Mulder spat. "No kidding. I feel like I've got purple goo between my
teeth."
"Let me have a look," Krycek said seriously. Mulder laughed and shook
his head, and felt some of
the goo slide down his neck. "Maybe it's poisonous."
"I doubt it, or we'd have found dead foxes around those cows—don't
say it," he added hastily as
Krycek looked up with a glint in his eyes. "Stupid case."
"You're the one who tripped and fell."
Mulder looked at the remains of the dead cow, now mostly a steaming
purple heap. Something was
killing these animals and turning them into Slime [tm], some mysterious
force that had it in for bovines,
some bored alien who thought 'moo' meant 'kill me now' or just had
a really perverted sense of
humor. Or maybe it was a side effect of the latest brand of weed killer.
"You didn't even help me up."
"Would two ruined suits be better than one?"
"Nothing can make that suit of yours any worse," Mulder said in resignation.
He reached out and
grabbed Krycek by the arm and tripped him up neatly, sending him sprawling
into the purple mess.
Krycek stared up at him, stunned. "What the hell—"
"You were laughing at me," Mulder intoned seriously.
"I was not!"
"Oh yes you were."
"I was not!" Krycek insisted, although one corner of his mouth was
starting to twitch.
"You were, you were laughing at me, Krycek, and now you have to suffer
for it."
"I'm suffering." Krycek wrinkled his nose and laughed at the same time.
"I'm suffering, all right? God,
this smells horrible. Help me up." Mulder pulled his partner to his
feet. "Can I assume you'll be paying
for the damage to the car seats?"
Damn. He'd forgotten that they had to drive back to the motel. And they
weren't even supposed to
be investigating dead cows (Mulder closed his eyes for a moment, picturing
the look on Skinner's
face), he'd just heard of it and thought it sounded interesting and
they were here anyway and the killer
they were supposedly chasing most definitely was not. He raised his
eyes to the skies hoping for a
little rain to take the worst of it away, but no such luck.
"The farm," he said finally, nodding his head towards the house in the
distance. "They'll let us use their
bathroom."
"If they're home," Krycek said pessimistically. "And having an FBI badge
doesn't really entitle you to
use up other people's hot water, you know."
"Yes it does," Mulder said firmly. He grabbed Krycek by the arm again,
turned him around and
started to drag him along across the field. "This is an emergency situation.
I'll shoot myself if I have to
walk around smelling like this much longer."
They trudged across the field, passing several more extremely deceased
cows. Even the flies stayed
away from the purple mess. Mulder looked at Krycek, who had a purple
smear across his forehead
and whose suit was practically plastered to his body. Then he had to
admit he looked just as bad
himself.
At least the lights were on, someone had to be home. They rang the doorbell
and didn't have to wait
long; a plump, grey-haired woman opened the door and the smell of fresh
bread that wafted out
almost overpowered the stench of the purple goo. "Oh, you poor boys!"
she said. She wore an
apron and had a dot of flour on her nose; at that moment, Mulder felt
she was the girl of his dreams.
"We're Federal agents," Mulder said, fishing around for his ID. The
slime had gotten into his pockets
and the picture resembled nothing so much as a special effect in a
fifties horror movie.
"And we need a shower," Krycek added piteously, fixing the woman with
a pleading puppy-dog
stare that looked damn near lethal.
The woman all but dissolved into a puddle of goo herself. "Of course
you do!" She opened the door
a little wider, as if to invite them in, then a remnant of sense asserted
itself. "Wait right there." They
waited right there while she bustled off and a moment later returned
with a pile of towels. She opened
the door to the right and went in there. Mulder caught a glimpse of
porcelain tiles. He yearned for
them. "We don't have much hot water," the woman said as she came out
again. "You'll have to take
turns." She held the front door open wider. "Hurry in now and try not
to drip on the floor."
Both of them at the same time? Mulder shrugged. He was the senior agent.
He had first dibs on the
shower. Krycek could just suffer, again, although it would be a bit
too unkind to make him stand
outside the house and suffer. Besides, it would mean that he finally
got to see Krycek out of that ugly
suit, a prospect that held more than a passing interest for him.
They dashed across the hall and into the bathroom; Mulder closed the
door.
"Wow."
He turned around to see what had caused the smile in Krycek's voice,
and beheld a huge
claw-footed tub, with a yellow rubber duck perched on the rim. Definite
wow factor there, and the
duck was cute. There was no shower curtain. There was no shower, period.
Just the tub. "We'd be
better off pouring buckets of water over each other," he groused.
"It might be better to start that way," Krycek agreed in that disconcerting
way he had of sounding
perfectly serious when Mulder was trying to make a wry joke. His hands
were already tugging at his
tie, unbuttoning his shirt. "Do you see a bucket anywhere?"
"No." Mulder looked around anyway, but found that his spontaneous answer
had been the right one.
When he turned back he saw that Krycek was stripping, completely unembarrassed.
He looked like
the product of a thousand locker room hours, when taking your clothes
off was just something that
you did, a necessary preliminary to putting on the team shirt, or getting
in the shower. On his pale
skin the purple smears stood out like bewildered refugees from an abstract
painting.
Mulder started to untangle his tie. The goo made it squish unpleasantly
between his fingers. He felt
silly. It wasn't that he minded getting undressed in front of someone
else. But none of his scenarios for
getting Krycek out of his suit had included purple goo and little old
ladies, or Krycek asking for a
bucket. Thinking about it, he had to suppress a snort of laughter.
Krycek, still wearing briefs and socks, paused in his undressing to
turn the water on. Mulder had
been told repeatedly by lovers who'd sounded pretty damn sure of what
they were saying that
nothing was less sexy than a man who took off his pants before taking
off his socks. To his
amazement he was just discovering that they had been completely wrong.
Krycek was bending
forward over the tub, adjusting the water temperature. Oh... god. Briefs,
socks and purple goo made
for the hottest combination Mulder had seen in his life. And if he'd
had any idea of just how good
those shoulders looked, and those legs, and that—Mulder swallowed—that
ass, he'd have ripped the
clothes off his partner a long time ago.
"There isn't enough hot water to run two baths," Krycek reported, still
using that matter of fact voice.
"I get to go first," Mulder said immediately, wadding his shirt up and
using it to wipe off the worst of
the mess. He took his pants off as well and looked sadly at the remains
of what had been a very nice
Armani suit once. No use crying over ruined clothes, and besides, it
would be a full time job. Instead
he stripped off underwear and socks and climbed into the tub. "Ah.
There is a heaven after all."
"I never imagined heaven would be full of dead cows," Krycek said, throwing
his socks on top of the
pile of clothing. "You're going to need someone to wash your back."
Mulder was still trying to work
out the connection there when Krycek got in the tub with him. "Hand
me the washcloth."
It was a big tub, but not so big that two tall men could share it without
bumping into each other.
Mulder felt he ought to say something, possibly along the lines of
'what the hell do you think you're
doing?' Instead he handed Krycek washcloth and soap, and moments later
Krycek was washing
his back. Mulder sighed; he should have known that there was no real
limit to how surreal his day
might get. "And do you expect me to wash your back in return?" he asked.
"Of course," Krycek said. Hang on a moment, Mulder thought. No one could
possibly be that
matter of fact in a situation like this. He tried to squirm around,
splashing some water over the edge
of the tub. "Mulder! All the hot water will end up on the floor if
you jump around like that."
The washcloth slid across his shoulders and down across his chest. "Krycek,
stop it."
"But you're not clean yet." The soft touch hovered right over his nipples
before returning to his
shoulders again and sliding safely down his arms. Mulder cursed silently.
"That's not what I meant." He made an effort to turn his head 180 degrees
but only caught a glimpse
of Krycek over his shoulder before his muscles protested. "You can
drop the oblivious act. You
know and I know that this is not standard behavior for field agents."
"I'm just trying to be helpful," Krycek said, in a tone of faintly injured
innocence.
"Yes, but—" Mulder had to catch his breath as the washcloth returned
to his chest and grazed his
nipples, sliding down towards his stomach. "Actually there is something
I need you to give me a
hand with."
"Really?" Before he could turn around and smack his partner, Mulder
felt a warm touch on the back
of his neck, lips and tongue and teeth, a caress that set him shivering.
"Just a hand?"
Mulder laughed and finally allowed himself to lean back; arms came up
around him and Krycek went
on nibbling on his neck. He could feel Krycek's erection pressing into
the small of his back. Surreal
or not, this was turning into a really good day. "Maybe that purple
stuff is an aphrodisiac," he
speculated, tilting his head back to give Krycek better access.
"No," Krycek disagreed with absolute certainty. "But it's a very good
excuse." The washcloth had
been abandoned and Krycek's hands stroked along Mulder's sides, curving
up around his ribcage,
fingers dancing along the skin to play with his much-teased nipples.
Krycek flicked his tongue in
Mulder's ear. Mulder closed his eyes with a contented moan, only to
open them again abruptly as the
bathroom door opened and their hostess came in.
"Sorry to disturb you," she said brightly, "but I thought you'd need
some clean clothes. They're my
son's but he left them behind when he moved, I'm sure he wouldn't mind."
Somewhere Mulder found the presence of mind to say "Thank you," and
she smiled at them and
walked out again. "I thought you locked that door."
"You went in after me." Krycek's teeth nipped at his ear lobe. "I think
we'd better get back to the
motel."
Mulder could only agree. They rinsed themselves off quickly and got
dressed as best they could in
worn jeans that had to be belted in at the waist, and huge checked
flannel shirts. Mulder looked up
from fiddling with the buttons to find a look on Krycek's face that
he could only describe as
extremely amused. He smiled; the shell had finally cracked, it seemed.
"It's not really you either,
you know."
That got him a look through long eyelashes that was positively flirtatious,
before Krycek left the
bathroom to go ask for plastic bags for their clothes. Mulder was about
to suggest that they leave
them there and ask the woman to burn them, but then he remembered he
had some stuff in his
pockets, and he might talk someone into doing an analysis of the goo.
He emptied the tub, dug out
the car keys and hefted the plastic bag Krycek gave him without too
much distaste.
Not much was said between them as they walked back to the car, prudently
going around the field
this time, and turning now and then to wave good-bye to their benefactress,
who seemed determined
to stand on the porch and watch them for as long as she could. Mulder
wondered if she found FBI
agents necking in her bath tub on a regular basis or if she was, perhaps,
extremely myopic.
When they got back to the motel they left the plastic bags in the trunk.
Mulder felt suddenly
uncertain. He looked at Krycek, who even in jeans and an outsized shirt
was managing to appear
every inch the young and proper agent once again. Was this the man
who'd licked his neck half an
hour ago? And how could he be induced to do it again?
"Come on," Krycek said as he caught him by the wrist, dragged him inside
and shut the door. "If
anyone walks in on us now I'll shoot them." Apparently that wasn't
going to be a problem. Krycek
pressed Mulder against the wall and drew a finger slowly down the side
of his face. They looked at
each other for a long moment and then Mulder leaned slightly forward
and caught Krycek's mouth
with his own.
There was a brief moment of uncertainty and then they were kissing,
really kissing, a kiss that
obliterated everything in Mulder's mind except the need to get as close
to Krycek as was physically
possible. He wrapped his arms around Krycek and held on tight, then
gradually let his hands slide
down to cup the ass he'd admired earlier, pulling them even closer,
groin to groin, hardness teasing
hardness through several infuriating layers of cloth. He couldn't even
think coherently about what he
wanted. There were so many wonderful possibilities and the way Krycek
kissed was melting his
brain.
"Bed," he said when they took a much-needed oxygen break. Krycek was
leaning back just enough
to get a hand up to unbutton his shirt. Once he was done with that,
he pressed in close again and ran
the tip of his tongue delicately around Mulder's ear before chewing
on the ear lobe. Mulder tilted his
head back and closed his eyes. "Bed?"
"Not against the wall?" Krycek bit his neck. "Or on the floor, or across
the table, or in the shower..."
Warm hands slipped inside his unbuttoned shirt and stroked across his
skin. "We could probably
manage on the chair, too."
Mulder pushed himself away from the wall and tugged Krycek along, incapable
of letting go of him
long enough to walk normally; after a few staggering paces they hit
the bed and fell down on it. "Bed
first," he said. "Then the shower. And against the wall, and across
the table, and on top of the TV set
if you like." He pushed the shirt aside and kissed the hollow above
Krycek's collar bone, and then
the slighter indentation below it, licked at his skin to learn the
taste of him. Mulder let his tongue trace
a slow path down Krycek's chest, pausing to lick lazily across a nipple
until he heard a moan. "You
taste good."
"Purple?" Krycek was kicking off his shoes and a moment later he was
divesting Mulder of
his—someone's—checked shirt. Mulder retaliated and found it was a
lot more fun to undress Krycek
than to watch him strip. He was so warm, pleasantly muscular, and his
skin was like silk.
"No." Naked, skin to skin, they both gasped. "Just... good." Another
kiss, and Krycek's thigh
between his own, their cocks sliding against each other. That felt
almost too good. Mulder slid a
hand down to Krycek's hips and held them still with an effort. "Not
yet," he whispered, biting
Krycek's shoulder.
So they spent a long slow time kissing, licking, tasting and touching,
fingers and tongues learning
shape and texture. Krycek felt good to touch, Mulder thought as he
explored, and good to be
touched by, too. Somehow he had expected the other man to be a bit
awkward in bed, or even
jittery, but out of his clothes Krycek was sleek and dangerous and
completely uninhibited. His hands
moved with quiet assurance, finding all the right places. Mulder felt
an unexpected twinge of jealousy,
imagining all the other bodies that had taught those hands their skill.
Then he shrugged it aside and
caressed right back, enjoying his partner's response. They teased each
other, rolling across the bed,
until Krycek called a halt to the game by holding Mulder tight and
freezing him in place with a kiss.
Mulder had one hand free and he ran it down Krycek's back, tracing the
spine, scratching lightly with
his nails. He drew his head back and looked into Krycek's eyes, saw
dilated pupils and green fire,
the same deep sweet ache that filled his own body. When he stroked
Krycek's ass he couldn't hold
back a low growl and he saw an answering flash in those clear eyes,
laughter and desire. "Yes,"
Krycek said, moving closer and licking at his ear. "Oh yeah. Fuck me."
He could barely breathe but his cock grew impossibly harder. Mulder
pushed two fingers into
Krycek's mouth and then moaned as his partner sucked at them, licked,
ran his tongue up and down.
Krycek was panting, too, as he rolled towards Mulder and pushed his
leg in between Mulder's,
giving him better access. Lubricant, he thought distantly and then
he was touching Krycek's ass again,
fingers moving in towards the tight waiting heat. He heard a gasp,
felt a shudder, and worked a finger
gently inside. Teeth grazed his neck.
A second finger caused a low keening moan, and the sound of it set his
blood on fire in a slow
conflagration that started at the back of his neck and flared up in
his cock. Krycek was moving,
rocking slowly against Mulder's fingers. "Lube," he managed to say,
grateful that he could get the
word out when all he wanted to do was roll Krycek over and fuck him
senseless.
Krycek drew a deep, slightly ragged breath and rolled over on his back,
letting one hand fall over the
edge of the bed. A little later he brought up a battered tube; Mulder
watched as he opened it,
squeezed out a generous amount of clear gel and reached down to smear
it all over Mulder's fingers
and his own stretched opening. Mulder pushed his fingers in deeper,
spreading the lube around. Then
he felt warm hands and cool gel on his cock and froze, growling again,
he couldn't help it. No more
waiting; he rolled up to kneel between Krycek's legs. Krycek pulled
his legs up and raised his hips
invitingly. The last coherent words in Mulder's mind were, he can't
be for real, and then he pushed
inside slowly, slowly, slowly...
Looking up, he saw that Krycek was lying with his head thrown back,
mouth slightly open. Mulder
tried a slow thrust, and Krycek moaned in total and unashamed pleasure.
He sank forward, deep
inside that slick heat, and Krycek caught him there, ankles locking
behind Mulder's neck. "Come on,"
a soft purr, "do it, do it to me."
And he did, again and again, long deep gliding strokes, and Krycek moved
with him, rising up to
meet him, making soft throaty sounds that threatened to burn every
last shred of control out of him.
He was only aware of sensation and desire, hot tight wonderful more,
and time slipped away as he
tried to hold off the final pleasure a little longer.
Then Krycek twisted up against him more forcefully, back arching, and
Mulder felt the added tension
and thrust in deep. Krycek stiffened and came, with a raw sound like
a sob, tightening almost
painfully, and that pleasure/pain ran through Mulder and ripped him
wide open. "Yes," was that his
own voice, only faintly heard over the thundering of his pulse?
He had barely enough strenght left to control his forward motion and
lie down on Krycek's chest
rather than fall flat on it. Arms wrapped around him. They were both
slick with sweat, but clung
together, ignoring the heat.
When Krycek finally spoke his voice was almost back to its usual matter
of fact tones. "Do I get to
call you Fox now?"
"No." Mulder rested his head on Krycek's shoulder. He didn't think he
could open his eyes. Maybe
some time next year.
Krycek shrugged, not easy for someone lying down and squashed almost
flat by another man. His
hand curved around the back of Mulder's neck, then moved upwards, fingers
rubbing at the scalp in
tender soothing motions.
Then the hand stopped.
"You still have purple stuff in your hair."
The end...
In The Lamb White Days
by Torch
"There's purple goo in your hair."
