Inner voice, natter, natter. He's gonna blow my head off. Mulder is crazy.
Nobody knows how crazy, but I've been finding out. Teach me to spoon with
psychopaths.
Got a few issues there, Alex. Some baggage. Yeah, I've given Old Spender some
blow jobs and yeah, it was mildly unpleasant. But at least I wasn't horny. I am
now. I'm gonna die and it's giving me a terminal boner. Ruin my afterglow.
It was a good one, sweaty and nasty and perfectly brutal. Brutally perfect. We
scream. In pain. Then I collapse under the rubble of my walls, all torn down,
all blown away. Only him. Only Mulder. My bones trust him, against the rest of
me they trust him and go soft. And I felt his hand sneaking under the pillow but
I thought he was cradling my head.
Gunpoint. My own damn gun. And his other arm against my chest, the hug from
Hades. And the hot whisper of his breath tickling my ear. Afterplay, foreplay,
gunplay. We do that. But he started talking and this was something else. Like
murder. In his voice.
"You..."
He was growling.
"Krycek. Alex fucking Krycek. You. Bastard. You dickwad. You creep. If it
weren't for you—"
He was breathing like a man on the run.
"—if it weren't for you I'd have a chance at sanity. I could kill you, Alex.
You're losing it. I could put a bullet in your brain—right now."
Small, emphatic shove with the gun barrel.
" I could. I'd get over it, easy, in, oh, ten years or so, probably. I'd forget
you. I'd sit with Scully in front of a nice fireplace, or at the office maybe,
and we would talk, we'd have grey in our hair, and I—I would be at peace,
damn you."
Yeah. Sure. I've heard that one.
His nails dig into my chest, he pushes himself against me, his voice a raving
murmur in the dark. Our sweat is like oil.
"I'd be sane. It wouldn't be this, this wound, this fire, this hurting, hurting.
I wouldn't be hungry. I wouldn't be bleeding and crazy and crying for always
more. Of you, you—asshole."
My fault, is it? Oo—kay.
"I'm gonna do it, Krycek. Any last words?"
I breathe in the stuffy darkness. Last words? Thank you, please drive through?
It's been real? Have fun, Mulder. Tell you what—if you pull that one, I'll
owe you.
I open my mouth, not knowing.
"Take care of yourself."
I can't do better.
And he relaxes. And chuckles. And I hear the safety go 'click'.
"You believed it, didn't you. Asshole."
He gives me a brief, rough shake.
"Shithead. You're dense, aren't you. Go to sleep."
And he turns his back.
I lie in the dark, breathing.
Cheated.
Still Life At Gunpoint
by Wildy
I can't let myself be afraid. It's rule number one.It takes precedence over
anything. That's why I'm in bed with Mulder.He never lets me feel good for
long.If anything let me feel good, I would break in the transition. So I'm not
afraid. It's just an adrenaline rush. Terror, yes. Fear, no.
