his. He stepped back from me and looked down at my penis, swollen and dusky red, its angry scarlet head just peeping out from my foreskin, a milky drip forming at its tip. "Touch me, Mulder, please." I begged, swallowing the blood that was welling in my mouth. He bit his lip and, clearing his throat, began rambling disjointedly, "It's difficult to make a start. This isn't what I do, I don't touch, I just look. And then, if we do this, maybe over and over, and then you get tired of me, and sell me to them , what will I do? I've never been tempted to touch, Krycek, not since Fox took over, until I met you. If you betray me, and they all find out, I won't have you any more. If they're watching, I can't be Fox, and I won't have you. This is a marriage, Alex, a one-way street. You'll have my virginity, it won't be mine anymore to bestow on a man that's really worthy." "Crap, Mulder." I sneered, tiring of his evasions. "I'd get just as much money for the information with or without your fucking maidenhood. And you're the hypocritical screw-up who wants to roll around in the shit with a guy he regards as scum. You initiated all this. Maybe I can't aspire to a standard that's worthy of you, but you sure as hell seem to want to debase yourself enough to be worthy of me." As I spoke his eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. "Bastard." he snarled, "Not much romance in your soul, is there, Ratboy? Christ, don't you understand how hard this is for me?" "I haven't got a soul, remember, 'soulless assassin', uh?" I jeered. "But I know why this is hard for you, Mulder. You've got no balls, you can't take me and you know it. Slap me around a bit, maybe, if I don't bother to stop you, but fuck me? Scully could give me more fun with an anal exam than you'd know how to give me with your dick." I spat at him, splattering his face with an ugly mixture of saliva and blood. This time he let his fist answer for him. He gave me an almighty punch on the side of my jaw, sending me flying backwards onto the bed, just like the hero does in the comic-books. As I lay there dazed, I wondered where the brightly lettered 'POW' in its spiky speech-bubble had hidden itself. Mulder was frantically rooting through my pockets. Finding the lube, he pulled out his cock, and greased up, then turned to me and snapped, "Hands and knees, Ratboy." Grinning through the pain in my jaw, and weak with relief, I rolled onto my stomach and scrambled onto my elbows and knees, feeling the tight hair-raising, gut-twisting excitement in my belly that you get poised at the summit of a roller-coaster. No way back, no way down, you're on that ride for the whole trip. Pressing my forehead into the bed-cover I braced myself. A quick dip of the mattress, and he was on me, his hands clamping my hips, thrusting straight in up to the hilt. God, I thought, first Siggy and now him. But it didn't matter, my ass knew what it wanted, even if my sensibilities told me a little preparation would have been polite. It was as well my body put up no resistance, because Mulder's prick, a generous size to begin with, had a steel reinforcement that had completely slipped my mind. Held rigidly by his shaft, it scraped inexorably into my gut. Though it wasn't noticeable when pushed right up inside, he'd obviously been paying attention to Fox's technique, because he pulled out just enough to position the thing over my prostate, and, with short jabs, worked it until I was writhing beneath him and uttering a constant stream of inarticulate groans. "Is that good, my love?" he panted, "Better than that anal exam by Scully's dainty fingers? Better than her whole damn hand, if you could ever get her to fist you. Jeez, what wouldn't I give to see her face, if you asked her to do that." "Next time I phone you at the office, pass it to her, and I'll do it." I gasped. He began to laugh, sinking right into me, and resting on my back. I could feel his cock twitching in my ass-hole. "Shit, don't get distracted, babe, don't stop." I pleaded. He felt below me and took my balls in his warm hand, rolling them gently together. "What's your rush, Krycek? Don't you want this moment to last?" he cooed with saccharine sweetness. "No, I damn well don't. The longer it goes on, the more chance there is for something to go wrong, like Fox taking over. I believe if you can do this once, it'll be plain sailing." "The sailing earlier was a cock-up." "Yeah, but we've got more experience with this form of navigation. C'mon cut the nautical crap, Mulder, and fuck me." "Y'know, Ratboy, I thought I'd be so tense when it came to actually sticking it in you, rogering you...hey, there's one from the vault...haven't used that word since Oxford... I'd be totally tensed up and vomit all over you. Instead I feel content, as if I've suddenly found the path my life was meant to take." "Well, whoopee, three cheers for Agent Mulder. You don't usually start metaphysical conversations in the middle of intercourse, do you?" "How would I know that, Alex? Fox doesn't, but this is my first time, remember?" At this point he broke into uncontrollable giggles. "Have some consideration for your virgin bride." Well, y'know, though I was desperate to get on with the business at hand, in a way I was pleased that he'd suddenly got talkative, and some of the tension had gone. I heaved him off me, so that he flopped on his back on the bed, his sticky hard-on bobbing about in a ridiculous fashion with his laughter. Straddling him, I smiled down and said, "For a virgin bride, you pack a hell of a punch." He lifted an eyebrow, and drawled, "Just trying to please you, my sweet Alex. Aren't you going to thank me?" "Oh, yeah." I murmured, and bent down and kissed him. He worked his tongue into my mouth, stroking the tiny wound he had made, tasting the trace of blood that was still oozing from it. Then back out, brushing my lips, making them tingle, sending quivers down my spine as if a series of icy fingers were tracing it. "Take off my clothes." He whispered against my mouth. I pushed his T-shirt up and dragged it off over his head, and, temporarily hardening myself against the temptation of those nipples and their tiny rings, slithered off the bed and quickly pulled off his shoes. Next his shorts and boxers, and there he was, all mine, unwrapped and ready for use. I knelt beside him and studied his body, tracing with my fingertips the contours of his lean and beautiful body, memorising the moles, the scars, the swirls his sparse body hair patterned on his skin. Leaning closer I gently held his nipple-rings and rotated them in their holes, watching with fascination how the bright metal disappeared into the tiny nubs and re-emerged the other side. "What's it feel like?" "Well, that tickles, 'bout the same as touching or licking them gently, I suppose. If you mean in general, just wearing the rings, it make you very aware of your nipples, they get hard a lot. But they're a Fox thing, I don't usually have them in. Pulling and twisting on them's very arousing, so long as you're not too rough." "OK, well how about this, then." I said, prodding tentatively at the bar that perforated his cock-head. "Jeez, Krycek, I'm not giving you a guided tour. If you want to know, get one for yourself. Here," he said, flipping over and lifting his ass, "finish your inspection, and then you can get back to kissing me. I was enjoying that." So I discovered what it was that Stephen had been playing with, earlier. Yet another ring, this time where his ball-sac joined his body. I bent down and breathed deeply, filling my head with the intoxicating smell of warm, sun-baked Mulder, then took the ring into my mouth, pulling on it gently with my teeth. He hissed, clenching his muscles, then pressed his ass into my face. I groped around for the lube, and squeezed some on my fingers, then carefully inserted one of them into his ass-hole, all the while teasing and tweaking the metal with my tongue. "Oh, that's good, Alex." he sighed. "But stop now, 'cos this first time, I want to be inside you." I kissed my way back up to his neck, then rolled him over and looked into his eyes. "That's what I want too. I want this to be your choice, I want you to lead. Show me, show your father's ghost, that you can decide for yourself whether loving another man is right or wrong." "I think loving this particular man might be regarded as dancing on his grave." he replied evenly. "Not exactly filial, but I can't help looking on that as a bonus. On your back, sweet Alex, and open up for me. I want to see your lovely face when I make you come." I complied, and, kneeling between my thighs, he gripped me tightly and plunged his cock into me once more. All the past, the future vanished, there was only now , he and I, joined, our bodies in harmony, weaving and rocking, building a diamond tower that grazed the sky and shattered into a fountain of crystal shards. He told me later I'd blacked out, 'cos the next thing I recall, he was peering into my face, stroking my cheek with the back of his finger, his prick still firmly bedded inside me. "Where d'you go, Alex?" he said, with a little laugh. "Shit, Mulder, I think you've just given me my first ever out-of-body experience." I must have sounded awed, because he blushed and tried to pull away. I wrapped my legs round his hips, and pulled him down for a long deep kiss, pretending to myself for a brief moment that this was how it always was between us. Chapter 13 In which there's a morning after He'd set his watch to wake us at six, but I'd expected that he'd sneak out sometime in the night after I'd gone to sleep. So, when I was awoken by an unfamiliar and insistent 'beep', I was somewhat disorientated to find a solid body half draped on top of me, making my skin, where our bodies were touching, sticky and damp with sweat. Then I remembered who it was, the man whose head lay heavy on my chest, whose morning hard-on was nudging my thigh, and who was peacefully sleeping through the most irritating and piercing noise I'd heard in a long time. I couldn't find any way to turn the stupid watch off, so I lobbed it across the room through the open window, and settled back to enjoy my new position as Mulder's 'comfort blanket'. I couldn't remember how long it had been since I last woke up with a lover... outside the line of duty, anyhow. As I lay, listening to the morning sounds outside, my thoughts drifted around the possible outcomes of this... affair. I supposed that's what it was, all it was going to be. How could I anticipate a happy ending, a 'they lived happily ever after'. Mulder, with his usual peculiar logic, had mentioned a marriage. Well, (and maybe you've thought the same) I'd long considered our fates to be tied together, I'd assumed our destinies were already 'married' to each other. But this little bliss couldn't last, I'd been a fool to chase him, a fool to take the bait, and a damned fool for not running straight to the Smoker in the first place and selling the news of Fox Mulder's proclivities for the best price I could negotiate. That way we would have stayed safely as enemies, and my dreams of being with him, though unfulfilled, would have been limited only by my imagination. Now that the impossible had happened, that universe of all possible paths had been collapsed to a single outcome. Now we were both in danger and I had to deal with reality. It would be grim, I was sure. My mind echoed Mulder's words from yesterday, "What a fucking mess". Hell, though, what was the point of worrying? You don't get very far as a criminal if you fret about all the awful things that could happen. Carpe diem. I unpeeled myself from him and burrowed down in the bed, and began gently licking the head of his cock. A few seconds passed, and he rolled onto his back with a sleepy groan. "'Morning, Mulder." "Uh... Krycek... is that you?" "Your sex-life is so busy that you have to ask who's waking you up with a blow-job?" "Fox's is. He has an irritating habit of letting me deal with the 'morning after', especially if he's got regrets about his choice of 'fuck du jour'. If I can't get him home in the evening I try and leave during the night. But sometimes I have to negotiate with one of his pickups." "You seriously mean to tell me you refuse blow-jobs? What a waste." "Not my scene." He said tersely. "And the usual excuse, which this morning happens to be true, is that I gotta piss. Shift, would you." He rolled off the bed and padded into the bathroom. I trailed behind and joined him at the toilet, letting fly and angling the stream of urine 'til it blended with his. He cocked an eyebrow at me. "Japanese bonding rituals, Krycek?" I smiled wryly. "More elegant than getting drunk together, Mmm? And I'll be damned if I'll go bowling or fishing with you. Not your scene at all, or just in those circumstances?" "Uh? Oh, blow-jobs... all I ever want to do when dealing with most of his guys is get out as fast as possible. Familiar people, the twins, for instance, I can be polite to, but if they're insistent it's as much as I can do to kiss them goodbye. Though if Natalie hadn't got Siggy in tow, she'd be just the sort of woman I'd have gone for." Finishing up, he put his hand on my shoulder and turned me to face him. "I'd love for you to give me a blow-job, Alex. If I could've been honest with myself all those times I hit you, I'd have known that that's what I needed— seeing you on your knees with your lips round my cock. But right now, we're going to dress, and get back to town, then I'm going to work. I can't cope with any more of this... I've got to have time to think." I put my hand round the back of his head and tried to pull him close for a kiss, but he shoved me away, and strode back into the bedroom. "No, not now." he said curtly. "Godammit, get dressed, and let's go." "Regrets, Mulder?" I asked, stepping into the shower. "Too many." "Me too. There's no way forward, is there?" He gave a bark of laughter. "Blinded by lust, would you say?" "No, Mulder." I whispered to myself. "By love." But out loud, I said, "There's no way of knowing what the consequences will be. Why don't we just go with the flow and enjoy ourselves?" "Oh yeah." he sneered. "C'mon, Mulder, trust me. Believe me. Pour your heart out to your favourite Rat-bastard. Share you bed with me. How far do you want me to go before you pull the plug, huh?" "Come on, live a little." I said, letting him into the shower. "I know I don't deserve your trust... not one iota... but it's not going to exacerbate your situation if you sleep with me occasionally, is it? I'm not going to pump you for classified information or steal the keys to Skinner's executive bathroom, promise ." I suppose he continued rambling about all the pitfalls awaiting us, but at that point I stopped listening, and started watching instead. Wet skin, under the spray, hair darkened by the water trailing sparkling drops down his face, his lashes. Soapy hands running over his body, painting his strong arms and shoulders with white froth that seeped down his slim back and stomach. I tingled. I throbbed. Slinging my towel round my neck and leaning against the door I cupped my damp balls in one hand and took my half-hard cock in the other. Now he was squeezing the soapy wash-cloth against his nape, and a fat trickle of foam slid down his spine, curving over the arch of his buttocks, clinging to his thighs, worming its way between them to glide down the silky inner surface of his legs. Firmly pressing my thumb into the top of my hardening shaft and rubbing eagerly I imagined it was my hand lathering his ass, sliding to and fro in the crack, pulling his cheeks apart as he leant forwards to rinse himself. Another wave of heat flooded my groin when he turned around, bending to slick the soap between his legs and over his dangling ball-sac and prick, pushing the narrow metal barbell, loose in his flaccid member, from side to side to clean out its hole. Arching back, the water splashed on his chest, and puddled in the hands waiting at his groin, waiting to flex and pull his balls, his dick, to splatter the clear spray on them, to send the suds down, over his knees, to pool around his feet. I spat into my hand, and gently worked a wet thumb over my tender cock-head, then pinched the fore-skin over it, twisting and kneading. My slitted eyes, my inattentive ears, didn't register that the shower had stopped, and Mulder's scrutiny was upon me. Suddenly he was right before me, warm, soaking, smelling faintly of lemon. "What are you doing, Krycek?" he asked carefully. "That's a damn stupid question." I gasped. "Do me a favour and take over, or kiss me or something... anything." "Let me out of here, you twisted little faggot. Get away from the door." he snarled. "Not 'til I've come. Touch me Mulder, please." I whined, feeling the climax building to a crescendo. "Like this, for instance." he said, through gritted teeth, pinching my nipples and twisting them mercilessly. The stabbing pain seared down my body, transforming itself into an incandescent lance of pleasure that surged through my cock and detonated in a blast of thick, glutinous spunk. "YES," I shrieked. "Yes, you fucker, yesss ." +++++++++++++++++++++++oooooooooooooooo+++++++++++++++++++++ The atmosphere was distinctly cool between us on the way back to Washington. When he climbed off the bike, just round the corner from his apartment, I asked, "What about Fox? Has this eliminated him?" "After all these years? I doubt it, Krycek. He was severely pissed off when you rejected him. He's your problem now. I've had enough of keeping him under control, it's your turn to curb him. After all, if you want me healthy, in one piece, so you can use me as your fuck-toy , it's in your own interests." "Give it a rest, Mulder. Can I help it if you drive me wild with desire?" I snickered. "Can't you understand, Krycek? I've spent over half my life in denial over any homosexual urges I may have had. They've been locked away in a box labelled 'Fox'. You seem to think I'll instantly throw myself, without a backward glance, into a gay love-affair. Appreciate having someone publicly masturbating over me when I shower. You didn't say anything, you didn't ask, and I sure as hell didn't choose. You used me as if I was a soiled tissue to jerk off into. Well, fuck you ." he spat, grabbing his bag of clothes, and walking off. I ran after him and stood in front of him, preventing him from going on. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm not used to minding other people's feelings. I can pretend, easy enough. I can act the caring listener, the sympathetic lover. Christ, I've done it in the past to you. Truthfully, I'm still doing it, to some extent. But deep down, I share a couple of traits with you... ones that you won't deny, if you're truthful. I'm selfish and self-indulgent, just like you; more and more what you're getting is me in the raw, not the public tough-guy or sycophantic liar. If I'm inconsiderate, point it out to me, help me sympathise with your emotions." "Maybe you ought to get some 'counselling', Ratboy." he said sarcastically. "Great plan, Mulder." I laughed. "Anyway, before you go, I've got something for you." I dug an envelope out of the bike's saddlebag and gave it to him. "My apartment key, alarm keys, address and instructions on how to use the alarm... and phone number. It's all under the Edmonds' name. Use it or not, as you will. Set the cops onto me, if that's what you want. I won't breathe a word about your secrets. If I want to get you to trust me, I'm going to have to start somewhere." "How do I know it won't all be an elaborate set-up?" "Hey, what happened to 'I want to believe?'" "You wore it out, Krycek." he said flatly, and dodging round me, jogged off toward his home. Chapter 14 In which Mulder visits me I threw myself into mundane chores for the rest of the day; I had laundry, a visit to the gym, background research for a couple of jobs looming on the horizon. The more I tried to blank my mind and immerse myself in monotony, the more images, textures, sounds, enmeshed my thoughts, and I found I'd stopped, drifted, a half hour had passed, unnoticed. It wasn't about him, he and I, it was of him, of feeling, as well as hearing, his voice because he was in my arms. It was of tasting his mouth, the subtly different flavour of his spit, the salty animal tang of his skin; of the texture of his hands, strong but un-callused, stroking me, grasping me, leaving a hint of bruising from his fingertips on my hips and thighs. It was the peace of waking with him, sharing his heat, his sweat on my body. It was the feel of his come that oozed from my ass, that I smeared on my groin, and licked from my fingers as he slept. No point in trying to resolve how or whether we should be together, when I knew it had to be. No need to plan my life any more, to adapt it to include him. I was in his hands now, if he set conditions I would sacrifice anything to meet them. Still what if, now he'd had a taste, he shut me out, if he refused to be with me under any circumstances? Was I prepared to force him, threaten him...even blackmail him? God help me, yes. I'd approached him with threats when I'd discovered his secret. He wasn't going to be surprised if I did again. He wouldn't think any less of me because, in his opinion, I couldn't sink any lower. Y'know, I guess that would be his preferred option, it would bypass his conscience. 'The Rat-bastard forced me into it. Couldn't be content with Fox, oh no...he had to defile Mulder.' By the evening my mind was in a complete turmoil. Should I resume spying on him, so that I could at least see him? Should I avoid him, blot out any thoughts about him, stand back and get some perspective on a relationship that was blatant self-gratification and 'Tell love it is but lust'? Damn, damn, damn . Adults are supposed to be able to think things through, to weigh their judgements, to consider the consequences. My mind simply refused to go there. You want him, it told my body. And my body answered my mind, Yes, and so do you. I fetched a beer from the 'fridge, shoved a favourite video in the machine and crashed on the couch, but, for all I saw of that film, it may as well have been white noise. When I was recalled to my senses by the door buzzer at 7.30, another hour had gone into oblivion. Mulder stood outside. In his elegant dark suit, with neatly brushed hair, and shiny shoes, he was every inch the government employee, the efficient federal agent, but his face was like a corpse's, pale and empty. Even at rest his expression usually speaks to me of his quiet amusement with the antics and slow-wittedness of his fellow man, but this evening there was nothing, a shell, a wraith. He didn't acknowledge me, he just walked in and waited. I shut and locked the door. "It's civilised," he said blankly, looking around. "Airy...sparse." "Yes." I replied. My homes are never cluttered, constant changes of address have taught me to be uncompromising with my possessions. This apartment had a single high-ceilinged, open plan, living area with a spacious bedroom and bathroom adjoining. One wall of each room was entirely window and there were pale wood floors and pastel walls throughout. "I move frequently, sometimes unexpectedly. I don't hoard, Mulder." "You abandon everything, Krycek? Isn't that expensive?" I shrugged. "I try to salvage my pictures. Everything else is replaceable." I smiled at him wryly. "I've got money to spare and I really don't think I need to save for my old age." He paced the room, roving to and fro restlessly, remarking on my few books, CD's, the tiny Matisse lithograph, sifting my video collection through his infallible memory and analysing what he deduced about me from its contents. I replied in monosyllables, wondering when he'd tell me what his purpose was. Finally his voice ran down, and, at last, he really saw me. Licking his lips and frowning, he drew his gun from inside his coat and handed it to me, butt-first. "Look after it," he muttered, "just for a few hours, until I've made a decision." I hefted the weapon in my hand and glanced at him speculatively. "A decision about which one of us has to die, Mulder? There's plenty of other ways to kill someone. Giving me your gun won't stop you if you've got murder in mind." "It's symbolic, OK?" he snarled. "A reminder to myself not to act hastily, to consider my options for once." "Right, Mulder." I jibed, poking him in the chest with his own gun until he'd backed up against the couch and was forced to sit. "You're as clear as mud. Let's cut out the armaments as metaphors and get straight to the reason you're here." I knelt down in front of him, looked him right in the eyes and asked, "What's happened?" He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, but no words came. Shaking his head he turned away from me and looked down at the floor. I placed his gun on the floor beside me, and rested my left hand on his knee, then reached out and gently ran my right forefinger down the side of his brow, across his cheek and around his chin. The silky down on his skin feathered the tip, then tingled as his coarse evening stubble grazed my touch. "S-stop, Krycek." he faltered. I let my fingers drift to that tender dip behind his ear and traced soft circles on his flesh, and he sighed, and whispered, "Please stop, sweet Alex. I can't think while you touch me." "You shouldn't think, love. Just exist for me." I breathed into his mouth, so close that the shadow of my words was traced on his lips. His hands cupped the back of my head and he brushed those lips over my face, feeling the textures of my skin as I had his with my fingers, then stroking my brows and eyelids with delicate sweeps of his tongue. "It would be so easy, Alex, to lose myself in you. The world requires my confessions, but I could escape into fantasy, into your nirvana. For a few hours there would be bliss, but then our passion would be sated and I'd still have to face the music, and...perhaps I wouldn't find the motivation, it would be too difficult for me tomorrow." I slid my hand up his leg and pressed the warm hardness at his crotch. I was dizzy with desire, I didn't want to hear his words, I wanted to take him back, to reverse evolution, to force him to communicate with his body, with brutish grunts and whines. Fumbling for the fastening of his pants, I gasped, "Let me suck you, Mulder, please. Let me taste you...look, I'm asking, not taking, give me permission...I'm not trying to use you, I want you to use me. Fuck me, push your cock down my throat and fuck me. I can feel you want me. You need me like I need you. Please...please." But my groping at his fly was stopped by a painful grip, and my throat was clenched in his other hand, forcing my head up and back. Staring at me intently, and breathing deeply, his expression slowly hardened into rage. "Shit, Krycek." he snapped furiously. "I came to talk to you, not for sex. Don't you know I'd rather confide in anyone but a cocksucking worm like you. Heck, if I survive till tomorrow, I'll expect I'll be spoilt for choice. I'd better go." Pushing me from him, he stood and made for the door. "Stop, Mulder, please." I pleaded, springing after him, and grabbing his arm as he wrestled with my excess of door locks. "Come back...I'll get us a drink...sit down and tell me what you came for. I'll listen, I promise." I pulled him back into the room, and headed for the kitchen area. He trailed behind, evidently deciding I was serious, because he shed his coat and tie before joining me. "D'you want coffee, beer, juice...something stronger?" I asked, putting water on to heat. "What're you having?" "Tea." "OK, that'll do." "Have you eaten?" "No, but I don't think I should. My stomach's too jumpy." I put the drinks on a tray, and added a plate of cookies, and we sat across from each other, the low table bearing the tray providing a barrier between us. I let him sip at his tea for a few minutes, to calm down, before I prompted him to start. "I've been outed, Krycek." he stated baldly. "It wasn't me." I protested, instinctively. "D'ya, think I'd be here if I thought it was?" he replied with a mirthless laugh. "Indirectly, I suppose it was your fault, but even my paranoid brain can't force itself to blame you." "So who knows? And how did they find out?" "In a couple of days, everyone at the Bureau will know. Look, let me tell you what happened today, I'll find that easiest. After you left me, I went straight home. I was so mad at you, I almost dropped that envelope you gave me in the nearest trash can, but curiosity got the better of me. I thought, even if I never paid you a formal visit, I'd come and poke around while you were out. I was really late into the office. Scully was nosy, of course, wanting to know where I'd been. She'd tried to call me a couple of times on Sunday too, so I told her I'd been with the Gunmen and got drunk, and I was feeling lousy. I think she bought it. Then she told me that Skinner had been down to visit me, first thing, and was totally worked up about something, he'd wanted to see me urgently, and wouldn't say what it was about. I was ordered to his office after work, because he'd be in meetings all day. So I got the third degree about that too, and she niggled all day. Jeez, I could have strangled her. I couldn't concentrate on anything; what you and I had done just played over and over in my mind. It wasn't pleasant, it wasn't erotic, it was frightening. By the end of this afternoon I was shaking and my guts were tied in fucking knots. 6.30 I went to see Skinner. I hadn't thought about what he wanted, he's always down on me for something. Kim, his PA, had gone home." He drew a deep breath, and stared at his clasped hands, at the tensed knuckles gleaming whitely through his skin. "'Sit down, Agent Mulder.' he said. He came out from his chair and hitched himself on the edge of the desk in front of me. That's his indication that he wants to drag you over the coals for something personal. Official business is strictly behind the desk stuff. I suppose he thinks he's putting you at your ease, but I find that when he's looming over me, in close proximity, it's enough to make me shit myself. He's goddamn intimidating— unless I'm mad at him, of course. Then I don't notice. But I'd already got the jitters, so the effect was worse than usual. 'Do you know why I want to see you?' he asked me. He was cold and terse. He didn't sound angry with me, like he normally does on these occasions. 'No, Sir.' I said. 'Do you enjoy art, Agent Mulder?' I replied, 'Sometimes.' 'So does Kim. In fact, she found herself enjoying the same exhibition as yourself, yesterday.' I muttered, 'Oh, shit.' and must have looked damned guilty, because Skinner gave a nasty smile and said, 'Precisely. You're in deep shit, Mulder. I'm glad you haven't tried to deny you were there, because it would be even more embarrassing for you.'" "Jesus, did she recognise me as well?" I asked. "Can't you think of anything but your own skin, Ratboy?" he sneered. "I was thinking about your reputation, being seen with me." I protested. "What reputation?" he said bitterly. "My old reputation as a psycho, or my new reputation as a psycho faggot? And no, she didn't notice I was with you. Can I finish?" "OK." "Anyway, then he leaned forward, and said, in a disgusted voice, 'I find excessive public demonstrations of affection between heterosexual couples distasteful, Agent Mulder. Homosexual displays are deplorable, and when one of my agents is involved it is downright unacceptable. Kim saw you...embracing...another man in an art gallery yesterday. She said what you and he were doing was...shameful...shocking to happen upon.' And at that point I don't know what came over me. Shit, I must have a real suicidal streak, 'cos I blurted out, 'Oh, come on, Sir, it's not as though I was blowing him.' Christ, I wished the earth would swallow me as soon as I'd said it." He put his head in his hands and shook it in despair. I was utterly convulsed with giggles. "You didn't?" I managed to gasp. He glowered at me, and snorted with laughter himself. "I suppose it was kinda funny, but it was ghastly at the time. His face turned puce and he said in a strained voice, 'She and her group only caught a glimpse before they left you to your 'canoodling'. She couldn't believe it was you, so she pulled her FBI identification on the gallery owner and told her she thought she'd seen a suspect, and appropriated the tape from the security camera. I have it here, Agent Mulder. I've seen you for myself.' My mouth went dry, I was thinking he couldn't have failed to recognise you, Alex, and I croaked out, 'Did she see who I was with? Did you see from the tape?' 'No, we didn't. If it was another federal employee, you must tell me, Mulder. This is a disciplinary matter you realise. If you want to indulge your proclivities in private, fine. But as a government employee, you should be discreet about your public behaviour. Exhibitions like this cannot be tolerated when they involve public servants. Do I make myself clear?' 'Yes, Sir.' I whispered. I was so relieved. 'The other man...he's not connected with the Bureau. I didn't want him to be embarrassed by my indiscretion.' 'Very well, Agent Mulder. By the way, I didn't bother to ask Kim not to gossip about this, I assumed that your willingness to kiss another man publicly was a tacit announcement to the world that you were gay. You will receive a summons from personnel to clarify the need to remember your public position in your private conduct. Attendance is compulsory. You will also be invited to talk to an advisor about ...being 'out' at work. I strongly advise you to attend. I suspect the next few weeks are going to be difficult.' 'Is that all, Sir?' I asked. He looked at me with utter contempt, as though I was something he needed to scrape off the bottom of his shoe. But all he said was, 'Yes', and he walked to the window, and stood with his back to me as I left the office." "And you came here." I stated. "I sat at my desk for a while, and looked at this gun." he murmured, picking up the weapon, which still lay on the floor, and placing it gently on the table. "I thought, if this had happened a couple of weeks back, before you knew about me, I'd have blown out my brains there and then. But you've changed things, twisted my life around. It made me hesitate long enough to come here, and got me wondering if I could endure this after all. I must decide before the morning." "You told me you'd kill yourself rather than face people knowing the truth." "They needn't find out about Fox." "It's a lot more likely to become known if people expect to see you in gay hangouts." "I suppose. Hey, are you encouraging me to off myself, Ratboy?" "No, I think I'm offering you an alternative. Throw it all in and I will too. We could elope." I grinned at him and waggled my eyebrows. "Run off with me and we can live out our days on a tropical island somewhere." "Yeah, right," he smiled, "and we'd be at each other's throats in a week from sheer boredom. That's assuming Chinese takeout was available locally, or I wouldn't go in the first place. Face it, Krycek, we're both adrenaline junkies, and I've got a planet to save." "Is that what you think you're doing, Mulder?" He shrugged. "I've got to justify all the shit I put myself through somehow. How do you justify your actions, Krycek?" I smiled cynically. "I used to have a planet to save, too. Then it was my self-respect. Now it's just my humanity. I failed with the first two, and the last one's only just clinging on by the skin of its teeth. So, how do you feel now it's in the open, Mulder, and now you've gone through it all with me?" "Calmer. Relieved, in a way. Worried about things I hadn't foreseen." "Such as?" "Skinner, for a start. He had a measure of respect for me, and he's gone out on a limb to support me sometimes. I didn't want to lose that. I don't know if his attitude to me today was due to homophobia, or the way in which he found out about me. I'm hoping it was the latter, and I can repair the damage. And I've got to tell Scully. I bitch about her, but she's backed me to the hilt so many times, covered for me, lied for me. She takes her faith quite seriously, y'know. This'll be a big deal for her, it may be hard for her to remain my friend if she has to condone behaviour that her religion deplores." "You sound pretty much in control...I think you'll survive." "Yeah, but you're not going to condemn me, are you? It's OK here, with you, you must be jumping up and down with glee in that devious brain of yours, but I'm going to be panicking again once I get out there." His hands started trembling, and he crossed his arms, hugging himself, trapping them in his armpits. Continuing in a shaky voice, he said, "I'll be seduced by that razor again, or that lovely switchblade. It's...beautifully engineered, the '...it fits together so precisely...ATS34 sharpens so well you know, Krycek." His face twitched, and, licking his lips nervously, he continued, "Yes...you'd know, about the fine, invisible edge. It slides into your skin...there's no pain, the skin peels apart and the blood comes, so enchanting, so dense." I crept round and sat beside him, gripping his shoulders and forcing him to turn to me. "Don't talk like this, please, Mulder." I begged. "What does it matter in the end? You'll still be the same person, even if their perception of you has changed. And if they care so little for you, or they're so bigoted that this makes them judge you as a 'sinner', then they don't deserve your friendship. Look, I'll make a bargain with you. Promise me that you'll keep away from all the knives, and pills and high buildings...don't do anything rash. This'll all seem no big deal in a few days. If after that, you're not coping, I'll help you work something out." "Do you love me enough to shoot me, Ratboy?" he asked gently. "Fuck, that's an impossible question to answer." I swallowed hard, and admitted, "I love you enough to give you the name of someone who would, if you could convince me that's what you really wanted." "Keep my gun 'til the morning then, Alex. I promise I'll come back for it, in one piece, at 7. Have that name ready, 'cos I'm going to see Scully now, and I may need someone to use it on me." "Come back here tonight, right after you've seen her. Stay with me." I urged him. "Let me care for you, be around for you to talk to. I won't try...anything, unless you ask me. I can sleep on the couch." "Thanks, but no. D'you think I can martial my thoughts clearly with you nearby, Alex, my love? I'll sleep at home, and you can entertain me for breakfast before I go to work. 7 o'clock." I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his, willing all my adoration and concern for him to flow into his spirit with the breath from my lungs. I could feel him smiling against my mouth as he wrapped his arms round me and pulled me down with him as he leant against the back of the couch. A hot glow suffused my body as the blood rushed to my skin, the capillaries replete and pinkened, priming my nerves to capture every stimulus, every precious dapple of his fingers, every daub of his flesh on mine. A euphoric peace engulfed my mind, my world had been simplified, stripped, I was a satellite trapped by his gravity, forever in his orbit. I buried my face in his neck and washed my tongue over the tendon rolling beneath its surface, feeling the throb of his pulse quicken under my strokes. He arched back and sighed, pressing his groin against my thigh, which was braced between his legs. "Fuck, you're gonna hate me for this, I'm hating me for it, but stop, please, Alex." he gasped, levering me off, and pulling away. "I can't go straight to Scully with your spore on me, it would seem so wrong, such a betrayal. I'd mess up telling her what's happened and she'd know I was hiding important stuff from her. I'm planning on giving her the bare minimum anyway, she'll know there're gaping holes, but she won't press me 'cos she'll assume I'll tell her more when I'm ready. But if I'm agitated, guilty, she'll grill me 'til I spill everything or I blow up at her. Tomorrow—tomorrow, instead of breakfast if you want, if she's cool with my news, and I've slept, loosened up—tomorrow we can...make love to each other. Then, when I face the ridicule at work, I can keep that with me, I'll know inside that what we do isn't worthy of derision." I sat back, my face twisted, taut; my fingers clenched painfully into my legs. I must have looked really close to snapping, because Mulder's eyes widened and he appeared a little apprehensive of my reaction. I cleared my throat and snarled, "Go then, quickly. You've got a damn sight more self-control than I have, Mulder. I'm not...tolerant of being left like this." I glared at him, chewing on my bottom lip. "You trust me then, enough to think I'm worth having a relationship with." He stood up, and tidied himself, knotting his tie, and smoothing his hair in the mirror by the door. "You've convinced me you're in love with me. It's a start, but lovers can be even more deceitful than enemies, can't they, Ratboy?" He turned to me, and using his eyebrow for emphasis, drawled, "That's why I still insult you, sweet Alex, my traitorous, murderous, obscene piece of dog-shit. To remind me just what I've fallen in love with, what an utter fool I'm going to be. And, of course, because we both know now how much you like the humiliation." I operated all the locks for him and pulled open the door. "Fuck you, then, Agent Mulder." "Tomorrow, my love. Be patient." he quipped, and kissing me on the cheek, slipped out into the corridor. Chapter 15 In which I encounter Scully I turned back to the room and really looked at it. A living space, a volume, near-blank surfaces and a wall of softly billowing net clouding the darkening window. The kitchen area, burnished nickel and white, the honeyed floor. He'd called it airy and sparse, but now it was clinical and empty. Not a home, like Mulder's seamy apartment with its havoc of books, forgotten clothes, abandoned cups, but a crate for an anonymous man, a man with no past, with no stamp on the present. Its elegant delight had become as ephemeral as the promise of the neat, cunning gift-wrap on a package, torn open and discarded, revealing the trifling, worthless bauble within. And what was I? It seemed I was a creature with a talent for subterfuge and perfidy and a taste for torture and evisceration—a nothing, a negative, a destroyer. With my death, no opus to leave the future, no progeny to remember me, peers who might recall my name for a few months before another lackey, just as pitiless, took my place. Could Mulder give me a future? Now, there was no shared path, merely occasions when our journeys crossed, no prospect of a life together, just disjointed moments. Idiot, I thought wryly, closet romantic, an illogical obsession and one fuck doesn't mean you'll get the guy to the altar. Shelve the plans for taking him to meet your folks, and get to know him as a lover, first. Who knows? Maybe you're just a trophy to him. Like the groupies who collect celebrities, perhaps he doesn't want the real you, he just wants to screw the image. Jesus, all this shit was giving me a headache. I shrugged on my jacket and headed for a nearby bar. Noise, beer, maybe some company would put him out of my mind for a few hours. I met some acquaintances and enjoyed a couple of drinks, but realised I was dragging them out, reluctant to get drunk in case Mulder should ring, should need me. I found myself checking my pockets for my cell-phone, wondering if he was still with Scully, if he'd call to tell me about it. I was sitting in a reverie in front of my third beer, letting the conversation wash over me, when I realised I was being watched from a booth near the far end of the bar. I stared back at the guy and he gave me a half smile, letting his eyes wander down my body, and then glancing back at my face for my reaction. Hell, I thought, why not, I'll never get any sleep tonight otherwise, let's see what he's got to offer. I let the tip of my tongue run over my top lip, and twitched my head, beckoning him over. He downed his drink, got up and strolled towards me; it was a pretty sight. He looked a little younger than I, a bit shorter, with a trim body and an open, happy face. His hair was light brown, short and smooth, like a velvet cap, and his eyes were a blue-grey shade, like the colour of the washed out T-shirt he wore hanging loosely over his black jeans. "Hi." he said. "You look thoughtful. D'ya want some company to take your mind off your problems?" "Uh-huh." I answered. "That would be excellent. Let me get you a drink, and you can try and drag me out of the doldrums." He had a Coke and we made ourselves comfortable in a secluded corner, away from the barman's watchful eye. He's seen me pick up guys in here before, and his heavy-handed jokes have got a bit wearing. Yeah, and you're thinking, Alex Krycek, you've got no more morals than a jack-rabbit. Well, I can't admit to any guilt, monogamy's a pile of horse-shit anyway, and a nice, uncomplicated screw looked damned attractive after all the melodrama of the last few days. And that's nearly what happened. I never even asked his name. Within the hour we were in one of the cramped cubicles of the bar's shabby toilet. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, breathlessly, pinned between my body and the door, with my mouth sucking at the clean, fresh-scented skin of his neck. "Nothing." I growled, kneading the solid bulge in his jeans with the heel of my hand. "I want to fuck your ass. Is that cool?" "OK, fine." He groped behind himself and pulled a condom and lube from his back pocket, and put them on top of the cistern. Pushing me off him he unbuttoned and yanked his pants and briefs down. A nicely proportioned prick sprang out and gave me a friendly salute, and I reached out and clasped its warm firmness, rolling his scrotum in my other hand, while he opened my flies and fished for mine. I let him put the rubber on me, wondering why it had never even crossed my mind to ask Mulder to use one yesterday. A perfunctory smear with the lube, and I was more than ready. This was going to be a damn quick fuck. The arousal I'd felt earlier, kissing Mulder on my couch, came back with a vengeance, and I span him round, slamming him against the door. Pulling his ass-cheeks apart, I felt for the puckered hole, and thrust a greased finger through the muscled entry. He gasped, clenching his shoulders, and rising on his toes at the abrupt invasion. "This is gonna be fast and rough, " I warned him viciously. "If that's not what you want, too bad, 'cos I've fucking had it with cockteases recently." "Christ, you didn't think I only picked you because you looked cute, did you?" he gasped, wincing as I pushed a second finger into him, and worked them in and out to open him for me. He twisted his head round and studied my expression, which was harsh with concentration and lust. His pupils were black, aroused, frightened. "You just seemed kinda wild. Just don't trash me when you've finished, please." I sniggered, and replied, "I'll try and restrain myself." I pulled out my hand, and getting into position, rammed my cock into his body. Jesus, it felt good. Mulder had come so damn close earlier to that rape I'd promised him, this was truly sweet relief. I braced myself against his body, one hand on his shoulder, the other at his hip, and stabbed at him with short jerky thrusts. He pushed back against me, clenching his muscles round me, his buttocks smacking against my hips as I plunged into him. I close my eyes and think of Mulder, stripped, naked on my couchor better, folded over the back, legs spread wide, open, offering himself to me. And then slowly, oh so slowly, I enter him, his back arching, his low moan a base melody to my whispered obscenities, my prurient delight. His passive capitulation, as he feels his body invaded, is an admission of how abject is his defeat, how dreadful the depth of his desire for me, that his compulsion is overwhelmed. I was brought back to reality by the sound of a door slamming open. My partner had just pulled my hand from his hip round to his shaft, and, judging by the muffled whines and squeals he was making, he was getting close. I could feel that hot tingling surging through my body, channelling into my prick, and I wound my other arm round his belly, hugging him tightly to get the best leverage for those twisting jabs I find so mind-blowing towards the end. Suddenly the door we were humping against began banging and rattling violently, and I heard the bar manager shouting curses at us, ordering us out. I was too lost in sensation to form a coherent reply, nothing short of the apocalypse was going to interrupt me now, but I heard my partner grate out, "Fuck off." "Jesus Christ, this ain't a fucking gay bar or a fucking brothel." was the reply. "Get your fucking fag asses out of there before I call the cops." At this point I discovered that my new buddy had the same sense of humour as myself, because we simultaneously decided that our rutting needed to be more vocal. With a chorus of loud groans and cliché d encouragements we further enraged the manager and brought ourselves off to a satisfactory, and slightly giggly climax. The manager's head popped over the top of the partition between the cubicles as we were disengaging. I must admit to feeling slightly sheepish when I saw him glaring down at us. "I've had three complaints in the last ten minutes about your antics in here, Alex. For christsake, I don't mind you picking 'em up, but can't you at least get 'em outside before you fuck 'em. Take yourselves off to some queer joint, and don't come back here until you're prepared to use my john for its proper purpose." "Hey, I'm truly sorry," I apologised. "Wegot carried away. S'pose it doesn't help that the sort of places we usually go to, this is the john's proper purpose." "Ha ha" he sneered. "Get out, you cocksuckers. Don't come back for at least a month. You're banned." He stomped from the room, and, somewhat subdued, we re-clothed ourselves, and sneaked out into the street. "D'ya want to take this back to my place?" he asked. But it was past 11 by then, and it was just possible Mulder could have returned, so I replied, "I better get homemy boyfriend may be back." He raised his brows. "Boyfriend? That's a shame. So I suppose this is it, unless you think he'd like to join us." I answered somewhat distractedly, realising how I'd just referred to Mulderboyfriend weird . "Uh? Oh, no, he's ratherinhibited." "You going to be in trouble?" he mocked. "Only if he finds out." I replied. "LookI'd better go. It was good. I'll see you around." "But not in this particular bar for a month, eh?" he said lightly. "OK. Maybe if you're free we can do this again." "It's not likely, but thanks anyway." I walked home pensively. Boyfriendboyfriends expect things, feel things that old enemies don't. Things like jealousy, for instance. How would I have felt if I'd gone to face some unpleasant duty, promising to see my lover in the morning, and he'd waltzed off to a bar, and, because he'd been feeling horny, picked up some stranger and screwed him without a second thought. Hmm. 'Pissed off' would probably be a severe understatement. This relationship thing was going to be full of pitfalls; since the first flush of teenage puppy-love I'd never had to contend with another's sensibilities in this sort of situation. I'd had some long-term lovers, but it had always been a relaxed, loose arrangement, friendship and convenience. Would I cope if Mulder proved the jealous sort? This encounter hadn't meant anything, it was simply scratching an itch. Still, he'd find it damned hard to justify expecting me to be faithful if Fox was still on the scene, whoring around. He could say what he liked, but the creature was his invention, Fox's capers came from Mulder's brain. Christ, though, it was hard to put the two of them together. That got me wondering what the Fox's reaction to Mulder's 'outing' would be. Would he fade away, because the reason Mulder had summoned him had gone, or would he fight back. So I went to bed with my mind still in a whirl. I slept fitfully and was wide awake again by six. I put coffee on to brew and popped round the corner to the convenience store for some freshly baked croissants, and assembled an enticing breakfast for the two of us. But 7 came and Mulder didn't. I thought of my first date with Fox, and how he hadn't showed. I'd panicked, and the reason was simply 'cos he couldn't get in touch to let me know he'd have to be out of town. Something equally mundane has happened, I told myself. Maybe he's overslept. Or he simply changed his mind and he's too chicken to tell you. I managed to hold myself in check until 8.30. I kept repeating, 'He's a grown man. He's coped with a dangerous job, and with a strange personal life for a long time. He'll cope with this.' But my bowels were writhing, and I discovered then how nausea could hit you when your emotions were shot to hell. It was a pale, wobbly and decidedly empty Alex Krycek who sat down, clutching the phone in one shaky hand, and tried to order his memory to conjure Mulder's number, a number that I probably mutter in my sleep. He didn't answer, his recorded voice cut in telling me to leave a message. I ignored the whisper of caution reminding me that phones can be tapped, calls traced, and spent a couple of minutes pleading with him to pick up the phone if he was there, at least to tell me he was OK. Stupid, moronic, fuck falling in love, you lose your common-sense, your dignity, your purpose. I felt like an dope stalking him, now I felt ten times worse, because I was going to act like a crazy 'til I knew he was all right. And, shit, y'know, careless behaviour can be lethal in my world. Unless I moved with more logic and deliberation, I could put him in danger too. So, logically, the next step would be to ring his office. "Scully." "Hi, Scully. It's me, Krycek. Is Mulder there?" "What do you want, Krycek?" "Just to talk to Mulder. Is he there, please?" "No he isn't. Why don't you leave him a message, or better still, come here and visit. I wouldn't mind a heart to heart with you myself, maybe in one of our special interview rooms? And then I could find a nice cosy cell for you to relax in while you wait for him to turn up." "Generous, but no thanks. Have you heard from him this morning? He's late, isn't he?" "What's so urgent, um? Goodness knows why he bothers with you, but I suppose he'll want to speak to you, so ring later, OK?" "Christ, woman... answer the question... Have you heard from him? " "Why are you so interested, Krycek?" she asked, finally suspicious. I'm going to have to spell it out, and she'll know it's damn fishy, I thought. But I couldn't hang up without an answer from her. "Right." I said deliberately. "Let's start again, Scully. Did he visit you last night?" "How did you know that?" she replied. "A little bird told me. Did he tell you about his talk with Skinner yesterday afternoon?" "How did you know?" she snapped. "Have you been blackmailing him, you unprincipled bastard?" Good idea, bitch, I thought. If you go on thinking that , you won't get suspicious about Mulder talking to me about it. "Well, Scully," I drawled in a tone dripping with innuendo, "you might say we had an 'arrangement'. He told me yesterday that, since his secret was out, it was now concluded. However, he did seem a trifle... agitated. And I enjoy stringing him along far too much to want to see him, um, harm himself. I do hope you took the news well, and didn't upset him further. It must have been a bitter disappointment for you" At this point Scully lapsed into invective which bristled with so many medical terms that I was more intrigued than insulted. "Cut it out, you shrew. We both know that Mulder can be a complete drama queen at times. Now we both know why." I teased, then continued sincerely, "Look, I don't want him resorting to desperate measures any more than you do. Just tell me, what mood was he in when he left, when did he leave, and where was he going, and have you heard from him this morning? Please. When I saw him after work yesterday he said he was going to talk to you and then he was going home to bed. He told me he'd be in touch early this morning, and he wasn't. Frankly, I'm worried, Scully." "Worried, you ? I hardly think so, Ratboy. Worried you've lost your most gullible patsy, maybe. If Mulder's missing, I'll find him. You keep out of his life, understand." The phone slammed down. Well, thank you , Agent Scully, I thought, and, grabbing my coat and gun, set out for Mulder's home. ~~~~~~~~~~~ So for the second time in less than a week I burst into Mulder's apartment in search of his corpse. Despite my dread, the ludicrousness of the situation struck me—having an affair with Mulder might be hell on the nerves, but it sure wasn't boring. Thankfully, once again there was no body to be found. I had no idea where to start to find a clue to his whereabouts, things looked pretty much as they had on Saturday, right down to the dirty dishes piled in the sink. The remains of the TV he'd destroyed had been cleared, and a new machine installed, but, judging by the film of dust on the magazines and papers scattered around, not much else had been disturbed. I booted up his computer, thinking it would be worth examining any files he'd accessed recently; if I had no luck with them I'd have to root a bit deeper into its contents. Then I remembered the sports bag I'd found containing Fox's things... was it still in the apartment? I couldn't recall having seen it, and having had another poke around, decided it had gone. He must have visited the Gunmen. Unfortunately, it might not have been yesterday evening, any time up to Sunday morning was also possible... he could, for instance, have met me for our cultural outing straight from their place. However, they certainly warranted a visit. I had spent a fruitless half-hour scouring Mulder's computer for information, when I heard footsteps outside, a perky tapping of heels... Scully . Ambushing people from behind Mulder's door was becoming a habit, too, I thought wryly, as I seized the tiny woman and ground my gun barrel into her temple. "Drop it, Scully." She hadn't been careless, she'd entered the apartment, gun drawn, in the approved FBI manner. But I was beyond worrying about being shot, Mulder's safety was uppermost. She dropped her weapon on the floor, and I kicked it away from her. "Handcuffs. Don't try anything." I ordered. "Mulder's not going to be happy if you kill me, Krycek." she stated prosaically, unafraid. "Why don't you let me go. I imagine we're here for the same purpose, to find him, eh?" "I expect we are, but that doesn't mean I trust you." I awkwardly manoeuvred her into the cuffs she'd pulled from her pocket, and, once her arms were safely restrained behind her, frisked her thoroughly. "What, no comments about my hands wandering all over your body unnecessarily, Agent Scully?" I quipped, leaning to reach round her, and discovering a small pistol tucked in the back of the waistband of her pants. "No point, is there, Krycek? I figured it out on the way here, it was so obvious, there've been so many hints. What you are doing is quite impersonal, isn't it? You're not getting any titillation from this, because you're gay too, aren't you?" My hands froze, and my eyes flew to her face in shock. "What makes you think that?" I whispered. "You're not blackmailing him for money, or information, are you, you sad, sick worthless degenerate? You're after sex, you've been coercing him into your bed." "You filthy bitch." I shrieked, and slapped her hard. God, I nearly punched the woman, she was damn lucky not to get a broken jaw. She smiled awkwardly, and continued smugly, "It must really piss you off to know he's not susceptible to your charms, that you have to force him. You've been abusing him too, haven't you 'lover boy'? You gave him those bruises on his jaw and neck that I saw on Friday, and he was with you on Sunday too. He certainly wasn't at the Gunmen's at all, I called them after you rang me." I forgot to be angry with her and asked eagerly, "Did they see him last night?" "I didn't ask. He isn't there now, or they would have put him on the line." she replied, nonplussed. I picked up the phone, and said, "Let's find out. Can you remember their number?" She reeled it off, and I put the phone to her ear and said. "You talk to them. I don't suppose they'll tell me anything." She frowned at me, and I pleaded, "C'mon Scully, just a little co-operation. The more time we spend bickering, the worse it could be for Mulder." It turned out Mulder had gone there, at about 10.30. I told Scully to say she'd be round shortly, but she tried to warn them about me, so I wrestled the phone from her, and pushed her onto the couch, sitting on her to pin her down. She struggled furiously, and let out a string of most unladylike curses, as I resumed the conversation. "Hello?" "Is that you, Krycek?" Frohike's voice answered. "No it's Captain Kirk... Beam me up Scotty." I replied. "Of course it's me. How many incorrigible criminals is Scully in the habit of entertaining on Mulder's couch? OK, listen. I was hoping to get through this with no unpleasantness, but I don't think it's going to happen, so here's the deal. Mulder's in trouble, and Scully thinks my motives for helping him aren't as pure as they might be. We're coming to visit you. You're going to answer my questions, and show me something Mulder told me about. Mulder will want you to help me, I'm sure. But as an added incentive, I've got Scully as my hostage. Any funny business, and she gets hurt, maybe even fatally... is that clear?" "Yes." gulped Frohike. "Is Dana all right?" "Just a little rumpled." I replied, smiling down at my prisoner. "We'll be right over." Chapter 16 In which I discover a clue Mulder was right about Scully, when she's curious about something, she sure doesn't let up. By the end of that dreadful journey (and it was damned slow. The traffic was at a crawl), I felt like one of my little namesakes that's been chased remorselessly by a yapping terrier. I thought Mulder the master of wild theories, but, building on her blackmail notion, Scully soon had me masterminding a white slave ring encompassing the whole of the Western Hemisphere. I really didn't pay much attention, I was wondering how I was going to go about finding Mulder, and, in fact, whether he wanted to be found. I was almost certain that Fox had got him, which was a great relief, but if Fox was as furious as Mulder thought, Christ knows what sort of outrageous or embarrassing situation he might have dragged Mulder into. Quite probably, it'd be something he knew I'd try to prevent, or he'd have inveigled me into his scheme and manipulated me into displaying my crudest, most insensitive impulses. Scully finally fell silent, and I glanced over at her. She pursed her lips, and looked thoughtfully at me. "I've let my mouth run on, haven't I? I'm being stupid." "You're worried Scully...You're not thinking straight." I shrugged, and smiled slightly. "I know your opinion of me. If you want to insult me or blame me, go ahead. Shit, Mulder's actions this time are partially my responsibility, I haven't handled the situation well. He needs someone who knows what they're doing, not an idiot like me messing with his psyche." "What are you talking about, Krycek?" she asked, ignorant of my meaning. "I should have thought you were an expert at extortion, you'd be able to screw any price out of the most unpromising victim. Though why anyone, in this day and age, should allow themselves to be blackmailed for being homosexual, is surprising." "His upbringing wouldn't allow him to be gay, and he had too much other crap to deal with to face that as well. That's the impression I got. You ask him yourself, Scully. It's not my business to discuss his secrets." "I imagine that was exactly your business." she replied, acidly. "How long have you been screwing him?" "Figuratively or metaphorically?" I smirked. She gave an outraged gasp, and blushed beautifully. "So you're not denying it then?" she blurted, in a strangled voice. I quirked an eyebrow at her. "Oh, no, Dana." I purred, rubbing my crotch lewdly. "It's much too pleasant a memory to deny." She gasped again, and turned away, but a few seconds later I discovered she was staring at me speculatively, through narrowed eyes. "You're yanking my chain, aren't you?" I laughed. "Yeah. Somewhat." "So, c'mon. How long?" "Talk to Mulder. He's the one with issues here. He'll tell you if he feels he wants to." "This isn't adding up." she mused. "If Mulder's secret is out, and worthless to you, I'd have thought you'd be happy to spill all the sordid details to me, considering what he thinks of you. Furthermore, if this knowledge was just a business opportunity, you'd have wangled a good price for it already; you wouldn't have let your personal desires get in the way. And he said that Kim saw him in an art gallery... Kissing a man in an art gallery... Kissing you in an art gallery—in public. "That's not behaviour you get between a blackmailer and his victim." she added, shrewdly. "You and he are lovers." "Crap." I retorted. "No it isn't." she said smugly. "How many years has this charade been going on?" "Mulder despises me, Scully. He wouldn't give me the time of day unless he was forced to." God, this woman was trouble. If I didn't take care, I was going to spill the beans about Fox, too. But how was I going to explain away Mulder's secret room? Unless the Gunmen knew where Mulder was (which seemed unlikely), I'd have to search it. Maybe I should ditch her, and frighten the Gunmen into silence if she came looking for me. But they wouldn't want to let me in at all, they'd need proof that I was serious. I considered Scully out of the corner of my eye. Hmm. Presenting them with one of her scarlet-tipped talons as a statement of intent was an attractive and workable idea, but was unlikely to endear me to anyone. I'd have to drag her along with me. "You mean he tries to make it look like that. It's not exactly socially acceptable to take your father's murderer as a lover, is it? Or to have an intimate relationship with a known felon when you're in the FBI. How did it start, Krycek? What lies did you tell him to get round his hatred?" I glared at her, tight-lipped. Bandying words with her was just digging me deeper into a hole. The remainder of the journey was spent in sullen silence on my part. Eventually Scully gave up trying to needle me, and gazed impatiently at the impeding traffic. As we drew up outside their abode, I pointed out to Scully that Mulder might not have told the Gunmen his news, and she agreed that it was his business to enlighten them, if he wished. We were reluctantly ushered into an untidy room, which seemed to combine the functions of lounge and workshop. Every nook was occupied by some arcane device, or pile of journals, or dog-eared manual. It was fascinating, but the Gunmen obviously were not gratified by my interest. They huddled together, for all the world like a huge but timid spider, their six eyes glued to the gun aimed at Scully's cerebellum, their plethora of arms and legs uncontrolled and clumsy with distress. "Do you think we should blindfold him, dudes?" asked Langly of his friends in a loud whisper. "This puts our security situation in way deep doodoo." "Are you going to volunteer to do it, dumbass?" Frohike mumbled back. "'Cos I'm definitely not." I gave them my best evil grin, and pointed out that being blindfolded makes it impracticable to keep a hostage at gunpoint effectively, and it would be impossible for me to extend my co-operation. "Anyway," I continued reassuringly, "I haven't the faintest idea what most of this stuff is for." I sat on their cluttered couch, pulling Scully down with me, my arm round her shoulders, and my gun digging into her kidneys, by way of variety. I'd decided that it wasn't practical to question the Gunmen without mentioning Mulder's storeroom. He'd just have to deal with that when he saw her. "I'll be out of here in no time, guys. Just tell me about Mulder's visit last night, OK?" They looked at each other, and, as if they'd chosen telepathically, Byers spoke. Clearing his throat, he said, in a steady voice, "He turned up at about 10.30. He didn't say much, stayed a few minutes, left again. What's happened? Scully said he was missing. If he is, he hasn't been gone long...he's disappeared for days at a time without anyone being worried overmuch. So why are you so concerned about him this time? "Do you think he's finally been abducted by aliens?...Because, if he has, he won't relish being rescued too soon." he added dryly. "He had some upsetting personal news...we're worried he may have tried to...harm himself." answered Scully. "As in jumped off a cliff, used himself for target practice? Bad move, but I don't think he was planning that. He didn't seem stressed out yesterday...sorta high, really, if you know what I mean," said Langly. Frohike edged closer to Scully, and speaking pointedly to her alone, said, "Why did you involve him, Scully. You could have come straight here for help, you know you're always welcome." "He's the one who was fretting, Frohike. I probably wouldn't have worried for a while, because when Mulder told me his...problem, he seemed quite calm - resigned, maybe is a better description. I suppose I half expected him to need a day or two to mull over what's happened and It wouldn't have occurred to him to tell me he was going to, or ask officially for time off. Just as when something takes his interest, protocol is the last thing he thinks is important. However Krycek was concerned, and he alerted me." Four pairs of eyes turned on me speculatively. I felt myself blushing, and looked down, to hide my embarrassment. "Can we get on, please." I couldn't trust myself to speak of my concern for Mulder. In every direction the conversation would lead to a precipice, and I was far too strung out to lay any sort of false trail. I looked up and fixed on Byers. "Did you see him leave?" "Why?" he asked, suspiciously. "D'you think he's still here? Maybe hiding from you?" I bit my lip, and frowned slightly at them. This was the crunch, I was going to have to reveal that I knew more of Mulder's secrets than they did. What would the Gunmen infer from the revelation that Mulder had confided information to me that he hadn't shared with Scully? Probably that he was in cahoots with me...that he was some sort of traitor. Christ, Scully would think the same, most likely. From being my dupe, my rather pathetic victim, he'd be elevated to the status of a liar and betrayer of his faithful partner. "I think he left by the back entrance, Byers. He visited the storeroom he keeps here, and slipped out without saying goodbye." The shock on their faces was comical. "I can see I'm correct. Get the keys, and lead me to it, I'm going to have a look around." Scully was surveying me and the Gunmen, utterly perplexed. "Fuck, jump to it, you dummies, " I growled, getting to my feet, dragging Scully upright and shaking her, as they failed to respond. "Do I have to take this place apart to find it, or do you want me to amuse myself giving Agent Scully here a few more bruises while you think about it?" I had noted with satisfaction how badly the slap I'd given her earlier had blemished that perfect skin. Another apparently telepathic communion, and Frohike scurried off, leaving the others to field Scully's questions. It was evident that Mulder was correct in thinking that they hadn't let their curiosity overcome their timidity, and despite Scully's fierce interrogation they denied any knowledge of the room's contents. It must have suddenly dawned on Scully that if I knew of the room, Mulder might have told me what it was for, because she twisted round and looked up at me, and said, angrily, "You know, don't you, Ratboy? What the hell's going on between you and Mulder? What have you persuaded him to get involved in...apart from your sex life, that is?" I wound my hand in the front of her smart tailored jacket and dragged her off her feet, bringing my face right up close to hers. "Congratulations, Scully." I purred. "You win the 'Blabbermouth of the Year' award. Is there anything you'd like to add before I cut your fucking tongue out?" She was saved from another slap by Frohike, who tugged at my jacket and jingled a bunch of keys in my face. Dropping her, I waved my gun at him and ordered, "Go on in front. And the rest of you...where I can see you." We trailed off into the labyrinthine bowels of their lair, Frohike leading, unlocking a series of heavy doors, and casting nervous glances back at the others who were questioning Scully, sotto voce. He stopped outside a nondescript entrance whose scuffed grey paint charmingly accessorised the shabby emulsion gracing the corridor. "We've never been in here, not since it's been Mulder's. He was emphatic that it should be kept secret, and we haven't broken our promise." He tilted his chin proudly. "I'm assuming that, since you know of it, he must have volunteered the information because it's inconceivable that you'd have found out by accident. Therefore, I'm willing to let you in—and, though I know it's pointless asking favours of you, I'm going to request that you respect whatever he keeps in here." I was touched by his bravery, and smiled. "I'm only interested in finding out what's become of Mulder. I suspect that most of whatever's in here won't be of interest to me." Or at least, not in the way you'd expect , I thought. "You three stay out here and behave yourselves; Scully's coming with me to ensure your obedience. Who's got something I can use to blindfold her? It's not as though Mulder honoured her with his confidence, after all." Byers produced a pristine handkerchief, and carefully knotted it round Scully's face. I guided her into the room, and shut the door behind me before groping for the light switch. The Gunmen had warned me that there weren't any windows. Now, if nothing else had convinced me that Fox and Mulder were separate entities, that room would have done. Scully must have felt me start in surprise, because she asked, "What's wrong?" "Er...nothing...just not quite what I expected." I guided her to the room's only chair, and sat her down, before gazing round and trying to come to terms with what I saw. The room was obsessively tidy, obscenely clean. The freshly-painted walls were a pale cream, and the few, worn, pieces of furniture gleamed with polish. I opened the cupboard opposite the door. A neat row of bizarre clothes confronted me, sorted by type and colour. The drawers contained a meagre supply of such necessities as socks and underwear, all folded so carefully they might have just been unwrapped. This was not Mulder. Mulder was not tidy...neither did he make any unnecessary effort to keep his apartment clean. I suspected he didn't know which end of a broom was which, and he probably hadn't ever conceived of a substance such as furniture wax. God knows, I'm no expert, but a change in this sort of habit, entirely separate from his sexual hang-ups, seemed to be an indication that 'Fox' went a lot deeper than I'd given credence to. I admit, it perturbed me strongly. Maybe you've thought, like I did, that Fox would fade away if Mulder came to terms with his real needs. But this...it suggested to me that Fox was trying to deny Mulder, make his own space. I couldn't treat him as a plaything, an appendage to be dismissed, put back in the toy cupboard when I'd had enough. I was going to have to make a deal with him if I wanted Mulder, because I was nearly sure that he thought his claim on the body they occupied was just as valid as Mulder's. A desk behind the door was weighed down by a PC that looked so old it could have been steam-driven. The tangle of wires writhing from its processor, connected to a heavy rack of instrument panels, showed some upgrading had been performed by the Gunmen...who were also responsible for the screen-saver displayed on the monitor, I suspected. There was Johnny Castaway—doing things to the mermaid with assorted crustaceans—that I did not recall at all. And here was the only anomalous object in the room. Mulder had impaled the mouse mat to the desk with his switchblade. I tugged it out, jiggling the mouse as it came free, and the screen-saver closed down leaving an open e-mail address book on display. Well, I know I started this chapter saying 'I find a clue'...that clue was actually thrown at me, all I needed to do was work out which of these people he was with. Inevitably, he'd recorded nothing but nicknames and e-mail addresses. It was tempting to mail them all and tell them to send the errant Mulder home, but probably he expected me to come to the rescue, like some no-brain knight in shining armour. While the machine churned out a hardcopy of the list, I broke into the desk and ran through its contents. There wasn't much...fake ID's, some money, poppers (...I hadn't expected that ), and photographs; some quite old, of Fox (definitely not Mulder), laughing, joking with friends, happy, carefree. He'd said it was his job to have fun, I thought wistfully, and Mulder left him to it, let him have all of it. I hadn't realised that the printer had stopped, and I'd been lost in a reverie until Scully's voice broke in. "Are you still there, Krycek?" "Yeah. Here...let me get this..." I pulled off the blindfold, and, as an afterthought, took off the handcuffs. She hadn't complained, but I knew how sore her wrists must be; to stop someone slipping out of them, handcuffs need to be done up quite tightly, and then they really dig into your wristbones when you flex your hands. Smiling into her bright blue eyes I said, "I want your opinion on this room, Scully. Please don't touch anything, or I'll have to restrain you again." She quirked a questioning eyebrow at me, and looked around at the Spartan room. I was truly interested to see if she too, would think it wasn't his space. "I thought this was Mulder's storeroom," she said. "There's nothing here." "There is, Scully. It's all packed away." I pulled open the drawer containing socks, and she peered in. "It's all like this...neat as a pin." "Then, if Mulder's using it, someone's tidying after him. He's incapable of keeping anything in order...you should see his filing system." She looked at me with an ironic smile. "Silly me. I'm sure you're very familiar with it." Shrugging, she continued, "I've always assumed his untidiness is because he has such a good memory; he has no need to keep things anywhere special so he can find them. So, if the Gunmen don't come in here, who is the mystery housekeeper? Did you know about this person, Krycek? Has Mulder gone off with them? Is he in danger?" "Yeah, I know." I replied. "So you don't think he's tried suicide, he's with this person instead. That's why you were so keen to know if the Gunmen had seen him, correct?" "Mmm." "Why didn't the Gunmen mention him...or is it her, then?" "Him. So you're definite that he's organised this room, not Mulder?" "What does it matter?" she retorted, puzzled. "Indulge me, please, Scully." "OK. Well, if you'd asked me yesterday, I'd have been completely sure. Since he told me he was gay...I don't know him as well as I thought, do I? Maybe he can be tidy, but it would shock me a lot more than him being homosexual, to be honest." She smiled wryly. "I had wondered, you know." "So you didn't give him the fire and brimstone speech, then? He was worried sick about telling you, he was scared about losing your friendship." "What's that matter to you?" She was bewildered by my questions. "Surely you'd be pleased to see us at each other's throats? You not going to tell me that you care if he's happy as long as you get what you want." I ached to tell her just how much I cared, to share my concern about him with her, but how ridiculous I would have seemed—what a hypocrite. She'd have questioned his motives too...so it was better to bolster my image as a selfish, cold-hearted bastard, not pull another brick out from the shaky foundations of his life. "Yeah." I drawled. "So long as he puts out, it shouldn't matter. I just get sick of hearing him talk about you, and your family, and your tedious opinions, and if he thinks you've fallen out I'll hear nothing else. He's a good fuck, but he needs gagging sometimes." After a long, thoughtful stare, she chuckled, and said, "If he has the nerve to discuss my personal life with you, I'd have to agree with you about the gag. You're not going to give me any straight answers about all this, are you Krycek?" "No. You'll have to ask Mulder, but don't push him, OK? Now, I've got a list of e-mail addresses from this computer, and Mulder's with one of these people, and he expects me to find him. I haven't any idea which one it is, so I'm hoping you can eliminate some of them, because none of their real names are recorded." "What sort of game are you playing? What the hell's going on?" "Christ, Scully, just do what I ask." I begged, exasperated. "It's not my stupid fucking idea of fun. Fox has met one of them, and he's probably doing his best to ruin his career...I reckon he's on a self-destruct binge, though I doubt he's in physical danger, and the little shit is manipulating me to catch him before he goes too far." " Fox? " she said, one eyebrow nearly going into orbit. I gave her a thin smile as I passed her the list. "We are on intimate terms, Scully." I wondered what she'd think, because some of the fifteen or so nicknames there were pretty explicit; but all she did was snigger, before turning to me and saying, "This is par for Mulder's Internet buddies—you should see some of the, er...optimistic names on his work PC. I only recognise one, and that's someone who lives way down south—Texas, I think. How about you?" I handed her a pen from the desk-tidy and she marked it. "We can eliminate him, because I don't think Mulder's that far away. I don't know any of the others, but I'm discounting any with foreign suffixes." I crossed off two more. "D'you want me to run this through the Bureau records?" "Shit—no." She looked at me judiciously. "It could be the quickest way." "The quickest way for Mulder to lose his job." I muttered. "Just who do you think is on this list, Krycek?" I glared at her silently. "Friends of the mystery housekeeper?" I shrugged, and stowed the list in my pocket. "How are you going to trace them?" "I've got ways." "Quick ways? Safe ways?" "Maybe not." "Well, if you don't want this information on the FBI computers, why not let the Gunmen loose on it? Nothing's a secret to them—this'll be child's play." "Yeah, not a bad idea." It wasn't a bad idea at all. They immediately ruled out two more, and in less than an hour I was in possession of names and addresses for the remaining ten. Well, here I come, Fox. Sir Alex to the rescue, with faithful Squire Scully in tow. You can bring on the fire-breathing dragon now. Chapter 17 In which I am less than a hero Of course, I had to lose Scully. After a show of reluctance, I'd agreed she could join me on the rescue mission, but she soon realised I was stringing her along, and I had to endure her venomous comments all the way back to Mulder's apartment. I left her, gagged and firmly trussed to a radiator, to ruminate on my duplicity. Maybe you're wondering why I did it that way? Well, let's just say it was because she was important to Mulder, so I didn't want to damage her unduly. I could have knocked her out, but that's a damn dangerous thing to do... people don't just spring back to their feet y'know, after a convenient hour or so of sleep, like in the movies. There's a real risk of brain injury. Or I could have tied her up and stowed her in the trunk... ever heard of heat-stroke, mmm? My respect for Mulder, being able to ditch people without having to strap them to the furniture, sometimes without them realising they've been ditched at all, increased dramatically. Of course, there was no reason to suppose that even if Mulder was with someone on my list, that they'd be at the address I had. But, what the hell, I had nothing better to go on, and I couldn't just abandon him to whatever fate Fox had in store. I started with the person that lived closest to Mulder's apartment... and drew a blank. Same with the next one... no-one home. Believe it or not, I rang the doorbell each time before resorting to a break-in; I had a story prepared, and I had no reason to think Fox had warned his companion against me. However, third time lucky—someone was in. I gave him a spiel about Fox's sister being in an accident and that I was her brother-in-law; then dropped mega-large hints that I knew about Fox's life-style. I was rewarded with the information that he'd seen Fox outside a club the previous evening with one of the people on the list, Malcolm Singer. He'd been surprised to see Fox with him, because he'd heard he'd been bugging Fox for months for a 'date', without success. Evidently there were rumours about Malcolm's activities that suggested he was untrustworthy... a sadist in the true sense of the word, and dangerous to 'play' with. You'd think that people would steer away from that type wouldn't you? There's plenty of thrills to be had without running the risk that you're heading for your final curtain-call. But no, there's always some guy that wants to be right on the edge, that'll put his head right there on the block for you. Don't I know it? D'you need to ask? Take it from me, they're just as fucking ungraceful in their final moments as the ones who didn't expect it. So I was back into panic mode, and never had the traffic seemed worse or the temperature hotter than on the city roads that sultry late afternoon. As if in a dream, as if the car was forcing its way through a hazy syrup, I inched my way to my destination. The dull growl of engines that surrounded me, the horns, shouts, barks, crashes of doors slamming, the pneumatic drills, the thudding of bass from cars momentarily alongside sang a melody above which the voice of despair in my head keened a descant—'You'll be too late, you'll be too late...' I parked along the road, a discreet distance from Singer's address. It was a suburban house in a tree-shaded, quiet street, the sort of place where a stranger is noted and discussed. Hopefully, in this instance, the guy's neighbours would be used to a succession of male visitors and my arrival would be unremarked. I worked my gloves onto my sweaty hands, slung my jacket over my arm to conceal both them and my gun and strolled up to his house. This time I wasn't going to bother with the formality of knocking. Having confirmed the front door was locked (many aren't), I used his shrubs as cover to investigate the side and back of the building. There was an open window upstairs, and a convenient porch roof to climb on; in a matter of moments I was inside, standing silently, listening to the noises of the house—listening for voices. I was in a bedroom, probably the master bedroom, for it was reasonably large and decorated plainly but expensively. The bed was unmade, and bits of clothing were strewn about, though there was nothing that I would have linked to Fox. I left my coat on a chair, tiptoed to the door and peered out onto the landing. It was so quiet that the sound of a motor cutting in (freezer, refrigerator?) was startling. The rooms were unoccupied, and bore no evidence that Singer enjoyed unusual types of sex. Well, that left the basement, and, though it's a cliche, that's where the action was happening. An area toward the rear of the house had been sectioned off and soundproofed, providing Singer with a playroom where his companions cries of 'joy' wouldn't disturb the neighbours, and me with a means of sneaking up on him completely undetected. I stood outside this door and, as I thought about the consequences of entering, a tremor rippled through my hands and coursed up my arms until my whole body was shivering. The dread in my soul had sucked me into its frozen maw, before me was an impassable barrier, so forbidding that it would have been a relief, almost a delight, to walk away without ever finding out his fate. I didn't want to know if Mulder lay dead within. If I didn't look, he was alive; like Schrodinger's cat, forever suspended between existence and oblivion. Letting my fingers rest lightly on the rough insulating board, I concentrated on the feel of the heavy weapon in my hand, and the smell of the sun-warmed basement, dusty and oily, and the sawdust aroma of the door panel. I strove to let the efficient detachment that's habitual when I'm working overtake me, and the terror receded somewhat, only to be replaced by a rage as dangerous for me as for whoever was inside. I knew this was it, this was where I'd find him; Singer was dead... no matter how much or how little he'd done, he was dead... And Fox was his accomplice. Fuck, I had to get a grip on my emotions, Fox is Mulder, Mulder is Fox, you mustn't be blinded by Fox's spite or you're going to kill him too because the turmoil in your brain is too much to bear. I gently turned the handle and pulled the door open, letting it swing wide, and took a step forward into the opening. The room was brightly lit, but it contained such a jumble of objects that it took a few seconds for my mind to process and make sense of what was before me, and to focus on the men within. Both were strangers, one naked, his body toned and tanned, and the other, who was tall and slim but older and slightly balding, was wearing a pair of black pants. I couldn't see Fox. Singer had a talent as a home handyman, it seemed. Anticipating an area kitted out with black and chrome, with ready-made dungeon furniture; the sort that on-line catalogues display, with which brothels equip their 'speciality' rooms, I felt the burn of bile in my throat as I absorbed the simple but effective restraints that Singer had improvised. Somehow there was more menace, more intention, in these solid wooden frames, the rough ropes, the block-and-tackle, the chains dulled with rust, than a room-full of cleverly designed fetish equipment could imply. Underfoot, a marbled linoleum floor provided a practical surface for activities involving bodily fluids... involving blood. The stale warm air filled my mouth with the bitter flavour of old sweat and sex, overlaid with an intimate musk of piss and leather. I breathed in deeply, making their little suburban atrocities, their petty sins, part of myself, and felt an anticipatory smile curl my mouth as the terror drained and my rage flared into a pure clear brilliant flame. The men looked at me blankly for a moment, before surprise and fury spurred them and the part-clothed one started forward, snarling, "What the fuck... ?" I raised my gun, but he didn't see it, he was conscious only of my intrusion, and continued toward me. I didn't bother to speak, a bullet performed all the introduction necessary. He fell at my feet and curled into a ball, groaning and gasping from shock, bleeding profusely from a wound near his shoulder. The naked guy's eyes popped and he brought his hands to his mouth in horror, and, glancing from his friend's agony to my placid face and down again to the scarlet pool inching towards me, shrank back and cowered in a half-crouch behind a rack of straps and canes. "Are you Singer?" I asked. I was pleased to hear the quiet tone of my voice. It sounded like the professional was back in control, but in truth my anger had transcended every other emotion and was speaking and acting with its own logic. He shook his head. "Him?" I said, looking down at the injured man. He gave a jerky nod. "Where's Fox?" "Over there," he whispered hoarsely, pointing to a part of the room concealed from me by a sturdy upright frame. He tried to cringe away but I took his ear and dragged him with me to where Fox was held. He'd been fastened to a massive workbench, bent forward with his belly resting on its surface, his legs splayed apart and firmly fixed to the table legs with duct-tape. His wrists were tied behind him with a bristly rope that passed through a ring in a leather collar buckled round his neck. If he struggled too much, he'd choke himself. In theory, he could have stood, his upper body hadn't been tied down, but, though I could see he was still breathing, I suspected he was too exhausted or in too much pain to do so. His body looked like a half-butchered pig carcass, the skin pale and sallow, sliced and bruised, smeared with blood and dirt, and his ass gleamed with slimy lube and shit. He stank. But where was the relief and joy that he was still alive? When a fearful mother is re-united with a missing child, the adult doesn't fold that child in her arms and weep in happiness. No, her immediate need is to punish, and to blame, to release the tension in violence against her offspring. As I came within his field of view, Fox craned his head up and blinked slowly at me, making incomprehensible noises behind the gag that forced his jaw wide open. The massive swelling of his face, coupled with the purpled skin and dried black scabs made him unrecognisable, and I wondered who lay behind the bloodshot eyes. "Get the gag off." "What about Singer? He's bleeding to death. He needs a doctor." I cast an experienced eye over the wounded man, who was groaning and sobbing, and making no attempt to get up. "He'll last a long time yet, he can wait." I gestured at Fox and jabbed my gun into nude-boy's ribs. "The gag, please, then face-down on the floor and keep still." It was removed, and Fox worked the cramp out of the joints, ran his tongue over dry lips, and attempted a smile. "Hello, lover." he said. His voice was soft, shaky. "Come to join in the fun?" No Mulder, then. I had the guilty party in front of me. I combed my fingers through his matted hair and taking a firm grip, pulled his shoulders clear of the bench. Grinning tightly at his gasp of pain when he struggled to brace himself and stand upright, I said, "Did I give you permission to party without me? Have you forgotten my deal with Mulder so soon? You do what I say in future or the fall-out's gonna be all down to you, shit-head." I released his hair with a flourish, and he thumped back onto the table, whimpering as his face struck the solid timber. "There's no reason in hell for me to keep any crappy deal any more," he panted. "Mulder's outed, you don't want me, between you you're going to exterminate the Fox... sooner or later, with drugs, or psychiatry, or simply by screwing him senseless, I'll be dead." He giggled. "I'm going out in a blaze of glory and you can watch me take your beloved G-man down with me. I'm going to take this body and lay it waste, because I've got no fucking stake in it any more, Ratboy. If you manage to stop me killing him, you'll just see him ruined, 'cos his behaviour is going to be so outrageous. He'll have no career, Scully will come to know him as the sort of pervert that makes her flesh creep, he's gonna be real unhappy. Unless you want to change your mind that is? Make it worthwhile for me to preserve this worthless carcass, eh?" I felt coldly satisfied. Blackmail... it was a condign reward for my actions. "Straightforward deal, Fox, is that what you're saying? I fuck you, you leave Mulder alone. Right? And what about he and I? Where does that go?" "You can screw him into next week for all I care, if he's willing to share. It's a real kick lurking in his brain, spying on your sweet little encounters. Take it from me, I thought the sight of you jerking off over this body in the shower was hot . All you've got to do to preserve the status quo is service me regularly. You can start right now if you like, just to seal the deal." I looked at the squalid flesh laid out before me and all I felt was nausea. "I can't touch you." I sneered. "You're revolting. If you're cleaned up, when I've had a chance to forget this... after a week or so, and if Mulder's been left alone, then you can have your shafting. I can force myself to fuck anything, if the price is high enough. You've bought yourself a Ratwhore, Fox. Why don't we seal the deal my way, with a permanent reminder, in case this new arrangement should slip your mind?" I knew what I was about to do would drive Mulder from me, but I was insane with anger and its warped rationalisations. I needed a way to prove to Fox my words were true. He had to know not to cheat, to mess with Mulder's life while I was watching out for him. All I deserved was Fox, after all, and Mulder would be happier, safer, if he was free to hate me without any reservation. I was acting for Mulder's good. I nudged the guy on the floor with my foot, and told him to get up. "This place looks pretty well equipped," I said, sweeping my gaze round the room. I looked down into his frightened grey eyes and lifted my eyebrow interrogatively. "D'ya reckon you could rustle up a branding iron?" "I... don't know, -d -don't live here," he stuttered, turning to look at Singer. "Closet next to you, second shelf down." came a feeble voice from my host. He'd dragged himself to a sitting position, and had wound someone's shirt round his shoulder in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. "Fox didn't say he was involved , or I wouldn't have brought him here. He asked to come and he wanted take part in this; nobody forced him. I don't want any trouble, just take him and leave, please." His voice quavered, and his gaze slithered uneasily over my gun. "We're not to blame for the state he's in, and you must realise that I'm never going to say how I got shot." "Get the iron," I said to nude-boy. "You're not serious," said Fox, sounding suspiciously amused. "Mulder's not going to like it." "I never thought the responsibility lay with anyone but Fox, Singer. That's why I'm not going to punish you, and why I'm going to make sure it's obvious to him and anyone else tempted to play with him that he's mine." I turned to Fox. "As for Mulder, I don't give a damn about his feelings in this. It's between you and I, and maybe you'll get the message that I'll keep a bargain with you if I'm prepared to piss Mulder off over it, OK?" Nude-boy wasn't having much luck with his search, so I shoved him aside, and, snagging a couple of pairs of handcuffs from the closet, took him back to Singer and cuffed them to each other and to a massive eye-bolt in the wall. I rummaged on the shelves, locating the iron... the business end a narrow stainless bar about an inch and a half long, a propane torch and some matches. I placed them on the bench in front of Fox. He looked at them wide-eyed, biting his lip, then turned and studied my face. He cleared his throat. "Have you done this before, Alex?" "Yes. Not for cosmetic purposes, though." I said sardonically. "I know what I'm doing. It'll hurt like hell, and if you don't pass out I recommend you hold your breath, because barbecued human makes quite a stench. Aren't you going to beg me to leave you alone?" "No," he whispered, then closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, do it." I squatted down to be level with him, watching his eyes, trying to read him. "Why, Fox?" "Because it means I'm real to you. I'm a person at last, not a screen hiding Mulder from you." "And if I've changed my mind?" "Then it won't matter to me if I make Mulder eat his gun, will it? If you don't exist, you can't die." We had our deal. I heated up the iron to seal the contract with a special kiss. Three hits, near the top of his left buttock, three careful burns to form an 'A'. In time the blistered flesh would heal to a silvery scar—I would be with him forever. I'd climbed onto the bench to straddle his back, to hold him still for the branding, but as the first stroke sank into his flesh, with a powerful spasm, and gut-churning squeal, he fainted. I finished up, and cleared the tools away, then went and fetched a bucket of water from a basin I'd noticed outside in the basement. Singer and his companion watched me silently as I sloshed it over Fox, and shook him gently to rouse him. He jerked back to life with a low groan, and blinked his blackened eyes open. I picked up my gun and cocked it. "Nobody but me from now on, you understand, Fox? Unless I choose to let someone else fuck you, you touch no-one but me, or you're going to be responsible for their death. I'm going to give you a taster, just to show I mean business." I walked towards Singer and nude-boy. It wasn't their fault, they'd stumbled on the situation unwittingly, and I regretted having to get rid of them... though, if Fox had been dead, the prolonged agony of their own demise would have been a fitting counterpoint to my mourning, and an experience to cherish. "Jesus, Krycek, stop... please stop." ...Mulder. I could tell, now. The voice, the tone. They were two people, two individuals, twins, the ultimate pairing; and fate, my vocation, had given me the wrong one. I turned and looked dispassionately at him. "It's what I do, Mulder. You need to know this. I'm a killer... I don't need a reason, or an excuse, or payment. Maybe you chose not to really believe what you know is the truth. But you need to understand, because we've been in a dream these last few days. You can't forgive me because there's no justification to, if you love me then you share my guilt because you do nothing to punish me. Anyone that Fox takes without my say-so is dead, and he and you gave me the order for the execution." I turned back to my captives and shot them. Chapter 18 In which Mulder is not grateful With the slaughter, my rage was gone. I looked at the bodies stupidly, blindly, almost wondering why they were there, it had been so quick—so sudden. A minute ago two people had cowered there, men with desperate faces, pleading voices, and then it had stopped. They had stopped. Stopped. I slumped to my knees and trembled with emptiness, hollow and frail because my anger had been all that had supported me, I tried to remember why I had done it, what gave me the right to decide that their lives should be over. But it wasn't quite silent in that room, Mulder's laboured breathing and suppressed whimpers brought back the reason, if not the logic that had led me to it. For his own good he needed to be reminded that I was an abomination, completely unworthy of his love, and if I cared for him it was my duty to push my nature right in his face and force him to shun me like the moral leper I was. Since I had interfered in his life enough to fixate his alter ego on me to the extent he was a danger to Mulder, that duty included taking charge of Fox in a resolute fashion and using whatever means necessary to control him. To be frank, it wouldn't be that hard to fuck him, his behaviour would arouse a corpse; the problem was afterwards, the shame I'd feel for forcing Mulder to watch me give into my lust. Shit! Where did I come off, fretting about making Mulder look at a porn show featuring himself, after I'd already made him witness to murder? Jesus...moral leper—I was a fucking moral vacuum. My expedience was the only consideration left in the rule-book. "Untie me, Krycek." Mulder sounded weary. I twisted round and looked bleakly at him. This man was my compulsion, without him I might have escaped my destiny, abandoned humanity to its fate when the immorality and duplicity of the men I'd suborned myself to had become evident. I'd been corrupt when I'd met Mulder, but there'd been an iota of conscience left; a token argument before I performed my tasks. But once our paths had crossed that had changed. All that mattered had been him, the chance to be near him, the chance to protect him from his own rashness. Cynical laughter bubbled through my thoughts. And now it takes a gun in the ass to stir your conscience, Alex, and even then you summon up maudlin self-pity, not true contrition. The rope binding his hands was impossible to undo, it had shrunk when I'd wetted it and was pulling on the collar hard enough to strangle him. I cut him free, removed the collar, and tried to rub the knots out of his shoulders and arms. He lay passively on the bench, not shrinking from my touch, not saying a word about the two dead men. When I moved to release his legs he stopped me. "Not yet, Alex. I don't think my legs can support me, and if they collapse, it'll be..." He gave a snort of laughter, "unpleasant. Help me up." There was little strength in his arms, so I slipped my hands under his chest and tugged, sliding round so he could drape himself over my shoulder. His skin was hot and sticky, pargeted with welts like ripples in drying sand. I could smell a pungent aroma, like the sour miasma from the lion pen in a zoo, overlaid with a sweet festering scent of bloody mucus. He looked down at his groin, and at me, then drawing my eyes back down with his, he said wryly, "We're going to need a claw-hammer here, Ratboy." As I focused back on the bench by his thighs I was suddenly convinced that I must be in a dream. A stout nail skewered his cock. It had been driven right through into the table top. Stunned and nauseous, I staggered as the room swayed like a raft, and Mulder's voice, with a malicious undertone, muttered in my ear "You can see why I'm not too bothered about a little burn, Krycek." and then broke into hysterical giggles at my shocked exclamation, and gripping his flaccid cock, ran it up and down the shaft of the nail. I'd forgotten the piercing. "You're a sick cunt, Mulder." I hissed, but his tasteless joke had relieved the tension and brought the reality of our situation back to me. I realised that I must be physically as well as emotionally drained. I'd puked up my breakfast, and I'd been racing round in the heat all day. My body's needs hadn't registered against the cacophony of emotion. I needed to slow down now, get us out of there and back to Scully and then take an hour to unwind before returning here to destroy any evidence. Putting a block of wood alongside the nail to act as a fulcrum, I eased it out of the table and Mulder carefully twisted it out of his flesh with a sigh. "You can get my legs now, I think my arms have nearly recovered." I didn't respond immediately. I'd picked up the still-warm nail and was rolling it between my finger and thumb. His lips twitched. "If you want to ruin your furniture, be my guest. But you'll have to give Fox a few days for us to recover." Rubbing my hand over my face in disbelief at the warmth growing in my groin at his words, I said, "No recriminations, Mulder? I murder two people, I brand my name on your ass with a red-hot iron and let myself be coerced into acting as Fox's gigolo, and you're not going to bawl me out?" "I'll be indignant tomorrow, Alex, my love. I haven't got the strength today. All I know right now is that you did it for me, and you care for me. I'll save the disgust and hatred for both of us until I can do justice to it." I un-taped his legs from the bench and supported him in my arms, gently kissing his injured face before helping him up the steps and into the living room, where I deposited him in an easy chair. He'd begun to tremble—in shock I suppose. With hindsight, throwing a bucket of water over him hadn't been the best idea I've ever had. There was a warm throw along the back of the couch, its rich pattern of autumn leaves brightening the predominantly smoke grey of the room. I brought it over and tucked it around him, and he leant his head against the chair back, closing his eyes. I brushed the hair away from his forehead and rested my lips against it, tasting the grime that soiled him with the very tip of my tongue. "Don't go to sleep, Mulder," I whispered. "I need to get you home." "C'mon, let me stay," he drawled softly, a hit of a smile on his swollen lips. "I'm too tired to move, and I'm comfortable...as much as I can be, anyhow." "I don't think we ought to take up residence with two stiffs in the cellar." "Try the waste disposal," he mumbled. "It ought to cope if you chop 'em up real small." I rested my hands on his chest and felt its rise and fall. He could have been dead, I thought. If the guy in that last house hadn't seen him with Singer, then I wouldn't have checked out this address for hours. They might have tired of their games and finished him off, or escalated the torture until his body gave out, and Fox would have encouraged them. But, y'know, I couldn't be mad at Fox any more. I think he'd been correct in saying that I'd accepted his reality by marking him. And, as a man in his own right, he was entitled to use his body as he wished. If you extrapolated from that viewpoint, then he could justly say that Mulder was the usurper. Well, maybe not quite, 'cos he'd been there first, but who could assert now which of them was the more deserving? I might vote for Mulder, but Fox's friends would see him as a socially challenged zealot, a step away from the asylum. 'Preserve the party animal,' they'd say. 'Ditch the flake.' His breathing deepened, and, muscles twitching as his consciousness relinquished control, he fell asleep. It was dangerous, staying here too long, but I felt so shitty I didn't want to rush into covering up the evidence, and I needed a plausible reason for the guys in the basement to be shot. Jesus, I could see Mulder being dragged into this. If the guy who'd told me had noted them together, then a hundred others could have. He knew Fox, he could describe him, Mulder had come out as gay, his fucking fingerprints were probably all over this house. Well done Alex, you've bombed out again big time . Stupid dumbass Mr. Tough Guy, killing the fuckers when you could 've just walked out of here with Fox, and no-one would have breathed a word. You could've found some other way to rein him in, but you had to go w-a-y too far, and Mulder's going to be standing in the path when the shit hits the fan. I headed out to the kitchen and raided the icebox. A long drink of water followed by another of well-chilled milk damped down the headache that had started to prod at my brain every time I moved quickly. Although my stomach was growling, food didn't appeal. Too tense, I guess. As I closed the door on the well-stocked shelves, I wished myself a few hours in the future, the mess sorted, Mulder safe, Scully released. Damn, Scully...poor forgotten Scully. She'd been tied up for hours . Boy, was she going to be wild . Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to come back later to rearrange the scene, there'd be a gaping hole in my control of the situation when anybody could walk in on the evidence and call the cops. Better to do it now. The remains of Fox's clothes were in a heap on a chair in the playroom. They were almost unmistakable but I checked the pockets just in case; fake ID and credit card, keys, a little money and the short barbell that I'd seen through his cock. I rubbed its smooth rounded steel surface. It was surprisingly heavy, and I wondered how it would feel to have the mass pulling on my penis if I were naked, or the unyielding intrusion in my flesh with a hard-on. I popped it in my mouth and rolled it with my tongue, thinking about taking him in my mouth, about nipping the bar with my teeth and tugging at him, about how it had felt inside my body, about Fox spread-eagled on the bench, about how it would feel to slip out this ornament, about taking that nail and pushing it through his cock instead, pushing it through my cock, the jarring at my groin as they hammer it in, the helplessness afterwards, the yielding because with that pinioning, that transfixing, I become an object, a part of the apparatus with which the room has been equipped. I walked jerkily to the bench and gripped the sides, then massaging the scored, pitted wood with my hands I rubbed my hard-on against the end where Fox had stood. I could see Singer and nude-boy's bodies out of the corner of my eye, tumbled over each other, polka-dotted with each other's blood. Heal them, Alex. Pull them to their feet. Make them walk to you and stroke your bare flesh with their hands. Let them run their fingers between your legs to feel your stiffening cock making the join rigid, taking up the slack so that your shaft is pressed against the splintery wood. I stared at the stained surface wondering if Fox had come like that, just from the wood's abrasion, the nail holding him as his body rocked with the men's thrusts. Damn it, this is not a good time to get horny, I thought, trying to suppress the urge to open my pants and lose myself in a fantasy. There's Mulder upstairs, with god-knows-what injuries, a murder scene to stage, and a woman tied up in Mulder's apartment who must be ready to explode, and you want to indulge in a dream of being fucked by zombies while your prick's stapled to the furniture. Moron! I gathered up Fox's belongings and stowed them in a garbage sack that I'd found in the kitchen. The shirt and pants were in tatters, he'd have to wear Singer's clothes to go home. Then I went over to inspect Singer and nude-boy. Ideally, I needed to arrange them so that it would look like one had killed the other, then shot himself. It would've been easier to stage a robbery, but the cops would then be looking for a third party and it would' ve been riskier for Mulder. I removed the handcuffs and laid the bodies out so I could study their wounds. Singer had a neat hole in his temple, exit wound at the back. He'd been too weakened by blood loss to dodge me effectively. That would've done for a suicide, but it's not usual to take a practice shot at your shoulder first. Nude-boy had struggled...and begged...and I'd managed to kill him with one shot through his skull, but it wasn't placed where it could've been self-inflicted. Well, the up side was I wouldn't have to sacrifice my gun as a prop. The down side was that I'd have to use the crude option of torching the place and keeping my fingers crossed. OK, check for smoke detectors...don't want the fire department called too soon. I'd probably have a burglar alarm to disable too, they usually double as fire alarms. Flammables...paint and thinners in the basement, a can of gas for the mower, probably there'd be whiskey and such-like I could spread upstairs. The propane torch. I assembled them near the bodies together with some cartons and old chairs. It was important that the basement was burnt out, even if they salvaged the rest. Anything else? Cameras, videos...some guys like Singer enjoy recording their encounters. There was nothing here, but I'd have to check the rest of the house, and ask Mulder. The car on the drive needed to be destroyed as well, if Mulder had travelled in it. Ask him that, too. So, now, time to get him dressed and on his feet. I fetched my jacket from the bedroom and raided it for stuff for Mulder to wear. Sweats, underwear, socks; there was plenty of choice. The clothes would be uncomfortable and probably have to be soaked off, because once he started to move around the cuts and grazes would bleed and stick to the cloth, but it would be stupid to waste time cleaning him up and bandaging him. I rustled up a glass of water and some painkillers, too. It was twilight by now, and hopefully we'd be able to leave unnoticed once it was completely dark. I pulled the drapes and switched on the lights in the living room. Mulder was sound asleep, and making a vicious noise. I'd been able to hear his snores all over the house, I guess his nose was so swollen that he had to breathe through his mouth. I woke him up a little more considerately than I had downstairs. He blinked at me stupidly. "I think the line you're looking for is 'Where am I?'" His brow furrowed with that odd wrong-way tilt. "Uh...Singer's house?" "Correct. Now try, 'What are you doing here?'" "Make that 'What are you doing here, rat-bastard?' if you're aiming for authenticity, Krycek," he said with a weak chuckle. "And the answer is that you're rescuing me, and your methods are far too drastic. Remind me never to call on you for help if I get stuck in an elevator with the pope." "Is Fox particularly attracted to clergymen, then?" "He's got a thing for all sorts of uniforms. No Mountie is safe within a fifty mile radius, and I even have trouble suppressing him if I get near Scully's brother. D'ya want to make something of it?" I smiled. "Uh-huh. There should be a law against Mountie uniforms. They're an affront to public decency. Anyway, we've got to get out of here." I offered him the package of pills and the water. "You might like a painkiller. I expect you're stiffening up." He swallowed a couple, and, pushing the blanket down, tried to get out of the chair. I'd worried about clothes getting stuck to his wounds, but I'd forgotten about the upholstery. He gritted his teeth as he peeled himself from the chair-back, then with a surge of effort, pulled himself to his feet with a sharp gasp of pain. With clenched fists and eyes clamped shut he tried to suppress his groans, then he teetered and clutched at my shoulders for support—I had to reach out to stop him falling. The front of his body didn't look such a mess as his back, but it had had a good share of attention. The ruddy stripes and narrow cuts on his torso probably came from beatings with a strap and cane. They were superficial, as were the red marks around his nipples and the light bruising from the collar that'd been round his neck. The dark grey-purple blotches on his abdomen were much more worrying. Jesus, I'd kicked him there myself, I hadn't worried about damaging his kidneys or ribs; Singer and friend apparently had the same carefree attitude. As for his face, it was a mess. Both his eyes were swollen nearly shut, and there were so many grazes and bruises that his normal skin colour was not visible anywhere. I couldn't see any deep cuts, so probably he wouldn't be scarred, but the beating he'd taken could have broken facial bones. "I know this is a dumb question, when you're probably hurting too much to tell, but do you think there's any major damage? I was planning to take you back to your apartment where Scully's waiting, but d'ya think we ought to go straight to a hospital instead?" "Scully...is waiting...at my apartment? Did I hear that correctly, Krycek?" he asked, his voice rising to a note of panic. "Umm...yeah." "Would you mind telling me why?" "She didn't really have a choice. I sorta tied her to a radiator." I said faintly. "I didn't want her coming with me and finding out what Fox had been up to." "And just how did she come to be in your company?" "I, er, called her this morning when you didn't show, then I took her hostage and used her to force the Gunmen to show me your room, and after the Gunmen had worked out who the e-mail addresses belonged to she wanted to join in with the rescue. So I had to stop her." "Let me get this straight. Scully and the Gunmen have been in my storeroom, they know about Fox, they know I'm buddies with several of the more notorious members of the local S and M scene, and you've left Scully tied up for how long?" he said angrily. I looked at my watch. "'Round about seven hours." "Couldn't you have been a little more subtle?" "It was an emergency, Mulder" I said resentfully. "If I'd pussyfooted around you could have been history. Shit, I'm not notorious for my altruism. So much for doing you a fucking favour. Next time you want rescuing call the CIA, they're good at secrets and cover-ups. And nobody knows about Fox, yet. Piss me off enough and I'll take great pleasure in enlightening them" I thrust the clothes at him. "Get dressed. If you want me to save your ass, we need to get out of here and destroy the evidence." He glowered at me, and slowly began inserting himself into the underwear. "I don't want Scully seeing me like this, and I'm not stupid enough to go to a hospital. Hasn't it occurred to you, dummy, that they'll know exactly what I've been doing to get these sort of injuries, and I'd easily get linked to these murders. It's the sort of thing I'd look for, if I was investigating." "Well, maybe you should be thankful you're in the FBI, not the police." I sneered. "Or you might have had to arrest yourself. "If you're not worried about your body, I'm not going to be. I agreed to be Fox's keeper, not yours, so you can go take a hike, if all you can do is run me down. I'm going finish the job here, and take you home. You can tell Scully what you like about the state you're in. Hey, perhaps if you blame me it'll put her off the scent about you and I being lovers. "Oh dear," I added smugly, at his look of horror. "Didn't I mention that? Your partner is a very smart lady, Mulder. She worked it out all by herself. She's probably passing the lonely hours as we speak, creaming her panties with fantasies of you and I in the sack. Which reminds me, talking of fantasies, did Singer tape your session or take any photographs?" "No," he whispered, his attention on my revelation about Scully. "Did you go in his car? If you did, it needs to be taken care of." "No. We came here by cab." "So there's a cab driver that knows you came here?" "Yeah. You going to kill him too, huh? Y'want me to describe him, Ratboy?" "Maybe. Unless you'd like to take care of it yourself. I seem to be going to a hell of a lot of trouble here to protect you from the consequences of your cowardice, Mulder. If you want to get out of this, you should be prepared to bend the law a bit, too." "Bend the law?" he spat. "I'm already an accessory to two murders, you bonehead." I grinned at him, and shook my head. "Wrong, Mulder. You're the killer. I was never here. You'll just have to make sure no-one ever finds out." "Wonderful, Krycek. I've always hankered after a reputation like yours." Of course, the guy who'd put me onto Singer would be able to identify me, but I wasn't going to tell Mulder that. Let him stew for a while, he deserved it. As he finished dressing, I emptied the contents of Singer's drinks cabinet over the chairs and couch. Mulder gave me a long stare, but didn't comment. He was very unsteady on his feet; I had to help him to the car and return to set the fire in the basement. As I said farewell to Singer and nude-boy I decided to leave the gun by them anyway. We could get lucky and have it interpreted as a lover's quarrel, if the cops didn't look too closely at the trajectories, but there was no way that could happen if they couldn't find a gun. By the time we drove away I could see the glow of flames through the narrow glass panels in the front door. We drove in silence for a while, my mind filled with resentment at Mulder's ingratitude. Disgust and shock; OK, I'd expected that, but I didn't notice much concern for the dead men, all he was worried about was his own skin. Yeah, you're thinking, and he should be happy that you've killed a couple of people and it could be that he'll go to jail for it? Well, it didn't occur to me how twisted my values were, expecting him to be grateful, until he put a tentative hand on my knee and said, "I'm sorry, Alex. I meant what I said, I know you did this because you care about me. And I know, because you care, you reacted impulsively because you wanted to expedite my rescue. But you can't eliminate everyone who could point the finger at me, because dozens of people saw Fox with Malcolm and Adrian last night. "And now you tell me Scully thinks we're lovers. She's going to think I'm in league with you, and when she hears about these murders she might turn me in herself, because she'll think it's for my own good. Are you going to kill her, too? You can't shoot your way out of every situation. "I know ultimately this is all my fault. If I wasn't so twisted up, the whole affair would never have happened, but depending on you for help was about the worst decision I could make, wasn't it? If I'd had more strength of character, I'd have gone to a professional for help, or at least thrown myself on Scully's mercy. I've blatantly used you, because I knew you'd fall into my arms given the slightest encouragement, and because your own morals disqualify you from judging me. "If your way of extricating me from this fuck-up isn't the way I would have done it, I shouldn't complain. God, if I'd known you loved me I'd have kept Fox away from you somehow . I only gave in because I thought a Krycek overdose would cure me of my obsession with you." I put my hand over his and held it tightly. "I wish you'd found someone else to tell, and never let me know that I could have you, Mulder. Y'know, ordinarily I would have gone about this rescue differently... efficiently, discreetly. It's not your fault, but because you were involved I've been running on emotion, not logic. I probably wouldn't have killed them if I'd been helping someone else, but I was trying to scare you off, make you cringe at my callousness and rethink your wish to build something with me. I love you too much to want to see you caught up in my world." "So, in your book, this was a love token, Krycek," he said flatly. "An act of self-sacrifice to save me from the consequences of my own desires." "And a threat to Fox to behave himself. Much as I'd like to encourage you to sort out your psyche by approved methods, I suspect he'd have you dead before you could achieve it. Unless you want to spend a couple of years in a straitjacket and padded cell." "Gee, Krycek, thanks for the vote of confidence. You'd do it again, I suppose?" Was there any point in lying? I could have dissembled, but I knew the truth. "Yes. Think about it Mulder. I've promised to take Fox, and I'll do my best not to let him get involved in my...obligations. I can't see any other way, short of the funny farm, of keeping you safe from him. So we can't save Fox, I'm keeping him, but it'll give you the chance for a reasonable life if he's off your back. You told me he and I deserved one another, and you were right. We understand each other all too well, we'll get along just fine." I tried to smile, but inside it felt like someone was running a razor down my cheeks. "You won't be able to doubt it, because you'll have a ringside seat when we're getting it on, won't you? Have the sense to stay the fuck away from me, please, Mulder. If I beg you to stay, don't listen. If I try to force you, fight me. I'll destroy you, and that'll destroy me. Please. Look, if you want me to prove what a shit I am, I'll stop the car and you can point out someone for me to kill...you choose the method." I turned to him and said sardonically, "And if you notice any hesitation, or any regret afterwards, you have my permission to pray for my salvation, because I assumed my place in Hell was reserved a long time ago." We were both quiet for a while, after that. Mulder didn't take me up on my offer, I presumed he didn't like to usurp the Smoker's role. Eventually we came to a decision point. I pulled over and parked. "Is it to be your apartment then, Mulder?" He turned to me and smiled wanly. "I reveal to Scully that I'm a masochist, that I have a taste for outlandish piercings, and I'm in love with a ruthless hit-man. It would be nice to know there's an alternative?" "Hospital?" "We've discussed that, Krycek." "I don't want to make any more suggestions," I said, evasively. "We could go to your place. In a couple of days I'll be just fine." "No, you need to be checked out, you could have internal damage." "OK, this is worrying...you're starting to sound like Scully. How about we go to your doctor? I assume you need one occasionally." "No way. He's the Consortium's man. D'ya want them to know?" "Would he know me, Alex? You can spin him a line, can't you?" "Maybe. It'd have to be damn convincing. He's...unpleasant. He revels in it." "Like you?" "If it had any chance of showing on that damn' ugly face of yours, I'd slap you for that, cunt. I don't revel , I just don't care. Get it straight, Agent Mulder." He gave a snort of laughter. "OK. So you can get Dr. Mengele to check me over and give me some medication, and if he thinks it's necessary, I go to hospital. Is that acceptable, Ratboy?" "I suppose," I said, doubtfully. "His bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired. It veers towards the 'How much more pain can he take?' rather than relieving the pain you've already got." "Sounds refreshing to me. Scully fusses enough for ten people." "He'll have to think you're my victim, not a friend or colleague, or he'll ask questions and try to make conversation with you, and he'd be sure to rumble us." "OK. I can accept that." "I'll have to treat you accordingly." "Surely not a great hardship, Krycek. The boner you got from branding me must have long gone limp." "You think I enjoyed that?" "Yes." "I think I've just run out of epithets for you, Agent Mulder." I said scornfully. "I'm sure you're aware that Fox was anticipating it with a lot more eagerness than I was. The words 'pot' and 'kettle' spring to mind." He tried to grin, amused by my indignation, but it turned into a grimace of pain. "C'mon, Krycek. You must realise it's difficult for an ordinary FBI agent to see things from your world-view. You've got to expect a few insults while I try to get your value system constructed in my mind so that I can understand the basis on which you make your judgements." "Are you profiling me, Mulder?" He shrugged. "It's sorta automatic. I've never had a whole lot to go on in the past, just your actions and a few conversations that were probably all lies. The thing is, once I know someone well, I start manipulating them, and then I feel like a shit." "You've had me on a string since I first met Fox. I think you already had me sussed out." He shook his head. "It's not difficult to influence anyone if they're sexually attracted to you. There's a lot of truth in 'Love is blind'. The urge to procreate overrides other considerations with frightening ease. Just watch me push your buttons if you really open up to me." "Now that's scary." I knew he was right about his treatment, though. The hospital was a bad idea, and God knows which way Scully would jump if I brought Mulder back to her in his present condition. I fished out my cellphone and passed it to him. "Get someone to cut Scully loose, and make sure she gets the message that she's not to chase after me. As you say, I've already made a hash of this, we don't want her adding to the confusion. Give them this number if you want, so she can call back and talk to you. Then pass it over, and I'll warn the Doc that we're on our way." Chapter 19 In which Mulder and Scully are reunited By the time we'd got to the Doc's house, Mulder was asleep again. The Gunmen had been mobilised to release Scully, but there'd been no return call, so I guessed they hadn't reached her yet. I hoped the Doc wouldn't inquire too deeply what was going on. He's a wily bastard, and though questions aren't generally acceptable about Consortium business, he's a law to himself. It's supremely obvious he got into medicine in order to discover new and ingenious ways to make people suffer, rather than cure them. The research the Consortium gets involved in, what I've seen of it anyway, he pursues in a detached manner. He gets his job satisfaction from observing and examining the human wreckage left in the wake of grunts like myself, and applying more sophisticated techniques if strong arm methods don't work. Mulder awoke with a start as we drew up outside. I'd warned him it was imperative that he say as little as possible, pretend to be frightened out of his wits and call me 'Sir'. The last order caused a minor rebellion in the ranks, but the threat of Scully got him right back on track. I switched my cellphone off. I didn't want to be fielding Scully's questions in front of the doctor. "He'll treat you like a piece of meat, Mulder, and so will I, while we're here. If you get mouthy, or start making lame jokes, I'll hit you. Both our lives are on the line, so don't do anything to make him suspicious." "Doesn't the Consortium have any 'nice' people working for them, Krycek?" "Oh, yeah. There's a scattering of young idealists, for a start. They're so starry-eyed about the 'cause' they think they're involved in it makes me want to puke." A lump rose to my throat as I muttered quickly, before the memories choked my words, "I used to be one of them." His eyes flicked to my face, almost begging me to enlarge on my remark, but I shook my head and turned away, climbing from the car. Mulder had opened the door by the time I was round to his side. "Appear reluctant," I hissed. "Make this real, for God's sake. My goons and I have just beaten you to a pulp, and you're being taken to an unknown destination, for an unknown purpose, for reasons you don't want to admit to." I took his upper arm firmly and tugged. He put up a show of resistance, then staggered from the car, steadying himself with a hand on its roof as I locked it. I marched him to the door. He stumbled up the steps, and if this had been for real, I think he'd have been in no shape to escape despite my lack of a gun. The Doc's lugubrious housekeeper ushered us into his examination room. He rose from his desk, all smiles, and approached us. "Sit," I told Mulder, and pushed him toward a hard chair to one side of the room. He shuffled over and sat on it gingerly, eyes downcast, the image of a defeated man. Doc is actually Dr. Caruana. He's a small, slim man in his late fifties... I suppose the word 'dapper' fits him best. He's got a neatly trimmed beard, silver-grey like his hair, and he's always polite and cheerful—to his associates, at least. "Alex!" he said, shaking my hand briskly, and running his eyes over me. "You look a little tired. Are you feeling well? You shouldn't work so hard, it's more than time for you to take that holiday you promised you'd get around to." "I'm fine. It's just been a long day, today, and it's not over yet. Blame the ugly mess that's sitting in your chair, there. The bastard's been neglecting his duties, and doesn't seem to want to pull his socks up. I've had to chastise him." He glanced at Mulder, then back at me, lifting his eyebrows and saying archly, "Come now, Alex. That's not your handiwork. It's always a pleasure to wrap up a project that you've undertaken. So inventive, my boy. What we have here is the equivalent of finger painting." I laughed, and tried to match his banter. "It's gratifying to learn that my methods are skilled enough that they provide you with enjoyment, Doc. You're right, I left the job to a couple of subordinates, and they messed it up. Didn't get what I wanted, and jeopardised my chances, too. "I started on him but he blacked out, so I'd like him checked over, if you please, and I need your opinion about how soon I can resume his correction. How did you know?" "You rarely touch their faces, Alex. If I'd just had his torso to work from, I might have been hard pressed to separate the opus from that of a couple of your colleagues." "I hate to ruin a face, Doc. One or two bruises, or a careful cut can sometimes enhance, but on the whole, an undamaged face is more fun, don't you think? The play of emotions, the pain, the understanding... you don't see it when a face has been turned into a punch-bag." I suspected that Mulder was having difficulty holding his tongue. I could hear his breathing quickening, see his shoulders lifting and tensing. It was kinda amusing, a surreal conversation, yet so appropriate and commonplace between the Doc and I. The housekeeper reappeared with a tray of coffee and a lavish carrot-cake. The ambrosial smell seemed like paradise after a day's abstention; my mouth was watering immediately. "Coffee, Alex?" he said, waving me to a chair. I realised I was ravenous. I could have forced anything down that was offered, but that cake was so tempting I almost drooled over it. "You, prisoner," he said, turning to Mulder. "Strip." We turned our chairs to watch him, sipping at our coffee as Mulder slowly and cautiously removed the sweats and his footwear. I'd provided him with a tee-shirt and boxers to wear beneath; both garments were stained with spots and smears of blood and yellowy discharge from his wounds, and were pasted to his body with sweat and dried scabs. He plucked at the hem of the tee-shirt, trying to peel it gently from his skin. "Stop," said the Doc sharply, and looking inquiringly at me, asked, "Do you mind if I get him clean, first? It'll be easier to assess his condition. Or would it suit your purposes better if he remains as he is? When one's victim is sticky and sweaty their morale can get quite low, and I don't suppose you want his resolve boosted at this juncture, do you?" I wrinkled my nose. "By all means, clean him up, Doc. He made my car reek, driving over. I think the guys must have been out to try everything they could think of... Probably just high spirits, but he's been fucked, so there 's mess from that, and blood, and general floor dirt, and I think they pissed on him. He's pretty unwholesome. Shall I take him in the bathroom and sluice him down?" "If you would, Alex," he replied, opening the door behind his desk. "Clean towels are on the rack." I jerked Mulder to his feet, and gritting my teeth as he whimpered with pain, urged him into the shower cubicle in the bathroom. The bathroom is fitted with various bars and handles for disabled patients; the whole setup looks quite above board, and I've sometimes wondered if the Doc had a legitimate practice before finding his niche with the Consortium. I made sure Mulder had a firm grip on one of the rails before I let go of him and turned the water on at a tepid temperature, then I backed out quickly to avoid the spray. It sure wasn't like the last time I watched him in the shower. The grace and sensuousness were frighteningly absent, his movements were febrile and uncertain. As he wriggled slowly from his underwear, he only used a single hand, the other was clenched firmly round the safety bar. I think it was not only the physical weakness that required this reassurance; it was also as if he needed to cling to some anchor in case Fox ripped him from himself once more and threw his body, willy-nilly, into the ring. The Doc came in as Mulder was finishing up. He was in shirtsleeves, surgical gloves on, ready for business. He eyed Mulder thoughtfully, and handed him a towel, saying, "Is there blood in your urine?" "I don't know, I haven't been since... before." Mulder's voice was halting and slurred; the swelling of his lips was quite pronounced now. The Doc stepped forward and slapped him swiftly on the cheek. I almost forgot myself, my hands were claws, ready to seize the man and throw him across the room, when Mulder's voice repeated carefully, "I haven't been since before... Sir." The Doc nodded. "Very well. I need to see, so do it now, and tell me if there is any difficulty or pain." Mulder glanced at me, then fixed his eyes back on the floor, and lurched over to the toilet. A flush of embarrassment pinked the back of his neck as he forced his reluctant body to perform. Doc peered at the sample and said, "Not bad. A little discoloured, but no cause for alarm as it is. If it worsens, or continues for more than a couple of days it'll need attention." The rest of the examination took place in the original room. He was very thorough, and Mulder endured it stoically, keeping his eyes firmly downcast, making it easier for me to keep my composure. He removed Mulder's various bits of body jewellery as he proceeded, commenting that if there was any further swelling or an infection their presence could be a problem; the whole lot went into my pocket in a twist of paper towel. "There doesn't appear to be any significant internal damage, Alex," the Doc commented, after poking and pressing Mulder's abdomen hard enough to make him groan aloud. "He tells me the only time he actually fainted was when you branded him, so concussion's unlikely. His temperature's slightly elevated; I'll give him an antibiotic to forestall infections, especially from that burn. You're not usually so personal, how come your initial's on him?" As I floundered for an evasive answer, Mulder whispered, "May I tell him, Sir?" "Er... yeah." I answered, surprised. "He said that I didn't know how to obey orders, so he was putting it there to remind me. Any further transgressions, and he'd add more letters until we 'd worked our way through the alphabet, though he suspected that if we got as far as D, his patience would run out and he'd kill me instead. Is that correct, Sir?" I bit my lips to keep from laughing, Mulder seemed to be putting heart and soul into his 'victim' role. "He doesn't sound worried enough, does he Doctor? It's always a nuisance trying to correct slutty subs like him, you can make them hurt for real, and they'll promise anything to get you to stop, but after a respite it's all twisted round in their depraved little minds so that they think they were really enjoying themselves. He ought to know better than to try and play his games with me, I'm sure half his ineptness is a deliberate attempt to get me in his bed." "Threats of mutilation usually work, bottom boys can be extremely vain, Alex." "Mmm. Snipping off a couple of fingers with secateurs appeals. I haven't done that in a while." I smiled whimsically at Mulder, who attempted to grimace in disgust. "That just leaves an internal. Bend over and spread your legs," ordered the Doc, lubricating his gloves matter-of-factly. I put my hand on his back and pushed him into position, saying, "The sooner the Doc finishes, the sooner we can return to our tete-a-tete, can't we, dickhead? He can't possibly hurt you, you could drive a train through your asshole, it's so well used." "Fuck you... Sir." Mulder reluctantly stooped for the Doc, who slipped a couple of fingers inside him in a businesslike way, and felt around. A dribble of liquid escaped as he withdrew and the Doc looked at his soiled glove and smelt it suspiciously. Mulder stood upright, and stared at him, then closed his eyes and buried his head in his shoulder. "He's not damaged, Alex, but he's certainly a deviant. Did your assistants tell you what else they did to him?" "Nope. They saw I wasn't pleased by what they'd done, and they beat it, tout de suite." The Doc turned to the sink, and began stripping off his gloves. "They didn't piss on him, they pissed in him. Into his rectum—and I don't suppose they thought that up for themselves." I turned back to Mulder in horror. A smile of pure malice lit his battered face and Fox whispered to me, "See you soon, lover," and then he was gone again. Mulder hid his betrayed and violated self in his hands, and turned away from me. "Can we go now," he muttered, his voice shielded by the sound of the Doc washing his hands. "Yeah," I croaked. "Right now." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The first part of the journey back to Mulder's apartment passed in an uncomfortable silence. I didn't know what to say, I was sickened by Fox, and wrestling with the thought of having to put my dick somewhere he'd turned into a human toilet. For the first time Mulder's predicament crushed me. Far from Fox being a means to relieve Mulder's stress, each occurrence was a potential rape. No wonder he held Fox in as long as possible. No wonder he suppressed the memories, rationalised the injuries, balked at lasting traces of Fox. And the most surprising thing was that he wasn't already long dead, another victim, a suicide, another statistic of mental illness. Mulder was fixated on his hands, which were clenching and unclenching incessantly in his lap. "Don't give up on me, Ratboy," There was a catch in his voice, a hopeless pain. "Save me from him, please. I beg you, don't abandon me. Please keep him under your thumb and stop him turning me into this monster. Do what the hell you like to him, it can't be any worse than it already is." A plump teardrop fell onto his knuckles, and I opened the glove compartment and threw a box of tissues into his lap. "Does he often do that... thing?" "I don't know. I try not to be there most of the time when he's in charge, I can't face what he does... we haven't... I haven't told you how it is." "You knew this time, though, didn't you." "Yes." "Why the fuck didn't you stop him, Mulder?" I snarled. "Because it wasn't fucking important, when he was trying to get us killed." He hiccuped, and tried to steady his voice. "I'm sorry if it offends your delicate sensibilities, Krycek. It wasn't worth an argument with him. I was too busy trying to convince him I didn't want to get beaten to death, and he shouldn't want that either." We were stuck at another intersection... the traffic hadn't let up from earlier, it was still hot and noisy, but dark now as well. My head was pounding, I was tired and dirty, and I knew I'd had enough of Mulder and his life for today. A cool shower and smooth clean sheets, and silence—I turned to him and said, "Send Fox to me when he reappears, and in the meantime I think you ought to get to grips with your feelings, Mulder. As I see it, you're not just running from your needs, you're encouraging Fox to be as disgusting as possible just so you've got an excuse to categorise those needs as something no decent person would want. I'm not ashamed of wanting gay sex, but I'm not willing to have it lumped together with practices which I frankly find nauseating and have it condemned accordingly. Maybe I'm a prude, perhaps unadventurous, and God knows I do some despicable things myself, but I don't stand by and let someone else do those things and abjure the responsibility totally as you do." "So you agree with me about my cowardice? " "I think you've turned a blind eye for too long at what Fox does. You've been exacerbating your problem by denial, widening the fissure, and now, with me, it's come to a head, and you and he aren't co-operating any more to make your life run smoothly, you're fighting over possession of your body instead. You're going to have to reach a new balance, or one of you has to go, and it could be you that gets pushed out." I put my hand on his leg and squeezed. "I'll do my best for you with Fox. I won't go back on my promise, OK? But I want you to be there. I know you can because he can do it, he knew about us in the motel by the river. I want you to watch, and accept, and try to come to a compromise with him. Stop hiding from what's going on." "I've been there all the time with him and you, Alex. I didn't want to miss anything with you." "Now I'm cringing, Mulder. It's not a very impressive record so far, my brief encounters with him haven't shown either of us up well. Is he here now?" "I don't know... I can't tell, unless he speaks in my head. Occasionally if he's feeling strongly about something, or getting twitchy and I'm off guard, he might take over momentarily. We don't share memories, unless we're both paying attention, and we've no idea about each other's feelings and opinions unless we discuss them." He chuckled, and shook his head ruefully. "Y'know, I've gotten so used to my condition I didn't realise how unnatural it was until I started talking about it. I really belong in an asylum, don't I? I suppose I should be thankful I still realise that. At least I don't think everyone else is insane because there's only one of them occupying their skulls." At last the traffic cleared, and we began to move more swiftly towards our destination. We picked and worried at the situation right to his doorstep. I would have gladly taken him back with me so that I could protect him, but I had to force myself to think of his life and career. If he didn't want to be discredited in the eyes of Scully and the FBI, and to minimise suspicion from the police, he belonged at home. This crisis with Fox had weakened him. Somehow he could no longer see me clearly, or he just didn't want to see past the love I had for him. Our positions had reversed; I was his saviour, he saw himself as so lost, so debased that I was the only hope he had. I think my history and my occupation no longer mattered to him, and I anticipated that the morning wouldn't change his viewpoint. He wasn't fighting his need for me any more, his protests at my latest actions had a superficiality that told me he wanted me on any terms. It was with difficulty that I persuaded him to avoid me for the next month, to recover his health and allay Scully's suspicions, to allow the new Mulder to find his place at work, and to permit the passion between us to subside so that he could put our relationship into perspective. Anyway, it was the right thing to do, the best thing for him; I had to keep telling myself that, but somehow the image of my tranquil apartment distracted me, the rustling silence as the light breeze caught the nets, the sheets, smooth and bleached, smelling of sunlight—somehow he was there, naked and perfect. I could glimpse the long bow of his legs and back, stretching and flexing, slinking toward my bed, flowing onto it like a band of syrup, golden against the white, across the sheets, and rolling onto his back, arms raised, head pressing into the pillow, neck stretched as a sacrifice to my desperate mouth. I peeped at the reality, Mulder not-of-my-dreams, the wreck of the man I'd spied on for years, tumbled from his pedestal and broken at my feet. Odd how I wanted to be noble and self-sacrificing for him, yet the other perfect Mulder had inspired only a need for utter possession. Given my track record, I should have pounced now, while he was at his ebb, not tried to rebuild his armour. Shit... true love strikes again. ~~~~~~~~~~ Scully must have been listening out for us, because the door of number 42 swung open as I half-carried Mulder towards it. She gazed silently at the two of us for a moment, lips pursed with so many reproaches. Her hand rose to his face, not quite touching the bruised skin, and then she took a big breath, dropped her eyes and lifted his arm over her slim shoulders and helped me take him to his bed. He sat heavily on its edge and laced his fingers together tightly, avoiding our gaze. In a quiet voice he said, "Could you leave me now... both of you. I need to sleep." "I can't do that," Scully protested. "You've been injured, you must let me look at you, Mulder. Where have you been? What's been going on? Mulder, what have you been doing with Krycek?" She put her hand on his shoulder and forced him to look at her. Blinking tears away, she pleaded, "What's he done to you, how could you... get involved with him after everything he's done to us?" I took her arm and pulled her away, saying angrily, "Leave him to rest, Scully. He's fine and he can do without your fucking hysterics." "Shut up, Alex. She's got a right to be upset," he snapped. "I'm OK, Scully. I've seen a doctor and he's patched me up, in a few days I'll be all better. But I'm really tired, so put a hold on the inquisition would you, and let me sleep. Oh, and take him with you, and try not to kill him. He means well." "Means well!" she squeaked. "Are you serious?" "Not a judicious choice of words, Mulder," I laughed. "Goodbye, for now. Look after yourself, and... well, you know where to find me." "Goodbye, Ratboy," he said, and pulled me towards him by a corner of my coat. His upturned face was an invitation, so I kissed him. Chapter 20 In which Fox and I are reunited Thanks to Mulder, I escaped from his apartment without any bullet holes from Scully's gun, and without having to answer her questions. Over the next week my mind constantly returned to him, and if I hadn't given in to my need to call Scully a couple of times to check on him, and to spy when he resumed his morning run, I think I would have lost it. Whenever we spoke Scully begged me to talk to her about Mulder. She hadn't been able to extract any information from him, and because that kiss had turned a theoretical situation, which she could discuss, even joke about, into hard fact, she needed to know what was going on because ordinarily she' s the one he confides in. She threatened and cajoled, and y'know, I wanted to tell her about Fox, to let her take the responsibility and worry from me and to get him some proper treatment, even if it meant the end of ‘us'. But I couldn't. I'd promised I'd somehow take charge of Fox and give Mulder a chance to pull his life back together. Anyway, wanting to tell Scully wasn't the same as doing it. If it came right down to it I suspected I would convince myself I could get him through on my own, rather than lose him. Christ, I can be such a smug asshole sometimes. He's nearly killed himself and you still think you're on top of the situation? Dream on. Mulder had taken time off work to let his injuries heal. Scully told me that, rather than draw attention to himself in his battered state, he was prepared to let his colleagues think he was in hiding, too embarrassed to face them. She'd made his excuses to Skinner herself, telling him that Mulder needed some quiet time away from town to think through his situation and how to deal with it. There had been no repercussions so far from the killings...not that we told Scully, but I bet she'd have made me aware if the police had come looking for Mulder. I drank too much those days, as well. I brooded and fretted and spent far too much time alone, thinking. I knew where that would lead... I'd let it all out in a destructive orgy, some pointless act of cruelty, and then I'd go back to the bottle in self-disgust and start all over again. However I wasn't stupid enough to let my work slip; I get these moods sometimes but my colleagues never see me other than sober, rarely even angry. It was just over a week later, Thursday a little before midnight, when I let myself into my apartment and life changed. The alarm was off, a pile of empty boxes and suitcases cluttered my small hallway, and unfamiliar music whispered from the bedroom. I dumped my jacket and weapons on a chair, kicked off my shoes, and strolled in to greet my new roommate. He was sitting in the bed the pillows piled behind him, with his glasses perched on the end of his nose, deep into my copy of ‘Stalingrad'. He looked adorable. "I hope you haven't lost my place." He looked up at me and grinned, then placed the book carefully on the bed with the glasses on top, and slid his legs from under the covers. He hadn't felt the need for any clothing, and though his body and face were still patterned with the traces of the bruises and cuts, the swelling had subsided and he didn't appear to be in pain. He padded over to me, his expression diffident, questioning; he was unsure of his welcome. I guessed he was wondering if I was going to throw him out or punish him. I put my hand behind his head and pulled his face to mine, then ran the end of my tongue over his lips until they parted and admitted me. It was such a sweet kiss, so slow, so soft, that it could have driven his corruption from my mind, had I let it. "Did the Gunmen throw you out, Fox?" I murmured. "Scully got too curious, so I thought ‘Where safer but here?' And I knew you must be getting lonely, baby, without your fix of G-man." His body slithered against mine provocatively, offering itself to me. It had the effect he intended, too, how could it not? It was the right body, the right smell, it felt... perfect, and physically I couldn't help but react. It was only the knowledge of who was in charge that allowed me to rein in my instinct, to control my reflex to take him back to the bed and keep him there until I was too sated to move. "And you intend to stay here permanently, hmm? We're setting up home together?" "That's the idea. Not that I'll be around much. Only when he lets me out, so I won't be under your feet all the time, lover, and I'll try not to be jealous if there's other guys you want to bring back." I slid my hands down to his waist and held him at arm's length. Mine, whenever I wanted him, the man I'd longed for... no begging, no persuasion, the incubus inside would make my love's body perform any act I suggested without argument. A walking wet dream. An obscene parody of the intimacy I longed for with Mulder. "But I am jealous, Fox. I can't let you carry on screwing whoever you want, and I'm not going to permit you to behave as before. You know that, don't you?" "I'm yours to command, Alex. I know my place." With a taunting smile, he sank to his knees, and bowed his head. I looked down at the curve of his neck, the dark hair thinning to a light down on his back, the spine flexed under his damaged skin, presented to me as if for the executioner's axe. I nearly touched that nape, I nearly accepted him as my slave, pushed my prick down his throat to seal the contract. It would have been easy to let him set the terms, but I couldn't do that. "Get up," I said curtly and turning away, marched into the bathroom and locked the door. I could hear his laughter as I stripped and ducked into the shower. As the water sluiced over me I wondered how I was going to cope with this. When I told Mulder I'd see to Fox I'd expected reluctant co-operation and constant pushing of boundaries on his part, not a whole-hearted commitment to some bizarre form of domestic bliss. I threw a robe on, a deep blue terry cloth that I normally only bother with in winter. It was silly, but I felt shy just to walk in on him naked because effectively I never had before, it had been Mulder. He'd resumed the book, but a tray with tea and sandwiches had appeared by the bed and he was drinking a glass of orange juice as he read. "I can't believe how disorganised the chains of command were on both sides at the beginning of the Russian campaign," he commented. "And that Beria...what paranoia...it's unbelievable how people like that can ever gain positions of power." He put his glass down, and peered at me over his spectacles. "D'you want tea? If I'd known what time you'd be back..." He grinned, "Or, rather, if you were going to be back, I could have cooked you something." " What? " "Tea. You must have heard of it, an infusion of the leaves of ‘Camellia Thea '." He smiled mischievously. "Or do you mean the word ‘cook', which I suspect you've never heard from Mulder's lips. The guy's a slob, babe...and the junk he eats! It's amazing he hasn't got ulcers and permanent flatulence." Let's see now, ‘Sliders', isn't it? Alternate universes? Maybe you're used to walking out of the bathroom and finding the world topsy-turvy, but I sure wasn't. This was nearly as bad as that first time I saw Fox at Bruce's bar. I sat down heavily on the bed, making his juice slop. He frowned at me. "I'm not Mulder, Alex. Don't keep expecting me to act like him. You don't know me, not at all. Mulder won't admit it, but there's more to me than just sex, and if you want the truth I do my damnedest not to perpetuate his bad habits, though I'm not above cultivating a few of my own." He handed me a cup. "C'mon, drink it. It's not poisoned or drugged. Why don' t you snuggle up with me while I read some more of your book, and if you behave yourself I might even let you kiss me goodnight." Dazed, I pushed back the quilt and climbed in beside him. His warm weight settled against my side and our bare legs brushed against each other. I found I was holding my breath, not willing to risk that slight friction between us in case he burst like a bubble. "Have a sandwich," he said, dumping the plate on my lap and tucking into one himself, his eyes never leaving the book. "And watch the crumbs. If you get crumbs in the bed, you'll be the one who has to remake the whole thing, OK?" "I don't think I'm hungry," I mumbled, and as an afterthought, "Thank-you." He sighed and closed the book, placing it on the nightstand with his glasses. "You realise you're ruining my concentration here, don't you Alex. You're so tense I feel that if I were to flick you with my fingers you'd ring like a tuning fork. Am I freaking you out, perchance?" "I'm beginning to wonder if there's a third one of you in there, the ‘William' version maybe?" He smiled. "It's not that bad, my head isn't some ‘timeshare,' babe, with a different occupant every week." He reached round toward me and plucked at the tie of my robe. "Would you rather I went back into ‘sex kitten' mode, hmm? I know Mulder would be happier, but after what you said about my...kinks... in the car last week, I thought my advances would receive a frosty welcome." The tie fell undone, and he carefully pulled the robe open and placed his hand softly on my stomach. "Though that kiss was nice and a replay would be even better." My cock, which had been at half-mast since I emerged from the bathroom, began a determined assault on the restraining bed-clothes. Without the undeniable evidence of his baseness laid in front of me, as it had been at Singer's house, my reason hadn't the force to overcome the wave of arousal that spread from my groin to my fingertips so that every part of me ached to be touched. I could feel his breath on my ear and the pulse in his hand against my stomach. Would he continue? Could I just lay there passively and expect him to pleasure me, or was he waiting for permission. The thought of who I was with, who I hoped would take the lead, take the responsibility from me, battled with the thought of Mulder watching us as if he were standing at the end of the bed. I realised as well that I was frightened of Fox. Maybe I'd believed I was convinced of his existence, but I knew now that I'd regarded him as if he were the result of Mulder being on some drug, or hypnotised. In fact Mulder had been lying by omission, deliberately or no, in implying that Fox was about nothing but sex. I looked at his face, his eyes, his sensuous mouth, so familiar, so alluring, but belonging to a stranger, a man that knew me as well as Mulder, but that I knew hardly at all. What else had Mulder left out? I'd heard at length about Mulder's problems, his history, and I'd had files on him to read covering his personal life and his work. There were no files on Fox, no records—for christssakes, I knew he was going to be a father—but what else might he be that Mulder wouldn't tell me or had assiduously ignored. It was unlikely, but he could be married, or have some sort of work, and there was a good chance that he had friends which an FBI agent would disapprove of and not want to mention to me. He was unknown and dangerous. "There's no need to be on guard, Alex. You know what I want from you, don't you. Or aren't I good enough for you, hmm? Mulder warned you I had no limits, didn't you believe him? You seemed so excited when Mulder first told you about me...all the things you threatened to do. But you're just a fucking wuss aren't you? No balls, Alex, I'm too much aren't I? I go too far for you, where I go is beyond where you imagine the limits could be. "Well, what the hell did you expect? Mulder's a fanatic...he breaks any rule to pursue his aims, doesn't listen to sense. Well that's built in, it's part of the physiology of this body, part of the chemistry, and though my ambitions aren't the same as his and how I express myself is different, the need, the drive is irresistible and identical because it's genetic, not learned. "So c'mon. Enough dithering! Are you going to fuck me or not? You made a promise, you burnt your signature into my body, A for fucking Alex Krycek, and now you're too cowed by your prissy love-affair with Agent Hypocrite to follow it through. Or maybe because getting a hard-on for a guy who knows how he likes to be used is so intimidating you don't know how to proceed, because you know your performance sucks, you sad useless shit." He pulled the covers down and the robe completely back, and scrambled over to kneel between my legs. He was as aroused as I was, his erection stole the air, then seemed to take my bones and leave the flesh unsupported, powerless. He ran his right forefinger up the length of my cock and across the top where it just peeped out from my foreskin. I flinched...he was right, I was intimidated, but nobody had bothered to warn my genitals, because they seemed to think Fox was Santa Claus, and my prick was drooling with enthusiasm, so sensitive that a breeze would have felt like sandpaper, let alone his skin. A translucent droplet detached itself and hugged his finger-tip. He lifted his other hand and stared at it gravely. Fingers curled but for the index, which joined the thumb in an invitation, a tactile promise, he extended it toward me, offering succour like the Virgin's hands, drawing the sinner and the suffering to redemption. I held it in mine and, bringing it to my mouth, ran my tongue over his palm. "I'm under a spotlight, Fox. Mulder's the audience and he'll be the critic. What do you want me to do? Be the crazy hit-man, beat you and treat you as a convenient orifice and endure his recriminations for debasing you? Be tender, make love and effectively two-time him? Whatever choice I make it's impossible not to hurt him. I haven't the luxury of doing it behind his back and lying about it, after all." He sat back on his heels and scowled; I could see his teeth biting on his bottom lip as he considered what to say. He had lost the mocking tone, his voice was quiet and resigned when he spoke. "He's won again, hasn't he? This time I thought I'd got what I wanted and he 's managed to ruin it again." He closed his eyes and gave a big sigh, then smiled slightly at me. "You thought you were saving Mulder from me, didn't you Alex? You think I'm spoiling his life. Well it's time you gave a bit of thought to how it's been for me, how he's treated me all these years. I don't blame you for your reluctance; in fact it deserves a little respect—and God knows neither Mulder or I have any respect for you at all. If there's one thing we're agreed on it's that you're the last person any intelligent man should fall for." I've taken a lot of insults, not least from Mulder, though Cancer Man's the Grand Panjandrum of derision and usually the slightest slur leaves me seething, but I reckon I'd seen enough of Fox's behaviour to be able to throw it right back at him. It wasn't worth getting steamed about. "D'ya want me to try and justify myself, Fox? I'd really like to skip that and let you think the worse. It's not a pretty story, and I think I'd rather stick with being held in contempt than ridicule." "No, I don't want to talk any more at all. I want your body for now, I'll work on your mind when I'm not screaming to get laid. If you don't want to upset him by obliging, then I guess I'll take what I need. How about to get this show on the road, you find my accessories for me and thread them back in." He grinned lewdly. "You put them in your pocket at the Doc's, remember?" "Mmm, OK. Guess it's a fiddly job, specially that one behind your balls?" I said, amused. I fetched the pieces of jewellery from the tiny cloisonné box on the window ledge and dropped them into his hand. "How the hell do you manage it?" "It's called a guiche and I can assure you it takes practice, but it doesn't come out very often." His eyebrow twitched suggestively. "Even Mulder leaves that one in...it's pleasant—unless you're a keen cyclist, I understand." He knelt on the bed and I knelt in front of him. Our cocks brushed against each other, tapping messages as the mattress shifted with our bodies. He handed me an earring. "Take your pick, babe. There's about four holes in each ear." I took his chin and turned his head to the left, then ran my hand down across his neck, pressing my fingers into the hollow formed by his collarbone. His hair was neatly trimmed round his ear, and I pushed my fingertips up against the short brown bristles behind it, feeling the pulse thudding strongly, a liquid muscle under the skin. His earlobe was silky; baby skin, downy like the velvet inside a chestnut's spiky shell. Two tiny holes dimpled it, and further up on the outer curve of his ear there were three more. I stroked his ear with my breath and he shuddered, then arched against me. I chose one of the upper holes and pushed the golden loop through it, chaining his body to the moment. He stretched languorously and presented the other side. "D'you want symmetry, Fox?" I asked, inspecting the ear for perforations. "Your choice, Alex." Only four holes this time, so I decided on the lobe, stretching it and popping the ring through. I leant in and sucked the ring and the pad of flesh into my mouth, gratified when he drew in a long breath, rolling his shoulders in pleasure. My tongue wandered into his ear, brushing delicately at its interior, summoning goosebumps to texture his skin. "Stop," he groaned, "I'm going to come if you carry on doing that." "OK," I said, smirking. "Just let me make a note of this susceptibility of yours in case we should ever go to the movies together. Can I assume it works for Mulder too?" "Oh, yeah, the erogenous zones are a constant," he breathed, writhing against me. "Though our requirements for stimulus vary." I turned his head back and nibbled gently at the first ear. I could feel him humming, almost purring, as each breath became a conscious effort. "Do the next one, Alex," he pleaded, "And give me a break. Let me save the climax for the real thing." He held up a stud and its tiny nut. I knew this was the one that belonged in his tongue. "Be careful with this," he said. "I don't want to have my stomach opened to retrieve it." "Then you'd better do it." "Uh huh...your job, Alex." He extended his tongue as far out as he could, I located the piercing and carefully pushed the shaft through. His tongue curled up around my finger, clinging like the arms of a sea anemone as I held the tiny bead in place and felt beneath for the end to attach the fastener. As I screwed it tight I glanced up. His eyes met mine and I realised I could do this, I could make love to him. The piercings were Fox's badge, his mark of control over this body, he transferred ownership from Mulder by modifying his flesh. In the same way Phoebe had demonstrated her hold on Mulder by dictating he should have a hole through his cock, and now I'd staked my claim by branding him...but that stigma was mutual, not Fox's alone. However by decorating his body with these metal links, inserting them into his body with my own hands, I think in his view I was confirming that today I claimed Fox himself and was prepared to accept his surrender to me. Y'know, truthfully I found it damn erotic. The juxtaposition of the heavy, cold gold and steel, rigid through his warm skin, the soft flesh yielding, stretching to allow the invader within and then desperately clasping round it in a fruitless attempt to reject it again. Unlike a penetration by another creature, by my fingers, my cock, a meeting of equals, this trespass was undeniable, remorseless. My tongue nudged the hard nodule, and followed as his tongue retreated before me, enticing me into the hot cave of his mouth. I followed fearlessly, and forced myself into him, sought it again, pressing our lips together, my body a battleground of desire and disgust, glittering swirls of lust dazzling the leaden forces of reason and memory. He swayed back from me, trailing a wisp of saliva from his parted lips, and offered two more rings. My hands were shaking as I took them from him, and hooked them through his tiny hard nipples. As I screwed them tight he stroked my body, a hand on either side, up and down my ribs, absently cherishing my heated skin, his mind elsewhere, and I wondered if Mulder was there, concentrating on events as Fox was lost in pleasure. I hadn't asked whether they both experienced all the body's sensations, though I'd had the impression that the passive entity was merely a watcher, a voyeur. I leaned forward again and brushed my cheek against the fuzz on his chest, then turned my head to kiss the hollow at the base of his throat, breathing him in, nuzzling the skin tightly stretched over his tendons. He wanted me to take him and control him. I was eager for it...my body was crying for his, but how much more I hoped that Mulder would return. As I caressed the shoulders, pressed my lips to the hard pectorals, ran my hands over the thighs, I hungered for the muscles to tense, for him to throw me down and force himself into me, to desecrate my home by ravishing me on my own bed. "Aren't you humiliated by this, Fox?" I whispered. "I'm ashamed—I feel it' s wrong to want your body and not want you. It's not like fantasising, it seems too personal for that." I felt the words forming in his chest; when he voiced them they were ashes. "I take what he'll allow me, Alex, what he'll leave me. I'm too bitter now to be proud, too weary to be fussy. I want you so much that...I don't want to admit that it matters." I sat back and looked at his downcast face. "What do you mean?" He shook himself, gave a snort of laughter, and smiled crookedly at me. "Nothing, love, nothing. Whinging is Mulder's domain." He twisted round and pulled open the night-stand drawer, extracting a tube of lube that I didn't recall seeing before and dumping it on the top. "Have you made yourself at home in all my storage, Fox?" "Pretty much," he replied, rooting some more. "Ah, here we are." He handed me a small plastic case containing a couple of floppies. "Here. It's my diary. It should help illuminate how I feel about Mulder, if you want to know. Oh, and can I use your PC to keep it up to date? That antediluvian machine I was using belonged to the Gunmen." "Sure," I replied, looking in surprise at the disks. "There's not that much, the second disk's only just started. I have so little life of my own that I wanted to store...cherish...what there is." He plucked the case from my fingers and put it beside the lube. "Not now, babe. You've got a duty to perform first, remember." He gave me another ring, and cocked an eyebrow at me. "How do you want me? Legs up or ass up?" I shrugged. "It's probably easier if your balls aren't in the way, hmm?" He grinned and turned onto his hands and knees, lowering his shoulders to the bed. I ran my thumb down his crack feeling his tiny ass-hole dilating as I passed it as if to suck me in. My cock was twitching in hope of accepting the invitation, and as I rested against him and ground it between his buttocks, his ribs rose as he drew a deep breath and then exhaled in an imploring groan. The little marks I was searching for were just where his scrotum joined his body; I insinuated the end of the ring and carefully pushed it through and fastened it. His back was criss-crossed with narrow bruises and nearly healed cuts, but the burn I'd made was still concealed beneath a neat dressing. I smoothed the length of his back, draping myself over his body and then pulling back to squeeze the rounded mounds of his ass-cheeks in my hands. "How's the brand, Fox? And how's Mulder coping with it? I worried after I'd done it that he'd get one of his crazy turns and mutilate himself." "D'you regret it then, Alex?" I circled the bandage lightly with my finger. "No...not unless Mulder pulls some stupid stunt because of it." I hadn't really given much consideration to what it had meant to me, y'know. I'd only wondered how they would feel about it. "I think I'm proud of it, in a twisted way. I feel like I've signed a contract with you and Mulder, that it's going to change what I do, and give me different motives for my actions. I've committed myself to you." "Somehow that sounds a little hollow, Krycek," he said sardonically. "I know that you've given pledges to others before and broken them." "That sounded like Mulder's voice." "I may be irresponsible, but I'm not naïve, babe. Mulder may be credulous enough for you to convince him of your sincerity, but I don't want to be disappointed when you break your promises. I love you, you know...I'm crazy about you, that's something else that must be coded in our DNA, eh? But no matter how much I wanted it to be true, I couldn't let myself believe it if you said you loved me." He wriggled back against me, and knelt up with his back against my chest, leaned round and kissed me. "You can take me as I'm prepared to take you...warts and all. I'll probably piss you off by my stupid stunts, and I'll try and push all your evil buttons, ‘cos I like you wild, lover—violent. And, as I said before, your history with Mulder is between the two of you. I'm hoping we'll escape the recriminations ourselves, if we both expect the worst from the start, OK?" He reached for the lube and handed it to me, then prostrated himself on the bed once more. "Can we get back to the action now before my anus heals up from lack of use, hmm?" he said lightly. I smeared some on my fingers and rubbed tiny circles against the puckered little entrance, watching the iris relax and squeeze like the vent of a sea-creature propelling itself through the water. Fox had no inhibitions about his needs, my forefinger slipped inside him without resistance, and by the time another had joined it he was begging for my dick, begging me to fuck him. Hell, I was hard, ready to go, I knew what I wanted to do, but faced with the reality, knowing Mulder was present...damn, I'd told him myself not to hide from Fox's encounters...I hesitated, and y'know, I reckon it was stage-fright. I've dealt it out and taken it before with others present, but then there was no feeling that anyone's attention was particularly focused on me. Well, it sure felt like it this time. I told myself that he couldn't see me. Fox was facing away, and I supposed Mulder didn't have access to the sensation of me touching him, so I closed my eyes, and found that elastic little hole, pressed the tip of my cock against it and slowly, reverently, felt him accept me as his lover. For a moment that seemed like forever we were both still, holding our breath, and I opened my eyes almost expecting that I'd been dreaming, that a different man would be in my bed. I looked down at my groin, looked at the place where my cock disappeared inside him, ran my fingers over the tight skin of his asshole stretched around me. A simple action, just a thrust, a push, yet how it changed our liaison. Then I noticed that Fox's eyes were intent on the wall to our left, and realised that he was studying our reflections in the mirror. I don't think I 've ever seen such a satisfied smile as the one he gave me when his eyes caught mine. "I didn't want him to feel excluded," he purred, stretching his back and driving himself firmly against me. "Such a convenient mirror." "Shit, close your eyes, Fox. I can't do this if he's watching." "He watched before, Alex," he sneered. "He watched you prostitute me...he watched you come in your pants at the Pit when Siggy blew me, and don't think for one minute that he tried to stop me, because he didn't. He's got it all rationalised, all tucked away neatly in that filing cabinet he calls a brain." He pushed himself back on me and pulled my arms round his body to support him, guiding one down his belly until I had a handful of thick cock. "Don't fret about it, babe. This is a public service you're performing, remember." "Too damn public, by half." I muttered. He laughed, and said, "We've got one more ornament to go, so let's pop it in and then you can screw me with that lovely hot dick that feels as hard as a baseball bat stuck up my ass, OK?" I sucked on the muscle where his shoulder met his neck, mouthing the slight taste of salt from his skin, and wallowed in the feel of his gut gripping me, in the slide of his skin over his hard shaft as I rolled it in my fingers. He pressed a piece of smooth metal into my hand, and helped me guide the end into the hole in his cock-head. I summoned up the courage to glance at us in the mirror; his head was bowed, hair flopped forward, concentrating on our task. "That's not the one you had in there." I observed. Instead of the little barbell, I could see, and feel, a hoop. He sniggered...his expression was distinctly mischievous. "I bought us a new one. Mulder was in his rather peculiar way, implying that this thing between you and I was a marriage, so I thought I'd buy us a ring. Not going to refuse me now, are you Ratboy?" "I thought that was between he and I?" "OK, so you're a bigamist. You'll just have to learn to live with it. Press hard..." He removed his hand and stiffened against me. Awkwardly I pushed the two halves of the ring together firmly, and it shut with a loud click. He exhaled, sighing my name, and I closed my palm around it, wondering what Mulder would think of this...banter...playfulness. This wasn't how he supposed it would go, I thought, definitely not what I'd expected. I began to rock gently, teasing my cock, just the slightest friction, just enough to make him sway with me, and somehow I couldn't see the Fox I'd encountered before, I couldn't summon the disgust. He'd created a gentle intimacy, as if this were his home. Could he need that...a place he belonged? I looked in the mirror again. Was it important to remember which one I was with, making love to? Mulder's face, Fox's face...it was the face I wanted to see, it was the man I wanted to be with. If I loved Mulder, I was going to have to love Fox, and if there was really little more to him than the shallow slut I'd encountered, well, I'd just have to search for an aspect of him I could care for. As I let the movement build, I let his face be the substance of my pleasure. His closed eyes, his parted lips, the tip of his tongue stroking his mouth; I watched it for clues, watched the reflection. I stole the twist of his jaw and made it a caress... I took the rosy lip nipped by sharp teeth and transmuted it into his hand, stroking me, cupping my balls, pressing firm fingers against the flesh behind. Under my palms his legs were heat and strain, the silky skin inside his thighs smooth as a tumbled pebble at the edge of the ocean, sun-warm and sheened with spray. His breath surged through his body, in and out, each inhalation breaking as a wave of bliss rippled through it. I rode him, rode as a swimmer throwing himself into the surf, tumbled with the sand and weed, somersaulted over and over, lost to gravity and air, to the sky and the ground, the world a green roar sparkled with twinkling bubbles, until I was cast, gasping and spent, on the shore. Chapter 21 In which Mulder is annoyed Did I say he went to sleep then? Well he did, sprawled on the bedclothes, his semen sticky and drying under his body, mine on his thighs. Suddenly he was sleeping as easily as a child, and I stroked his warm back, his buttocks, his legs, before pulling up the comforter to cover him. I knew he belonged nowhere but here. Here with me—I would care for him, and I wondered why I cared. What had Fox done to deserve this tenderness? Immediately I knew. He was brave.in a way Mulder was not, would never be. He was honest and open.manipulative, yes—but he didn't deny that to himself, pretend his problems were beyond his control, or blame others for his misfortune. He'd asked me to think how it had been for him. Suppose I allowed him equal status with Mulder, what had he received? A fraction of the life, no place of his own, no self-respect. He was totally dependent on Mulder, financially. Mulder had a stranglehold on him, and yet Mulder portrayed himself as the victim. I picked up the case with the floppies and sat at my PC. For each one I made two copies... encrypted, then decided to mail the files to myself at one of my other addresses. I deleted all evidence from the logs on my computer. Finally, I replaced the case on the nightstand and snuggled in beside him. It was strange, almost a blessed moment. Remember when you were a child, and you had a nightmare? You crept through the house, the moon shadows dark on the silvered floor, the branches tapping at the windows, and came to the door of your parents' room. It was ajar, but evil creatures lurked under the bed. In the closet.the closet door open a tiny fraction so he could watch you, skulked the boogie-man, ready to tear the flesh from your back as you scampered away in fright. But you ran, tiptoeing across the floor. They haven't noticed.they haven't noticed.and scrambled onto the bed, over your mother's soft enveloping form, and burrowed between them, safer than you've ever been, safe until the morning. Well, I woke up alone, what did you expect? I sure didn't expect anything else. Mulder had arrived, sometime in the night, and had skedaddled. I glanced at the nightstand... and had taken the discs with him. That was also expected, wasn't it? And my morning boner required attention... first a visit to the john, then back to bed for a long, slow, lazy fuck, the sort only your own hand knows how to do properly, if technique is all that's required. I had just got to the bit where my fantasy, which had been chugging along quite well, started to repeat itself—because, frankly, my brain wasn't up to processing new data since it was teetering on the edge of overload—when there was a quiet thump from the living room. Hum, what could it be? Not the cat, 'cos I don't have one...Only one possibility, an intruder, then. I peeled myself from the bed, hefted my gun, and slunk to the door. In my experience if you want intimidation, nothing beats a naked guy with a gun and a hard-on. There wasn't much choice about the hard-on. It wasn't going anyplace, anytime soon. If anything, the potential danger had made it more obdurate. Well, what d'ya know... ? Fox, or probably Mulder, sat on my couch, back with the book and a pot of coffee, with a cup conveniently beside him. "'Morning," I said. Pleasant day, isn't it?" Whoever it was jumped and turned round, gazing first at my groin, then at my face, then... trying to be unobtrusive, back at my groin. I strolled closer, my swollen member under his nose. "Guess I won't be needing this then," I said, placing my gun on the table. "Shit, Krycek, put some clothes on," he spluttered, as I fetched myself a cup and poured some coffee. "I thought you'd be gone." I headed back to the bedroom and sat up against the bed-head. I was sorta hoping he'd follow. Yeah, I know a week ago I'd had all these noble thoughts and good resolutions, but, well, I suppose they had worn off. I guess I've got out of the habit of consistency. "What are you still doing here?" I called. "I assume it's Mulder I'm talking to?" He appeared in the doorway and leant against the frame, pursing his lips as he studied me. He was wearing jeans and a grey T-shirt, no sign of the ear-rings. I gave a little smile. "Must be Mulder. Fox wouldn't pass over this." I fisted my dick and pumped it slowly, looking him in the eyes. Yeah, good resolutions—faced with Mulder looking, well, Mulderish, I just go on automatic. Anyway, I couldn't see the need for dissimulation now. He walked over to the chair, picked up my robe and threw it at me. "If it weren't for Fox's little trick I would have been gone, I assure you." I made no effort to put on the robe. I was wondering if he was about to mention the diary and how he'd justify helping himself to it. "What time does your mail arrive?" I cocked an eyebrow. "Why?" "Fox's romantic gesture last night. The ring—didn't you think to look at the fucking thing before you did it up? It locks. Fox posted the key to you." I sniggered. "It was a compromise," he continued flatly. "Agree or get stuck with one that would have to be sawn off." "You could saw this one off," I said, trying not to laugh. "Uh-huh. Then he'd go and buy another one, and his behaviour in the shop was. outrageous. I'll use the key, thank you, and leave the whole thing with you." Well don't you think that was a bit hard on Fox? I did, so I decided to tease. I got up and stood in front of him, stroking the side of his face with my hand. He backed a little, but then allowed it, nervously biting and licking his lips. "Look, I'm not even supposed to see you for a month—you told me yourself." "Kiss me, Mulder." "You said to keep away," he said, backing off a step. I stepped forward; those lush gleaming lips swam in my vision, his smooth jaw. the muscle ticking at the joint, I had to kiss it, kiss him. My dick, still bone-hard, brushed his hand. I ran the back of my forefinger down his fly. Something in there was hot and swollen, something there denied his reluctance. Hell, I shouldn't have done it, but when you've got that itch, the 'to-do' list sorta reshuffles itself. "Can I see it, Mulder?" I asked, looking down at the bulge and then sliding my eyes back up to his face. God, the whole idea was making me so hot... I hadn't realised I'd get off on pierced dicks until I saw Mulder nailed to that bench, and now he'd got a fucking ring through it and needed me to let him loose. My hands were trembling as I pressed my fingertips lightly against the cloth, tracing the mound of his hard flesh and a hint of the metal that passed through it. "Let me see how it looks." All I could summon was an urgent breathless whisper. "I may not want to unlock it—it was between me and Fox, and he sent the key to me. It's his dick too, Mulder, it's up to me whether it comes out." "And how the fuck am I supposed to go back to work with this damn great lump of metal in my pants, huh? Yeah, walk through the metal detector—'Can you remove your keys please sir? Oh, maybe it's your belt buckle?'" His face twisted, sneering. "And then I get to accompany the security guard to a back room so I can wave my cock ornament at him. Just dandy... Mulder's a fag and a fetishist. Just how much worse do you want to make it?" I rubbed my hands gently over the front of his jeans. He was drawing his breath in tiny gasps, but didn't back away again. "C'mon; I didn't get a good look last night." I eased his zip down in a series of tiny jerks, tooth by tooth, thumbing the button open, his fascinated stillness giving me tacit permission. The cotton briefs were stretched tightly over the warm shaft. I could see a hint of dark blood and shiny gleaming steel through the strained weft of the fabric, taut as pain, as a rope with its dead burden. I tugged the opening wide and pulled the white cloth down, easing his penis out carefully. It was shadowy with pulsing veins, the smooth head swollen and purple and the ring was held tightly, proudly, in the hardened flesh. "Christ," I moaned, running the tip of my finger round the place where it delved into his glans. "That looks—God—I can't find the words... indecent, maybe... contradictory." I collapsed onto my knees, and gripping his hips, tentatively felt it with my fingers. The metal was hot, like a coin that's been clutched in a child's hand. It clicked against my teeth as I ran my tongue over the top of his penis and insinuated it under the ring. His smell flooded my head and my blood surged hot and keen through my veins, too great a quantity for my body to hold, forcing itself into my cock until I thought it would burst. His thumb smoothed across the top of my ear and then I felt his hand slip round to the base of my skull. The other snaked down to his cock, holding it firmly as he pulled my head against his body. The length of his shaft slipped across my tongue but there was no way I would be able to get it down my throat with the ring in place. I braced myself on his hip and put my right hand over his, pushing it aside so that I could grip him as I pulled back to lick and suck at his cock-head. As if the words were levered from his throat he spoke, clutching my head as if it was an anchor that prevented him drifting off onto a sea of uncertainty. "I had to see you, Ratboy, I had to talk to you. Now I've been ripped open in front of you, I couldn't stop myself, but I couldn't make the first move either and I sure couldn't make it through a month. So I just let it go in the end—crawled away from the world and let him have me." His fingers dug into my scalp as I released his cock and worked my tongue down to his balls, lapping at them as I pulled and squeezed on his dick. He groaned, "So many years I've imagined this, Alex. From the first time we met, dreaming of you in that dreadful suit crouched before me in the elevator, or dragging you into an empty office and having your ass on a desk littered with someone else's work. And later when I found out what a piece of shit you were, it changed to beating you and raping you, or holding a gun to your head and forcing you to do just what you're doing now." His hips were thrusting and twisting, and the air entered his lungs in tiny spastic gasps, but he didn't stop. "I told myself the thoughts came from Fox, they were his ideas, his twisted desires, but when he's been with you the jealousy... and... Oh God... it's so good... yesterday... uh... " His laboured speech faded into grunts as I squeezed and jerked his cock, sucking him in as far as I could, my own penis heavy and wailing for a touch, a stroke, a nucleus around which the bubble of release could form and swell. Hands round my head squeezed until my skull creaked and my mouth filled with him—at last, with Mulder, and I grasped my dick and pulled maybe once or twice, then felt the flood stream from me, leaving me limp and shaking. I rested my head on his thigh and he stroked my hair absently. His voice—low now, even and gentle, continued his confession and the feel of his thick spunk in my mouth was like a sacrament which I savoured as his words fell on me, on my bent body, the image of Fox's as he'd offered himself to me the previous night. "Yesterday was unendurable. He can be seductive, Alex. He'll bend himself to be what you want him to be... don't let him deceive you. I should have been there with you instead, and now I've admitted it to myself, I know how I hate to see you with him." I stared at the floor for a moment, lucid again now my lust had been assuaged. I found myself wondering how he'd justify stealing the discs, and whether I wanted to hear words from his lips that the diary might repudiate, and who in the end, I'd believe. I got up and went into the bathroom for a shower, saying lightly, "The mail doesn't come for at least an hour. I'll trade you the key for the diary." He would expect me to miss the discs; if I didn't make an effort to retrieve them it would be suspicious. He followed me into the bathroom and stood watching me shave, his eyes flickering nervously around the room. Various things had appeared that I didn't recognise—a towel—a toothbrush. I opened the cabinet above the sink to find yet more alien objects, and turned to him, remarking, "Fox hasn't been shy about making himself at home." "The Gunmen's place isn't safe any more," he said quietly. "Scully showing signs of being nosy, I gather. You feel the same about me and the diary, don't you?" He wouldn't meet my eyes. "If you didn't want me to read it, why didn't you destroy it—or have you?" He shook his head. "I daren't destroy it just as he hasn't dared show anyone before. One of our trade-offs." "Why does he bother? Isn't his memory as good as yours?" "He says it's in case I displace him... his legacy, and tells me I ought to do the same." I smiled. "Sounds reasonable, Mulder. So now he's shown me. What are you going to do?" I stepped into the shower and turned on the spray, then slowly washed myself, noticing with amusement how he watched me but pretended he wasn't. "I suppose," he said, uncertainly, "I'm going to ask you to forget it." "Has it occurred to you he'll give me another copy if you take that one away?" "He won't bother if you say that you won't read it." I began to dry myself. "But I do want to read it," I said emphatically. "Y'know, I was thinking earlier I know a hell of a lot about you, Mulder, and virtually nothing about him. A man like me can't afford ignorance. If there's information there for the taking, I take it." I pulled on a clean pair of briefs and turned to confront him. "Are you going to give them back or do I have to force you?" I pursed my lips and looked at him expectantly. He knew the more he protested the fishier it would seem; it would just encourage me. I could almost see the options scrolling across his face. Give in, and use emotional blackmail to stop me reading the diary; storm off in a huff; destroy the discs and call Fox's bluff... "They're just lies," he muttered. "Lies and twisted truth, half a story. I'll tell you anything you want to know, Alex. Please don't read this... fabrication." "I'd like to see for myself, Mulder. Give them to me." "Don't you believe me?" He looked at me speculatively. Now that's a loaded question, isn't it? Impossible to answer, but one also needs to know why it was asked at all. The perfect answer is, of course, "Should I?" and throw the ball back in their court. I opted for a bald "No." As I got out some fresh clothes he started to rant at me, his tirade becoming louder and faster as he questioned my right to call him a liar, my sincerity in saying I loved him... and all the old familiar accusations and insults as well. I hoped he'd realise how guilty his words made him sound and stop, but he didn't and in the end I couldn't bear it any longer. I looked at him in disgust and said contemptuously, "Cut out the bull-shit, Mulder. Your whole life has been one big fucking lie. You've been deceiving everyone you know, everyone you say you care about. What incentive is there to accept what you say is true? If you want me to help you, you've got to trust me and believe that I'll know truth from lies in the diary because I know you." "Why don't you admit it's prurient curiosity on your part, if we're looking for truth here?" he spat. "You know it'll be one long catalogue of perversion and sex, and you simply want to get your rocks off." I went right up close to him and said, silkily, "I've just about had it with your insults, Agent Mulder. One minute you're protesting you love me and begging for my help, and the next you're acting as if I'm a patch of vomit you've put your nice shiny shoe in." I grabbed the front of his T-shirt and yanked him up close. "Make your mind up. You should have damn well stayed away from me until you'd decided; I can do without this crap. I said I'll take you on any terms, but I'm going to give back what I get from now on. I'm not going to do you any favours if I keep making allowances, being soft on you." I suppose my attitude to him had hardened somewhat. Mulder has as many ordinary faults as the average guy, love hadn't blinded me to that; now I suppose I was coming to terms with his underlying, more serious ones, the major, overwhelming problem being his self-delusion. At least, that's what I was thinking for a couple of seconds until that fucking knife of his appeared in his hand and he tried to stick me with it. I jumped back, not quite fast enough to avoid a shallow cut down the side of my rib-cage. There was a blank look in his eyes that brooked no messing about. I twisted, kicked him hard in the chest and pinned him down, plucking the knife from his hand and sending it clattering across the room. As he snarled and struggled wildly under me I couldn't think what to do. Words came—over and over I told him that I loved him, I was on his side, I wouldn't betray him, never again, and tears for his plight dropped, one, two, on his face as my blood seeped into his clothes. Eventually he calmed. The soul returned to those hazel eyes and he saw me again. "Read it, Ratboy," he sighed. "I'll take the consequences. It all needs to come out, doesn't it?" "I think it does, Mulder. Are you OK, now?" He closed his eyes and nodded his assent. He pulled the case from his back pocket and handed it to me. As I opened it, revealing the broken discs, a fleeting smile touched his lips and I realised he'd probably staged the whole thing to cover his tracks after destroying them. A chill anger gripped me. What the hell did he hope to gain? Could it be he thought he'd be able to argue Fox out of letting me read it, given a few days to work on him? I struggled to sound sincere as I said, "Looks like you've got a reprieve, Mulder." I turned from him. I was sick with disappointment at his duplicity, at his lack of trust in me, and mortified at myself for my belief in him. Well, shit—what goes around, comes around. Although I could barely bite back my remonstrations, I was already searching for excuses for his inconsistent behaviour. Shelve it, I thought, no doubt the diary will be illuminating. I threw the case on the bed. "Do I have to wait until Fox appears again to read this or are you going to supply me with another copy?" I risked a glance at him, wondering if he'd have really stabbed me if I hadn't jumped back. How much was that violent streak entwined, controlled, an undertow in the psyche of the self-centred, apparently upright Agent Mulder? "I think I'll rely on the Fifth Amendment here, Krycek," he replied tonelessly. "I don't feel inclined to incriminate myself. Guess you'll have to wait on Fox." "Yeah, guess so," I said, flatly. "Don't let him take too long—I can't imagine any more interesting bed-time reading." I twisted round to look at the cut he'd given me. "You'd better change that T-shirt, you're all bloody, and I'll clean myself up too." I made for the bathroom and he trailed behind me, saying, "I'll give you a hand with that." "Sort yourself out, Mulder. Your key should be downstairs by now. It's only a scratch." I needed to get rid of him or I'd give myself away by voicing my suspicions. I wanted to read that diary and find out what I was dealing with. I taped a makeshift dressing over the cut and quickly pulled on some clothes, then fetched my mail from the lobby. His letter was there. My first sight of Fox's handwriting... It would be intriguing to see a handwriting expert compare it with Mulder's; not that I've ever placed much credence in that sort of hokum. I tossed him his letter and busied myself clearing the mugs and dishes from the previous night into the sink. If I didn't lose him soon there was going to be a confrontation for sure, and my impatience grew as I willed him to leave so I could tackle the diary. I wondered if he'd thought about me copying it. Mulder doesn't usually miss a trick—maybe he'd screwed up my computer too, or somehow traced last night's activity. Well, I could access the mailed version from anywhere, so one way or another I'd get to read his secrets. Jesus, half an hour ago, before the fight, I'd have been all over him to pull that ring out with my own hands, but now I didn't trust myself to touch him without trying to shake the truth out of him. I slowly sorted the mail out on the kitchen counter. It's just a temporary address, an assumed name, so I don't get anything important except bills. He came up behind me and added the envelope he'd sent himself. It landed with a heavy 'clunk' on the worktop. "Look after it, Krycek. He's probably got some sick game in mind for it next time he sees you. I'll go now, I expect Scully's in a frazzle because I'm not picking up the phone." "What have you said about me?" "Nothing." I turned to him, my face questioning. "Nothing," he repeated. "And she's happy with that?" "You know she isn't. You've talked to her. You're not bolstering her confidence in me, Ratboy." He sucked in his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I assumed... I knew that you were worried about me... about him, but you can ease up now, now that you've taken Fox to your bosom. He's got a new toy to distract himself with for a while." I couldn't stop myself... he was so close... so I stroked his neck with my hands and ran my thumbs along the line of his jaw. "Surely you can't be under the illusion that I'm worried about Fox's behaviour at this point, Agent Mulder? He's not in the habit of pulling a knife on me, now is he? Or cutting himself? It seems to me that you're the unstable half of the partnership, 'babe'," I said, ironically. "How's it going to be back at the Bureau? You're going to think everyone's laughing at you—whispering about you. Are you going to keep your cool? Let it all wash away? You're the one that needs a keeper, Mulder. Much as I don't want to be deprived of your company, or your luscious body," I let my eyes, then my hands, trail down his chest, "I really ought to encourage you to tell the watchful Scully everything for your own safety." "She'd have me locked up," he said, sourly. I teased his nipples to hardness under his T-shirt, thinking how he'd stopped noticing my intimacy, stopped avoiding my touch. "And she'd be right to, lover, because you're insane. And I'm displaying my total lack of social responsibility by letting you run free. Correct?" For a moment he stiffened, a wild pulse throbbing over a taut tendon in his neck, and I thought he'd punch me. But the rage was gone in an instant, to be replaced by a tight grin and a lifted eyebrow. "Everyone knows I'm nuts, Krycek. It's lucky that the one person who knows just how bad it is, is the one nobody will believe," he mocked. "Want to demonstrate even more irresponsibility by handing your crazy lover back his gun, eh? Then I can silence the gossip by shooting the first person that even hints at my sexuality through the fucking skull. Or would you like to accompany me and do the honours yourself?" I looked at him speculatively, eliciting another twitch of his brow. I shrugged... well, what could I do? Either I shopped him or conspired with him; there was no middle ground. I fetched his gun from its hiding place, handed it to him and watched him check it for bullets. "It's as you gave it to me, Mulder. Want to try it out, just in case?" "Do you want an excuse to upgrade to a newer model TV, Alex?" He swivelled round and sighted on the screen across the room, cocking the gun, then gently releasing it, and turning back to me. "Or are you hinting you'd like another game of Russian roulette?" "Why are you trying to provoke me, Mulder?" I said softly, sadly. I couldn't believe he'd taunt me about that. I couldn't keep up with his moods, the wild swings in his attitude towards me. He chewed his lip and searched my face as if he could find an appropriate answer written there. I hoped he'd see nothing but concern, rather than the suspicions that were plucking at the love knotted round my heart. He cleared his throat. "I'm frightened. I think I'm looking for a diversion." He shook his head as if to clear it. "I don't know. I can't think clearly about anything... I can't concentrate. Everything in my mind's a complete turmoil. I've tried to imagine how it's going to be, now, and I've been cooped up in the apartment with my thoughts going round and round and round. It'll be a relief to go back to work and move on, move out of this Limbo. But it won't solve the problem of you and I, will it? If it weren't for that, being outed would probably... certainly... be a good thing for me." You and I and Fox, I thought cynically. And I bet you're not going to mention him to anyone unless you have to. You're not just worried about us, you're scared shitless about what I know, what I might find out, and who I might tell. "Go on home, Mulder. Let's stick to the original plan, at least for a little, shall we? Get through the return to the Bureau, get that bit of your life smoothed out and put you and me aside for a while, OK?" "How? Fox'll be here... so I'll be here." "Damned if I know. You'll have a couple of weeks free of him now, won't you?" "Maybe," he muttered. "But the old rules have changed, I reckon. I'm not sure that I can set the terms any more" He walked through into the living room and picked up a coat. "D'ya need a ride home?" "My car's parked down the road. Guess I'll be seeing you soon, one way or another." He hesitated, then came up to me and kissed me softly on the lips, then gripped me firmly and deepened his kiss, probing with his tongue until I was breathless and yielding in his arms. He pulled back and smiled smugly at my expression. I guess my arousal must have been obvious from my eyes if my pupils were as dilated as his at that moment. He knew he had me on a string, he knew I was an utter fool for him, and as I closed the door behind him I wondered if he also knew that the diary would be his downfall. Chapter 22 In which I get to know Fox I'd expected to rush straight off and read Fox's diary as soon as Mulder left, but once alone, I found myself prevaricating. Not for any ethical reason... I certainly didn't hesitate out of loyalty to Mulder. Funk, that's what it was; I was terrified that the infatuation—Christ—the adoration that I'd wallowed in for years, that had cherished me, excited me with its extremes of hope and despair, was going to be ripped away leaving a vast emptiness. I had let my emotions revolve around him for so long. No matter that my love was unrecognised and unrequited; its very existence gave my life a purpose. I didn't want find that he'd been unworthy and have to relinquish that love. I hid behind the drapes to watch him walk off down the street. When he glanced back at the window I pointlessly lifted my hand in an unseen wave and wondered if I was bidding farewell to a love-affair that had barely begun. I wandered back into the bedroom and opened closets and drawers, riffling through Fox's unfamiliar clothes and mementoes. There was a small stack of CDs and, back in the living room, half a shelf of books, some with inscriptions. Shit, even a small collection of cosmetics in my bathroom cabinet. I pulled out a stick of black lipstick and stared at it for a couple of minutes, wondering how the teenage Mulder could have possibly found his emotions to be so intolerable that he'd managed to amputate part of his personality. I brought the greasy stick to my mouth and carefully applied it, The face in the mirror was strange to me—just that little camouflage and somehow Alex was gone. Licking the unfamiliar slickness from my lips, I turned away uneasily. Would the floodgates restraining my conscience one day open wide and force me to deny myself, all that I had been? At last I couldn't put it off any longer. I fetched the vodka and a glass and took a preliminary slug before unenthusiastically booting up my PC. It was a fucking early hour to be drinking, but for once I really needed it. I brought up the file and started to read. I'm not going to reproduce the thing word for word. A lot of it was dull from my point of view, and irrelevant to this account. 'This is a record of my actions and history,' it began, 'because yesterday my body disassociated itself from my will and ceased to obey me. It is possible that this will be the only entry in this journal. Maybe tomorrow I will lose control and never regain it. 'There is a chance that the episode was caused by use of hallucinogenic drugs sometime in the past. There have been instances of such substances being stored in body fat and released by unusual amounts of exercise or emotional upheaval. In this instance, the condition will be temporary. However if I am becoming deranged, it is inevitable that the disease will be progressive and will require intervention, possibly medication which will suppress my personality. My parents must not know. They already regard my stability as fragile and could well have me committed. I will not give up my freedom. I will bide my time and see what transpires. I fear for my sanity.' So it was clear from the start that the tale was not how Mulder had told it. The diary started at Oxford—Fox had transcribed it to disc at some point, and it had been Mulder's, not his, at the beginning. There was a short pr,cis at the start, more or less what Mulder had told me of his feelings and love-life before Fox had existed, and this explanation of why he'd decided to keep the record. At first there was no distinction between 'Fox' and 'Mulder', the narration was all in the first person... 'I did this... I went there... '. Only gradually was an alter ego credited with the actions that Mulder did not want to admit were his own. He didn't call the other 'Fox' either, the person who gorged himself on anonymous sex, who attended wild parties, who fucked indiscriminately, used various common names—ones that wouldn't be associated with the studious American, Fox Mulder. At first Mulder was petrified that the episodes would lengthen or he'd lose his body completely. But on each occasion the other withdrew after a few hours and let him back in. After a while, Mulder relaxed and stopped being terrified that the wanton side of him would take over, or that he'd be found out. He wasn't a dedicated diarist either, despite his concern, he gave up the record and the tone of the diary changed. The writer presented the information from what I'd now call Fox's point of view, with only an occasional comment from Mulder. There began to be debate as well; all sorts of events considered and argued from both sides of Mulder's consciousness— topical news items, friends' relationships, even Mulder's past and his future career aspirations. The arrangement settled into an amicable rhythm. Mulder studied, and had a fairly lively social life (without amorous entanglements), his 'other' flitted around the fringes of Oxford's gay society, with occasional forays to London and other towns such as Brighton that have a large gay population, partying hard and enjoying a series of one-night stands. It seemed to suit them both, and Mulder's misgivings about the turn his life had taken slowly fell silent. It wasn't until his return to the States that Fox appeared. It was almost as if Fox Mulder had got on the plane as one person, and climbed off it as two, because from then on, the diarist became 'Fox', and Mulder didn't make any further contribution. I suppose because his accent didn't mark him, he didn't need to hide behind a common name anymore. In England a combination of the two would have given him away, sooner or later. So Fox stepped forth fully-fledged from that plane onto his native soil and proceeded to party on, while Mulder started on the road to the FBI. However it soon became evident that Fox was getting bored and dissatisfied. The flighty life he'd enjoyed in Britain palled once he got home, and he was growing up and maturing as well. Friendships became deeper, lasted longer, and he started to write about disagreements with Mulder over them and about how intimate the relationships he was making were becoming. Mulder was terrified about being exposed. Real friendship, even a short-term lover, could easily lead to a slip despite the rigid separation they imposed between their two existences. Fox had always to lie about his background, invent excuses for not showing people his home, reasons for his long absences. A few friendships developed to the point where it was inevitable that the secret would have to come out, and each time Mulder pulled the situation back from the brink or managed to delay so long that the problem receded. Eventually, a crisis occurred. It was towards the end of Mulder's training period that Fox fell in love. At first, Mulder conceded that the man was indeed kind, intelligent, fun, and Fox had a happy few weeks, but it wasn't long before the arguments with Mulder started. This provoked Fox into questioning his place in the world, his whole reason for existing. He started to rebel against the conditions imposed on him. It sounds odd recounting this, because I'm talking about someone fighting with himself. However if I hadn't known differently it would have been almost impossible to deduce from the diary that the Mulder referred to was not an entirely separate individual. Fox was convinced that he could trust Jan and was spending as much time with him as he could, even managing to escape from Mulder's control more and more frequently. He wanted to tell Jan his secret because he felt he'd be sympathetic and supportive. Mulder turned from pleading and argument to threats. Fox tried to make a deal, to compromise. He suggested that he cool it with Jan and that 'Fox Mulder' should visit a psychiatrist and seek a cure for what he had become. He was willing to sacrifice himself, be subsumed into the other if Mulder would be open and admit who he was, if only to a professional, and try to get to know Jan as a friend. This was the last straw. Mulder made it clear that he was perfectly happy with the situation. He was the official identity, Fox was no more than a convenience and should know his place and be thankful. So Fox issued an ultimatum—seek help or he'd tell his lover all at the next opportunity. The opportunity never came. Mulder used his resources as a fledgling FBI agent to pull Fox back to heel. He framed Jan for some minor crime, expecting, I think, no more than probation or a fine. Instead Jan was sent to jail for a few months and Fox never saw him again. He was distraught. He railed against Mulder, threatened to expose him, even to kill himself. If he couldn't have a life of his own, what was the point of going on? But he was too young and optimistic for that to be a real threat, and too intelligent and caring to lay their life bare to the world, to ruin Mulder's career and shatter his family ties. He was well aware that Mulder's was the legitimate identity. He himself had no real validity... if he brought Mulder down, or even in the worst instance got him committed to an asylum, there was no future for either of them. So he bided his time and hoped, becoming more circumspect about his feelings. It wasn't as if Mulder didn't occasionally admit that he liked some of Fox's boyfriends, even, rarely, concede one was attractive. Mulder formed liaisons with women too, and Fox did his best to co-operate; he longed for a relationship—anything would do. They shared many interests and beliefs as well. These were no cause for divisiveness, though he didn't pursue them with Mulder's obsession. The search for the truth, and for Samantha was important to Fox too, but not to the extent of excluding love. He was lonely. He didn't have Scully, he was allowed no real friends and he was so forlorn that if Mulder would only consider a woman he unselfishly tried to cultivate her. The account had begun to frighten me. Though I knew the outcome, that they had survived, I became apprehensive for Fox. He wasn't in the hands of a sadist, it was simply that Mulder was incapable of understanding his need for love. He'd split his tender feelings off with his sexuality and used fanatical commitment to his cause as a surrogate for a personal life. Like an innocent trusting puppy in ignorant hands, Fox's character was inexorably demoralised, brutalised, shaped into the image of Mulder's guilt. Time after time Fox would find excuses and rationalisations for Mulder's cruelty. He tried to forgive the tricks and lies Mulder used to split him up from any man for whom he formed an attachment. Mulder saw Fox only as a means for release and buried the knowledge that there was more to sex than fucking. He used the other as he used his porn collection, as if he was an actor paid to go through the motions of sex until Mulder was sated, or a kinky toy that he'd tire of and thrust in a drawer, to lay neglected until it was needed again. I could feel the anger against Mulder grinding within me, like a sharpened cog spinning against my heart, ripping off raw chunks of flesh and macerating them to a bloody pulp. The screen blurred and I realised I was crying, for him, for me, but above all for Fox. What I had thought was the underlying innocence in Mulder's nature was just emptiness; the idealism, zealotry. I stood up and glared at the computer, my body quivering with rage and betrayal. I was tempted to pick it up and throw it through the window, pack a few belongings and go. Never return, never see him again, abandon my fucking stupid life with its nest of plots and intrigues and the evil lying bastards that pulled my strings. But I had to go on reading. Somewhere in that diary was me, how he thought about Alex Krycek. At that point I wasn't sure I cared how Mulder felt, and I thought of that sweet kiss I'd had from Fox when he'd welcomed me home the previous night. I needed to know about him, because if there was any love for me from Fox Mulder, that was the source. I went into the kitchen and splashed some water on my face, soothing my swollen eyes, and composed myself. The vodka hadn't been a good idea—I set a pot of tea to brew and put the booze away. I headed back to the PC and continued. Inevitably Mulder taught Fox about spite and revenge. Fox considered romance less and less frequently; he began to cultivate kinks instead. If he couldn't have love, he'd have thrills, and Mulder was happy to permit this. He became fairly deeply involved in S&M, and as Mulder had leaned this way himself, there was little conflict. The society was anonymous and secretive, ideal for Mulder's purpose. Fox pushed the limits more and more, hoping to punish Mulder by disgusting him and debasing him, leaving his body with bruises and welts to suffer as penance for his cold blooded exploitation. The happy fun-loving gay apparently became a malicious perverted slut, but the diary belied his actions, the sadness and suffering were boldly confessed. And how he feared Mulder! Repeated lessons had left him too frightened to risk anyone he cared for earning Mulder's notice. He didn't trust him, and as soon as Mulder hinted that he disapproved of the way a friendship was heading, Fox would drop it. The incident with Jan had been the worst, but Mulder had more experience now, more resources and contacts, and he didn't make empty threats. At last I appeared at the Bureau and I first registered as a comment from Mulder to Fox about a 'new guy'. In general Fox paid little attention to Mulder's everyday life, he didn't spy as Mulder did, but seemed just to be 'not there' for days, sometimes. However, for once Mulder showed enough interest in another man to attract Fox's attention. Why should it have been me? Jesus, I don't know—love at first sight? I never believed in that 'til I met Mulder. Zap... I was smitten. No thirty day trial period, no let-out clause, you're signed up for the whole damn term. Fuck, probably for life... even when your inamorata turns out to be a bastard. Mulder knew that in spades, falling for me. I was about to learn the lesson too. Fox hung around in Mulder's brain hoping to get a look at the new agent that had affected Mr. Frigid enough for him unconsciously to show he was interested. The next part of the diary, frankly, made me blush. He'd fallen for me with just as much of a thud as I'd suffered the first time I saw Mulder. Wow. If I'd known... ? Would I have acted differently? I'd like to think I would have, but frankly I don't know... and I never will. 'The past is a foreign country, they do things differently there.' There was no way he could hide how he felt about me from Mulder. For once, Mulder didn't swat him down; I was Mulder's find, and he was so attracted to me that he wanted to talk about it to Fox, and to do a little gloating because he could be with me, and Fox couldn't. Naturally Fox urged him to try and make a friend of me, see me socially. Mulder wasn't going there though, it was far too dangerous. Fox could see his logic, but it didn't stop him dreaming and hinting. I could tell Mulder had been tempted... but I was a fellow agent, and even the slightest slip would be a disaster in his eyes. The temptation became greater over the weeks. My orders had been to cultivate Mulder. Shit... that wasn't a problem from my point of view, the problem was not to expose myself to him either. What a ridiculous situation! Both of us, the three of us, hot for one another, and for our various reasons hiding our true natures. Well, I suppose if we had become lovers, either I would have suffered the consequences of failing to complete my mission, or if I'd gone through with it I would have perfected betrayal, formed it into a wondrous torment for my soul. While the feelings were inside, unexpressed, I could fool myself into thinking that it was just lust. At least I could then. Obey orders, put Mulder in the place where you've put others that never deserved your treatment of them. It had been a frenetic period, that time in the FBI with him, I didn't stop and think about my desires and question my actions and motives. I hadn't realised how badly I'd fallen for him. I've taken perverse pleasure in the past from betraying those I've been attracted to; the sick thrill of destroying the beautiful because perfection is an obscenity in the eyes of the corrupt. If you can't soil it, break it. Moreover, there's a wonderful pain in knowing that the situation is irretrievable, that the affair has been terminated before it's had a chance to become boring and mediocre. Rather like a celebrity who dies too soon— the future has been eliminated, but the star has been preserved, young, vibrant, forever possessed with promise and beauty. There's the joy of the dawn of betrayal in your lover's eyes, then the satisfaction of watching them hurt, then they beg you to say it was a mistake and revile you when you don't. Coldly saying goodbye with a bullet, or a knife, or best of all, a simple closing of a door. Fuck, what a bastard. Time and again I've done it; no mercy, no empathy, no second thoughts. I knew what was coming next in that diary, and I couldn't face it. I was shaking and nauseous with anticipation, hardly daring to scroll down the screen. I closed the file, threw on my jacket and ran from the words that reached out gnarled talons of guilt to rip me asunder. I tumbled down the stairs and out into the street and then I walked for hours, randomly. Previous occasions when I've questioned myself, or been hurt or cheated and needed someone I've simply headed for his apartment building and looked up at his windows and dreamed. Fantasies have been my saviour, Mulder had comforted me and cherished me; he was my rock. Now that was pointless. Mulder was a lying callous cunt. I had nowhere. By the time it got dark, I was exhausted. Not physically, I just couldn't summon the will to go any further. I was near one of the sleazier gay bars in the city, so I had a few drinks to dull my thoughts into a whispering haze, let myself be picked up by a couple of greasy bikers and spent the night doing God knows what—damned if I can remember. Fox's answer. I was amused to find it worked for me too. I dragged my bruised and filthy body home and crawled into bed, then slept, dreamlessly, for a long time. Somehow things were more in perspective again when I woke up. Why the hell was I judging Mulder so harshly? Damn it, the guy was sick. Nobody could become so twisted on purpose. I'd forgotten that Fox and Mulder were really the same person... OK, he'd been somewhat unscrupulous, but compared to me he'd done nothing. Really, the only person he'd repeatedly harmed was himself. He'd obviously been scared of being outed, but he'd got a real fear of any lasting sexual relationship too, it seemed. Perhaps that added to the antipathy he had to his homosexuality. If deep down he knew that he'd only fall in love properly with another man, and he was frightened of commitment, then denying his nature was a way of avoiding that sort of situation completely. Thus Fox couldn't get too close, either. Not just because they'd be found out, but because there must be no dependency, no love. He'd warped only himself, not an innocent third party. He'd caused the damage, and permitted it. Look at that! No sooner had I accepted Fox as a real person, than I was attempting to make them one again. That was the crux, wasn't it? Make them one. Did I want to, any more? Fuck, Fox had been creeping under my skin. My anger at Mulder had subsided, too. Greedy Alex... you want them both. I had a good long shower and rid myself of the residue of the previous night, threw on a pair of shorts and settled down with the diary again. I was surprised how close Fox had come to persuading Mulder to be friendly towards me, maybe even go for a beer... something non-threatening. But then I'd had to act on my other agenda and everyone discovered I'd been a spy and a saboteur. Mulder was livid with Fox for encouraging his attraction to me, twisting their feelings around so that he could put the blame squarely on Fox for their interest. Fox didn't argue, he was too unhappy. Disillusioned, he swallowed all Mulder's recriminations, and took it to heart when Mulder set this up as a lesson to Fox not to fall in love and never to trust anyone with their secret. He tried not to become involved with a new lover in the following months, though he desperately needed someone to comfort him. Mulder could talk to his associates about me, blow off steam, distract himself with his work, but Fox could reveal his broken heart to no-one but Mulder, and all he got from him was 'I told you so'. He was so sad that Mulder started to think of ways he could have friends without it being a threat. He'd got acquaintances in the S&M scene, Mulder encouraged him to cultivate a few that wouldn't ask for the friendship to stray far from this area; and this is when he took up with the twins, amongst others. Slowly he recovered his optimism, though he'd lost his desire to persuade Mulder into another serious boyfriend. Their arrangement became stable once more. Though the baby was never explicitly mentioned, Fox obliquely recorded Natalie's pregnancy. I was surprised how little fuss Mulder made about it. Fox had anticipated fireworks, but Mulder was quietly pleased, even proud, and the only grief he gave Fox was about his carelessness in putting the twins in danger by tying them in this way to the Mulder family. Fox too saw conspiracy and was apologetic and apprehensive for the baby. Then I popped up again, and they discovered, hate me as they might (and Fox hadn't exactly been truthful when he'd said he had no issues or grudges, they were just different from Mulder's), they still wanted me. What with his own frustrated desires, his hatred, and Fox nagging inside his head every time we met, it's no wonder that Mulder behaved so irrationally every time he saw me. Fox wanted to get inside my pants, he reasoned that worrying about whether I was good or evil was not an issue in fornication. Traitors can be just as good in the sack as honourable men, maybe more so, 'cos you don't have to consider their feelings, you can just take what you want, and he urged Mulder to do just that. There was no way now, though, that Mulder was going to come out to me. That was the last thing he'd do. If he could have squared killing me with Fox's need for me—and with his own suspicions that I knew interesting secrets— he would have, I guess. He hinted as much, according to Fox. A way to do it without discovery, a quick kill, and I'd be out of his hair for good, and Fox would have to shut up about me. Fox didn't say in the diary if he still loved me. Maybe he did, but didn't want to, or maybe he did and didn't want to let on to Mulder. Maybe he hated me like Mulder, but he sure as hell still lusted after me, and crowed over Mulder for getting hard those times he hit me. Then he discovered I was into men—and that made him really turn up the pressure. Fox had glimpsed me a few times over the months... years. However it was only a short while ago he spotted me in a bar talking rather earnestly to another man, whom Mulder thought looked familiar. He provoked Fox into following me; as usual he thought there were conspiracies behind every bush. Instead of seeing me up to some nefarious crime he got an eyeful of the guy kissing me, then blowing me as I leaned against a beat-up old car in the parking lot. Poor Fox, he didn't know whether to melt with lust, or faint with shock. Well, after that he was unstoppable. Mulder raged at him, threatened him, threatened me. But he had no ammunition this time; there were no others, short of the twins (and even Mulder balked at that) that he could use for leverage, and I was an outlaw... I was already ruined. So that night arrived, and I met Fox. He was ecstatic at my reaction; Mulder was horrified... his whole world had been turned inside out. He thought I'd go straight to Cancerman with the news and was scared witless, but I think unconsciously pleased, too, that I knew his secret. I can't think of any other reason why at that point he hadn't become suicidal. After my visit I'd expected Fox to express excitement, anticipation. I looked for recriminations from Mulder, but Mulder was subdued when he talked about it to Fox and I think Fox realised that this was something he'd no plans for at all, that he'd never even contemplated the possibility that another would know his secret. Stupid, for Mulder, blinkered, but we've all got things we can't face squarely, haven't we? He hungered for me too. Fox could tell he was totally keyed up at the thought of being with me, yet disgusted for letting what he thought of as Fox's feelings seep into himself. Fox admitted to Mulder how he much he loved me, but promised not to try to convince me of it, in case Mulder backed off or did something rash. 'Mad Mulder' wasn't unknown to Fox, it seemed. He hadn't mentioned him before, maybe because Mulder knew all that was in the diary, and that aspect of Mulder was too dangerous to provoke. Mulder didn't say anything about his love; at that point, Mulder was actually encouraging him to show me his most sluttish side so that he'd draw me on to bad behaviour, hoping I'd be such a cur that he'd lose his infatuation, 'cure' himself of me. But I didn't turn out as they'd expected. Neither of them had anticipated my deep love for Mulder, or my body's unstoppable desire for his. It drew feelings from Mulder that he hadn't expected and he found himself wanting me, admitting it to Fox, and warning him off. Fox wasn't allowed to love me - after all the years he'd waited patiently for someone that Mulder could accept, after his consideration if Mulder wanted to pursue a relationship with a woman that left Fox cold—finally Mulder wanted a guy that both of them desired and he wanted me all to himself. Ironically, Mulder didn't want to want me at all. Christ... the whole thing was a total muddle in Mulder and Fox's brain, a total fuck-up. Fox had to go on being the slut, that was clear. If he didn't, Mulder was offering really to hurt me. He didn't want to want me himself, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let me fall for Fox and live happily ever after. Fox could be patient, though, but he'd lost his tolerance for Mulder's games. He told Mulder and the diary that he'd play whore for me; he'd learnt to enjoy it after all, his tastes really are pretty kinked after all these years. He reckoned that he'd win me round to him in the end, and even if he didn't I'd have to put up with him, because he didn't see Mulder's lifestyle or attitude changing in a hurry. So... outed. Not on anyone's game plan. Poor Fox, he'd just about lost the only hold he had over Mulder, so soon and so suddenly he'd run out of time to bring me to his side. Mulder had at last been with a guy willingly, now he was out too, and Fox had become redundant. Suddenly Mulder wanted rid of him. Fox was sick with hurt; he'd been used and manipulated his whole life and now he'd be redundant. Mulder had no gratitude, still no understanding of his loving nature. There'd be no reward for his tolerance of Mulder's selfishness over the years. Here at last Fox poured out all the dreams and joy, the plans for fulfilment he'd had in his adoration of Alex Krycek, his bleak hatred and disgust at Mulder, and his worries for me in Mulder's hands. He was needed no more. I didn't want him... there was no chance now to win me over, Mulder didn't want him anymore. Selfish himself for once, he set out to end it for them both. He'd written this bit of the diary just before he'd set out to Singer's house. But I'd rescued them. There was no doubt he'd been serious about the roundabout suicide attempt. He'd not tried to leave a note or a clue; how Mulder distracted him long enough to forget that list of addresses is a mystery. And all this week they'd been arguing. Neither of them was still comfortable with me or confident about my sincerity. Fox was fed up with pretending to be nothing more than a slut and ignoring Mulder's protests, moved in. He'd been saved; strangely he'd come out of that debasing episode with more self- esteem. He thought he had a right to be happy and that I deserved the truth. His only concern was that Mulder would go berserk and show his violent side, but it was worth risking in his eyes. 'After all, Alex can take care of himself' he noted. The last diary entry expressed the hope that I'd like him when I knew him. If I didn't then he'd bow out gracefully to Mulder, but he'd had enough of playing things Mulder's way. He wasn't going to make out that he was an innocent driven to debauchery by the evil Mulder, and play for sympathy. He enjoyed his kinks, I'd have to accept them, but I was going to get the rest of Fox too, and fuck Mulder if he tried to stand in the way. I don't think he'd handed over the diary on purpose, it had been a spur of the moment thing. In the end, he cared about Mulder, and wanted him happy. He had surprisingly little malice or bitterness towards him and hoped that somehow they could resolve their life amicably. I closed the file and sat back to think. Another one-sided account... and so different from Mulder's view. How could I choose between them now, say which was right or wrong? It was totally impossible. Chapter 23 In which Scully makes a threat I had a call to leave town on Monday. It was unavoidable... part of an ongoing job, and the client would regard any postponement with displeasure— extreme displeasure. There was Mulder, though... going back to work, possibly needing someone to talk to, support him, and I was the only one that knew the whole story. Why the hell hadn't he confided in Scully? Even an edited version of the truth would have permitted her to give him a shoulder to lean on. He didn't know I'd read the diary; I suppose he'd been right in trying to keep it from me. If I wasn't so fucking infatuated with him I reckon it would have killed my love stone dead, assuming I took it verbatim. However, now I'd got over my initial shock and disgust I found myself wanting him even more, wanting both of them, fiercely, achingly. The further Mulder fell, the more feasible our love became. From worship, I had created caring; from my overweening respect, comradeship. We were both damaged, compromised - Mulder had said Fox and I deserved each other, but truly he was the best of us, it was Mulder and I that were kin. So I had to protect him, and I couldn't... I wouldn't be there—but Scully would, and she'd sacrifice anything to keep him safe. As I made my preparations for my trip I debated speaking to her, weighing the possible effects of letting her in on all or part of the truth. Oh, Christ... another betrayal. I'd nearly decided simply to give her a contact number for emergencies and tell her nothing when she forced my hand. She must have raided Mulder's computer for the e-mail address I'd given him, the one he'd used a razor to obliterate. The message was bald, and direct. Krycek, Meet me. Mulder won't speak, and I want the truth, or I'll tell Skinner who the other man was. Scully I could get to her place by lunchtime, so I mailed her to say I'd be with her in a couple of hours. I grabbed a late breakfast and shoving a gun and a copy of the diary in my pockets, set out. Was I planning to let Scully read the diary? I wasn't, but I was playing this by ear, and maybe it would be sensible to give it to her. I had forgotten one important thing, however. I'd become so involved, so familiar with Mulder's secrets, and was getting used to thinking of him as my lover that I'd overlooked the fact that Scully still thought I'd inveigled my way into Mulder's affections by deceit. I was a villain, he needed rescuing. Simple. She opened the door, stuck her gun into my gut and greeted me with a sneer. "I ought to shoot you now, scum. Put a bullet through your abdomen and watch you die slowly and painfully." Horrified at my blindness, I stood silently as she emptied my belongings onto her hall table, and then, smiling complacently, she dangled a pair of hand- cuffs in my face and watched me lock myself into them. She ushered me into an easy chair in her living room and sat opposite me, leaning back and crossing her legs as she let her gun's aim casually weave over my body. I must have looked as scared as I felt. She gloated as she said, "I assume you're not finding this situation entirely comfortable. If I was facing a gun held by a woman whose sister I'd murdered, I suspect I'd be a little edgy, too." "That was a mistake, Scully. We were sent to kill you." I whispered. "Of all the lame excuses... " I cleared my throat, and interrupted, "It's not an excuse. We would have killed you, if you'd been there. We are on different sides, Scully, and I know you wouldn't hesitate to kill me should circumstances demand it. It was an error; a tragedy for you, a blot on my copybook. Occasionally a bystander is killed by an FBI agent in the performance of his duty. The outcome is the same." She surged to her feet and stood over me, pressing the barrel of her gun painfully into my temple. "I work to uphold the law, Krycek. Therefore, if you're on the opposite side, it makes you a criminal, and your killing a crime, not a mistake," she snapped. "I can hate you for that, and for Mulder's father. It was a pure hate, but you've sullied even that. What you're doing to Mulder makes me nauseous. How have you suborned him? What sort of hold have you over him that he won't talk to me, even though I already know you are lovers? I can't let him carry on at the Bureau and keep silent, knowing he's bedding a murderer. He understands that, but he says nothing. If I don't get an explanation, I'll have to report him." My lip curled, and I replied, "Very worthy, Agent Scully. Don't you trust him? He's been your partner for years, and you think he's up to something shady?" She leant down and her blue eyes flashed painfully as she slowly enunciated, "How could it be anything else, if it involves you?" "It could be something else, Scully. Mulder isn't just the X-files, y'know." "There's not much more," she said, turning her face from me, and then straightening and walking away across the room. Her body was clenched, knotted, as if her care for Mulder bound her tightly in a hopeless bundle. "I've followed him, supported him, loved him as if he were a part of myself." Her voice cracked. I couldn't see her face, but I suspected she was close to tears. "Yet he's chosen you, a cheat, a murderer. He's betrayed me to make himself your lover—your victim, Krycek." The last words were spat out as she span and marched back to my side, her face twisted and disfigured with ire. "He won't explain, he won't even promise that there'll ever be an explanation. I've seen the bruises you've put on him, Krycek. For all I know, the injuries he had when you brought him home were inflicted by you, too. He won't say." I could feel my shoulders straining, the cuffs cutting into my wrists as I tensed with the vain need to shake her, to shout the truth into her face. What could I say? The real story was so wild and unbelievable and I couldn't imagine a lie that would earn me her co-operation. I swallowed, my throat bone dry with a last betrayal as I said, huskily, "Mulder and I hurt Fox, Scully. Between us, we did that to him, because neither of us loved him." "What are you talking about, Krycek? I don't need riddles. I just want facts. Where did he go, why, and how did he come to be injured? Tell me that. Then you can tell me why you are involved." "Or?" I said, leaning back, my body pressing on my bound hands uncomfortably. "Or else... what?" I put my feet on her spotless coffee table deliberately, and looked straight at her. The gun pointed unwaveringly at my head. She didn't acknowledge my uncouthness, her doll-like face was a blank. "Will you kill me, if I don't answer, Scully? Torture me? Hand me over to some authority? The police? The FBI?" "I have to deal with you, if I want answers. Is that what you're saying? It's my turn to make a bargain with the devil?" "Complimentary, Dana," I sneered, "But I'm hardly that important." "What do you want?" "Let me out of these cuffs, for a start. Unless you'd like to hit me a few times first, pay me back, eh?" "You have no honour, Krycek." Her voice was gritty, strained. "Hitting a woman? One that can't even defend herself? I don't like you, Scully." I smiled greedily, and purred, "It was a pleasure." "The more reason not to trust you without restraints," she retorted. "You'll get no fucking answers from me unless you let me go and put that gun away. If I could have thought of someone else to depend on, I wouldn't have come here at all." "You'd have let me tell Skinner what I know?" I shrugged, and tried to look unworried. "The only one you'd harm would be him." In fact, Skinner finding out would harm me too. There was a whole raft of people that might take it amiss if they knew their errand-boy was screwing a Fed... Once it got to the Smoker, and it would, it would soon be common knowledge and I'd be lucky to make it alive to the unemployment queue. I stood up and looked at the door, then back at her. Raising my eyebrows in question, I said, "Do you want to know why I came, or do I walk out of here and have the pleasure of making my way home with my hands cuffed behind my back." She gestured with the gun, but I could see her lips twitching at the thought of the spectacle. I smiled. "If you were going to shoot me, you'd have done it before this. C'mon Scully, get these off. Jesus, keep the gun if you want. It's not going to improve my truthfulness, but at least you won't have to worry about my violent impulses" She fished a set of keys from her pocket and said, "Turn around." As she unlocked the cuffs she kept her gun barrel pressed against my shoulder. "You're right, I won't kill you... not 'til I've got a believable explanation anyway. But I won't hesitate to put a bullet someplace inconvenient if you try anything. I'm a good shot, Krycek." "I know," I replied, turning round and rubbing my wrists. "Any chance of a drink," I asked, casually throwing myself back on her couch and replacing my feet on her table. She looked dubiously at me, then at my feet, her wicked eyebrow signalling her displeasure. Sheepishly I put them back on the floor, and grinned, my head cocked on one side. "I'm not going anywhere Scully, if you're prepared to listen. I really need your help." For a few seconds she frowned at me, her lips pressed together as she considered her options. Abruptly she turned away and headed into her kitchen. I followed her, peering over her shoulder as she opened the icebox. She'd left the gun on the worktop. I must have been more convincing than I realised. "Juice will be fine," I murmured in her ear. "Or water." She started and span round. "Damn, don't creep up on me like that," she exclaimed. "Sorry. Habit." I grinned and helped myself to a carton of orange juice. She'd turned away to get glasses from the cupboard and set them in front of her. She stopped. In the silence I watched her slowly release the glasses and draw her hands back across the surface to clench round its edge, her knuckles slowly whitening as she gripped it. Her shoulders hunched and spasmed, I could hear her ragged breath as she fought for control. Putting my hands on her, I turned her to face me and put my arms tenderly around her, pulling her to me. Shocked and inflexible, she resisted for an instant, then collapsed in hiccuping sobs against my chest. It was instinctive, I suppose, to pat her and stroke her hair. She was like a tiny child in my embrace; so much spirit and determination encased in a body too small for its burden. "What are you doing, Krycek?" she whispered into my shirt. "What the heck am I doing, is even more relevant?" "Accepting some support?" I ventured. "You care about him, and he won't let you help." I felt her nod. "Well, I'm not so self-assured. I've decided I can't manage without it. But you'll have to promise that you won't breathe a word to Mulder. You're going to have to be a conspirator." "That doesn't explain why are you're cuddling me, Krycek. I thought you hated me" "You're pompous, blind, bitchy... I could be more specific, if you like. That doesn't mean I don't have a lot of admiration and respect for you, and you are Mulder's best friend." I gave a snort of laughter and continued, "Anyway, I could have done with a few cuddles myself in the past few weeks. It would be unfair to deny you the service when you so obviously need it." "I must be mad, letting you do this," she continued, extracting a lacy handkerchief from a pocket and mopping her face. Turning her swimming eyes up to me, her brow creased as she considered what I'd just said. "Why?" "Mulder." I released her. "Go and sit down, and I'll tell you what's going on. To be precise, and honest, I'm not going to tell you more than I need to because... it's personal, OK?" I gave her a little shove towards the living room and poured the juice, then went and sat beside her, handing her a glass. "Can we cut all the crap about my past here, Scully? We'll get nowhere if we keep raking it up." She looked at me dubiously. "I don't know what possessed me to talk to you instead of going straight to Skinner when Mulder wouldn't explain, anyhow. Seeing as I'm already acting stupidly we'll put that on hold for now. I shouldn't believe anything you say, you know." I shook my head wryly. "You won't. I can assure you, you won't. I've only just managed to believe it myself." "I want you to promise me you won't tell Mulder I've told you anything. You have to mean it, too, Scully. If he hears I've spoken to you it could be the last straw. I swore I'd keep all his secrets... I've tried to persuade him to talk to you but he won't." "Running true to form, then, Krycek? Given the right inducement, you'll sell anything," she said snidely. "Shit, Scully," I spat. "It's not your threat that brought me here. It's because I'm in way over my head and I'm scared what Mulder might do. I've got to go away tomorrow on a job. Mulder's going back to work and he needs someone to be there, someone who knows what's going on with him. You'll have to know, I've got to break my promise, because I love him." "What?" she said incredulously. "You love Mulder! That's sick, Krycek." "Yeah. And what's even sicker is that he loves me," I said viciously. "I could just about cope with you two having sex, Ratboy. But that's horrible." "I wish it were just sex. It would be a damn sight simpler. This... " I sniggered. "'Romance' is screwing up both our lives. And you're not the only one that thinks it's horrible, Mulder does too." "And just when did the two of you fall prey to this delusion?" "Love at first sight, Scully. Soppy, trite, the stuff of Hollywood melodrama." "Are you telling me that you and Mulder have been carrying on an affair for years , right through everything that's happened?" "Nope. I've been carrying a torch for him for years, though I didn't realise it 'til after I, er, resigned from the FBI. We weren't lovers until a few weeks back." "So why did you make a move now, Krycek? What new scheme are you hatching?" I sighed in exasperation. This wasn't going to work... I couldn't expect her trust, as soon as I'd finished she'd blab to Mulder. "He moved on me, Scully. He discovered I was queer... saw me kissing a guy— hung around long enough to watch me getting it on with him. I had no idea he was that way too until he came on to me in a gay bar a few days later." "Mulder... in a gay bar... trying to pick you up?" she said incredulously. "I do not think so. You'll have to do better than that." "D'ya think I believed it! I thought he musta been working undercover or something... until I discovered it wasn't Mulder. This is where it gets seriously weird, Scully. This is the crunch, and you are not going to believe it. Have you ever wondered why Mulder hates being called 'Fox'?" "Because it's a ridiculous name? What relevance has that?" "The guy I met in that bar was Fox, not Mulder. He's got a split personality, Scully. I don't know anything about that sort of stuff, but it's just as if there are two separate people in his body." "Oh, come on, that's rubbish. Why the hell are you giving me this bullshit? If you want to feed someone that sort of line, try it on Mulder, not me. He's the one that swallows bleeding Madonnas and Yetis whole for breakfast." "I thought it was rubbish, too. It's not a Jekyll and Hyde thing, the two halves know each other's actions, they talk to each other, for Christsakes. It started when he was a teenager, when he had to face up to his sexuality. He hated being gay, but that was the way it was, so he invented an alias, a guy who could be gay and he pretended it wasn't Mulder. The other grew, took on a life of his own, became Fox." "This is a fairy-tale, Krycek," she said contemptuously. "Bear with me, OK?" I asked, trying to be reasonable. "Mulder still hasn't come to terms with being gay. Going back to work tomorrow is going to be an ordeal for him. He had it all tidy, all sorted, all secret. "Right... so every couple of weeks or so, Fox takes over. It's involuntary, a battle of wills, and if Fox doesn't get an airing every once in a while, he pushes Mulder out. Both of them are secretive, Mulder because he's ashamed, Fox because he's dependent on Mulder. Fox has his own set of friends, his own haunts... mainly the wilder clubs in town. He's usually around long enough to get laid. A night, sometimes 24 hours, then he's dormant again." "OK, so why haven't I noticed?" "I assure you I didn't know, Scully, and I've been following him around for years. There's nothing in the Consortium files, either. He's been using the Gunmen's as a cover. It was Fox's room you saw there; he's the tidy one. He cleans, he cooks, he's, er... affectionate, and now—since last Thursday - he's moved in with me." I grinned, thinking about the truth in the next remark. "I think I've acquired a wife." "What! This is utter nonsense, Krycek." Her face was thunderous as she jumped to her feet and commenced pacing around the room. "How you have the gall to come here and expect me to believe any of this... " She was a tiny termagant, intimidating in her rage. Red hair swinging as she stormed up and down, her dainty fists clenched, it was easy to see how this petite woman had become such a respected agent. "You'd better go. I'll see Skinner first thing in the morning and do my best to get him suspended until he tells me the truth about you two." She glowered at me, her mouth working as she decided how to proceed. "I'll keep your name out of it for now, out of respect for Mulder. But it's only a temporary respite: no satisfaction, no more hesitation. Understand?" I stood up and faced her, tried to stare her down, but she wasn't having it. She looked daggers at me until I could feel a laugh bubbling up inside. "Can't believe me, Scully? 'Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes.'" For an instant she looked blank, then gave a tiny smile. "'There's no use trying, one can't believe impossible things.'" "'I daresay you haven't had much practice. When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.'" She began to laugh with me. "I'll make a bargain with you, Ratboy. You turn into a sheep now, and I'll believe you." "If I could, I would, Scully, if it helped. I've got proof," I added reluctantly. "There are photographs, and a diary." I shrugged and shook my head. "But you'd just say I faked them." She sat down again and fiddled with her glass, finally drinking the last of her juice. I looked out of the window, racking my brains for someone else I could trust to watch Mulder, and wondering how much damage I'd done in telling her. I couldn't put off my trip, it was one of these complicated fraud deals... everything had to be in the right place at the right time and the setting up had extended back for months. My only excuse for pulling out would be if I were dead... or as good as. I had no doubt that would be the consequence anyway if I did. She suddenly spoke again. "I don't know whether to be mad at you or laugh at you about all this, Krycek. I don't know why I'm even taking the time to talk to you. It's immoral even contemplating coming to any arrangement with you." "You're doing it because of Mulder. I am too. I hesitated a long time before coming to you." I walked to her side and looked down at her. She turned her face up to me and asked, "If you knew this story was so incredible, why did you bother telling me—or making it up—whatever." "Y'know, Scully, for once I was lost for a lie. I—he—hell, he's unstable, Scully. His strange arrangement's gone on for years. It's had its ups and downs, according to the diary. But if he flips again, you've got to know what you're dealing with. And he might. It's my fault. "Mulder's as crazy about me as I am about him. It's broken through the conditioning he's imposed on himself. He's doubly disgusted about it, first because it's me." I winced as she gave a snort of agreement. "Second because he's... I persuaded him to make love to me, as himself. Now he's been outed, too. That was Fox, by the way, in the video, not him. Mulder hates what he is, Scully. He... hurts himself, and the hate inside him breaks out into a murderous viciousness against me." She looked down at her hands, which were picking restlessly at the cloth of her pants. "Not just you, Krycek. Skinner and I have both had to cover for him when he's gone too far. He's done some very risky things to himself, too, in pursuit of his truth. I've seen him manic; I've seen him so depressed that I've been truly worried for him. He's a man of extremes." "That night he came and told you he was gay... he was at my place first, thinking about killing himself. He promised he'd come back early in the morning to talk some more and to collect his gun; he left it with me to stop himself acting hastily, he said. It was when he didn't turn up that I panicked." "But when you found he'd gone to the Gunmen you didn't think he'd committed suicide, right?" "I knew he'd turned into Fox. Fox has no morals, but he's not as intemperate as Mulder. He's usually happy, at ease with himself. He's outrageous, but not violent. This is where the story gets more twisted. "Fox is in love with me, too. As things were, he expected to get me as his lover. He thought that Mulder would turn the other way as usual, and pretend it wasn't happening. Mulder didn't. For the first time—and Fox has had dozens of lovers—Mulder's feelings were so strong that he wanted me as well. They're jealous of each other. It's upset the compartmentalisation that Mulder had set up. We both sorta thought that Fox would disappear in a puff of smoke the first time we fucked, and then, when Mulder was outed, well, the secret, the whole reason for Fox, had gone. "But he's just as real as Mulder, Scully. That diary I've read is mostly his. He's where all Mulder's love, his romance... the fun part of him, has gone. He's incredibly tolerant and forgiving, but he's loved me, yearned for me for years, and Mulder stopped him acting on it because of who I was. Finally Mulder and I got together, and Fox got pushed out; then Mulder's secret was revealed and it looked like Mulder was going to get rid of him, just as he'd got the man of his dreams. Fox snapped, that night. I thought he had set out to disgrace Mulder as a punishment. I discovered he'd tried to kill them both." "By what means, Krycek? Being trampled by stampeding buffaloes?" "It looked like that, didn't it?" I blushed a little and sucked on my lip, turning away from her. "I found him naked and bound in a home torture chamber. He'd given himself over to a couple of sadists... snuff enthusiasts. They'd been playing with him for hours before I got there. I killed them, Scully." "You had to fight them?" I shook my head. "I had them cuffed to the wall. I executed them." I glanced at her, but she avoided my eyes. "I could have let them go, it would have been sensible because Mulder could get implicated, but I was livid at Fox and I shot them." The contempt I felt for myself crept into my voice as I confessed it all to her. "I made a deal with Fox. I'd take him; we'd be lovers as long as he'd let Mulder get on with his life. His 'friends' were sacrificed to seal the bargain. I made sure it wouldn't slip his mind, too. I branded him on the ass." That made her turn round. "What!" she exclaimed. "You branded Mulder! You're a barbarian—a lout, Krycek. So I was right about the bruises, before." "Fox doesn't see it that way," I said smugly. "He's a whore, and there's nothing he wants more than to be my whore. He'll be showing it off, just like he enjoys strutting about showing off the marks of my fists." I swallowed, and added in a whisper, "Just like I get off on Mulder hitting me." I flopped down on the couch and looked beseechingly at her. "It's a game, Scully. A perverted game is all. I think, given time, we can work this out between us. You must understand, the will's there, because we love each other. At the moment though, Mulder's on tenterhooks. He needs to get back to work, see that the revelation about him is no big deal to most people, not even a nine-day wonder. "Don't make it worse. If you get him suspended, he'll have time to brood, and pick the scab off his problems, make them fresh again, exacerbate them in his mind. I beg you to let it be, please. Just watch him for me for the next week, eh, while I'm away? Reassure him. I think he's past ideas of killing himself, but there's the chance that Fox will surface because his life's got so screwed up." She sat back, sighing, and shut her eyes, resting her hands, fingers interlaced, on her forehead. "You honestly expect me to believe this farrago?" "Nope. But sooner or later you will, Scully. I hope Mulder will explain it all himself." She opened her eyes and glared at me. "Let me summarise the salient points as I see them, Krycek. My partner is completely cuckoo, has been for years. He's having an abusive homosexual affair with an unrepentant, self-serving, double-dealing murderer. A man who happily confesses to a law enforcement officer that he killed two people as a whim, and that my partner, another law enforcement officer has, by his silence, become his accomplice. Sounds nasty, when it's put like that, doesn't it? Would you want him in the FBI? Seems to be that being gay is the least of his secrets. You're asking me to hazard my own career protecting him." "You care about him, Scully," I whispered. "Too much to let him become inveigled in your plots," she snapped. "If the least part of this is true, it becomes even more imperative that he's suspended, for his own good." I put my head in my hands and said, brokenly, "I love him, Scully. I never meant for this to happen." "If you really loved him," she sneered, "You would have got out of his life as soon as you realised it. You've been thwarting him at every turn, trying to discredit him... " "Working for the Consortium was the only way I could stay close to him," I protested. "That FBI job was supposed to be a one-off; they had other work for me. But when it was over I had to be near him. I volunteered to do their dirty work because it was the only way to be involved with Mulder." "You're a selfish bastard, Krycek. If that's your idea of devotion, I'm sorry for Mulder, sorry that you're in his life." I could see I was getting nowhere. I grabbed her shoulders hard... probably bruised them. "Do you have to be so fucking inflexible, Scully?" I implored her. "Let it ride for a while, please? Singer and his pal deserved everything they got; the law would have treated them as I did, if they'd caught them. Don't ruin Mulder's life over those scum, or over me." "Mulder doesn't deserve this. He's too good, too honourable to be involved at all. Whatever the truth, he needs help, and I'm going to see he gets it," she retorted. I gave a hollow laugh, walked over and retrieved the floppies, and dropped them in front of Scully. "Read the diary," I snarled. "Read it, and then tell me how honourable your precious Mulder is. He can lie with the best of us. He's a callous, crooked excuse for a human being. There's enough here to get him thrown out of the FBI in disgrace, maybe jailed for falsifying evidence. "And remember, if you lose him his job, there'll be no purpose to Mulder. I expect Fox will leap in, take over. He's mine, Scully. Fox is mine, body and soul, he does whatever I say... he's my toy. D'ya want to see him grovelling at my feet, creaming himself when I piss on him, huh? If you want to keep Mulder intact—or should I say the illusion of Mulder intact—you'll keep your mouth shut." Her face had paled as I spoke. The skin was in eerie contrast to the deep ruby of her painted lips, to the copper sheath of her hair. Eyes wide, mesmerised like a terrified animal, she finally paused to allow the implications of her actions to fit together, make a future. She blinked at me. A minute passed. Two. She spoke. "A week," she whispered. "That's all." "After?" "I need it from him, Krycek. Then I'll decide. I'll watch him. I'll say nothing. If he hasn't explained, I'm telling him about this conversation." "I'll kill you, you heartless cunt," I spat at her. She stood up, opened the door for me and with a superior smile on her mask- like face, spoke slowly and spitefully, "It'll be worth it. Do it, Rat-bastard. Do your worst. I just want to see his face when he remembers again why he hates you." Chapter 24 In which is domestic bliss Yeah, domestic bliss. I did the job, Mulder went back to work. I learned later that he'd had a heart-to-heart with his beloved Scully near the end of the week. What the hell he said to her I don't know, but she kept mum. By the time I'd returned, the two of them had left for... Kansas I think it was. There was a terse e-mail; all I gathered from it was that he was coping. I took the opportunity to visit his apartment in his absence. I'd been lax, I hadn't checked to see if he and the twins had been in touch with each other. There was nothing in his files on my computer to suggest he had. I went through them with a fine-toothed comb, identifying any contacts I came across. The PC in his home yielded more interesting information. They'd been in touch sporadically, despite my warnings. Nothing significant had been said, just 'I'm OK, are you?' type of messages. It had to stop, I had to break the link or the two of them were in real danger if the Consortium got wind of Natalie's pregnancy. I could tell that an e-mail address was all Fox had given them, so if that was sabotaged they couldn't get in touch. I mailed them a message from Fox full of oblique warnings not to write any more, and forged one from them to Mulder saying they'd been thinking over their situation, and his concerns, and decided it was best to finish their friendship. Then I sneaked a piece of code into his mailer to redirect all future messages between them to me, and wipe traces of the messages from the system. It's a little routine I've used, with variations, many times. I suspect if I'd tried it on the computer he'd been using at the Gunmen's a warning flag would have popped up... the three of them are paranoid enough to watch out for that type of espionage. And guess what? Fox had decided to play games with me, specifically with his friend Joe's health. Remember him? The blond mountain with his hands all over Fox, when I first met him? There was a whole batch of mails from Mr. Beefcake, persuading Fox in increasingly smutty terms to go out on another date. Fox hadn't put him down, the replies were... flirtatious, and eventually amenable. I wondered if Mulder had composed them; they stretched over several days and Fox was only around, supposedly, occasionally. Maybe he was trying to get Fox in trouble with me. Maybe he'd come to his senses and decided to break it up between us, using his underhand methods to antagonise Fox and I. Whatever, Fox had arranged to meet him at a club in a couple of evenings time. Hmm, a little amusement for Alex, I thought. I decided to gatecrash. I anticipated he'd prepare for his date from my place, and wondered how he planned to explain to me where he was going... I guess it's possible he was going to ask my permission. The thought made me smile. Somehow, I couldn't see that happening. There was no point in making it too easy though, by just not being there. I hung around at home from mid-afternoon that day, did a few chores... made a cake full of raisins and cherries and ate a quarter of it while it was still warm. I heard the key in the door about 6.30, and waited for him to come to me. The man was in full Mulder suit, but it wasn't him. Mulder couldn't leer like that, even if he took lessons. He leant against the counter, smiled at the mess I was in... smudges of flour, wet sleeves from the dishes, and crossed his arms. He looked tired, and a little gaunt. Neither of us spoke. I broke off a piece of the cake and sauntered up to him, holding it up to his mouth. Those sexy lips opened for me and I slipped the morsel inside, drawing my fingers out slowly and letting them rest against the warm, moving dampness as he chewed and swallowed. I moved in to kiss him, but he held me away, saying in a teasing voice, "Mind the suit, lover. It's his favourite." "Take it off, then," I growled at him. "I'm planning to," he said, pulling off the tie, folding it thoughtfully, and pushing it into one of his pockets. He looked up and grinned. "C'mon, let's get a shower." I trailed after him into the bedroom, pulling off my shirt and dumping it in the laundry basket. He'd found a coat hanger, and the suit was being carefully arranged on it, the creases tweaked out and smoothed. "You gonna leave the tie in the pocket?" I asked, curiously. "Mulder won't think to look anywhere else for it," he said wryly. He joined me in the shower and washed my hair for me, then ran his hands over my back and ass, kneading the flesh fiercely until my cock was like a hot stone, blistering, rigid from his nearness. I could feel him nudging me, probing, and his hands slipped round to my groin to pull me onto his hardness. I batted the hands away, and launched my lie, "It's not yours tonight. I've got work to do." The fingers dug into my hips, a row of needles pricking my skin and his tongue touched the top of my right ear before wriggling behind it to caress the delicate area where it joined my scalp. Through the noise of the spray I could hear his breath and the liquid sounds as he licked and kissed me. "Whose, then?" he breathed. I shrugged against him. "Who knows?" I said. "Can't have you taking the edge off, can I? I may need to perform; it'll look bad if I can't get it up." I wriggled round in his arms and offered him my mouth, finding myself flattened against the slick tiles as the water streamed over us, into us, and his lips and tongue used me, possessed me. "You can't. You're mine." I felt his words buzz inside my head as he spoke into me. "Well then, if I'm yours, you'd better pick up the fee, because this body's already hired out for this evening. Bought, deposit paid, delivery arranged." I reached past him to turn off the shower, and pushed him gently away from me. He took a towel from the rail, and wrapped it round me. It was soft, thick, warm from the hot pipe where it had hung. Slowly he rubbed me dry, glancing at my face briefly before concentrating on his task. The water trickled off his slick hair as it hung in spikes round his face, dripped from the end of his nose and chin, and formed a puddle around our feet. I drew my finger along the underside of his warm, wet cock, and round the tip, feeling the dampness change to something thicker, slippery as it encountered the juice oozing from him, as his body wept for mine. He looked up abruptly and pursed his lips. "What job is it then? I assume they need more than just a rent-boy or they wouldn't want you." "Jealous, Fox?" He flushed, and turned to find a towel for himself. "This is business. I don't know what the job entails in detail, I only ever ask enough to judge whether I want it or not. Probably some visiting crook wanting a bodyguard who's willing to put out." "And you do," he stated flatly. "All part of the service," I replied glibly. "Look, cheer up, it's not likely to be a night of unbridled passion from my point of view. D'ya want to come along? Two for the price of one? I've had some cute ones... " "I think I'll pass, Ratboy," he said quickly. C'mon Fox, I thought, where's your sense of adventure? "OK," I said, "Tell you what, you can help me with my clothes. Tough, but available? Think you can achieve that?" I had to bite my lips hard to stop a laugh escaping. "Gift wrapping? When the present's not for me?" He looked mournfully at me... a typical Mulder expression. "Dress me up how you'd like me, eh? The guy you'd like to see holding that leash of yours." I reached out and stroked my hand down his dick, right to the root, then beneath, taking his balls gently and pulling him to me. He moaned, and stretched, rubbing himself against me like a cat. "You're my beautiful possession, aren't you? My slut." I turned him round and traced the ridge of the brand. "You're my property, now. You do what I say, Fox. I'm going out to fuck another guy and you're going to dress me up for him, understand? You're going to make me look good, you're going to want me yourself so bad that before I walk out that door, you're gonna show me." "I'll show you right now, if you want." His breath was coming in little gasps and he pushed his back against my chest, drawing my arms around him. His heart-beat was a staccato pattering, his skin hot, primed for my touch. "Oh, no," I said, "You can't get out of it like that. You're not gonna come yet. You're going to fantasise, and lust, and make me into to the guy you want... the anonymous stranger that takes you and fucks you and leaves you in a hopeless bundle of pointless yearning." "Mmm, yeah," he answered, writhing in my embrace. He turned round, kissing me briefly on the lips, and looked me up and down, his eyes hot with longing. Peeling his skin from mine, he turned his attention to the closets and drawers. I watched his smooth tanned figure bending and leaning, the long muscles in his legs working, the tendons sharply defined, tightly balancing his supple body. As he investigated my wardrobe, I found my hand creeping to my cock. He was mine, anytime. If I wanted him, he'd open for me. If I wanted his mouth, I could indicate my need, and he'd be supplicant before me, his lips open so that I could use him as I wished. Fuck, as I'd said to Scully, I could pee in his mouth. He'd swallow; he'd take it all, and thank me for the privilege. I've had this power before: there are plenty of guys out there who'll abase themselves if you've got the charisma—the looks are a bonus, more often than not. But it'd been business, or a scam. I'd looked on them with scorn. Unjustified superiority. I hadn't needed it before, and now... now I did. I'd wanted Mulder, but Fox, whom I'd thought was contemptible, had become respectable, admirable, and was becoming an addiction all too fast. It was hard to stay aloof, to pretend indifference, to keep my hands off him. He crouched at my feet with a pair of designer briefs, helped me step into them, and pulled them to the top of my legs, nestling my swollen cock into the soft cotton with no more than a respectful kiss and a sigh. The pants he'd chosen were soft dark brown leather—intended for decor rather than hard wear. I raised my eyebrow. "A little impractical, don't you think, if I have to do any actual body-guarding. They'd be ruined in a fight." He rubbed his face against the garment and inhaled the smell of the hide. "You said I could chose, lover." He knelt at my feet again, and ran the tip of his tongue lightly up the front of my thigh. I shivered. Looking up at me with a malicious grin, he drawled, "If I don't get to have you, you're at least going to bear in mind that the guy who does have you is fucking Fox's dream man, not Alex Krycek." I gave a snort of laughter. "Fair enough, I think... " He helped me step into the legs and eased them up. Not as tight as the pants he'd worn that first night, but snug; they creaked just a little when I moved, and the fly had a lace rather than a zipper or buttons. Damn impractical after a few beers, but Fox seemed to think it was more than OK. He pulled the leather strings tight over my crotch and tied them off with a flourish, running his hand over the hot bulge straining under the criss-crossed lacing until I was squirming with discomfort. "Bastard," I murmured. He sniggered, and delved back into the closet, unearthing a heavy silk shirt, full cut and creamy white. "Double bastard," I corrected myself, with a heavy sigh. He shook it out and held it for me to put on. I pushed my arms through the sleeves and he settled it over my shoulders. I could hear the rough skin on his fingers catching on the fine fabric as he turned me around and fastened the buttons. He tucked the surplus fabric into my pants, and stood back for me to hold out my arms so he could fasten the cuffs. His slender fingers were shaking a little as he pushed the tiny buttons through their holes, and I was shocked to find that my hands had a slight tremor too, and my heart was racing. As he finished each one he looked deep into my eyes; stared at me, wide, open, needy, his huge irises telling me far more eloquently than any act of sex how much he desired me. He kissed each of my hands. Black socks came next, then a pair of heavy boots. He put these on briskly, then I received a really smug smile, and he held out my long leather coat. I don't think Mulder has ever seen me in it, though I've had it for years, and it's well worn. However, the ease with which Fox had found all the items he'd chosen made it obvious he'd been snooping through my belongings with the same diligence I'd used on Mulder's property. I looked at the coat with a grimace, then at his grin. "I'll look like the fucking Crow," I said, wryly. "Uh-huh," he said. "Yes... Put it on." I pulled it on and he adjusted it until he was satisfied with the hang, then handed me a pair of gloves. "These too." "OK," I said, wriggling my fingers into them. "But if you expect me to wear the clown make-up, you can go screw yourself." I glanced at him. "Not unless you can prove it's Hallowe'en, anyhow." He laughed. "I'll hold you to that. Better yet, I'll force Mulder to go to the FBI Hallowe'en ball and you can go along as his date." "Hell would freeze over, first," I growled and I grabbed him round the waist, pulled him to me fiercely, and kissed him. His hands clasped my head, his fingers rubbing my scalp through my short hair, and he stretched his body, his spine undulating as I smoothed his skin with my gloved hands. "One more thing," he said and reached behind himself to take my wrists and pull my arms away. He walked over to the bed and took something from the nightstand drawer and held it out to me. On his palm lay the dog-tag that I'd stolen from his bag weeks back, when this first started. I swallowed hard and looked at him guiltily. "Did you know I had it?" He shook his head. "I thought I'd lost it. Why did you take it? It's not a lot of use as evidence, if you were really planning to shop us when you found out about Mulder and me." I looked down and blushed. "Joy. Disbelief. I couldn't trust what I'd seen. It was incredible." "Well, the double personality thing isn't easy to swallow." I shook my head. "Not that. I'm still coping with that. Much more visceral. I just couldn't believe that I could have you... have Mulder for a lover, after so many years of—what I kept telling myself anyway—pointless watching and longing. I wanted some token to show I wasn't dreaming." "You are dreaming, Alex," he said sadly. He'd found his thong with the alien head on it, and was re-threading it to hold the little metal disc. "This can't last, can it?" He looked up at me with frightened eyes. "Can he cope with all this? I think he won't. He won't let it ride, take it day by day as I do, hope for the best. All I want is to exist, be happy, make other people happy. He's wretched, babe. He's collapsed in on himself. He's monosyllabic at work—an automaton. Scrupulously correct with Skinner, cringing from Scully, avoiding everyone else unless he's forced to interact. He only relaxes, forgets, out on field work. He's near breaking point." He walked behind me, passed the tag, on its cord, round my neck and fastened it. It was a little short for me, a little tighter on my throat than it had been on his. He passed the ends of his fingers over it, rolling and un-rolling the cord against the emerging whiskers, then span me round to admire his toy, his dress-up doll complete with the name of its owner. "You're ready," he said huskily. I looked at myself in the long mirror. He leaned on my shoulder and met my eyes in the glass. His pale nudity accentuated the sombre menace of my clothes and I saw myself through his eyes... a romantic anti-hero of some comic melodrama, a figment to charge the imagination, noble but misunderstood. I felt vile. An impostor. I thanked God I've never managed to trick myself into thinking I was justified. I had walked into my destiny blindly. Ignorance and youth led me into involvement with the Consortium's chicanery; I spent a good while trying to convince myself that what few logical reasons I've discovered for their schemes vindicated what was expected of me. It was only when I succumbed to my ruin, accepted it, that I could be at ease with my work, seek out other missions, other customers whose lily-white hands didn't want to be dipped in blood. But noble? I don't think so. Still, why spoil our little charade with pitiless reality just yet? I took his hand and led him into the living room, pushed the cushions to one end of the couch and sat next to them. I pulled him down so that his ass dipped between my thighs and he was sprawled full-length across my lap, his back and head supported by the cushions and the arm of the couch. Smiling down at him, I put my palm on his stomach and ran my leather-covered hand possessively over his belly. "Time for your performance, my lovely Fox." He looked up at me, his eyes heavy-lidded, and the tip of his tongue peeped from his mouth and inched its way round his lips. I followed its progress with my forefinger, round the top of that full mouth, just brushing his nose, the junction of muscle at the right corner, beneath the plump bottom lip, where a deep crease defined his neat chin, and round to the left corner. The leather fingertip glistened with his spit, and I traced it across his eyebrows, watching his expression as his hands reached down to his groin, pulling my other hand with them. As I remained locked to his vivid gaze he made me feel how hard he was, how he held himself, the tempo he used on his cock. His ass was sweating, stuck to my leather pants, dragging them over my legs and my bound erection, faster and more frantically as his buttocks knotted with the pleasure he was spawning. I let my right hand rest on his cheek to touch the twist of rapture that I could see distorting his usually tranquil face, and brought my left hand up to grip his throat. His larynx struggled against my clutch, fighting like a wild, trapped creature. I held his life... his breath, struggling into his lungs; the fat blood vessels just beneath the skin, throbbing, manic; the pulse of his oesophagus as he tried to swallow. I didn't look down to watch him masturbate. A thousand others have done that for me, on video, in magazines, in person. They have all been Mulder; all had his face. Now I had that face before me... his passion created for me, for Alex. What point in tearing my eyes from his? The flame was there, the love, the craving, on that face—real, true, naked. As breath whistled into his body, he stiffened against me and his back arched in the final urgent rictus. I felt warm, complete, like a child nestled snugly in front of a glowing fireplace that has just unwrapped a wonderful gift. I let my cramped hand loose from his neck, admiring the new marks, the finger-bruises with which I'd ornamented my love's flesh, and smiled tenderly at him, pushing back the strands of hair that were stuck to his damp forehead. "Thank you, Fox," I whispered, pulling him up into my arms for a kiss. He responded languidly, spent. I laid him back on the couch, squirmed out from beneath his legs, filled my pockets with various necessities for the evening and left him dozing. I had a couple of hours to kill before Fox's assignation with Joe. I settled myself in a comfortable corner of one of my favourite Italian restaurants, not too far from the meeting place, and tucked into a bagna cauda; you can eke that out a while. A bottle of Barolo would have slipped down well, but I restricted myself to water. I hadn't decided quite what to do about the situation; better to act lucidly and deliberately. As, at last, the thick sweet espresso filled my head with its pungent essence I looked around at the other customers, wondering if their lives were as odd as mine. Would I have changed places with one of them? Could I have settled for a career in a bank, or as a teacher... maybe in the army, if I had to have excitement? It wouldn't have worked. I'm not good at authority, at schedules, at monotony. I should have been born a hundred years back and been an explorer. I used to dream of it when I was small. Shooting rapids in a dugout canoe, plunging through the jungle and discovering, swathed in creeper and pustulent, lurid flowers, the ruins of a pagan temple. Not that my childhood lacked interest. When you're a diplomat's kid you get about, see lots of societies, appreciate a myriad of beliefs, even become absorbed in the culture. My second home is Russia—I spent the period when I turned from a child to a teenager there, became almost adopted into our housekeeper's family. Her kids were like brothers and sisters to me, I spent all my spare time in their company, speaking their language, living their life. Until Gregori, of course. Until my second mother discovered her eldest son screwing me. I was fourteen, he was nineteen. He'd been doing his National Service and had hardly been home for those two years. I don't know that he saw his home again... he was turned out, and I was sent home in disgrace to live with my grandmother. Maybe he was here, now, in the US, maybe even in this restaurant. Idly musing on the notion, I called for the check, and made my way on to my destination I felt rather ridiculous in the clothes Fox had chosen, and kept my fingers crossed that they'd be appropriate for the club where he'd arranged to meet Joe. If I'd really been going on a job, I'd have considered changing. Some clients wouldn't mind, but some like their hired muscle to look and behave strictly as just that. It turned out OK, though—no particular theme, dark, cavernous. I had a hell of a job locating Joe, despite his height and blondness, but eventually I found him amongst a gaggle of similar guys, some with ladies in tow. It almost looked like a football team out on the town. If these were Joe's pals, I wondered what they'd think of Fox. Joe himself was wearing light casual pants and a sweater, T-shirt beneath. I couldn't tell the colour for the gloom and strobe lighting, but he was talking nineteen to the dozen, animated, laughing. He had a big, infectious smile. I felt sorry for him. It was a pity he'd taken up with Fox, and irresponsible of Fox to encourage him now. I slunk into the shadows and waited. It must have been another half an hour before Fox arrived. I'd had to turn down a come-on, and plastered a scowl on my face to discourage any more. Fox had chosen fairly innocuous clothes. Seemingly a date with Joe didn't call for the goth leathers that I warranted. He still looked edible, though, but I expect you know by now that he'd look good in anything to me. Dark pants, a tight white T-shirt with a v-neck, and a heavy shirt over, open, untucked, the sleeves rolled up a little, and the glint of a couple of studs in each ear; he fitted in just right with Joe's crowd. As soon as he spotted him, Joe surged forward and gave him a bear hug and kissed him right on the mouth for a very long time. No secrets about Joe's orientation, then... his friends gave him an indulgent glance, and carried on with their conversation, ignoring the sight of Joe's mouth making free with Fox's lips and his hands with Fox's body. I found it somewhat harder to be so blasé . I didn't see any reluctance on Fox's part, either. He seemed to melt all over Joe like fudge icing. I stamped hard on the tendrils of jealousy that were attempting to sprout. This wasn't about jealousy; it was about obedience. Given a choice, he'd take me over Joe, I was positive. So what the hell was the point in being jealous? I knew if I'd told him to make out with Joe in front of me I'd be halfway to coming by now, but I hadn't, and it was obvious he didn't respect me enough to take my threats about his future conduct seriously. He needed correction. For nearly an hour I watched them dance, talk, drink together—mingling with their friends, snatching kisses as they leaned close to speak above the throbbing music. At last Fox extricated himself from the group and made for the men's room. I drifted after him. It was a matter of seconds to accost him as he left and bundle him out of sight into the janitor's office for a cosy tete a tete. He was too shocked to struggle, and gaped at me like a small animal petrified, helpless, at the sight of a snake. "W—what... ?" he stuttered. I leant against the cluttered table and folded my arms, watching him with a patient smile as his brain processed my presence and threw up the correct answer. "You knew!" "Oh yes, my dearest, I knew." I replied ironically, lightly stroking one of the bruises on his neck with the tips of my fingers. He flinched away from me and bit his lips nervously, his eyes sliding from my glance to fix on the wall behind me. "What are you going to do?" he said flatly. He looked back at me and frowned. "This is entirely my fault, Alex. Punish me, somehow... but let him go. Tell me what you'll take for his life. He isn't to blame." I stood and walked behind him, running my hand possessively over his ass, feeling him unconsciously adjust his stance so that I could reach between his legs. I kissed him gently on the ear, just where Joe had been nibbling only a few minutes before. "You're hopeless, Fox, you and Mulder both. Is this your fault? I don't think so; Jesus, don't you ever question what Mulder does? He's manipulated you into this position, hasn't he?" "What do you mean?" He looked genuinely puzzled. "I... it was I who agreed to meet him. I who made the date." He turned to face me as I paced slowly around the room, rubbing his arms with his hands, as if, despite the stuffy heat of the club, he was cold. I felt sorry for him. I almost considered walking away and leaving him to his Joe for that evening, but he would have gained nothing if I had. Perhaps it would have made things worse. "And were you going to go when he first called you? It sounded to me like you had to be persuaded." I studied his face. He looked calm, but his beautiful lips were twitching slightly as they do when he's deep in thought, as if he's almost enunciating his ideas to himself. "Who persuaded you, Fox? Joe, or Mulder?" "You know it was Mulder," he stated, wide-eyed. "How... " He stopped, looked to one side, and then back at me quickly, his eyes narrowing. "You've read the diary." "Mm," I said, with a mischievous smile. "So has Scully." He plumped into a chair, looking at me, horrified. "You can berate me for that another time, Fox... and Mulder, because I assume you're listening." I squatted in front of him, and steadied myself by resting my hands on his knees. He was quivering under my hands, and I understood then that evening would be the crux of our relationship. We'd been through the alarms and diversions, the crises; here was where the rules were laid down, our Mount Sinai, our Ten Commandments. Here was where I became his god. "You're going back out there to Joe, and I'm coming with you. I don't care how you do it, but the three of us are going back to his place together. Make it good, Fox. I don't want him suspicious; any hint and he's dead." "And then?" I shrugged. "He's nothing to me," I said coldly. "He's your responsibility— justify him." "Put on a show?" "Put on a show, argue your point: beg me. Kill me, if you think Joe's worth it. Hell, most people are worthier than I. It's not an absolute test, Fox. This is about you, and Mulder, and your values." He looked vaguely sick. I understood how he felt, he was facing his own morality—was he going to throw in with me, utterly commit himself to my conditions, my guidance? He and I knew that it was damnation on one level, for his beliefs, his conscience: on another level, on the emotional plane, it would save him, steady him, anchor him. He nodded, a spastic jerk, and turned to the door. "Let's get on with it then." Chapter 25 In which we entertain He plastered a fixed grin on his face as we prepared to emerge into the club. I really wasn't sure what I was going to do—it wasn't exactly a straightforward situation. The problem wasn't Fox, it was Mulder. I really didn't care too much what Fox did, his motives weren't devious. I think if this had just been he and I we'd have been in the sort of relationship where it wouldn't have been significant that either of us was fucking other guys too. It was what this implied to Mulder that mattered. He was still ambivalent towards me, despite his protestations, his pleas, and his promises. He desired me, he wanted to trust me and he couldn't, and, on top of that, he had to cope with his embarrassment amongst his associates. Never mind that it probably meant little to them, that, on the whole, they'd almost have put it out of their minds by now; to Mulder it was all-consuming, all-pervading. So I reckon encouraging Fox to be disobedient was a roundabout way of forcing me to drop him by pissing me off. That way he could blame me for my intolerance rather than himself for his immature behaviour. It hadn't occurred to me before; it was a form of immaturity, wasn't it? Not taking responsibility for his sexuality—creating Fox, the ultimate hedonist, dilettante, romantic: an everlasting teenager. And himself—rebellious, he who flouted authority when it suited him, played off people against each other to get his own way. So what should I do? It was plain. Mulder had to face the consequences of his actions. No boss to bail him out, no Scully to cover up, no mysterious conspiracy to blame for the disastrous results of his uninformed meddling. I couldn't have been clearer, could I? Fox was mine to control now, not his, and it was at his request, too. 'Save me from him,' he'd said. 'Take charge.' Why had he manipulated Fox to disobey me? I'd ordered Fox not to involve himself with other guys without my permission, or I'd kill them. He'd flouted that. I suppose I'd meant it as a dramatic gesture—the circumstances had asked for it—but Mulder was calling my bluff. I could do only one thing. There was only one action I could take, or he wouldn't take me seriously, and my efforts, my care, would be pointless. No matter what happened this evening, Joe would die. The music had been no more than a thrum, a pulse through my belly in that bright room, which was so cluttered that the myriad of familiar objects were alien, unrecognisable, like an abstract collage on their overcrowded shelves. Around me there were a thousand colours, ten thousand reference points for the eye—and Fox, somehow stark against the mosaic background, restless and unhappy, with his hand hesitating over the door handle. "Go," I said. He opened the door and the noise hummed, throbbed, a remorseless machine dragging us into its bowels. Down the dark corridor, thrusting past shadowy figures drifting silently on unknown errands, the tangled limbs of lovers, the noise amplifying, pulling us into the maw of the vast main hall. I drew back in shock from the relentless din which filled my unwilling head with its thick substance, driving away all thought, all need but to sway and rock, lost in the gestalt of the mesmerised crowd. An instant; the massed heads were silhouetted against the flaring stage, then blink—the spotlights fell on them and the stage darkened, magenta, afterimages dotting my vision. Blink again, and the pit of the room was inky black, lasers strobing through a swirl of smoke and the warm vapour rising from the sweating dancers. It had been merely a dance-floor when I'd left, crowded and noisy, but now the pale faces turned to us as Fox led me back to Joe, turned to me like souls in purgatory awaiting their call, as if asking, 'How much time before my turn, Alex, before your wild logic demands my elimination, my death?' The bodies brushing against mine became more insubstantial, the music eerie, receding from reality into a cacophony of organic din. I wanted to run. Shove my way to the door. Escape into the silent empty street. Facts, memories, shot across my mind with the relentless beat, and slid, frictionless, ungraspable, back into darkness. Duty; Mulder's anguish; the nameless face of my last victim; schoolboy Alex; hot sun glinting on his windowpanes; pointlessness; the taste of blood in my mouth when he'd punched me... Stiffly, unwillingly, my legs marched me through the throng, Fox weaving, pushing, the dancers bending from him like tall stalks of corn, wraithlike before me as I followed. Then ahead I could see him, Joe, tall above the dark human sea, the pulsing lights brightening his golden hair to a surreal halo, flashing neon rainbows, and there too was his little retinue, mouths working with unheard words, expression drifting past their faces, mysterious, unfathomable in that deafening, throbbing discord. Fox stood beneath him, put a hand up to his face and drew it down, softly kissing his lips. A wash of violet caught Joe's head. Fox's fingers were grey-pale on his nape, their mouths barely touching. Joe's back curved forward, and he cradled Fox in his arms, their possessive bulk encasing him, angling down his body into the shadows. Could Mulder defy me more thoroughly? Could he hurt Fox more spitefully? He knew I'd find out, if not tonight, then soon. A tide of love washed over me for the doomed man. Knowing he would die, be sacrificed, made him dear to me; I needed to care for him, help him to enjoy his final hours. Fox made some introduction. I didn't hear, I was focussed on Joe, watching recognition bloom, basking in his friendly, open smile. It was an exquisite honour to shake his hand. As I chatted inconsequentially with him I found I was cherishing his remarks, turning them in my mind to appreciate every facet of his wit and knowledge on this, his last evening. I studied his movements, how he handled Fox, touched his body, arranged Fox in a series of postures that demonstrated how he knew and had possessed the other man. Fox, in turn, wove me into their pairing, flirting both with me and with Joe, subtly encouraging him to touch me, to stand near me, to dance with me. He drew us away from the group and in the intimacy of a dark corner seat, kissed me—steering the by-play as if a seduction was Joe's idea, and his own, and that I was a semi-reluctant recruit into their arms. Then I was between them, Joe's lips working against mine, the taste of tequila in his mouth and Fox's hands were stroking me, his fingers on my legs, my stomach, as one of Joe's huge hands clamped my head and the other, my wrists, restraining me so that I was submissive to their need. It was a dream. The memory returns in snatches, in vistas, in still tableaux. At the door of the club; halted at an intersection in Joe's car with my hand on Fox's shoulder; in an elevator, crushed by Joe's body against the metal wall as Fox watched, laughing; Joe fumbling with his key at the door of his apartment; sprawled on his couch with a glass of wine as Fox knelt at his feet and slowly unzipped him; lying half-naked on Joe's bed. And suddenly time flowed again, laminarly, smoothly, logically. I lay, sprawled on a warm coverlet, watching the two of them through lazy eyes. Joe was in his briefs, his body every bit as smooth and golden as I had envisaged it on that night I met Fox. It shone with life, pulled in energy and glowed, and Fox's eyes caressed it; the shapely muscles, the very size and bulk of the man. Joe's hands reached to undress Fox, carefully undoing buttons, zips, easing off the clothing as if Fox were made of the thinnest porcelain, dwarfing my lover, turning him into a fragile, virtually elfin figure in contrast to his own mass. The uneasy disproportion that I find in movies when the heroine, slim, waiflike, is paired with a creature of such solidity, such muscle that she seems a child in his arms, almost surfaced. One thing I appreciate about being a fag is, in general, the equality of it, the lack of a fixed role. Society and breeding have done a lot to distort the sexes... though I wasn't above giving Joe gargantuan proportions when I'd fantasised about him and Fox, I thought wryly. The soft light from the shaded lamp conjured a quiet intimate space, mellowing the contours of the figures before me into a sepia portrait, like an old photograph. Fox was nude, aroused, and with a dreamy smile at me he placed his hands on Joe's hips and slid the snug briefs down his long legs, and helped him step from them. I'd been a little generous in my fantasy. His semi-erect penis was an impressive size, but totally in proportion to his physique. I bit back a laugh at my unconscious expectation of a member out of a 'Tom of Finland' cartoon. Joe beckoned me over. I slipped from the bed and padded across the deep creamy carpet to stand between them. I can't recall when my other clothes had been removed. All that remained were the tight leather pants and my boxers. He slipped his hands under my arms, clutching me firmly under my shoulderblades, and pulled me up on tiptoe to kiss me. I twined my arms round his neck to support myself... it was the oddest thing, bringing back vividly the sensations from childhood, how huge the world appears. His hands slid down to my ass, sensuously rubbing the taut stretched material that covered it, and pulling me in to use my laced groin to stimulate his cock. I could feel that cock enlarging, intruding; he turned me round, and with his hands on my hips ground his filling length against my buttocks. Fox closed the few inches between us and leaned forward to kiss me, forcing my head back to nestle against Joe's neck, and holding my wrists firmly in his hands. He pulled back to arm's length, and studied my face, still gripping my wrists, and I noticed that his gleaming cock-head, garnished tonight with the tiny studs, had left a hint of a shiny trail on my pants. I was hard inside them, really hard, and my hips were squirming in a vain effort to ease their constriction. Joe's hands slipped round to the front and traced the line of my arousal through the fine leather, his sturdy thumb rubbing firmly over the tip. I moaned and thrust back against his hips, feeling his thick cock wedging my pants against my crack. "I'd like to see what you can do with that pretty mouth," rumbled Joe in my ear, turning me to face him. I looked up into his smiling face, and felt myself grin back. Fox appeared at his shoulder, his eyes dark, dilated, his tongue darting over his parted lips, and he stared, lost in desire, from one face to the other. I could see his convulsive swallow as he waited for my response. I sank slowly to one knee, wincing as the thick creases in the pants dug into my sensitive groin. Swirling my tongue deliberately over his glans, plum-purple with pooled blood, and down a wide fat-veined shaft, I applied myself to licking his heavy balls. His skin was hot, sweet, and the curly brush of hair a deep gold. "You too, Fox?" he said with a deep chuckle, as Fox appeared, kneeling at my side. Fox pulled my face round for a long kiss, savouring the flavour of his boyfriend on my lips. Taking Joe's dick in his hands he carefully rolled a condom onto it, then he let it glide over my mouth until I opened for him and sucked in as much as I could take. His fingers moved to my cheek, feeling the tense muscles where I had stretched to accommodate Joe, and then his tongue stroked the shaft, investigating the junction where my tight lips surrounded it. His breath was drawn in tiny gasps, as if a deeper one would be a distraction, as he felt my lips moving against Joe's erection, as he licked Joe's silken flesh with long, lingering strokes and whimpered his appreciation almost silently. Fox stood again, and moved round behind me, close enough to trap my head against his groin and reached over my shoulder to fondle Joe's scrotum with one hand as he ran the other over my face and ear. "Do you want to fuck him, Joe?" he asked, softly. "Is that what he wants?" His fingers circled Joe's cock and controlled the movement of the shaft in my mouth. I leant against him, shut my eyes, and let him use me to pleasure his friend. "He'll do anything you want this evening," murmured Fox, stroking my face and neck as he thrust the penis in and out of my mouth. "Anything at all. He's given tonight to you and I; whatever you want to do is his desire." I knew then that he'd realised whatever he did or said about Joe would make no difference to my decision. All he could do for him was give him this gift and await my choice for Joe's fate. I acceded gladly, and felt myself shiver in anticipation. Joe looked a straightforward sort of guy, but maybe it was more than just his looks that had attracted Fox's interest? Above my head, Joe leaned forward and kissed Fox, replying, "What do you want him to do, Fox? You said he was your new lover, does he like to play?" With a snort of laughter, he added, "Does he even know about your games?" I could feel Fox writhing behind me, working himself against my head as they kissed. Eventually he said, "I suspect Alex knows more about me than I do. He belongs to me, Joe. Look!" He pulled away from us, and from the corner of my eye I saw him turn around. I felt Joe draw a sharp breath. He pushed me gently from him. As I stood up, I saw him gingerly touching Fox's brand, my initial. "He did this?" he said gruffly. "Stupid... of course he did. But you haven't been together that long, to come to this point, for a pledge like this." I stood silent, waiting to hear Fox's interpretation of his mark. "We've got a long and convoluted history. Even if we weren't lovers, it was more than time for a definition of our relationship. He believes I'm his," he said, with a tender smile at me. "But this was his initiative. He promised to look out for me, Joe, to keep me safe. Whatever I do, he'll take care of me. He's got the short end of the straw, all the work to do, and in my book that makes him mine. If I'm prepared to take the consequences, I can do what I want. Isn't that right, my sweet Alex?" "Yes," I said hoarsely. I looked into his eyes, and it was true. He had free will, he'd made no promise; he could do what he wanted—so long as he was prepared for my retribution. I was bound to him by my love for Mulder, by my vow to Mulder and to him. I had no choices left. If he chose to disobey I had to react, I couldn't ignore it. Unless I forsook him I was compelled by my own words to him, by the mark on his body. Teasing, he'd offered to be my slave the night he moved in with me, and I'd rejected even that. I had no hold on him, he'd never agreed to my rules. I cleared my throat. "Yes, he can do what he likes. This evening I asked him to take the lead, so I'm compelled to follow." I smiled at Joe. "Not that it's a hardship." I felt weak with the realisation of what I'd done. It was a one-sided contract, and all that would restrain Fox, and Mulder, was their own conscience, but I wasn't dismayed by the way I'd managed to dive into this so blindly, led on by my adoration of this strange and beautiful man. I was filled with joy that I'd committed myself wholly, that I'd cared so much that my caution had deserted me. "I want to see him with you, Joe. " Fox reached out his hand and trailed it down Joe's chest, swirling his fingertips around each of the nipples so that they stood proud on the smooth hard chest. "Take him for me, get him hot and keep him waiting. I'd like to see him beg for it." They both looked over at me; Fox's eyebrow lifted sardonically, and Joe pursed his lips, as if to stifle a snigger. "In that case, we'd better make sure he can't take the initiative," he said, a smile in his voice. "Tie his hands behind him, Fox. Then it won't matter if he gets impatient." I felt my chest tighten a little in panic. I don't mind a rough fuck, being held down; but letting myself be made so helpless goes against my nature. I waited quietly, trying to calm myself, to slow my racing pulse. I'd permitted this, after all, and what sweeter adventure than a mystery tour of another's fantasies. As I idly wondered whether Mulder would take the opportunity while I was helpless to force his way in and decide Joe's fate for me, Fox fetched a length of soft rope from a drawer and returned to stand in front of me. Holding it in his left hand and he drew it slowly through his right and stared me in the eyes until I looked down in submission. I turned my back to him and stretched my arms behind me for him to bind. He could feel me shaking under his hands as he wound the rope efficiently round my wrists, tying them together tightly. We both knew that I wouldn't escape without help, or some sharp object on which to cut the rope, and he ran his hands up to feel the tension in my arms, sending a rash of goosebumps over my shoulders. Leaning in, he whispered, "Can you take this, Alex?" I nodded jerkily, and his warmth pressed against my back as he pecked a kiss behind my ear, then urged me forward to stand before Joe, who was lounging on a chair he'd pulled out from its position against the wall. Presented to him, unable to reciprocate when he ran his fingertips down my body, as he stroked my thighs and pressed his knuckles against my tight-laced groin, I felt afloat, drifting, every inch of my defenceless body awaiting his touch. He picked at the lacing of my trousers, deftly pulling the knotted bow apart, and unthreading the cord completely until the pants were undone. Pushing them slowly down along with my boxers, he revealed my stiff and sweaty cock, and I sighed to feel it at last unconstricted. Joe, however, had plans for it. Hefting my balls in his hand, then running it firmly up my cock, he gave my foreskin a tweak, then, with a smile, wrapped the cord from my pants round the base of my genitals like a cock-ring. "Shit," I breathed. "You can't be serious." "If you play with my friends, you've got to be prepared for our games," Fox observed, easing the leather pants down over my ass and kneading the flesh slowly. The garments disappeared, and he pushed his hand along my crack, just touching my anus gently. Joe sat and grinned, occasionally blowing a puff of air at my aching cock. "Should I start begging right now?" I asked. "Show some grit," Joe answered with a chuckle. "We haven't had our fun, yet." He pulled me closer to stand between his legs, running his hands round my hips and pulling my cheeks apart. And there was Fox's tongue, stroking my ass-hole—I gasped and moaned, throwing my head back and thrusting my hips forward, hoping Joe would touch my cock. Instead he guided me round to stand beside him. "Across my lap," he growled. Startled, I shot a glance at Fox. Joe grabbed one of my upper arms and jerked. I had no means of catching myself, I stumbled forward and almost sprawled across his legs, head down, buttocks up, and no purchase for my feet at the angle I found myself. It was all too plain what was coming next, and the damn cord seemed to tighten as my cock decided to try and engorge itself still further. Joe spread his legs to support me, and settle me into a more comfortable position. My genitals were hanging free between his legs, and seemed to have a lump of stone attached to them as the combined weight of my arousal and my embarrassment dragged them down. I peered determinedly at the weave of his carpet and wished it were a magic one that, if it wouldn't spirit me away, would at least remove Fox. How can something be so good and so bad at the same time? His large hand stroked my ass, parted my thighs and caressed the delicate skin between my legs. I could feel his other hand resting on my spine between my bound arms and his dick brushing against my belly. There were Fox's feet, just at the edge of my vision. My stomach clenched in excited anticipation, but he simply continued to pet me, and stroke my skin until I relaxed across his knees like an oversized cat. Fox lay on the floor and scooted over until his head was beneath mine, tilted it up a little and fastened our lips together, probing inside with his tongue. The invasion was total, I couldn't motivate myself to take the kiss back to him, I was helpless, my body at the mercy of Joe's strength and Fox's devious imagination. I was breathless when he'd finished, my position didn't allow me the option of pulling away. He let his head drop back until it rested on the floor and looked up past my body at Joe, lifting his brows. The stroking stopped. He looked back at me, his pupils huge, his tongue running slowly over his superb lips as if I were a tasty hors d'oeuvre ready to be popped in his mouth and scrunched between his teeth. I wished I could think of a quip to defuse the tension, but I was speechless, my mind trapped in a channel of lust and shame. At last I could stand it no longer. I closed my eyes on the reflection of my need that was Fox's face. I drew a deep breath and gasped, "Do it." My lungs were strained with air that had swelled, thickened within them, so that exhalation no longer seemed possible. Further seconds passed, and then there was a noise like a single clap, so sudden that I didn't realise what had happened until the pricking at the top of my right thigh alerted me. It had been no more than a tap, but it was swiftly followed by a dozen more, building to a tingling pain that made my ass feel as if it was swollen and hot, needling with the irritation of a multitude of bee stings. With each strike a bolt of sensation—not pain, or pleasure, more like a spark, a jolt, charged my groin. My cock became like a battery overloaded with electricity, needing only a touch to pour out its contents in one massive flash. My gasps soon became whimpers and then groans as the pain in its beguiling mask deceived my nerves and entwined my senses in a maze of conflicting directions. The knowledge of self, of Alex, ceased; I turned, twisting faster and faster, span down in a dizzy spiral away from the real, from custom and society, from place, to that existence where nothing matters but that the strange, overwhelming rapture shouldn't cease. It was some seconds before I realised he had stopped. Keening softly, I moved sluggishly against him, my muscles aching as I consciously forced them to un-cramp. I couldn't speak. Fuck, I couldn't have thought what to say if I could have found my voice. I couldn't open my eyes to face Fox, to see him relish what he had done to me. All I wanted was for it to continue, and for Joe to release that cord, to let me come. But there was no way I could allow myself to say it. I felt a roil of heat in my already flushed face as, without deliberate thought, my hips flexed and my ass twitched as if asking to be noticed. Joe chuckled again. I heard it, rich and satisfied, and felt its vibration where my body nestled against his belly in shameful want. He scraped his fingernails lightly across the bruise-numbed and inflamed skin of my buttocks and I gasped in shock as a bolt of searing agony transmuted into another lick of sheer bliss around my groin. There was a silky rustling, and Fox brushed against me as he stood. I hadn't realised his breath was on my face and his scent in my nostrils until he moved away. My eyes were still squeezed tight shut against the truth of my position, I couldn't face what I was doing, not in front of Fox, of Mulder, and yet, y'know, it was irresistible; my heart was skipping beats with excitement. Then his hand was on me too, resting so lightly on my skin that snowflakes would have been harsh. They began to discuss the glow Joe had brought to my ass, delineating it with their fingers, comparing my performance with other encounters, putting me in my place... an accessory to their evening, a toy for their mutual pleasure. It was frighteningly welcome, appropriate. Christ, what I'd done to Fox was amateurish. Trivial, compared to their twisted sophistication. I wanted to grovel at Fox's feet, beg him to take me as his apprentice. Fox pressed his thumb into the base of my spine and let it run slowly and inexorably down between my ass-cheeks until he reached my anus. The impersonal banter between the two men continued. I was too small to interrupt; too humble. My sphincter flexed as that digit approached, begging for his touch, and penetration. My cock somehow swelled even more, crying to be noticed. I felt so damn stupid. Powerless—but I yearned for their attention. Jesus, why hadn't I gone for the simple approach? Totalled the guy and dealt with Fox later. Stupid fuck. Playing games gets you in all sorts of unplanned, uncontrollable situations, doesn't it, Alex? You should know a hell of a lot better than that. Fox's thumb teased into the tight hole, stretching the puckered skin, hinting that he would slip it inside me, should he feel inclined to favour me. Then Joe's hand joined his, slippery with lube, and a finger penetrated, Joe's, then a second joined it, and this time it was Fox's. They were assessing me, talking about screwing me and about my responses. Holding back from the purpose for which we were here, letting me know that they were serious when they talked of me begging. I was shivering with shame and need, with the effort of holding my body still, with the growing discomfort of my position, pretending I was elsewhere, anywhere. And Mulder would be watching me too. What would he feel? Contempt? Ridicule? Was he gloating at this reversal, pleased that I was paying back the cost of prostituting him to Stephen? He must have realised that I wasn't carrying it off with Fox's panache or bravado. Aplomb. That was the word. My mind grasped at definitions, synonyms, anything to deny the trembling emptiness that I had become. Unwanted defiance was growing in my gut. Why do you let them do this Alex? Fox isn't a trick, an assignment. Tomorrow, next week, you'll still be this worm to him and Mulder. It's just pretence with the others, with the trash the clients give you, it doesn't matter a fuck what they think of you, 'cos in the morning they'll be gone. Dealt with, maybe dead. Maybe dead by my hand, and all the time I've been taking their shit I've been warm inside with anticipation. But this was deep down real. Common-sense rebelled, but Alex's soul knew what it wanted... what it craved, what it couldn't allow. Should Alex try dependence? Could he give it up, and let Fox decide, just for a few hours? Maybe the big, warm, coping Joe could take him too, and hold his responsibilities... only he's the stalwart that Alex is planning to topple, isn't he? To turn into cold dead meat? Damn Mulder and his devious brain. Damn him to the deepest hell. Fox stepped back from me. "Get up, Alex-love," he said, softly. I must have heard; I remember the words, but it didn't apply to me. I hadn't a name. Joe tilted his legs, putting his arm around my chest to heave me up, and my feet scrabbled on the carpet. They expected me to support myself now, stand up, and there was a hole where that knowledge had lain. All I could find in there was a tiny package, a box bound in silver filigree. I opened it and there glistened a perfect rainbow droplet, the distillation of diffuse fancy, of reveries on moon stark nights, of warm dreams in summer orchards. Abandonment, uninvolvement. Why bother, when you can look into the shimmering, wavering meniscus and see only complete joy and forgetfulness. I let them guide me to my feet, support my unsteady stance, and I opened my eyes wide to their enchantment. "Fox," I sighed, and I leaned towards his face and willed him closer to me. My lips just touched his, and a brief flick of his tongue slid over my parted lips. Each muscle pulsed with release and the awareness of the fine abuse it had received. Palsied, my limbs stood paralysed, waiting for a rush of blood to suffuse them, and when it came a red tide swam over my vision and I slumped against the warm hardness that was Joe. Fox locked his eyes with mine and his hands reached down to my bloated cock, the only part of me that had survived and grown stronger throughout. Smooth fingers surrounded it, and he drew the tips slowly up the length, capturing my foreskin and twisting it gently to and fro over the slick head. As my breath shuddered in and out of my lungs, I chewed on my lips in anticipation. Fox cocked his head and smiled whimsically, glancing at Joe, and back at myself. "I think he's not going to speak, Joe. Not quite there yet, are we, Alex? Your body's begging for it, but you're not going to ask us just yet, are you?" I swallowed, and shook my head. I knew I would, it was just a matter of time, until I'd let my pride be beaten into the ground. It was already there, truthfully. I just hadn't announced it out loud. Fox stepped up to Joe's side, nestling in under his arm, and the mountain bent over to kiss him. He'd got a hold on me, too, his brawny right arm encircled me, and I was aware of every rise and fall of his muscled chest as he took thorough possession of Fox's mouth. "Fuck him for me, now Joe," said Fox. There was the edge of a sneer in that even voice, and the goosebumps rippled over my body again. I shuddered. "Face up or down, my beauty?" asked Joe, amused. "Oh, down. That's the best. I want to see him bound, I like the way that rope bites into his wrists. He's an animal, Joe. His humanity is a disguise. Fuck him like one, fuck him hard until he's screaming for release." I could hear malice in those words, as if Mulder was sharing the scene with Fox. I studied the calm reserved face—or, I mused, as if Mulder was there, not Fox. "OK. You heard him," said Joe briskly and he marched me to the bed then, pressing on my shoulders, forced me to kneel. I had no more resistance than a doll. I was guided to crouch in the middle of the mattress, resting on my shoulders and knees with my ass in the air, and my thighs spread for him. I pressed my head into the covers to help brace myself and waited. There was a low, mumbled conversation, and the sound of a drawer being opened and closed, then the bed dipped beneath Joe's weight. I'd shut my eyes, wildly hoping that by strict concentration on the sensations Joe would provide, I'd come anyway and be spared the humiliation Fox required of me. Joe paused, with a cool hand on my ass to steady himself, and then there was a tiny metallic 'snick'. I looked up, perplexed, to see Fox holding a digital camera to his eye. Shit. Joe was posing for the twisted son-of-a-bitch. I rolled on my side in panic, trying to get to my feet, and Mr. Muscles gave my buttocks a tremendous thwack with his hand, making me screech in pain. Unfazed, Fox snapped off a couple more shots. He pinned me back face down on the bed. I struggled furiously, spitting curses at the two of them, but Joe just laughed and held me with little apparent effort. Rearranging his position, he heaved my hips up with a bruising grip and Fox slipped a couple of pillows under me to hold me in place. The fat cock-head nuzzled my ass-hole, and he pressed slowly against me, stretching the sphincter mercilessly until it slid inside. I was fixed like a butterfly tacked down to a board. His wide hands clamped my pelvis, pulling me onto him as he eased himself into me, his impressive cock taking an age to sheath. At last his balls brushed my burning skin. I felt so full, replete with his flesh, tensioned so tightly around him that it almost seemed as if I'd been vacuum-formed to fit. Gently he moved inside me, just twitching the depth marginally, transmitting tiny pulses of delight from my prostate. My cock at last had something to work against, and I writhed against the pillows, whimpering with pleasure and biting at the bedcover. As I loosened he extended the stroke, pistoning slowly and regularly, building my arousal to a pitch that had me panting and thrusting against him for more. But he wouldn't allow it, wouldn't speed up or pump harder. Fox must have been continuing to record us... at one point I felt his fingers on my face, brushing back my hair before the camera clicked close by. Gradually I noticed that the grunts forced from me from each drive home had shaped into the word 'Please', and I knew I couldn't hold out against my need any longer. My hands were stretching and clenching painfully in their bonds with frustration, with the all-consuming urge to wrench that constriction from my genitals and work my cock mercilessly. "Stop, Joe," murmured Fox, somewhere behind us. He was still immediately, buried inside me. Involuntarily, I wailed, "No—o—oo, you can't." My whimpers turned to sobs, as I capitulated. "Fuck me. Let him fuck me, lover, please don't make him stop. Please don't listen to him Joe, you can't. Just finish it, please." Fox giggled. "But this isn't for you, Alex, my sweet. It's for Joe and I. I didn't ask him to make you come, I just said 'make him beg', and you've obliged so nicely." As I interspersed my muttered curses with more abject pleas, I felt the bed dip again. "Lean forward, Joe," said Fox. "Let me inside you, mm? I guess if you just make use of my little rat, here, he'll shoot despite the restraint." Joe crushed himself over my back and sighed, twisting his dick deeply into my hole as Fox penetrated him. I winced as his weight rested briefly on my throbbing ass. Then they set up a rhythm between them. It was maddening, it wasn't quite enough to tip me over the edge, and for Joe, with the stimulation from Fox, I was just that bit of extra friction. Their moans and thrusts synchronised; I was out of phase, becoming more annoyed and desperate. Suddenly, there was a fat pulsation in Joe's shaft, and he stabbed deeply into me, Fox's name grinding from his throat. A couple more rocking thrusts, and Fox came too with a long groan. I was so excluded, so wanting, that tears were pricking my eyes. I could hear myself still begging, brokenly. A hand tilted my face around, and I opened my eyes so that his camera could fully archive their cruelty to me. "Please, Fox," I whispered to the smug face behind that truthful lens. "Maybe," he replied lightly. "I need a drink. Anyone else?" "OK," replied Joe. "Just a soda or somesuch." I rolled painfully onto my back, coming to rest against the hulk's thigh. "Water, please." I needed it, too. My throat was raw from the guttural cries that had been forced from it. Joe smiled kindly down at me, and rubbed his hand over my chest. "It'll be all the better for waiting," he said, smiling. "I won't let him tease you for long." "It's already been a fucking eternity," I grimaced. I struggled to sit up. Joe assisted me, leaning me against himself, and held the water for me to drink. His own went down in a long swallow; I heard his stomach gurgling on its arrival. I looked enquiringly at Fox. "Are you going to untie me now? I've abased myself for you, you sadist." "In a while," he said calmly, collecting the glasses, and heading back to the kitchen. I could hear the tap running as he rinsed them, and something else, too. Joe's breathing had become sonorous, on the edge of a snore. I looked up over my shoulder at him. He was sound asleep, slumped against the bed-head. So much for me getting mine, I thought. No wonder women complain. I nudged him with my bound hands, and when that didn't rouse him, sat up so that I could wriggle round to shake him with my foot. I must have been acting as a wedge, because without my support he gave a slow roll, and tipped right off the low bed with a soft thump, to lie prone on the floor, still snoring. Well, you're thinking, that's not natural. I panicked. Forgetting that my own intentions toward Joe could seriously damage his health, I scrambled to my feet and dashed into the kitchen to alert Fox that his friend was sick. "Joe's..." My words petered out when I saw what he was doing. He looked at me, biting that sinful lower lip. "...drugged," he informed me flatly, pushing the clip back into my gun. "Mulder?" I blurted. He shook his head. "You've realised finally that your friend's worth more than this piece of shit, huh?" I said, wryly. Somehow I wasn't scared. If my time was up, I was glad it was by his hand. "I'm sorry I couldn't do better, Fox—be better. Do it quickly then, before I disgrace myself with excuses." He smiled sadly. "I can't do that, my love. How could I live without you? This is for Joe. My gullibility condemned him, the least I owe him, and myself, is that I should carry out the deed. I didn't think I could hold the gun steady enough to do it cleanly if he were conscious... Anyway, I don't want him to suffer at all." "What!" I exclaimed incredulously. "All along you didn't think that you could argue me out of it? Is that why you tied me up?" He nodded. "I must do it, before I lose my nerve," he said firmly. When he lifted the gun, his hands were shaking badly. "You're no Mulder," I said, with a snort of laughter. "I don't think you've ever had the nerve. Put the gun away; I don't blame you, it always comes down to Mulder, if you dig deeply enough." "And let you kill him instead? Where does that leave my self-respect, Rat-boy? I know you're going to do it. How can I turn a blind eye, and when you murder him say it was your fault, not mine? "I've got myself into this stinking hole. The least I can do is admit it, and minimise the damage." "Killing a man won't salvage your self-respect. You won't ever be able to get over it, go back to the person you were. It's not you, Fox. You're not a killer. You feel too much. Leave this quarrel to Mulder and I, please?" "Jeez, shut up, Krycek, and let me get on with it." He moved to leave the kitchen, but I dropped to my knees in the doorway, blocking it. "Want to hear me beg, for real? Let me beg for Joe's life, then, Fox. Give this up, and I will, too. He can live, OK?" "I don't fucking believe you," he said hotly. I sat back on my heels, and turned my eyes up to him in supplication. Naked, as I was, with my hands and cock bound, and that cord still round my neck with his tag on it, I must have looked the epitome of the obedient slave-boy. If it hadn't been so important, it would have been amusing, and damned hot. "I promise I won't kill him, alright? I'll have to give him a beating or something, as a warning to Mulder, or he'll keep jerking you around, but Joe'll recover. Will that do for you?" He looked worriedly at me, pondering, wanting to believe me, that was obvious. Real violence wasn't Fox's forte, skilled as he was in ritualistic torture. The two were worlds apart. "C'mon, Joe's a nice guy, and I know it was just a bit of fun for you. I'm not jealous. I just don't want Mulder thinking he can tell you what to do, directly or underhandedly. He's got to let me take charge. Mulder's full of bullshit about what he wants. Christ, he doesn't know himself, you said he was right on the edge, he's self destructive. He pleads for help, then he undermines it. He's got to let go, let someone else take his worries on board. He could have chosen better than me, but that's how it goes. He's just lucky that I'm crazy in love with the dumb fuck." "And me, baby? Are you crazy in love with me?" he said wistfully. I cocked an eyebrow and gave that a little thought before replying. "Not yet, my friend, but I can't loathe you any more. You've earned my respect, and admiration, and it just might turn into love, in truth, given time—now I know who you are, and don't see you through Mulder's eyes." "So if I ask you, you won't kill him. Is that all I have to do?" "I guess so, Fox." He put the gun down, and helped me to my feet. "I have to believe you, 'cos I don't want to do this one bit. You promise me?" I nodded. "Poor Joe... But at least he won't be dead Joe," I smiled. "And did you stop to think how damn stupid it would be to kill him here and now, after you've been at his side all evening? Now we've settled that, d'you think you could do something about untying me? Or maybe taking this tourniquet off from round my balls, please?" He lowered his lids and gave me a sideways glance. "You are going to let me loose, aren't you?" I added. "Um... on condition..." " What condition?" "That you don't come." "Why the hell not! Shit, you've been teasing me for hours ." He pursed his lips. "Just a whim." "Twisted little cocksucker," I muttered. He reached over and daintily plucked at the knot Joe had tied. "What d'ya say? Save it for Mulder... a present from me." "I might not last," I drawled. "I can't censor my dreams." He unwound the thing and as I sagged with relief he quickly snatched his hands away. "One last kiss, while you're still tied." His eyes were almost slitted shut, and his face a picture of dreamy rapture as he leant in towards me. "Make it brief then, my sweet, or no amount of self-control will hold it." He pressed his lips to mine, soft and sweet as a virgin's first kiss, and I felt them pull into a smile against mine. Then he drew bank, and turned me round, and clasped my bound wrists with his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the rope. His cock, growing hard again, brushed my knuckles. "You really like this, don't you?" I purred, amused. "Oh, yeah," he said, his breath catching in an edgy laugh. "God, I'd like to beat you some more." He put his hand lightly on my ass, feeling the burn from my inflamed skin. "And you, Alex? You didn't seem to be protesting?" "Don't like being restrained, Fox, I can't relax into it, y'know? Goes with the life-style of intrigue and double-dealing. But just sometimes... if I can really trust someone, I forget to be frightened and get off on it." He crouched behind me and started to nuzzle and lick at my hands and their bindings. My cock began to throb dangerously. "Stop, Fox," I squeaked. "I'm not made of stone, for goodness sakes..." "So you really trust me, then?" "I guess I do," I said, slightly surprised. "I don't think I'd be happy if you suddenly became Mulder, however." He chuckled, and began to tug at the knots in the rope. "I though you liked to be the sub," I remarked, over my shoulder. "Most of the time, especially in public," he said, standing and rooting in a drawer for a knife. "But one of the things that turns me on is to top guys in private that humiliate me in public. Joe likes that. Treats me like a little pet when we're out together, likes me to beat the hell out of him when we're alone." He came back and sawed through the knots, which had tightened considerably during the action. For a few seconds after release my arms and shoulders were in agony, and my hands tingled with pins and needles. "Is that how you want it with me, babe?" I asked, turning and looking into his face. I grabbed his hair to force his head back and began biting and sucking at the bruises from when I'd strangled him earlier. "Because I'm not going to oblige." He seized my wrists, and forced me away from him. "Sometimes, Ratboy, just sometimes," he said menacingly. His tone made me shiver in anticipation. "I'll want you somewhere sordid, I think... in a deserted building, or a dark lonely alley, and I'll cuff you and hit you with my belt 'til you scream, and then fuck you hard." "Like Mulder, then?" "Not like Mulder," he said scornfully. "He means it. There's hate in him. This is love, sweet Alex. Secret foreplay for the next time I'm on my knees for you in a crowd, hoping you'll let me suck you off. Or that you'll do that thing you find so disgusting, and piss on me—feeling the welts I've put on you, and punishing me for it, treating me like the dirty slut I am. I don't want to be in charge, I just want to shame you into keeping me under your heel." I shook him off, and stood back a little. "I suppose I might have expected your kinks to be as complicated and devious as Mulder's obsessions. I can see we're going to have fun," I said sardonically. "If you've got over worrying about how Mulder's going to take it, then I expect we will," he agreed. "Your first mission is to hold off that orgasm." "I can cope with a challenge," I laughed. "How's Mulder taking all this?" He tapped his temple with his forefinger. "You don't want to know. He's seething. C'mon, get dressed." He pulled the cover from the bed and draped it over the sleeping Joe, on the floor. I added a pillow for his head. He came back to my place for Mulder's clothes, but wouldn't stop. It was nearly morning, and he planned on sleeping for a couple of hours at Number 42 before Mulder had to go to work. I retired to my lonely bed, troubled, and thought for a long time before dropping off to sleep. The rollercoaster wouldn't stop, and I was starting to feel a little tired from the breakneck ride. Chapter 26 In which I keep a promise I was hot, and it was near noon. Cramped, bored and headachy from squinting through binoculars, getting hungry, wasting time... I wondered if Joe would even show. A roof can be a good place to hang out... cool breeze, great view, pretty quiet, solitary; but when you're crouched behind a parapet with a rifle it soon loses its charm. Fox reckoned Joe would wake by noon. There was no guarantee he'd go out, of course, I was just taking a gamble because I wanted to get this over with. Not a beating, then, you're thinking? Well, it wasn't a good idea, was it? He'd know me, and even if he didn't tell the cops it would still come back on Fox. I could have hired someone, I suppose, or called in a favour, but I didn't want any fuck-ups. So, a judicious bullet, and, given that some passer by had the sense to call for an ambulance, our mountain should live... probably with a slight limp. I'd decided on that because I wanted some permanent sign for my trouble, something to point out to Agent Mulder, should he consider further rebellion. The damn' hard-on didn't help, either. My mind would drift to the previous night, and I remembered how horny I'd felt, and I'd think... just a quick hand-job, and your concentration will be ten times better, Alex. Not a good idea to be on surveillance feeling like you haven't had it for a month. But it had got to be a challenge, y'know. And there was something about holding it because he'd told me to. Promises. Some are fun, some are a burden. Some are impossible. I'd made one too many. I peered at the tiny spider crawling across the grimy cement that scoured my clenched hands. The surface was cracked, tiny desiccated weeds struggling for life in the shadows. I could look down at a shallow angle on the roof of the building where Joe lived; there was a sheet of newspaper slithering, scuttling around the enclosed grey rectangle, another little world, separated from this by the street's chasm. Down there, the deep ravine was filled with the torrent of traffic. It roared and rumbled, the stream of cars eddying round obstructions, a motorbike tossed on the current like a fallen leaf. No food... nothing unnecessary, minimise equipment, keep it uncomplicated, there's less chance of leaving traces. A Walkman would have been good, or a radio to pass the time, but then that's one sense wiped out that could tell you if someone's creeping up on you. It's a distraction, too. It's stupid really to keep watch for an extended time alone. It's ultimately inefficient, because how long can you keep alert unaided? If nothing else, you're going to have to pee sooner or later. Lying in ambush has its rewards, though. A gun is a beautiful thing, the way all precision instruments are. It's good to hold one, feel the perfect neatness of the sections, the weight, the sleek metal, the smell of the lubrication, like the scent of an old pocket watch, or my mother's sewing machine, whose parts moved against each other in soft, mysterious harmony. And then, if you're lucky, your target appears, huge in the crosshairs of the sights, and you can pinpoint a tiny area, meticulously choosing with an artist's eye the precise point where your bullet must enter, visualising the neat hole in the clothing, or the skin. Unstoppable, the hot slug drives its own path through the weak plastic flesh. Its impartiality has a cruel beauty, a rightness; uncaring whether the material that parts before it is gut, or heart, or the living thoughts that were a sentient being. Killing a man this way is so easy, so absolute, so rigorous—so cowardly, but oh, so satisfying. My cock throbbed with anticipation, with the glory of it. I tried to tell myself I was here merely to injure Joe, issue a warning, but I could feel myself marshalling arguments to finish him and justify the paean to his existence that my behaviour and appreciation that last evening had been. This wasn't the same as a face-to-face confrontation. There the pleasure is about power and humiliation; like a rape—bolstering your own ego at the expense of another's. It would have been difficult to spur myself to take Joe like that, anyway. I had no desire to upset him. Shit, that sounds dumb, doesn't it? The sort of situation where I could hear myself saying, "This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you." Perhaps he'd think this anonymous shooting was a mistake, a bullet intended for another, or a random shot that had found an unexpected target. Hopefully the pain for him would be purely physical. The only one who needed to know it was deliberate was Mulder... Mulder. I sat back, cross-legged, and laid the rifle in my lap. Its sunwarmed blackness cut into my thighs like a blade of leaden duty. Bleakly, I faced the truth. I'd planned to shirk my obligation to Mulder. I'd been self-indulgent. I'd played games. I'd compromised. I shouldn't have sought out Fox and Joe, sloughed off my responsibility to Mulder, promised to mitigate Joe's fate. Damn. I'd made a bad situation a hundred times worse. I should have eliminated Joe as soon as I'd confirmed that Fox intended to go through with the assignation. Carried out the deed without warning or explanation. It would have been clean and surgical. Mulder would have understood that, and Fox would have been distraught, but resigned. Now, I'd made conflicting promises. I was a fool to think Mulder wouldn't milk my pathetic indulgence to Fox to the very dregs. I sighed deeply, and settled back into position, aiming my weapon with new determination. I felt icy within, anticipating Fox's withdrawal, at the thought of losing his playful affection, but the oath I'd sworn to Mulder was paramount. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Joe's dead," I said. For once, he'd picked up his own office phone. "I'm at your place." It wasn't worth hearing an answer. I hung up and settled onto his couch with a mug of tea and the sandwiches I'd bought on the way. The morning had been long and boring, the sun had been soporific and I'd had little sleep the previous night. I must have been asleep within ten minutes. If I'd expected him to rush home in a rage to confront me, I'd been mistaken. The evening sun splashed warm bright patches across his drab walls when I was roused by his voice speaking my name in an urgent snarl. Dizzily I hauled myself up to sit, disorientated, trying to grab my thoughts and order them for a showdown with Mulder. I usually jump from sleep to wide awake, alert, on edge. The stress of the life I lead concerns me sometimes, but I suppose I'm not likely to live long enough to worry about coronaries. Somehow this time my brain didn't want to function; I don't think I wanted to face him, and I sat blinking stupidly as he paced up and down. This was the only sign of his agitation. His composed face revealed nothing. I yawned and stretched, stood up unsteadily and headed for the bathroom. He grabbed my arm tightly to keep me in the room. "Gotta take a leak, Mulder," I said, pulling his hand away. "It's been a long day, and I expect you'd like my full attention." He followed, looking blankly past me as I pissed. "Mmm. It has been a long day. I've been at the hospital, watching Joe die." His eyes slid to mine, and then away again to a point over my shoulder. "They wanted to know who I was. I said that I was his lover." I zipped up and pushed past him to go back into the living room. "Not a good idea to lie to the authorities, Mulder." "Not a good idea to believe your promises either." "You didn't, Mulder. Fox did," I replied, coldly. He took a handful of my coat in his fist and span me round to face him. "Getting confused about your identity, Agent Mulder?" I sneered. "I've got the two of you sorted out. I know which promise I need to keep, which one of you needs to be shown who's boss... and it ain't Fox." His free hand balled into a fist and flew out, punching me like a hammer on the side of my jaw. As my head snapped back he released my clothes, clenching that other hand too, and swung at me with it, hitting me even harder. I staggered back, the coffee table caught me behind the knees and I toppled backwards to crash onto the floor in a swathe of magazines and dirty crockery. And God, I was hard. Humiliatingly, inappropriately, shit-scaringly rigid. I didn't dare look up at him. My mind was wailing for him to carry on, to haul me to my feet and use me for a punch bag. If I'd looked at him, I'd have spoken and I'd have begged for it. Is this what Fox had intended? Then he kicked me and I felt my balls constrict as a blistering flood of come pulsed through my cock and spewed into my pants. I clutched my groin with both hands and curled round, rolling onto my side, my moans keeping time with the spasms clenching my ass. I was hot with shame at my body's flagrant incontinence; I hadn't even the semblance of control. As he stood over me, his breathing slowly quietening, I began to laugh. "Shut up, Krycek!" he snapped. "Shut the fuck up, scum." But the tension had to be released and I laughed harder until it became a hysterical half-sobbing crow. He stormed out of the room and slammed the door. Gradually I calmed and managed to regain my composure. I found him in the kitchen, standing against the worktop, sipping slowly at a beer. "I didn't think I was as fucked-up as you, Mulder. Seems I was mistaken," I remarked, chastened. I opened a beer too, and took a long swig. "I'm sorry about Joe. I liked him, and I thought I'd done a clean hit. He should have gone instantly." "Whatever. He's dead," he said, tonelessly. "What possessed you to say you were his lover?" I asked. His mouth twisted, and he looked down, shuffling his feet, lining them with a mark on the floor. "Guilt. And as a mark of respect." He looked up at me, sucking on his bottom lip. "I didn't have the guts to give my real name. They may find out, anyway. There may be evidence at his place to link me to him... it depends how the local police interpret the crime, how hard they'll look. Fox wouldn't come forward, and he deserved the chance to say goodbye to Joe, and to be treated as someone who cared. So I took him and stood in for him. "He was a good man, a good friend to Fox, and I'm culpable for his death. You were merely the implement." My eyes narrowed as I considered his words. "You had reason to think I wouldn't kill him. If you believed that he was in real danger, you might have tried harder to save him." "Are we going to fight over the blame, Krycek?" He gave me a hard look, then let his eyes travel up and down my body slowly before meeting my gaze again. "I knew what I was getting into when I compromised myself by dealing with you. If I choose to let my mind be ruled by my cock I'm going to get into trouble. I suspect you're beginning to feel the same." I opened my mouth to protest that it was love that drove me, but his hand flew up to silence me. "If you hadn't let your feelings overcome your judgement you'd have been in the possession of a big fat fee by now, I don't doubt, and I'd be running around doing Cancerman's bidding. Don't tell me you haven't thought of it... more than once." I let my eyes drop and shook my head. "It's true," I admitted. My voice was a husky whisper. "Look at what just happened. The effect we have on each other is ridiculous. I can't think straight around you, my morals go out of the window. You killed an innocent man, a friend, just a few hours ago and I can't bring myself to find fault with you. Were you serious when you told Fox last night that you wouldn't do it?" I didn't want to admit my indecision to him, yet I didn't want him to think me even more of a liar. "I didn't want him to do it," I said evasively. "Would you have stopped me ?" he asked. His sudden change of direction momentarily confused me. What was he asking? If I cared more about Fox than him? Whether I wanted to drag him down into the mire? Whether I thought it would damage Fox to kill, but not Mulder? I gave a tight, smug smile. "No." It wasn't any of those reasons. The word hung in the air between us. "I'd have congratulated you, Mulder." "Yes," he said laconically. God, it was frightening how we knew each other, and how we tried to evade it. He walked back to his lounge, placed his beer on the coffee table and threw his jacket and tie on a chair. He sat down on his couch and looked up at me with pursed lips, his forehead creased into those funny, wrong-way furrows. I put my beer next to his and joined him. Putting his arm around my back, he drew my head down onto his shoulder. Softly, inexorably, night filled the corners of the room as we kept vigil. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I awoke that morning, and the next two, in Mulder's bed. We talked, when he was home, of ourselves, of the diary, of Scully and of my relationship with the Consortium. I suspect I knew a lot less than he'd hoped; my pieces didn't fill in the blanks in his jigsaw, merely made the puzzle larger. We made love, real love; not the prickly nervous coupling that had gone before, but a slow, affectionate intimacy that seemed to calm him, and bring the dry humour back into his conversation. And finally, when he let me take him face-to-face, our souls naked for each other, tears trickled from his eyes and we talked about loneliness and our future. I think we'd both accepted that ultimately there was no-one else for either of us; we had to make room for Fox, however, and though I didn't say it to Mulder, I knew it would be no hardship because neither was complete without the other. As the weeks went by it became easier; Mulder started to find amusement rather than disgusted satiation in Fox's exploits, and laughed at me, too, for involving myself in them. As for himself, he wanted love and reassurance... someone to talk to about things he couldn't discuss with Scully. Occasionally I'd find him twitching, furious with some case that had robbed him of sleep or patience, or he'd become angry with me if I let slip what shady exploit I was involved in, and his ire would boil over into violence. I should have stopped him, perhaps... tried to coax him away from hitting out, to reason with him, rather than encouraging him to vent his feelings with his fists. But it seems I have a taste for true abuse and humiliation, not just the make-believe that Fox could provide. I indulged both of us by needling him when he was in those moods, becoming weak and defenceless with desire when he snapped and hit out at me. I knew it was destructive; I knew he needed proper help—I'd known it all along. You can't deny the marks of a razor blade on your lover's arm, or the eerie emptiness in his eyes when he wakes from a nightmare in the night, but you can choose to ignore those signs, and tell yourself that he's OK. I kept few secrets from him: the only one I was sure he was keeping from me was the fact that Natalie was carrying his child. He must have been curious, but I found no evidence that he'd tried to contact them again. Maybe he thought that putting their very existence from his mind was the safest course. Sporadically, Siggy mailed me from their home in Germany, and I replied minimally with the assurance that Fox was fine, and circumstances hadn't changed. Finally the baby was born, a boy, and there was little doubt that Fox was its father. It was heart-wrenching not to tell him, to let them celebrate together, but too dangerous to do so. My preoccupation with this dearest man had made me oblivious to something else, too. In all the weeks I'd been with him, since he was outed at the gallery, I hadn't heard from the Consortium. No jobs, no chats with the Smoker, not even a phone call to check when I'd be available should they need me. I didn't notice. Jesus Christ, I should have questioned what was going on, but all I felt was relief at the postponement of a confrontation with the group, and the prospect of terminating my association with them without arousing their suspicions. Being an FBI agent's lover hadn't turned me from my path of sin, but continuing their dirty work was untenable now. I didn't know how I was going to tell them. But they'd known from the first. Skinner's eyes might have only seen the disgrace Mulder had brought to the Bureau by the behaviour that was immortalised on that videotape; the Smoker only had eyes for the identity of Mulder's companion. He must have known we were lovers before Mulder had even told me his secret was out. Chapter 27 In which I am a pariah The job in Indonesia came up after we'd been together for nearly eight months. Over that time things with Mulder had settled into an irregular but reasonably crisis-free affair... love-affair I suppose, maybe even a romance, though I'd say what I had with Fox was more of a romance. I saw him when the demands of our two occupations would allow. Sometimes we'd spend a day or two together, at his place or mine. Once or twice I joined him when he was away on a case, but most often it was just a drink or a meal, or a hurried fuck during his lunch-break, occasionally, I'm ashamed to admit, in a car or a cheap room. I stalked him, I suppose. I'd turn up unexpectedly and tempt him with a snatched kiss out of sight of others, or a lewd call on his cellphone. But he wasn't loath, now he'd grown accustomed to it, to admit he wanted sex with me and in his Mulderish way, ignore matters he thought unimportant in pursuit of it. I felt a smug satisfaction that my charms could distract him to such an extent, but he didn't become maudlin or sentimental towards me, after those first few tumultuous weeks. In effect he reverted to how he'd treated me when I'd worked with him, with the added dimension that my body was now his to play with. I got the sarcasm, the wild theories, the diatribes... even being ditched a couple of times when he was keen to follow some case that I'd tried to persuade him out of. I became a friend. Slowly we opened to each other, understood one another better, and our bodies became accessories, another means to communicate rather than to hold each other at bay. It seemed as if somehow the relationship was already there, all we had to do was see and explore it. It was different with Fox. It was romantic, we wooed each other, I guess. For him, I made the effort to be in town when he'd be around. Mulder slipped control more often than he had before, knowing I'd be with Fox, and managed to quell his jealousy because he know his relationship with me was other than the niche Fox occupied. We had a regular date once a week, usually. Not always the same day, sometimes all day on a weekend, if Mulder had had a particularly bad week and wanted to chill out utterly. Fox liked gifts... shit, he even liked flowers, chocolate. It embarrassed the hell out of me, and made Mulder poke fun at me mercilessly, but it pleased Fox, so I did it. He was demonstrative... well, you know that, don't you? I'd managed to drag Mulder into a gay bar, had a reluctant kiss from him in a dark corner of a few clubs, but Fox was so physical an evening with him was like hours of sensual foreplay. And you're going to say, "What about Joe?" Well... what about him. D'you expect me to grovel? Say sorry? Express contrition? I've beaten that out of myself... you must know that by now. It wasn't my fault, it was Mulder's. Blame him... blame him, not me... please... Christ, it isn't fair. I liked him... I didn't want to kill him. It was my duty, my promise to Mulder. But, oh God, I felt so guilty that first time I was with Fox again. He was quiet, and wistful; he didn't berate me for my broken promise, but, for the first time in years, I felt in the wrong. I think Mulder had been speaking to him, taking the responsibility upon himself. Surely he couldn't have been so resigned, otherwise? Joe wasn't a player, he was a prop. He wasn't a person, he was a chip, a bargaining chip. His life was not important, he existed merely to be used. He was no-body's friend, no-body's lover, no-body's son, he was a toy to be cherished or smashed. Cherished by Fox. Smashed by self-centred bullies; Mulder and me. Believe it, Alex, believe it... Y'know, I can really do without conscience. Let it creep into your considerations, and before you know it you're questioning your reasons for every little thing. It wasn't real conscience, anyway. I didn't give a shit about Joe, except as his fate affected Mulder and Fox. Probably there weren't more than a dozen people in the world I couldn't sacrifice on the altar of my infatuation... no... devotion. Maybe I should have punished Mulder for leading Fox astray? Why should I? He's an adult. I couldn't take away his free will, only point out the consequences of his actions. By then he knew he'd only to ask me and I'd have given the responsibility for Fox back to him, but if he wanted to leave him with me, well then, it had to be as I wanted. After Joe, Fox was mine. I had no more serious protests from Mulder. An occasional oblique comment would slip into the conversation sometimes, especially if he could hardly sit down as a consequence of my games with Fox, or a hickey peeped over the collar of his shirt. Or I'd be teased if Fox had chosen to top me; Mulder would insist on seeing see the marks with his own eyes and get fired up to take me roughly, make his own contribution to the souvenirs of their mutual lust. I've left a couple of things hanging, haven't I? What about Scully and the diary? Well, I asked myself that. Mulder was still working, he hadn't been ousted from the FBI, she hadn't been back to me and, apart from his initial horror on learning that I'd handed the diary to her, Fox (and Mulder) hadn't mentioned it. It had been a risk giving it to her, but I'd thought it better that she knew and could protect him than he should harm himself again. Eventually I broached it to Fox. It'd been a long, drifting Saturday morning. Fox had appeared around 10am, and we'd had a late breakfast, brunch, I suppose. I was slumped on the couch, tinkering with the control panel from my dishwasher, Fox laid bonelessly the length of it with his legs on my lap, listening to something though the headphones of my hi-fi. Every once in a while I had to slap his thigh to keep him still; his legs would start jiggling to the music and disturb all the tiny bits laid out on the tray balanced on his shins. Not a practical arrangement, but neither of us was complaining. It popped into my mind that I didn't remember reading about interludes like this in Fox's memoirs, and I wondered if there hadn't been any, or he simply hadn't bothered to record them. The diary file had appeared on my computer and was regularly updated, but since reading the version he'd handed me, I hadn't pried. I was getting nowhere with my repair, and I dumped the tray on the floor and started to investigate Fox's legs, instead. They were long and bare, and golden. His skin's usually slightly tanned. I think running does that; most of the year he's outside for up to an hour a day, and usually wears shorts. He'd nothing on now but boxers and a t-shirt, and I stroked my hand the length of the warm limbs, heavy across my legs, up to the top of his thighs, then back down to his ankles where the skin was softer, pale and smooth. "You've never put times like this in the diary, babe," I remarked. I'd forgotten he couldn't hear me. Last time we'd met, those ankles had been roped to the heavy table across the room. I remembered tightening the turns of rough straw-prickly jute, stretching him out and knotting the cords with fat reef knots. The thick, harsh rope had made a fascinating counterpoint to those slim, smooth joints, the lashings' symmetry a pleasing detail, more satisfying in feel and execution to both of us than the false menace of formal leather cuffs. Was that recorded? I leaned over and tugged the 'phones from his ears. "Talking to you," I said. His eyes blinked open and he half-smiled. "Do you really have to? I'm quite happy." He reached for the headphones, but I dropped them behind the couch, out of reach. "I want to ask about your diary." "You don't need to, you've read it." He grinned and wriggled over to snag the lead to draw his 'phones back. I hauled him back by the legs. "I've got questions," I informed him. "We haven't talked about it at all, which, considering its content and Mulder's unpleasant attempt to stop me reading it, is odd, huh?" "Doesn't it tell you all you need to know?" He sat up and, reaching out, pulled my head close and kissed me on the nose. "I love you, I'm happy. Mulder loves you, and he's what passes for happy in the Mulderverse. What's to ask?" "I haven't read more than you gave me on the disks, so I don't know how you're feeling now." He shrugged. "You're welcome. Secrets don't make Mulder content, I avoid them when possible. If you want my permission, you've got it. Read away." He flopped back along the cushions and humped his ass closer to nestle against my thigh, smiling mischievously. "What about relaxation? Didn't you ever just do nothing, like now?" I persisted. "I didn't have the leisure to. Mulder didn't let me out enough. Anyway, he's so attached to that couch of his I sometimes wonder if they're symbiotes. No point in having a dual personality if both halves behave the same, now is there?" He stretched out for my hand and laced his fingers with mine. "I wouldn't call this doing nothing, though, sweet Alex. I feel too blissful." Pulling our hands closer, I twisted them so that I could press a series of kisses on the back of his. "Blissful and contented," I said. "Mm." "What did Scully say about your diary?" "She never read it," he murmured. "What?" I said, not sure if I'd heard correctly. "After you let slip you'd given it to her, that night with Joe, Mulder tackled her about it. It turned out she's only read the first half-dozen pages." I raised a brow enquiringly. "She was too... fastidious to read more," he continued, dryly. "She said, if it was true, it was none of her business to read my private diary without permission. If it was a fabrication that you'd given her for your own duplicitous reasons, she didn't want to be drawn into your schemes. "She assumed from Mulder's behaviour that you were threatening him somehow, despite your protestations of love, and his acceptance of your attentions. Mulder hasn't completely denied it, y'know. He's half implied that he's involved himself with you to keep an eye on you and find out your secrets. He has, too, hasn't he... got to know about you? I don't think that's why he's your lover, but I wouldn't be surprised if he convinces himself it is, if he gets suspicious of you again. It's kept her quiet, though, for now. It's the sort of plot Mulder's groomed her to accept." "So, she's never said anything to Skinner?" "No. She encouraged Mulder to go to his counselling sessions, however. He had some fun and games with that, not too obviously, though. He's been poking fun at his colleagues, too, now he's got used to being out... now he's found it's added very little to his 'spookiness'. Even Skinner's had his share—Mulder's found little ways of making him uncomfortable, taking advantage of his altered status in his eyes." "How about you, babe? You still aren't around much. Doesn't it piss you off that he's got ninety percent of the time?" He pulled himself up by our joined hands and worked himself round until he straddled my lap. He pushed me back against the couch and looked down into my face with puzzlement. "I never expected to take over, sweet Alex. I didn't think I'd get this much, that he lets me be with you without a fight. I don't need to run things and be in charge; I don't want to. I couldn't imagine having to work, to be responsible, to take on cares and worries. So long as I can have friends, and hopefully be loved and be permitted to love in return, and enjoy myself, it's all I need. "Mulder used to own me, and now you do. It can never be absolute, because of my situation. He can take the gift away anytime he wants." His head bowed until his full soft lips brushed mine, and he sighed, "Don't let him, love, please. Don't give him a reason to separate us; do whatever it takes to keep us together." He pressed closer, and his tongue slipped into my mouth, deep, lush, as if he was trying to pour himself into me so that no force in heaven could ever tear us apart. Could there be more? Could it be better? Floating, soaring, plunging like a skydiver held by the invisible strength of the atmosphere, my heart clung to his and rode with it across the roiling silver edged whiteness of the clouds. Mulder had kept a discreet eye on the progress of the murder investigations, but it transpired neither aroused much interest from the police. Joe's death was assumed to be a random shooting; sadly they are... not common, but not remarkable in a country where a person that you wouldn't trust with a blunt butter-knife can get a gun. As for the others... the police had had suspicions about the activities in that house for a while, and didn't push too hard to solve the case. So, it seemed that we could coast for a while, push the futility of our relationship over the horizon and revel in discovering each other in every possible way. Of course, none of us admitted, even to ourselves, that it was ephemeral; a season of balmy days and languorous musky nights and that the icy grip of reality would eventually blight our paradise. It could never have been forever. I was in the Far East, mostly Indonesia, for over a month. I'd known it would be a long mission, and one requiring total secrecy, but I hadn't been told where I was going and had been ordered not to communicate with anyone during its execution. So I took my leave of Mulder with a summary of everything I know about the job and a joking promise of a postcard from a tropical beach. By then, I'd become familiar with Fox's habits and his circle of friends, and gave him permission to amuse himself with the more careful ones in my absence. Though it seemed she still thought the worst of me, I left a message for Scully, too, to watch out for him. No doubt she heaved a sigh of relief and prayed for me to catch a fatal tropical disease - preferably something that would make me suffer horribly before carrying me off. I suspect now that the Smoker may have set me up with the job, though there was not then, nor has been since, any evidence of that. However, considering what happened while I was away, it seemed too damn convenient to be a coincidence. I stumbled back through my front door, jet-lagged and sweaty, that afternoon in the last week of March, not knowing my time with Fox Mulder was already over. The apartment smelt subtly different. Leaving my bags in the bedroom, I stripped and threw my journey soiled clothes in the laundry then stood under the shower, blessing the scalding water as it washed away the heavy spice and car exhaust stench that permeates everything in those bustling eastern cities. Wrapping a clean towel round myself, I wiped the steamy mirror with a wash-cloth, and peered blearily at the tired and unshaven man that looked back. There had been weeks of stress, sleeping almost rough and eating irregular and unidentifiable meals as I travelled, using informal groups of backpackers as cover. All I wanted was to sleep, but I'd feel more refreshed, less itchy without the stubble. As I cast around for the razor I noticed a strange toilet bag on the shelf over the towel-rail; it seemed I had an unknown visitor which implied Fox must be around at present. Odd... it was a weekday, and Mulder should have been working. There was a large holdall in the bedroom that I'd overlooked as I came in. Too tired to be observant, I thought ruefully. I need to be exhausted to drop my guard, and right then I couldn't even be bothered to investigate its contents. You've got a live-in lover, I reminded myself. This is his home, so he's entitled to invite people to stay. Nevertheless, for the visitor's sake, I hoped it had been Fox's idea, not more of Mulder's mischief. Shivering in the cool of the room, and from tiredness, I pulled on underwear and some clean sweats and, tugging the comforter from the bed, settled down on the couch to sleep. With the TV turned low, tuned to mindless drivel, there was a better chance I'd drop off than in the quiet of the bedroom with my hectic memories of the last few weeks and the mysterious bag for company. Being thrown to the floor and stomped on sure woke me up thoroughly, however. Disorientated, and tangled by the comforter, I struggled to extricate myself from its folds as further blows hammered my body and muffled voices sounded angrily above me. Someone... I realised it was Fox, was spitting a stream of invective, and a second voice, a foreign voice, was crying, "Stop, stop!" Finally I parted the thick coverlet and rolled blindly across the floor, scrambling to my hands and knees, and looked up to discover what the hell was going on. Two strangers were struggling frantically on the other side of the room. I looked around for Fox, and was shocked to find his voice coming from the shorter of the two, the one that looked like a Mexican pimp. I gaped in disbelief as he turned to me and snarled, more hate in his expression than I can ever remember seeing on a human face. He'd shaved his hair to a short stubble, and grown a moustache and goatee... one of those pared down 'designer' styles. His skin was dark, browner than seemed possible for him; his clothes tight, a flash of gold round his neck and on his fingers; altogether he easily resembled a shady Hispanic wheeler-dealer. The other man, slim and aesthetic, impossibly tall, wore a tweed three-piece suit and wire-rim glasses. He seemed like an unworldly scholar, a professor, maybe. His long arms encircled Fox, restrained him, and his hair, which had been gelled down, was escaping in a wild nest of ginger locks. His pallid face and sharp features were familiar, that accent... it was Siggy. "What the... " I began, in a breathless voice. I was interrupted by Fox, or was it Mulder? The tone, the body language didn't seem right for Fox. "How the hell you had the gall to come back, you low-life son-of-a-bitch, I just don't understand," he grated, in a low, murderous tone, writhing in Siggy's grip to shake him off. "Let me go, Siggy," he added impatiently, glancing over his shoulder, "I think I can resist the urge to beat him to death—for now." Oh, my God, I thought. He's found out I knew about Natalie's baby. It was puzzling, though, it didn't explain his foray into a new self-image. I slid a foot beneath myself, and prepared to rise. "Fucking stay put," yelled Mulder. I was sure it was him, by now. Stranger and stranger. A gun appeared in his hand, and he aimed it straight at my eyes. "Do not harm him," cautioned Siggy, stepping back from the other man. "We need his help." Mulder advanced on me slowly. "I'm sorry," I ventured. "I acted for the best... I thought it would be safer." He didn't seem to hear me. His eyes glittered in a blank, mask-like face. "Where are they?" he asked, his voice dull, emotionless now. "Who did you sell them to, Krycek? And why the fuck did you bother to come back? Did you think I wouldn't know? That you could carry on with this farce you've spun round me? Do you enjoy fucking me over so much?" Bewildered, I didn't notice his hand striking out until it was too late. I tried to dodge, but the gun-butt clipped me sharply on the jaw, knocking me sideways back to the floor again. The iron taste of blood flooded my mouth. "Fuchsin, nein!" exclaimed Siggy. Mulder ignored him. "Don't answer my questions, please, my beloved," he continued, silkily. "I want to thrash it out of you, wring it slowly, word by tortured word. Resist, prevaricate, lie, deny. Let me batter your cheating treacherous body to a pulp. You owe me." "What on earth are you talking about, Mulder?" I mumbled, utterly mystified. He smiled coldly. "That's the idea, Ratboy. Keep it up, and we can all have some fun." His muscles clenched, he was going to hit me again, and I shrank back. Siggy sprang forward and seized his arm in a vice-like grip. He looked feeble, willowy, but his muscles were like wire cables, as I had found when we'd first met. "This is not important. You may take your revenge later. If this man knows what has become of my sister and her son, he must be capable of telling us, not crippled and punch-drunk by your anger. If he will not tell us, then we must give him to the police to deal with." "I've told you, you stupid cunt, that the police can't help," snarled Mulder as he turned to Siggy, yanking his arm to get free. The German's lips tightened, and ignoring the gun that was waving wildly between them, gave Mulder an open-handed slap across the face. "You will behave yourself, Herr Mulder," he snapped, "or meine Fuchsin and I will drug you once more. You are irrational. You will be calm, please." For a long minute the two tried to stare each other down, and slowly the tightness drained from Mulder's body. His eyes dropped from Siggy's, and he leaned down and carefully placed the gun on the coffee table beside him, then turned back to the other. Reaching up with both hands he cupped Siggy's head and looked sadly into his face. "I'm sorry, leibling," he murmured. "He has gone?" said Siggy, running the back of his hand gently over the reddened patch on Fox's cheek. "Yes." He stood on tip-toe and licked Siggy's mouth with gentle sweeps of his tongue until the German's lips curled into a ghost of a smile, and he bent down to gather my lover in for a long tender kiss. I got carefully to my feet, mildly dizzy from the blow I'd taken to my face, and dabbed at the blood with my handkerchief. "Will someone please tell me what the heck's going on," I said plaintively. At the sound of my voice the two of them sprang apart, and Fox scooped up the gun, aiming it at me once more. "Can you hold this on him, Siggy, while I fetch something to tie him up with?" he said. "I'm not going anywhere, Fox," I said. I walked towards them, planning to sit on the couch, but Fox cocked the gun, frowning. "Stay still," he snapped. "I may not be Mulder, but even I won't have a problem using this on you now, you bastard." I raised an eyebrow, and put my hands up placatingly. Siggy reached out and gingerly took the weapon from him, holding it steady with both hands. "I'll be quick," said Fox, and disappeared into the bedroom. "What's wrong, Siggy," I whispered. "Something's happened to your sister and the baby?" "They have disappeared; kidnapped. Meine Fuchsin says that you are to blame. I find this odd because you have known about the baby for a long time, why wait? But he has told me a strange story about creatures from elsewhere, and about government plots. And he has shown me the other man that lives within him. He has also told me that you are in these plots, that you are a killer and a spy. I believe he may be mad, but I cannot deny that Natalie and little Bruno have been taken, and that you warned me yourself that there was danger." He shrugged. "He is employed by the FBI. He cannot be completely insane, and I wish to recover my sister and nephew. The police in Germany are getting nowhere, and this other man... Herr Mulder... said he could help. He is sure that you took her. Die Fuchsin agrees." "It wasn't me," I said, shaking my head. "You believe his strange stories? He has some pretty wild theories." "I have had to believe that he has a second personality. I have known for three weeks now, and with every day that passes they are more like two separate men. As for the rest, it is all too strange. But why would anyone take Natalie or the baby? There has been no demand for ransom, and, though the police have achieved little, they tell me that they are fairly sure the two have been taken out of Germany." I shivered as I thought about what might have happened to them. Christ, who was I kidding? What I knew had happened to them. I needed to get out of here and start looking for them right away. There were several possible places, but only one possible culprit... the Consortium, and, most likely, the Smoker. I smiled sympathetically, and gestured at the gun. "Why not put that away, Siggy? I want to help, and you must see that I wasn't involved. As you said, I've known about the baby for ever, and I've returned here... pretty stupid, if I kidnapped the two of them. Don't you think Mulder's ideas are a bit wacko, huh?" Fox's voice broke in. "Don't bother to listen to him, Siggy. He doesn't know how to tell the truth. I've told you what he is. Don't let him slither under your defences, he's the lowest scum there is, wrapped up in the prettiest package. Give me the gun back, and restrain him with a few of these, please." He dropped a clanking canvas bag on the floor in front of Siggy, and took back the weapon. "Mulder will stop struggling for control, I expect, if Krycek's neutralised." Well, maybe I should have backed Fox up and thrown myself on their mercy, hoping I could convince the pair of them that I was on their side, but all I could see was the time it would waste, and the time they'd probably already wasted. Habit took over... it was clear that Siggy had doubts about Fox's stability, so I just went on automatic. Play on his doubts, turn him against Fox, make my escape—old hat, but reliable. "You don't need to tie me up, Siggy," I said, reasonably. "I don't know what Fox has told you, but d'ya think we'd have been together all this time if he really thought I would harm Natalie, or anyone else? I expect he's been spinning you his yarn about little grey men and world-wide conspiracies, hasn't he?" I grinned, and gave him a wink. "If you've been talking to Mulder, you'll know what I mean if I mention UFO freaks. Y'got to be sorry for him, really, he's so fucking sincere. But I love him, love the pair of them, so I play along." Siggy was beginning to look doubtful, and cast a glance over his shoulder at Fox. Fox, on the other hand, looked horror-struck, incredulous, and the gun in his hand was shaking wildly. If I pushed too far, I could well get shot from his sheer incompetence and lack of control, or we'd get Mulder back, and I'd really be up shit creek. "Shut up," he hissed, stepping closer. "Shut up you cheating, lying motherfucker. You've got a big empty hole where your soul should be, Krycek, and a pus-filled canker for a heart. I should have listened to Mulder, he should have put an end to you when he had a chance, before you could betray me, too." "Has Siggy seen the marks on your arm where you cut yourself with that razor, Fox? Or the scars on your back from your perverted suicide attempt? Did you tell him how Mulder begged me to take you, because the two halves of your sick brain were pulling you apart." I let my voice break a little as I spoke to Siggy again. "He's not well, at all. I've tried to look out for him, and I thought he was fairly happy and stable, but now this has happened, it seems to have pushed him right back into his delusions. Why don't..." And that's as far as I got. It all went black, Fox had knocked me out with his gun. Chapter 28 In which we set off on a rescue I re-emerged into the world with a God-awful headache and my arms feeling as if someone had twisted them right off at the shoulders. I was trembling and aching and I was lying on a surface that was as hard and cold as a sheet of ice. Groaning, I tried to push myself up to sit, but my hands, my arms, were numb, like when you've been sleeping on them all night. It was no good; I wriggled onto my stomach, stretched until my joints popped, and edged my eyes open the tiniest fraction. Whiteness blasted in and tears flooded my vision as I tried to make sense of what was revealed... a smooth floor, a doorframe and a pale blue carpet beyond... the looming bulk of an unmade bed. I closed my eyes again against that awful light. My head throbbed, my throat so dry that I could barely swallow, and I couldn't understand where my hands were. I pressed my forehead against the cool unyielding floor until the pounding blood in my brain quietened, then cracked my eyelids again. I was lying on my bathroom floor, looking out at the bedroom. For an instant I thought I must have slipped and bashed my head against something, then I remembered Fox taking a swing at me. That made it clear why my arms were out of commission... tied up, no doubt. I rolled carefully to one side; a heavy slithering accompanied the movement. Not only were my arms fastened behind me, but I'd been chained to the toilet pan, and the plumbing, for good measure. "Hey!" I shouted. At least, I meant it to be a shout, but it came out a croaky whisper. I struggled to my knees, and tried to stand, but the chain was too short. It stopped me with a jerk; I teetered, nearly fell, and thumped painfully down to sit on the toilet seat. There was a clatter from the kitchen, and a padding of feet. Siggy appeared in the doorway in a T-shirt that looked as if three of him could have climbed inside it, it was so loose on his lanky frame. It extolled the virtues of some German soccer team, and was hideously bright, but not so garish as the thick striped woollen socks that served him for slippers. There was an indecent length of bare sinewy leg connecting the two. I groaned and winced, squeezing my eyes shut and bowing my head to shut out the spectacle. "Guten Morgen, Alex. Wie gehts?" "Like shit, frankly. I feel like my skull's been beaten in. Can I have some water, please?" "Sure," he replied, and soon returned with a bottle, which he held to my lips. "It will be easier than a glass, I think," he said. He let me drink in small sips, then fetched a clean washcloth and moistened it to wipe the blood from my face. "Do you need to use the toilet?" he asked, when I'd finished. "No... thanks. Maybe in a while. I assume I'm to be kept tied up?" He gave a half-smile, and shrugged. "I could not let you go if I wished to. He took the key when he left, early this morning. He told me not to let you near any paper-clips, hair-pins; maybe not even a spoon. He seems to think that you are Houdini, perhaps?" "Houdini and Mesmer rolled into one, I suspect. Did he tell you not to talk to me, or tell me anything, as well?" "Ja. And he would not let me get a doctor for you. I am worried that you may be concussed." "I think I'm OK. But thank you for worrying." "I have an ulterior motive, my friend. You may help to find Natalie, so I wish you healthy. I also wish to speak with you about Herr Mulder and the information he has given me." "'My friend', Siggy? Am I your friend? I'm sure Fox and Mulder have tried to convince you that I am the devil himself." "He has told me some things which are impossible to believe. I was pleased that you know of his ideas and are helping him. He has had these fantasies a long time, ja?" Here's your opportunity, Alex, I thought. Spin him a line and you'll be out of here in no time. I looked at his bright face, as keen and inquisitive as a bird... with his pointed nose and piercing eyes he reminded me of a jay; even his movements were abrupt and unlikely. He was guileless, open, despite his worry about his sister he had a deep happiness and confidence. I didn't want to lie to him and destroy his faith and trust as I had Mulder's. What would it gain me to escape, and search for Natalie by myself, anyway? Perhaps keep him and Mulder from danger, but the Consortium's arm is long; nowhere is effectively safer than any other. If I brought them back successfully I wouldn't regain Mulder or Fox's confidence, they'd just assume it was a plot, that I'd taken them simply to look heroic in rescuing them later. To prove my innocence it would be better to work with them, and hope that events would show I hadn't been involved in her abduction. It was so hard to think straight, the pounding in my head was making me faint now that I was sitting upright, and I was cold, so cold. My back and neck ached from the strain of my arms' position, and the torture of pins and needles skittered over my skin as a little feeling returned to my hands. I began to sway, the room seemed to be lurching around me and I trembled violently. "Help me, Siggy," I whispered. I thought I would fall, but his arms were around me, and he gently eased me back to the floor, to lean against a pile of towels against the wall. Within a few moments he'd joined me, wrapped the comforter around the two of us and was warming me with his nearness, chafing my bound hands and arms to ease the cramp. "He is cruel. I did not know our little Fox could be so cruel. I must release you, and take you to a hospital. This is barbaric." "It's sensible, Siggy." It was no use; I was past scheming, past self-preservation, even; past denial. It was so good to feel the glow of his body heat, his supple hands massaging my shoulders, to bathe, for a little while in the warmth of his care, in his belief that I was a worthwhile upright, decent man like himself. I swallowed, and continued, hesitatingly, "He's done the right thing. I would have lied to you last night, and set you against him so that I could escape. He was right to accuse me of Natalie's and Bruno's kidnap. Logically, I am the one to blame." I felt him stiffen, drawing his breath in sharply. His hands stilled. I was bereft. "All he's told you is the truth. No matter how strange, how much like the ravings of a lunatic." I gave a snort of ironic laughter. "I don't need to know what he's told you. Whatever it is, I could go further, embellish the details, make the unbelievable impossibly stranger. The plots, the aliens, invasions from outer space, the years of concealment. I've been up to my neck in it, working against Mulder, who's spent years trying to expose what's going on behind the facade of democracy. "I've been their lackey, one of the troops used by this shadowy group to advance or cover up their schemes. They've got your sister and nephew; it's certain." I strained round to peer at his face. "I'm sorry, Siggy. I didn't touch them; didn't know it would happen." Then it struck me, and my heart stopped, as if I'd been thrown naked into a heap of snow. It was obvious it would happen. It had to happen. I was blind, stupid... how could I have been so stupid? That videotape. If Skinner had seen it, his secretary... The Smoker would too—and he'd have made it his business to find out who Mulder was so uncharacteristically, so publicly, kissing. That is, if he didn't recognise me on sight. He knew I was queer, he knew I lusted after Mulder's fair body—he didn't know, or hadn't, that I was in love with him. He sure as hell knew now. He sure as hell must have known for months. Maybe he'd thought, at first, that I was sating my lust before handing Mulder to him, maybe he thought I was hesitating over the price. But once it was obvious that I wasn't going to come running to him with the information at all, I was screwed, an outsider. I'd changed sides. Poor Siggy and his family were marked out from the moment of that kiss. For years Mulder had kept Fox a secret; in one indiscreet moment I'd blown it for him. I shouldn't have given in to my need; I should have known that if not then, sooner or later the Consortium would have found out we were lovers. We'd probably been watched, spied on. Fox would have been researched... every contact identified. And the baby, and his mother... What leverage they'd provide! I wondered what they'd ask of Mulder. Maybe they were being kept for a future occasion. It's what I'd have done, myself. I leaned away from Siggy a little. I felt as if my touch would soil him. In a low, level voice I said, "I am a killer, Siggy. An assassin, in that I kill for money. A murderer, in that I kill for my own advantage, and... for pleasure. I lie, I've betrayed Mulder, sabotaged his plans." I took Siggy's hand and turned it in mine. Its pale elegance made my own strong, coarser hands seem the more stained, ugly, as if the sins I'd committed erupted through my skin, marked it with shame. "I killed his father." "There is no reason why I couldn't have taken your sister and Bruno. Mulder can't help thinking it's me. A few years back... maybe as little as a couple of years ago, I probably would have done it. "It would have been just another job; I wouldn't have given it a second thought, wouldn't have worried about their fate. I would have killed them, if I'd been given the order." I wriggled round to look at him. His face was pinched, his mouth in a hard line. "Siggy, if they weren't involved with Mulder, if they weren't known to me, and I'd been commissioned to do so, I still would. If Mulder chooses to treat me like a mad dog, he has the right to do so. You have to dig a long way to find any humanity in me." He cupped my face, stroking my cheeks gently with his thumbs, and his startling eyes searched out the truth in mine. "Why do you tell me this, Alex, if you are as evil as you aver? You do not wish it to be true, do you? You wish it were not so." "I can't wish it wasn't so, Siggy. It would invalidate my life as it is now, and as it has been for the last ten years." "I find this more unbelievable than die Füchsin's spacemen," he said, blinking slowly as his wondering face spelt out his doubt. "When we met I told you that I knew he loved you, and yet already you had done terrible things to him. I am not accustomed to consorting with criminals, Alex. Maybe it is different for him as he works for the law. Perhaps he can love someone who does these things, he can see past their deeds to the person beneath. Are you not ashamed to take his love, considering the wrong you have done to him?" "You can't help who you love. I fell in love with Mulder, I didn't know about Fox. I... I was guilty, at first, when I knew that he loved me too. But, in Mulder, I see myself; he could so easily have been me, and I him. So, the more I know him, the more fallible and imperfect I find him, the less important my past seems to me and the more worthy my love becomes. "But Fox is different. I saw him at first through Mulder's eyes. Mulder doesn't see him as a person. To him Fox is a performing animal. He rewards him if he does his tricks well and punishes him if he doesn't. He has no rights as far as Mulder's concerned, he's less than a slave because he's not even real. "At first, that's all he was to me, too. You have always known he was a person. He had to prove it to me. And now—now I've fallen in love with him, too. And, unlike Mulder, the more I know him the less I feel that I deserve him. I am capable of hurting Mulder; the illusions I had about him are gone. I couldn't willingly hurt Fox, he's become too dear to me." "Then that is all that is important. What you are, what is between you and Herr Mulder does not concern me. If you would not hurt meine Füchsin, then you would not hurt Natalie either, eh?" "No, I wouldn't, and I didn't." "Then I must free you, and you will help us find her, OK?" "No, Siggy!" I said urgently. "You will not release me. Mulder will merely think I've subverted you, and he won't trust you either." "I do not like Herr Mulder. He seems dangerous, and will not listen. Also violent. My little Fox tries to keep him in, contained, but he tells me that this is hard for him, that Mulder is accustomed to being in charge. He has taken a sedative, sometimes, to quieten him, if he cannot hold him, and must let him take over." I sniggered. "I bet Mulder thinks that's just a bundle of laughs." "He does not seem pleased," he commented, wryly. "But we need him, he is trained to investigate, and has the resources to do so. Are you feeling better now? If you wish, I will get you some breakfast." "Some tea, and dry toast would be good, thank you Siggy. Not much, I feel a bit sick." "OK. Are you sure you don't want me to free you?" He gave a mischievous smile. "I could find a hardware store... buy a saw. Or bake you a cake with a file inside." I shook my head, and yelped with pain as the gang of goblins with hammers started whacking at the inside of my skull once more. "Don't make him think he can't trust you. And tell me the whole story when you come back, please. For instance, why does Fox look like a refugee from a tango competition?" He unfolded himself and stood upright. Maybe he's not like a jay, I thought. More of a flamingo, on those stilts. Bending down to tuck the comforter round me, he said, with a grin, "You do not wish to be released, because you enjoy making me feed you. I know this. And later, when you wish to urinate, you will have more fun, Herr Rat, nicht war? You must be careful, I may be inclined to take advantage of your helplessness." "You're welcome to, Siggy, once my head feels better," I replied with a shaky smile. "So long as you promise to take off those god-awful socks first." With the breakfast he brought some painkillers, and settled back down to feed me, and explain what had been going on. "Natalie and Bruno disappeared three days after you left—for the east, you told Fox." "That's right," I replied. "I was in Indonesia, mostly, but I can't prove it... I travelled under a false name and was undercover the whole time I was there." He looked at me sidelong. "Unfortunate." "Yes," I replied, with a sigh. "So, how did it happen?" "I was at work. Natalie has planned to spend perhaps six months with the baby, before considering taking up her work again. She was shopping, and Bruno was riding on her chest in a carrier... ?" "A sling?" "Ja. It was daytime, a busy street, though little traffic. A car stopped beside her and two men got out and dragged her in. There was another, the driver, as well. It drove away. It took only a few seconds, and before anyone could aid her, they were already gone." "So there were plenty of witnesses, and you have descriptions of the kidnappers?" "More than that... the car was hired, and was found a day later at the airport. The hire office said the men were probably American. Also, at the airport, the cameras picked up people who must have been them. They were all traced to Amsterdam, and then, nothing else. The police speculate that they drove to another airport, or took a ferry somewhere... maybe they could even have travelled on by ship. There is nothing, after Amsterdam." "So you have pictures of the men, as well?" "Yes, and the descriptions, but the police found little else. Where they were staying, how they found Natalie, where they came from... not one of these. I urged them to contact the American authorities, but, after confirming that no group such as this entered a main American airport, they concentrated on Europe, and on us, and our affairs, to find a reason for the abduction. "Once I had overcome my shock, I remembered what you and Fox had said about danger. I thought it ridiculous at the time, and when you would not allow us to contact Fox, even after Bruno was born, I became angry, you know? But I said nothing in my mails, because I told myself that if Fox was interested, he could contact us easily. So, it seemed there was danger, after all, and I mailed you, several times, to tell you. But, after two days you did not reply and I was too worried to wait longer, so I mailed Fox. There was no response from him either, as you must know." "He's found out about the modification I made to his mail program? Shit." He put down the cup he had been holding for me and pulled me round to lean against his chest. "Such discoveries do not help you look innocent, Alex." I shuffled into a comfortable position, and relaxed against him. "No, neither does knowing about the baby and keeping it a secret from Fox." "Ja. This is true. I continue. I had to find one of you, in case you knew what had happened. It seemed to me more hopeful than leaving the police to investigate. So I used what I knew of Fox, to trace him. At first, I telephoned some friends here in Washington that knew him from parties, from the scene. A few of his old boy-friends... but no-one had anything but the e-mail address he had given me, except one who said that he thought Fox worked for the government. "Also, I suspected Fox was his real name, because when Natalie told him of the baby he said, "Don't call him anything strange, Natalie. I can forgive my parents for all their faults, except their choice of names." With my little information, I contacted a friend from my work here. You know we worked under contract to your government? A flood control project, last time. "He could get access to internal telephone numbers for government offices. There was only one with a forename, Fox, and perhaps ten or more with it as a surname. So I telephoned Fox Mulder of the FBI at his work, and it was meine Füchsin." "You mean, it was Mulder. What did he say?" Siggy laughed. "Very little, he was, um... 'cloak and dagger', you know. He would not let me explain, but arranged to call me later from 'somewhere secure'. And then, when he did, and I told him that you knew of the baby, he was very curt. I was to e-mail him all the information, he would contact the German police, and I must keep out of it... lie low and be careful. I could not do that, Alex. You do not leave others to rescue your dearest family; you cannot just sit and hope. I left a message for my older brother with all the details, and I flew over to Washington as quickly as I could." "Did you just turn up at the FBI? I would love to have seen his face." "No, I did not do that," he chuckled. "It was his attitude, you know? I did not know then it was Herr Mulder I had spoken to, not my Fox. I called him again at work, and he met me and brought me here. I know now where he lives, but I have not been there, because he says he is watched." "He's right, Siggy. He is watched. You should be safer here, but it could be that I'm being spied on too, now the Consortium knows about Mulder and I. He filled you in about our background?" I peeped up at him. He was chewing his lip, staring absently across the room. "I still do not believe it, this 'invasion from Mars' idea. Maybe you are both mad, eh? However, I do believe that he does not trust you and is berating himself for falling in love with you. This is Fox, I refer to. Mulder does nothing but revile you, and Fox. He blames Fox for this relationship you have." "I'd expect that, now this has happened," I said, sadly. "We've been living in a dream, sooner or later our circumstances would have made us enemies once more. I'm so sorry that you and your family have been involved, Siggy. So, tell me what Mulder has found out. Have you had any leads?" "We have got a little way, but are now stuck. Herr Mulder managed to identify two of the three men involved, but would not alert the police. He said that it would achieve nothing, and merely put the perpetrators on their guard. He has also been trying to find you. He is sure you are to blame, and know where they are being held." "I might. I can think of several possible places. But tell me, why the disguise?" "Do you like it?" he grinned. "The men Herr Mulder identified are involved in many sorts of smuggling, drugs, guns and so on, as well as people... criminals, illegal immigrants. He wished to infiltrate, to speak with them. He knew if they worked for this 'Consortium' that they might have seen him, or that their associates could have. He gave Fox the task of providing a disguise, and Fox asked for my help. I think he is very sleazy. It is an interesting look for him, don't you think?" "I didn't recognise him at first, Siggy. It's an amazing change." "Sehr gut. I am complimented," he said, bobbing his head in a formal little bow. "But we have not discovered very much. These men passed Natalie and Bruno onto others. They did not take them to their final destination. Herr Mulder has been trying to trace their path." "He must have caused a stir, going to work looking like that ." "He told them he was sick, and has not been to work for two weeks. He has had a difficult time convincing his associate, Agent Scully, that he does not wish to be nursed, or fed, or even checked on. She is a very bossy woman, I think." "She is a doctor, Siggy, and Mulder is a renowned fanatic, careless of his health. If he's told her he's taking time of work because he's sick, she'll assume he must be close to dying, or that there is something fishy going on. It's not surprising she's curious. But she is bossy... that's for sure. Where is he, now?" "He had a name to check out, someone who may have received my sister from the original kidnappers. He wanted to visit his apartment as well, to see if there are any messages. He should be back by noon." "What time is it now?" "About ten." "Fox must have hit me really hard, then. No wonder I have such a headache." "If you had been out for all those hours I would have insisted you see a doctor, my friend. You were unconscious for maybe ten minutes, only. Fox decided that you were OK, and then gave you a draft of the sedative we have used on Mulder. It can cause memory loss, I believe. You have been sleeping." Not a safe thing to do, I thought, but I seemed to have survived it. "When Mulder returns, I'll call some people, try and find out what's going on. It might make you a little less worried if I tell you that I'm sure your sister and nephew will be unharmed if the Consortium have them; they're of no use to them otherwise. In the meantime, may I take advantage and ask you to help me freshen up?" I turned and smiled slowly at him. "The headache is going, and the thought of your hands all over me with a wet washcloth is beginning to seem attractive." He raised his eyebrows and looked down his nose at me. "I suspected as much," he said archly. "You are doubtless into infantilism. Just because I have experience with little Bruno does not mean I enjoy changing diapers, Alex." "And I thought you Europeans were sophisticated," I riposted. "I'm heartbroken." I wished Mulder would go and lose himself for good when he finally did return. He paced the apartment ceaselessly, as if buffeted into Brownian motion by the force of his thoughts and ideas. He was sharp with Siggy for tending to me, downright ugly to me, and required an hour of persuasion before allowing me to call around to see if I could get any information. He appeared to have adopted the Spanish Inquisition's policy on information gathering; if it's not acquired under torture, it can't be true. If you're guilty, you deserve the pain, if you're innocent, it'll be good for your soul, anyway. I was fortunate to have Siggy to defend me against him. However, the two of them did seem to have come to a dead end. Mulder had exhausted every angle on the kidnappers, and had not managed to glean any information from individuals who, he said, knew of the Consortium's business. He was extremely cagey even admitting he knew of such people. He'd questioned Skinner circumspectly about the Smoker's whereabouts, but got nowhere. I couldn't help him there, I have a couple of phone numbers, and a couple of places to leave messages, but if he chooses not to reply I can't track him down. "For Christsakes, let me have the use of my hands, Mulder," I said to him once we'd convinced him to let me make enquiries. "Fox must have a great selection of restraints and such-like gadgets, you can cuff my hands in front of me and attach me to the furniture, if you want. The view from this bathroom floor is getting mighty tedious. Not to mention that eventually Siggy's going to get tired of playing nursemaid, and I guess you're not too happy to do it." "I don't think I could bring myself to touch you at all, Krycek, unless it involved hitting you," he sneered. "And, knowing what I do about your likes and dislikes, you've even managed to take the satisfaction out of that." Reluctantly, he allowed Siggy to release me, keeping his gun on me all the while. I was no danger to them, though. My arms were so stiff it was agony to move them at all. He hunted out a pair of wide metal cuffs, effectively manacles, with a length of chain attached to further restraints for my ankles, and then padlocked me to a pillar that supports the centre of the beam that runs the length of my living room. "This is fun, Agent Mulder," I said, grinning. "Pity you didn't get into the leather and big boots to enhance the atmosphere. I've got to say, though, you're looking pretty cute." I plumped down on the couch with a loud rattle of shackles, and looked him up and down. He wore a skin tight white v-neck sweater and black jeans, a single loop earring and a heavy designer watch that looked damn expensive. They'd evidently coloured his skin with fake tan, to deepen its shade; it looked fantastic against the snowy knit. Then there was that radical haircut and the sculpted facial hair... it wasn't extensive enough to be called a beard. He looked rakish, and somehow trashy. My mouth frankly watered. He scowled, and pushed the phone towards me. I do have a very few people I can rely on to help me amongst the Consortium's employees. It's not brimming with altruistic individuals, but alliances form, and sometimes one finds a person one can trust. Something had been going on at a lab they use out in a research park on the edge of a small town about four hundred miles to the south-west. A couple of the higher Pooh-Bahs had gone there, and Dr. Caruana, who had examined Fox after the sadists had worked him over. Nobody was sure if the Smoker had joined them, but it seemed like a good bet. Naturally, Mulder listened into my conversations, and agreed that we should try the Silent Hill Laboratory first. "So, can we have Fox back now, Mulder?" I asked. "I don't feel too safe with you around. I've got a nagging feeling that you'd like me to go and join the heavenly choirs." "I suspect I should stay a while and protect Siggy's virtue, don't you, Ratboy? I've found that being over-sympathetic towards rodents can lead to rat-shit in unexpected places." I shrugged and said, "OK. Then can I point out, in case you lose your temper with me, you'll probably need me capable at least of walking to get into the Lab? If you want to break in, you'll never do it without my help, and if you try to con your way inside it won't look good if I'm a wreck." "I do not care if Die Füchsin or Mulder leads this expedition, Alex, as long as we leave immediately," said Siggy impatiently. "You may squabble all you wish, but can you do it en route, please, and let us prepare instead to find Natalie and Bruno." I was left to lounge on the couch while the others gathered a few things together for the journey. Mulder's been screwed around so much in the past by false offers of assistance, fabricated leads, that he's lost sight of who his friends are... and I wasn't a prime candidate in the first place. So Mulder didn't trust me to help; I wasn't sure I blamed him. The first thing I'd have done was secure something to use as a lockpick. Being a captive, and knowing just how pissed he was with me, made me feel twitchy. I'd told Siggy not to let me loose, but it's hard to be cocky when you've no means of freeing yourself, either. I was uneasy about telling Siggy that his relatives wouldn't be harmed by the Consortium as well. The more I thought it over, the less confident I was, and there was, of course, a minute chance that someone else was holding them. I turned my mind to the motive. The obvious one was blackmail; to get a hold over Mulder. Alternatively, there was the consideration that Mulder's father had involved him in the Consortium's research... my knowledge of the situation was sketchy at best, but I knew his parentage wasn't straightforward. That might make Bruno of interest to them, but surely not Natalie? It was a puzzle. I watched the two of them bustling around. Siggy had seemed very calm until I'd suggested a place the captives might be. I suspected his outward phlegm could explode into anger with little provocation, that he must be wound tight as a spring. I guess he'd had enough time to get used to the situation to give an appearance of normality, but inside he must be frantic with worry. On the other hand there was Mulder. Fox, I'm sure, cared about Natalie and Bruno, but Mulder? Did he care, or was his emotion about my apparent betrayal rather than the captive's peril? Call me a cynic, but I'm certain there was satisfaction in his voice when he accused me and reviled me, as if he was relieved that he had an excuse to hate me once more. I tried to suppress the fantastic notion that there was also envy, and that he almost wished he'd harmed them himself so that he could lay the blame on me. It was with difficulty that I stopped myself from voicing this aloud. I'd almost dropped off to sleep—the couch was so warm and soft compared to that bathroom floor—when Siggy nudged my shoulder and announced it was time to go. They gathered the bags and left to pack the car. For a few minutes I was alone. Escape was impossible, so I sat up and looked around the apartment. I said goodbye to my pictures... a sliver of the one I'd picked out with Fox that fateful day visible like a strip of summer against the pale bedroom wall; goodbye to my books, my few personal items, knowing that there was every chance that in a day or two I'd be dead, if not by Mulder's hand, then by the Consortium's. I couldn't envisage a way that my beloved would ever trust me again; the evidence was heaped far too high against me. I contemplated writing a letter for Siggy to forward to my family. Being with Fox and Mulder must have mellowed me, I hadn't ever considered being so sentimental before. Mulder wouldn't undo my chains, simply threw a long raincoat round my shoulders, and helped me shuffle to the elevator when the coast was clear. I wouldn't have run, even if I'd been free. I couldn't force myself to it, though I had a cold fluttering in my stomach in anticipation of the outcome of this adventure. Y'know, perhaps it was more natural for us to be enemies, almost a relief to escape from the responsibility of our love, the futility of planning for our future. I was pushed into the back seat of Mulder's car. As Mulder leaned over to attach my chain to the door-handle I let my hands brush against his leg. He started, and caught himself leaning into me before pulling away with a snarl. I smirked at his discomfiture; we weren't quite back to square one, apparently. Having given his libido a little freedom, it wasn't quite prepared to slink back into a dusty cupboard and shut the door behind it. "Kiss me, sweetheart," I whispered. "I've missed you." "You must have got a fucking death-wish, Krycek," he muttered, ducking back and slamming the car door. He chose to drive, keeping to the speed limit with exaggerated care, as if it was a token of the restraint with which he was holding himself in check. Siggy, in the passenger seat, turned looked back at me with a rueful smile. "We must be patient, it seems. Would you like me to play the radio, or a tape?" "Tell me about Natalie and Bruno, Siggy, and I'll tell you about my nephews and nieces. Does Bruno look like Fox, huh?" "Hypocrite!" snapped Mulder, and slapped a tape into the player, forestalling any further conversation. It was set to be a boring journey. By early evening we were about halfway to our destination, and Mulder was yawning. He'd refused to let Siggy take over, it seemed he had a low opinion of European drivers... I think the word 'maniac' may have been uttered. We stopped at a roadside diner for some supper, and Siggy insisted we find a place for the night. My opinion wasn't sought; I suspect if Mulder could have gagged me unobtrusively he'd have done it, as it was, he'd had to allow all but the manacles to be removed. I was getting altogether fed up with his griping and his accusations. Being innocent makes you less tolerant, I guess. Siggy looked white round the mouth. He was close to snapping, but Mulder, his mind running near light speed on rocket fuel and bile, a constant stream of speculation and recrimination pouring from his mouth, was oblivious. In a perverse way it was amusing. Mulder crowded me into the corner of the booth, hoping no doubt to restrain me by the sheer force of his personality. His black-clad leg was hot against mine, and a long length of neck swept up into that warm shaven scalp not four inches from my lips, if I turned my head to the side. I was tempted to run my tongue languorously right up the length of it and feel that velvet stubble on my taste-buds, but I suspect the reaction from the rest of the clientele might have been... disapproving. And I hadn't kissed him. For over five weeks I hadn't had that mouth, that cock, that plump firm ass. Those sleek little Malay boys are skilled, and enthusiastic, but to be honest they're too damned small. I'd had the relief, but not the satisfaction. I sneaked a glance at Mulder, thinking, This is fucking stupid, Alex. It'll be months, at best, before you get him again. If ever. If fucking ever. Shit. I wanted Fox sitting next to me, not Mulder. I could get to him. Jesus, he could be angry, but I reckon he couldn't hate. In the meantime Siggy was sitting just across from me. What do you think? Siggy seemed available, sympathetic, was I wrong to be wondering if he'd fuck me, instead of paying attention to Mulder's diatribe? Y'know, I was embarrassed to be horny, but what lay ahead was as frightening a prospect as any I could recall, in that it was unplanned, the outcome was personal and its resolution was out of my control. Humans are programmed to reproduce in such circumstances, aren't they? Well, maybe my reactions were screwed, but the sentiment was appropriate. Siggy needed comforting. I needed... hell, I was going to say sex, but maybe I needed comforting too. My eyelids drooped as I sized him up surreptitiously. He'd lost the foul T-shirt and a pair of skinny tan pants encased his legs, topped by a thick sweater in brown and black. I thought about his warm smooth skin beneath that sweater, and how it would feel to push my hands up under his clothes, push the sweater up and kiss his stomach and his tiny rose-pink nipples. We'd get a room tonight, we'd all be in together... Mulder would want that, for security now that I had to be guarded. I glanced at Mulder, wondering if he'd fucked Siggy, too, or whether Fox still got all the action. I suspected he hadn't laid a finger on him, the interaction between them was wrong for people who'd been intimate; the way they passed each other, the way they handed things to each other, avoiding touch. Our legs were crowded, tangled under the table, our knees pressed together. As Mulder spouted a drone of plans, theories, we both shut him out and flirted with each other silently, over the food. I suspect Siggy was seeking distraction, too. It must have been bad, playing over what could be happening to Natalie in his own mind, even without Mulder's speculations. "How do you get Fox back, Siggy?" I enquired, in a loud whisper, jerking my head at our companion. "Threatening him with a kiss sometimes works," he replied. "Or getting naked and standing before him with a hard-on. That is effective, also. Mulder is shy, and finds sex frightening, I think. It is all so odd. He says you have been lover to both of them, however." I grinned at him, and lifted a brow. "You slapped him yesterday—that worked." "I was surprised. Herr Mulder is prone to over-emotional responses, and one must be firm with him. However, it does not drive him away. Die Füchsin thinks on this occasion he was frightened that he would lose all sense, all control, and render you incapable of helping us." "He's not talented at exercising restraint where I'm concerned, it's true... or over a lot of other matters. The bossy lady, Agent Scully, does her best to hold him back, as does his superior. It's amusing to see you assuming their mantle." I leaned back and watched Mulder pontificate. He was pouring over a large-scale map, and was talking nineteen to the dozen into it. He hadn't noticed our lack of attention at all. "He takes fuck-all notice of me unless I force his hand." I looked back at Siggy, and gave him a lazy smile, rubbing my shin against his. "How do you like him best, Siggy? Up his ass, or down his throat?" Siggy laughed loudly, finally distracting Mulder from his monologue. He peered at him over his glasses, as Siggy drawled, "Need you ask, Alex? With a mouth like that, and the things he can do with his tongue, it's a shame not to keep it filled. He finds it hard to talk with a penis in his mouth, also." Mulder looked from Siggy to me expressionlessly. "You are warped, Siggy, and you, Krycek, are unspeakable. You abuse his family, and then work your way into his bed? I can't find the words to say how sad I am that he's susceptible to your lies." "Did I mention a word about screwing you, Siggy?" I said, glancing at him, then back to Mulder. "I had the impression that we were discussing you, babe." I reached over with my bound hands and placed a single finger on his leg, stroking softly. I looked at him speculatively, chewing on my bottom lip. He looked down at my hand, and said, thoughtfully, "If you're asking if I still want you, the answer's yes. I always did, but I could resist then, and I can resist now. How could you do it, Alex? How could you pretend, all this time? How could you do this to me again?" Abruptly he got to his feet and dashed out. Siggy's eyes followed him; then he turned back to me, and placed his hands over mine as they lay on the table. "He seems fierce, and angry. He is raging inside, but also heartbroken, Alex. It seems as though he has lost the trust he had in himself, the confidence in his worth. This is so for Herr Mulder, and also for meine Füchsin. When this is resolved, I am not sure what will become of him. He may come and make his home with us, if he wishes, and help to bring up his son. Perhaps that will replace what he thinks you have taken from him." He gestured for me to follow Mulder, and stayed to pay the bill. Mulder was standing forlornly in the near-empty parking lot, the yellow lights washing his skin with grey and shadow. I walked over to him, the click of my shoes on the asphalt resounding in the silence. "Babe," I said, "I didn't do it." "I can't take that chance," he replied, haltingly. "I can't do it again." He turned, and frowned. "Not running, Krycek? We're not making a very good job of guarding you, are we?" "I forgot," I said, ruefully. "Here I am, chained up at your mercy, and I forgot to escape." "You mean you're waiting for Fox to re-emerge so you can burrow your way back under his skin, don't you?" "C'mon Mulder, where would I go if I did run away? We're going the direction I'd want to go already. I'd be trying to rescue them, too, wouldn't I?" He walked up to me until we were almost nose to nose, and said, "Spare me, Krycek. Have a little self-respect and just admit you did it, so that we can get through this politely. At least give me the truth now, now I know everything else has been a lie." I shrugged. "What's the point, Mulder? I don't understand what truth is." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ By nine pm. we'd found ourselves a motel and were settled into a large room with a couple of wide beds. Thankfully the heating pipes looked substantial, or I guess I'd have been getting intimate with another piece of porcelain. I was chained up once more with my arms behind me. When Siggy protested, Mulder announced he wouldn't sleep otherwise. I stayed silent, a little smile on my face, and tried to make myself as comfortable as possible. Y'know, I'd begun not to care what would become of me. I thought Mulder had accepted me for what I was and come to terms with my past. After all these months laying myself bare for him to pick apart and analyse, trying to explain to him my motives and my priorities, I'd expected him to show some faith in me, or at least give me the benefit of the doubt if I seemed to be entangled in something dubious. Instead, I hadn't even been extended that little courtesy. He 'knew' I was guilty. Oh, he was prepared to go on loving me, wanting me, fucking patronising me. Feeling sorry for me. It hurt. Jesus, how it hurt. I wanted to grovel at his feet, sob out my innocence, but he didn't deserve it. I sat there, cross-legged and told them all I knew about the lab. Layout, alarms, personnel, surroundings. Siggy provided beer, and helped me drink it. I answered all Mulder's questions as fully as I could, then he unearthed a couple of guns from his bag and cleaned and loaded them, ready for the next day. Siggy shuddered. I knew he wouldn't come with us. I told Mulder as much when he slipped out to collect a late snack. "It's his sister. He wants to come," stated Mulder, baldly. "It'll be murder, if it comes to a fight. He's got no experience of this stuff, he'll be useless, probably a liability. We must ditch him." "I don't believe you care about him, Krycek." "Believe I don't want to be nursemaid to an amateur, Mulder," I sneered. "I expect you can deal with that attitude. You'll be no use to me, either, if you're watching out for him. Come to think of it, if you prefer, you can believe it's a trap. I'm going to lure you into it, and go back and screw Siggy over at my leisure, whatever—but he stays behind." "OK," he said, stretching cramped muscles, then packing his weapons away. "You've got a point. We'll be less obvious without him, anyway" Our unsophisticated plan was to 'acquire' some sort of delivery or utility truck and simply bluff our way in. He began to peel off his clothes, throwing them untidily on a chair. It was strange; I rarely spent a night with Mulder, I was used to Fox's meticulous domestic habits. It was those little things that used to reinforce their difference. "I'm going to get a shower." "How about me, Mulder? I'm pretty rank. Won't be much fun in a car for hours tomorrow. Or would you rather leave the unpleasant task of laying hands on me to Siggy or Fox?" "I can cope," he said tersely. "With the smell?" "With the shower." Leaving one of my arms fastened to the pipes, he let me struggle out of my clothes, and then reattached them together. I sauntered into the bathroom and waited for him. Boy, did he look enticing! They'd been all over him with that dye, he was a lovely deep golden brown, and he hadn't bothered to remove Fox's body jewellery... maybe he wasn't concerned because he wasn't at work. He'd got the ring through his cock, too, which shocked me. I'd have expected him to throw it away, rid himself of my poisonous touch, but there it was. I could feel the hot rush of blood at my groin, over my skin, as I waited for him to adjust the temperature of the pin-sharp water spray. I ducked in and he poured shampoo on me, soaped me and rinsed me, ignoring the silky lick of my hard cock against his flanks. There was no denying the state he was in too. My eyes were mesmerised by that ripe purple head, and the thick golden circlet passing through it. He caught me by the hair as I bent instinctively to kneel before it, hauling me back upright. I swallowed, trying to find my voice. "Are we still married, then, Mulder?" I gasped. "Always, sweet Alex. It'll always remind me what a brainless, immoral idiot I am around you. Want to see me sink lower? Let's see if I can give myself cause for even more self loathing than I feel already." He grabbed my head roughly and ground his lips against mine, forcing me back against the tiles, thrusting his tongue into me. The steel cuffs grated against the glazed wall, scraping across my back, twisting painfully into my wrists as his body smothered mine. Then I was spun round and slammed against the wall again, pinned hard by his hand against my back as he slicked my ass perfunctorily with the soap, then thrust into me. He battered my chest and face over and over against the wall until he was buried inside me completely. I could hear myself grunting with his thrusts, our feet squeaking on the slick floor as he braced himself against it to drive into me. Involuntarily, I struggled to free my hands; I needed to hold myself away from that bruising wall, I needed to pump my cock, release the sweet agony that he was storing inside me, but I was helpless against the smooth, snug steel, and I knew I was yielding, giving way to his mastery, finding completion in utter, forced surrender. The metal ring in his cock took me really high, really fast. He knew that. He'd done it to me now so many times; he knew how to make my body sing as he wished, how to make me lose myself to him. Within a couple of minutes I was soaring out of control, out of my head with euphoria, every discomfort, every bruise, a lick of sheer joy. Suddenly I was coming, sliming the wall with a thick white trail, a hot slick that squeezed over my thigh as he continued to pound into me, holding off his orgasm until what had been paradise became purgatory, until I was whimpering for him to stop. At last he'd taken enough, my freedom, my dignity, my self-control. With a low moan he stiffened, and I felt the long pulse as he filled me with his seed, marking my twisted, strained shoulder with a deep bite. He drew back, and I slithered to the floor to sit, shaking, in the puddle of cooling suds and come. Chapter 29 In which the story ends By the time Siggy returned with fried chicken and more beer the only evidence of our activities was a pile of wet towels in a corner of the bathroom, and my nakedness. Mulder had taken pity on my predicament and dried me, before allowing me to slide into the bed, fastened once more to the plumbing. I was getting pissed at being deprived of my hands, but he wouldn't cuff them in front of me instead. Well, I guess it showed me that while bondage is fun as a hobby, it has drawbacks as a lifestyle choice. He had a long phone conversation with the Gunmen about possible reasons the utilities might want to get into the Research Lab, and, after asking me a few questions about the sort of equipment I'd seen, he asked about delivery companies that contracted to likely suppliers. He settled on the water company in the end; the electricity would have been more convenient, but too obvious. Langly promised they'd be able to intercept and fake a phone-call, should anybody bother to check on us. I'd convinced him he needed my knowledge to bluff his way in, though he was understandably reluctant to take me along. Maybe he was hoping for a last minute inspiration. In the meantime the handcuffs stayed to keep me from calling them, or shooting him, or... Jesus, our relationship was so screwed he could've been imagining I had any one of a thousand devious plans. Y'know, thinking back on it, perhaps I'm being too analytical. Perhaps he just got off on seeing me helpless. Mulder reduced a couple of pieces of chicken to greasy bones, and retired to the bathroom to clean up. Siggy had ignored the planning, we must have sounded too much like professionals for him to feel he could contribute anything useful. He'd made himself at home in the other bed, and was deep into a lurid comic-book, with others strewn about him on the covers. Mulder paused at the door of the bathroom, and studied us pensively. "Plotting and danger I can cope with," he said, yawning, "But not this. I'll see you tomorrow." For a couple of seconds I though he was going to leave the room, find somewhere else to sleep, and then the meaning dawned. For the first and only time I saw him give way to Fox, voluntarily. He shivered violently, as if someone had walked over his grave, then gently, lazily, his muscles relaxed and his mouth curled into a warm delicious grin. I hadn't realised how stressed Mulder was, until I saw the alternative. "Kleine Füchsin!" exclaimed Siggy, and bounded from the bed, to stand toe-to-toe with my second lover. "You are very bad, you let poor Herr Mulder do all the work, and then arrive just in time for the fun." "But he does it so much better than me, my pretty, and he wouldn't trust me to do it right, anyway," he replied, standing on tiptoe to peck tiny kisses on Siggy's cheek. "And he took a little fun for himself." He looked over at me sourly. "Mulder's such a bastard. He's found himself a nice new way to hurt me." He tugged the itchy sweater Siggy had been wearing up over his head, saying "I'll keep you warm, Siggy, I'm not sleeping next to this hairy creature." Looking at the garment with distaste, he grimaced, and threw it across the room. Siggy's shorts went next, another hideously patterned item, and the German, smiling broadly, pulled Fox's robe off and swept him up into his arms, then threw him onto the bed. I goggled disbelievingly. "He's a little skinny to be Superman," I ventured. Siggy grinned at me. "You think I am too strong, Alex? Little Fox says that I have no business calling my hobby a sport. But it makes me fit, eh?" "He climbs rocks, Alex. Like a spider. So does Natalie. Not proper rocks though. Little ones. Big pebbles." "You are disrespectful, meine Füchsin," he said, launching himself at the man on the bed. "You will be punished." He straddled Fox and began to tickle him, until Fox shrieked for mercy, tears of laughter leaking from his eyes. I was stunned, I couldn't ever have imagined seeing him like that. I suppose I'd come at Fox with all Mulder's baggage hanging round me, and treated him accordingly. Siggy was approaching the two of them from the diametrically opposite direction. Fox had never been anyone else; Siggy hadn't any preconceptions to inhibit him. I wondered what the hell he thought of Mulder - he must have been as bowled over as I was with Fox. "Turn off the lights, Siggy," said Fox, when Siggy finally released him. "I want you to make love to me, I want to be pampered. And you can turn your back, Krycek," he added coldly. "You don't get to watch any more; Mulder may have no standards where you're concerned, but I have." "But..." I began, but my resolve faltered under his gaze. I felt hollow now he'd withdrawn from me, and I longed to convince him that I hadn't been plotting against him; his pain was infinitely more poignant to me than Mulder's. "Never mind," I sighed, and wriggled down to lie with my back to them. We would be in danger tomorrow, maybe we wouldn't survive, it wasn't worth spoiling his last night with Siggy with arguments and accusations. If we came out of this intact, there'd be time enough. Oddly, I didn't feel resentful that he'd assumed I was guilty, as I did about Mulder. It was a long, lonely night. ~~~~~~~~~ We simply abandoned Siggy at the motel the next morning, sneaked out without saying goodbye. Mulder and I took the few things we needed... the weapons, wallets, and the car. There was a note, telling him to await us back at my apartment, or to contact Scully if he'd heard nothing after forty-eight hours. He didn't know where we were going, so he couldn't follow us, we were gone. I passed the first half of the journey with my hands cuffed to the door-handle. "You're going to have to let me loose sooner or later, y'know," I said, rattling the link against the door-liner for the hundredth time. "And using my helplessness to force me to listen to Country and Western music for hours should be against the Geneva Convention." He quirked an eyebrow at me and joined in with the chorus of 'Stand by your Man' with cheerful gusto. I groaned. "Shit, Mulder, I can't even put my hands over my ears," I wailed. He pulled off the road and switched off the engine. The music died. He turned to me, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I've been putting this off, Krycek, because I can't see any solution to it. I'm assuming I'll need your help to rescue Natalie and Bruno, yet it could be that you are the reason they're in trouble. A dilemma, eh?" "You said it, babe. What'ya gonna do, huh?" I stretched, and looked over at him. "You'll have to let me loose anyway. Gotta piss." "You just went." "That was two hours back, Agent Mulder. All I had for breakfast was a pint of orange juice. I've processed it, OK?" He studied me for a minute, that cupid-bow mouth working as he lined up the arguments. It was unnerving, wondering what sort of debate was going on between him and Fox. I hadn't had Fox hostile to me before, and I wondered, if he became too vociferous, whether Mulder would become the devil's advocate. A hand emerged with a key, and he removed the cuffs completely. "You could run, if you wanted to," he said. "I don't think I'd try to shoot you." "If I'd wanted to run, I would have persuaded Siggy to let me go before," I said, rubbing the marks on my wrists and looking over at him. He was staring straight ahead, both hands back on the wheel, gripping it so tightly the tendons on his hands were sharp ridges. "After my initial reaction when you knocked me out, I thought it over and decided it wouldn't achieve anything." "It wasn't me that knocked you out. Fox did it. I wanted to work you over until you were one big bloody bruise. There wouldn't have been any satisfaction in that if you'd been unconscious." "You're going to hold off executing me until we've got Natalie, then?" There was the hint of a tear in his eye as he answered. "Not even then. I need to understand why you did this to me, how you could act like this, how you could pretend so thoroughly that you loved me. If you run, I'm going to chase after you until I've got my answers. After that... " He looked over at me hopelessly and shrugged. I sighed heavily, and got out of the car to relieve myself. He was still in the same position when I settled back into my seat. "See, here I am. Didn't it occur to you, lover, that you needn't even ask those questions because I didn't do it, that I do love you, and that I'm totally pissed off that you could think otherwise." "Nope. It didn't." He turned to me and gave me a quivery smile. "I don't even want to get my head round that one, Krycek. 'We have to distrust each other. It's our only defence against betrayal.' How did you make me forget, sweet Alex? How did you bewitch me into forgetting what you are?" "Maybe you should be thanking me," I snarled. Perhaps it was unfair to expect more of him, but it was bitter to hear those words. "Here's another one for you—'Anyone who hasn't experienced the ecstasy of betrayal knows nothing about ecstasy at all.' Let's go. We're wasting time." Our first stop was twenty miles from our destination at a depot for the water supply company. The busy Gunmen had set them up to think we were a couple of FBI agents on an undercover assignment and needed to commandeer a van and some uniforms for a few hours... it could have been the truth. The efficient manager entered into the spirit of the adventure and provided us with a couple of fake ID's too. By early afternoon we were at the barrier of the lab's parking lot with a cover story and a suitably laid back attitude. The worn blue boiler suit didn't do much for Mulder's appearance; together with his new face he looked like the sort of guy who was more likely to plug your wife than a leak in the plumbing. Christ knows about me. I'd acquired a cap to hide my face a little, and I cultivated my dumb, 'sidekick' look, and left the talking to him. Mulder climbed out of the cab and went into the guard's booth with our ID's and a clipboard holding several well-thumbed, untidy forms. I could see them talking to each other, Mulder gesturing towards the roof of the building, and then the guard picking up the phone and making a brief call. When he climbed back in the van he looked irritated. "We get an escort. I expected to be shown where the equipment on the roof was, but there's a couple of security goons on their way to keep us company." "What did you expect, Mulder? A set of skeleton keys and a map with secret areas marked in red?" I pulled the peak of my cap down over my face, leaned against the door-pillar and closed my eyes while we awaited their leisurely arrival. We asked to start with the piping in the roof, and the air-conditioning equipment. The cover story concerned a leak in a local chemical plant causing groundwater contamination, but checks were being carried out on all businesses where reflux into the water supply or leakage could cause a hazard or circulation of dangerous aerosols via the air-conditioning equipment. The guards, two muscular, taciturn men, seemed uninterested, talking abbreviatedly between themselves about a recent scandal involving the mayor's deputy and the principal of the local high school. We hefted our tool-boxes, and looked bored. The elevator took us to the third floor of the building. It was long, and relatively low, constructed as an angular 'C' around a central lawn with two flagpoles and a minimalist sign proclaiming 'Silent Hill Laboratory— Biotechnology'. All around were trees, bare now, but intended effectively to screen the industrial park from passers by. A short access stairway, entered via a locked door, led to the roof. The air-conditioning equipment, some piping, and also the elevator gear were in a couple of special housings, like small cabins, on the flat, windswept space. We didn't hesitate. As soon as we were out of sight of any cameras we each belayed a wrench from our pockets and put the two to sleep. An advantage of impersonating anyone concerned with pipe-work is that you get to carry around an impressive array of blunt instruments and a variety of interesting sticky tape without looking suspicious. Within five minutes the guards were securely bound and gagged and pushed into a space behind the air-conditioning equipment, inside the cabin. I appropriated the best-fitting of the two uniforms, Mulder stayed with the overalls and we descended back into the building. I'd only been there about half-a-dozen times and hadn't roamed all over the place, but I knew where the key areas were. I hadn't the least idea where a representative of the water company would concentrate his investigation. It seemed unlikely that he'd need to examine all of the restrooms but at least it gave us an excuse to visit every corner of the building. Plans supplied by the water company showed where the main pipes entered, giving us a reason to explore the basement as well, which contained several interesting rooms. However I knew prisoners were kept on the top floor. It was the best place to start our search. Apart from the 'guests' who were accommodated there sporadically, the third floor was mostly empty. There were four rooms that I knew were used to keep prisoners, spaced so that no communication was possible between them. I led the way confidently to the most easterly bathrooms, and Mulder banged pipes and stared knowingly at test gauges of water for a few minutes before we abandoned the area to search the corridor outside. The two cells at that end of the block were vacant. We worked our way along towards the first turning finding, only one office occupied—a pair of bored people were sorting through an enormous pile of old files and binders. I nodded and smiled at them, murmured "Excuse me," and shut the door carefully. The central section held another pair of bathrooms and the elevators... the emergency staircases were at the extremes of the building. All of the offices here were unoccupied, though half of the ten or so rooms were furnished. That left the western wing. I was fairly sure if Natalie and Bruno weren't there, then they wouldn't be in the building at all. In the end, they were. The nearer of the two 'cells' contained a cot, disposable diapers and many other baby requisites. Amazing how much junk the modern world expects a baby to need. However, there was no sign of its occupant. The further room was not only unlocked but the door stood open. A janitor was on a short stepladder, fixing a light in the centre of the ceiling. I gestured to Mulder to stay out of sight in the corridor and took a couple of steps into the room, standing to look at his progress. "Hi," I said. "I've got a guy here checking the water quality in this building. You had any complaints?" "Nope. Not a one," he answered. "Pass me the wire-strippers, fella. This fixture's almost totalled." "What happened? Someone wreck it?" "Some female that was here... " he said, straining back and squinting at the dismembered plastic. "Red haired, tall... ?" "Yup—that's her. Funny-looking." He turned to me. "Didn't you hear all the commotion a coupla days back?" I looked blank. "Nope. Been away. Just came on duty earlier." "Middle of the night—she put the light out of action—slit her wrists, so I heard. They've got her downstairs now. You'da thought someone woulda smelt something when the light went on the fritz, but nope. She was nearly cold when they found her." I stared at him uncomprehendingly. I couldn't... wouldn't believe what I was hearing. It must have produced an uninterested expression on my face, because he simply turned back to his repair and muttered, "Stupid pricks. Musta got marshmallow for brains." I gulped, and asked carefully and calmly, "And the baby?" He looked down at me and frowned. "It's fine. But it ain't fair on a kid, losing its mother. Maybe they needed her, but it wouldn't 'a been a trouble to keep 'em together." Oh, Natalie, I thought, this is so damn wrong. I never knew her, but her brother was funny, and weirdly beautiful, and he'd be broken by this news. I remembered my first sight of them at the Pit, their strange sensuality, magnified by their twinness, their illicit closeness. I wondered if Mulder, out in the corridor, had heard our conversation. I suspected not, or he'd have been in here, angrily bombarding the janitor with tell-tale questions and blowing our cover. It was tempting to lie to him and spare him pain. To say they'd been moved and come back later without him to see if I could find the baby. But I knew he'd insist on searching the lab anyway, so we might as well get it over with. I couldn't tell him though; like a coward I thought it would be easier if he simply saw for himself. I knew they'd keep her body for a few days. I walked briskly past him to the elevators. He hesitated and then scuttled after me, saying, "What's up?" "Basement," I replied, not trusting myself to elaborate. We rode the elevator in silence. There was a camera; they were rife in this building, and the car was probably bugged. It slowly hummed downwards, stopping with a solid clunk, and the doors eased open on a featureless corridor with sad, grey lighting. All of the western end was taken up with boilers, storage, and a wide bay for loading and unloading. I'd never been into most of the rooms in the central block, but to the east there were two rooms that were kept chilled, one with a walk-in freezer. There was also a small but adequate operating theatre and recovery room leading off it, and nearby a windowless and soundproofed... dungeon, I suppose, used for, well... let's call it a traditional purpose. I was familiar with the small medical area, I'd had a gun-shot wound patched up here once after a botched job. They used it for post-mortems, too... if Caruana was here Natalie would be gutted by now; he never passes up an opportunity to look over a set of entrails. Funnily, it seems to be a sincerely scientific interest, though when I first knew him I suspected him of an unpleasant fetish. His attitude mirrors Scully's when faced with a corpse; must be a certain twist of the mind that keeps you fascinated with rooting through your fellow human's giblets. This room had glass-panelled doors, and though the lights were on, it was empty. I ushered Mulder inside, and shut the door. "The sink's over there under the window," I said, gesturing to Mulder to maintain our cover. Most of these basement rooms had high, narrow windows just below the ceiling, like Mulder's office. He approached it unenthusiastically and dumped his toolbox. It was obvious he'd like to drop the pretence and spend a few happy hours rooting through filing cabinets and desk drawers, rather than U-bends and stopcocks. He yanked open his toolbox and, after careful deliberation, selected a small wrench and a mole-grip. Delving into the darkness beneath the sink he began clattering busily. "I'll just check out the rooms next door," I said in a clear voice, "Maybe they're in use and we'll have to wait. They have to keep the rooms sterile as possible for some of the procedures here." I saw her immediately. The first of the cold rooms was always fairly stark, the benches clean, dully gleaming, the wide floor a buffed tile surface with rarely more than a trolley, or a wheeled cabinet anxiously holding its nerve in the echoing solitude. Today there was a sleek steel gurney occupying the centre of the room, its burden covered by a cloud-white cloth with just a tendril of fiery hair curled over the hem. Was this retribution, at last? Had the gods noticed? Had we been destined always to be enemies? But we had upset that order, crossed a boundary that could not be breached, and now the shock front was propagating, knocking out the incongruities, the constructs that diverged from the path set by our fate. I stepped closer, hoping to see that light cloth rise with her breath, knowing it never would. My hand reached to pull the covering from her face, but dropped back to my side before I could: I had an uncanny feeling it would be Siggy underneath—not his sister. Even, somehow, the two of them, although it was obvious that there was only a single, female body. I must have been standing there in a reverie a long time, because I jumped when Mulder cleared his throat just behind me and said, "Finished. Can I check this room, now?" He peered over my shoulder. "What's so interesting?" I moved a little to the side and looked at my feet, avoiding the revelation. He went to the gurney and plucked at the cloth tentatively, then swept it back. I could hear his breath shuddering above the quiet hum that pervaded the area. I looked up, caught a glimpse of a naked hip, the skin translucent above, livid below, and my stomach lurched. I turned and dashed from the room to stand, hands on my knees, head bowed, gulping in deep breaths through my mouth, trying not to give in to the nausea and faintness that threatened to overwhelm me. I'm truly not good at autopsies at any time, but the thought of Natalie there, split from neck to crotch... oh, my God... and the corpse I saw in my mind flashed between her and Siggy... I was shaken so badly that Mulder surprised me again, and before I'd realised he was nearby he'd taken a hold on my collar as I bent over and, yanking hard, span me across the corridor into the wall opposite. I bounced off it forcefully and, feet flying, went ass over tip and landed flat on my back at his feet. Gathering a handful of the tough uniform jacket in his hand he hauled my shoulders from the floor and punched me in the mouth. I was so shocked by the view of girl's body, though I'd already known she was dead, and by Mulder's actions, I didn't realise what was happening or register the pain, until he grabbed my clothing once again, this time with both hands, and dragged me half erect, shaking me back to my senses. I stared at him wide-eyed, helpless, my hands tugging ineffectually at his forearms. "I'm sorry," I gasped in an urgent whisper, "I'm so sorry, I was sure she'd be alive. For Christsakes let me go, Mulder, someone'll spot us, we'll get caught!" "I just bet you're sorry, you fucking bastard," he grated, shoving his face right up to mine, "Spoilt some filthy plan of yours, huh?" I could feel his breath and his spit on me as the words exploded from his mouth. "But your delightful comrades couldn't resist chopping her up, instead of keeping her warm and safe for your noble rescue. What the hell is going on in that twisted brain of yours, lover ?" At last I succeeded in getting a good grip on him and heaved him over onto his back, sitting across his hips, and trying to pin his hands to the floor. He struggled wildly as I tried to calm him. "Shut up, dammit," I hissed, "You'll bring them on us. Stop this! We need to find Bruno, you fool... they're gonna catch us... Deal with it later." One of his flailing hands escaped, and he swiped it at me, gouging a set of bloody lines down my face. "Maybe you killed her, Krycek," he snarled. "You gave her to them, you probably killed her yourself, you lying, cheating motherfucker." "She killed herself, Mulder... the guy upstairs told me... " But his anger gave him tremendous strength and he threw me off, sending me sliding, sprawling across the floor again. As I scrabbled to my feet he leapt on me once more and slammed me against the wall, wrapped his hands round my neck and squeezed. This was no pretence, no half-hearted attempt to frighten me, or express his anger; his thumbs dug hard into my windpipe... he was out to throttle me as fast and efficiently as he could. There was nothing but determination on his face as his shoulders knotted with the effo rt. I reacted instinctively; already winded by his attack, there was little air in my lungs and I panicked as my effort to draw breath failed. I brought my knee up sharply into his groin and reached to dig my fingers into his eyes, loosening his grip just enough to twist away from him. I lurched into a turn, making for the medical room where Mulder had left the toolkit, where the guns lay concealed, when I heard the thud of running feet. Turning back, I grabbed Mulder's arm and tried to drag him with me, hoping to escape through the fan-lights in there, but he was rigid with pain and I couldn't get him to move quickly. A group of men skidded round the corner and ran at us, their guns, like accusing fingers, pointed at our hearts. My fingers, one by one, detached themselves from him; our situation was hopeless, surrender was the only option. "I don't suppose you're going to believe that we were having a disagreement about the quality of your sanitary fittings, are you?" quipped Mulder, schooling his face back to its usual unfazed expression, and attempting to stand up straight. "It's unlikely," replied Raymond, stepping from behind the group, and coming up to me. "Hi there, Alex! We were told to expect you." I gave a little insincere laugh, put my hands in my pockets, and leaned back against the wall behind me. "Hello, Rod. It's been a while. Sorry to drop in unannounced, but you know how it is... " We'd had it now. Rodney Raymond may look small and mild, sorta pixyish, but he has a heart like obsidian, black, hard, and glittering with razor-sharp cruel edges. "Yeah, I know, but you're here now, so we can party. There's lots of friends just upstairs waiting to get all close and personal with you and your... associate. I assume this is the fabled Fox Mulder." He sauntered over to Mulder and ran his finger over the dark line of hair defining his chin. Mulder batted his hand away and Rod grinned. "Pretty. Almost makes me wish I was bent like you, Alex. I bet he's a good kisser... you like that, don't you Alex?" "He can make me come with a kiss, Roddy... Jealous?" "Why don't you shut up, Krycek?" interrupted Mulder. "Save your premature ejaculation problems for your doctor. Where's the baby, Mr. ... ?" "Raymond. Rodney Raymond. Nice to meet you at last, Agent Mulder. Your son is upstairs, too. You haven't met him yet, I believe?" Mulder strode forward, shouldering the surprised troops out of the way and marching towards the elevator. "I haven't, but I intend to... immediately." With an exasperated shake of my head, I followed him. Y'know, from here on in, I really didn't know what to expect. I suppose I had had a faint inkling, some grip on the situation from the start of this, but riding up the single floor in that elevator was both the longest and shortest trip I have ever taken. Why was Natalie dead? I didn't know. What did the Consortium want of Mulder? No idea of that, either. What would they do to me? Why had they waited so long to pounce? I looked edgily round at the men hemming us in the car. Even if I could have depended on Mulder, there were too many to take, though I was tempted to, so full of dread was I about what was in store. I couldn't swallow, could barely breath... the air in that little box reeked of hostility, of sweat pungent with power, and brimstone. I wanted to reach for my love's hand, for reassurance, to comfort him... What a pansy you're becoming, Alex, I thought. A minute more in here, and you'll be shitting yourself. We emerged on the first floor; a plush lobby with an acre of soft green carpet. The svelte receptionist barely glanced at our group. No other people were to be seen. Now was the last chance to make a dash for freedom, but Mulder wasn't looking for it, he was looking impatiently at Raymond, waiting for directions. And where Fox Mulder went, I went. Putting expectations and consequences aside, I waited to see where he would lead me. We were led the length of the building to the eastern end, almost directly over the point we had been a few minutes before. This was the public face of the Consortium, efficient, businesslike, responsible; modern technology in the service of the American Citizen and the American Economy. Raymond pushed open a heavy wooden door whose figured grain spoke of profit and dependability. It was a door I'd passed through before, a door leading to a muffled conference room, to the secret enclave, to the old men. Head high, I strode boldly in behind Mulder. The light was bright for once, false, but stark. The blinds were down against the world's gaze, but the harsh electric glare sparkled from the silvered heads and glimmered through the wreaths of smoke that old Spender was weaving, like his evil conjurations, around all of us. He has a name, I'd discovered once upon a time, but somehow he's apocryphal, he doesn't need one, deserve one, deserve to have an origin. "Ah, Alex Krycek," he informed me, in case I'd forgotten. He took a slow puff from his cigarette, smacking his lips softly with the inhalation, and then sighing out his polluted breath. "Such a pleasure to see you, after all this time. What has it been? Nearly a year?" "I can't say I've missed you," I replied, with a fleeting smile at the memories of those sweet months, "But yes, nearly a year." "And you've been deepening your acquaintance with the excellent Agent Mulder," he stated, in his slow, deliberate voice. "You should know," shouted Mulder impulsively. "You put him up to it." "Did I?" he said. "My, my, I hadn't realised. Did I really, Alex?" I lowered my eyelids, and answered, "You'd have suggested it, if you thought it was feasible. But you didn't know, or I wouldn't have wasted all these years." "There you have your answer, Fox. Alex isn't the man to wait for his reward, if he thinks it's within his grasp." "You're saying you didn't know... Krycek told you, then?" He took another lingering puff, and answered, "No, not that either. I'm afraid my splendid Alex Krycek has a flaw, and that flaw is you, Agent Mulder. I thought he was perfect, the perfect tool, and he has disappointed me, badly." "I thought I was the perfect tool, as well. The realisation that I'm not has humbled me," I said, sardonically. "So, now that I know I'm not worthy to be in your service, I'd like to tender my resignation to the Consortium." I looked round at the assembled committee, but all, save the Smoker, refused to meet my eye. "A noble gesture, Alex, but one I can't accept," he said, pensively. "The position you occupy can only be terminated by death... you're too valuable to lose in any other way." Mulder looked at me thoughtfully and then strode up to the Smoker and glared at him. "So you're saying that Krycek's relationship with me was genuine?" The Smoker gave a wrinkled smile. "Would you believe me if I said 'Yes', Agent Mulder? These gentlemen can corroborate, if you wish... We have had the impression, however, in the last few minutes, that your... understanding... is under some strain." The Englishman stepped forward and touched Mulder's shoulder, turning him to face him. "Alex hasn't communicated with us for nearly a year. Some regard him as a traitor." He looked at me, and then at the Smoker. "Some don't agree." "He wasn't lying?" asked Mulder. There was a hint of hope in his voice, and a hot surge blasted through my chest, leaving me breathless. "Oh, he wasn't lying, Agent Mulder." The Smoker replied, pausing to take another drag on his cigarette. "He's fallen for you, as they say, big-time. And, strictly speaking, he hasn't betrayed us, he was under no orders to... research... your sexuality. It's the spirit of his behaviour that is wanting. His lack of openness to his employers, on a matter of some interest. His fraternisation, shall we say, with the... enemy... Mmm... or, at least, unsympathetic parties." "So, he didn't kidnap Natalie and Bruno." "It was as much of a surprise to him as to you, Agent Mulder. Sadly, the lovely Natalie has chosen to leave us already. I'm sorry to say Dr. Caruana bears the responsibility for that. You've met him, I believe." He looked at Mulder, and waited for a nod of confirmation. "Then you will know he's a little over-enthusiastic in his job. He described to her, in graphic detail, the plans we had for her, and the dear little Bruno. He... embellished the truth, somewhat, hoping for improved co-operation. He implied that Bruno had been tested... to destruction." He shook his head in resignation as Mulder voiced the word 'bastard' under his breath. "The poor child killed herself, slit her wrists, rather than becoming part of the good doctor's research project" He jerked his head at one of the elderly men seated at the far side of the room. The man stood carefully and moved forward. The swaddled bundle in his arms was a baby, sound asleep, cuter than a tub of kittens, its dark hair and tiny dimpled chin echoing his father's features. Mulder held out his arms, and the warm bundle was passed to him. I couldn't look at them; tears were pricking at my eyes. "However, as Alex should have been involved, should have kept us informed of the situation from the beginning, there will be repercussions. We wish you to remain part of our organisation, Alex, but you will have to be disciplined." I shook my head, trying to make sense of his words. "You didn't take them to have a hold over Mulder?" I asked, puzzled. The Englishman sighed. "He is unsophisticated. It's charming, in a way." Mulder's eyes flickered up from the baby in his arms. "They're interested in Bruno's parentage, Krycek," he said, flatly. "Precisely," agreed the Smoker, affably. "Fox Mulder here has a genetic code of great interest and value to the whole of mankind. For years we have been trying to propagate it... spread it." Mulder looked up, startled. "Yes, Agent Mulder. You've no doubt suspected clones may exist, but the special properties your chromosomes carry need to be propagated naturally— sexually. We have been working to this end for several years, inseminating ova with your sperm to obtain foetuses with the same abilities." "What! I've got a whole parcel of kids somewhere that you've been breeding. You're kidding," he shouted, angrily. He turned to me. "Did you know about this, Krycek?" As an afterthought, he added, "And how the fuck did you get hold of my come?" "He knew nothing of it, neither was he responsible for obtaining a specimen of your... ejaculate," answered the Smoker, lighting another cigarette carefully. "And no, you're not, as yet, a patriarch, Agent Mulder. Prior to Bruno, all have been failures... miscarriages, monsters, or children so malformed that they survived only a few days. You will understand now why we were so interested in the baby... and its mother. Rest assured, if it weren't for our... problem, we would have left them in peace. After all, we have sufficient evidence to assure your co-operation without them. Fox is so entertaining." "So, what's different about this baby?" asked Mulder, ignoring the Smoker's provocation. His interest had been spurred; the hostility had disappeared, temporarily. I noticed, fondly, that unconsciously he was rocking Bruno, smiling serenely at his little son. "We waited to see the outcome of the pregnancy, as you must realise," answered the Englishman, carefully. "Until we were sure that the baby was viable, and that it was indeed your child. We suspect the difference may be in the mother. Logically, we chose ova from the healthiest women for our program. Natalie wasn't perfect. She carried a gene for one of the mucopolysaccharide disorders. These disorders cause abnormal skeletal development, mental retardation, and shortened life spans. Hurler's syndrome, Morquoi's syndrome... there are many of them. It's recessive, both parents must have it for the child possibly to be afflicted. Bruno will develop normally, assuming your own genes don't affect him somehow at a later stage, but is a carrier of one of these diseases. We think that this defect has enabled your DNA's special properties to be expressed." "Fascinating," murmured Mulder. "It might be fascinating to you , lover," I said, "But Natalie is still dead, and I don't suppose these cunts are going to let us walk out of here with Bruno." "You, too, are insightful at times, my boy," said the Smoker, smiling at me. "Our good doctor also told the young lady that she was to be harvested for eggs, to further his breeding and research project. His scientific detachment is inconsistent with tact, it seems. She withdrew her co-operation, believing Bruno dead, as I said before. As for the baby; I'm of the opinion that we should keep it. Flawed as it is, it has still inherited the mutated sequence in Agent Mulder's DNA. And thus we reach your punishment, Alex." "And the point at which we leave," came a hoarse voice from across the room. "I can't agree with this—many of us can't." The door opened, and the old men began to file out. "And yet you know it is sensible... necessary," said the Smoker, sharply. "At least I have the stomach for it." The Englishman was the last to leave. "I'm almost sure that it's simply spite," he muttered, as he passed Spender. "I'm sorry," he said, looking at Mulder and I. "Truly sorry." We were left with just the Smoker and Rod Raymond and his thugs. "So?" I said, questioningly. "He could be right, I feel a great deal of personal disappointment in your behaviour, Alex. So I have devised an act of contrition, which will not only be condign, but will give me satisfaction. "The baby, as I said, Is flawed. But it has inherited Fox Mulder's abilities, which is of great importance, and he should be possible to breed from safely. Therefore, given that we have Mulder's sperm in case of mishap, Mulder's existence is now superfluous, and an irritant. He is unnecessary. He can be terminated. "On the other hand, a faction within our group are unhappy about the disorder that Bruno carries, and want him put down. Now we have a lead to the cause of our previous failures, Bruno has outlived his usefulness. By genetic manipulation we should be able to produce perfect children with his share of Mulder's genes but without his flaw. We could keep both him and Mulder, but I don't see the point, and though I have a preference, I'm willing to accept either. Therefore your punishment, Alex, will be to choose which one of them is to die... and to effect it." Mulder gripped the baby tightly and goggled disbelievingly at the Smoker. "What!" he exclaimed. "You can't make me do a thing like that," I said, incredulously. "Once, you wouldn't have hesitated," he said, pensively. "However, I suspected you'd be reluctant, so as an inducement, I'm making the following terms. After all, no matter what you do, I can't trust you any more, and yet I'm reluctant to see you ride off into the sunset with Agent Mulder... you don't deserve it. "You can choose, and then carry out your decision. If you kill the baby, Mulder is free to go... we can manage our research without him. If you kill Mulder, the baby stays here. We'd like to keep him under observation as he develops, in case there are unexpected problems. In either case, you can leave safely. "If you refuse to make a choice, I will do it. Raymond here will carry out my decision, so that you can watch before he kills you, too, Alex." Rod grinned, and tightened the grip on his gun. I had no doubt that they were serious. "You can't let them do this, Krycek," shouted Mulder. "It's barbaric, inhuman. You're a fucking ghoul, the whole lot of you are ghouls... playing, experimenting, plotting with people's lives." If he hadn't had the baby in his arms, I think he would have thrown himself at the Smoker. Spender ignored him. He puffed deliberately at his cigarette, looking over at the door, then turned back to me and lifted his brows. "Well, Alex?" I went over to Mulder, and stroked his cheek. "Can I kiss you, one last time?" I whispered softly. A tear rolled down his cheek, as he tried, ineffectually, to blink it back. "You didn't betray me, did you Alex?" he breathed. "Never, beloved, I could never hurt you, never let you down. I'm yours, now, forever." "He really means this, doesn't he? There's no way out." "Do you see the cavalry coming, babe?" He shook his head, and bent to kiss Bruno's silky forehead before offering his perfect lips to me. For a long, rapturous moment, we kissed, our lips tingling with the promise of our belonging, our everlasting love. "Give me the baby," I said to him. "It'll be as quick and painless as I can make it." He passed Bruno to me. The tiny child was heavy, warm in my arms. I passed him to the kindest looking of the goons. "I need a gun," I said to the Smoker. "You and I both know it would be extremely foolish for me to arm you, Alex. You can do it with your bare hands, I've seen you do it before, you're every inch the professional." I nodded my appreciation, and smiled grimly. "Hold him," I ordered Raymond. He gestured to two of his men, who took Mulder, locking his arms behind him in a powerful grip. "You don't need to do that, I won't struggle," objected Mulder. I looked at him for several seconds, biting my lips, summoning the courage to end it—my love, my hope, my reason to be. And at last he saw my intention. "No... " he croaked. "No, no... " The word repeated, his voice rising to a tortured wail as I took back the baby, kissed it gently where Mulder's lips had pressed, and with a resolute jerk and a sharp twist, broke its neck. The End

Archive: Yes Title: Another Me Author: Sebastian Series/Fandom: X-Files Pairing: M/K, M/O, K/O Rating: NC17 Feedback email: sebastian@the-wilderness.freeserve.co.uk Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 productions and Fox. No copyright infringement is intended. Notes: I'm British, so please excuse any strange spellings and idioms. Mr. Krycek has both his arms, I didn't think I was clever enough to write a one-handed story. Any other inconsistencies, blame on the gigantic gaps the Beeb leaves between X-files series, and my appalling memory. back to top

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