Booze Brothers

Fandom: The X-Files

Category/Rated: NC17 unhealthy S/M male to male sex, naughtiness, and some S/M. No way is this meant for kiddies.

Year/Length: ~79,930 words

Pairing: Spender/Krycek, Mulder/Krycek

Spoilers: The new season started, and I wanted to express an opinion is all, spoilers for The beginning and Terma. Feedback not only welcome but craved...

Disclaimer: The characters are at present very grateful that they don't belong to me. Chris Carter needs to feel more grateful too. They'd have so much more fun with me. Maybe they'd die young though.

Warning: Contains every squick you can possibly think of, except cannibalism and pedophilia. There is rape, torture, coercion and horror in here. Be very sure you want to read it before you start, and don't blame me. ps, there's a little something in there that could be construed as cannibalism too.

Summary: Jeffy is nuts.

Author's Notes: To so many people who have made it a far better story than it might have been. Here they all are: Karen Byerly was responsible for the title 'Booze Brothers', and I am very grateful to her for it. Nicole S., who sent me lots of suggestions as to how a dom can punish a sub. Very useful! Then there's Aries who encourages with howls and for chanting, and telling me I'm not going over the top! Ayanna: who is a fount of knowledge about the geography of DC and environs, and who made great suggestions. phyre: for punctuating, and telling me that Mulder wouldn't say that. Tirinar: for demanding pool sex and giving me the ending and finally, but most especially Bonita: who was there with me from the start, cajoling, snarling, encouraging and demanding. This is for her. Thanks to Paula and Bonita for supreme assistance in making this vaguely coherent. You guys are always helpful. If there are mistakes in here, they belong to me and to me alone. Sorry. Thanks to Frankie for the bottle

Beta: Thanks to Frankie, Fleur, Paula and Orithain for the beta.

1: Beer and Whine

He prowled into the room, and sauntered up to the bar as if he was on stage. Maybe he thought he was. I surreptitiously checked him out, and felt a rush of warmth to the groin. He was hot! He held himself like a dancer, or a fighter, or maybe both. Tall and built to rumble, with long legs and slim hips, he walked balanced on the balls of his feet as if he was ready to spring. As he moved, he held his elbows turned out a little in the "muscle" walk that some of the body builders use, but graceful too, not plodding in the way some of the power lifters are. He was wearing very faded blue jeans that fit where they touched, and a soft blue denim shirt open at the neck. A black leather jacket that had seen better days topped off a tweedy vest and soft brown suede boots. He had an earring in his left ear, and the most beautiful face I have ever seen. He looked dangerous. He looked like he didn't give a shit.

He looked...oh God he looked sexy.

I was mesmerized. He ordered vodka and a beer, tossed off the vodka right there, and then leaving the glass on the counter he picked up the bottle and turned to face the room. He had dark brown hair, widely spaced eyes with lashes that ought to be taxed, and a mouth that was sending out "kiss me" signals that totally swamped the rest of my thoughts.

I must have looked a sight. My jaw hung open and I know I was flushed. When he caught my eye I felt like a total fool. He didn't need to be psychic to read my thoughts. The drool on my T-shirt was a dead giveaway.

I blushed, I know I did, and that, of course, confirmed any doubts he might have been having about my thought processes. I wanted him. I felt like I'd been struck by lightning. Smell that ozone? It comes to you courtesy of my fevered imagination picturing the things I could do to this sleek, wild animal. My thought processes were totally shorted out by this time, and if I'd had to stand up, I wouldn't have been able to... well part of me could, but the rest, not a chance. When you get that sudden rush of blood to the dick, it has to be diverted from somewhere, right? So, let's say my conscious mind was a little under the weather.

Panther Boy eyed me up and down. I couldn't move. I was fifty percent horrified and fifty percent oh baby fuck me now! I could tell the exact minute I stopped being another drinker in the bar and became prey. A tingle washed up my spine to the back of my neck and my stomach did flip-flops. We hadn't said a word up until now, but then he slowly crossed to my table, eyes on mine like he was trying to hypnotise me. I've got to say he was succeeding too. He hooked a chair out from the table and sat down, raising his beer to his lips and chugging. Putting the bottle down on the table he fixed me with one of those looks. You know the kind -the look that says I'm gonna make you scream before I'm done, so why don't you start now? Then he lifted that bottle up again and licked the mouth deliberately. He never stopped with the direct stare, even for a second. Unsmiling, he held the bottle out to me, and I took it with a very shaky hand. His fingers brushed mine and a shock like static passed from him to me. I drank the rest of his beer and put down his bottle. His hand came out to pick it up again and I rack my brains for some way of breaking out of my trance. Small talk, I thought, lets go for some small talk and see what happens. I opened my mouth and a croak emerged. I closed my mouth again and concentrated on breathing hard. I'm good at that.

I was self conscious, looking at his green, green eyes and his dark, dark lashes, and he jerked his head towards the exit, got up and started to head out. Halfway to the door he turned, gave me another shot of green lightning from those eyes and jerked the head again. I thought, "He wants to take me home with him." Then I was on my feet, stumbling around the table to follow, watching his buns as I went. Some days you just have to abandon your plans and go with the moment.

So, I followed Panther Boy out of the bar, and he slowed up to let me walk alongside him. I was checking out the bulge in the front of those Levis, and trying to keep mine from being too noticeable at the same time. We still hadn't spoken a single word to each other but I thought "The night is young, and we've got the rest of our lives. We'll maybe get to talk by Tuesday, if you haven't still got your mouth full."

We turned the corner into a narrow side street, and Panther Boy flashed me a grin and grabbed my arm, pulling me with him into the darkness of a service road. "Oh my God, service me!" I thought to myself and it's all I could do to keep from hooting with laughter and drumming my heels on the ground.

Panther Boy pushed me up against the wall, and stepped in close. He put up his right hand to the back of my head and pulled it forward. I wanted to kiss that mouth, but he had other ideas, turning my head sideways and fastening his lips on my neck, just in the angle of my jaw. He licked delicately, tickling a bit, and then he bit, quite hard. My knees trembled and I started to wonder about the survival of the fittest and the law of the jungle. Maybe I *was* going to be lunch.

I put my hands on his hips and pulled them in to me, letting him feel the kind of welcome I had waiting for him. He was hard and ready too, and I ground my crotch into him, cupping his ass with my hands and holding on for dear life. When you hold a tiger by the tail you don't let go or you're dead meat. I guess that holds true for panthers too.

I clung to his butt like a limpet to a rock. The feel of his erection through the denim was making me twitch all over. He was still biting and sucking on my neck and I had a huge hickey by now, I was sure. His right hand was all over me, first pinching my nipples through my shirt, then undoing my fly buttons and thrusting down to case my cock, which was feeling unbearably tight and close to shooting its load. I gasped and he pulled back his hand. I wondered what was with the other one and reached out to take hold of it. That's when I realised that this nature god of mine wasn't quite perfect. His left hand was plastic. His arm was missing. I couldn't quite determine how much of him was missing, and anyway, once he realised what I was doing, he unfastened the buttons on his own jeans and brought that right hand up to push down on me.

It was obvious what he meant for me to do, and I was happy to oblige. Pulling those jeans down to mid-thigh level, I dropped to my knees in front of him, the way I'd been taught to worship when young. Panther God, hear me now, I'm your willing sacrifice. No doubt Mom would not approve, but she wasn't here, not now, and I probably never would see her again. She certainly wouldn't be zooming out in her wheelchair to snatch me away from my fate tonight.

No underwear and his cock sprung out at me like a switchblade. I smelled the hot, spicy, musky smell of him and I wet my lips, looking up. His expression was unreadable. My belly was doing its flip-flop thing again, and I opened up my lips to take him in, relishing the smooth, firm flesh, tasting the salty tang of his penis. He gave a shuddering sigh and pushed his hips forward, putting his hand behind my head. I started to suck. I could hear his breath catching in the back of his throat, and his dick began to throb, pulsing rhythmically as I worked on it. He was thrusting back and forth into my mouth, and I was hanging onto the cheeks of his ass as he pumped. My fingers wormed their way into his crack, and I pushed on that tight hole to get one inside of him. He gave a sudden cry that told me I had found his prostate gland, and I finger-fucked him like crazy as I tried to stay on the tiger's tail.

Another cry as his muscles went tight and his cock pulsed once, twice, and the rush of seminal fluid filled my mouth as he came. I sucked, swallowed, gulped, began to lose it, and felt the residue running down my chin. Finally, he released my head and took a step back. His chest was heaving, and I could still feel his pulse racing as I slowly withdrew my finger from its hiding place. We still hadn't spoken and I placed a kiss on the end of his cock, licking around it before looking up at him with my heart in my eyes.

He ran his fingers into my hair, and I arched to his caress, hissing with pleasure/pain when he tightened his grip and pulled. I whimpered and he yanked harder, toppling me over and sending me sprawling on the dusty concrete. I lay looking up at him and he gave me a lowering look from under his eyebrows. My dick gave another twitch. God, I wanted him.

"Fuck me, please fuck me." I mumbled, finally discovering that I could talk to this creature. There was a pause, and then he spoke at last.

"Get up!" His voice was a silky, menacing snarl and I stumbled to my feet quickly, pants sagging around my knees, cock pushing out the front of my briefs in an impossible, painful bulge.

"Put your hands up against the wall." His voice came cool from the shadows and I turned to place my palms against the rough stonework. Yanking down my briefs, he exposed my hard on to the night air. First he pressed himself up against the cheeks of my ass, and I sighed as I anticipated the penetration I was longing for. Then, he pulled away and I could hear him fiddling with something.

"OK, Here it comes." That voice again, like cool water on sunburn, soft, rough and caressing, making me shiver. There was pressure on my anus, and then something cool slipped inside me. I groaned.

Cool and hard, it kept on coming. I writhed. This was no lover's flesh.

"What are you doing to me?" I stammered, not sure if I loved it or hated it. He had me pinned against the wall now, my pants around my ankles, his weight against me, the whatever-it-was pushed deep inside me and going deeper. My cock met the wall in front of me, and I screamed. It was rough and hurt me, but I was so close it felt wonderful too.

With a brutal shove, he slammed me into the wall. I came then, spraying the wall and myself with sticky white gobs of semen. I fell to my knees, butt stuck out like a naughty schoolboy. Through dizzying pain, I gasped out to my Panther Boy:

"What are you doing? Why hurt me. I want you so much."

He appeared to consider this, and then he answered me at last.

"Spender, you should go back to that nicotine-pickled old bastard and tell him you decline responsibility for the X-Files. You can have anything else you want, but the X-Files aren't yours, and will never be. You should return them to Fox Mulder right now." With that, he aimed a boot at the bottle he had rammed into my ass. I passed out. When I came to, a little while later, my Panther Boy was gone.

I still wish I knew where he went, and who he was. I know I'll never, ever be the same again.

2: Hard Licker

Someone's been playing games with my mail. I don't know how, and I sure as hell don't have a clue why, but I've been getting some very weird things lately. There was all the stuff from the Animal Husbandry Committee, and an entire library of pamphlets about keeping and breeding ferrets in captivity. There have been countless brochures offering to sell me leather gear, strange esoteric rubber devices I don't wish to know the uses for (and one or two that I've been tempted to buy.) I'd have thought that they were for Mulder, but they come addressed to me personally.

I don't know how they could have gotten my name and address. Someone's definitely trying to make my life irritating. Things have been going wrong for me lately.

First I got stuck with the X-Files. Why anyone should think I'd be interested in that stuff is beyond me. I don't even read science fiction.

Then, my love life is a total mess. I'm getting over it a bit now, but I've been hurting really badly. It will be a while before I get back on track.

It all started a few weeks ago. I was out having a drink, and I met a guy.

I know. There's nothing new or special about that, but believe me, this is different. You should have seen him. He took my breath away. He was sex on legs; you don't see that too often. I was totally smitten by him, and of course he used me up and spat me out at the end of it all. It took me a while to recover from it, but I'm ok now, except for when I get those brochures and start to imagine all the interesting things I could be doing with my panther-boy. I'm starting to have a flashback right now. Excuse me.

Ok. I'm feeling much better now. I only break out in a sweat occasionally. It's funny that. I wonder why I should have been so affected by one man. One beautiful, feral, magnetic, almost perfect.... excuse me, be right back.

Let me try again. As I was saying, I keep on brooding about that encounter I had. I never did learn his name, but I can still see him, all arrogance and come-on, standing over me, pushing his hips forward and licking his lips, green eyes fixed on mine while he...oh God! Just a minute.

I hardly ever cry any more. It's not that I disapprove of tears by the way, but I can't help thinking that he would despise me for the way I've been acting. I wish I knew who he was. I wish I could find him. I would...I don't even know what I would do, but I wish I could have the opportunity anyway.

Anyway, you get the message. No happy ending for Jeffrey. I'm a basket case over a pair of green eyes and a switchblade attitude. This is not my usual way of carrying on, you know. Usually, I take the lead, I move in, I hit and then I run. Fuck! I didn't know that it would feel like this.

I promise I won't do it any more. I've caused my own fair share of pain and woe, and thought them all suckers, but this pain is almost too much to bear. I won't do it again.

My panther-boy told me to get out of the X-Files. I would if I could. I don't want to chase ghosts, even if it is almost Christmas. That smoker who keeps on popping up is creepy. I didn't have a father to grow up with. He wasn't around to pitch for me or mend my bike. Why should he think I'm gonna dance to his tune now?

You'll have to give me a minute, I just heard the doorbell.

I got another package. I'm wondering who would send me a Christmas present? I haven't seen Mom for months now, and there's nobody in my life just now, only memories of a quick interlude up against a wall in a seedy part of town.

Open it Jeffrey, don't be a dumb fuck!

Oh!

Now why would someone be sending me leather.... things? I've seen some of this stuff in one of those brochures I was telling you about. Maybe I've been appointed to do consumer research. No doubt there will be a letter about this stuff once the mailman arrives. Maybe later I'll try it on, just for a laugh. I think I'd look pretty damn hot. Hey, what if it's Fowley who's sending me all this stuff. She's not my type. God I hope it doesn't turn out to be Fowley.

I'm gonna go try it all on. Excuse me.

What do you think? It makes me look a little wild don't you think? Leather straps and studs are definitely my thing. I'm getting hot thinking about it. Some of the stuff feels a little strange but it's definitely turning me on. Jeez, I hope it isn't from Fowley.

Oh, for heaven's sake, there's someone at the door again. I'll be right back.

I open the door cautiously. I guess I'm cautious by nature. If it's Jehovah's Witnesses, I wonder what they'll make of the straps and chains, the bare chest and leather. Do you suppose they'll try to redeem me or just run for the hills?

Something down there is chafing just a little. I'm going to have to go back and adjust things in a moment.

Oh, God!

Oh Godogodogod!

He's wearing black leather. Tight black leather jeans, black leather jacket, black T-shirt, Black leather boots with silver chains on them. He's got a bag slung over his shoulder and there are things bulging out of it. I see flowers, a black handle, some packages and stuff. His hair is short and spiked, and he's wearing an earring, a silver chain looping around his ear lobe with a sparkling stone trembling from it, flashing as he tosses his head. He's leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pocket, and he's giving me the kind of look that makes my cock stand to attention. Oh God!

I know. I said that before. My belly's doing flip-flops, and my life is flashing before my eyes. I'm standing here in the doorway with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and I want to fall down on my knees in front of him.

I can't. I've got to keep it together. He's not going to tear me up this time. Why is he just standing there? He doesn't say anything, and I'm speechless, breathless, and clueless. My hand trembles against the door, and finally my legs remember to move. I step aside. This is good, this is very good, Jeffrey. I croak a couple of times, and then the auto-pilot kicks in. I gesture and he slowly struts in, his eyes busily digesting my decor, taking in the furniture, the literature, and the stereo, while I'm taking in his ass. He has such a nice, tight ass. Finally, he turns on his heel to face me, and I shut the door and lean against it. He still hasn't spoken, but I remember his smoky voice. I've imagined it calling me sweet names for weeks. What is it that he wants from me? Fuck! Why don't I just ask him?

"Hi!" Good beginning Jeffrey! Way to go! Now what? "I haven't seen you around... " Oh Jeez! Now he's gonna think I'm retarded. Keep trying. "I missed you." For Christ's sake, keep talking and he's going to scream and dive out of the window. Chill out, you asshole. You want him to stay, not laugh and run.

"Did you now?" There it is, the husky voice of my dreams, sounding like black velvet, abrading my common sense. it sends shivers that slice down my spine like razor blades and snick into my dick 'til I feel the moisture flow and know that he's hooked me.

I'm a pretty cool guy normally. If I could market whatever it is that he puts out I would be rich. I don't care about being rich. I just want him. I want him tearing into my ass, fucking me blind until I black out. I want it now.

"Are you going to hurt me again?" Oh fuck! Where did that come from? Brain to mouth, come on now, make sure you're both reading from the same script.

"Oh yeah! I'm gonna hurt you Jeffy. I'm gonna hurt you bad. Trouble is, little man, you're gonna love it." The voice is purring at me. I let out a squeak. My God, who is he? Why is he doing this?

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?" He smiles. It's not a nice smile. It's a beautiful almost-snarl, with flashing white teeth and a curl of wet tongue like a leaf, just visible inside the snarl. I quail inwardly. God, I hope he can't see my knees shaking, he'll think I'm so dumb.

He'll be right.

"Who am I? I'm your conscience, Jeffy. I'm that little voice deep down inside that speaks to you about right and wrong. I'm something you should listen to. Listen good. Why am I doing this?" He laughs, and his laugh skitters over my skin like static electricity, raising the hairs on my arms and making my cock twitch and leap inside my leather and strapping.

Something down there is definitely chafing.

"Because I can, Jeffy, because I can." The smile fades, leaving an appraising look. His eyes move down over my body, and fetch up on my crotch. I have the crazy feeling that he can see right through the leather to my dick. I know it can see him. It's throbbing, dripping, feeling his glance like a hand-job. I feel naked even though I'm fully clothed.

He steps in. I'm still leaning back against the door. I forgot to move. Now I'm trapped and he closes in on me until the smell of him is heady in my nostrils and my breathing is seriously impaired. I'm gonna lose it and beg him to fuck me. That would be tacky. I bite my lip.

"What's your name? I can't keep on calling you panther-boy." That ought to get through to him. He laughs. This time it isn't a sneer, it's a genuine laugh. I see real amusement there as his eyes light up. He thinks I'm funny. It makes his face look so beautiful, I want to take it between my hands and dust it with kisses. I put out my hands but he knocks them aside. Then he puts his one hand behind my head, pulls it forward and his mouth comes down hard on mine.

I moan, wanting to let someone out there know that I'm losing myself in that kiss. His lips are cool and moist, but the inside of his mouth is hot, and his tongue slips in between my teeth and probes around, discovering the feel of the inside of my cheeks, finding my fillings, checking that my tonsillectomy healed OK. That tongue slides along mine, and I feel it all the way down to my gut. I put my arms around him, and hold onto him, not so much so I can love him as to keep myself from falling down because my knees have become so unreliable. I press my crotch against him and feel his hardness against mine. His fingers press into the back of my neck, and I think of how tomcats seize their mates. Oh, Panther-boy, love me. Hurt me if you like, but don't just leave.

He releases me at last and pulls back a little way. I open my eyes, and he's right there, looking at me from about three inches away. I can see the green of his eyes. I can see the thick dark lashes that curl onto his cheeks when he blinks. He's trying to hypnotize me with this stare of his. It's working. I'm drowning in his eyes.

I swallow, and it feels as if there's barbed wire in my throat. I open my mouth and then close it again, while he smiles his wicked smile again.

"You liked that did you? I wasn't going to do that, but you deserved a reward for making me laugh." I love the way the top of his nose creases when he smiles at me. I love the way those even white teeth shine. I lean forward to find his lips again, needing to remember their firmness as they crush mine, but he moves back away from me again, turning to saunter around my living room, picking up books and comics, studying them with interest.

I shamble after him, woebegone, longing for contact from him, trying to reconnect somehow.

"Would you like a drink?" I finally think of something, and he flashes me another smile.

"You mean like a beer or something?" I remember our last encounter and I blush beet red. He laughs again, and my stomach drops a couple of floors while I think about him kissing me again.

"Actually, I don't have any beer. I've got vodka if you like?" He throws himself carelessly down on the couch, and starts to go through my CD collection, finding one he likes and holding it out to me to put on.

"Sure! Vodka's good. Is it cold?"

"I keep it in the freezer." God! A real conversation. I go to get him his drink. My hand is shaking so badly the clink of the bottle against the glass sounds like ice cubes and he calls out that he doesn't want ice. I gulp some down myself and refill my glass before I go back to him, holding out the tumbler like a party favour.

"What is your name?" He takes a pull at his drink and gives me a heavy lidded stare.

"You can call me Sacha." I nod mutely, my lips busily trying this out sub-vocally. While I'm getting used to the feel of my panther-boy's given name, he extends his hand to me, and hands me a bunch of daffodils. "Would you put these in water for me?"

I nod and trot off to do his bidding, sure in my knowledge that I'm his to command. I fill a jar, place the flowers into it, and turn back to see what else he wants from me. I bump straight into him. He has followed me on cat-like feet and I didn't hear him. I gasp, and his hand snakes out to grab my hair. He twists his fist into it and jerks my head back, exposing my throat to him. I groan and he dips his head, biting me, sucking my neck, licking my ear and making huge red marks as he signs me like a canvas. I try to reciprocate but he yanks my head away, making me fall to my knees. I stay there, groveling while he considers me for a minute, and then slaps me, a backhanded slap that makes my ears ring. Tears well up, but it's a good hurt. He caused it so I would know he's here.

I put out my arms, and after a minute, he moves closer, allowing me to unbutton his fly. As I open his pants to expose his cock, I know that something I'm wearing is chafing unbearably. If I can't adjust it soon, I'm going to be singing in falsetto. His cock is there before my eyes, lying along the black leather, brown and purple, gleaming like a newly polished apple, so delicious that I want to eat it now, all of it. I hold him by the hips and apply my lips to the head of that cock. It tastes of salt and something spicier. It tastes of lost dreams. I lap and suck as if I'm possessed. In a way, I am.

The feeling I'm getting is almost too much. I'm on my knees worshipping this wild creature. I'm performing a fertility rite to honor him. If the same pattern holds true this time, in a minute he'll hurt me and then he'll leave me. When he goes, there will only be the taste of him to remind me he was here. I've got his prints. I could run an ID on him. He's handled my CDs for a start. I can find him again, I know I can. The thought sustains me as I suck him deep into my throat and I can hear his breathing falter. I can feel his hips starting to buck. He grabs my hair and yanks my head back. I'm gonna be bald by the time he finishes with me. I look up at him and wonder what I did wrong.

"Did I do something wrong?" I'm really confused. I only wanted to make you feel good, my panther-boy. Wasn't it good?

"It was fine. I don't want to come yet." This makes me gasp. Perhaps he'll fuck me this time. Oh, please, please make it happen. I want him to be inside of me. I want him to make me his, completely his. He's got to fuck me.

"Get up." He yanks again. My eyes tear up, but inside I'm fizzing and tingling with the thought of him shoving that prick into the crack of my ass, and I can't be bothered with little things like pain. I rise, and stand in front of him, gazing raptly at the sight of him, green eyes hazy with approaching orgasm. His cheeks are a little flushed, and his engorged penis glows like a beacon, rising out of the black leather. I put out my hand and hold it, pumping it once and he backhands me so hard I go sprawling onto the floor at his feet.

"Don't touch. I didn't tell you to touch." His voice is gentle but he's snarling/smiling again. I get to my knees and wait. He motions me up. When I am standing, he indicates that I am to take off my pants. I close my eyes for a second, to allow my excitement to die down a little, then I start to take off the leather. He takes another pull at his drink and turns back to me, looking me up and down as I strip. I stand before him, my lust obvious as my erection threatens to explode. He looks down, and then he laughs again. His laughter is infectious. I'm not sure what's so funny, but I'm tempted to join in.

"Spender, you dork! That's on upside down." He indicates the strange rubber ring thing that has been causing me such discomfort. I wonder if it will actually come off while I'm in this state. I needn't worry, he grabs it and rips it off. I double up and collapse neatly at his feet. After a minute or two, the pain subsides and I am able to stagger upright once more.

His tongue pushes pinkly out between his lips, and licks around them. He reaches his hand down to jerk at my cock, tugging me the way he wants me to go, which is into my kitchen. He picks up the vodka bottle and takes a swig, and remembering the last time we met I hastily find him a glass, fill it and put that bottle back into the freezer. No thank you.

He drinks again, and then pulls me in for another kiss, his lips hard on mine, the vodka flowing from his mouth to mine, adding a stinging kick to my already thrilling stomach. My knees threaten to buckle and I lean into him as he tongues me and invades my mouth. He is pressing me up against the counter top, and I feel his erection slick against mine. He pulls away. I cry out, I don't know what I said but he sneers a little and pinches my nipple, digging in painfully and twisting.

"I only laughed twice, little man. You have to earn it if you want more." He's so close. I can take him, I know I can. I grab hold of his shoulders, pulling him into me, and all of a sudden I'm on the ground, face down as he kneels on my back. He has his arm around my throat and he's leaning backwards hard enough to give me the idea. One more millimeter of pressure and I'm dead. I can't die until after he fucks me.

OK, so maybe I can't take him. I'm choking, and he's breathing in my ear. The sensation is amazing. I would certainly not have figured my present situation as sensual, but the cold lino floor on my poor, desperate penis, the feel of his breath in my ear, his hand squeezing my neck and my muscles screaming in outrage as I assume a position only ever reached by the most mystical of yogis, is almost too much to bear. Then he bites me. He bites my neck, my ear, and my cheek. I can do nothing to help myself.

I told you before, you don't get to choose. You only get to obey." He abruptly drops my neck, and my face comes into contact with the floor. He reaches under my vest to scratch my back with casual ferocity, and then, still kneeling on me I feel him moving, and know he is removing his belt.

The first touch of that belt is delicate, he trails it along the backs of my knees, up my thighs toward my ass, and I'm quivering in anticipation. He shoves one knee between mine, spreading my legs and I open for him gladly. Will he? Oh my God, will he?

The first blow stings. He aims it between my thighs, and the end of the belt lovingly curls around my balls. I close my eyes, clench my teeth and hold on. Maybe he'll think I'm worthy. The second blow is close to the first. This time my breath hisses out involuntarily. He hears me and takes time to caress the inside of my thighs, following the path taken by the belt. His fingers draw fire behind them, and I moan. There is a pause. I don't know what he's doing, but I feel him moving. Then comes the third blow.

This time I can't help myself, I let out a small sound, and again, he strokes where the lash has gone. His hand strays along my inner thigh up to my ass, and his fingers, now wet with something, pierce my ass and plunge inside carrying the burning joy of a brand within me. My dick leaps and I am suddenly very close to coming. I moan.

"Very good, Jeffy, very good indeed. I told you that you'd like it." Removing those fingers of his, he prompts me and I roll over, penis straining up at him, my dignity gone forever. I look at him with his angel face, and the unholy eyes that glow within it and I bite my lip until it bleeds to stop my mouth from begging and pleading with him to end it, end it and fuck me now.

He gives me three quick lashes with his belt, raising welts across my belly, across my prick and down to the crease of my thighs. His eyes bore into my soul and I know he hears my thoughts as they spin through my consciousness. He's smiling at me. He approves of me. I wriggle like a puppy who's been praised. Love me, fuck me, kill me if you like but love me first. He grabs me by the cock and works the skin back and forth with slippery fingers. I close my eyes and moan with the electric pleasure of it. He releases me and I feel a slap to my cheek. My eyes fly open.

"That's better, little man. Keep those baby-blues open. You want to see what's happening don't you?" I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and he leans down to kiss me briefly before biting into my lower lip. I can't help myself, I cry out then and he laughs, my blood on his lips. He grabs his glass and offers me a drink. The alcohol makes my torn lip smart. Turning the glass, he deliberately licks it clean and then takes his own mouthful before leaning down and taking my cock into his mouth. That does it. I scream.

I scream and howl, and I'm coming. Oh God I'm coming and it hurts me, hurts bad, oh it feels so good. It's wonderful and he sucks me dry as I arch up to him, my eyes fixed on his face, penis spurting into his mouth and my balls turning themselves inside out.

I'm totally limp. The alcohol on the head of my cock makes it sing with pain.

"There! That should be sterile, don't you think?" He's grinning that supercilious, smirky grin at me, like I should be congratulating him for being clever. My voice has gone on strike again. I'm totally unable to give him the praise he wants. I'm a sacrifice and just bleeding for him should be enough.

He gets up, pulling at my now rapidly deflating prick, forcing me to rise with him and pushing me to lean forward against the kitchen counter beside the sink. The daffodils are peeking their yellow heads from the basin like so many churchgoing ladies in bonnets. I wonder if they should see this. Sacha drains his glass, and places it tenderly in the sink, and then his slippery fingers are toying with my ass, parting the cheeks and dipping in and out of my asshole, finding the prostate inside there and fingering it, giving me silvery bursts of delight as he gets into the ryhthm of it. I don't think I can come like that twice in one day. I don't think I can come like that ever again.

This feels nice though.

He crooks a finger in there and a little explosion of delicious tingling shoots through my cock and hey, what do you know? it's awake. He pulls his fingers free and I whimper.

"Please, oh please..." He slaps my butt sharply.

"What? What do you want?" His face is very close to my ear, and his voice is purring, growling, wild honey trickling in my ear.

"Oh God! I want you to fuck me. Please fuck me." He laughs shortly and I feel his penis shove against my ass. It's big, much bigger than the fingers, and I lean down onto it, shouting as it pushes past the tightness of the muscle there and slips into my channel. I'm bursting. He fills me so snugly I want to cry with the joy of it. He's right inside me. He presses up against my back and reaches around to hold onto my hip for balance. I can feel his balls against my legs, and he leans down to bite the back of my neck. I yell again. I don't know what I say, but he 's suddenly thrusting, slamming into me, and I'm pushing back onto him, and in a heartbeat I hear his breath hiss. He grunts once as he shoves me hard up against the counter. I feel him spurting, and his cock pulses inside me. I want to hold him to me, kiss him and pet him. I want to call him sweet names while he's lying spent on my breast, but I know he won't permit that, so I hold only my tongue.

I'm lying forward, resting my head on my arms, eyes closed, savouring what I know are the final moments of this monstrous intimacy. I'm trying to decide when it was that I became a grovelling fool. I feel him pull away from me and shudder at the loss of him. He's moving around, doing up his pants, I guess. I remain still, savouring the memory of his warmth against my buttocks, not wanting to lose the feeling quite yet. His hand returns to my ass once more and I feel his fingers slide into me again. He presses me open, and I spread my legs to help him.

I'm helpless with love.

He has something he's inserting into me. It's cold and wet. .A trickle of moisture runs down the inside of my thigh but I remain quiet, waiting for his prompt. He calls to me gently instead of manhandling me, and I raise my head at last, surprised at his sudden gentleness. I attempt a smile. I know it's all wrong and maybe will look scary. My lips are stiff with blood and my face is not the best looking anyway, but I try, for him.

There is a click and a flash. He's got a camera! Then another flash causes dark suns to explode inside my eyes. I'm confused. He fumbles with his bag, tousles my hair and then he's gone. I hear the door snick closed behind him. Reaching down, I probe to feel what it is he's put in my ass this time.

Oh, God! Daffodils!

3: Shaken And Then Stired

The evening was fun, but I'm glad to be opening the door into my own space. I really hate parties. Every year I say I'm not going to do this. Every year the needs of others suck me in, and every year I have at least one stinking hangover.

Tomorrow's going to be hangover day. Thank God it's Saturday and I don't have to get up early. It wasn't too bad as parties go, Scully looked good and dances really well. The dance on the tabletop was my particular favorite. Nice underwear! Cute buns! She'll be feeling it tomorrow too. Skinner now, he's an interesting guy. He was fascinating to watch. His strength is amazing. Who would have thought he could balance Scully like that. He must have drunk a gallon of rye. He didn't show any effects at all until he toppled like a felled cedar, to lie on his face at Scully's feet. Guess he's still there. I don't want to be around when he wakes up.

Funny, I don't usually have this kind of trouble getting my door open. I think my key has grown or something.

Finally. Home again. No messages. That's unusual, but it's nice that I can just chill out for once. Ouch - smashed my knee on the coffee table. Maybe I'm a little the worse for wear too. I should drink some water or something to dilute the effects of the alcohol. What was in that punch anyway? It certainly boosted our Christmas party.

Hmmmm....there's something on the floor... an envelope. It looks as if it's been pushed under the door while I was out. Nothing on it, no address or anything like that.

Holy shit. It's a photograph. It's my worst nightmare. Jeffrey Spender, wearing leather and straps, bare-ass naked with a bunch of flowers hanging out of the great divide. Is this a Christmas card? Good grief! I wonder whether he's sending these out to everyone? Oh for heaven's sake, I hope he's not interested in me playing his little games with him. Soft and gentle even when hard is my watchword. I don't need violence to get off.

Back up there. I take that back. Amend it to "I don't usually need violence to get off." There's one exception, and I don't want to think about him. Dammit, I'm thinking about him now, and that means I'm toast. It will take me weeks to get him out of my mind again. There's only one man I've ever wanted to batter 'til he was broken, then lick the stains from his soul. Alex Krycek. He's sealed into my memory as my promise of heaven and knowledge of hell. He makes me want to smash him to pieces. He makes me want to force him up against the wall and lose myself in the blood of him.

What does that say about my character?

I don't know. I've given up trying to rationalize my feelings for Krycek. I just want to forget him.

There's nothing worth watching on the TV. You'd think that with Christmas this close there would be cute cartoons or something. Do I want to watch the "World's Greatest Mysteries"? I do not. Fuck it. Its too much trouble to get up. Leave it.

I wonder who's sending me photos of Spender, and why.

It's four a.m. and the hangover has come home to roost. My head is pounding. No, it's someone at the door. Someone's pounding on my door at four am and I have a headache. Merry fucking Christmas!

Maybe they'll go away. No, I don't think they will. Damn!

I open the door, see who it is, and then close it again very quickly. At least I try to close it. He's got his foot in the door and my reaction times are shot to hell. Too much whisky. I'm not the fine tuned fighting machine I usually am. Shit.

Alex Krycek, man with a mission, bursts through my door as if it's his right. He shoves me back out of his way, and he's in. Closing the door he leans on it and fixes me with a sardonic smile. OK, I'm drunk, but I'm not that drunk. I know he's not supposed to be here. I blink at him.

He looks the way I feel. His eyes are glitter bright and his skin is hectic with colour. He looks tousled. He looks more than tousled he looks fucked. He's got that telltale flush that comes from good sex. He smells of it. I can smell sex on him the way a shark scents blood. He's wearing jeans; he always wears jeans these days.

These jeans have seen better days. They are worn, frayed, one knee is going in holes and the other leg shows damp patches and rusty stains on it. His leather jacket is open, showing his once-white shirt and a dark heather tweed vest with some dark stains on it. His knuckles are taped, and there's a cut on his cheek. His earring trembles in the light from my lamp, flashing and sparkling in sympathy with his movements. His smile is wide on his mouth, teeth gleaming, tongue poking through pinkly to wet his lips before retreating once more. Something in my chest thuds painfully.

⁄⁄How come he didn't just pick the lock and let himself in? He's done it often enough before.⁄⁄

"So you're knocking now, huh, Krycek? How come you didn't just break in as usual?" I'm not in the mood for this. He looks at me, a little hurt, but I'm not playing tonight.

"Awww, Mulder, I was being polite. I came here directly from getting you your Christmas present. You weren't in and I had to wait outside for ages. Can I help it if I fell asleep for a while?" He pulls out a flask and takes a swig from it. Then he wipes off the top and offers it to me. The smell tells me it's vodka. I take it reflexively and drink, before I realise I'm out of my mind.

I hand it back.

"Krycek! Close the door on your way out!" I lurch to the kitchen and grab a glass of water, drinking it as I wander sluggishly back to my couch. There is a silence.

"Mulder! I thought you'd be pleased to see me. Did you have a good party?" He's still there. I sigh. Why me? Why not Scully or Skinner? They're going to have bad heads too. Why do I always get the extra little piece of bad luck?

"What do you want, Krycek?" I'm very aware that this guy is a loose cannon. The last time he was here, he kissed me. I don't want to go there. I've spent too much time thinking about it already.

The man saunters around the coffee table, placing each foot with care. Watching him move, I think of tigers. He prowls. He's dangerous, deadly, and beautiful. I want him to leave. He doesn't leave, he fetches up beside me on the couch, sitting uninvited, sprawling back into the cushion and sighing softly.

"What? What do you want from me Krycek? Why don't you go bother someone who gives a damn? I'm tired, I'm hungover, and the last thing in the world I want to do is get into anything with you." I'm bringing the message home with short jabs of my finger and it surprises me no end when he grabs the finger I'm poking at him, holding it.

"I just came to wish you Merry Christmas, Mulder. What's the matter, didn't you like your present?" He raises an eyebrow and delicately makes a gesture with his head towards the coffee table on which sits the photograph of Spender. I'm sure my eyes bug out for a second, because he laughs at me. Releasing my finger, he picks up the photo and looks at it, shaking his head and smiling.

"You've gotta wonder about a man who would give up that amount of dignity for a thrill, haven't you?" He's smiling again, inviting me to join the conspiracy as he holds out the photo for my inspection. "Don't you think he looks kinda cute?"

"Krycek, I'm not in the mood for a slumber party. Thank you for your efforts in bringing Miss December to my attention, but he's really not my type. Next time you decide I'm going to host a sleepover, give me a call and I'll buy in some milk and cookies. Now will you just leave so I can get some sleep here." I'm trying not to look at him, because he's close to me, dangerously close, and I can smell his musky smell. He's a slut. Everything about him screams of perfidy. He'll use me and I don't want to be used by such as he.

"Mulder, I always come back to you. I don't want to. I have to. This morning I woke up and realised that my life is shit. I'm going through the motions, not doing what I want, not having what I need. I decided that today was the day I would go for it. I went out hunting tonight and found a present for you. Now I'm here, and I'm going to make the most of it. I really want you, Mulder." This speech, not surprisingly, succeeds in pulling my eyes to his face. His pupils are dilated and his breathing is ragged. His speech is slightly over careful, each word articulated as if it might somehow turn into something else. His face is flushed, and as I look at him, a crimson tide rises up from his collar to flood over his cheeks. He's blushing. Not only that, he's drunk. "You don't know what it's like to go through life without anyone. You've got people who like you. You've got Scully. I've only got being on the run and wanting you to keep me going. Well, no more! I'm going for what I want. I want you, Mulder."

"Krycek, You've been drinking. Why don't you go home? I'm not kidding you. I don't want you here." I'm uneasy. I want him gone. I'm too fragile just now to have some wild card come into my life and mess me about. I don't have anything left. No family, no life, no X-Files. I'm going to be here eating TV dinners on Christmas Day. I don't need this Lord of Misrule playing with my psyche.

His eyes have closed. During the brief moment between his speech and mine, the bastard has fallen asleep. His lashes are curling onto his cheek. The stubble of a day old beard darkens his lip, cheek and chin giving him a piratical appearance that is enhanced by the absurd earring. His mouth is slightly open, and while I am watching he snores gently. I don't know why it touches me, but it does. He's not as clean as he could be, he smells like ancient sin, and I know he has no morals, no scruples. It seems inevitable that I should have the Antichrist asleep on my couch on Christmas Eve. Cursing myself out, I toss a blanket over him and stumble off in search of my bed.

I hate my bed, but tonight I'm just too tired and too full of booze to care. I strip down to my underwear, fall into bed and crash.

My dreams are dark and bitter. This is nothing new, my dreams are always dark and frequently bitter. I am chasing a giggling Spender down corridors lined with filing cabinets, screaming that he has my X-Files. After me runs a creature I can't see, but I know it wants my life from me. Spender is always ahead, and he's stripping off his clothes as he runs, tossing flowers back to me. Suddenly I crash into an invisible barrier. I can't break through it. The beast behind me puts hands on my shoulders, spinning me around, and I see that it's Krycek. I jolt awake, my heart pounding violently, and I'm instantly aware that he's here in this room with me. He's lying beside me in an untidy heap, still clad in his denim and leather. His arm is thrown across my chest and he has his face nuzzled into my shoulder. He's taken off his boots. I should be grateful for that, I suppose. I ease myself out of the bed, staggering off to the bathroom in search of relief from an achingly full bladder. What's happening to me? Is he real? I feel as if I'm being brainwashed. Maybe the aliens have got me and at this very minute they're experimenting on me.

My morning erection taken care of, bladder empty, I grab water from the fridge, and lurch back to my bedroom. Looking at him sleeping, I can't believe how young he looks. I can't understand how the things that this man has done don't show on his face. His profile is pure. Silky dark eyebrows fly above the widely spaced eyes, now covered by lids fringed heavily in dark lashes. His nose tilts up at the end, and the long upper lip leads into a mouth that is molded with bowed upper and full lower lip. Soft lips they are, parted and helpless as he sleeps. His cheekbones cut through to cast planes of shadow. His chin is small and almost weak. This face looks so childlike. He is beautiful, and deadly, and in my bed.

I creep back under the covers, chewing aspirin and swigging from my bottle of water as I go. The bed moves as I get myself in. That's the only thing about waterbeds, you can't be surreptitious in one. It just isn't possible. I'm beginning to think I've made a mistake when he snakes out his arm and pulls me close to him once more. I can't have him chasing me out of my own bed. I shake him.

"Krycek! Come on. It's time to go home. Party's over. Let's move it shall we?" Impossibly heavy lashes flicker once, and then open to reveal cool green doorways into hell. The arm around me tightens and those soft, expressive lips smile once, and move forward to fasten themselves onto mine.

My chest is tight. I can't breathe. His lips are sliding over mine, his head turning as he burrows into my mouth, tongue plunging between my lips as I jerk my head in protest. He's kissing the soul from out of my body. I'm struggling to get out from under him as his kiss continues, paring the flesh of my resolve away from my bones. As he continues to claim my mouth, hand playing with my hair, my ear, my neck, I am aware again of what I have known for as long as he has been in my life. I want him, but his price is too high for me.

Finally, I get my hand between his chest and mine and I heave, breaking the kiss and escaping from the torture of his warmth. I see myself in that damned mirror overhead. My lips are swollen slightly, and I look guilty. I look as if I've made love and enjoyed it. Why me? Why does it always have to be me? I grit my teeth and spit out words at this rat-bastard that thinks he can fuck with my mind.

"Get out of this apartment, now. Get out of my life. Is there anything I need to explain to you about that?" He is smiling again. He has a curious smile on his face. It's not his usual sneer. I'm feeling very uneasy again, and he brings his hand up to trace across my lips.

"Are you aware that you should be carrying a license for those?" I'm totally baffled. What's he babbling about? I look my question at him. "Your lips. I've always wanted to do that. I've always wanted to kiss you full on the lips." Dammit, he swoops in fast and locks on again while I lie gaping at him. His mouth is soft and tender, and tastes surprisingly good for a man who probably spent last night drinking to excess, and who is still showing the after effects of whatever sins he got up to. For a moment I return his kiss, it feels so good at last to have him invading my mouth, teasing with his tongue, sending shivers through me that wake up my cock and start it defying gravity. I can't think how many times I've jerked off thinking of this very event. Now that it's happening to me I have to stop it. I have to get away quickly before he finds out that I want him as much as he seems to want me.

I need to put a stop to things before he finds out that I want him so badly I dream about him at nights, and masturbate to his face in my mind. I fight madly, and he breaks off the contact, but remains in front of my face, inches from my lips.

"Get off me and go. Get out now." He doesn't move, he just smiles. I pull back my fist to punch him, and like a striking snake he has me by the wrist, imprisoning my hand. This seriously impairs my movement and prevents me from gaining the purchase necessary to shove the bastard off me. I scream in frustration, and drive my forehead up to smack his chin. His lip splits and he drips bright blood on my chest, but still he smiles.

"Mulder, come on Mulder, it's time for us to be together. I love you, Mulder." I feel like I'm the victim of some weird brainwashing project. He smiles patiently at me as I spit my venom. "I know you. I know how you feel, Mulder. I've watched you for as long as I've known you. I just don't want to wait any more."

"What do you mean, 'it's time?' Just go away Krycek, I don't wanna deal with you." I'm blowing him off when what he said just now suddenly sinks home. He loves me. Oh God. I trail to a stop and am back to gaping all over again. "Get off me Krycek, I think it's time we had a talk, you and I."

Looking at him then, his eyes shining green magic in the half light, blood drooling from his lower lip down his chin, hair standing in spikes, I wonder if he's real. Nobody imagines something like this on Christmas Day. He pulls back from me, releasing my hand and sitting up on the bed. I pull myself up 'til I'm leaning on the headboard, and we look at each other.

"Krycek, you smell like a tomcat. You were obviously out on the tiles last night. What makes you think you can come in and play with my head like this? Why don't you just give it up? I've never heard of anyone who loved somebody behaving the way you do towards me. You killed my father, you betrayed my partner and me, you've caused me untold pain since I met you. Now you say you love me. What is that, Krycek?"

He shakes his head in that typically Krycek jerk of frustration, chin raised in defiance like a little boy before the Principal. His face closes up and for a minute I think I've won and he will leave. He huddles into himself, and suddenly appears smaller, less intimidating than before. There's a long pause, and the eyes that he raises to mine are lost, windows into a soul screaming for release from the fire.

"Mulder, we can't always choose what we want. I know there are things I've done. Sometimes I hate myself. That's the trouble. I'm good at destroying the things I hate. Help me out here." His voice dies away, smoky, sensual voice, always carrying with it the promise of intimacy. I can't play this game with him. He holds all the cards. He enrages me, makes me betray myself more surely than he ever betrayed me. I hate what I become when he presses my buttons. I don't want to think of myself as a brutal, out of control sadist. I look at the blood on his face and I know that I put it there. I owe him something for the blood I've spilled. I touch my finger to the blood and bring it to my lips, tasting the thick, salty fluid.

He's sleazy. He's a self confessed turncoat and he's probably diseased. He's waiting for me to speak as if I hold the power of life and death over him. I suddenly realize that it's possible that I do.

"I can't afford you, Krycek. You're too expensive. You would cost me my self esteem." My words cut him. I watch him flinch and his misery appalls me. This is blackmail. He wants my soul from me and I know how he's used his own. "You seem to think that sex is the answer to everything, but it isn't. It isn't even part of the answer. If you hate who you are, sex won't help. I can't make you love yourself, Krycek. You have to do that. Hell, I wouldn't even know where to tell you to start."

Again he pauses. He is shivering, and his eyes have clouded over. I want, how I want to take him in my arms and kiss away his fears as if he were my child. If I could only soothe away his night terrors I would, but the monster under this bed is real, and it will devour us both if I let it.

"Mulder, Fox, I need your help. I can still be someone you could love. Help me." I groan. What can I do? How could I ever change this sorry set of circumstances?

I think hard. How can I help him? Can I save him or will he drag me down with him? My stomach does a flip, and I want to believe. Oh how I want to believe. I take a deep breath.

"We're going to need to work on you, aren't we? You can't just slide into my life like this. You can't expect to climb straight into my bed. That's not the way real people do things."

He puts out his hand, taking hold of mine and bringing it into his cheek. His eyes glow. His hands are scratched and there's blood under the nails. I let him have my hand, and he rubs it against his cheek, closing his eyes and nestling into it as if he were a cat.

"What do you want me to do? I promise I'll try." He gives a forced, sad little smile and once again I feel a flip in my stomach. I have already begun to pay. I open my arms to him, and he falls toward me. His head pillows on my shoulder and I lean my cheek against his hair, feeling the feathery shortness like petals against my lips. Rocking him slightly, I rub my cheek against him, and say a prayer that we will survive this ride.

"OK, Alex, I think the first thing we should do is get you clean. You smell like a tomcat. I don't know what you were doing last night but you need a shower." I know I'm inviting intimacy here. However, if I'm going to get into a counseling session with this sorry piece of humanity that is snuggling into my arms, I need to establish some kind of non-confrontational, non-judgmental modus operandi. I'm not the one who should be doing this for him. I can't even help myself. How can I save him?

The man in my arms turns up his face to me, and once again I'm drowning in his eyes. His smile is gentle and he looks tired. The look he is giving me is one of love, of trust. It makes me breathe in sharply and I feel a slash of desire that pierces me from the back of my neck down to my cock. I can't stop myself. Fool that I am, I bend my head down that couple of necessary inches and rest my lips on his. He sighs, opens his lips to me and I feel the blood sing in my ears as I slip my tongue into his mouth. Gently, very gently at first, our lips meet, slowly brushing to lock and hold as I fall into the kiss I've been fighting. He slides his tongue along mine. He permits me to explore the recesses of his mouth, and only after an eternity spent delving into the moist depths of it does he put up his hand to my face, stroking my cheek gently as he maintains that tender kiss. My heart is thudding, and I can see what he means. We were born to be together this way. How did we ever split apart? Kissing him is like a knife slicing pieces of my heart and serving them up for him to eat. I press down on him, and intensify the pressure of my lips on his.

⁄⁄More heart, take it all, damn you!⁄⁄

His hand sneaks around my neck and suddenly I realise that it's too late for regrets, too late to do anything except hold on tight to him and pray we make it. I run my hands down his body, sliding them under the leather jacket to hold him close to me. He moans softly and I echo the sound into his mouth. He is still using his tongue to caress mine, each movement sending shivers down my back as I hold on. I don't know whether to be happy or afraid. Slowly, after a millenium, I pull back to look at him. His skin is flushed, his eyes are closed, the thick dark lashes curling sweetly onto his cheeks. His lips are parted and he shows just a glimpse of white teeth, pink tongue curled like a leaf, gleaming wetly. He is mine.

Green eyes open slowly, languorously. He gazes at me through his impossibly thick lashes, smiles, and I am lost. How did I ever think I could fight him?

"Come on Krycek." My voice is thick with a need I don't want to admit and I cough to clear the sound of it. "We need to get you into the shower." He uncoils himself and stands in one graceful movement. He begins to shuck off the clothes he is wearing, letting them fall on my floor like a discarded skin. His shirt comes off revealing the flat slabs of muscle that lie on his back, over his shoulders and across his chest. I gaze in despair at his ruined left arm. I can't believe it. How has this happened to him? He was perfect and now he is not.

"What happened, Krycek?" He looks at me with disbelief.

"Don't you know? You were there. You told them to." His voice, always husky, is quiet and flat. He truly believes this.

"No! I swear to God I didn't know. I would never expect someone to pay a price like that. Oh, God, Krycek. It was Tunguska, wasn't it?" I cast my head from side to side, as if merely looking for it will bring me an answer. He waits for me, patiently naked, gleaming white and beautiful in the darkened room.

"It was Tunguska, Mulder. They chopped it off there, and you left me to them." I utter a cry of loss, or guilt, or misery. He was perfect, and now he is not. God help me, it feels as if it is my loss, not his.

I crawl from the bed to him. Holding him in my arms feels like coming home. There's still a matter of his morals, his habits, his sex-life to address, but I know now I have to be the one. We're bound together and it's too late to break out now.

Getting to the shower is difficult, but not impossible. I know that I want him, but I'm not going to give in and take him unless it's on my terms. I know this fragile peace is going to need much nursing. It is like a tiny match flame burning behind cupped hands. Without protection it will extinguish itself, leaving only a useless piece of char. If nurtured, sheltered, and fed, it will grow to be a fire. It will warm the hearth or rage out of control devouring everything in its path. I have no way of knowing yet which we will become, but I need to go carefully. This is not something I'm used to. I am usually first to charge in and take what I need. I require practice now.

My arm around his shoulder, I lead him into the bathroom, pointing out the soap and shampoo, the razor and the shaving foam. He starts the water running, and I delve into my cupboard to find him a couple of warm, dry towels. I want to watch him as he soaps and cleanses himself, but I feel as if I'm a moth beside a candle flame, so I leave the room and go off to see about feeding us both breakfast.

Foraging through my slender larder for the fixings, I come up with bread for toast, 2 eggs, orange juice in tiny amounts, and coffee. I have no milk and no tea. I know he drinks tea. I can't find any butter, so I throw on my clothes, grab my jacket and run out of the apartment to search for groceries.

On my return, I can hear him singing. He has a sweet, tuneful voice, and I listen to him as he joins in with the radio. He's found an oldies station, and the old Jefferson Airplane hit 'White Rabbit' is playing. Grace Slick is howling her heart out, and he's right along there with her, matching her note for note. He sings like someone who knows the pain of last chances. His husky speaking voice translates to a deep, sensual growl when he sings. He should be famous. My belly flip-flops again when I think of the destruction of him.

Going back into the kitchen, I find him spooning coffee into the filter, and I watch him deftly measuring and pouring. He is naked, prowling around the unfamiliar kitchen, finding the utensils he needs, wearing his skin like an Armani. He's tall, with powerful legs, deep muscles on his back and chest tapering to small waist and flat stomach. His genitals are at rest, snuggling in their cloak of dark curls. He is pink and scrubbed, clean shaven once again with damp hair that glistens in the light. He looks around and spies me watching him. A smile washes over the intent face, and he bounds over to greet me, hand held out to take the paper sack from me. Delving through the contents, he purrs with delight as he produces tea, apple juice, butter and milk, muffins from the local bakery and half a dozen oranges.

I'm mesmerized watching him make the toast, scramble eggs, peeling and separating oranges into segments and laying out plates and glasses ready for us to eat. He moves like a wild animal on the prowl, and his concentration is complete. Finally, aware that he can cope better than me in a kitchen, I head to the bathroom to have my own shower.

Dressing in sweats and T-shirt, I look for something to cover his nakedness until I can do the laundry. I'm aware that I am slimmer than he is. His build is more that of a boxer than a runner, but I round up some loose pants and a T-shirt that will not be too tight. I take them back to the kitchen where he has just finished spooning eggs onto the toast and extend the clothes to him. Again, his face lights up in a smile, and he lays his hand briefly against mine before taking the bundle from me and putting on my clothes.

As we sit down together at my table, I'm amazed to find that I feel content. I have no knowledge of what the future will bring, but today, I'm suddenly no longer alone. I laugh out loud.

"What?" He pauses, fork half way to his mouth, crumbs on his lip like a dusting of freckles.

"I'm just thinking how strange it is. Yesterday I was totally alone, and now, all of a sudden I'm not." It feels so strange. I don't know how to do this.

He rises from his chair, fork forgotten, moves around to where I'm sitting, and stoops to kiss my mouth hard, his teeth clunking against mine as he hurries. I can feel him tremble, and I put my arms around him to let him know it's OK. The kiss is brief, and he pulls back, searching my eyes, his face haunted by memories of hurts endured.

"I love you." He speaks it as if it is the only truth in a black world.

"Merry Christmas, Alex." I whisper to him then, and his smile comes up like sunlight over mountains.

I'm warm at last.

4: Cock Tales for Two

There is an old legend that the crocodile weeps real tears for his victim before he devours him. I haven't personally seen this happen, and hopefully I never will, but the imagery is interesting. I look at the man lying alongside me sleeping, and I wonder about his tears. Are they real? How will I ever know until it's too late? He's betrayed me before. Do I have the strength to hold off? Can I possibly allow him that kind of power over me again?

He's sleeping quietly, his cheeks flushed and a little glaze of sweat standing on his upper lip. Long, thick lashes curl on his cheeks. The widely spaced, oddly innocent looking eyes lie hidden beneath the pale lids. His dark hair, cut short, turns to fine down on his temples. It's hard for me to resist the temptation to trace it with my fingertips. There's a furrow between his eyebrows that I've seen crinkle up when he laughs, or crease in anger. He lies on his tummy, his hand buried beneath the pillow, and it appears that his dreams are kind, because he's wearing a curious little half smile. More than anything else about him, that little smile makes my heart pound as I watch him sleeping.

This morning he cooked my breakfast for me while I watched him. We had very little sleep last night, but still he insisted on washing up before suggesting that we both take a nap. It was strange, very strange to climb into a bed beside another human being, and fall asleep with his arm around me. Waking up, I discover that he wasn't a dream. He's here with me, like it or not. I'm still searching my soul, trying to decide if I can handle this. Do I want the rough ride I know I'm in for, or would I sooner give up the promise of intimacy, however pleasant it might prove to be, in order to protect myself from the hurt I know will come with it?

If I let him, he'll take my soul. My heart is already his and has been so since I first met him. Loving him is a pain that chafes and abrades me, and to which I have already developed calluses. The pain of his betrayals is not so easy for me to bear. That is the sharp, tearing pain. That' the pain like fire that burns white in the night and flashes through my dreams like brushfire, not letting me sleep. I watch him, and God, how I want him!

He stirs, nuzzling into the pillow at first, turning his cheek into it the way a baby would turn to the breast. His brow furrows, he frowns, and his arm emerges to grope for something. His hand lights on my arm, and he scoots forward towards me, his arm going around me as he presses up against my side. His head comes to rest against my shoulder, and for a moment he is quiet. I want to hold him. I want to run my tongue around his ear, kiss his eyelids and suck the breath from his mouth. I settle for watching him, too afraid to do anything but wait.

Another minute and I'm aware of a change in his breathing. He wakes quietly. One minute he's sleeping, warm, relaxed weight against my side, the next, he's alert, poised for flight. His eyes are still closed, and he doesn't look any different, but I feel his muscle tone and it tells me he's assessing his position. His eyelids twitch once, and I know he's alert.

"Hi, are you feeling better? I know I am." His lids slowly rise to reveal shining green eyes. Cat-like, he stretches, his stretch beginning somewhere down at his feet and working its way up as he arches his spine, flexes his shoulders and wrinkles up that nose. He yawns and snuggles up.

"Not a dream. Not a dream after all." He raises his head, and somehow he's in the crook of my arm, head pillowed on my shoulder. He fits exactly. The clock is telling me that it's afternoon now. 2 pm Christmas day and I'm in bed with a sorry piece of human flotsam, trying to work out ways of keeping my virtue and my sanity intact. Whoever said life was boring?

"Mulder, what do we have for dinner?" His husky voice startles me out of my reverie. "It's Christmas you know, and I'm starving." I want to touch him, but I don't want to set him off in another assault on my sexuality. I don't think I could resist any further. I settle for tweaking his outrageous little nose. Too late! He rolls over to face me, and my heart sinks.

⁄⁄leaps⁄⁄

"Don't, Krycek, please don't." I whisper, and he pauses, delicately tracing my lips with one long finger. "I can't just leap into a relationship like this with you of all people. I need time to work things out, and so do you."

"What's to work out? I want us to be together at last. You want me too, I know you do. I'm so tired of all this sorry bullshit that keeps us apart. I've wanted you since we were partners." His eyes look past me as he talks, and I too can see the young, puppy-eager agent that was Alex Krycek, holding out his hand to me, riding the hurt of my rebuff, adoration on his face.

Remembering his efforts to please me, his transparent joy at praise, I shake my head.

"All of that, you were acting a part. You were sent to lead me down a false trail. You were sent to betray me, and you did." I can hear the hurt in my voice. How long will it take before he sees through me? How long before I'm at his mercy?

"Mulder, Fox, I was sent to keep you from getting yourself killed. I protected you. I kept you from harm. I couldn't save Scully, but I saved you." He's fallen onto his back now, away from me, and my body cries out in anguish as I lose the warmth of him against me. He's begun to talk, and I should be non-judgmental. I should be calm. How can I be when I want to scream at him that this isn't what happened?

I wait.

"Duane Barry got away from them. He shouldn't have been able to take Scully like that, but they lost control of him. I had to keep you from getting yourself killed, Fox. There was nothing you could have done, except die for her." He sits up suddenly, leaning back against his hand. I look at the other side of him, the sleek shoulder that descends only part way, vicious scarring and useless stump where there was once beauty. Oh, God, Alex!

"What happened to my father, Krycek?" I'm trying to be calm. I'm trying to stay focused. I want to grab him by the hair and drag his head down to my mouth. He's still looking far away, beyond me, beyond the four walls here, into an Alex that is long gone into the dark tunnel of time. I wait.

"He shot himself, Fox. I was there, I saw him do it. The plan was for you to die when you came over to see him. I'd been sent to make sure you would be safe, and I was in his bathroom when he came in. He saw me, and knew he wouldn't be able to carry out his orders. He shot himself and I had no choice. I had to leave right then or be nailed for murdering him. At least I knew you were safe, so I left." Time has slowed, my breathing is harsh and I feel as if I've run for miles. His words are reverberating in my head like beating drums. Do I dare to believe him? I roll over onto my stomach and put my head in my hands. I can't think about this now. Everything in me wants to believe him, but I don't, quite. Raising my head to look at him, his eyes shine in the half-light. I file this away. I need to think about it.

"Alex, what is all this shit with Spender? Where did you get the photograph of him? How?" I know it's trivial, but all of a sudden I need to know. He gives a low laugh and turns to face me. He's come back to earth, and his face is lively as he grins at me.

"Oh, that! I wondered if you were gonna ask me about that." He chuckles and suddenly snuggles back down beside me, reclaiming his place on my shoulder, and rubbing his cheek against it before starting to speak.

"When I heard that you'd lost your X-Files, I got mad. I knew of Jeffrey Spender a little through an ex-employer of mine. He's been taking a lot of interest in him, sponsoring him, though Spender doesn't seem to know it. Anyway, it seemed to me that I could kill two birds with one stone. I could maybe help you get the X-Files back and stick a metaphorical knife into that cancerous son of a bitch who used to be my boss. In a way, I feel sorry for Jeffy. He's lonely too, and he'll do anything to feel loved. I figured that you'd be able to use the photos to get him off your back. I did it for you." This takes some working out. I'm not sure what he's telling me here.

"How did you get him to pose for the photos?" I ask him, grinning as the picture of Spender, leather-clad torso, collar round his neck, glorying in horticulture rises up before my eyes.

"Oh, I abused him, mostly. He was desperate for it. He really wants to be dominated. All I did was hurt him a little." He's still smiling, maliciously now. His hand is drawing lazy circles on my chest as he confides in me. "I picked him up in a bar one night. It was so easy. He must be really lonely. I led him on a bit and then hurt him and delivered my message. He lapped it up. I think he's got a crush on me."

"What did you do to him?" Why am I asking him? Why do I want to know?

⁄⁄Come off it, Fox! You want to know because you love him too. He's a slut and you want him.⁄⁄

"Well, the first time, I let him blow me. He was pretty damn good too. Then I inserted a blunt instrument into him and delivered my message. Told him to give back the X-Files. Did he?" I gape at his matter-of-fact tone. He waits, one eyebrow lifted in delicate inquiry. After a minute, I close my mouth with a snap and shake my head.

"The little bastard! I need to pay him another visit. I wonder where I can find a lobster on Christmas Day?" He spoils it by peeking at me through his lashes to see how I have received his last utterance. As my jaw drops again, he collapses in laughter.

"Oh, your face! You're so funny, Fox, so funny!" My grin surprises me. I thought I would be shocked by what he's told me, but it appears that I'm not. Gradually, the humor of the idea of Alex stalking Spender with a lobster sinks in, and I lose it. I roar with laughter, tears rolling down my cheeks. Suddenly, his lips are there, against mine, and I'm not ready, not guarded. I open my mouth to him, and our bodies come together easy and slow. My arms go around him to hold him tight against me. His hand buries itself in my hair, and I am lost now, dizzy with the scent of musk, overloaded by silk soft lips glued to mine, wet tongue drawing ripples of sensation inside my mouth. My laughter subsides as I put my whole life into that kiss. I want him to know that I can reach wherever it is that we are headed. He won't have to carry me.

He's getting hard as he presses against me. I am too. Thrills go through me as we kiss and kiss, hungry mouths sliding wetly over each other as we perform the dance of tongues. I can't deny that I want him, but this is too much, too fast. Finally, I pull away, gasping. He presses a small kiss on the corner of my mouth, nods, smiling to himself, and lays his head down on my chest. His hand is still in my hair, stroking the back of my neck, behind my ear, caressing me gently.

"Lobsters aside, Alex." He sniggers at this. "What did you do to get Spender to pose for you?"

"Oh, that was last night. I was trying to think of something to get you for Christmas, Fox. I went over to his apartment thinking I'd try to get him into some silly situation for you. I didn't even know if he would let me in. He's a sick fuck, that's for sure. He really gets off on being whacked." I'm interested. This is a side of Spender that doesn't show itself in the office, not surprisingly.

"You beat him?" I'm fascinated now. This is even better than my video collection. I'm getting hard thinking about the two of them together. He knows it too. I see the eyes dip to my crotch, checking out the bulge beneath my sweat pants. He disentangles his fingers from my hair, and my stomach lurches as I see his hand wander idly down towards my groin. My mouth is dry. I'd forgotten that this is a predator that I'm with.

"Yeah, I spanked him with my belt. He really got off on it. I made him a little bit drunk too. Hell, I got pretty blind myself. I was thinking about you, and everything seemed so hopeless. I was going to kill myself if you hadn't listened to me. I'm so tired of being alone, so tired!" The last sentence is spoken so quietly, I think it is meant for himself, rather than for me. I know how he feels though. I feel that way too.

I realize that I am rapidly losing my self-control, so I rouse myself. I pull away from the intimacy and get up, walking through into the kitchen to forage for dinner. He's starving, he said so, and his appetites all seem to be stronger than mine. I check in the freezer but can't find anything that even approaches a festive meal.

He comes in as I'm performing triage on an elderly package of tofu, takes one look, and shudders.

"How about I take you out for dinner? We can look on it as a first date?" His face is so open, his eyes earnest, that I can't say no. I'm wondering what he will wear to take me out. His clothes are grimy and tattered.

"Are you going to try and cram yourself into my clothes? Yours are just a bit worse for wear." He blushes and turns back into the bedroom, gathering together the sorry garments he arrived in.

"Unh... Do you have a laundry? I could get them washed quickly." I point to the door. "Down in the basement." My speech is short, curt. I'm feeling very vulnerable, aware that I was very close to giving in to him scant moments ago.

I want to make him suffer. He stands clutching his bundle, looking miserable, and I relent. I hand him soap powder and a jar with quarters in it.

"It's OK, Alex, I just need a few minutes to think. You're making me jump through hoops here."

He flashes me a relieved grin, and heads off out of the door.

He's dressed at last in his own clothes, and they're clean once more. Looking at him as we get ready to go out, I'm aware all over again of his sensuality. He moves gracefully, the economy of his movements fluid and beautiful. He uses his head so much to convey emotion. I watch him avidly, drinking in the changes of expression that convey his feelings as we prepare to go out. I hardly realize how much the sight of him warms me. As he puts on his jacket and holds out his hand to me, he flashes me a grin.

"You do like me a little bit. I do have a chance, don't I, Fox?" I smile and he takes my hand. As we pause while I lock up, he traces my cheek with his fingertips, and I shudder. "You will love me. You will want me. You have to." At this, the tight bud of desire lurking somewhere deep in my belly suddenly flowers, a flood of warmth is unleashed to loosen my limbs and trickle up my spine. My knees turn to jelly, and I lean on the doorframe, hoping he hasn't noticed. Faint hope! He takes my key from me and locks the door, and then takes my hand, turning the palm up to place a kiss within it, tongue describing a lazy circle on my sensitive skin. Folding my fingers over that kiss, he smiles again. His eyes never leave mine. I gulp.

"Krycek, the only way I'll know if things can work between us is by communication. We need to drop the secrets. If I'm to trust you, there can't be secrets any more, not like the ones between us now. You can keep on pushing me for sex, and who knows, I might even give in, but if it's against my will, you won't have gained anything. If I can't deal with loving you, I'm going to hate you. Do you understand me." His eyes are drinking up my words as they spill from my lips. He nods, and we turn to go downstairs.

"We need to go in my car, Fox." I jump. Lost in my own thoughts as I follow him outside, it hasn't occurred to me that he has a car. I don't know why this would be. My dealings with him since he ceased to be my partner have all been conducted in the dark or in places far removed from real life. I realize how very little I know about him. He knows how much I hate to give up control to someone else. I hate to be driven.

"I hate to be driven; you know that." I'm not looking at him, not giving him a chance to win me over with his puppy-dog expression.

"I promise to be quick, but I need to make a stop. I need to get some things from my place. I'm not dressed for a night on the town." As I think about this, it amazes me. He is going to let me see where he lives. He trusts me with this, and I'm aware of how much it must mean to him. I stop, stare at him in wonder, and he punches my arm.

"No more secrets, remember?" I nod slowly and he gives a little snort of laughter. "What? Did you think I spent my life lurking in back alleys when I'm not driving you crazy? I promise you, I do have a place to live. I even had a family, once upon a time." His voice trails off, and he's still for a moment. On his face for one brief second there's a look of naked agony. It flashes out from his eyes like ripples in a pond and is soon gone. If I hadn't been looking at him right then, I wouldn't have believed it possible for him to look so desolate. I wonder what it is that he's lost to give him so much pain.

He opens his car door, unlocking the passenger's side by flicking the central locking mechanism. It's a small black Ford. There are hundreds of them in Washington. His anonymity would be pretty well guaranteed in it. There are no clues to his personality in here, no nodding dogs or cute stickers, no carelessly tossed books, no candy wrappers. I look at him dubiously, wondering how he can cope with only one arm, but he's busy starting the engine, and I settle for fastening my seat belt.

He drives quickly, competently, and we pull up outside an old brownstone that's only about a mile from where I live.

"Do you want to stay in the car? There're some CDs in the case there if you like." I shake my head. I want to see where he lives. I want to know about him at last. "You realise that once you've been inside my place, I'm going to have to kill you?" He grins at me, and together we climb out of his car and head into the building.

As he opens his door, I see that he's trying very hard to appear nonchalant, but his shaking fingers and constant sideways glances through those thick eyelashes give him away. He's nervous. This makes me happy, and I touch his hand, stilling it as he tries to get his key into the lock. Flashing me a rueful look, he opens the door and gestures for me to go in.

I don't know what I was expecting, but it surely wasn't this! There are stark modern furnishings of black wood, on a hardwood floor that shows no speck of dust. There are white walls, white drapes, white rugs on the floor, and the walls are hung with black and white prints.

"Jeez, Krycek, isn't it hard to get the blood out of all this white?" He gives me a dark look and ignores me.

The only splash of color I can see is his bookshelf. There, gaudy spines show in regiments. His books are varied, A. A. Milne makes me raise my eyebrows, as does Dr. Seuss. Travel books mingle with science fiction, and on the bottom row lie "The Wealthy Barber", "The Prince", "Mein Kampf" and a couple of books in Cyrillic script that I have no clues about. This is a test! It has to be. Nobody is this complex. He's grinning as he watches me take it all in. He's enjoying my discomfiture.

"Do you want to try and psychoanalyze me from here, or do you wanna see the rest of my dark secrets?" His voice is very husky, and I can tell that he is anxious about my response. I give up trying to decide what he wants me to say and go for the nosy option.

"Show me everything you've got, Krycek. Leave me no illusions. I particularly want to see where the bodies are hidden." This makes him chuckle a little, and he grabs my hand, leading me down a passage at the rear of the room. His doors are all closed. I smile as I file this information away. It fits with the rest of his personality. Everything is closed, everything guarded except against me. A small thrill coasts down my spine as I realize just how much it's costing him to allow me into his world.

Opening the door, he pulls me through into his bedroom. This is more colorful, and I'm fascinated by the fact that on his bed there's an old, battered teddy bear. A computer sits on a desk in the corner, and his bed is covered in a red and blue checked comforter. The furniture is blond wood, and there are a couple of magazines slung by the bedside. A stereo system is placed to maximize its sound for someone in the bed, and he has CDs stacked in a tower, more on the floor next to the stereo, and a couple on the bed itself. The closet door is of course closed. He gestures to me to take a seat, and then heads for the closet, opening the door and running his hands through a selection of suits and other garments. He makes his choice, and then begins to change, stripping off jeans and shirt without any self-consciousness. How can he be so open about his body, when his soul is so well hidden?

Watching him, I sit down on his bed and idly fidget with the items on the nightstand. There's a photograph in a frame, and I pick it up, trying to decide who the people shown might be. A very beautiful young woman wearing a soft white dress stands beside a swing on which a small boy is whooping with laughter. The woman's dark hair is streaming in the breeze, and the child is looking up at her as he swings. I call to Alex, who is fastening his shirt.

"Krycek, is this you?" I hold out the photo. He looks stricken. His face closes, and he turns away, fiddling with a pair of pants, pulling them on, searching through the closet for a jacket and transferring keys, cash and things like that to his pockets. "Krycek? What's wrong? Are you OK?"

"No, it isn't...wasn't me." He is standing with his back to me, his face hidden, but I can hear misery in his voice. "That's my...my wife, and my son." Turning to me, he glares at me defiantly, that chin of his raised, head held high and arrogant, shining water in his eyes, spilling to trickle down one cheek. "They're both dead now."

I feel stunned. Everything I've believed to be true about Alex Krycek is quicksand shifting beneath me, and I don't know how to deal with this new revelation.

"Alex, God, Alex! How? I mean, what...?" I move towards him, and when I reach him, I put my arms around him. He's trembling and I can tell that he'd run if he could. I pull his head down to rest on my shoulder and lay my cheek on his hair. We stand like that for a long moment before he pulls away, placing a careful kiss on the angle of my jaw as he goes.

"I'm sorry. It's been a long time since I've discussed them with anyone. It still hurts sometimes." He looks tired and somehow older as he talks. He's been dressing himself in his favourite black, but his dress pants and jacket are raw silk, his shirt is silk also, and he wears shining loafers on his feet. The earring still flashes from his ear, and he looks wonderful. "Have you seen enough of the inner me? Do you need to see the rest right now, or will it keep until after we eat? It'll still be here tomorrow."

I search his face, but he's put away his emotions once more. He's closed the door onto them as if they were a room in this strange place he calls home.

"Let's go eat then. I wouldn't want to keep a starving man from his last meal!" Gratefully, he smiles at me, and we leave, ensuring that every door is carefully closed behind us.

Once more he drives. I'm getting used to it, and as long as I watch him, rather than the road, I don't get the urge to grab the wheel from him. We pull up in a parking lot and head for a small doorway down into a cellar bar. There's music, and a small dance floor. Couples are sitting around at tables, and Alex obviously knows many of them. People wave to him, and the maitre d'. greets him by name, leading us to the far corner, to a secluded booth with bench seats. I slide in, expecting Alex to slip in facing me, but he surprises me once again, sitting down beside me and moving close to press himself up to me.

"Alex, is this a gay bar?" He nods, smiling wickedly.

"Yeah, but the food is great. You won't regret eating here." This is the cue for a leather-clad waiter to approach us, menus in hand.

"Hi guys, can I get you anything from the bar?" Alex raises an eyebrow in my direction. I nod.

"Get us a couple of beers please, Paul. We'll order in a minute." The fugitive from the Village People zooms off to fulfill our every whim, and Alex turns to me. He looks reckless. His face is flushed with excitement, and his eyes shine brightly. Gone is the agony I saw in his bedroom. This is a different man entirely. This Alex I see now is the one who does not give a damn. This Alex is the dangerous one, the gambler.

"OK, truth or dare time. I'll tell you if you tell me. Do you want to go first, or shall we spin a bottle?" I'm a bit taken aback. Why is he making it into a game? What will he gain from this?

"Do you mean the party game? I'm not sure what the rules are." He runs his fingers down my sleeve, stopping as he reaches the back of my hand and tracing a small design on it with his fingers.

"It's easy enough. Say that you start. I choose truth. You ask me a question. If I answer it truthfully, it's then my turn. If I can't or won't answer it, you can demand a forfeit, make me do something for a dare. If I choose the dare, you just go from there. If I can't or won't do either, I have to take a drink. I think that's how it's played. Do you want to go first?" I nod. There are so many questions I want answering. I can't even begin to list them all. We are however in a public place, and I wonder why he's chosen this venue to play the game in.

"OK, Alex, truth or dare?"

"Truth!" Paul comes back with two beers, and deposits them in front of us. Alex nods to him without taking his eyes from mine. His expression is complex. I can see hope and fear mingled, along with something else I can't quite place.

"What happened to your wife and son?" It's clear that he was expecting this. His eyes darken, but he begins to answer me very readily.

"It's a long time ago now, Fox. Ten years is a long time. I failed to do something that was required of me, and they were killed, shot in front of me by a man I've tried to avoid working for ever since. That's when I learned my first lesson. Never let anyone get close to you unless you don't care if you lose them or not. That's why I've never tried to have a relationship with anyone else until now. That's why I play with people." He stops speaking and looks at me defiantly. "Truth or dare, Fox."

I'm horrified. What will he ask me to compare with the things he's just shared with me.

"Ummm...Truth." He smiles a kind smile and his hand briefly squeezes my leg.

" Why did what I was telling you about my visit to Spender excite you?" I don't know what I was expecting, but this wasn't it. I furrow my brow, trying to think of an answer. "Truth now, Fox, or you have to pay a forfeit."

"I don't know. It's the thought of you and him together that's exciting. It excited me to think that you would go to those lengths to get something for me, even if it was something as twisted as that. It's really exciting to me to think of you dominating him, making him beg you for something. I found myself wanting to watch you. You're beautiful, you know." He leans in, and before I know it, his lips find mine again. I turn to allow his mouth to seal itself to mine, and his tongue slides in to work its magic, running over my teeth and slicking itself against my tongue. His hand grips my arm painfully, and he moans into my mouth. "Truth or dare, Alex?"

"Truth, of course!" He smiles wolfishly. "No secrets, not between us, not now." He licks my lips, and for a second, I close my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts.

"Why do you want me? You were married. You didn't have homosexual tendencies?" I can see that he's been expecting this too.

"I'm bisexual, always have been, but Irina was special. I loved her a lot. When Alex was born, I thought I would be true to the two of them for the rest of my life. It turned out, I was only true to them for the rest of theirs. I won't ever have another child. I don't even notice women any more. When I met you, you were so cranky and mean to me. I can usually get what I want by being charming. I'm an expert at it. Your lack of friendliness was a complete shock to my system and I disliked you. Once I got to know you, I realized how amazing you were and worked really hard to earn your respect. It was only after it was too late that I realized that what I wanted from you was your love. My heart had been dead for so long that I didn't even notice that I loved you until it was too late. You mean so much to me that I don't want to live any more if I have to do it alone." He drinks from his glass and sits for a moment, head bowed, then he takes a breath.

"Truth or dare, Fox?" I swallow.

"Truth. Let's stay with truth for now." I don't know what's coming, but I can see he's laying himself bare for me. I can do no less.

"Why aren't you in a relationship? What's happened in your life that broke you down?" I have to tell him. I haven't ever talked to anyone about this stuff. I've never even mentioned it to Scully. Maybe I should just chicken out, take the dare. It's the thought of what he might require me to do that sets me off answering him.

"We're more alike than you know. I was married too." His eyes widen. I've surprised him. To tell the truth, I've surprised myself. "I had a disastrous relationship while I was still at University in Britain. After that I was very wary of getting close to anyone, but when Diana and I first got together and started working on the X-Files, I thought I was in love. We got married, and then I realized my mistake. She didn't want me, she wanted what I had. Now she's got it. I never really thought about men, not until you. I've avoided relationships whenever possible. This works just fine for me." I hold up my right hand, and he takes hold of it, raising it to his lips and sucking my fingers into his mouth before running his tongue over the tips.

"Alex, can we stop this for a minute? I can't do this level of intimacy any more. I just want to think for a while." The hectic color in his cheeks and the shine of his eyes daunts me. He laughs.

"If you can't handle it, I get to dare you. I get to dare you. Kiss me." I must admit that I'm a little surprised this is all he wants.

"I've been kissing you...."

"No, Baby! I've been kissing you. Now, I want you to kiss me. Kiss me so that it counts. Come on." I look at him. His pupils are dark as his excitement shines through. His lips are moist, curved and slightly open, revealing white teeth and the tip of a red tongue. His lashes are impossibly long and thick. How can he open his eyes with the weight of those lashes? His absurd little nose is close to my lips, and I plant a tiny kiss on the tip. "That doesn't count! That's just a peck. Come on, kiss me, and I'll call it quits." His breath is sweet on my cheek. I look into his eyes, and I'm lost again. My hands go up to his face, and I lay the palms of my hands along his cheeks. Holding him like that, his lashes flutter and fall, his lips part and I can hear his breathing change. I drink in the sight of him exposed in his need, and then slowly, impossibly slowly, savoring every last second of my power over him, I lean forward to bring my lips to his. He gasps as he feels them touching him. For a second I revel in this effect I'm having on him, and then I'm swept into sensation as my lips press down while my tongue enters his mouth and searches for the sweetness within. My fingers are moving to bury themselves in his hair, and his head is bent back as he responds to me the way a drowning man might respond to his meeting with death. His hand slips under my jacket, feeling its way tentatively down around my waist. My belly leaps and flutters as we stay pressed together. My eyes close, and I lose myself in the feeling he's igniting within me. The waiter, chains clanking, chooses that particular moment to come back and take our order, and at last we pull apart.

"You ready to order yet, Alex?" He chirps, and Alex blushes.

"Ummm, give me a minute would ya please, Paul? I'm a little flustered here." The waiter saunters away, grinning at us. I quickly grab the menu. I'm not used to this kind of exposure and I'm embarrassed. Alex seems to be composed. He leans on me to look at my menu, and I feel the heat of him. He decides on the roast turkey, I go for the vegetarian lasagna, and we finally get the grinning Paul off our case. I drink my beer and watch Alex, who's leaning against me, stroking, touching, gentling me with his fingers, a dreamy expression on his face. Of its own accord, my arm goes around him, and we are finally a couple. He sighs and nestles there.

There is nothing that we need to say, so we're silent, touching and being touched, thinking our own thoughts, then Alex sits up straight and indicates with his head that there is something he wants me to see.

Agent Jeffrey Spender has just come in and is sitting not ten feet away from us.

He hasn't seen us. We're partially concealed by the partitions, and it's dark in our little corner. Spender sits with his back to us, and he's morosely drinking a beer. I've only ever seen the suited G-man Spender before, so I'm interested to see him here in his off duty apparel. He's wearing a black turtle neck sweater and blue jeans that are so faded that they appear to be almost white. His jacket is black leather, and he's wearing some kind of strapping around his arms and neck. I've never really noticed him before. He's a gray man, faceless in the day-to-day routines of work. The overwhelming thing I always notice when I look at him is his apparent dissatisfaction. What he has to be dissatisfied about appears to vary, but he's a bitter man. Looking at him now, I see that he's brooding and drinking fast. I don't want him to see us. I don't want trouble right now. Everything is too new to me. I want to sit here with Alex, my Alex, and just soak up the feel of him next to me.

"Do you want to play? I can show you how if you like!" Alex is speaking next to my ear in a husky voice more intimate than any whisper. I turn to him, noting his excitement. He believes he's offering me some kind of gift. His eyes are shining, and his grin is wide and infectious. He's twined around me, pressed close to my side, and his head rests on my shoulder.

⁄⁄What the hell happened to us? How did we both get so fucked up? He's so scared of love that he will give himself to everyone who comes along, while I fear it so much that I can't give myself to anyone. How will we ever live through this?⁄⁄

"Alex, leave him alone tonight. Nobody should hurt on a night like this. Let him go." I lower my head and kiss him again, knowing that it'll divert him from his prey. I have one arm around his shoulders, my fingers trailing up and down his right arm as I descend on him with my mouth. My other hand goes to cup his chin, turning it up to accept my mouth on his. When our lips meet, he loses himself in the warmth and slippery wetness of it. I drop my hand to seek out the heated pulse inside his jacket, stroking my thumb across his nipple as our tongues tease, and finally pushing it through under his arm to grip him around the waist, pulling him in as close as I can.

Of course, just as we are really getting into it, and he is uttering little gasps and grunts that tell how good he is feeling, Paul decides that he is going to serve us our meal. We don't immediately pull apart, but I feel Alex quiver under my hands, and then he's laughing, laughing into my mouth, and I have to release him.

Paul's got the cutlery laid out on the table, the plates set, and is waiting with his sardonic smile for us to be sufficiently composed to notice. Alex has lost it. I love the fact that he can get the giggles like this, but I don't want to get us noticed. I shush him, and we look at Paul.

"You won't be wanting dessert then?" Paul comments, and Alex starts laughing again. I thank him politely, hoping he will go away, but Alex keeps on laughing, hiccuping now as he lays his head down on his arms. Paul has his arms folded, and he is watching in evident amusement. "Come on, Alex, are you going to tell us who your new friend is?"

I'm obviously not to take part in this discussion, so I start on my food. Alex finally raises his head, and there are tears of laughter on his face.

"Fuck off and find your own, Paul. This one is mine, now and forever mine." Paul bridles in a show of mock indignation, and he clanks off, hardware jingling. Alex looks at me defiantly. "You are mine you know. Mine for the rest of time."

""Better eat something before we go then, sport, that sounds like a long ride." I ruffle his hair, and he nestles into my hand as I do so. He picks up his fork and is beginning to work on his turkey when a shadow falls over the table. I look up and see Spender standing over our table.

"Hi Jeff. Wanna join us?" Alex is unconcerned, munching away at assorted vegetables. Spender's face is a study in pain imperfectly hidden.

"Hello, Sasha. I just came to tell you, I know who you are now." He is leaning over Alex, my Alex. I raise my head, and he finally recognizes me. "Oh, God! You! Always you!" He spits this out at us. "Do you know just who it is you've got there? Do you know he's a criminal? Do you know what he'll do to you, if you let him? We should take him in. He's a wanted man." He looks so distressed it's impossible not to feel sorry for him, but he's not going to take Alex, not unless he kills me first.

"I told you who I was, Jeffy!" The scorn in Alex's voice makes me blink. "Did you think I would lie about something so unimportant? Sit down and have a beer. I'll talk to you after I eat." To my amazement, Spender sits, and Alex continues to work his way through his food. He is sitting opposite us, his head down. He punches the palm of his hand repeatedly, and the frustration in his face hits me like a physical blow. Alex studies him as he sits, and then turns to me. The look in his green eyes makes me shiver. He grabs my face and kisses me hard, his teeth bruising my lips, and his tongue lashing. My cock leaps to attention, and suddenly I don't want to eat any more. He's showing me off, as if I was a new jacket or something. I don't want him to do this, or do I?

⁄⁄Damn right I do, Jeffy! You've got my X-Files, but I've got your man!⁄⁄

I look at Spender, and he looks back at me. Nobody says anything at all until Alex finishes his meal, laying the fork down. He picks up his glass and drains it. His eyes are glassy hard surveying Spender, and I remember the feeling when he looked at me like that, in another lifetime. I pity the sad, bitter man sitting opposite me, but I'm not going to share with him. There's nothing I wouldn't do at this moment to keep what I now realize I've found.

"Jeffy! You can arrest me, but if you do, you're never ever gonna get your sweet cheeks spanked again." He's grinning like some demented Robin Hood figure, and I'm astounded because Spender's face changes. There's hope in it. He's yearning at my man. I put my hand on the back of Alex's neck and stroke with my thumb, just to remind him that I am still here with him. He arches into my caress like a cat and gives me a sweet, 'who, me?' look, before turning his attention onto Spender again. "So, big, bad Agent Spender, what's it to be? Instant gratification, or the long term view?"

Spender hangs his head and mumbles something that makes Alex smile. He slides out of the seat and grabs Spender roughly by the hair. Jerking his head up, the two are eye to eye for a minute, Spender's face ashamed and needy, Alex's wild-eyed and challenging. Then Alex pulls the other man's face up to his, coming down hard on his mouth with his own. It lasts only for a couple of seconds, before he drops Spender, jerking his head away from him contemptuously, yanking at the other man's curly hair as he does so. Then he holds out his hand to me.

I follow him out, and he tosses money on the counter, waves to Paul, who shrieks across the room to us that we should have a good dessert. He doesn't glance back, but I do. Spender is sitting, his face like one of the damned, and there is the merest trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. Alex takes my hand, and together, we strut out, love binding our hands together as tightly as if it were rope.

Without any particular haste, we stroll handfasted down to the parking lot where his car is waiting. He unlocks the passenger door, and then pushes me up against the car, leaning his body against mine, pressing his groin into me so I can feel how hard he is. He cups my ass with his hand, pulling me closer, and his lips go to my neck where he sucks and nibbles along from my jaw to my ear. The tingling of his moist kisses plays counterpoint to the thrusting pressure on my dick. I want him so much now. I know he's won.

After a minute, I pull away from his warmth and stand, panting.

⁄⁄Feel like a fucking stag at bay!⁄⁄

He catches my hand and brings it up to his lips, running his tongue lightly over my fingertips, and then pulling it down to his crotch, where he presses it against the hardness of his cock.

"You did this, Fox. I've been like this all day. God, Fox, I love you so much."

I can't see. My eyes are full of tears. I grope for him blindly, pulling him in and pressing myself up and down him from lips to knees. I hold him so tightly I think I've hurt him. He coughs a little, but when I relinquish my hold a little, he protests. Mouth on mouth we remain, each trying to join the other inside his skin.

"Are you coming home with me tonight?" I ask him, knowing that if his answer is no I will tear him shrieking, limb from limb.

"Try and stop me." He husks, and his eyes are huge.

We climb into his car and head home.

Stepping out of his car outside my apartment, I can feel a liquid surging in my belly, and my legs feel heavy. When I cast a sidelong look at him and see that he's watching me, a stampede of many legged creatures begins somewhere just north of my cock, and I'm trembling, knowing that tonight he and I will be making love. Already I can feel his hands on me, and the weight of his glance is sending shivers down me, filling my spine with warm, sweet molasses, making it hard to breathe comfortably. He moves to my side, and together we head for the elevator and the privacy we need so much now.

The door opens at last, and we fall through it, turning to each other as I kick it shut. He's golden in the lamplight, the sheen of black silk contrasting sharply with the gold of his skin. I bear down on him, pressing him against the door as I unbutton his shirt, listening to his harsh breathing. His eyes are closed, his face turned up and his neck arched back like a flower greeting the sun. I know it's my mouth that he's greeting, and I lower it to him, my tongue running through to meet his as we search out the blind sensations inside each other. His tongue swirls around mine stirring up the electricity that surges and tingles from mouth to groin, and his lips slide over me easy and slow like silk on silk. I feel those creatures inside me again, dancing their demented fandango. His shirt buttons are finally opened, and I push shirt and jacket down off his shoulders. My hands find his nipples, and I roll them in my fingertips before my lips travel down from mouth to neck, from neck to chest, nibbling, licking and nipping at his skin. I taste the slightly salty tang of his arousal, and my mouth closes on a nipple, suckling and kissing it while he leans back against the door, eyes closed, moaning slightly. My fingers go to the fastenings of his prosthesis, and it drops unheeded to the ground. He is mine, and I can do with him, as I like.

I nip hard, and hear him yelp, then chuckle. I start work on the buckle of his belt, sliding my hands down the length of his thighs, smoothing the fabric of his pants as they fall to lie around his ankles. He's naked now, and I drop to my knees, amazed at the beauty of him all over again. His penis is standing straight and tall, tiny droplets on the tip. I open my lips and touch it with my tongue, nodding with satisfaction when he gives a breathy little cry. I lick, tasting his moisture and adding my own, then I take hold of it, squeeze it briefly and feed it into my mouth. I'm not sure how to do this, but he seems to feel something. I suck and feel it pulse, jump, and his hand twines into my hair.

"Fox, oh my God, Fox!"

I suck, my fingers stroking around his heavy sac, squeezing his ass, pulling him into my mouth. His legs part as much as they can, and he lies back against the door, sobbing for breath, while his cock jerks again. He's trying to pull my head away, but I swallow, swallow again as the drool runs from the corner of my mouth, and he gives a forlorn little cry and comes into my mouth, back arched, hand clutching my hair and hips bucking wildly.

As his penis slowly deflates, I tease at it with my tongue, licking it clean, and finally, reluctantly, allow it to fall from my mouth. Alex falls to his knees in front of me and captures my mouth. He kisses me hard, tongue thrusting and swirling, then moves to kiss my eyes, licking the line of my jaw, and half sobbing, drops his head to suckle my neck. There we stay for several minutes, holding each other, content to be in each other's arms.

Finally, Alex pulls himself up and wordlessly extends his hand to me. Stepping out of his pants, he leads me to my bed, where he prompts me to take off my clothes, pulling nervously at my jacket, and taking each garment to fold as I remove it. Naked and quivering, I wait for him. He stands back, staring at my body, his face flushed and his eyes dark pools with no iris showing. Slowly he runs his hand over my belly, down to touch my cock. I gasp. This time it's going to happen. He's going to make me come. He's going to make love to this body of mine, and I'm going to let him. My knees grow weak at the thought, and I sit down very suddenly on the bed.

Joining me, he catches my face in his hand and pulls me back against him, turning my face up to him. Once again our mouths collide, and his hand wanders down over my chest, tickling and tweaking as it goes. As his hand strays to my groin and finds my erection, he moans.

"Fox, let me love you. I want to so much."

My answer to him is to put my hand over his, closing it around my prick. A jolt of lightning zaps through it, and I whimper. He strokes me hard, smooth hand on hot flesh, driving the sensations from his hand, along my cock, to cluster in the sac behind, where they pool in a sweet, sticky, flickering ecstasy, summer wildfire, waiting for tinder.

I'm close, so close, and he is nipping, licking, gently biting my skin, hand sliding on me relentlessly. I can feel the surge as my orgasm gathers, when he lets go. My head rolls from side to side, and I moan.

"It's OK, Fox. I'm going to make you feel so good, just wait a minute." He moves down the bed, and as he takes his tongue to the end of my penis, licking around the ridged head, I cry out. His hand presses my legs apart, and his finger presses around the tightness of my anus, circling, dipping, circling, and then pressing home. His finger pushes into me, and I'm frowning, when all of a sudden I feel something new. Oh God. Whatever it is, he finds it again, and as I yell his name, his mouth engulfs me. That finger probes, rubbing and flicking against whatever it is that he's touching. The wildfire ignites, and I'm burning in the sweet, hot tingling pleasure that runs through me, filling my bones with liquid honey, and spurting from me as I come, screaming.

He drinks from me. I lie, too exhausted to move, gazing at him in wonder. He squirms up to lie along side of me, and I open one eye, looking at him with as much of a smile as I can manage given my total loss of all voluntary movement. He is grinning like a fool and turns out the light before he cuddles up to me. Finally I find my voice.

"Thank you. Thank you, love." His gentle kiss floats on my lips like water lilies on a pool.

"Thank you for letting me in, Fox. Thank you."

We sleep.

5: On The Rocks

Three a.m. is the time I've always found it hardest to be alone.Three a.m. is a cold, dirty time of night. It's the time before dawn when one's body suddenly acquires a sheen of grime over it. People die at that time. By the time the sun rises, the soul has left to begin its journey, and only the husk is left to greet the day. I used to sit huddled at three a.m. pondering the possibility of dying then, never to be missed. There are only repeats of old shows and infomercials on TV at that time of night so musings of this nature fill the time. I always felt a flood of relief when the sun finally rose, and I knew there would be another day in which to make contact with people. Somehow it always felt as if I'd gotten another chance at life.
 

I'm so used to brooding at this time of night. Old habits die hard of course, which is why I'm still brooding now, even though I'm not alone any more.

I'm no longer alone. That in itself is a miracle. I still haven't gotten used to sharing my life with someone who loves me. He's lying next to me, sleeping sweetly. As usual, he has to touch me, and if I were to move, to get up out of the bed, he would first grope to find me, and if he couldn't, he'd wake. His hand lies across my chest, and his face is snuggled alongside my arm. He's so warm. The heat he generates glows along my side, and if I stretch out my neck just an inch or so, I can brush my lips over his hair. I've never in my life felt so peaceful. The very thought of him makes me feel good. I feel as if I've somehow been redeemed.

I turn carefully into his warmth and put my arms around him. He stirs, coming awake with a suddenness that speaks of long years on the run. I soothe him, stroking the long back muscles, and then kiss his lips tenderly.

"What's the matter?" His voice sounds like fur, softly whispering fur that brushes against my ears. I kiss him again, feeling the softness of his lips against mine.

"Nothing's the matter. I just love you. I was watching you sleep, and I wanted to hold you." He moans softly, and his arm moves around me to hold me close. His mouth comes down over mine with sweet, sucking greed as he rolls to pin me down. I feel so good, so loved, that I want to cry. I don't cry; I kiss him back, upping the ante by running my hand down to grab his ass, pulling him in tight to me, feeling his growing erection firm against my thigh. He rubs up against me like a great, languid cat, and I arch into him, knowing that he'll want to make love to me and wanting more than anything to have him invade my body.

"Alex, I love you." The words are torn out of me by need. I feel the response in his convulsive clutch. He raises his head from my mouth, and I hear the words he says as if I'm swimming underwater.

"Fox, my beautiful Fox, I've wanted you since I first saw you." His lips come down on mine once again, and my belly flips as his tongue searches out the secrets of my mouth. He finally allows me to breathe, moving from my lips down over my jaw and into my neck. He carefully presses kisses with hot, wet centers along the route he takes, and I am content to stroke his hair, pet his neck and whisper small endearments to him as he traces his lines of lust along my body.

We've only been together for a few days, and this still feels so strange. I don't understand how I could hate this man so passionately one day, and the next day find myself so deeply in love with him. I think of the things I've done to him in the past, and I wonder if I'll ever be able to make things right again. He lost his arm because of me. If it hadn't been for me he would still be perfect. Oh, my Alex! Sometimes I wonder how it is that you love me when I deserve for you to kill me.

He is kissing his way down my side towards my penis now, and I want him so badly I can't stand it. I feel under the pillow for the lube and unscrew the cap, slicking my fingers and reaching down to find him. As his mouth envelopes my cock, suckling and licking with long strokes of his tongue, I feel between the cheeks of his ass for the small, tight opening that I know is there. I urge him to move towards me, and my busy fingers find his soft spot, working at it until first one of my fingers, then two are able to enter his rectum, probing to find that magic spot, his prostate. As my fingers work on him, his mouth is working on me, pulling me towards the dizziness of sensation I crave.

"Alex, I need you inside me, please, baby, please." He looks up at me, his mouth still firmly clasped around my dick, and I gesture to him. Reluctantly he removes his mouth from me and squirms up to kiss my lips once more. I take hold of his cock and stroke on the lube, pulling my legs upward to allow him free entry. I'm more than ready. He slips in easily with only the bare minimum of resistance. Then, he presses his hips up towards me until he's as deeply buried as is possible, and leaning forward, he fixes his mouth to mine again as we begin to rock.

I take hold of my penis and stroke it in time with his thrusts, wanting him to watch me. Gazing up at him with lust-drugged eyes, I see a fierceness of expression that only shows when, like now, he's fucking me. He looks so arrogant right now that it sends me over the edge, and watching me, he shouts out with joy.

"Yes, Fox, yes! Come on, that's good! God, I could fuck you to death!" I'm gasping and panting as I shoot sticky white sperm all over myself, smearing it with my hand and holding it up for him like a sacrifice. He dips his head and licks it from my fingers, making me groan again as I fill with adoration for him. Another moment and his rhythm alters, he plunges desperately now, pounding me as he arrives at his own climax. His eyes never leave me, and I see his face crease with ecstasy as the spasms wash over him.

At the end of it, he collapses to lie drained across me and I place kisses onto him wherever I can, while he remains panting in my arms. Later, we drift back to sleep, still entwined, limbs tangled and arms about each other. I've never been so happy. Tomorrow I have to return to work. I'll have to leave him behind, a secret not to be shared, at least not for now.

I wonder how I can possibly keep him a secret. My joy must shine out of my face all the time. I know I see it in his. How will Scully react to the knowledge that I have a lover? How will she take the news that my lover is Alex Krycek? She knows that Cardinale killed her sister, but she also knows that Alex was there when it happened. What will Skinner do when he discovers that Alex is back, and that I've dropped my senseless persecution of him in favor of taking him into my bed?

Spender! Oh, God, Spender! He knows about Alex and me. He's even seen us together. What will he do with that news? My dreams are uneasy as I ponder my choices. When the alarm finally heralds morning, I'm confused, miserable, and halfway to convincing myself that I'll lose Alex.

He's first to rouse himself, leaving the warmth of my side to head for the bathroom, and then to make coffee. My Alex is an addict. I pull the clothes over my head, not wanting to stir, though to tell the truth, it isn't half as inviting now that he's no longer lying beside me.

As I'm trying my best to fall back to sleep, he comes back into the bedroom, delving under the duvet to suck my toes. I defy anyone to stay relaxed when Alex Krycek is sucking on his big toe. I give a high pitched scream that makes him fall about laughing and scoot up the bed, trying to get my feet away from his invading mouth.
 

He won't let up. Laughing though he is, he's remorseless in his quest to see me awake and out of bed. Finally, I quit trying to fight him, and instead I squirm to bring my body round so that I'm leaning up against him. Briefly he allows me to sidetrack him into a kiss, but then he smacks my behind quite sharply and pulls away.

"Come on, Fox. You have to get your ass in gear. If you're late and they find out that I'm responsible for your delinquency, I'll be shot at dawn. You need to come get ready for work." His velvety voice is soothing, even though I don't like him telling me I have to wake up and go to work. I plant a kiss on his shoulder and dive into the shower.

I'm beginning to believe that he's wiser than I am in many ways. He does'nt come to join me in my shower. I'm disappointed, but on the upside, he has made me coffee and offers me toast as I enter the kitchen. I love to watch him in the kitchen.

He pads around putting food together deftly, and I watch the muscles sliding under his skin as he moves. He's naked and radiates an aura of quiet competence. I'd trust this man to kill someone for me, and I'll drink his coffee without reaching for the Maalox. I can't think of any greater compliment to offer him.

Eventually I am dressed, breakfasted, and kissed out the door. He's still naked, and it's never been harder for me to go to work than it is right now.

Coming back to work after a break is always a difficult adjustment. I haven't been in since Christmas Eve, and now it's the New Year. When I reflect back on the things that have happened to me since Christmas Eve, I'm astonished that I don't somehow look different. My whole life has changed in the space of little over a week, and somehow it doesn't show on my face.

Entering the office I'm now sharing with a whole bunch of other agents, I look around for Scully and can see that she's here by the fact that her glasses case lies on the desk. She's nowhere to be seen. There's a note on my desk to go see Kersh immediately, so of course I go first to get coffee.

When I return to the desk some time later, Scully is waiting for me.

"How was your Christmas, Mulder? I called you but you weren't there. I hope you had a good time." She's looking at me narrowly, and I listen to see if there's any concealed meaning there, but she's just asking to be civil. I wonder how much to tell her. I need to tell her sooner, rather than later, or she'll never forgive me.

"Scully, I had a wonderful time. How was yours? Did you have a headache on Christmas Day? I know I did! You dance really well by the way!" I'm hoping to divert her but soon see that this won't happen readily. She shoots me 'Icy Stare Mark IV', the one that's guaranteed to quell opposition without stripping any flesh from the bones. I smile at her, unrepentant. I'm going to drop more of a bombshell than that; just give me time.

"Scully, I met someone." I know I've got a foolish grin on my face, but I have to tell her. I have to tell her some of it at any rate.

"Mulder, you mean...That's wonderful, who is she?" She's smiling, and I know that she really is happy for me. I'm touched. She's been a really good friend to me through these past few difficult years. I want to let her know that I'm finally on my way to becoming happy. I don't know how she's going to react when I disclose who my choice of partner is. Hell! I'm remembering how I felt just a little over a week ago.

Something in my expression must have given me away because she loses her smile.

"What, Mulder? What is it?" she looks perplexed, and I can't say I blame her. I'm still pretty confused myself. "Well, you see, Scully, it isn't a she, it's a he... " Her eyes open wide and round, just like saucers. She opens her mouth to say something, but just then the phone rings, and Kersh makes any further discussion impossible as he demands our immediate presence in his office.

>

Finally we escape from Kersh's interminable meeting. Reports have been delivered, discussed and dissected. It's time for lunch, and I know that Scully is going to be on my case just as soon as we leave the office. She's practically running to keep up with me. As I look at her, my lips twitch, and I decide to take pity on her.

"OK, Scully, lunch is on me. Where d'you want to go?"

We settle on a sandwich bar a couple of blocks away from the office, and I take her arm as we stroll across. We grab our soup and sandwiches, and find a booth where we can talk. Then we sit and look at each other. She opens her mouth a couple of times, and then closes it again.

"Are you having trouble, Scully? You seem to have lost your voice." I know. I'm teasing her, but it does unleash the floodgates, and off she goes.

"Mulder, you never told me you were gay." She appears to be a little hurt, and I don't blame her.

"Scully, it's not that simple. I'm not. At least, I wasn't, or... I don't know how it happened." Visions of Alex invading my apartment that night, dirty-sweet, smelling of lust and blood, flash through my mind, and my cock leaps. "I never had this kind of thing happen to me before. I don't quite know where it's going yet, but I know that I want it."

Scully is thinking hard. I recognize the signs. I'm starting to get worried, but then she leans forward and puts her small hand over mine. I breathe a sigh of relief. She's still talking to me. I'm trying to find ways of breaking the news to her of exactly who my significant other

⁄⁄lover! Sweet, sweet lover!⁄⁄

is. There must be a way that won't make her take out her gun and shoot me. At that moment my cell phone rings.

"Mulder."

It's Alex. My belly flip-flops, and I get a dumb smile on my manly features. I can tell I look goofy because Scully rolls her eyes heavenward and returns to her soup while I babble to my lover.

"Hello, love. What's up? Did you just call to hear my voice or is there a problem?"

"Fox, I'm really sorry, something has come up, and I have to go out of town. I'm heading out right now, and I'm going to try and turn it around to be back late tonight." My stomach lurches. I'm uneasy. Where is he going? I don't like this. "I won't be here when you get home, but I'll be thinking of you. I'll be there as soon as I can. I love you." His voice rasps over my ears, sliding down my nerve network to caress between my legs. I want to go and grab him. I want to make him stay home, but that's unfair. He wouldn't do it to me. I suddenly realize how little I still know about my man.

"Ok, love. I'll see you when you get back. Wake me if I'm sleeping, OK?" Scully's trying not to look as if she's listening, and I'm sure I'm blushing because Alex is telling me in graphic detail exactly how he plans to wake me. This of course has just ensured that I won't be able to get a wink of sleep 'til he's home! I try to keep my breathing under control, but she's still listening, and the look on her face tells me I'm going to be tormented.

"I love you. See you later." I put my phone away, feeling slightly foolish. Scully's watching me with a small smile on her face. I'm sure she's thinking I've slipped a cog or two, and she's right.

"Mulder, tell me! Tell me all about it or I'm going to run screaming from this restaurant. What happened? Who is he? How did you manage to do all this without me knowing?" She leans forward, female that she is, eagerly listening for gossip.

"Well, I've known him for a long time. To tell you the truth I didn't like him. Actually, I kinda hated him." I can feel my face turning red. She knows! She must know! Her face is calm and interested. She hasn't drawn her gun yet, so I continue. "We haven't seen too much of each other lately, and I was pretty surprised when he turned up at my door on Christmas Eve."

"Mulder, you were at the party on Christmas Eve." She's still sounding confused. "Just what is it that you're not telling me?"

I gulp. "It's..er... You know him." I can hear blood rushing in my ears. She's completely flummoxed. I can see her furrowed brow as she tries to unravel the puzzle.

"Scully, I know this sounds stupid. Just take it from me that I really didn't intend to fall in love with anyone, let alone a man. I don't quite know how it happened, but I'm not sorry."

"Mulder, you say I know him? Who is he? What are you trying to keep hidden from me." She's leaning forward again, all honest concern and earnestness. This is the crunch. Tell it now or go home, Mulder.

"Alex, his name is Alex Krycek." The words fall into the suddenly still air like rocks into a pool. The shock lies leaden on the air and is followed by ripples of bewilderment. Her eyes widen and then cloud over. I am not sure how she feels.

"Alex Krycek? Oh my God, Mulder. What are you thinking of?" She sounds as if she's somewhere else. I touch her hand and wait. Visions of Alex, my Alex are dancing in my inner eye.

"Mulder, I don't know what to say. I thought you hated him. You do remember that he killed your father?" She's not angry. She's stunned. I wrack my brain for something to say to her so she'll be happy for me, but I can't think of anything right now.

"He didn't kill my father. My father killed himself. I'm convinced of that now. Scully, I don't think it matters about the past. What matters to me is the way I feel about him. It's the way we are together. That's the only thing right now. Scully, you have to come and see him with me. See us together. I can't explain what I'm feeling. I can only live it." My voice trails off, and she's actually nodding.

"Mulder, it's OK. It's your life. I won't make trouble for you. If you love the man, you love him. I only hope you won't be too badly hurt. He's betrayed you in the past, sold you out. I recall having to blow a hole in you to stop you from killing him. I won't do it again, Mulder. He's all yours." She's holding herself now, arms tightly wrapped around across the front of her in Defensive Posture 12b of the Psychology 101 Handbook. I put out my hand to touch her face gently, and she bursts into tears.

"Scully, you've been my best friend for years. Don't stop being that. I'm always going to need one." I'm tearing up too. So much for my butch and manly exterior! Oh, well! I suppose I can try for sensitive and new-age instead.

Later in the afternoon I find myself in the basement. Damn! I didn't want to come down here. Why can't I have a secretary to go hunting files for me? Still, I walk very softly past the door to the X-Files. I hate being here. I think I've made it past, but damn it, just as I reach the elevator, it opens and out steps my favorite Special Agent. Oh, fuck! Please not him, not today! Make him go away!

"Mulder. I was looking for you."

⁄⁄Shit! No such luck!⁄⁄

"Looking for me, Spender? What's the matter? Too much time on your hands?" Cheap shot, I know, but he does irritate me. He gestures and holds the door open for me to go into the X-Files. Being totally without will power today, I go in.

"What seems to be the problem, Spender? Do you need a little help with the X-Files?" I know I'm needling him, but somehow I can't help myself.

"Not the X-Files. You know what I want to talk to you about. Alex Krycek is the main thing. You do know you are consorting with a known felon? Are you aware what would happen to you and your job if this became known?" He's talking calmly, but his face gives it all away. He looks so bitter and unhappy that I wish for a moment I could help him. I can't. I wouldn't if I could. Alex is mine. Not his, mine!

I smile to hide my unease. I know very well what will happen. I'd never be able to protect Alex, and I need to.

"Are you asking out of concern for me or out of a desire to do a little consorting of your own? He's mine. You won't find him running to you. Give it up, Spender. You know, he's like a drug. Once you've taken him, you have to keep a regular supply going, or it's cold turkey. Is that your problem, Spender? Getting sweats and shivering in the night? I feel for you, but I can't help you." I'm trying to be kind. I know I'm not succeeding. He looks worse now. His face grim and closed.

"I'll talk to Alex next time I see him. That's all I can promise." He looks at me, with a cold, intense glare that shrinks my stomach and makes me fear for my Alex.

"If you know where he is, tell him I need to talk to him. That's all I'm asking, for now." He turns from me and opens a file. I am dismissed! Way to go, Spender! I love power games with assholes. I leave, without closing the door behind me. Petty, I know, but it makes me feel better.

It's about 8 when I get home. He's not here, and I knew that he wouldn't be. I consider watching the TV but can't quite work up the enthusiasm. I take myself off to bed. This is a new thing for me. I never used my bed until he came. Now, the pillow smells of him, and I want to lie here and imagine. I'm really tired, but 3 hours sleep a night will do that to you. It isn't surprising. The only thing that does surprise me is the fact that I fall asleep straight away.

I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming of warm lips around my penis, and the need to push, push myself into that heat. Cloudily I can hear sultry encouragement, sweet obscenities that make me crazy. I wake as I'm coming, crying out in the night as I spurt endlessly into that heat.

"Hello, baby. I told you I would." He's damp from the shower, and he crawls up to cover me in kisses. I groan and throw my arms around him. He gasps and winces a little, and I'm suddenly a little worried. I reach out, fumbling for the lamp. Clicking it on shows me the beauty of my lover and the bruises on his back, his ribs and his side.

"Jesus, Alex! What happened to you?" I lick at the scrape on his chest. He hisses his breath in, and then strokes my hair.

"Baby, I'm trying to persuade certain elements that they should leave us alone. I want us to be able to live together. I don't want anyone to start shooting at you, just because you're with me." I lay my head down on his shoulder. I won't let the topic drop, but it's not a good time right now. That reminds me, and I start to tell him about Spender. He closes his eyes for a minute, and then sits up.

"Fox, he seemed like such a good idea at the time. Now he's starting to become tiresome. Maybe we should both go and see him. What do you say?" I look at the clock. It's 2am. I shake my head.

"Do you mean right now?" He can't be serious!

"Yeah, let's get him over with. Come on!" He starts to climb out of bed and turns to pull me up. "I've got just the thing for you to wear. We'll have to be very careful here. I don't want to have to kill him, but I don't want him to screw up your life either." He pulls me to him and opens his mouth to kiss me, plastering his damp, warm self onto my body and making me shudder with lust. His tongue lazily curls into my mouth, drawing my cock upwards as though it were on a string. I don't know how I can feel this horny all the time. I cling to him. This is real. This is where I want to be. Fuck Spender!

Releasing me at last, he turns to the closet where his clothes are hanging. Opening the door, he fishes out a couple of hangers. Extending one to me, he gestures.

"Here. You are gonna look sensational in this, Fox." Dubiously I take it. The garments are leather. I turn to find my underwear.

"Nope, sorry, no can do, You can't wear anything under it. You'll see. Just put it on, Fox." His breath is a little ragged and he looks flushed. He's really turned on. I pull the pants off the hanger. Putting them on, I can see at a glance why there's no room for my boxers. The pants lace down the outside from hip to ankle. There's about 2 inches of my skin showing all the way down on each side. The top is sleeveless, made of glove leather, and it also laces up the sides. It's so tight, I feel as if I'm wearing a corset or something. There's black criss-cross lacing from mid-chest to my neck too, and a collar that stands high.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I can see a totally new Fox Mulder. I'm amazed. Alex is just about drooling. His penis is up and hard. He looks at me as if I'm a steak. Holding out a black studded collar, he says, "Wear this for me, just for tonight. It doesn't mean anything, but Spender will think it does." I shrug and put it on. He gasps and comes over, still naked, to press himself against me, running his hands over me. I grope down for his cock, wanting to help him feel good, but he slaps my hand away.

"No, Babe, not now. I need to stay hard for now. Wait 'til later. It will be so good!" He peels himself away from me and turns to put on his own clothes. He's in leather too, and a big, floaty silk shirt in an amazing green that makes him look like a forest elf. Over this go a black leather vest and an assortment of chains, clamps and rings. He looks so pretty. His ass is outlined in soft black leather, and I want to dig my fingers into it. That hard-on of his is showing clearly through the tightness of his pants. It's very difficult to keep my hands to myself. I busy myself looking for my black boots.

"Alex, I like this outfit, but I'm gonna freeze if I go out like this!" He sniggers and comes over to kiss me again.

"Oh, God, Fox. You look so hot! I wanna forget going out and take you back to bed, but we can't just yet. Come on. Let's find you a coat. Spender's gonna wet himself when he sees you." I trace a lingering lick down from the corner of his mouth to his neck where it disappears into the shirt. He gulps and pushes me away.

"Come on, Fox. Let's go do it!" Fast kiss, slap on my butt, and we're out of there. I'm getting into a whole new lifestyle here. Where will it end?

Driving to Spender's place, he keeps on touching me. He's stroking me through the leather, kneading and squeezing until I'm just about crying with need. When I ask him to stop, he just laughs and keeps going. In a way, I'm glad when we arrive. He has already learned the touches that make me crazy. I don't want to soil his pretty leathers. Not yet, anyway.

He picks the lock, and we enter the apartment building. He knows where to go, and soon, he's pounding on Spender's door. It's nearly 3 am. Either he's in bed, sleeping deeply, or he's out. If he's asleep, he's going to be really pissed off.

After a couple of minutes, just when I'm dragging at his arm to try and make him come away, the door opens. Spender is home. He was definitely sleeping, by the look of him. He's pulled on a pair of faded jeans to answer the door. His hair is in disarray, and his feet are bare. He blinks at us uncomprehendingly, and as he does so, Alex saunters in past him, snagging my hand as he goes, pulling me after him. He slips off my coat and tosses it onto the couch, as Spender stands, uncertain.

"What are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?" Spender's voice is scratchy, confused. Alex grabs hold of his hair, pulling him in to stand nose to nose with him. Spender blinks owlishly at him. Alex gives a predatory smile and then kisses him. I watch, feeling hotter than ever. I want to peel off my second skin and touch myself. I'm so into it, it doesn't even occur to me to feel jealous.

I watch Alex kiss Spender's mouth, and I can feel it as if he were doing it to me. Spender moans and goes limp against Alex. He's not as tall as either of us, and he's slender too. His chest has curly black hair on it, and he would be attractive if he would only smile. I don't want to make him happy if sharing Alex is what it will take.

He finally comes up for air, and Alex keeps his hand buried in Spender's hair. Spender looks up at him with an unmistakable look of adoration. When he finally turns to me, his face is back to its usual cold, bitter mask.

"How come you had to bring the slut-bride from Planet Fuck-Me with you? What's he doing here?" I don't think he likes me. I'm crushed!

"Hey Jeffy! He's a treat for you. Fox is beautiful. Look at his lips! Can't you imagine how they would feel if he wrapped them around your cock? Come on. C'mere!" Alex is slowly walking him over to me. His arm is around Spender, and he's got his hand buried in that hair of his. His eyes are bright and feverish, and he's looking at me with a smile I haven't seen before. He reaches me, and leans to glue his mouth to mine. He's still holding Spender, and the three of us crush awkwardly together. Alex darts his tongue into my mouth, and for a brief second I close my eyes and wish I were home and alone with him, then he pulls away.

"Look, Jeffy. Look at my pretty Fox. Can you imagine him lying under you looking like that? Kiss him, Jeffy! You know you want to." His hand in Spender's hair urges him forward, and Spender has a strange, sick gleam in his eye as he puts up his hands to lay them along the sides of my face. His lips are soft and warm, and he kisses me like a drowning man. He pulls me into him and presses himself on me. Alex is stroking my hair and whispering sweetness to me in his low, husky voice. I feel dizzy and wonder what will happen now.

Alex is untying the laces at the fly of my pants. He drops to his knees to suckle briefly on my engorged prick, and then hauls Spender down beside him.

"Look at this. Wouldn't you like it? Wouldn't you like to taste it?" He slides his hand along it, stroking around the drops of moisture trembling on the head of it, scooping them off and putting his fingers into Spender's mouth. Spender licks them avidly and gets another kiss from Alex. Then Spender leans forward to take my dick into his mouth. His mouth is very talented, and I'm on the final climb towards orgasm when Alex pulls him away from me. I can't help it. I cry out. He chuckles and caresses me again.

"Patience, Baby. You'll have such a good time if you just hold on for a minute or two." He rolls Spender to stand in front of him with his back to him. While he's talking to me, he's nipping and sucking Spender's neck, his back and his shoulders. Spender has his eyes closed, and he's breathing harshly. Alex's hand moves down to open Spender's jeans and tug out the hard erection that's lurking there. As he begins to stroke it, he leans to kiss me again, and then tells me to do... things to Spender. I drop my head and begin to lick and bite his nipples. He is groaning now, and I know how he feels. We are so close, so aroused, it's like torture.

Alex has Spender leaning back against him. His hand is busily, slowly jerking Spender's cock, and I'm biting the man's nipples, running my hands over him and playing with his ass cheeks as I think of variations. Spender's breath comes in great gasping sobs now, and he's whispering Alex's name again and again under his breath. Suddenly, Alex stops his stroking and pushes Spender away. He pulls up a chair and makes him sit in it. Then he takes the cuffs from his vest and secures Spender's arms around the chair back. The man is sitting there, close to orgasm, dick pointing at the sky, and he's handcuffed to a fucking chair.

Alex turns to me and grabs me into his embrace. His kisses and licks make me weak in the knees, and slowly we sink to the ground. Finally, Alex turns and takes my helplessly throbbing cock in his hand, squeezes it a couple of times, and then deep throats me. I scream, thrust, and come explosively, my entire body awash with sensation. He turns to Spender.

"You could be getting that, but you're threatening my Fox and that's not allowed." Spender looks haggard, and who's to blame him? I feel so sorry for him. I go to him and try to find the key to the cuffs, but wherever it is, Alex has it hidden.

"Alex, you can't leave him like this. He's suffering." Alex shakes his head at me.

"It's OK, Fox. He likes it." Spender is shaking his head from side to side, straining to find something to rub his penis on. Taking one final, slightly exasperated look at me, Alex reaches down and with a couple of quick jerks, brings about Spender's orgasm. He moans, and the white, sticky fluid runs all over Alex's hand, spattering onto the floor. Alex wipes his hand in Spender's hair and turns to leave.

"Are you going to leave him there?" I'm incredulous.

"You're too soft hearted, Fox. He was OK there." Nevertheless, Alex fishes for the key in his pocket, unlocks the cuffs and grabs that curly hair again. "OK, Jeffy, sleep well. You owe your present sense of well being to Fox, not to me. If you bother him again, I'll leave you in such a state that you'll wish you'd never been born."

To my amazement he nods, and his eyes are promising the world to Alex. My lover turns, takes my hand, and we leave.

Back in my apartment, there is little left of the night. Alex turns to me, puts his arm around my waist and nuzzles into my neck.

"God, Fox, you're so beautiful. I want to fuck you. Please, can I?" Nodding, I start to undress. He turns me away from him and lays me down. Crawling to sit alongside me, he begins stroking my back, my neck, the hollow where my buttocks begin to swell away from my back. He kisses the back of my knees, parting my thighs to find the tender flesh between them. I feel him tremble, and hand him the bottle of "Wet", knowing that he's going to have trouble with only one hand. His fingers, slick and clever, slide inside me as his mouth continues its teasing exploration. He bites my ass cheeks, and his fingers move home to stroke my prostate gland, making me buck into the bedclothes.

Finally, he climbs astride me and tugs my hips upward as he seeks to enter me. The initial thrust is sharp, and I gasp as he works his cock past the ring of tight muscle, but as he starts his rocking, lazy thrusts, I feel the tightness begin to build, a tingling, tickling rush from my navel through to my cock. I can't believe I'm getting there again. I'm not 17 any more!

He moves faster, and I reach down to knead my own dick, knowing that he can't help me from this position. As I finally reach oblivion, muscles clenched in ecstasy, and voice yelling God knows what, he comes with a scream. Slick wetness gushing into me lets me know he is mine and wants me. I collapse onto my belly, and he collapses with me, lying on my back, hand stroking gently as I crash out.

When the alarm wakes me for work a couple of hours later, He is still lying over me, looking very childlike and innocent. I'm still wearing his collar. Now what are we going to do?

6: One for the Road

⁄⁄How could I have done that? How could I have let him make me do that?⁄⁄

⁄⁄I'm so ashamed!⁄⁄

I shove Alex off my back, wriggling out from under him to turn on the lamp beside the bed. He rolls bonelessly to lie on his back, his arm flung out so it hangs over the edge of the mattress. Looking at him, he appears incredibly innocent in his sleep. His long, curling lashes feather on his cheeks, his carefully bowed lips are parted. He is snoring slightly. My heart jumps painfully as I take in the beauty of him.

He has terrible bruises all over his body. Yesterday he went "out of town" and came back late in the night. He was bruised and bloody and hasn't told me why, preferring to brush it off rather than share with me. Then he took me to Spender's, and I became some kind of whore. I don't know how or why. I can't even think about it now. It wasn't me. It couldn't have been me. How did he make me do it? I don't know how I can stay with him any more. I want to wake him. I want to shake him until his teeth rattle in his head. I want to sink my fist into his stomach, hitting him and hitting him until he vomits.

⁄⁄How could he do that to me?⁄⁄

I don't wake him. There's no time. I have to be at work for a meeting in an hour, and as it is, I'll be late, but a sick feeling struggles its way from the pit of my stomach as I think about the things I did last night. I must have been mad.

What is it that he does to me that makes me so crazy that I'll behave like the cheapest slut? I love him, but I can't keep him. I have to talk to him, but I can't do it now. I put my hand to his face, caressing the slack jaw and feeling the stubble of his growing beard. He nestles blindly into my hand, and once again I feel my heart thump. Impulsively I bend and brush his lips with mine, feeling the softness of his mouth against me.

He mumbles "Fox" and turns towards where I usually lie, feeling for me. Failing to find me, he gropes until his hand finds my pillow and then pulls it into an embrace, burying his face into it, and moaning faintly. I want to climb back into bed and hold him close. I want to fuck the life out of him. A tear falls from me to splash on his shoulder, sparkling in the low light.

I put on my clothes and go off to work, leaving him asleep.

Scully greets me with coffee, and we head into Kersh's office. The meeting is long and boring. I have plenty of time to think over the things I did last night. Scully is watching me strangely. She knows that there's something amiss. I don't want to talk to her. I don't want to talk to anyone except Alex.

We're dismissed to go about our routine tasks. Why, oh, why are they making me go down to the basement to root through old files on today of all days. Do they know?

⁄⁄My God! Supposing Spender has told them about last night.⁄⁄

I sit at my desk, idly tossing pencils at the ceiling as I gather up my nerve to sneak down to the basement, running the gauntlet past the office that houses the X-Files. Finally, Scully snaps at me, and I rise reluctantly and go to the stairs.

Today descending into the basement of the Hoover Building feels like descending into hell. I want to be anywhere but here. Brave Sir Fox moves swiftly past the closed door behind which lies the dragon, AKA Special Agent Jeffrey Spender. I don't have my coconuts with me, and there are no minstrels singing my praise, but the situation feels so surreal that I expect them to show up at any moment.

With breath bated, I steal along the corridor, finally making it through into the file stacks without waking the dragon that lies sleeping behind the door marked X. I feel lightheaded and crouch down for a minute, my head in my hands. I want to cry. Oh, God! Alex, what have you done to me?

My cell phone rings, and I grab it quickly to stop the tone from attracting anyone else's attention. I am behaving strangely, I know, but I can't face Spender right now.

It's Alex on the line, wanting to know how I am. I cut him short, telling him that I'll be home early tonight and that we have to talk. He suddenly seems to realize that I'm unhappy because he asks me what's the matter. I can't play games with him, and what I have to say to him can only be said in person. I end the call and put my phone away, turning it off before I do so. I can't be talking aloud down here. Spender might hear and know it's me.

Lunchtime comes and goes. I complete my work and prepare to make the pilgrimage to the surface once more. I am laden with files and know that I will drop them right outside that office of the X-Files. It's just that type of a day! There is a dreadful sense of certainty that accompanies me on my expedition. I suppress the urge to run as I pass the ominous door, and as I finally round the corner and get to the stairs, I actually do break into a brisk trot.

Returning to my desk, I can see with great relief that Scully has gone out. Her coat and purse aren't visible. I exhale gustily. Maybe I'll make it through the day after all.

Five p.m. comes around, and I have absolutely no desire to hang about today. I grab my coat, leave behind all my record checks, my reports and my throwing pencils and head out of the building as fast as I can manage without appearing unseemly. As I'm passing through the security point, I see Spender coming towards me from the basement. He hasn't seen me yet, and I cut short my usual banter with the guard scurrying to the elevator and the security of my car.

I arrive home earlier than I have done in months. As I open the door to go into my apartment, I can feel my gut clenching, and waves of nausea threaten to overtake me. Whatever is going to happen now, I know we're both going to hurt forever.

When I get into the living room, I discover that he's cleaned and tidied. It's spotless and smells deliciously of wax polish and lemon. There is something cooking that sends tendrils of fragrance out to tickle my nostrils. Having totally missed out on lunch today, my stomach instantly starts to rumble, and I salivate like a fool. I look for Alex, but he's nowhere to be seen. Sinking onto the couch, I bury my head in my hands.

Five minutes after I arrive, he comes flying in through the door awkwardly carrying a couple of grocery bags. He sees me and stands, uncertain.

"Fox! Oh, I'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to be out when you came home, but we ran out of milk, and I needed it to make....." He runs down like a clockwork toy and just stands there, looking at me. His face, which had been smiling in greeting, slowly loses its smile, and he clutches his groceries to him like a security blanket. Very slowly, he takes them into the kitchen, dumps them and comes back to stand in front of me like a little child awaiting censure from the school principal.

I look at him bleakly, and he drops to his knees in front of me, shuffles forward between my knees and throws his arm around my neck. He buries his face into my shoulder, pressing himself hard against me. There we sit. I want to hold him, but I can't. I want to pull him to me and kiss the breath out of him, but if I do, everything will carry on the same, and it mustn't. I have to end it.

I have to cut this heat out of me before it grows to take me over. I'm not a cruel man, but I can feel the need to hurt him growing inside me. I sit, arms limp by my sides, and let this man that I love suffer against me, because I can't respond. Tears begin to fall from my eyes, and I blink and blink, but there are too many to blink away. Gradually my eyes spill over, and the tears fall onto Alex's neck. Finally he looks up and sees me crying.

"Fox, oh, Fox!" He licks at my tears, swiping them from my face, and then kisses me tenderly. I can feel in that moment what it will cost us both to part, and I'm truly sorry. "Why, Fox? What happened to us between yesterday and today? I love you so much." His voice is harsh with his own unshed tears. I can see them welling a little, but Alex Krycek never cries.

"I told you before that it wasn't going to work. We'd have done better never to start this. It hurts too much to go on." I must sound bitter. All I can feel is sorry for myself.

I sit, turning my face away from him, turning the knife in him. There are tears rolling down my face now, and I can't talk any more for the gasping sobs that are welling up from somewhere within. He holds me closer, pulling my head around until his lips can fix onto mine and slide to their appointed position. Our mouths fit together. They know we belong with one another. Docking procedure complete! He pushes his tongue forward to tease me, licking the inside of my lips and then moving in to taste my tongue. His hand is on the back of my neck, and his body is pressed hard on mine. He tries so hard to have me kiss him back that I start to struggle free. I can't do this! Don't make me. I'm so brittle I will break.

As I start to fight, he lets me go, pulling away to study my tears without comprehending. His hand comes up to my cheek where he gently thumbs away the moisture. Then, voice thick with emotion, he asks:

"Why?"

"Alex. Where were you yesterday?" I'm trying to sound calm and rational, but it's a sham. I'm adrift on a racing river of guilt and misery. It will drown me and Alex both. "Why did you make me do those things at Spender's place? Oh, God! I'm so afraid of what I'm turning into."

"Fox!" His voice is soft, he's practically whispering. "Fox, baby, I didn't make you do a damned thing. You could have stopped it at any time. I admit I took you there, but you enjoyed it. I know you did, and one day, when you admit that to yourself, you will be free. As for where I went yesterday, I went to pay a debt. I wanted to make sure you wouldn't suffer because of me. Fox, please don't do this to me…to us. I warn you now, that I can't live without you. I've done all the loneliness I can handle. If you don't want me, I won't go on alone."

He's sitting back on his heels, still so close that I can feel his breath on my cheek as I sit, eyes closed, face averted. I can't look at him. He leans in and gently lays his cheek against mine. His short hair tickles my nose, and I'm fighting the urge to turn and lick his mouth. I know he means what he says. Life has never been kind to him, and he owes it nothing. I picture him putting a gun to his mouth, and I can't take it any more. I need him too much. I could live without him, knowing he was still out there, my one truth. Were he to die, my truth would die with him and all my tomorrows too.

⁄⁄God, what a pair of losers we are!⁄⁄

Slowly, so slowly I feel seasons changing, my arms float up of their own accord and slip around his shoulders to pull him in to my embrace. He whispers "I love you," into my ear, and I have no defenses against that. One hand goes up to wind through his hair, and the other strokes down over the strong back muscles to cup his ass, pulling him sharply against me.

I feel him tremble against me as I tighten my grip, and then he sighs, melts into me, and turning his head, kisses me again, hard, hot, greedy with passion. Once again his tongue probes for mine, and this time mine rises to meet it. Our tongues tangle and twine, and he leans forward to press against me, bearing me back against the couch where he pins me down, writhing between my legs, the friction sending delicious little bolts of lightning through my groin. I hold his head against me, locking that kiss in place while I thrust my hips, trying for more pressure, more friction, going from abject misery to the most incredible feelings of lust all in the space of five short minutes.

I'm such a weakling. I can't push him away and leave. My own body is betraying me even now. I can't imagine my life without him, so I guess that I'm lost.

He rolls to sit beside me on the couch, and his arm goes around me as I sit in a daze. He pulls me to sit across his legs and pillows my head in the angle of his arm while his lips graze my hair; I'm sitting in his lap now, and he's cradling me, soothing and stroking me. He murmurs sweet words of love and encouragement to me while I sit, and for a while I forget that this man is a killer for hire.

"Fox, baby, you came with me last night, and I thank you for that. You were so beautiful, so hot I was just about creaming my jeans all the time. Spender won't be a problem. He wants you as much as I do. I'll bet that he'd give you anything you asked him for, just for a kiss and a spanking. What we did to Spender last night was fun, just fun. He liked it, I promise you he did. I can't believe how gorgeous you were. I'd give you anything myself after that!"

He lowers his head and grazes my mouth with his lips, tightening his arm around me and moving to lick my tears away.

"I don't understand why I did that, Alex. Why would I want to?" Alex laughs a little.

"Why not? If you can, why wouldn't you? I mean it! You could have anything! Don't you like to feel powerful?" His tongue licks at the corner of my mouth and then wanders down to lap at my throat. "I'll give you anything you want."

"Well, that's tough, I want a grey alien, and…dinner would be good. I skipped lunch and I'm starving!" I essay a watery smile, and he squirms to stand up, taking me by the hand to lead me into the kitchen in an allegory that reflects the way our relationship is going.

"Come on, baby, if food is all you want, that's easy, I've been cooking…."

After dinner, I'm changed, and we're sprawled out on the couch together, drinking Dos Equis and watching "Spinal Tap". He's seen it. I haven't. Alex constantly guffaws and tells me about scenes that are about to come up, that he insists are really funny. He continues on describing them to me even though I ask him to stop. I ask. I beg. Finally, I grab a cushion with which to smother the irritating bastard and dive on him, tickling and yelling.

He fights dirty, does my Alex. Despite my two arms, I suddenly find myself losing the battle, and in short order he topples me from the couch, landing on top of me as the breath is knocked from my body. His hand is on my throat, and he throttles me. I feel the blood rushing in my ears as I start to lose consciousness. Laughing, he releases his hold on me and lays his hand alongside my cheek. His mouth comes down, and his lips open on mine, forcing them apart to admit his tongue again. As he kisses me, sucking my tongue into his mouth and using his own to tease, it suddenly dawns on me that Alex beat me easily, and with only one arm. Maybe he's not the slightly flawed, weak man I've always thought him. He just might have been allowing me to abuse him for the last several years. This suspicion sends a thrill like cold water down my spine.

"Alex, have you been letting me beat you up for the last couple of years? Why? Why did you let me?" He gives me his sunniest smile and shows no sign of wanting to move from his position on my chest. He grinds his pelvis into mine, and I respond with instant hardness, thrilling again to feel him.

"I betrayed you. I hurt you, and I felt that I had to pay for it. I wanted you to hurt me, to kill me. Do you remember when I told you to finish it in Hong Kong Airport? I wanted you to kill me that night. It felt like the only way we would ever get the balance redressed. If you'd shot me there when I asked you to, you'd have made me happy, love. I couldn't see any other future for me." He dips his head to run the tip of his tongue delicately around the whorls of my ear, sending shivers down my spine. I picture Hong Kong airport. I could have shot him. The anger I felt that day rises up like bile in my throat, and I remember. One single shot into his gut would have left him gasping out his last agonies as his blood washed away the death of my father. I close my eyes and hold him to me convulsively, seeking out his mouth and covering it with mine as I try my best to erase the images of Alex lying, dying while I watch with satisfaction.

"Oh, my God! I could've killed you. You were going to let me do it." He's still looming over me like a predator, and I feel slightly nervous. Gone at present is the diffident man who cleaned my apartment, and unaccountably in his place is a wild, feral being who makes me nervous.

⁄⁄He wanted me to kill him!⁄⁄

He rolls slightly to one side, propping himself up with his fake arm, and allows his fingers to slide down my body, unfastening my jeans and reaching in to find my erection. Hauling it out to face the TV set, he holds it tightly by the base and squeezes it, making me want to fold up in the middle. I groan and arch backwards, and he smiles his predatory smile before darting his head down to find my nipple through my shirt and bite it sharply, making me yell.

His hand is busy, sliding up and down, squeezing my cock and sending the sweet tingling rush from my spine to my balls. I can feel the tight heaviness that means I am going to come soon, and I gasp out "Alex, stop. I'm going to come and I don't want to come just yet. I want to feel you in me when it happens."

"No, you won't come, baby, I won't let you." He smiles a smile of pure evil. "You frightened me today. It's payback time, and you're going to do some suffering tonight." I feel my balls clenching up as the fluid is beginning to drip from my cock. Alex releases it, and I gasp as he puts his hand up to stroke my hair and then clench his fist in it, pulling my head down to his. His mouth fastens hard on mine, and he worries at it, searching out the sensitive areas inside. He uses his hand in my hair to direct my head to where he wants it, and his mouth travels the length of my jaw, down my neck and finally into the sensitive hollow where my collar bone joins my shoulder. He growls while he is sucking and biting at me, and I cry out in protest.

Holding my hair tightly still, he pulls his arm back, and my head with it, to lay my throat open to him, sucking at it until I gasp. He's marking me as his, and I feel warmth flooding to my belly as I realize it. Still, I play the game.

"That hurts!" I whine, measuring his mood through veiled eyelashes.

"I know it does." He drags my face to him again and dusts it with tiny, gentle kisses, running the tip of his tongue over my lips, my eyes, and my ear. His breath tickles my moist ear, and I shiver. I want him to touch my cock again, and wriggle suggestively. His hand flickers over it, spreading the droplets he can see welling from the eye of it and delicately tracing all the spots he knows are most sensitive. No matter how hard I arch my back, he won't give me what I want. I need pressure, and all he will do is tantalize. I fix him with a gimlet stare. He returns it, his attitude dangerous with arrogance and amusement at my predicament

I am trapped on my back, prisoner of a one-armed assassin who seems to be able to best me physically in every way. I can't escape him, and I don't even want to. I want him to fuck me, but he won't. He hovers over me, hard edged and sparkling, smiling down as he dips to touch me with his lips. His mouth is becoming my whole world at this point. I never realized how many ways there were for him to torment me with his mouth.

"I suppose your aim is to drive me completely crazy. Are you trying to turn me into Spender?"

He rolls over at that point, his hand in my hair forcing me to follow, so now he is on his back and I am half above him, still captive. He forces my head down to him, and his mouth glues itself to mine, tongue entering me, sucking and worrying at me as if I were his next meal. I see his eyes close as he concentrates on the sensations he is invoking.

After a minute, I follow suit and lower my lids, cutting out my view of his fine skin and curling lashes, to savor the sensation of lip on moist lip, of hand sliding over aching skin, and warmth kindling warmth as our bodies strain together.

Finally, breathless, we separate, and he opens green eyes fringed thickly with dark curling lashes, the pupils enormous, swallowing up the color and offering only love to me.

"Spender? Oh, Fox! You'll never be like Spender! You're my equal. He's my dog!" His busy fingers tug on my cock again, and I bite my lip as the sensations pulse through me. He's driving me nuts. If I'm his equal, he owes me for this!

"If I'm not your dog, why do I have this overwhelming urge to hump your leg?" I feel down to cup his denim clad groin. He smacks my hand away with a chuckle even though I can hear the intake of breath that gives away his excitement.

"Oh, no you don't! Not yet! I'm saving myself for the one I love!"

"Who do you love?" He takes hold of me and squeezes. I gasp and close my eyes. Tingling sweetness jolts my cock, and I'm there again, on the brink of coming. His careful hand is removed to hold my hips still as I try my damnedest to get myself off against him. I moan.

"Oh, he's a gibbering lunatic. All he can do is whimper like a fool, but I'm going to teach him!" Once again he snickers as he feels me trembling. "Are you suffering yet, baby?"

I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and gaze down at his face. I trace his lips with my pointer finger, sliding it over the moist, smooth plumpness of his lower lip. He sucks my finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while his hand on my hip stops me from bucking into him.

Behind my head, Spinal Tap comes to an end, and the tape begins to rewind. Alex starts to sing "Bitch School", and I consider smacking him, but he takes hold of my balls, and I quickly think again.

Come on, Baby, let's take this to the bedroom." Alex's husky whisper brushes over my ears like a silken scarf. He pushes me up and sits, running his hand into my shirt where he's unfastened it and pinching my nipple. I'm tingling in anticipation as I get to my feet and extend a hand to yank him up. He rises up off the floor smoothly and slips his arm around me, nuzzling my neck very quickly before directing me towards the bedroom.

"Do you realize I never slept in here until you came? You're changing me, changing my whole life. I used to get about 3 hours sleep a night! Now, I'm shattered all the time, and I'm getting double that. If I didn't need you so much myself, I'd bottle you and sell you as a cure for insomnia." he laughs at my words, nimble fingers plucking away my shirt, unfastening my jeans and then shoving them down over my hips impatiently. I sit on the edge of the bed and strip off the rest of my clothing. He climbs up on the bed to kneel behind me, and as I remove my white undershirt, he leans forward into me, his fingers digging into my shoulder muscles, hurting at first, then loosening, massaging until I sigh with the pleasure of his touch.

"Does that feel good to you?" he whispers as I groan and lean back. I nod, looking up at him, and he drops his head to kiss me again. That hand of his plays over my nipples, pinching gently, then twisting and pulling, first one then the other until my breathing quickens and I'm arching my back to encourage his assault on me. "Come on, move back." He pulls me, and I scoot backwards until I am in a position to lie in the middle of my bed, at which point he clambers astride of me and continues his attack on my nipples.

"Do you think you could come just from this? One day I'm going to find out if you can, but not tonight. Tonight I'm going to do everything to you. You're going to want to die before I'm through with you, Fox." I'm gazing up at him, wanting to pull him down on me, but he looks so calm, so assured, that I nod.

"Do your worst, you fiend! I'll never confess!" I don't know what makes me say that, but it obviously pleases him mightily, because he gives a whoop and then laughs wickedly.

"OK, Fox, you asked for it!" He reaches up and grabs a silken cord he has tucked under his pillow, and takes hold of my hands. Using a complicated system of loops, he fastens my wrists together one handed and then stretches my arms above my head to fasten them onto the headboard. I'm now feeling very vulnerable, and totally turned on. My lover is looking at me with naked lust in his eyes. His glance travels the length of my body and leaves me with goose pimples. I'm almost afraid of him when I see how he's watching me.

His green eyes are hooded, and he looks even more than ever like a great jungle creature. There is no vestige of the gentle lover who cried with me earlier on the couch. This man looming over me is a predator. I feel his sexuality like a perfume around him, and my cock, hard and throbbing, oozes fluid as I wonder what he'll do to me now that I can't resist. I'm so excited by the thought of him in charge that I don't even notice when he leaves the bed and disappears from my field of vision.

I do notice when he returns though, because he has a bucket of lime sherbet with him, and a wooden spatula. He pauses theatrically beside the bed and looks me up and down. Then, he dumps the bucket down onto my stomach. That surprises a small squeal out of me. The damn thing is cold!

He chuckles throatily and sits down on the edge of the bed, pulling a spoon out of his back pocket. Opening the sherbet, he digs in the spoon and tastes it.

"You know, this is pretty good stuff, Fox, would you like some?" He fills the spoon and offers it, putting it into my mouth when I open up for him. He's absolutely right; it is delicious, and for a few minutes we alternately eat and kiss, swapping cold kisses as he feeds me. I'm relaxed, lying decadently, legs akimbo, with my cock standing proud. Suddenly, he takes a mouthful of the sherbet and swoops down to take my penis between his lips, sucking it in until my eyes bug out and his cold, cold mouth makes me grunt! I can see his shoulders shaking as he sucks on my newly made popsicle. It feels exquisite. After the first shock I'm starting to get into it. He's so damned good at what he does! His tongue laps at the ridge around the head of my cock before he sucks the entire head inside his mouth to slide up and down the shaft. I groan and spread my legs, inviting him to touch me there, anywhere if he'll just keep up that wonderful, rhythmical lapping. His tongue swirls around the head and I feel the beginnings of orgasm once more. So does he, because he pulls his head away and returns to sit beside me, studying me intently as I try, and fail, to keep my hips still and my breathing regular.

"Do you confess, Fox?" He grins again. I shake my head. I'm going to sell myself as dearly as possible. Shrugging, he stands and starts to take off his clothing. I watch him avidly. He is beautiful, my Alex, even maimed the way he is. His T-shirt comes off over his head to be discarded negligently in one corner of the room. He has on his favorite jeans, and they fit him exactly, the paler patches showing where the fabric has rubbed and worn. Slowly he opens them to reveal his erection lurking in wait. Standing there in front of me, his dick poking out of his jeans as tall and erect as a tower, sparse curls at the base, he looks like a Greek statue. His jeans are resting just below his hips, and his belly shows white above the brown and purple of his cock. He is muscular, and the lines of his abdominal muscles show through the flesh that covers them, before his body gently swells out to the deep chest and strong shoulders that make him so effective in a fight. I can see the assorted bruises and scrapes that he came home with last night, but I can't move to touch them. He turns his back momentarily, and he has welts on his back and shoulders. It looks as if someone laid his back open with a whip. I gasp.

"God, Alex, who did that to you? I'll kill them for you. I'll bring them back here to you bleeding and begging for mercy." He smiles sweetly at me and moves down to climb between my knees. I look at him again, kneeling in front of me, and I want to shout to the whole world how much I love this man. Somehow, I've gone from needing to run away from him at any cost, to abject groveling as he plays on my body the way a musician would play an instrument.

He drops down between my knees, pulling them up and spreading them wide on the bed. I watch as he strokes the inside of my thighs, circling closer and closer to the impossibly hard and aching column lying between. He cups my balls and drops down to lick and suck at them, working his way down to my perineum. He pauses there for a minute, then works his way round to my tight asshole, where I feel his tongue circle and dip, circle and dip until it works in past the tightness of the muscle to bring a rush of liquid heat with it. I'm swearing now. I don't know what I'm saying, but I know it's obscene, and from time to time I hear his chuckle.

He takes a spoonful of the sherbet, and the cold applied to my anus makes me scream. I scream again a minute or two later, as all of a sudden he pushes something cold, really cold in there. I babble at him, begging him to stop, to please, please fuck me. I call him names, I tell him how much I love him. He sucks briefly on my cock, and as the sensations gather, coiled, ready to spill through me, he pulls off again, and I shout. I arch. My head rolls from side to side, and I promise him anything, anything if he'll just do it to me. Do it to me however he wants to as long as he does it.

He slowly stretches and then shucks his jeans, standing beside the bed naked and aroused, droplets of moisture standing out on the head of his penis. He sits down beside me, his thigh close to my cheek, his fingers tracing my features idly as he looks at me.

"Promise me you won't just leave me on a whim?" I'm having difficulty processing thoughts intelligently. I must be gazing at him in confusion. "Promise me, Fox. Promise me that you won't walk out on me without giving me a chance to defend myself. Promise me." He's not smiling any more. I'm beyond speech, aching and shaking with the need for release, and for him. "Tell me that you won't just walk out on me unless you've stopped loving me."

I try to talk, but my voice won't seem to get started. I cough and try again.

"I promise." He glitters a feral smile in my direction, and I see it isn't enough.

"What do you promise, Fox? Tell it all to me. Come on, baby, I need to hear it."

"I promise I won't leave you while I still love you. I promise I'll give you a chance, I promise. God, Alex, I love you. I really, really love you." Deathless prose it isn't, but it's obviously what he wants to hear, because he curls around to lie full length beside me, stroking from my chest down to my belly, circling my navel and then taking hold of my cock once more. He strokes it a couple of times and then squirms to kneel between my knees again, pulling my legs up and my knees apart until I am totally spread for him and completely vulnerable. His fingers are busily applying lube to his own twitching penis, and I overdose on the sight of him there, hooded eyes, intent expression, flushed cheeks and mine, whatever I might think of the arrangement, mine!

He pours more slick onto his fingers and begins to finger my asshole, slipping in and out, catching my prostate and making me writhe like a wanton. I'm open to him and am just about to start pleading all over again when he suddenly puts the head of his dick to my anus, thrusts sharply, and as I gasp, he is inside me as far as he will go. The heat of him burns after the cold of the ice, the remains of which are still inside me.

My chest is heaving, and I'm gasping air as I try to take in enough to keep breathing. I can't move, can't do anything but wait as he kneels, his cock invading my body and his love invading my soul.

"Please, Love! Please." I'm beside myself. I'm helpless with lust and need. I suddenly have an insight into how Spender must feel when faced with him. Mine, I think to myself.

"Mine!"

"Yours," he whispers softly, and starts the slow, twisting drive towards completion, sliding out of me as far as he can, and plunging home. He fills me utterly with his heat, his silken, slippery, sweet cock driving into me without cease until once more those tendrils of delicious tingling fire start coiling up around my abdomen, and I feel myself getting close.

He stops, buried in me, and runs his hand down my thigh to my dick and finally takes it into his hand. "Are you ready, Fox? Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you. Anything, Fox, just tell me."

"I want you, Alex. Fuck me, please, fuck me now. Oh God!" He starts to move, his hand now joining in as he works my penis with his slippery, squeezing fingers. His cock drives home hard, harder, hardest, and the rhythm is picked up by the movement of his hand on my dick.

It begins deep inside me, in that place Alex is stirring as he thrusts into me. Twinges of sensation sparkle outward, lighting my balls on fire, gathering force and welling up through my belly to turn me rigid. They lock my muscles into spasm and leave me helpless as bolt after bolt of honeyed lightning shoots through my penis, spraying white fluid onto my chest and stomach, covering Alex's hand with sticky whiteness. My whole world is focused on the surging, prickling, tingling pleasure of it. I am hardly conscious as Alex groans, spends and collapses forward onto me, sweating and flushed in the aftermath of orgasm.

We lie, still joined for some undisclosed moments, while I am aware of time falling like dust around us. His hair is tickling my nose, and his body is rapidly becoming glued to mine by my come. I can't move my hands to scratch my nose, and I don't care. I nuzzle into his hair, mouthing it and kissing him wherever I can touch him. This is something I never experienced before, the joy of being able to forget my worries in him. I can lose myself so utterly while we are together that for a short space I'm completely carefree. Sticky, tired and bound, I drift off to sleep

Waking up at midnight, my shoulders are tight and cramped, and I have an assassin stuck to my front. I moan out loud as I try to adjust my position so that it doesn't feel quite so much as if someone is sticking a knife into my back. I don't make much progress. Alex is lying over me, and he is too heavy for me to budge, but all the heaving and grunting finally wakes him up, and he jumps, realizing my predicament.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry, baby!" He tries to get up and of course we are virtually glued together by my ejaculate. It rips hairs out of my chest as we pull apart, and I yelp. Finally, he kneels at the head of the bed and unfastens my bonds, releasing me and causing me excruciating pain all at the same time. I bring my arms down to my sides and chafe my wrists, trying to get the sensation back in them.

Alex, after studying me for a minute, gets up and goes to start the shower. Whining, I follow him in and step into the cubicle to relish needle sharp sprays of hot water, and my lover soaping, scrubbing and kneading me while I stand there, luxuriating in the sensual feelings it engenders.

Shortly, clean again and most of the stiffness gone from between my muscles, I turn to do the same for him as I stand behind him. It rapidly develops into a necking session as I explore the smooth curves of him. He's slick with soap, and we slide our bodies one against the other in the warmth of the shower, kissing and stroking, relaxed and happy. Finally rinsing each other off, we step out and I wrap a towel around him, helping him to dry his back. He tells me that one of the worst things about losing his arm is the fact that it's so hard to dry his back properly.

We don't bother with towels as we leave the bathroom to go find a snack to take back to bed. Consequently, we are both naked as we wander through the living room towards the kitchen. I pass through the door into the living room a little before Alex and stop short, causing him to crash into my back and mutter something about getting me fitted with rear brake lights.

Sitting in my living room, on my couch, is Special Agent Jeffrey Spender.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Not very elegant or welcoming but the best I can do at short notice. Alex steps forward to stand at my shoulder, and I can feel him bristling, as if he were a cat preparing to arch and spit. Spender has a slight smile on his face as he idly swings a key back and forth in his fingers.

"I came to talk to you both. Your boyfriend makes himself so free with my apartment, I thought I would return the compliment.

"You know what, Jeffy? I always knock. I may barge in when you answer the door, but I always knock first." Alex has the kind of expression on his face that I usually associate with stepping in something unpleasantly squishy. "What do you want here? I didn't tell you that you could come here." His arm creeps around my waist, and he leans his head into my shoulder as he's talking. I see Spender's eyes flicker between us, and his face clouds over as he watches.

"I had to come. I needed to see you."

I have to confess that if I were given a choice, I'd prefer not to involve myself in a confrontation while naked. Spender is sitting on my couch, clad in denims and leather, while Alex and I are naked and semi-hard after fooling around in the shower. For some reason I don't feel intimidated. Alex, as ever, wears nudity the way a lesser mortal would wear a tux. His body language reflects only scorn for Spender. He doesn't attempt to cover himself, quite the opposite in fact. He stands taller, and his chin goes up in the familiar, arrogant gesture that's typical of him. I've noticed that when Alex gets mad, his ears pull back in an almost feline fashion. They're back now, and I can see his anger like a palpable entity laying over him.

"Whatever it is, say it quickly and go. We were busy." Alex speaks softly, but his voice is cold.

"Sacha, I need....I...I wanted to talk to you without him." He gestures at me with his head. "I need to know..."

"Sure you did, Jeff, you came to Fox's apartment to talk to me without Fox! That makes sense! Well I have to tell you, there's nothing you can say to me without Fox being present. He and I are one person as far as you're concerned. You get the total package, or you get nothing. Fox is my lover, and you'll have to accept that or there's nothing for you, nada, zip! Do you get it?" Alex is still speaking quietly. His husky voice is laden with contempt, and Spender takes each word like a blow. I can see sick satisfaction in his eyes and wonder just how this man can survive on the diet of distress he expects to be fed.

Alex has been idly running his hand up and down my arm as he addresses Spender, and as he stops speaking, he nuzzles into my neck, running his tongue over it, then plunging it into my ear. It tickles and makes me shiver. Half-hard rapidly becomes erect. I utter a small protest, and he kisses my ear, his breath raising more shudders as it stirs up my senses. I lean back onto him, knowing that our intimacy is going to turn the knife in Spender's gut but doing it anyway. I turn my head and his lips meet mine, tongue lapping and probing visibly. Spender breathes in sharply as we kiss, and somewhere in my increasingly black soul I feel a twinge of sadness for him.

I'm not an exhibitionist. I've never had the urge to make love for other people's edification, but Spender's presence somehow makes me as horny as I've ever been. I turn into Alex's embrace, press my hard-on up against his growing erection, and lose myself in his mouth, my whole body responding as his soft lips burn on mine. There is a choking sound from the couch, and as we slowly separate, a glance at our audience reveals pain, anger, bitterness and lust chasing one another across his features.

I move hastily away from Alex and go to sit in an armchair. My knees are wobbly, and it won't look too good if I faint where I stand. Alex is right behind me and comes to rest poised beside my chair, eyes glittering and looking so irritated I expect to see smoke curling from his nostrils.

Spender gets to his feet and stumbles over to us, his hands out to Alex in supplication. Alex waits until he is virtually standing toe to toe with him before giving him a punch to the gut that doubles him up, retching.

"Stay down, boy! Stay on your knees."

His hand reaches out to stroke my hair as he speaks, and I smile up at him to let him know I'm fine. I'm apprehensive of course, but, God help me, I keep thinking to myself how Alex will protect me. I get up again and go to stand close to him.

Alex walks around Spender, then comes back to stand beside me. "Come on then, boy, show us what you've got in there." He puts his hands on his hips and stands there, a challenge in his attitude. I watch in amazement as Spender shudders and opens his fly, drawing out an impressive erection for Alex to examine. He bends down to check it out, getting far closer than he needs to…peering as if he's having trouble seeing it. The damn thing is likely to shoot straight up his nose, he's so close, but he pretends he can't quite see it.

"Touch it, Jeff! It's pathetic. Make it grow for us. I can give you five minutes. Once five minutes are up, I'm sorry, but you have to go." Absently, Alex's hand finds its way down to my prick, and he starts to play with it, almost as if he's not thinking about it. He kneads and squeezes at me as he talks to Spender. Spender is watching in sick fascination, which instantly makes me harder than steel. Spender takes himself in his hand and starts to move over himself. He hisses as his touch starts to take effect. Alex is kissing his way down my spine and not even watching the sick fuck who's masturbating for his pleasure. Spender is really working himself now, and Alex pulls my face around to kiss me noisily.

"God, Fox! You are so damned hot tonight, I can't get enough of you." I know he's only talking for effect, to make Spender feel small, but even so, I get thrills up and down my spine when he tells me he wants me.

"Three minutes left, Jeff!" Alex calls as Spender kneels, hand flying. He groans, and his eyes are fixed on me. He watches my cock avidly, and when Alex takes hold of it again, and starts to tug on it, Spender begs.

"Please, please…" Alex surveys him, and then smiles.

"You want him too, don't you? Come on then, come here." Spender crawls to us, and Alex places my cock against his lips. I look at Alex, feeling a little insecure, and he kisses me again, delving into my mouth with his tongue, nibbling and biting gently. Spender is sucking on my penis while Alex works on my mouth. Then I feel Alex's careful fingers probing between the cheeks of my ass, slipping his fingers in past the tight circle of muscle to slide in and out of me, making the curls of sweet excitement escalate very quickly. I'm feeling very good now.

Spender is drawing me in right to the root, and Alex suddenly pulls out his fingers, positioning himself and pushing his cock home inside me. At this point I feel my knees buckling and end up leaning very heavily on Alex. He kisses my neck again and murmurs loving words to me.

The feel of the two of them working together on me sends me over the top very quickly indeed. I'm beginning to thrust and jerk as I climb the last few millimeters towards orgasm, and then explode into Spender's mouth. He growls and sucks while Alex pushes himself deep inside my body. I have to rest for a minute or two. I push Spender off and see that he is close to coming himself. Alex pulls out of me and moves around to stand beside Spender. As the man kneeling on the floor suddenly comes, spurting his fluid over himself, Alex grabs his hair and jerks him backwards, making him fall to the floor.

"OK, clean yourself up and go. That's all you get."

Spender is still down, fighting for breath, but the look he has fixed on Alex makes my blood boil. I finally decide to get into the argument.

"Leave it now and go home, Spender. Alex wants me, not you. Go cultivate a little dignity. Go play with the X-Files and count your blessings." I'm trying to hurt him. I want him to take his pathos and go. He turns on me then and yells out a string of obscenities before hurling himself on me. He throws wild punches that connect only by chance, however, he has me pinned to my chair, his weight making it difficult to find purchase and throw him off. I drop my head and bring it up smartly under his chin hearing the satisfying crack that tells me I've inflicted some damage. He reels back and sits down suddenly with a whimper. I see there is suddenly blood flowing from inside his mouth.

"You have to go now, Jeff, we'll see you in a couple of days if you like, but not right now." Alex is still quiet, and he's wearing a pirate smile that would make my blood run cold if it were directed at me. Spender gets up and howling, runs at Alex. Alex, off guard, is bowled over, and the two of them go down, rolling, grappling on the floor. I sigh and get up, moving to try and separate the two of them before someone gets really, physically hurt.

Spender is slim and wiry, and apparently very strong. He is putting up a fight from the look of things, and Alex is still on the bottom of the heap, at a disadvantage because our uninvited guest has winded him. He suddenly laughs up at Spender and sticks out his tongue to lick at the blood on the other man's chin.

"You whore!" Spender yells, "Don't you have one decent, normal emotion in you?"

"If I did, you wouldn't be wanting me so badly, would you, Jeff?" Alex finally throws him off, and he turns around, crawling to his feet. I think he has forgotten my existence, so his face turns pale as he comes nose to nose with me.

His eyes are bright with unshed tears, and his face is a mask of blood and loss. He focuses on me, mutters "Oh, Jesus," and strikes out at me, hitting me in the gut. Strangely, it doesn't hurt too much, so I'm amazed to hear Alex scream and fling himself at Spender, knocking him flying. The knife he had in his hand clatters to the floor, and I look down at myself, realizing that I've been stabbed. Alex has Spender down and is pounding his head on the floor.

"Alex..." my voice sounds calm, but everything is numb in me, and I feel very strange.

He leaves Spender then and comes over to me, face panic-stricken. My belly's bleeding. The cut's deep, and I can tell I'm in trouble. He lowers me to the floor and casts around for something he can stop the blood flow with. He scoots off and returns with a towel, applying pressure to the wound as things start to become very hazy.

"No, Fox! Stay with me! Please, Fox!" I can hear him and mumble that it's OK, I love him, I won't leave him unless I stop loving him, I already promised him. There's a rushing in my ears, and then everything fades away leaving only blackness.

For some reason, whenever Mulder calls me, it's always after midnight. He hasn't been calling me lately, and I suppose that now he's having this love affair with Krycek, he's busy. I've started to pick up the threads of my life where they left off so many years ago, it seems to me now. I have a social life again. I'm even dating from time to time. I won't say that I've wasted the past five years, but my life did seem to go on the back burner for a while.

In a way, it's a relief to me to take a step back for a while. The X-Files are under new management, and I'm not even specifically Mulder's partner any more. Kersh has been pairing me up with other agents and sending me out without Mulder. After five years of being Mulder's only friend, it feels strange to be passing the baton to someone else.

Mulder is irritating, frustrating, pig-headed, vulnerable, sexy, and fun. I miss him. I miss the silly phone calls about nothing very much. I miss his acid wit and his sweet, rarely given smile. Damn it, I miss the monster of the week, and the arguments that always accompany it. I wonder if he argues with Krycek. I don't recall too much about Krycek. My first impression of him was of a wide-eyed innocent in a baggy suit, playing cops and robbers but somehow out of his depth. The next time I saw him, he was somehow to blame for all the troubles of the Western World. I have a vague recollection of a driven, hunted looking man in a baseball cap squaring off with Mulder. I'd mentally given him an A plus for courage, and another for stupidity; after all, he chose Mulder to fool with, and Mulder is not known for his calmness and stability. I sigh. Mulder's a big boy. He's old enough to choose his own friends. He did confide in me, and that warmed me a little, but he hasn't shown any desire to share his relationship yet. No doubt one day it will be time, and I'll be able to see how they are together, but for now, I am content to wait.

I'm sitting up in bed, reading a book, when my cell rings. Funny, nobody calls me at this time of night except Mulder. It has to be him. Maybe just thinking about him is enough to put the idea into his mind. I have a silly idea about opening an X-File on the subject and giving it to Spender and Fowley for research. Turning on the phone, I raise it to my ear.

"Scully." I lean back, wanting to get comfortable and chat for a while. I've missed him a lot. I just hope he isn't going to cry on my shoulder because Krycek has done something awful.

"Scully, please come. You have to come now. I think he's dying." My stomach clenches. I don't know this voice. I want to put down the phone and pretend it didn't ring.

"Who is this?" I think I know the answer even as I ask the question.

"It's Krycek, Alex Krycek. Scully, please come right now. Something's happened to Fox. I don't think he's going to make it. Help him, please. You have to help him!" The voice is strained, and a sudden fear curls itself around my heart and squeezes just hard enough to get my attention. I'm out of bed, yanking on clothes by guess as I talk.

"Where are you? Have you called an ambulance?" I'm dressed and on my way out the door, grabbing such supplies as I think I might need but not really stopping to think. I reach the elevator, and then have to run back for my car keys. Stay calm, Dana. You're no good to him if you panic.

I reach Mulder's apartment building very quickly and hit the ground running. Bursting in through the door, I'm confronted by a scene from Dante. Alex Krycek is kneeling on the floor wearing a pair of blood soaked sweat pants. I haven't seen him for a while and I am chilled when I notice that he has lost an arm, but there's no time to comment on that. There's a body beside him, and Krycek is trying very hard to staunch the flow of blood from it. He has a blood soaked towel in his hands, and he's applying pressure to the wound. Blood wells up around his hands and I'm very concerned to see that Mulder... It is Mulder, has lost consciousness. Krycek is talking to him as he kneels, and the tears have tracked down his blood smeared cheeks. He is red eyed, frantic, and looks like a kid in trouble. I feel very protective towards the two of them all of a sudden, and move in to kneel on Mulder's other side, laying out such equipment as I have. Together we set about trying to prolong Mulder's life.

"Krycek, have you phoned for the paramedics?" He nods and looks at me mutely, with a look so heartwrenching I almost feel sorry for him.

"Why did you do this? I thought you two were friends now." He's in shock, I can see. Mulder's blood is covering him, and he's shaking a little, but the response to my question is firm enough.

"I didn't do it. I couldn't hurt him. I love him. It was Spender." He gestures with his head, and for the first time I see the prone figure that's lying, limbs sprawled, partially concealed by the couch.

"Oh, my God! What happened here? Is he dead too?" I can't take it in. Spender is covered in blood too, and I can see a cut on his hairline, but I don't know if it's his blood or Mulder's.

"He stabbed Fox. He's jealous. Please, Scully, help Fox." The last sentence comes out in an agonized whisper. I watch as his face crumples and tears spill over to trickle down his face unregarded. He cries silently, grabbing for Mulder's limp hand and pulling it to his cheek. I'm quick to move in and check Mulder's vital signs, feeling for the pulse, the terribly weak pulse, and trying to assess his chances.

"We have to get him to a hospital, Krycek. He's going to need surgery, antibiotics, blood and time. He's in critical condition. He's lost a lot of blood. Hopefully the paramedics will be here soon, but I won't lie to you, Krycek, he's in great danger. It's going to be touch and go." I look him up and down, and if I had time at all, I'd be trying to get him to lie down. He looks as if he's at the end of his tether. As it is, I just keep on working on Mulder. Krycek has covered him with a comforter, but under it he's naked, and I try to imagine exactly how all this happened before shaking my head and getting on with the job in hand.

Spender stirs, lifting up his head with a moan. A look of total viciousness seeps across Krycek's face, and I suddenly see that this man could kill without compunction. He glances toward Spender but stays still holding Mulder's hand up against his mouth. Spender climbs to his knees and crawls over towards us, putting out a hand to touch Mulder.

"Is he dead? Tell me he's not dead." Spender buries his face in the edge of the comforter. Krycek tenderly places Mulder's hand down and then whips round on Spender with the speed of a striking snake.

"If he dies, you sorry sack of shit, if he dies, I'll cut your dick off and feed it to you!" The voice has far more menace in it than is healthy, and I look up in shock. "He did it! He stabbed Fox. I'll kill him slowly, Scully, I swear it."

I sigh. "Krycek, I can hold him for the minute. If you want to go with him when the paramedics arrive, I suggest you go and wash now, put some clothes on and try to be ready. Mulder doesn't need you to be in jail when he wakes up." Krycek just looks at me for a minute, dull-eyed and seemingly without comprehension. "Go on, I won't let him die, trust me."

Slowly, he rises to his feet and heads for the bathroom. I turn back to Mulder. Just at that point, the paramedics arrive, and there is bustling as Mulder is rapidly transferred to a stretcher, hooked up to fluids and transferred to an ambulance. Krycek emerges from the shower as Mulder is being carried out and screams at them to wait for him. I step back to comfort him, promising him that I will drive him to the hospital right away. He stands, forgotten and forlorn as Mulder is taken to the ambulance, and I forget he is a wanted man. I forget the role he had in Melissa's death. I pat his cheek and reassure him the way I would a small child.

Mulder has gone now, and Krycek nods miserably, turning to the bedroom where presumably he has some clothing. He is currently dripping wet and covered only in a towel.

"Get dressed, Krycek. We need to do something about Spender."

A couple of minutes later, he emerges from the bedroom, dressed in denims and wearing a prosthetic arm. He's pale, except for his eyes, which are red. I want to throw my arms around him and hug him, but I restrain myself. I point firmly to a chair, and he sits mutely, face a mask of strain and shock.

"Krycek, I need to know what happened here. You say that Agent Spender stabbed Mulder. I find that very difficult to believe. Why did he do it? You'd better tell me from the beginning." I can see Krycek getting restive and wanting to go right now. "We have to do something about Spender before we can go. We can't just leave him, he tried to kill Mulder. Tell me what happened."

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. "We were in the shower; when we came through he was sitting on the couch swinging a key. He said he wanted to talk to me. We had a bit of a scuffle, and Fox told him to get out. He pulled a knife on him and stabbed him."

"Where is this knife? Did you touch it?" I look around, following Krycek's pointing finger. There's a hunting knife with a wicked edge to it lying on the carpet. The blood has dried on it by this time, and it appears almost black in the lamplight. I sigh, get out the cuffs and slap them on Spender, who is still crouched with his head down on the carpet. Picking up the phone, I dial my ex-supervisor, AD Skinner. He's not going to like any of this, but I can't think what else to do.

Explaining things to him takes a few minutes, but eventually he's on his way, and I turn to Krycek. "Here are the keys to my car. If you want to go and sit in it, you can. I warn you that if you try to leave before I get there, you'll be a dead man. The world won't be large enough to hide you from me. You can avoid Skinner just this once, but you can never avoid me. Do you understand?"

He puts on his jacket and boots, then stumbles out the door in a daze. I watch him go and then settle to wait for Skinner. I have made no attempt to disturb anything that might possibly be construed as evidence. When the Assistant Director arrives, I want him to be able to see everything as it now stands.

A few minutes later, the AD walks in through the door, stopping short as he sees the mess, the blood and the crouching figure of Agent Spender. Quickly I go over the events as I know them. I tell him about the fight. So far I haven't named Mulder's companion, but I know I'm going to have to, and once I do, it will cause the most spectacular commotion. My heart goes out to Mulder. If he recovers, he has to deal with this. He'll have to deal with the fact that his lover will probably go to jail for his past crimes, and he faces the loss of his job. Homosexuality is not condoned at the Bureau, and neither is consorting with criminals. Krycek is wanted for murder amongst other things. I don't think he'll be let off with a caution.

"There's something you aren't telling me, Scully. I hope it isn't going to rebound on me." He fixes me with his stern gaze.

"Yes, sir. It's just that Mulder's companion...." I stop, trying to gauge what kind of mood he's in.

"Go on. You'd better tell me the worst now." He frowns, and my heart sinks into my boots.

"Well, Sir, it was... I mean he is..." I break off again and check the gathering thundercloud that is his face "Mulder's been seeing Alex Krycek, Sir."

All done. Bye bye! I quail as I wait for the coming storm. When it doesn't arrive, I sneak a look at him. He's sitting still and straight. He doesn't react.

"You'd better go attend to Mulder. I want you in my office in the morning." He turns his attention to the hapless Spender. "Oh and Scully..."

"Yes, Sir?" I'm at the door now.

"If you see Krycek, I want to see him too."

Escaping from Mulder's apartment building, I run down the stairs to my car, wondering if Krycek will be waiting, or if he will have succumbed to temptation and made off with it. In a way I am surprised to see that he's sitting in the car waiting for me.

Opening the door of the car, I survey this lover of my best friend. He's gone completely to pieces, face buried in his hands, rocking back and forth as he makes soft gasping noises. As I climb into the car, he stops moving and makes a valiant effort to pull himself together. His eyes are red and puffy, the tears have wet his face, and he has a good growth of bristle darkening his lip and chin. Once again I have an urge to take him in my arms and rock him, comfort him somehow.

Starting the car, I ease it out onto the road, heading for the hospital.

"Mulder told me that you and he were seeing each other. How did you get together? It's not so long since he was trying to kill you." I'm trying to take his mind off the situation as I speed through the mostly deserted streets toward the hospital where he has been taken. Krycek doesn't speak immediately, and I think my ploy has failed, but then suddenly he begins to talk.

"I've loved him since we were partners. I spent the past four years watching over him, feeding him information, occasionally taking beatings from him when I let my guard slip and he caught me. On Christmas Eve, I suddenly realized that it wasn't enough. It seemed to me that I could go on the way I was and eventually run out of luck, or I could try and change things. I decided that I'd make one attempt to get what I wanted. If I failed, I'd die. I don't know how it happened. I didn't fail, and somehow Fox fell in love with me. If Spender hadn't been such a determined piece of shit, we'd be fine." He fixes his eyes on me, and despite the red and swollen tissue it is plain to me that he's a very good-looking man. I shake my head. Why are all the good looking men gay?

"I don't understand how Spender fits into this equation, Krycek. Why was he at Mulder's place? Why would he stab Mulder?" I'm recalling the bloody face and apparent misery of the man who has charge of the X-Files right now. He doesn't seem like a man for whom violence is a way of life, unlike the man now sitting beside me.

"It's my fault. It's all my fault. He was jealous of Fox. He wanted me, and Fox told him to go away..." Krycek's voice breaks at this point, and he just sits dumbly, tears spilling over to trickle down his cheeks. I don't know what to tell him. Fortunately at this point we arrive at the hospital, and despite my warnings, he has the car door open long before the car is parked, and is out and running for the door before it is at a standstill.

I follow him at a somewhat more leisurely pace. He's at the desk when I arrive, attempting to find out where Mulder has been taken. I know he's worried to death, but he isn't getting anywhere with the desk clerk, who is giving him no information. I approach, flash my badge and elicit the name of the doctor who's even now performing surgery on Mulder. Finally, after a period of argument and debate, we're shown a room where we can wait for news of how he's doing.

Time passes. Krycek paces like a crazy thing. I expect to see a tail lashing each time he prowls past me. He doesn't want coffee, he doesn't want food, he can't handle conversation, and in the end I just let him pace.

Time passes and at four thirty am, there's a commotion. Krycek and I both start for the door, and I'm almost as anxious as he is. I know that I'm not only disappointed but also very afraid when I see that the newcomer isn't the surgeon. AD Skinner enters the room. Krycek flinches once, and then his chin goes up, his posture becomes straighter, and I can see that he isn't going to reveal anything to his ex-boss. The two men face each other, and the Assistant Director is about to begin speaking when the doctor does finally appear, and it is obvious to all of us that Krycek is not listening to anyone else.

The doctor is a very short, round man and Krycek looms over him, practically hopping with impatience. With kindness, the doctor convinces Krycek to sit down while he goes over the situation. The news is about as I had expected. Mulder has lost a good deal of blood, he's had extensive surgery to repair his bowels, and he no longer has an appendix. He has a strong, fit body, but the trauma has been great, and the threat of peritonitis is not yet over. He's being given antibiotics as well as blood, but we won't know whether he's likely to recover for some hours. Krycek is white. His face looks drawn. For the first time it's possible to see the old man he'll one day become.

"Can I see him? Please can I see him?" The doctor appears to consider the request, but finally nods and Krycek gets up, "following in front" of the doctor the way that a cat would, and getting in the way like a cat would too. I get up then and lay my hand on Krycek's sleeve. He reacts violently, shaking me loose, and then turns, stricken, when he realizes.

"It's OK, Krycek. Nobody's going to stop you going to see him." I fix Skinner with my fiercest look, and he subsides, nodding. He's being very well behaved. I give him a smile and go with Krycek to see how Mulder is doing.

Mulder is in the ICU. He has tubes up his nose, disappearing under the bedclothes, into his arm and into his mouth. His face is white, and he is drooling a little blood from the corner of his mouth. Krycek kneels beside the bed and gently takes one of Mulder's hands, pressing it to his mouth before laying his cheek against it and resting his head on the bed. There he stays, unmoving while I go to find the surgeon. I really want to discuss the implications of Mulder's injury.

Some 20 minutes later, when I return, he hasn't moved. He's whispering soft words to the man lying motionless in the bed, and I feel suddenly very lonely. Mulder is lucky. He has someone.

AD Skinner comes to me then, and together we watch this Krycek phenomenon. I have to ask him.

"Are you going to arrest Krycek, sir?" He gives me a shrewd, sideways glance out of his black eyes.

"Agent Scully, you called me rather than AD Kersh for a reason. You'd better tell me what it is." I look at him and can see that he's sincere. He doesn't mask his emotions, and I can see them unfolding across his features. He is a good, kind man. I take a deep breath.

"Sir, Agent Mulder and Alex Krycek are in love with each other. I know that the implications for Mulder's continued standing at the Bureau would be called into question for that, both for security reasons and for the fact that Krycek is a wanted man. I also know that at the moment Mulder's recovery may well hang on Krycek's continued presence. I know how much in love he is. Also, I think from watching Krycek, that any attempt to remove him from Mulder's presence is likely to make him go off the deep end. He's balancing on a fine edge, sir."

The Assistant Director stands by the door and studies Krycek. Krycek pays no attention to anything but the unconscious form on the bed. He's still holding Mulder's hand, still kneeling. I go and find a chair, pulling it over to Krycek, and wait. He doesn't move until I prompt him. Then, as I practically lift him, he stumbles up to sit in the chair. His hold on Mulder's hand remains. He leans forward and drops his head onto the bed next to Mulder, and there he stays.

"Krycek, it's time you and I had a talk. Come on." Skinner sounds uncompromising.

"Talk here, or wait. I won't leave him." The ring of certainty in Krycek's voice makes Skinner blink for a minute, then he nods and moves to stand beside Krycek. For a while he just stands there, looking down on the back of Krycek's head, but as the seated man shows no sign of changing his position, or facing his interrogator, Skinner appears to become irritated, and grabs for Krycek's shoulder, intent on turning him around. It doesn't work. Krycek remains, head bowed, his husky voice barely audible.

"Whatever you want, I'll get it for you, or give it to you as soon as I can. Just leave me alone with him now, please." He slowly raises grief-ravaged eyes to Skinner, and I can see the AD changing his mind about a number of things. He sits on the arm of the chair next to Krycek, and his voice is curiously gentle when he next speaks.

"What are you doing with him? I need to know whether he's safe with you. You can't blame me for not trusting you, Krycek." Eyes of drowned green, fringed with thick, wet, spiky lashes stare blindly at Skinner.

"Potseluy myenya v zhopu! What would I be doing with him? I'm waiting to see where he's going, so I can follow him. You can trust me for that if nothing else." His mobile mouth is set in a determined line, and he's obviously waiting patiently for Skinner to go away and leave him with his stricken lover. Skinner does not move. He does not speak, he merely waits, silently. After another pregnant pause Krycek turns back to Mulder. "Trust me or not, he's mine. I won't leave him. You'll have to kill me to make me leave."

Skinner digests this in silence, and then lays his large hand back on the other man's shoulder. This time the gesture is curiously tender, and I am surprised. I feel that I need to add my bit to the conversation.

"You should get some sleep now, while you can. It'll take him a while to recover from the anaesthetic. He won't be waking for at least another four hours. When he does, you're going to need to be rested, so you can cope with things. He's going to be in a lot of pain, and you're going to be stressed out. Let me see if they can find you a bed for a couple of hours at least, Krycek. If you like, I'll stay with him, and wake you if he shows any signs of changing." He starts to shake his head at this point, and by the end of my speech, he is saying "no,no,no!" under his breath.

Skinner leans forward and puts an arm clumsily around Krycek's shoulders. "Listen to me, Krycek. Agent Scully has looked after Mulder since her first day on the X-Files. You don't think she's going to let him die now, do you? Go get some sleep, boy. She won't let anything happen to him without making you aware of it." He speaks abruptly, but to my surprise it appears to snap Krycek out of his frozen state. Krycek sobs once and hurls himself into Skinner's embrace, where he remains for another minute or two, obviously gaining comfort from the sheer strength of the man. Finally, Krycek rises to his feet, puts out a hand to stroke through Mulder's hair, and bends to kiss him softly, then he stumbles over to me, leaving Skinner still sitting on the arm of the chair, shock written across his features.

Following a brief conversation with the surgeon, I take Krycek to a side ward close to the ICU and settle him into a bed. He looks as if he's at the end of his tether, and I bring him hot chocolate into which I have stirred some sleeping medicine. He protests about being quite all right, and not needing sleep, but he's out like a light even before I leave the room. Moving softly, I stroll over to examine him, young and defenseless in his sleep. His face is tearstained, and there are patches of red where he has rubbed away the salty water. His thick eyelashes curl on his cheeks, and his finely sculpted lips are parted, revealing just a glimpse of white teeth. His tip-tilted nose is red, and this makes him look more vulnerable than anything else. He is curled, fully dressed except for his shoes, on the top of the bed. Nothing I could say persuaded him to undress and actually get into the bed. Sighing, I take a blanket and throw it over 'sleeping beauty' before leaving, carefully closing the door behind me.

The day breaks, dull and cold. I've dozed in the armchair at Mulder's bedside for the past few hours and wake only when a nurse comes in to change the drip that is feeding him blood. She checks his vital signs, makes notes on his chart, and bustles out again. Mulder is still lying waxy on the pillow and hasn't moved a muscle since the previous night.

AD Skinner enters the room and he's thoughtfully bearing cardboard cups of coffee and a bag containing cheese and ham croissants. Depositing the tray and bag, he comes over to look at Mulder.

"How's Krycek? He cause any trouble?" In my tired state the deep voice brushes over my skin like fur.

I shake my head, "No, he went out like a light last night, and he hasn't surfaced yet. I was going to check on him as soon as you arrived. Is one of those coffees for me?" He nods and gestures to the tray, inviting me to take one.I smile my thanks as I take a cup.

I go quickly to check on Krycek. As I open the door, he stirs and opens one sleep-encrusted eye. Within seconds he is up on his feet, grabbing for his shoes and jacket, striding towards me.

"How is he? Is he OK? What's happened?" His hair is standing up in spikes; his eyes are swollen and he badly needs a shave. He's the most pathetic thing I've ever seen in my life.

"He's comfortable. There's no change. The anesthetic will be wearing off pretty soon and then he's going to be in a lot of pain. I came to tell you that there was some breakfast if you'd like it." I smile at him encouragingly and lay my hand on his arm. He follows me out, holding his jacket and shoes in his arms.

Back in Mulder's room, AD Skinner is sitting by the bedside, and looks up to see us returning. He rises quickly, offering the seat to Krycek, who ignores him in favor of standing beside Mulder's bedside, examining him closely for signs of improvement. His color has improved, and Krycek nods to himself as he checks out Mulder's condition. Finally satisfied, he leans down to kiss the sleeping man, first on his mouth, and then on his eyes and forehead. He gathers up Mulder's hand, kissing it and laying it back down again, then settles in the chair.

Skinner hands him a coffee and the remaining croissant, and he offers a small smile, quickly gone, before tearing into the food.

"He looks a little better now. How long do you think it will be before he wakes?" he's looking at me for information and I shake my head.

"He's better off asleep right now, Krycek. When he wakes up, he's going to hurt. You don't want to wish that on him, do you? He finishes his croissant and licks his fingers like a cat. Picking up his coffee, he inhales the steam from it before drinking.

As he drinks, he starts to look a little better himself, and I realize that he must be a caffeine addict! This I can sympathize with. He stands up and goes to check for a bathroom, returning a few minutes later with his hair dampened down and his face washed. He still has 24 hours growth of stubble on his chin, which gives him a piratical air, but on the whole he seems to be much improved. Hurrying back to the bedside, he is just about to take his seat when Mulder groans, licks dry lips, and opens his eyes.

"Alex?" He is restricted by the plumbing that hangs from his face and can't quite see Krycek where he is standing; however it is at that point that I can finally see how much these two love one another. Krycek's face lights up, and the tears spring up once again. He moves quickly back to the bedside and sinks to his knees again, putting his hand against Mulder's cheek.

"I'm here, baby! I'm so sorry! I thought I'd lost you. I can't live without you. Please tell me that you forgive me?" He's whispering, that velvet voice of his ragged with intensity.

"Don't be sorry, love. You couldn't have known he was going to do that."

Mulder's words are calm, gentle, but Krycek flinches. At this point Skinner comes forward, demanding to know what happened, questioning Mulder and Krycek both until finally Mulder says:

"Let Spender go. He didn't mean it. He won't do it again. He was driven to the end of his tether, and I know how that feels. Just let him go." at which point Krycek gets up and heads out of the room, tears starting in his eyes. Mulder calls after him but to no avail. When I go to try and find him, he's nowhere to be seen.

I've been waiting to hear from Alex. I haven't seen him or heard from him since he ran out of the hospital five days ago. I'm starting to worry about him. The doctors are pleased with my progress. Apparently I'm healthy and mending well, and I can go home today. In Alex's absence, Scully will come and pick me up to ferry me home. It's going to be another few days until I can get myself healed enough to go back into work, but I'm going to be much happier at home with Alex than lying here in a hospital bed. I'm really excited about getting out of here and being with Alex again. I don't know where he went the other day, but I'm hoping he's going to be home when I get there.

Scully arrives, bearing sweats and sneakers for me. I dress quickly; I'm going home.

"Mulder, there was nobody there when I went to your apartment. I don't know what you want me to do. I left a message for Krycek to say that you were coming home this afternoon, but I don't know if he got it." She speaks earnestly, trying to pick her way through the landmines of implied meaning and stay neutral in her delivery. She has her cellphone, and I borrow it, dialing my number and waiting until the answering machine picks up.

"Alex, if you're there, please pick up. I'm coming home now. I can't wait to see you, babe. I love you." Even though I wait for a long time, he doesn't pick up, and I reluctantly conclude that he's not there. Heavy hearted, I hang up the phone and return it to Scully, then we leave the hospital behind.

Drawing up to my apartment block, Scully holds the door for me, stiff as I am, and waits while I climb gingerly out of the car. I feel as if I have aged 40 years. We get to the apartment, and Scully opens the door. The place is quiet, painfully empty. The blood has been cleaned off the carpet, and I can see no signs of the fight that caused my injury. The kitchen is clean and neat, and my bedroom is also spotless. I know Alex has been there, but he isn't here now. My heart sinks, and I'm suddenly getting very bad vibes.

"Scully, please could you drive me over to Alex's place? I'm a little worried." She nods at me, and back we go down the stairs to her car. I scan the parking lot, but I still don't see Alex's vehicle. We carefully fold me until I fit into her small car, and then I give her Alex's address.

We pull up again and I extract myself once more, wincing as the act of straightening out makes me gasp. Scully looks over, forehead furrowed.

"Mulder, take it easy. I think you're overdoing it." I know she means to be kind, but now I'm really rattled because I can see Alex's car in the parking lot. I say nothing to her; I just carry on walking towards the door. I've got my key. I unlock the door and move as fast as I can to the elevator. Scully catches up with me, and I push the button to take me up to the sixth floor.

"He's here, Scully. I saw his car." She looks at me, but says nothing.

The elevator stops and I hurl myself out of it, moving in a crablike fashion to the door of Alex's apartment. I knock, but there's no answer. Sighing, I get out my keys. I'm so afraid now that my hand is shaking. Scully gently removes the key from my hand and opens the door, moving in first.

I hear the intake of breath as she enters the living room from the hallway. My heart thuds painfully as it tries to fight its way out of my chest. I hear Scully muttering "Oh, my God!" and virtually shove her out of my way as I try to get into the room.

He's sprawled out on the couch, somewhere between sitting and lying. He's watching the door, watching us come in, but he's behaving strangely. He's wearing a grubby T-shirt and tattered blue jeans, and for once his apartment is less than tidy. There are papers on the floor, CDs spread around, and he's been breaking things. There are shattered glasses and plates in one corner of the room. On the floor, torn into several pieces lies the photograph I saw here once before. The marred faces of his wife and son look out from pitiful fragments of ripped paper. My heart is still pounding, and I feel faint. There's nothing in the world that could have prepared me for this. I turn to Alex and kneel beside him. His eyes follow me, and he gives a tiny half smile, nothing more. His eyes look like black holes, opening into a void where only a few days before I know there was a soul.

"Alex! Come on, Alex, talk to me." He looks at me, looks through me and smiles vacantly. I turn away then to find Scully, wanting to know what I should do. She's coming from the bedroom, and she has something in her hand.

"Mulder, you're going to want to see this." In her hands she is holding a dish containing a syringe, white powder in an envelope, cotton swabs and a box of matches. I look uncomprehendingly at first, and then turn to grab Alex by the arm, pulling him up to sit. He smiles loosely, and his head tilts so that he can see me.

"Fox. Hi, Fox. How ya doin'?" he giggles and shows a tendency to slide back down on the couch, but I'm getting mad. I yank on the arm I'm holding until he half falls out of his seat to flop into my arms, where he hangs on, giggling still. His head lolls for a moment, and then he seems to make a supreme effort. He lifts his head up, fixes me with his dreadful, soulless stare and stands a little straighter. I grab his arm, looking for needle tracks, but of course there aren't any. How could there be? I undo the buttons on his jeans, while he stands there swaying. He shudders a little at my action.

"Bad Fox! Ladies present, you know." I refuse to be diverted, and down come the jeans. He folds and slumps back onto the couch right then, but it's too late. I've seen the marks on the inside of his thigh, and I know what he's done. I think my heart breaks at that moment. I grab his shoulders and drag him up to face me. He's making a small noise that might be distress, and though he's smiling, tears spill over and drip down his cheeks. He lurches forward, and his lips press my cheek for a second. At this I lose my temper. I shake him, hard, and when he doesn't seem to respond to that, I punch him, smashing his cheek, hitting his jaw, trying however I can to make him hear me. I sink my fist into his belly, grabbing for his hair to pull him up again. He dangles limply, and I scream at him.

"You stupid, dumb slut! You fucking moron!" I punctuate every word by shaking him. "What are you trying to do? Are you trying to kill yourself? Here! Here's my gun, it's cleaner, faster. It will get it over with quicker. Go on, take it, you coward! Take it! Take it!" I break down and let go of him abruptly, flinging him away from me. Finally I fall to the couch myself where I sit and sob.

He huddles there trying to collect his sorry brain together, and Scully watches, jaw slack, totally dumbfounded.

"Fox, it's good, it's all good! You're better now, and that's good. You don't need me. Spender's OK. You're OK. Everybody's fine now." He's not slurring. He's enunciating each word a bit too carefully and I'm feeling those cold chills running through my system as I wonder what I can do.

"What do you want from me, Alex? What do you want me to do? Do you want me to cry for you? Look at these! They're tears! They're all for you. You did it! God, Alex, don't do this, not this. You're killing me!" I'm crying hard now, and the deep sobs are wrenching my belly, tearing out of me. He's still sitting, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth as he recovers from the battering I've just given him.

Scully comes over and checks his pulse, looks in his eyes and then turns her attention to me. She lays her hand on my shoulder, going down on her knees to crouch before me.

"Mulder. You both need to go back to the hospital, I think. He's been taking heroin." She looks so sad. I drag my gaze up to meet hers.

"It's OK, Scully. He'll be fine. I'm going to be with him now." She starts to speak, and then nods, and heads off to the kitchen where I can hear her doing things involving dishes and water. I turn to Alex.

"Why, baby? Why?" His face is still set in that frozen smile. We stay there looking at each other for a couple of minutes, until I think we're never going to be able to move again. Finally, he utters a little, choking sob, and slowly, so slowly it feels as if we're moving through water, he leans forward to lay his head on my knee. His shoulders begin to shake and he cries.

I cry right along with him. I cry for my poor pathetic lover, so lost and afraid that he can't face reality without chemical help. I cry for myself, for knowing that we would reach a point like this somewhere down the line, but not having any choice but to walk it anyway. I cry for the lives we've lost. Hell, by this point, I would cry for ET, or Lassie. I cry for lost love, damaged lives, hurt and broken souls. I cry for myself, but most of all for Alex.

It takes me a while to get myself together, but finally I can get myself under control. I pull him up and put my arms around him. He leans into me, and his head droops onto my shoulder. There we sit, rocking backwards and forwards while I stroke his hair, his back and his neck. Finally, he stills his shaking and lies quietly in my arms. I press kisses on his ear and his neck and feel very old. At last, I relax, and the steady sound of his breathing soothes me. He's all I want. He's all I've ever wanted. He's mine, and I won't let him go no matter what. Leaning back into Alex's couch, I feel the world slipping away, and my last drowsy thoughts are that I'm holding Alex again. I fall asleep still holding him tightly.

Scully wakes me after a while, and I struggle to work out precisely where I am. Then the events of the morning come flooding back to me, and I feel sick. Alex is lying quietly, sleeping still in my arms; a bruise is purpling on his cheekbone and the blood has dried in the corner of his mouth. I bend and trace his features with my lips as he sleeps, watching his nose wrinkle a little as I brush over it. My heart thumps painfully. I love this man.

I'm stiff and sore from the position I've been sleeping in, and he's heavy. I don't want to release him, but Scully insists, so I kiss his hair one more time and squirm out from the seat. Scully brings me to the bedroom and makes me lie down, checking me out and administering painkillers that I don't really need. Then she offers me food. She's made soup and there's cheese croutons floating in the bowl. I suddenly realize how hungry I am. Food and painkillers help enormously. I sit on the edge of the bed, and Scully joins me.

"What are you going to do, Mulder?" She's solemn.

"Scully, what can I do?" I shrug my shoulders as I appeal to her.

"You've got a couple of choices, Mulder. You can leave him to it." I'm shaking my head even as she's speaking. "Hear me out, Mulder. Heroin is extremely addictive. The fact that he's injecting himself is indicative of the fact that he's hooked. Do you really want to support someone through the pain of recovery from an addiction? If he goes through it and gets off it, there's no guarantee that he won't start again. What will you do if that happens? Beating him up may make you feel better, but in the long run it will only add to his problems, and to yours." As she finishes her little lecture, I know that I can't just walk away from my lover. I gesture, and she stops speaking.

"Help me, Scully, please help me. He's had so many bad things happen to him, and I love him so much. I know he'll clean up if I can just keep him calm. How do I do it?" I grab her by the shoulders and realize only when she winces that I'm gripping her so hard I'm hurting her. A little shamed-facedly, I release her, and she shakes herself, smoothing her silk jacket down.

"Mulder, I'll do whatever I can for you. I can't guarantee that it will be enough." She pats my hand, and once again my heart goes out to this loyal little creature. She's strong, far stronger than I am. I'm lucky to have her.

Together, we sit and plan out how we are going to help Alex.

I've held his head while he vomited, heaving until his muscles strained and bruises appeared. I've bathed his face as he sweated and shook. I've clipped his fingernails down to stop him from scratching his face until it bleeds. He's sleeping now.

I'm holding him in my arms, stroking his naked back. I want him so badly, but he's sleeping now for the first time in days, and I can't disturb him. I'm holding him because I daren't let him go. I'm trying to keep him from trembling uncontrollably, from shaking himself apart. He moans and comes partly awake, clinging to me as if he's drowning. My lips are pressed against his forehead as his mouth flutters against my neck. My cock is bursting, but I the thought of letting him go is impossible. I move slightly against him, pressing myself against his thigh, needing him so badly, but not daring to disturb his shallow peace.

His arm steals around my waist, and he pulls my body in to him. I draw in my breath as he presses himself up against me. My belly hurts, but my cock surges, and the hot tingling feeling that shoots through me makes me forget the pain.

"Fox, let me do it for you. Let me love you." His whisper is a faint breath on my neck, and then he turns up his head, seeking out my lips, opening his so that we share breath, before he joins his mouth to mine. My head swims. His tongue promises me sweet hot joy as it slides into my mouth, searching for mine and tangling with it in the passion of our kiss. He rolls me onto my back, carefully keeping himself from pressing against the site of my injury, and I sigh, giving myself up to him, loving him. I've missed him so damned much. For a while there it felt as if we'd never be like this again. Now, after all the pain and hurt we're making love, and I want to cry because it feels so good to me.

He moves his mouth over my chin, pausing to suck on the hollow of my neck, tickling a little and sending shivers through me. I run my hands over him, and he raises his head, capturing one of my hands, pulling it up to place it above my head, and telling me to put the other there too.

"Fox, all you have to do is keep them there. If you move them, I'll stop." The determined sound of his voice keeps my hands in place. I try to see him in the half-light, and he watches me for a minute, then reaches out to snap on the lamp beside the bed. "I need to see you, baby. It's been so long since we did this." The sound of his voice is like rough silk on my tender skin. His words raise goosebumps and I drink in the sight of him as he hovers above me, temporarily free from the demons that ride him. His lips wander over my skin, tongue flicking and lapping, teeth teasing gently and occasionally not so gently, making me jerk and cry out. Sucking on my nipples, rolling first one, then the other between his teeth, he nuzzles into my chest. I'm watching him avidly, gloating over the slide of his muscles beneath fair skin and wanting to run my fingers over the fuzz at the nape of his neck. His hair is short, cut severely into the nape of his long neck, revealing the elegant lines of his throat and the perfect shape of his head. That little patch of down at his hairline makes him look so vulnerable. I want to touch it.

"Come up here for a minute, baby, I really need to kiss you." He swoops up to press his mouth on mine, making my belly flip-flop. I grab the back of his head to push deeper into his mouth, fingering the down on his neck. At this he pulls back, looks me in the eye and tells me "No!" Reluctantly I return my arm to the pillow above my head, and his lips descend once again to explore, tongue sliding on my lips before slipping in between to swirl over mine.

I'm groaning, wanting him so badly that it hurts me. He's trailing his fingers over my belly. The sensation is maddening. He touches me everywhere except where I need to be touched. I beg him to please, please touch me, hold me, let me come. He is kissing my neck now, tongue laving my throat. I gasp as he bites into my neck. He's really working me over. When he finally takes hold of my cock with his sure, expert grip, I scream and fold up, the sensation is so intense. He bends his head down and sucks sharply on the head of my cock, his hand squeezing and sliding on the shaft, and I can't hold back. I come hard, white fluid filling his mouth and trickling from his lips to run down his chin. He holds me there, sucking until I beg him to stop, then he moves down, kissing my thighs, nipping the soft skin there and making me yelp.

Sitting up, I grab hold of his hair, pulling him away from my over-sensitized skin. I force his head back and down to the bed, holding him captive there while I survey him, searching him with my eyes, looking for any signs of needle tracks. He knows what I'm doing and closes his eyes.

"I'm clean, Love. I swear I am." His expression is love, exhaustion and lust mingled. I slowly, slowly lean down over him and lick his lips until he parts them and sucks my tongue in, making me know just how urgently he wants me as he puts his soul into the contact of our mouths. I drop to cover him, running my fingers over his chest to find his nipple, rolling it in my fingers, and then tugging on it while his breathing grows harsh. Releasing his hair at last, I draw my hand down across his face, feeling the stubble on his cheek, and moving down to cup his chin. He moans softly, drawing an answering tingle from my cock.

I grope under the pillow to find the lube, searching and finally getting my fingers on the small bottle without breaking the kiss. Flipping the top, I drizzle the wet, slippery fluid onto Alex's cock, relishing the sharp intake of breath from him as he discovers how cold it is. My hand grips his penis then, and slowly, I squeeze and slide it up and down the shaft listening for the sounds that signal his loss of control. I just love it when he loses control. We finally break the kiss, and he whimpers. I want to fuck him senseless. I want to bite him and plough into him until he screams. Instead, I climb over him straddling his waist and stroking his chest. Then I sit back, positioning his cock at the opening of my ass so that he can push home. I lean back and relish that feel of pleasure-pain that lets me know he is inside me, completely owning my body.

He slides into me, and as I watch his eyes cloud over with lust, my belly gets that falling elevator sensation all over again. This is where I want to be forever. He starts to move in me, uttering little, sharp cries as he thrusts, gently at first, and then faster until he's plunging like he's running out of time. The feel of his cock filling me tightly, stroking against my prostate, is giving me the feeling all over again that I'm nearly there, so I take hold of my own erection, pumping furiously to catch up with him. His hand comes up then to take over, jerking and pulling in me roughly as we hurtle towards explosion. I feel the tightening in my balls that means I'm nearly there when he shudders and pushes in so hard that I scream. I can feel him spurting everything into me, and he shouts my name as he comes, rigid on the bed. Watching him get off makes me lose it too, and evidence of my orgasm squirts over his fingers, dripping down until he raises them to his mouth, sucking them clean. I groan then and bend to kiss him again, allowing him to slip out of me as his cock returns to its sleeping state.

"I love you. I love you so much." As the words are torn out of me, he finally pulls me down to lie beside him, his head pillowed on my shoulder as he cups my jaw to steady the meeting between his lips and mine. I can taste my semen on him. His usual flavor is faintly there, but the tang of my sperm, and the musky fragrance of his sweat overlay it.

For a little while he lies with me, mouth to mouth, breathing my breath, tongues entwined. I put my arms around him, holding him impossibly close, trying to pull him into me so that I need never lose him again. Finally he lets go of my chin, snuggles against me and sighs.

"It was all my fault. I seem to destroy everything and everyone in my life. I nearly killed you, Fox. I can't believe how close I came to losing you. I don't even want to think about Jeff out there, wanting to kill you because of what I've done." He gazes up at me, his eyes dark, cloudy with anxiety.

I can only hold him tight. "I love you anyway, babe. I don't want you getting self-destructive on me. Just stay with me. Don't think too hard about it. We'll only make it through if we're together. Spender's not going anywhere just at the moment. Skinner has that under control." Leaning my face forward, I run my lips over the fine hair of his temple feeling the tickle of it on my skin. "Please, Love, please don't do anything like this again. Promise me you'll wait until you know I'm dead and gone before you react like that?" He closes his eyes. I wait for a minute, but he doesn't respond.

"I promised you that I wouldn't leave you until the day I stopped loving you. Now you promise me the same. If you can't give me the same promise, all bets are off. I can't take not knowing. I'd rather know the worst." I'm trying to sound gentle, non-threatening, but I can feel him flinch as I speak, and I stiffen, not knowing what to do.

"Fox, I love you, but I don't know what to say to you. When you were hurt and I realized it was my fault, I just couldn't go on. I wanted to die, but I couldn't even do that until I knew you were OK. I can't sleep at night for fear that you might die. I keep on seeing you as he stabbed you. I keep on knowing that it never would have happened if not for me. How can I live with that?" He opens those eyes of his. The pupils are huge again, and he seems not to see me as I am. I wonder what it is he can see that makes him shiver. "I promise, for what it's worth, that I will never leave you while I'm still alive. Not unless you tell me to go. You're mine, and you won't ever escape from me. I can't promise you that I'm strong, or brave, or anything like that."

"That isn't enough. You have to promise me that you're not going to run to drugs, or booze, or other people as soon as anything bad happens. You have to promise to come to me first. I may not be able to help, but you have to give me a chance, Alex. That's all I need, just a chance. Promise me." The shutters are down over his eyes again. The thick lashes curl on his cheeks, masking his thoughts, shutting me out.

"Alex?" My voice is sharp.

"Fox, I promise."

Locked in each other's arms we fall asleep.

7: Last Call

"You pale to Fox Mulder."

Funny how five words can make such difference, isn't it?

Everywhere I turn, there he is. He has me hemmed in. I'm in a box so small I can't move, can't breathe, can't see.

My mother wouldn't talk to me. She wanted him. She got him too, and much good it did her. All that misplaced enthusiasm, all that wide-eyed ingenuousness, burned to char. I could have saved you Mom, I could.

My father..."You pale..." Better not to go there. There's nothing in there that I want to think about. Just let me say I'm a disappointment and move on, because Fox Mulder is somehow better than I am.

The man I love has no time for me now. Can you guess why? I guess I don't need to spell it out, do I? It's Mulder again, and I hate him.

Hate doesn't really do it. The word has been overused and lost its impact. There must be a better word for it, but if there is, I don't know it. Suffice it to say that my feelings for Fox Mulder are less than kind.

If I told you some of the things that I would like to do to Fox Mulder, you would back away from me. He has no idea, the arrogant fuck.

It's really not good for me to dwell on him this way, so let me just say that I hate him and move on. There are far more exciting things to talk about. Let me tell you about the man I love, the man who would be mine if not for...

Fuck it! Every train of thought leads back to Alex, my love, and to Mulder, the man who's defiling him.

He will be mine though, and soon. Mulder had better take his pleasure now. Alex is going to be mine.

I sucked him off once. Did you know that? The two of them came to my apartment in the middle of the night, and Alex wanted it. Alex wanted me to suck Mulder, and I did, for Alex.

If he wanted me to, I would do far worse than that.

Alex Krycek is his name. He came into my life one dark night like a wild animal, and he chose me. He picked me out from the herd and mesmerized me with those green eyes of his. He strolled into my life like a panther, dark and sleek and sinuous. He marked me as his and I remain his even now.

He had me down on my knees with his cock down my throat before ever I heard his voice. Then he hurt me and taught me that pain was good if it comes from the one you love.

He prowls through my life like the wild cat that he resembles. He is all dark desire, from the glide of his hips to the arrogant tilt of his chin. He is sleek and muscled, his skin golden silk covered with soft leather. He is wild and wicked, not to be denied. I would do anything for him.

Anything.

I expect you are going to tell me to get a life, to get real, wise up, but it's not that simple. He's got his sticky fingers twined in my heart and he won't let me go.

Let me tell you about him. He looks like an angel, he really does. He's tall, but the way he carries himself makes him seem taller. He's broad of chest and strong, with powerful shoulders and muscles that slide easy under his skin. He's slim of hip with long, long legs that have a slight bow to them. It's a flaw that makes him even more dear to me. When he prowls with those long, bowed legs he places one foot in front of another, leaving inhuman tracks. Alex doesn't walk like a man. How could he, he isn't human. His hips roll and his tight ass moves with such supple strength that I'm always surprised he leaves any tracks at all. He looks like he walks over the earth without touching it. His skin is smooth, satin over the hardness of muscle. I love to run my hand over his skin when he allows me to touch him.

His face? Oh God, his face. When he's stern and unsmiling he makes me melt although I'm afraid of what he might do, but when he smiles, when he laughs, it's like the day dawning clear and bright over the sea, dark and restless and beautiful. When his face lights up, as it does all too infrequently, I feel it like a punch to my gut. All the breath rushes from my lungs and I'm helpless with wanting him, craving him, needing him to cut me and remind me who I am. The pain he inflicts on me is all I ever wanted. It's for me, his smile. One day I will own all of his smiles.

He has this gift of looking inside one and seeing the things you would like to remain hidden. He knows me whether I would have it or not. Sometimes he's kind to me, but mostly he isn't. He understands how words can be used like blades to slice at flesh. He's cut me to the core, peeled me skin from bone, and left me naked, ungainly and defenseless. Off balance I topple, and when I look up he's gone as if he were never there, gone back to his lover without looking back.

He laughed at me, sneered in my face before he turned away. I won't forget that.

And yet, he saved my life for me when I was ready to let it go. He killed for me, and I saw his face, avenging angel. I would have given him everything at that moment, but he didn't want it. All he did was place the barbs of his words beneath my skin again and left me to bleed alone.

He doesn't want me now. He doesn't love me. I know that.

I do know that he will one day. I'll make him. I have a plan.

I've been watching him, watching them. I crave the sight of him the way a junkie craves the needle. There's nothing they can do that I don't see. I absorb the sight of him as he goes through the day. I'm watching now, watching as Fox Mulder sits at his desk, using his computer and Alex, my wild Alex stands behind him, reading over his shoulder and stroking the man's neck. Mulder believes him tamed, but I know the truth. No one has yet managed to bring him to heel. One day he'll stand behind me and touch me with love. He'll want to. He'll beg to.

He has no choice. Neither do I. Fate means us to be together.

The times I like best are when Mulder leaves the apartment, and Alex wanders around, naked and gorgeous, setting the place to rights for his lover.

Once he became aroused, and I watched him as he brought himself to orgasm, stroking and teasing himself, every line in his beautiful body taut and straining as he worked himself. I could have sworn that he called out my name when he came, and I wanted to phone him right then and let him know that I was with him, watching him and that he wasn't alone, but I didn't dare.

I long for the day when I have him. He will come to me at last, and he'll kiss me the way he kisses Mulder now. His mouth will be hot on mine, and he'll surround me, cover me, and give me all his passion and his love. I'll make sure of that.

Fox Mulder will pale. He'll pale beside me and I will shine in the light from Alex's green eyes.

The day is coming. The day is coming when he will be mine. I have it all ready now. Everything is planned. When it's time to take him, I will know. Keeping a panther in captivity isn't something you do without careful planning, and I am really good at the detail work. The terror I feel when I contemplate taking him is a good thing. He would kill me, given half a chance.

I have a place for him. Nobody will find him. I can subdue him, tame him, and bring him to my hand. I've got it all here for you, Alex. I've got everything. Got the hard and the soft, the angry, and the tender. I'll help you redeem yourself at last.

I can see Mulder turn off the monitor and stand now. Alex is putting a hand to his chin, and I can almost feel those long, slender fingers slide over my skin. My lips tingle in sympathy as their mouths meet and their bodies close in on one another.

He's holding Alex against him, and Alex permits the kiss he gives because I am not there. I can see Mulder's hands on him, kneading his buttocks, feeling under his T-shirt for the smooth expanse of his back, and I am hard, so hard that I have to take hold of myself, relieve myself even though I know from experience that it will do me no good. A fire burns in me and only he can extinguish it.

There's no cure for me except through him, and I imagine his soft lips around my cock. I grit my teeth then as the image of him biting through my penis rises up as it so often does. Down in the room below me, Mulder has stripped Alex of his shirt. His jeans are pushed down around his thighs as Mulder fondles him, and still they are kissing.

If it were me, I would be so good to him. Once I have him, he will know true happiness. He'll forget his freedom in the joy of finding real love.

They part for a minute, and I fear that maybe they will move to the bedroom. I need to repair the camera in the bedroom. It went off today while Mulder was at work and I haven't had a chance to repair it yet. I exhale my relief when I see Mulder slide down the front of my panther-boy and I know that they will stay where I can see them.

I record his violation. It's so obvious that he's there under duress, and I know that the time has come to set him free. It may take a while before he understands that he is mine, but that will change.

I can re-educate him. I can break Mulder's hold on him. I'm coming, my angel, I'm coming.

So is Alex, plunging frenzied into Mulder as that sinful, pouting mouth sucks on the length of him. Mulder's fingers are buried in the crease between his buttocks. I let go and jet white, sticky evidence of my love for him onto my hands to drip between my fingers until I taste it and imagine that it comes from Alex.

I see him buck, and then his head goes back. I watch the tendons stand out on his neck as his face contorts into sheer, blind ecstasy, and I shake as I picture him giving it up for me as I worship him with my mouth.

I watch as Mulder takes him in his arms again, claiming his mouth, and I feel a shriek welling up inside me as I continue to observe. It rips me in two to see them there, and know that he has it all. I want to sink my nails into his flesh and scratch it until it bleeds. I want to cut out the tongue that is lapping at the neck of my beloved.

I want him to die for desecrating my forest god, my panther boy.

Instead, I see Alex crouch to accept his swollen prick, kneeling with buttocks raised. I see Mulder drive into him hard and fast as he fucks him, and already I am stiff again, my own penis bulging and solid as I watch. I scream, scream, scream again in the pain of wanting.

There's no more time. It has gone on too long and I can't wait any more. By tomorrow night he will be mine, or we will both be dead.

It's time now. I've set the scene. It was done so simply. All I did was give Mulder back his precious X-Files. That was all it took to get him out of the way.

I gave him the X-Files and took his lover.

Handing over the X-Files was simple. I didn't want them anyway. I never really wanted them. When the time came to hand them back, I was sincere, and boyish, and somehow touchingly noble as I gave him back his treasured obsession and left him nothing but the cold, dead-faced redhead he calls his partner. When I left the room, I knew that he would be busy for a while and there would be no interruptions. I drove back to my hideout in the building opposite to Mulder's apartment block.

Phoning Mulder's home number and waiting for Alex to pick up the phone, I imitate my father. I'm good at that. I wonder if he knows. How would he though? When did the vicious old man ever spend time with me? When Alex answers the phone, I'm ready.

"Alex, my boy, it's been a while since we've spoken. I hope you've recovered from the unfortunate episode of drug use?" My plummy tones are perfect. I pause to suck on a pencil as if I'm smoking and watch Alex down below me, clad only in a pair of blue jeans, still open at the fly. The open zipper reveals a scattering of dark, silky hairs trailing down from his navel to vanish into the mysterious region of his groin, beneath the fabric. He has been in the shower and he is toweling his hair dry. I watch as he frowns and then winces when I allude to his recent lapse into heroin addiction.

Heroin isn't the drug you need, my Alex.

"What do you want? I don't work for you any more." I smile at that. He's playing into my hands now. He believes that I am the Smoker.

"Just a social call, that's all. I like to keep in touch with my acquaintances, and you have been...shall we say, helpful, at times." I'm smiling, and I watch him shake his head as if to clear it before he responds.

"I'm fine. Thank you for your concern. Goodbye." He speaks with scorn, and I'm elated. He hates my father. That's good. My father is unworthy of him. He doesn't deserve Alex's love.

"Before you go, Alex, there's something I wanted to warn you about." That gives him pause. He looks at the phone with irritation but he doesn't hang up. He waits, drumming his fingers on the wall beside the phone. "Were you aware that there's an ongoing observation of Fox Mulder's apartment? Do you know that there is probably someone watching you right now? How do you feel about that, Alex?"

I see him snarl, drawing back his lips over his teeth like the panther I call him, and wonder if he will rush to the window to scan the rows of balconies on this side of the street. Of course he is too canny for that, although I see him steal a subtle peep across towards where I am waiting. His voice is a silky purr now as he quizzes me.

"Why would they be doing that? I don't work for you any more, and Fox spends his days chasing down fertilizer. What could they possibly want?" He's good, my Alex, wild as he is he has subsumed the fury he feels, and his voice reaches me, breathless and innocent, a tempter of lecherous old men like my father.

Smiling, I confirm for him what he guesses already.

"Perhaps they like you. Maybe they just want to watch the two of you together. You are certainly both attractive. Maybe they are making a movie of the two of you having sex. I'm sure there would be a ready market for such a tape." I pause and relish his fisted hand and flashing eyes. I can cause this emotion. I could make him love me or loathe me at will.

I choose love.

"Where are they? Do you know?" He's gentle as he questions me, but I see the tension of his knuckles, white on the phone.

"I'm sure you can find them. You should look up, not down, Alex!" I hang up then, and watch him as he throws caution to the wind and stands, anxiously scanning the rows of blank windows one by one. I have already placed the telescope where he cannot fail to see it.

My camera and video equipment are already dismantled and packed into the back of my van, ready. The telescope is a decoy, one that I know will bring him here, to me.

Quietly, I replace the telephone and prepare for my beloved to visit me. The first thing I do is place the photograph. What photograph? I'm sorry, I know you haven't seen it. It's a picture of a pretty girl and a little boy. I don't know why it moves him, but it does. It could be Alex and his mother. I don't know, but I know that he carried it everywhere with him at one time. For some reason he tore it up and crumpled it, but being his, I saved it. It has been painstakingly smoothed and taped, and I lay it on the floor where he will see it plainly. The door to the apartment is standing open. When he arrives, he will see the telescope, and the rest of the evidence of surveillance. The door to the bedroom will conceal me, and I know that his curiosity will bring him unwittingly to my side at last.

I watch, entranced as he dresses himself. He dons his prosthetic arm, making a moue of distaste as he fastens it on, and fidgets with the controls that turn it from inert plastic to a technological marvel. I wonder briefly how a man like Alex came to possess such a thing. Fascinated by him, I watch as he finds himself a T-shirt, black as usual. He slides it over the prosthesis first before attempting to thrust his head into it. Then, he fastens his jeans, and I bid farewell, for now at any rate, to the sweet intimacy of that fuzzy trail that leads down to his groin like the invitation to pleasure that it is.

He takes his gun as he is slipping his feet into boots that zip to the ankle. Shrugging on his leather jacket he stands, complete and perfect, my assassin, my nature god, my love.

I watch his smooth, graceful lope as he heads for the door. Good, he is coming. I move into position.

Time passes by, dripping slowly as molasses from a spoon, a Daliesque slide of second over second as the symbolism of the clock becomes distorted. I reach a state akin to meditation as I wait for him. My nerve endings are supercharged and I feel each separate hair prickle as I wait. Finally my vigilance is rewarded as I hear the soft snick of the fire door at the end of the passageway.

Here, he's coming. Soon, beloved, soon.

The faintest shadow occludes the doorway and then I see him, slicing through the room like a scalpel through flesh, barely disturbing the air as he prowls. Stooping warily, he picks up the photo I left for him, and I see him start. He's wondering how on earth it could have come here, when he had thought it destroyed.

Nothing of you will be destroyed, my Alex. Nothing. You will be distilled, made finer, more beautiful, more holy. I will not throw away your memories.

I watch him smooth his hand over the photo, and then carefully place it in his pocket before standing to listen for an impossibly long time. He has his gun in his hand, and a faint noise from out in the corridor makes him whirl like a cobra, falling into a crouch as he does so. I thrill at this evidence of his animal-self taking control. I love him so much, so very, very much.

There follows a silence so intense that I believe I hear the dust motes falling. The beating of his heart is an aphrodisiac as it's sturdy pulse forces life through his veins. He has moved back against the wall, and appears to be ready to wait all night if he needs to. I wonder what he is awaiting.

Maybe he's waiting for me to break and show myself. Maybe he believes that the occupants of this room will return. I have no idea what passes through his mind, but one day I will understand him so completely, he will be forced to acknowledge that I am his love.

I wait.

I hear the tiniest creak of his leather, as he moves at last to the door behind which I am concealed. My gun is ready, has been for hours, and I am so aroused that I can barely think straight.

This is living. This manhunt is the reason for which I was born. The uncertainty of its outcome is a powerful turn-on, though in my heart I know already that he will be mine.

At last he steps through the door and I have a full view of him, sleek and deadly, an absence of light in the shadows. I fire my gun and see the dart strike true, lodging itself in the flesh of his neck.

I watch him start, hear him growl, and then he falls, first to his knees, one hand raised to his neck, then onto his face, as the drug takes hold and his consciousness fades.

Stepping forward, I flick on the light and begin my preparations for transporting him to his new home. It's so tempting to stop a while and just play, to kiss his lips and run my hand over the smooth solidity of him, but I resist. Any time now I could be discovered. If I am successful he will be mine forever.

Nodding to myself I bind him, secure him, and take him home.

Loading him inside the van ready to take him away to his new life, I pause for just a minute to admire him. I have never seen him sleeping from this close before, and for a moment I give in to the need to study him, to explore him while he is at rest. I check his breathing, but all seems well.

His dark lashes fan over his cheeks, and his lips are parted, showing the hint of pearly teeth. His skin is fine-grained. He has just shaved, and there is as yet no vestige of bristle on his jaw. He looks almost childlike in his sleep although I know that he must be in his thirties. Stooping, I touch my lips to his, tasting the sweetness of his mouth with a rapid flick of my tongue and feeling the heavy fullness of my desperate cock, beating like a counterpoint to the hammering of my heart.

At my light caress a tiny crease appears between his eyes, across his nose, and I stroke gently to erase it. Even so I am mindful of the fact that he will soon waken, and I can't allow that, not yet.

I take the hypodermic I have prepared. I bare his arm and expel the air from the shot he will receive. Wrapping a piece of rope around his arm to raise the vein in the crook of his elbow, I slide the needle home with its gift of oblivion. He frowns again, and I see a tiny tonic flexing of muscles before the drug takes hold.

I know that he will need me now. I know that I have the power now to make him want even as he has made me want. He'll want, and he'll hurt, and finally he'll come to me.

Knowing that the dose I have given him will hold him for many hours I let in the clutch and pull away from the parking lot bearing my prize.

My house is quiet as we pull up outside the front door. While my mother lived it was often full of her noisy, stupid friends, babbling of alien visitors and the benevolent watch they are keeping over us. Now she is dead, and the house is mine. I prefer quiet and solitude, though outwardly it is still Cassandra's house with its frilled ruffles in the window and geraniums trailing at the door.

Nobody would expect the incarceration of a nature god behind geraniums and ruffled curtains, so I will be safe from prying eyes.

I slide the wheeled gurney to which I have bound my Alex out from the back of the van, and together we enter the house. He's still out, far-gone in a narcotic dream that makes his pulse flutter and his lips dry.

Using a complicated rig of ropes and pulleys I have installed ready for this day, I descend with him into the basement where I have made his new home ready for him. No ruffled curtains for him yet, and no possible chance that he will be able to escape me until he has become mine. I'm sad because there are so many things of which I must deprive him, but I know that it won't be long before he will be able to take his true place beside me at last.

I release the bands that tie him to the trolley and pause for a few minutes before swiftly rolling him onto the bed that I've prepared for him.

He has soft pillows and fine linen sheets, a soft down duvet, and I know that he will be comfortable. I've made very sure of that. Swiftly, I take his jacket and his boots. I think for just a second, about leaving him with his jeans and T-shirt, but the desire is far too strong for me to resist and I give in. With trembling fingers, I unfasten first the belt, and then the jeans. I'm waiting now, for the lighting to strike me down, but it doesn't. He permits this, so I pull down his jeans, holding them at the ankles. They slide down, revealing his unadorned beauty.

My mouth is dry as I gaze at him. White flesh, the silky trail of dark fur crawling down the concavity of his stomach to curl around his genitalia as they lie quiescent and somehow innocent at the juncture of his thighs.

Strong thighs, they are, covered in a gold-brown fuzz. I resist the urge to touch him yet, and turn my attention to his torso.

He has on a T-shirt, and I'm unsure how best to remove it without his active co-operation. I fail at first. In the end, I rip it apart and toss it into the corner of the room. He deserves better anyway.

Looking down on him, as he sleeps his drugged sleep, I feel small and humble. He has given himself to me at last and now my life's work will be keeping him content.

I check my watch. There are at least another three hours of narcotic bliss for my captive before he comes to. I was very generous with the mix I gave him. His pulse is still thready, his breathing shallow and I see his dry lips. Peeling back a single, soot-fringed eyelid, I observe the pupil, huge and unseeing. It had to be done, Alex. It had to be done.

I can't resist any longer and I shimmy out of my clothing, stretching myself out beside him on the bed. Taking him into my arms at last, I feel for the first time the intoxicating press of my flesh to his.

I'm hard. How could you doubt it? I'm hard, but I can press myself up against him now, and I do.

Groaning, I kiss his soft lips and writhe against him, feeling my body catch fire as it warms on his. I drive hard against the meaty firmness of his groin and come hard, shuddering against him and whispering his name.

Alex, now that you love me too, it will be so perfect. Trust me. You'll see.

I lie holding him in my arms, kissing his slack mouth, and feeling him warm and vital and naked, silken against my skin,. I know that this little interlude is just a way station on the long road to my desire and that he must not wake and find me. At last I shrug my shoulders clear of him and stand up, putting on my clothing rapidly once more.

His face is moving a little more, The little furrow over his nose appears as he frowns, indicating that his stupor is lessening and I have very little time.

I roll him over until he is lying face down, and bind his wrists with manacles made of soft leather. I tie the real to the artificial in perfect symmetry. A silken chain that is around eight inches long links the leather of the wrist cuff. His ankles are joined by similar leather cuffs, and then I heave his weight until I have him kneeling. His delicious behind points upward into the air as he rests on his knees in the position I have achieved for him. I pass my hands over the smooth curves of his buttocks and spread them apart to reveal the pink-brown crinkled rosette of his asshole.

For a minute, I hold my cock, wondering if I dare, but then I shudder and apply myself to the task in hand. I coat the plug I have made ready for him in Vaseline, and then push it against that little pucker until it slides in, and in, and then finally gone. I place a kiss gently on him then and hold myself until my trembling subsides.

I link the chain at his wrists to the chain at his ankles, and then roll him back until he lies face up once more. Finally, now that I have him captive and hobbled, it's time for my insurance policy. I place a collar around his neck and buckle it up. There are D rings that attach to it, and to these I snap lengths of steel chain that clip onto eyelets on the head of the bed. Similar eyelets at the foot receive the fastenings from the chain that I pass between his ankles. The arm is an intrusive thing. I wonder about removing it. It grates against my sense of what is right. In the end, I decide to retain it. It's so much easier to restrain him while he has it on.

I adore him, but I'm not mad. I know he would kill me if he could. I know that it's only because he doesn't yet understand, but until I've taught him the truth about the two of us, I can't just leave him free.

I want to touch him. God, how I want to run my hands all over his satin skin until I discover every last crease and fold, but I don't. There's time enough for me now. When he awakens it will be so much more exciting. I kiss him again, a long, sweet kiss that leaves me yearning, and then I leave him to sleep, locking the door behind me even though I know he can't escape.

My life is changing. I'm about to realize my fondest dream.

Alex is mine, and Fox Mulder will pale.

I have the X-Files back once again. I can't believe it. Spender handed them over to me and left. I neither know nor do I care where he went, but I have my life back. It's about time. Scully and I head down into the basement at a brisk trot that almost becomes a run as we get into the basement corridor and leave the elevator behind.

Once inside the door we turn to each other and she flings her arms around me in a spontaneous gesture of happiness, a huge grin on her face.

"I never thought that we'd ever see this place again. We need to celebrate." Her small face is beaming, and I grin back at her.

"I'll get the coffee then." She gives a muffled snort of laughter. The place has been cleaned and repainted. All traces of the former décor have been eradicated. A portrait of J. Edgar Hoover (for crying out loud) hangs behind the desk. I reach up and lift it down. Either we'll repaint him wearing a tutu, or he'll have to go.

I turn my attention to the filing cabinet. Much of the previous content has been destroyed in the blaze, but I have a good memory. What is it that they used to say in that silly, seventies TV show? "We have the technology. We can rebuild..."

Evening draws in and Scully begins to make hungry noises at me before my thoughts surface. Then I remembered that Alex still doesn't know about this new development. He'll be wondering where I've gone.

Reaching for the phone, I call home. It is home now that he's joined me there. The phone rings, unanswered, and then my voice cuts in, flat and disinterested. 'We're not here right now, or maybe we just don't want to talk to you. To find out which, leave a message after the tone and see if we call you back.'

'Alex? Are you there? Pick up, love. I've got news." There was still no response, so I dump the receiver back into its cradle and think for a minute. Scully is packing up her glasses and her pen, and I can see her cell...

Cell phone! He carries a cell. How could I forget? Ever since we had that argument about vanishing without a trace for days at a time he has carried it with him. I phone his number and hear the ringing.

"The Alltel customer you have dialed is not available at present. Please try your call later." I frown. Damn, but I want us to go out tonight and celebrate. I wonder where he is, and when I'll be able to share my news with him.

Lacking Alex, I turn to Scully.

"Guess we should call it a night. You want to pick up a pizza or something and come over?" She smiles back at me, shaking her head.

"You think I want to spend my evening watching you two play footsie? I'd love to, but I've got a date." At that I cave in, and watch as she takes her purse, bids me goodnight and departs.

Leaning back, I reach for the pencils, plonk my feet on the desk, and begin tossing them at the ceiling one by one as my thoughts drift towards my absent... temporarily absent lover.

Alex. I picture him the way he was when I last saw him this morning, lying rumpled and sated in the midst of our tangled, sweat soaked bedding, his limbs tumbled in all directions as he watched me gather my clothing together for the day. His usually guarded expression was soft and his eyes were shining as he recovered from his recent orgasm. I feel my stomach lurch from the weird feelings that spring to life whenever I see him. They serve to remind me that from the top of his dark head down to the smallest toes on his feet, he is mine.

Once he's in my thoughts, he won't go away. He never does. I can picture his spent penis lying glossy against his thigh amidst the dark surround of curls. He had the backs of his fingers pressed against his lips as he watched me, and just the tiniest quirk of a smile as his eyes tracked my movements. I begin to get hard all over again as I remember, the memories flashing by. I wonder then how I could ever have believed that I didn't love him, didn't want him.

We'd been making love, our hands and mouths seeking each other out with blind instinct as passion mounted. He had knelt over me, pulling me into his lap to join with me, his slippery cock nuzzling, then pressing, and finally sliding home deep inside me before at last he had begun to move. Each stroke of his prick nudged and stretched me, inducing sweet fire to radiate out from the place where our bodies joined as he tried to get deeper, ever deeper inside me.

Gazing up at him, lost in the regard of his huge, unfocused eyes, I could see his deep chest heaving with the strain, and as the sheen of effort broke over his shoulders, he took hold of my hip to steady himself and I heard again his husky voice.

"Come on, Fox, do it for me. I can't hold it," he gritted through clenched teeth, and I took hold of my cock to pull on it, feeling the orgasm snake through me, tickling at my balls, stretching every tendon in my body tight. At last, I gave it up for him, telling him all the while over and over again how much I loved him.

He had lasted a very few minutes after that and I had reveled in that look of concentration on his face, the glazed expression as pleasure became almost too much for him to bear. With bated breath I waited for that soft little grunt he always makes when his body finally finds release and he comes for me.

As he came, head thrown back and fingers tight on my hip, so tight that I have bruises still that prove I am his, I could feel his love for me like a living creature, connecting us, making the two of us into more than our separate parts.

I love Alex. I love this man, and I know, with my whole heart I know that he won't ever leave me, won't ever give himself to anyone else but me.

He's mine.

Reaching for the phone once more, I call home and leave a message for him. I'm coming home now, love, and I'm bringing dinner. No need to dress. I love you.

Then I lock up my office... MY office and leave to go in search of take out.

I get home with his favorite, Szechwan cuisine stashed in cartons in a brown paper bag. I call out to him as I come in the door.

There's silence. He's not here. I don't know where he is, but that's okay. He'll come home, he always does, and I can wait.

I take a shower and change into my casual uniform of jeans and T-shirt before sitting down to eat. I notice that the answering machine is flashing with a message, but I know that it's from me, so I eat while the food is still warm and leave the phone until later.

The food is good, but I don't really want it. He's not here and I'm antsy and nervous without him. Funny how I'm unable to settle to anything until he's here with me. Sighing, I leave dinner spread on the coffee table, pull on my running gear, and leave for a run, hoping that it will help settle me and kill the time 'til he returns.

Running through the gathering darkness at the tail end of the day I find a peace that comes with the stretch of sinew and the easy play of loose-limbed joints.

Nothing exists for me except the wind on my face and the ground beneath my feet as I run through the evening towards a time when I can return home and find my Alex once again.

The darkness is soothing. Each patch of yellow lamplight is a stepping stone, a pool of light through which I can trace a pathway back home to my lover. I increase my pace as I get within a mile or so of home and kick hard against the concrete as I race toward my reunion with Alex. The world seems to fly by me as I hurl myself headlong. When I finally reach my destination, I am sweaty, gasping, tired and exhilarated by the exercise.

Panting, I lean against the wall as I wait for the elevator to arrive. The door opens, welcoming me into the quiet of the building. I step in and push the button for the fourth floor.

I feel good, really good. My energy levels fizz and crackle within me. I feel charged. As I approach my front door, I am already longing to see him.

Hopefully, I open the door and call out. There is only silence to greet me, and I slump a little. Maybe he'll be out all night. It happens sometimes, but I hate it. I don't sleep well without him beside me.

I dump my clothes on the floor and head for the shower again, but then I change my mind. Alex hates the mess I make. I pick them up and go into the bedroom to find the laundry basket.

As I turn to leave again, my eye is drawn to the bed, where I can see a pile of black components lying in an untidy clutter. If I were to make an educated guess at their nature, I'd say that they were parts of a video camera. I check around and find a hole in the side of the closet. It's half concealed, but he's pulled away part of the paneling.

This is odd, very odd. My shower is temporarily forgotten as I search around to try and make sense of what's happening. It's becoming obvious that Alex hasn't just taken a whim and gone out on the town.

I see nothing further in the bedroom, but on my return to the living room I'm drawn to the irritating blink and flash of the answering machine. It makes me wonder, and I step over to the table beneath the window to set it in motion. I rewind the tape and then settle down to play back the messages. Straight away, Alex's voice brushes over my senses, and I experience a cocktail of emotions as I listen to him.

"Fox, I got a call from our mutual acquaintance, the Smoker. There seems to be someone watching us. He suggested I look around, and I found a camera. The videotape is in the player if you want to see what they've been filming. I'm going to find out who's involved, and beat them 'til I find out why. I'll see you later, baby. Love ya!" A cold feeling radiates out from my belly. Now, I'm worried. Where is he? What the fuck is happening?

I turn to the VCR and turn on the TV. The remote, as usual, is nowhere to be seen, and eventually I find it under the couch. Sitting down, edgy and anxious, I hit the play button. Of course he didn't rewind it, the snow on the screen tells me that straight away. I do so now, feeling fidgety. What is this all about?

The double click of the rewound tape finally settling cues me, and I press play. The screen flickers and comes to life. My heart skips and beats a tattoo. It's Alex I see there, crouched over me, tonguing my cock while I arch back into the pillow. There is sound, a little muffled, it's true, but clear enough to hear my cry of pleasure as he takes the head of it between his lips for a nibbling kiss, and the grunt and slurp that follows as he sucks me in deep.

He's so beautiful. The birds-eye-view of him as he drives me insane is wonderful. I can see clearly the long back, the tightness of his ass, and his eyes, those eyes are gorgeous. I'm harder than hell as I watch him bring me to the brink again and again, and then leave me, first cursing, then pleading, and finally begging for him to bring me off. He laughs softly, the very vibrations around my cock as he does so drive me clean out of my mind.

I can see how turned on he is by his self appointed task. His own hips are jerking while the moisture drips in strands from the eye of his prick. He's mine. That thought makes my cock leap even now, and I put my hand down, stroking it absently while Alex tortures me on the screen. Pleasure, hot and pointed, licks up my balls and along my cock as I continue to watch, and remember how Alex worked on me. On the screen I have spread my legs wide, and I'm wantonly spreading myself as I beg him to do it to me, to put me out of my misery. He's still chuckling, but the sound of his laughter is a little harsh and desperate, and I know that he can't hold off for much longer. Finally, he reaches for the KY and strokes it onto himself, and then onto me. I see myself writhe on his hand as I watch his fingers delve into my asshole. My cock leaps in my hand, and I jerk myself faster and faster, imagining, remembering, wanting him there with me now.

I watch as he pulls down on my balls, squeezing to stop me from coming yet again. My head is thrashing from side to side, and I'm no longer saying anything coherent. Finally, he lies down beside me, kisses me, long, and slow, and messy, and pulls me until my body lies over his.

As his cock slides home inside me, I can hear him laugh again, and then his hand takes hold of my prick and then he's fucking me, stroking me, kissing my neck and gasping out my name.

"Come for me, Fox. Show me how much you love me. Come on." Words that are forced out like gravel in honey. I can hear myself screaming his name as I babble out love words. His hand slides over the head of my cock to capture the eruption of sticky white jism that spurts out between his fingers.

He raises his hand to his mouth, licking delicately at the whiteness on his fingers with a pointed tongue, and then I see him plunge and stiffen, gasping as he comes.

Watching, remembering, I feel the crawling, tickling rush along my own cock as I watch my lover in the throes of his climax. The release leaves me breathless and panting, half ashamed as I watch my earlier self kissing and fondling my lovely Alex.

Too soon, I come back to earth with a bump. Someone has been filming us making love. I verify this by winding on fast forward through a series of other encounters between us, spread out like a feast on the screen. The camera appears to have started and stopped on cue, showing us in each other's arms over and over again. Standing, I go to the window and try to decide whether or not I'm being observed right now.

I'm unsure of what to do. I pop the videotape out of the machine and place it into a ziploc bag. The remains of the camera I poke together with a pencil, and delicately maneuver into another. Finally, I reach for the phone to call Scully.

Too late, I recall that she had a date and change my plan, dialing up AD Skinner instead. When he answers the phone, it sounds almost as if he's on a date too. I hear voices and laughter in the background as I detail what has occurred. He questions me briskly, abruptly, and then there's a short pause where sound is muted.

"Stay there, Agent Mulder. We'll be over there in around 20 minutes." I acquiesce and decide to take my shower while there's still time.

I'm in the shower, briskly washing away the traces of my most recent orgasm when all of a sudden it dawns on me.

He said "We".

Alex came round a little while ago, and I watched him with the aid of the camera I have mounted over the door. It was fascinating, watching him wake up like that. One minute he was asleep, his face relaxed in slumber as his drugged dream held him close, and the next he was rigid just for one second as he tested his bonds.

He didn't thrash or scream. He didn't do anything except for that one single, fierce exertion of strength against the ties that bound him. I watched with fascination as he permitted his eyelashes to raise, just a fraction. If I hadn't been watching him closely, I would never have known that he was alert, focused, and deadly.

I'm going to reveal myself to him now. He must be thirsty. I'll take him a drink. He will tell me how well I've done. He'll see me in a new light. He'll see me at last as his equal and we'll both be happy.

I pour water for him from a jug in my refrigerator and find him a straw. Later I'll feed him, but for now all I want to do is reveal myself to him.

Opening the door to the room where he lies is an experience both wonderful and terrifying. I've wanted this for so long, but I'm afraid.

I've taken pains to dress myself for him in the way he prefers, in tight jeans and a soft chambray workshirt. I won't wear his collar unless he asks it, but if he does, it's in my pocket, ready.

I step inside and up to the bed where he lies, waiting for his smile. For a minute, he does nothing at all, and I wonder if he has fallen back to sleep. Then, without warning, I am subjected to the full, baleful glare of his hard, green eyes. I see them widen momentarily. I'm about to tell how much I love him, and to welcome him to my home, our home, when he speaks.

"Spender? Oh, good grief!" And he starts to laugh.

I have no defense against his laughter. It bites with sharp teeth. He really must learn to be kind. I will teach him.

"I brought you water." I hold the straw to his lips, and he gulps the liquid down in great, thirsty swallows. Only when the glass is empty does he lean back into the pillows again, and stretch voluptuously. A frown crosses his face, and he wriggles a little, then he grins to himself and circles his hips in a motion that tells me he has discovered what I have pushed inside him.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Jeffy? Why don't you just untie me and let me go?" His voice is carefully calm and expressionless. Good, he's insecure.

"I don't think so, Alex. This is your new home. You'll like it here once you're used to it." His face remains still and watchful. This is one of the reasons that I love him so much. He's so careful, so... premeditated.

"Jeff, how can I get used to it, tied up like this? I'm sure it's a very nice home, but I'm a little cramped here." The soft, intimately breathy whisper strokes my ears, strokes between my legs as surely as if he has touched me. I look at his form, lying still beneath the cover, and know what he's trying to do to me.

I sit down on the bed beside him, gazing at him, willing him to be kind.

"Alex, I love you. I've brought you home. It's all going to be wonderful now that you're here. All I need is for you to love me too." He veils his eyes again, and gives a little snort, quickly over, then the harsh, hateful stare is back.

"Love you? Get real, Spender. Let me go. If there was only the two of us left alive I would prefer my own right hand." Closing his eyes, he shuts me out, and I sit, stunned while I try to understand what he's said to me. He can't mean it. I look for the joke, but don't find it. Slowly, I grow angry.

"You're here, and you'll learn. Nobody knows where you are, and nobody'll ever find you." I take hold of the edge of the duvet that covers him and tear it off, laying him bare.

His eyes open again and he's smiling, smiling as if he knows what I'm going to do. He doesn't though. There's no way he will guess. I reach forward, deliberately stroking my forefinger from his sternum to his groin, and the smile fades. Suddenly I'm looking through twin portals into hell as his glare scalds me.

"Don't touch me, you piece of shit." The voice is grating. I start momentarily, but then suddenly realize that there's nothing he can do. He isn't a god after all. He's a man, and he's mine.

With my eyes fixed on his, and a tingling in my groin akin to ecstasy, I lower my head into his groin and take his cock into my mouth. He fights his bonds at that point, but he can't break free, and I feel his prick stirring under my careful, loving administrations. He quits his writhing as soon as he realizes that he has no chance of getting free and begins to talk, telling me the things he will do to me when he gets loose, as if that will change my outlook.

I have my doubts as to whether he is capable of beating me if I don't wish him to. I do after all have two arms and ten years on him. I doubt, but don't tell him so. He looks so beautiful lying bound and aroused in my bed as I alternately kiss and suck on his cock. His anger only makes him more gorgeous, and I relish it.

For a while I toy with him, flicking my tongue along the ridge that runs around his penis, lapping at the eye of it, and sucking hard on it before returning to my teasing. He bucks with his hips, trying to get himself off sooner and stop the game, but I am ready for that. I hold him still, while he curses me, a litany of praise in Russian.

I love this. My power over him grows with his arousal, and I know that he will come very soon. The thought excites me, and I need to feel him deep inside me.

Swiftly I shuck my pants and climb to kneel above him, knowing that he's going to fuck me for the first time. I have lube, the kind that radiates heat when there's friction, and I coat him with it, watching him strain desperately to come quickly and taking great pleasure in denying him.

I crouch in position and sink down on him. The sound of his voice as he moans is music. I can hardly tell what he's saying as I feel him inside me where he has belonged all this time.

"Alex, you've come home at last."

He draws his lips back in a snarl, but he's coming, and so am I, coming hard, coming over his belly as he thrusts hard and deep into me.

I fall forward onto him and for a second I can't move, don't even want to as my head is pillowed on his chest. At last, I raise my head to see him watching, apparently stunned.

"Alex, you came for me. I knew you loved me." I'm smiling tenderly. He says nothing, only closing his eyes momentarily. I move down to brush his lips with mine, and this is my mistake. He strikes like a cobra. His teeth sink into my chin, and he bites hard.

I scream, it hurts so badly, and force my fingers into his jaws until finally he has to release me. Now there's blood around his mouth and the look in his eyes is pure evil. He needs to be tamed.

I will do it. Now more than ever, I know I will tame him. First, I have to find out what damage he's done to my face, and so I leave to go and doctor the hurt.

He's bitten me almost to the bone. The flesh is swelling already and I will no doubt bear his scars forever. Returning to his side, I shoot him full of heroin and watch as it takes hold, relaxing him until he's totally gone.

Fair is fair. I bear his mark upon me and now he will bear mine. Leaving him to dream his opiate dreams, I go in search of medical help.

Waiting for AD Skinner to arrive I climb from the shower, towel dry quickly, and then resume my jeans and T-shirt. I don't think that the world is ready for my full frontal yet; at least, AD Skinner isn't.

The buzzer sounds, and Walter Skinner's voice rumbles through the intercom. I press the door release mechanism to allow him entry and unlock my door. Then I turn off the TV and drop the tape in its protective bag into my jacket pocket. The jacket hangs beside the door, and I hope it's going to be safe.

I yell 'Come in' when I hear the tap on the door, and then my eyes pop as I see my partner, clad in what can only be described as a slinky dress. She looks sensational. The AD, following her in, is looking very different from his office persona. He's smiling for a start, and looking relaxed in his casual suede and skintight denims. I watch them come in and sit down with a small smile on my face. They are a hot couple. I wonder why I've never imagined them together before.

"I was trying not to bug you on your date, Scully. You really should let me put a tag on you." She grins at me and nudges Skinner in the ribs.

Things sober very rapidly when I start to relate the details of Alex's disappearance. Skinner's questions are few, but pertinent. I'm permitted to deliver my report and assessment before the real questions start.

"What makes you think he's not just gone out on the town?" This from Scully, who knows Alex the least well of us all.

"He didn't take his cell phone or his wallet. He did take his gun though. I think he expected some kind of trouble. That's why he left me the answering machine message." I play it for them, and Skinner picks up on the one thing I didn't want to discuss.

"What's on this tape he mentions, Agent Mulder?"

I stare at him, wondering if he's naive, or malicious. Either way, he presses me for an answer.

"Umm... " I blush. "Actually, it's Alex and I, sir." He raises one eyebrow at me, and I look at him, aghast. No, no help there, he's going to insist. "In bed, sir. Someone recorded us making love."

He looks for a moment as if he's been stuffed, and Scully rolls her eyes. There is an uncomfortable pause, and then Skinner swallows, visibly nervous.

"Have you watched it?" His face is a picture of discomfort as he waits for my reply.

"Yes, sir. There's no indication of who set the thing in action. No 'hot intro' or 'and now a word from our sponsors'. The content is... just what it is. We'd do better to try for prints of something from the camera and the tape." I'm trying to be dispassionate here, and Skinner has his poker face on but Scully dissolves into giggles that just don't seem to want to go away. Skinner looks at her, appalled, and she bites her lip in an attempt to stifle them. They just don't seem to get the message. A further look at Skinner's face causes her to collapse all over again. Skinner makes a vaguely irritated noise in his chest.

"Dana, cut it out. You know as well as I what's going to happen to that tape if it's handed in as evidence. Let's just concentrate on the camera shall we? You say that Krycek found the camera. Have you checked to make sure that it's the only one? There might be others." He's ignoring Scully, who seems to settle down by degrees.

"No, sir, do you suppose I should?" but already he's on his phone, summoning people to tear my home apart.

I take out the larger ziploc bag containing the camera pieces, and Scully takes it, turning it this way and that while the two of them examine it minutely.

Just then, the reinforcements arrive and the place begins to resemble a zoo as men rush all over the place with loud voices and electronic things that blink busily.

I'm alone in the crowd. Nobody needs me or wants me. I watch them as they unscrew the light fitting from over my computer, and fish out a small machine that is obviously a high tech recording machine. I can't see any space for videotape and pray that there are no more.

The bathroom is next. There are two cameras in there. Again I can see no evidence of videotape and utter thanks that Alex and I won't be held up to public ridicule. I can't bear this any longer. Checking my watch I see that it's around 10:30 p.m. A thought suddenly occurs to me and I fade away. Nobody's going to miss me and I'll be better off alone.

Leaving the building, like Elvis, only far more grateful, I head for my car. I've been forgotten as they gleefully and methodically ransack my life. I don't give a shit. There's nothing for me there if Alex is gone. I pat my pocket. The video of our lovemaking is safe there from the prying eyes of my colleagues.

Pulling away from my parking space, I go in search of answers.

Returning from the hospital with a bunch of stitches in my chin I am not impressed with my wild boy. My love needs to learn manners, and quickly. My face looks like hell, and burns like fire. Swiftly, I lock the door and carry my purchases down to where he still lies.

He's awake now, but hazy. The drug still has him in its thrall, and he will be easy to contain if I deal with him now. I take the water bottle and let him drink. He gulps water down thirstily, but when I smile and pat his face he snarls and spits at me. A gob of saliva plops wetly against my cheek and begins its slide down the side of my face.

That's it. There will be no more insults, no more abuse. He will learn to obey me, and then he may live. I take the things I have bought for him and lay them out along the dresser. Watching his face I swiftly tune into the shadows that flit behind his eyes, and I know that he's furious.

I gag him first. It had to be done, and I don't hold back from my duty, however unpleasant. I have a sturdy ball gag, and once applied his teeth are no longer a danger. He's grinning at me, daring me to do it to him, to lay my hands on him, but it doesn't work. I know that I will win. I fondle and stroke him then and watch as his eyes turn wild and vicious.

I take the complicated tangle of leather that he sent to me at the start of our relationship. He laughed at me once, but now I have learned how to apply it, and, sitting astride his thighs, I begin to do so.

It fits tightly over his cock and around his balls to separate and raise them tightly so that he will not be able to come. He'll beg for me to make him come in the end. I'll drink him down while he screams for release. A strap passes down between his legs, and up behind, along the crease of his ass, to his waist. From there it buckles like a belt. The harness around his cock has a loop at the end through which the belt passes, and a strap passes over the tip of his cock to ensure that whenever he moves, it will stimulate him.

He will need to come. He'll beg to come, but he won't be able to, until I permit him. He'll be harder than rock, but he won't be able to do anything unless I give him permission.

It takes time, this horizontal tango that we do, but eventually he's trussed to my satisfaction. His eyes, his beautiful eyes are speaking to me, promising me things. He likes this, I can see. I'm talking to him now, telling him my intentions, and at one point I hear him growl faintly.

Stroked and teased to hardness, he's restrained, but perfect in the bed I've prepared for him. I want to play now. I want to show him how well he has taught me, to stimulate him, give him the clean beauty of pain, but he's still cushioned from sensation by the drug, and I need to wait. Bending, I kiss him and leave him to come down from his high.

As I retreat, I see his expression change from complacency to frustration.

"Not yet, darling, but soon. I'll love you soon."

His head tosses from side to side as the realization that he is helpless strikes him once again. I leave the room to silence, and go to observe him from my monitor.

It's a chilly, clammy evening with ice crystals hazing around a cold moon. Looking up at it, I wonder if it's shining down on Alex too, or if it's too late. For the first time it occurs to me that he could be dead. There are no guarantees, though I tend to think of him as having nine lives. Suddenly I feel as if there's a hollow in my belly that has been filled with ice.

Alex, please wait for me. If you are dead, I will avenge you before I follow you.

Shivering slightly, I turn my car towards the Georgetown district, and M Street. I remember coming here once before, and at that time I got what I needed. I wonder if this time it will be as easy.

I pick the lock and open the door, revealing the flight of stairs I recall from the last time I was here. I know he's upstairs, because I can hear music coming softly from the floor above. I mount the stairs, gun out and ready.

When I enter the room he looks up and smirks at me, the tip of his ever present cigarette glowing at me in the semi darkness afforded by the glowing of his computer monitor and the lights of his stereo. Truly this man is a creature of the darkness. I wonder why he never actually emerges into the light.

"Ah, Mr. Mulder, come in. This is a pleasant surprise." His ugly puss splits into a grimace that I'm sure is meant to be a smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company."

"I want to know what you know about the people who were keeping my apartment under surveillance." I'm curt. I have no reason to love this man.

"I'd be very happy to tell you, my boy, if only I knew what you were talking about." He turns his gaze to his monitor, taking a drag from his cigarette as he does so. I stand before him, shifting from foot to foot. I need his good wishes if I am to learn anything, so I can't do what I'd really like to do, which is choke the shit out of his foul-smelling body.

"Don't lie to me. I heard the message on the answering machine. I know what you told Alex." I feel the chill all over again as he looks blankly at me. "He said it was your voice. Don't give me bullshit, tell me what you told Alex."

"I can assure you that I have had no contact with you or with your associate in the recent past. Whoever it was, it surely was not me. Why don't you take a seat and tell me what the problem is?" Numbly, I nod, and sink into a chair. It's a dead end, a dead end and I won't find him after all. Alex, where are you. I need you.

Taking a deep breath, I begin to lay out all the details that I know of my lover's disappearance.

The darkness is close around me. I've been working, trying to get rid of the edgy, unsettled feelings I have. I know that he is down there, and I want him. I want him. I tell myself that Rome wasn't built in a day and all the other platitudes, but I want him. From time to time I look up at the monitor that shows me the room where he's held. He was angry, but now seems content to wait for whatever comes. I can tell by the occasional short, twitchy movement of his head that he is furious. His anger fuels me. I can tell when he begins to come out of the heroin haze. He thrashes and writhes, and I become mesmerized. Finally, I know that I can't look away from him. My research will wait.

He should have recovered from the drug now, the pain setting into his limbs. He had a bad time getting that monkey off his back before, and it will be worse this time. He'll hurt, and I'll be there to help him, to soothe his pain, and then give him the oblivion he craves until the next time.

I head into the basement again, locking up before I descend the stairs, hands full of the things he'll need. I have a couple of granola bars for him. He hasn't eaten today, I know, and though I want him weakened, I don't intend to starve him. I've got water for him, and ice cubes. I'm so ready to play.

When I get into his room, I can hear him whimpering again, but as I approach he stiffens and becomes silent. I sit and gaze at him again, drinking in the sight of him. I drop down to lick around his navel, and fondle his balls. I can feel myself growing rigid. My pants are tight, and I'm uncomfortable but I can't take my eyes off the incandescent creature I have captured. Absently I unfasten them, allowing my erection to spring free from the faded denim.

I stroke him, gazing into his eyes, and crooning little love words at him. God, I love you, Alex Krycek, my panther boy. I love you to death.

He's not as pretty as he was this morning. His hair is standing in little tufts, and he has my blood caked on his face. His belly is covered in the traces of our last bout of lovemaking, and he is shivering a little. My cock salutes his despair. He is so sexy that my breath catches in my throat.. This is mine now, all mine. Nobody else will see him but me. Fox Mulder can eat his heart out now.

I move to remove the gag, just for a minute or two while he eats.

"Come on, Jeff,. I need the bathroom." I look at him, but I know it's a ploy to get free. I shake my head regretfully.

"You can't go to the bathroom. You'll have to let me help you if you need anything." I take the urine bottle I have prepared, and remove the strapping around his cock. There is a pause, and then suddenly there is a splashing as his bladder releases its contents. He must really have wanted to go, because the stream continues for such a long time that I wonder if the bottle will prove sufficient. At last it stops and he sighs. I set the bottle down for later disposal, and pass my hands over his groin and his inner thighs. He groans and flinches, and I feel myself grow angry. I test him.

"Alex, love, will you let me love you? Please?" He fixes me with a sardonic look.

"Jeff, I'm so thirsty." I remember that I've brought him something to drink, and offer him the water. Once again he drains the container, and feeling a little elated at the sight of him slaking his thirst, I peel the foil off a granola bar and offer him a bite.

He grimaces. I know they are a bit sweet, but he eats it, and then sighs.

"I fuck better when I get steak." His voice drips sarcasm, and I'm tempted to hit him, and a cloud passes over his face as he realizes that he is helpless. It's a start. I feel empowered.

"Can I love you, Alex? Please let me love you." He gives me a scornful look.

"You won't listen, will you? I don't want you. You've got nothing that I want. Why don't you go fuck that father of yours. He takes it up the ass. Leave me alone. I'm not yours and I never will be." He closes his eyes again. I know that he's lying. I take hold of his cock and feel it filling up in steady little spurts.

"I know you want me, Alex." I'm still trying for softness, and maybe he assumes that I'm weak because I'm attempting to be gentle.

I squeeze his cock savagely, and he cries out, but it's hard now, fully hard, because of me. I know that he wants me. His voice is raised, but I tune it out. The things that he says are meaningless to me. The only reality is here in my hand. This is mine, and mine alone. I rub the heated tip and feel moisture gather. He does want me. He does.

He's helpless, and that knowledge alone makes me feel about ready to burst. I bury my head in his groin, smelling the scent of his musky sweat. He writhes then, but there is nothing he can do, nowhere he can go to escape. I jerk his knees apart and probe for the butt plug I'd inserted, removing it and tossing it to one side. Hauling up on his hips I slide a pillow under them, canting his pelvis upwards and giving me better access. I'm hard and dripping. It's making me crazy, this need. I'm going to have him at last.

Grabbing lube and slicking up my shaking hand, I try to prepare him for my cock. One finger slips into the channel that has been loosened by the presence of the plug. I feel him tighten and slap him playfully across the balls. He yells then, calls me a motherfucker, and I smile again.

"I never fucked her. I never even wanted to fuck her. No, baby, I'm an Alexfucker. What do you say?"

Two fingers inside him now and my balls are drawn up tight and hard in anticipation. I add slick and bend to take the head of his dick into my mouth, sucking gently as I probe. Finally, he feels ready. His cheeks are flushed as he tosses his head hectically from side to side. I hear 'no, no, no' and stroke his neck.

"Fox, oh, Fox, I love you."

I pause for a second, and red rage envelops me. I grab hold of his face, pressing into the rough cheeks hard as I hold him steady and think to bite him, hard. I can't do it. I can't mar his pretty face, so I duck to his nipple and bite there, sinking my teeth into the flesh with a vengeance. He grunts, and then gasps, and then screams. When I raise my head, I taste his blood. He snaps at me again, and the knowledge of the damage those teeth can cause makes me pause. With little regret, I replace the gag, and then return to my position between his legs. He can't call me Fox now. He's mine.

His eyes are closed, and there is a gleam of moisture on his lashes. He's moaning. I take hold of my cock in my right hand and place it against his ass, then I slowly work it inside him.

My God, I love him.

I'm finally deep inside him, and I fight against the tickling, creeping pleasure that threatens to take me too soon. I bite my lip and watch him shudder and gasp as I invade his body. I can tell that he doesn't want me, but he's still pushing with his hips. He can't stop himself. His cock is red and throbbing and he's making a guttural groaning sound in his throat. I have him.

I'm fucking him so hard now that his head bangs on the headboard. I can feel my heart pounding and my eyes bug out. His eyes are closed and he's turned his head away. His hand is clenched on his thigh and I watch as blood begins to well up around the fingernails he is pressing into his own flesh. He's angry, so angry.

Sinking into my hot, moist, clinging refuge, I try to bury myself, to become one with him. I feel the shivery flutters of imminent release playing along my spine, flashing through to my navel, each thrust of my hips bringing in a new layer of tickling bliss until I can't hold back.

Stiffening, muscles locking solidly, I jam my whole self into him and feel the flood as it pours through me, another libation to my nature god.

He still hasn't come, and I open my lips to suck him down into my throat. At that, he screams, and I pull off to look at him.

There are tears in his eyes, and he's clawing himself raw with fury.

I'm angry with him. I know it's wrong to be angry, but I feel so annoyed. I want nothing better than to curl up beside him in the afterglow and kiss, love, hold him, but I make myself stern. He must learn. I assume my dignity along with my clothing, and look down on him.

"You don't want to come for me?" My voice is as gentle and soothing as I can make it. He shakes his head.

"Alex, love, you'll wish you had." I reach for the cock restraint once again and strap it onto him. He struggles as he begins to realize that I mean the things I say to him. Helpless, he still fights, but there's little he can do. A huge plug goes into his ass this time and I fit the bindings snugly over his inflamed cock. As I buckle it up to pull his balls savagely tight, he growls and tries to scream at me around the gag. I smile at him.

"Tomorrow, beloved. I'll let you speak tomorrow. For today, you really need to learn your lesson. I know you can learn to obey me, and then we're going to be so happy." I kiss his forehead and run my tongue over his neck. He flinches angrily, and tries hard to butt me with his forehead, but I am ready for that, and he has no chance. "I’ll never hurt you, love. I'll keep you safe from him forever."

A tear appears in the corner of his eye at that, and my heart swells. He's sorry. I know that he's sorry, and he'll be good, but I can't let him off too lightly. He must learn that he has to obey.

I release the chains that are holding his feet stretched out and swiftly pass a rope through to link feet to wrists until they are tightly bound together. Once done, I unfasten the chains that clip to his collar. I don't want him to strangle himself.

He's blinking at me from tear-studded lashes, the hectic spots on his cheek are from rage or passion. I choose passion and fight the urge to cradle him and tell him I'll never hurt him again.

He has to learn.

Kneeling above him now, I take his face between my two hands and bid him look at me. For just a second, his eyes fly to mine and then, deliberately, he closes them, shutting me out, and jerks his head away from my hands, raising his chin in defiance in that gesture I know well.

At this final disobedience, I grow furious. How does he dare defy me? I hit him, striking his face a glancing blow that makes him grunt, and then I slap him over and over again as I try to make him see just what he's doing to himself.

"You wouldn't see me. You'll wish you had. You wouldn't come for me. Oh, love, you'll beg to come before I'm through." I take one of the little capsules in its mesh from the twist of paper that holds them, snap off the top and hold it under his nose. "Now, come if you can."

His eyes open wide then, as the amyl nitrate takes hold of his system. Then, I sit back out of his way and watch as he goes ballistic. He can't bring his hand to himself, but he needs to, oh, yes, he needs to, and I watch him writhe and jerk until finally he falls off the bed, hitting the floor with his damaged shoulder.

Shortly after that, he begins to scream loud and heart-wrenching screams as he tries desperately for the orgasm he needs.

Watching himself move and thrash in his need, I feel myself growing hard again, and my hand goes to the weeping fullness at my groin, to tug it absently as I watch him. It doesn't take long before I'm locked into an orgasm so intense that my screams join his.

He's lying now, arched on his shoulder blades and his knees, and his voice is almost gone, but still he keens, and his chest, slick with sweat, heaves so rapidly it's as if he's a wounded bird.

I move to touch him, running my fingers along his inner thigh to massage his perineum and he bows up into my touch, offering himself.

At last, I take pity and begin to unfasten the straps that bind him, first around his cock, and then, as I take him into my mouth, the ones that constrain his balls.

I suck him gently, tasting his despair as his abused system gathers itself sharply and spurts. He's still hard, and I continue to use my mouth in this most intimate caress as he comes again and again.

Finally he seems to subside a little and his muscles relax. I sit on my heels beside him, considering. He's not as pretty as he was this morning. The blood and bruises, snot and tears are a link between us. It breaks my heart when he begins to sob, and I lay down beside him, take him in my arms, and cry with him.

"I'm sorry, Alex, my lover, so very sorry."

His sobs finally quiet themselves to a mere hitching of his breath, and he lies, quiet and placid in my arms. I kiss him then, his face, his neck, his nipples, remove his gag and then rise to go and fetch the needle that will relax him once more.

Sitting with the Smoker, I recount everything that I know, and strangely, when he requests the tape I reach into my pocket and extract it.

For the thousandth time I wonder what this man has been to Alex, and what his standing with him might be now. He knows my thoughts, because a smile curls the corner of his mouth and he murmurs:

"Alex has always held a very special place in my affections."

Rather than playing the thing, he carefully prepares it, and then lifts a set of fingerprints from it.

"How did you handle the tape, Agent Mulder? Are these likely to be yours?" I shake my head, no, I've only touched it through the plastic of the bag, but I suppose they could possibly belong to Alex.

He moves to his computer, his face seamed with deep concentration, and presses keys. Prints appear at the behest of his fingertips, and I realize that I'm looking at Alex's file here. I resist the urge to overpower the old snake and take the data he has on my love, and simply bring the prints to compare them.

No, they don't belong to Alex.

He takes the card with the prints from me and runs it though a scanner. Then he picks up the phone. I wait, confused, and listen to him as he gives orders to identify the prints as quickly as possible.

Replacing the phone carefully, he turns to me.

"Agent Mulder, just what would you give to have your lover back?" The insinuating voice maddens me, and I swear, half rising from my seat before realizing that to harm him will seriously jeopardize my chances of finding Alex. His smile is as smug as ever, and inwardly I curse him. He's a perverted old man.

"What do you want from me?" The question comes out harsh and spiteful, but he doesn't seem to notice. He takes hold of my precious videotape, and presses it into the slot in his VCR, turning on the screen as he steps away. There we are, on his TV, bodies twining and voices hoarse and panting, loving each other for his enjoyment.

"Ah, yes, he's a delicious treat, isn't he? There are times that I miss him, although he's no longer quite... perfect, is he?" I look with disgust at the smoker, who seems lost in contemplation of the action on the screen as he puffs his ever-present cigarette. I ask once again:

"What do you want from me?"

At that an evil smile slowly spreads itself over his features. His hand creeps down to cup his crotch suggestively before he returns his gaze to the screen, licking his lips.

"No! Alex is finished with you. He's mine now. I won't promise him to you." My voice catches, and he looks absently at me, shaking his head.

"Not Alex. I told you, he's no longer perfect. You." And that does finally make me gasp.

"Me? Oh, no, no, no... " I'm half out of my chair again, prior to running for the door, and he moves back to allow me free passage.

"No? That's a shame, Fox. I'm sure we would have found him for you."

The phone rings at that moment, and he pauses to answer its shrilling. He runs his filmy eyes up and down my body as he listens.. His smile broadens as he thanks the person at the other end of the line with grave courtesy. I feel a thrill course the length of my spine as he replaces the receiver and raises his head to look at me, vile good humor apparent in his eyes.

"Such a shame. I'm sure we could have done business, but if your mind is made up... " My gorge rises as I look at him, and I turn abruptly and run for the stairs.

Behind me, I hear his mocking laugh.

The books all say that a captive needs to be softened up for a few days before re-education can begin. I've seen that he isn't going to be tough though. He wants this almost as much as I do although I know he won't ever admit it, and I spend a long time deciding what will happen. Finally, as dawn breaks, I decide that I must begin the program. The thought of what I am going to do to him thrills me even as it makes me tremble with fear.

When I enter the room where he lies, still hog-tied on the floor, I see that he is awake, although the size of his pupils shows that he's not really with me. I give him his shot. He isn't really out of it yet, but it's okay. It will slow him down and make it that much harder to resist me. I'm ready with my pepper spray and my taser, set on the very lowest setting. I have no wish to kill him. I merely want to tame him, but when you deal with wild animals, you need to have insurance. I begin to release him from his bonds. At first, he is unable to do anything but moan in pain as he tries to regain feeling in limbs that have been cramped for hours. I place a choke chain around his neck and stand ready to discourage him from any attempt to break free.

His voice is hoarse as I prod him to stand. He moans, and then says a single word, a forbidden word- "Fox" regretfully. I slap him as hard as I can, knocking his head around smartly and scream that he is not to say the name again. His lips, chapped and dry from dehydration, split in several places, and red flowers on his chin, dribbling down his neck. He grunts, and sinks down to his knees.

"Fox is bad for you, beloved. Fox will hurt you. There's nothing but pain for you there." Scolding him like a child, I strip the cuffs from his ankles. He is choking and retching as the blood flows thickly, but I don't want to wait any more. I drag him up once again and lead him to the bathroom, reddened and swollen as he is.

The heroin helps, but it's obvious that his cramped limbs are hurting him, and are hard for him to command. It's a while before his limbs begin to obey him enough to take the few tottering steps he needs into the bathroom. I've run a bath for him. The steamy water is fragrant with patchouli and covered with bubbles. I've even placed a mat on the floor of the tub so that he won't slip while he's climbing in and out. He moans and staggers to the toilet, slumping down on it. Removing the chain from around his neck I stand back, alert and watchful as he uses the facilities, then I bid him lie down on the floor. He protests, but feebly and when I threaten him with the taser he lays himself out on the floor. I push up his knees, insert a length of tubing into his ass, and begin to decant warm, soapy water into his rectum. He gasps, writhes a little, and I think he's going to make a fuss, but he submits to my administrations, and I relax a little. He makes a few small, distressed sounds and I soothe him.

"It's okay, darling. I want you clean, that's all. I'd never hurt you." Trembling now, he allows me to assist him back onto the toilet, and from there into the tub. Feeling very daring I unfasten the manacles that hold his wrists. If the leather gets wet it may be spoiled. I check my watch, wondering for how much longer he'll be tractable. It's a sweet luxury to allow him liberty in this way, but I do know that I'm courting death if I miscalculate. That makes it all the more exciting. How many of you can say that you've tamed a panther? He's wild, and would disembowel me for pleasure if he had his way, but I have him in charge, and he will walk to heel for me. A thought occurs to me, and I loosen the prosthesis, laying it down on the floor by the door. His arm is looking sore, red and puffy, with blisters starting to form.

Almost as if he's read my thoughts his hand whips up out of the water, clenches in my hair, and he tries to force my head into the water. A burst from the pepper spray puts a stop to it, and he thrashes in spastic spasm, gasping and choking as his eyes stream. Finally, he plunges under the water. When he emerges, dripping and spluttering, I wash him rapidly and pull the plug to drain the tub. While the water swirls away, I place a choke chain around his neck and tug on it insistently until finally he rises out of the now empty tub and stumbles along at my prompting.

When we arrive back in the bedroom, I see the bunching of muscles in his back, and realize that he's planning to jump me. I shove him forward towards the bed, and apply the taser. His body stiffens, and he screams then, a sharp, curiously high pitched shriek as he jerks wildly, and then drops, half on and half off the bed. Quickly I drag him onto it to lie face down, then remove the pillows so that he has no chance of suffocating. He's quivering, and I loosen the chain around his neck as his face begins to turn livid.

As he begins to come to, I have him stretched, spread-eagled on the bed, chained at wrist and ankles. It's only a precaution, of course. He's too far-gone to put up much of a fight as the pain caused by the taser disrupts his system. It's not the easiest thing in the world to tether a one armed man, but I do what I can with the three limbs that are whole.

His long, lovely back is a treasure I gaze on, slabs of muscle that point in a v to the hollow that ends in the shadowed, mysterious crevice around which his buttocks swell. Here and there are scars, but they enhance rather than detracting from the lush beauty of him. I need to touch him.

I undress, and take a bottle of almond oil. Then I climb astride him and begin a deep and sensuous massage of his sweet body.

Working away at the tension in his shoulders and upper back, my balls slide delightfully over his oil-slick skin. I find the motion soothing. I feel as though I could spend the rest of my life pleasuring this love of mine.

Loving him this way is all I ever wanted or needed. I see his eyes close, and his breathing becomes slow and regular. I can't permit him to sleep just yet, so I shake him, and at his feebly muttered protest, I stand up and take my cane. It was my mother's cane when first she began to lose the strength in her legs, and is a long, slender bamboo cane with a silver tip. I flex it a couple of times, wondering if Cassandra ever imagined such a use for it. When I slash it through the air, it whistles, and I shiver in anticipation.

I've waited for this, to mark him as mine. I strike gently at first and hear a surprised yelp, followed by a groan, but it's not enough, not even close to

what I need from him. I close my eyes in anticipation, and raise my arm. The cane whistles through the air, and when it lands, the sound is ecstasy. He utters a coughing grunt and jerks up from his prone position. I admire my artistry. A single red weal lies across his shoulders, marking him as mine.

"Jeff, you don't...don't need to do this." His voice is torn out of him, and hangs like rags in the air.

"You were sleeping. I didn't tell you that you could." There's no answer then, and I think that maybe he's defying me. I study his back and decide where the next strip is to be placed. I am just about to deliver it when he raises his head to search for me.

"What do you want from me! You know I despise you, I have nothing to give you". He sounds furious.

"Alex, you can accept my love. Give me yourself, that's all I ever wanted." His eyes, pupils huge as he fights the drug in his body, are flickering around the room as if searching for help. He moans softly. "I'm all the help you need, Alex, just give yourself to me."

"Fox will find me. You'll see." I scream at him, and raise the rod in my hand, lashing into him again and again until the blood springs from the welts I have made and begins to trickle down. At first he's silent, save for the gasping sounds he makes as I connect, but at last, he loses it. At last, I hear him cry out for mercy as I lash him again and again, then screaming, and screaming in anger and hurt, howling like a beaten animal, and yes.....

I'm screaming with him. I'm screaming "I love you. I love you." As if it's a weapon as the mist clears from my eyes. Finally, I sink down, panting.

He's sobbing gently, and I pet his hair, stroke him, and kiss the back of his neck.

Somewhere in the far distance the doorbell chimes. I wonder vaguely whether or not I should answer, but I can't leave him at the moment; he needs me. I let the door go unanswered. It was probably someone selling something and I have everything here that I've ever wanted.

He's thrashing about. His back is a bloody mess, tracked and seeded with bright blood and I stoop then to taste it. Somehow it feels like a communion to me. I am in communion with my beautiful panther god. The thought makes me harden, and I pull up on his hips, hastily stuffing a pillow under hip to raise him. Then, I slick him hastily.

Driving home into him is a fierce pleasure. I hear him crying out through a long, dark tunnel, and I must, must...

There is a sound behind me.

Lost inside him, I push deeper. It's too late for anything to stop me, and I come, pushing hard into the sucking moisture of him. I hear a low laugh at that point, and whirl around, only to come face to face with my father.

"I suspected you might be at the bottom of this, Jeffrey." He eyes the place where Alex and I are joined. "How very gratifying it is to be right." He reaches into the pack of cigarettes and there's a studied pause as he lights up. I'm willing him to go away, but instead he steps to the head of the bed, to where Alex has bitten his lip bloody in an unsuccessful effort to stifle the moans that tear from him. I withdraw from him, and finding my pants, I pull them on swiftly. My father gazes, transfixed at Alex, and as I watch, he scratches across the bloody length of his back with one sharp fingernail, and Alex cries out, cringing into himself.

"Leave him, father. He's mine now. Fox Mulder gave him to me." The smile broadens over his ugly face, and he puffs on the ever-present cigarette.

"Oh, really? I thought that he and Fox Mulder had become.... intimate." There's a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and I fix my father with a look that pleads with him to go along with me.

"Mulder has never forgiven him for his betrayal. You know how much he hates Krycek for what he did. Getting together with him in the first place was merely an elaborate ploy to gain revenge on him in the most ironic way possible. Mulder never loved him. He loves that bitch red-head of his." As I finish speaking, I can feel Alex tense beneath my hand and I know that I've found the way into his soul at last. "Mulder gave him to me to do what I want with. He's hurt, but I'll help him over it." At that, there's a howl of such anguish, that both my father and I pause. He thrashes his head from side to side, and I place my hand on it to force it down.

My father smiles broadly again and takes him by the hair, forcing his head up to look him in the eye.

"Well then, it's a good job that Mulder is mine now, isn't it. I've avenged you, Alex. I finally allowed him into my bed last night. We laughed at your gullibility, my fine Russian. Have a pleasant day, won't you." With that, he turns and leaves the room.

I am left staring after him, wondering why and how Mulder did this thing, until a low sound from Alex brings me back to reality. He's crying at last.

I'm coming to the end of my options. No trace of prints has been found on the cameras, and a search of the building opposite has proven negative. I go to his apartment to look for any sign that might be there, but he has hardly set foot in it for months, and towards the end of the day I creep back home to sit on my couch and brood. I'm all too painfully aware of the one option that's still open to me.

The disgusting old sadist wants me in his bed. He told me so, and much as the thought makes me shudder, I'm beginning to think that it's the only way I will ever find my Alex again.

Sitting in the light from the fishtank, staring unseeing into the gloom, Alex's face rises up in front of me.

"Fox, darling, you know I'd do it for you. I'd do it in a heartbeat if I had to." I jump. He's right, I know he is. He would stop at nothing to rescue me if I were in danger. How can I do less?

Finally, I make my decision. For Alex, I will do this, and not cry. I can give myself. It won't change me.

Losing Alex will change me.

I head for the bedroom and get myself ready for a gruesome seduction. Torn jeans, tight T-shirt and a leather jacket transform me into the rough trade he seems to enjoy. Condoms and KY go into my pocket and I'm a whore now, on the way to buy my lover's release. I'm a whore, but at least I'm doing something to help him.

I put my favorite photo of him in my inside pocket, and I'm ready. No point in holding off any longer. I can do this. I can, for Alex.

My mind roams over the thought of our reunion. He'll be bruised and more than a little pissed off. He'll say some smart aleck thing like "What took you so long?" and I'll say "Is that all the thanks I get?" and then, I'll kiss him. I'll drink up that tender mouth as I claim him as mine all over again.

There's just this one small thing that I have to do first.

This time, I ring the doorbell and wait until he comes to the door. As ever, he's immaculately groomed. His eyes widen momentarily as he sees me, but he recovers swiftly and invites me inside. Wordlessly courteous, he stands aside to permit me to enter, then closes the door behind me, locking and bolting it before following me into the room.

Standing before him, I cut through the bullshit. If I'm going to do this, I have to do it now.

"What are your terms?" My voice is harsh but his eyes gleam satisfaction.

"I'll tell you who has him in exchange for your favors." I nod, waiting. "You will remain in my bed, co-operative and responsive, for 8 hours, and in the morning I will furnish you with the information you will need to find him."

I nod again and allow my leather jacket to fall.

"It's ten now. Tomorrow, at six, you'll tell me?" He nods agreement.

⁄⁄What would Alex do now? ⁄⁄   I think madly to myself, and then, as clearly as if he were there with me, I hear him tell me. I drop to my knees and wait for the nightmare to begin.

At 5:45 AM I'm waiting for the clock to creep around to the hour of my release. I had expected the bastard to abuse me, and in a way, I suppose he has, but not physically. His very gentleness with me is somehow worse than if he had set out to hurt me.

He was surprisingly gentle, though nonetheless invasive. I shudder at the thought of the past few hours, and the litany runs through my brain, pounding "For Alex. I can do this for him. Only for him," as I review the night I have just spent. He's sleeping now, but at six, I'll wake him and be done with this. I'm nearly there.

At the turn of six AM, I shake him, his flesh hot under the thin silk of his pajamas. He snuffles briefly, and opens sleepy eyes in a face that looks almost innocent. I resist the urge to drive my fist into it and repeat my mantra, "For Alex. Only for my love."

I'm sitting up in his bed, waiting grimly. He raises his hand to touch my lips, and I grit my teeth, my patience going rapidly. I stifle the urge I have to beat him bloody, and wait.

"Very enjoyable, Fox. You have a great second career ahead of you." His voice oozes, insinuating, and I draw in my breath in preparation to strike. "You'll find an envelope beside my computer. Inside it, you'll see the name that you need. I suspect that you'd better hurry."

I'm out of that bed, pulling on my clothes and praying that I have time enough. I don't stop for good-byes. Once in the living room, I grab the envelope with shaking hands and rip it open, my pent up violence going into the shredding of paper. There's a card inside and on it is a name, written in neat, old-fashioned calligraphy.

Jeffrey Spender.

The name stands out on the white card, and I feel my fury like a living creature rising within me. Turning, I head back into the bedroom and stand over him as he smokes his first cigarette of the day. He smirks at me and raises an eyebrow.

"You bastard! Where is he?" He pauses, drawing on the tube of nicotine that dangles from his lips.

"That's not what you asked me for. You've got what you asked for. Do you want to make another agreement? I enjoyed last night. I'm willing to indulge you." Turning abruptly, I run from the apartment.

Heading to the office, just a stone's throw away from the CSM's residence, I make for my computer. I was once at Spender's place, but Alex was driving, and on the night concerned, I was so crazy with lust, we could have gone anywhere and I would have seen only Alex. I pull up the file on Jeffrey Spender and punch the keys that will tell me his address.

He was once a promising agent, but he seemed to me to be old before his time, withered by too much bitterness. Three days ago, he resigned without any warning. True, he has been upset by the death of his mother, but he has been strange for a long while now, and it can't all be attributed to the death of Cassandra Spender, no matter how dreadful that was.

It all fits. I know that he wanted Alex. I bear a scar on my belly that is testament to his misplaced lust, and I realize that I'm as much to blame as anyone for his state of mind. Alex and I taunted him, and now we're reaping what we’ve sown.

Rapidly I find his address and race back down to my car, turning to head out to the suburbs of Alexandria, where he lives. By the time I arrive, I'm almost beside myself with rage and anxiety. I recall this place from the time once before, when, clad in leather and dazed by love, Alex had driven me though the midnight streets to find and torment Jeff Spender. Now, as then, I hammer on the door. When there's no answer, I crash through the door.

Inside there's nothing. No furniture, no personal effects, no sign that Spender ever lived here. Moaning, I sink to the floor. I was so sure I would find him again. My head sinks into my hands as I try to decide where to go next.

He's moved, but where would he have gone?

I sit for what seems to me an eternity, thinking things through, trying to quell the terrible anger that threatens to send me spinning out of control. Now isn't the time for the luxury of anger. I must put it aside. I have to find Alex.

What makes up Spender? He's estranged from his father, and there were no signs in the old man's home that he had a son. I could feel it in me to feel sorry for Jeff, lonely as he must have been, but not now. It was obvious that his father had not known of Jeffrey's kidnapping until after he has lifted the prints from my tape.

Spender has spent his entire life without a father, and when his mother died...

His mother.

I groan, and reach for my phone.

I've had to give Alex more of the drug. He's taking a heavy dose each time, and I hope his heart can stand it. I had to place padding around the head of the bed as well. He became self-injurious, and his head is already covered in bruises. While I was out of the room he began to thrash and pound himself on the mattress. Somehow from his prone position he managed to reach the heavy oak of the headboard, and smashed his head against it repeatedly, whether in rage or despair I don't know. Now, as I look at the bruise that covers his face and the split skin of his forehead, I don't want him to hurt himself any more. He's destroying his beautiful face. He has to stop.

After I had placed the padding where it would protect him from further harm he seemed to go wild. Throughout the evening, he screamed and howled, thrashing and tearing at his bonds. Twice I offered him water, the second time it contained a sedative, but each time he refused it, his glazed eyes staring dully at something only he could see.

I love him. I can't leave him in despair like this, but I don't know how to help him throw off the yoke that Fox Mulder has placed on him. I tell him over and over that Mulder never loved him; that Mulder must hate him or he wouldn't be with my father. Mulder has betrayed him. His heart needs to learn to beat without him.

His color is poor, and I force some water, laced with a little, calming something into him while he chokes and splutters. Finally, with some idea of getting him some exercise, I haul him off the bed with the choke chain and half drag him, staggering and stumbling, to a chair in my study.

I chain him at wrist and ankle and take a bowl of porridge, which I attempt to spoon into him. He resists. It's fairly obvious that he doesn't want it, and after a while I give up. He is wearing most of it and I am not sure that he has actually ingested any. I take a bottle of water, and tilt his head back, trickling the liquid into his mouth and waiting each time for his swallow. It takes forever, but eventually the bottle is empty, and there isn't too much on the floor. I kiss his mouth, unresisting as he is. It's getting late and I'm tired, but I can hold on for a while, just because I have his company.

I turn to my monitors and switch them on. I want Alex to see how clever I am, and how carefully I have prepared. I want him to be impressed at the masterly way I have engineered his capture. I want him to see how much I love him, and how worthy I am to have him now.

The monitors all spring to life except the one that is hooked into the camera system in Fox Mulder's apartment. That one appears to be broken, and I turn to the next. The camera in Dana Scully's apartment reveals no sign of life, but I think she's gone to visit her mother this weekend so I'm not expecting to see her.

Moving on to the next in line, the one that looks into Assistant Director Skinner's home, I'm amazed. He is not only there, but he has Dana Scully with him and they appear to be more than friendly. I'm interested but hardly excited at the prospect of the two of them getting it on. A flick of the switch and the screen darkens. I move on to the rest.

There, I pause. There isn't often anything exciting happening in my father's apartment, but tonight is different. I can see that he's in bed with someone. With a thrill, I see that the man currently sucking on his penis to his evident enjoyment is Fox Mulder. My father told the truth!

I shake Alex, forcing him to look at the screen where Mulder is working hard to get my father off, and though he tries not to, I know that he sees. Recognition flickers across the dull eyes, and he lets out a single, soul- wrenching howl. Clarice Starling would be proud. Here is a lamb that still screams. Tears begin leaking sluggishly from the corners of his eyes as he watches, seemingly glued to the action on the screen. I put my arms around him, feeling him flinch as I touch his raw back. I apologize, laying kisses on his neck and shoulders. I wouldn't hurt him for the world.

It's a further hour before my father achieves his climax, rutting on the long, lean body of the man I hate most. By that time Alex is moaning as his tears continue to flow. I know that at last I have won. I hold him tightly as he breaks down in earnest, stroking his hair and telling him over and over again how much I love him.

He's bruised, filthy with spilled oatmeal and slick with blood and sweat. His eyes are swollen red from crying and his nose is running. It's 2 am and it's time for him to sleep a little. He's earned it. Somehow, I know that my danger is past. I know that he won't hurt me now.

I fetch a towel and a bowl of warm, soapy water, then I begin to sponge him clean of the food and the dirt. Gently, I wash the wounds on his back with antiseptic, and apply a salve to the stripes. His stump is red and blistered too, and I doctor it tenderly. He's mine to take care of now.

Once the worst of his injuries are cared for, I wash his face, bathing the sore eyes, kissing his mouth softly even though I'm poised to take action if he lashes out.

He doesn't.

I untie him and lead him back to his room. He slumps on the edge of the bed, obediently awaiting instruction from me. I clip his one wrist to the headboard, and lie him down. He draws himself up into the fetal position and lies motionless.

I lie down behind him, slide my arm around him, and lie holding him. At the edge of sleep, in that place where the world becomes rushing water, carrying one out into the sea where dreams live, I feel him snuggle back against me, as if he is seeking warmth. He's as hot as a furnace, and shivering. I nuzzle him gently and whisper a gentle word or two, and then, with my wish at last reality, I fall asleep.

The house is a 50-minute drive from Spender's apartment. As I approach Great Falls my anxiety level begins to rise. The house itself appears to be closed off and there's an air of despair about it. A once carefully tended yard is already sprouting weeds and the whole place looks neglected and down at heel. The morning sun is pitiless, revealing the weeds and the dirt. I don't see any signs of life, but I know that he must be here, he must...

The thought of what must happen if he isn't almost makes me vomit. I'm not going to let it get to me. I drive up to the front door and am scrambling out almost before the car comes to a halt.

Standing in front of the door, I contemplate crashing straight through it. I decide that this would merely alert the crazy man who has my Alex in his power and give him time to endanger his life. A moments thought suffices, and I set about finding a way in that won't alert him.

Prowling around the property I find no other way at first, but then as I look upwards, I spy an open window on the upper floor. Grinning, I go to retrieve the ladder that is laid up behind the wooden shed in the back yard.

It's old wood, rotten and spongy in places and initially I wonder if it's going to bear my weight. Sighing, I decide that it will just have to. I tote the damned thing over to the wall with the window, and lay it up against the stucco.

The ladder creaks and groans. I bypass one rung completely because it looks so very treacherous. Finally I'm level with the window, and it's a simple matter to climb through it.

When I finally stand in the room looking around, I gasp. Pictures of Alex are everywhere. They are taped to the walls, look at me from frames on the furniture, and a series of 8x10s are strewn across the sour and rumpled bed. All depict my Alex. He's naked, clothed, laughing, angry and wild. He's sleeping in one shot, the curling lashes drooping innocently over smooth cheeks. Clothing and notebooks are strewn over the floor. A stack of videotapes litters the space beside the TV in the corner. The tapes are meticulously labeled with dates and times, and the one word 'Alex'.

He's here. He has to be.

This complete invasion of Alex's life is laid out as if for some outrageous meal. I feel at once disgusted and excited. I move to pick up the photos that lie on the bed, and a thrill of horror flashes through my heart. The back of each photo contains a meticulously detailed list of how this monster intends to deal with him. Photos of my darling masturbating stab at my eyes. How could he get these? He's obsessed. He'll kill him before he breaks him the way he's suggested. I swallow, my tongue suddenly too large and dry in my mouth to cope.

Frantic now, it takes me several minutes to bring myself back to a state where I can achieve anything, but at last I open the door stealthily, and pad down the stairs after checking the rooms on this level.

All seems deserted.

The ground floor is quiet, the drawn drapes making it seem gloomy, as though it has somehow lost the life that once was here. One room proves to be a living room with shabby, chintz covered furniture. The kitchen is, surprisingly enough, fairly clean and tidy save for a bowl of oatmeal that sits half empty on the worktop. The last room on the floor is the largest of them, and has been fitted out as an office of sorts. There are rows of monitors, banks of equipment, and three computers. One of the computer screens is on, and a photo of Alex, his head back and laughing, captures my attention. All the signs point to him being here, but where?

I wander the ground floor, growing increasingly agitated. He's not here... Not here, but he must be! Finally, I sit down at the desk and turn on the monitors arrayed beside the desk.

The first one shows a bedroom I recognize only too well. The old spider that inhabits it is not there at the moment, but I know that room. I left it only a matter of a couple of hours ago. Nothing is moving there, and I turn my attention to the next one.

It's another bedroom, with another surprise. There are two people in the bed, and I recognize them instantly as they writhe and turn. Assistant Director Skinner is showing his good side to the camera as his buttocks flex and rise. I see only the legs that are wrapped around his waist, but I know that it's my partner he's fucking. Those legs are well known to me. Any other time I would be fascinated, and indeed I can feel stirrings down in the undergrowth, but I ignore my stupid cock. It has no sense of timing, and Alex needs me now.

The next monitor shows Scully's empty bedroom. I'm bemused. How did this weasel manage to place all these cameras, and why?

The fourth monitor isn't working. Only static fills the screen. Turning now to the fifth I switch it on, and gasp. They are there together, and Spender has him in his arms. The two figures lie together. Alex is still, obviously sleeping, while Spender is up on his elbow, leaning over him as he gloats. He leans in to dust my lover's face with kisses, and then strokes his face.

I can see that it's Spender, but where? Where?

There must be a basement somewhere. I breathe deeply, trying to remain calm, cudgeling my brain in an effort to think how I could possibly have missed the damned entrance to the basement. I resume my search of the downstairs, opening cupboards and pulling back rugs in an effort to find it. At last I strike lucky. A cupboard swings away from the wall to reveal a set of stairs that descend. A dull light from below permits me to see my way.

Half of the basement is typical. Here the furnace, there the piles of junk and clutter accumulated by families everywhere over the slow crawl of time sit in mute agreement that this house is an average dwelling. Advancing through the shoulder high piles of forgotten treasures, I come upon a small area that has been cleared. It holds an armchair, placed alongside another monitor. There have got to be thousands of dollars worth of surveillance equipment involved in this system. I wonder who paid for it.

It occurs to me that the vile man I spent the night with has probably financed it, encouraging his own son in his psychoses in order to destroy us.

I wonder what it is that Alex and I know that makes him desire our destruction so badly. We'll find it out sooner or later, Alex and I, and then, finally we'll beat him forever.

A quick check of the screen reveals that Alex is still in the bed although I can't immediately see Spender, who is no longer lying with him.. I head for the door at the back of the cleared space. It seems like the logical place to search. I'm tense and ready. Today, my love comes home.

I try the door handle. It turns easily enough, and I'm through, gun in hand and ready to save him, take him home. Spender has come out of nowhere, and is standing over Alex with a syringe in his hand. I yell at him to freeze.

He turns to me and laughs.

"Well, Alex, look who it is. He just doesn't seem to want to stop hurting you, does he? How was daddy last night? We watched you sucking him off. Alex saw you spread your legs for him, didn't you, Alex? Was it good?" His voice drips sarcasm, and I'm suddenly cold. He made my Alex watch... that?

He turns back to Alex, who is still lying, shivering on the bed, and deliberately slides the needle into the vein in the crook of his elbow. I note the tourniquet he has put on to raise the vein, and blood drums in my ears as a tide of red veils my thoughts.

"What are you giving him? Stop!" I scream at the smug, complacent buffoon who is slowly killing my lover. He looks over his shoulder at me and sniggers, and that's it. It's too late for him.

My bullet takes him in the throat, and he falls forward onto the bed, blood spurting bright and final, to redden my lover and drench the sheets.

Alex screams, hoarse and pained, and I move forward to soothe him, reaching for the bindings that keep him from rising and rushing to my side. It seems at first that he's screaming at the dead thing that lies twitching on him, still pumping blood, but it's not.

He's feral, wild, there's no humanity left anywhere in his gaze.

He's screaming at me.

I phone Skinner. I can't think what else to do. When at last he and Scully arrive, Alex is still strapped to the bed, fighting, thrashing wildly when I try to go anywhere near him.

I've removed the needle from his arm and loosened the rubber tubing that was tied around it. I put the damned thing to one side for Scully to take for testing, but I know only too well what it is. I feel tears clogging my sinuses and pinch the bridge of my nose to force them back. I can't spare tears right now, not 'til he's safe and well.

They take a statement from me, and an ambulance is called. Scully tries valiantly to make me go home and take a sedative, but I know that I can't, won't do that. He needs me. He'll never find his way back without me. I know it.

At the hospital they examine him and begin a catalogue of the injuries he has suffered. Many are superficial, but some are not. His back has been flayed, and is scabbed and suppurating. His scars are real, physical reminders to me of the way I've let him down. The stump of his arm is in a bad way too. The dehydration and the urinary tract infection are easily treatable, and the terrible bruising all over him will heal. The lacerations and burn marks will fade, and the concussion is going to leave him soon. Even his anus, torn and bleeding from repeated rapes will heal.

In some ways, it's a miracle that he has survived the onslaught on his being. I reflect on his strength. Only Alex could have undergone that and not given up.

Harder by far to cope with is the fact that hates me. He fights to get at me, and cowers when he can't. Worst of all, he is once more addicted to heroin.

He has survived, and yet, he seems to have given up now. After all he's been through, he's giving up.

I'm forced to conclude that there are worse things in the world than the rape of the body. He is somewhere else, the bright flame that is his spirit has begun to flicker and fail. When I look at him, mindless and vacant, the drool bright on his chin, I wonder whether I should just give him an overdose and set him free, but I know that I can't. I love him too much to let him go without a fight. If he dies I will take the guilt of it to the grave. I could have stopped this. I could have protested. I could have given Spender over to justice when he attacked me, and I didn't. My guilt is a solid lump, hard and aching within my chest, but it serves no useful purpose. It won't help my lover now. That thought is possibly the hardest thing I have to bear.

Alex slumps quietly in the corner while they examine him, permitting whatever intrusion they visit on him. I step forward, meaning to offer him the comfort of my arms while he undergoes the indignities of an examination. As I approach, a wild look overtakes his features, and from blank vacancy, he is sudden transformed to wild killer as he goes for me, hands around my neck ready to choke or snap. The growl that emanates from deep in his chest is animal, inhuman.

The orderlies subdue him, but not before he has placed his bruises like a necklace about my throat. Shortly after that they place him in five point restraints, as he is caught attempting to end his own life by thrusting his head through the glass of the window. I don't believe that they were expecting his lightning movements, and he slips out of their grasp. I shriek, trapped as I am behind the glass from which I'm observing, and I know that he hears and recognizes my voice. A look of sheer misery slides across his features, and he breaks free again. They catch him just as he's turning to cut his own throat on the glass.

For the first day or two, he sleeps, save for the times he wakes up screaming, shivering and sweating. He vomits constantly, and has to be watched carefully to ensure that he doesn't choke on it. He won't, or can't feed himself, and eventually I take over the task of trying to get nourishment into him. My success level is tempered by the fury on his face when he sees me. I don't know what the fucker did to him to make him see me in this way, but I hope he's dancing in hell now.

Alex doesn't respond, no matter what I do, save for the look of sheer animal rage that occasionally crosses the blankness of his face when he sees me.

Where are you, baby? Will you ever find your way back to me? You made me a promise that you would follow me if I died. I can do no less. I don't know where we are headed, but wherever you go, I will go too.

Day follows day. His bruises fade, and the cramps aren't so frequent. He'll eat a little now if he's fed, but only things that take no effort. He's wasting away in front of me, and I'm powerless to stop it from happening.

They released him from the restraints a couple of times, but each time they've had to return him. He attacks himself, and I know that he wants to die. Once, when they allowed him freedom, he merely lay inert, and my heart rose. I had to go to him, and I left my vantagepoint to enter the room. He didn't appear to look at me, but somehow he sensed my presence, and with a snarl he was on me, faster than thought, his hand around my throat as he attempted to crush my larynx. I would have died right there if we had been alone.

I watch him battling the sweats and agonizing stomach pains, and wish I could hold him while he fights. He hallucinates for a while, and I hear him screaming and crying as a parade of who knows what dark images pass before his unseeing eyes, until at last he's reduced to sobbing. I hear my name now and again, mixed with the babble of English and Russian.

I can't help him.

He won't let me.

Still, I sit beside him day after day while the drug tears his system apart, talking to him quietly of the life we had, and my hopes for the future, while he lies dull-eyed, or screams incomprehensible Russian. Days creep on into weeks, and he's almost free of the drug but showing no signs of becoming my wild, fit, healthy lover once more. I try and try in vain to find something that will turn him around.

On the day that I decide to wear the leather outfit he bought for me, his eyes widen momentarily as I enter the room. He looks as if he's about to say something, but then the shadows fall over his face and his gaze clouds over as he refuses once again to focus on my presence.

In my head, I hear a voice from long ago. "You mean so much to me that I don't want to live any more if I have to do it alone." I remember sitting, bracketed by his sweet body, sensing the heat under the black silk while he laid his soul bare to me for that first time on Christmas Day. I remember his kisses, silk-soft mouth promising me everything in the slide and flick of tongue on tongue.

I have to find a way to bring him back to me.

I look down on his spread-eagled form. He's pale, and growing increasingly thin, but the beauty of him is undeniable. His huge eyes dream, and the long black lashes flutter to rest on his cheek until I move towards him. He can't hide the erection he has. I know that he still loves me, still wants me. There's the whole problem. He wants me as much as he ever did, but he believes I betrayed him. Spender's words come back to haunt me. I know what's killing Alex now.

He believes I betrayed him. That much is clear. I tackle him about it but he doesn't reply, doesn't look at me. I realize that I have to do something now, or lose him forever. He's just waiting impatiently to die. My thorough lover has turned all the energy and focus he possesses on giving up.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I can't let him go. He's mine, and without him I will be adrift forever. The lump in my throat is such that I can't speak. I try, but the words won't come. We had love that was a safe place for him after the pain of his life. It was given to him and then ripped away and shredded by Jeffrey Spender and his father. I think of the things that Alex has lost, and I burn with fury. I gaze at him for a long, long time, and then I take his face between the palms of my hands, leaning down to kiss his eyes.

Finally I turn and go.

I head back to M Street, but this time, I take my gun with me, knowing that I'm going to use it.

He opens the door to me with eyebrows raised in polite inquiry. His eyes widen as he takes in my unaccustomed apparel. Well they might. I wear skintight black leather, laced up the sides of the pants on each side from ankle to waist. There is a two inch section on each side that reveals my bare flesh, criss crossed by the black lacing that holds them together. The shirt is the same, with a collar that stands up around my neck. Over it, I have a black leather jacket that belongs to Alex. The smell of it comforts me even as it lends me courage. I won't fail him. Somehow I know what he would do if he were me, and that knowledge sustains me.

"For me, Fox? You shouldn't have." I'm tempted to shoot him there and then, but I restrain myself with an effort, and ask him, politely, to come with me.

His sneer is instant, but vanishes just as quickly when I bring out my gun.

"You don't imagine that I'm intimidated by you, do you?" You've held me at gunpoint before and I'm still standing." He reaches for a cigarette, and quick as a flash, my hand lashes out to grab his left wrist, squeezing it painfully.

His cigarettes drop to the floor forgotten, and his mouth and eyes are all round 'O's of surprise.

I force his hand down onto the desk with my own, and dropping my gun into Alex's jacket pocket, I take one of Alex's knives, and hack off the little finger of the hand I have captured.

I lean forward to clean Alex's knife on the wool of his suit jacket, then, snarling, I raise the gun again.

"Alex wasn't dying then. You ought to know by now that to me, things affecting Alex are different. The next time, it'll be your whole arm that goes. That would be poetic, don't you think? It's a case of familiarity breeding contempt, wouldn't you say?" To my amazement, he smiles, and reaches for a cloth to wrap his maimed hand, then, without further comment, we head on down to my car.

Standing over Alex, the two of us wait. He appears to be sleeping, and I touch him softly, taking this opportunity while he is unknowing, aware that if he wakes up he will turn the full beam of his loathing on me once more.

I'm still holding my gun steadily on the elder Spender. He's in obvious pain and more than a little shocked as he nurses his injury. He's still ramrod straight though, and I have to hand it to the old fuck, he's very dignified.

"Fox, oh, Fox, love." The voice is soft, and for a moment I believe I'm imagining it, but then the voice starts again, louder, yelling something in Russian, followed by a quieter "Oh, Fox, No." I can't help myself. I lean in and kiss his lips. For just a second, his mouth opens under mine, making my head swim, then he's awake, spitting like a cat and turning his head away. I can hear him grind his teeth and back off swiftly as he lunges forward to bite.

"Your son did this to him, you bastard. How will you fix it?" My gun arm extends, and I know that in just a second more I'll obliterate that smug smile of his forever. For a minute, I know that it would be a good thing. Then, with careful poise, despite his white face and bleeding hand, he takes a seat beside Alex on the bed, carefully tugging the knee of his pants up to avoid tightness, and crosses his legs neatly.

It occurs to me that if Alex is a raging jungle cat, then the old man is a finicky domestic tabby. Like the tabby, he seems plumply complacent, but still menacing at heart, so carefully and primly does he settle.

As for me, dog-like in my love, I don't stand a chance of understanding them. I can follow. That's my lot in life. For him, I'll accept it, and learn to love it.

"Krycek, what's bothering you?" The old man speaks, and his voice is calm, even kindly. Alex stares woodenly at him, loathing curling the perfect lips. For a minute, it seems as if he will speak at last, and I hold my breath tight, but then he closes his eyes in rejection, and I choke back a sob.

The old man suddenly flashes out a hand to grab at Alex's hair, forcing his head back and thrusting his face in until Alex finally glares back at him.

"I didn't give you permission to leave." The words lash at him, and I see uncertainty in the cloudy, shuttered eyes that suddenly focus sharply on the face of the puppet master who has him in his grip.

The growl he utters makes me shiver. For just a second at least, he's here with me. My heart pounds.

"You really are a sorry piece of work. Fox Mulder did what needed to be done, for you. Would you discard it?" As Alex listens, shadows come and go on his face while the small crease on the bridge of his nose deepens. After an impossibly long time, his lips part.

"Fuck you! What are you talking about?" Rusty, dragged from the depths of his soul, his voice falls on my ears like welcome warmth after cold.

"Do you know what he gave to find you? I'm the only person who could have helped him, and my price was high. To be honest, I don't think that you're worth the cost, but he obviously does." The voice drips sarcasm, and I take a short step forward, meaning to shut him up. The old man tightens his grip on Alex's hair, yanking his head back painfully. "You're damaged goods, my dear, a bargain basement offering. He paid far too much." And with that he lets Alex's head fall back to the pillow.

"I don't know what you mean. I saw you. The two of you..." Deliberately, the old man unwraps his wounded hand, trailing the bloody mess across Alex's cheek.

"Do you imagine for a minute that he and I are lovers? I thought you had more intelligence than that. See what he did to me just to make me come here tonight." He's still speaking calmly, and the scene is surreal, the drip and ooze of his blood painting a dark swathe over Alex's lips, and his dispassionate voice berating my lover, while the old bastard's face whitens and whitens until he seems like a paper man.

"Why did you come? What will you do now?" Alex speaks quietly, his words slurring out in a rush, almost as if they are escaping without his leave.

Spender draws himself up to sit erect, and begins to relate, blow by blow, the things that he made me do. Hearing it from his lips makes me shudder and it's with an effort that I stop myself from hiding my face. I can see Alex looking at me as each new atrocity from the old man's mouth lays bare my prostitution. I'm ashamed. It brings it all home again, and at last I know why Alex no longer wants me. I wouldn't want me either, not after hearing that account. I raise my gun again, this time to my own head.

The Cancerman finally stops talking. There's nothing left for me now except to give in, say my good-byes, and leave it all behind. In a way, I'm glad. It's a kind of relief to me now.

Alex and the old man are talking rapidly now; their voices buzz and hiss in my ears as I breathe. I can focus only on the smooth cylinder that will finally release me from my ordeal.

I recall my time with Alex, so short and breathtakingly sweet. My mind keeps returning again to the hope and love I found that Christmas day. I wonder if we could have continued forever, realistically. I'm sure we would have self-combusted sooner or later. Better this way. I part my lips to the kiss of the gun.

One last look at my lover, and then I'm ready. The world is swimming in and out of focus. There is a scream, and Alex is trying to get up. I pause dreamily to consider the implications of this from my vantagepoint somewhere outside of time. The old man is still there, but he seems unimportant. As I stand and watch, it becomes apparent to me that the evil old man has set Alex's hand and his chest free from the restraints. My wild love is now tearing his feet free.

It dawns on me. Of course, it's fitting that I should die at his hands. How could I have thought otherwise? He's the one whose heart I've broken. He should be the one who metes out my punishment. I lower the gun and wait, arms loose at my sides, and head bowed in acceptance.

Free now, the short hospital robe making him look a little comical despite his deadly purpose, he steps towards me, his gait shaky but determined.

The buzzing fills my ears and my vision flashes red and black. Too many corpses, far too many innocent dead have paid for my obsessions. I'm sorry, so sorry.

I lift my head to expose my throat for him, and say again, out loud this time "I'm sorry, sorry for everything except loving you."

He reaches up then, his hand at the nape of my neck, pulling me forward to meet

⁄⁄my death⁄⁄

His lips. Soft and pliant, and then clashing hard as the barrier of strong white teeth comes down on me, mashing tissue against them, mine and his. My lips are forced apart then and the lick and slide of his tongue becomes a desperate pleasure as he possesses my mouth, my heart, my soul.

The gun falls from my fingers and I lean against him, shaking with a peculiar mixture of relief, adoration and desolation. A minute ago everything had fallen into place for me. It had all seemed so sure, so perfectly laid out and now I'm lost. I no longer understand. The room tilts crazily sideways, and the world fades away.

Unknowing, I sag, and then fall.

Faint sounds disturb me. I want to sleep, and yet the noises don't permit it. I moan gently and the sounds fade. There's wetness on my face, as though it's raining. When I open my eyes, I find myself lying on the hard floor, and my head is cradled in Alex's lap. Tears tremble on his lashes, roll fatly down his cheeks, and splash onto my face.

Wondering, I gaze up at him, drinking in the sight of him. He strokes my hair and weeps, and I want to lick the tears from his sweet face. He's shaking his head as I struggle up onto my elbow.

Clumsily, I struggle to my feet and hold out my hand to him, wanting to pull him to his feet. He makes an effort, but then plumps down again.

"You'll have to help me... I can't..." I look at him sitting there, desolate, and realize just how close to death he actually has come.

"I'll help you, love. I'll carry you if I have to. You're mine. I won't let you down." He smiles, a glorious sunburst smile that lets me know he has understood the meaning behind my words. I move behind him and help to raise him to standing, his weakened muscles trembling with their first use in weeks.

I know that at last he wants to live, and that now it won't take long for him to return to optimum fitness. Once he is determined, nothing will ever stop him.

Holding him tightly to prevent him from falling, I help him to bed and sit him on the edge of the mattress. His eyes are shining, twin beacons that light the way to his soul. I can't hold back, though I know how fragile he is. I kiss him, a soft, gentle welcome home that becomes a desperate re-acquainting as his mouth opens between mine and tongue curls against tongue, swirling silk against warm, wet velvet.

My hand slides from the back of his head down to his nipple as our kiss continues, and the urge to push him backwards and claim him as mine is almost too much to bear. In the end I break the kiss, shuddering, and content myself with holding him tightly, kissing his hair as he burrows in against my shoulder.

As I hold him tightly, my heart fills with emotion, bursting within my chest. I know that I have won my lover back.

We look, a little later, of course we do, but of CSM, there is no sign.

It's difficult to describe the horrors he has endured, but now he has decided to live, and we sit, hour after long hour while I listen to him. He's never shared his pain easily, but now he seems to want to talk, and I am so happy that even the descriptions of the pain he has suffered can't make me anything less than contented.

He is so strong, and yet he nearly gave in.

The ordeal has stripped him of his strength, his health and his dignity. It almost claimed his life, and I am forced to admit to myself that he loves me. He loves me more than I deserve. I've been blind, blaming him as he went through life. God help me. I've caused him so much pain.

He's eating now, and beginning to respond to the exercise regime the therapists have set him. He's sleeping a lot of course, but we have time to talk, time to reconfirm our love for each other, and rediscover our ability to laugh.

He begins to try and teach me Russian, although I have no ear for languages. Time and again I practice the words he feeds me, much to his amusement. I try hard but I can't get the pronunciation right. He laughs at me and calls me propezdoloch. When I press him, he tells me that it means a 'foxy' person.

I begin to call him comrade, and after a while, he ceases to giggle when he hears me say it. Weak as he is, his face shines when I'm there. Eventually I stop even pretending to leave his side, sleeping in the chair beside his bed, afraid to lose even a minute of the time we have together, so afraid I am to miss a second.

I've become aware of the fragility of time, and I'm careful now. Who knows how long we have left. We kiss rarely, sharing tenderness rather than passion. I'm careful to let him set the pace. He's been through so much he needs time to be loved again before we can go back, if ever we do. I'm content to hold his hand, to laugh with him and to be with him.

I didn't know what I had to lose, until I almost lost him.

Three days later, wearing clothes that hang from his over- slender frame, he walks out of the hospital. I am to take him home.

The doctors have told me that there's nothing more they can do. He has to exercise, and he has to eat. His body is wasted, and his movements are clumsy, but I have him back, and my love will support him until he's strong again. His burning will shines through and I know we can't fail. 'Til then I'll care for him. He won't take long.

Did I ever have any doubt? I adore this man. Without him, I might just as well lie down and let the wind blow me away.

They want him to sit in a wheelchair and in truth he's really too weak to walk the distance to where my car is waiting, but Alex is determined. After he has negotiated the length of the corridor I see him falter a little, and slide my arm around his waist. Together we make our way along the final expanse until we reach my car.

As we reach the vehicle, just as I'm opening the door for him, a familiar figure looms, crow-like, before us and almost instinctively I try to move between Alex and the smoker.

Surely it's only my imagination that makes me think he's smiling paternally. His left hand is swathed in bandages but otherwise he seems the same as ever. He and Alex look intently at each other, and then the old man utters one word.

"Remember." Before he walks away. Alex nods and the old man departs without a backward glance.

I climb in behind the wheel and set the car in motion, glad to be leaving the hospital behind. Alex seems lost in thought for a minute or two, and then he turns to me.

"Da ya ego na khu'yu vertel.... He's right, you know?" Soft and breathy, the idea behind his words plucks delicately at my consciousness.

"Right how, baby?" I'm a little abstracted. I concentrate fiercely on my driving. I don't want to think about Cancerman being right about anything.

"He said that Jeffy was my fault. If I hadn't fucked him around it never would have happened. He told me I don't deserve you." Small and rough, his voice relates the old man's latest poisoned barbs and I'm tempted to go searching for him purely so I can put a bullet in his brain and end his dominion over us once and for all. I turn to him.

"Darling, I'm only going to say this once. You're mine, mine forever. If you think I'm gonna help you feel guilty about something that was done to you by a lunatic, you're totally nuts. I wish it hadn't happened, but it did, and in a way we'll be stronger because of that. I learned to stop blaming you for flaws in my own character. All through it, the only thing I could think of to keep me going was 'what would Alex do now'?" He's silent, and I have to keep on watching the road. I don't know how he's taking what I've said, but I don't know how to stop him feeling guilty. If ever there was someone with credentials for feeling guilty, it's me, but my Alex doesn't deserve to suffer. I've lived with guilt long enough to know what a liar it is.

After a long, long pause, there's a low laugh from him.

"So you got in touch with your inner psychopath then?" And as I nod, he starts to giggle... we both do. It feels as if the load I have been carrying has been lifted from my shoulders. The rest of the journey is passed in the kind of trivialities that lovers enjoy.

Reaching home, he looks around as if he never saw it before.

"Fox, would you mind if we moved? I know it's stupid, but I'll never be here again without thinking of him, knowing that he was up there watching me day after day." He shudders and I move to draw the curtains across, then turn and take him in my arms.

I slide a hand up to thread into his hair and drop kisses, as soft as whispers over his eyes, his cheeks, and finally his lips. His needy fingers fumble for the edge of my T-shirt and a questing hand slides under the fabric, slipping over the smooth skin of my back. I kiss him deeper and deeper hearing his breathing change and feeling him lengthen against me as his pelvis pushes forward against mine in little jerks and twitches. I'm harder than stone, and I can't stop kissing him, sucking in his breath in huge gulps and drinking the essence of him from his mouth. I taste him in a way that I never expected I would be able to do again. The thought makes me sob and he clutches at me convulsively, trying to become one with me as I hold him tight and kiss him breathless.

He's been healing physically, but I know that the mental scars will never fade. I know that it's up to me now to make things right for him once more.

A long, long time later, trembling so hard that I can barely keep standing, I draw back to look at him. He's shaking too, and it feels good to know that he wants me. His eyes are dark and his face is flushed as he seeks my mouth again.

"Got to...got to lie down, comrade." I murmur into the warm fold of his neck, just below the angle of his jaw. He laughs at that and presses close to me again, a delicious rolling motion that sets the beast inside of me coiling and uncoiling around my spine. Delicate tendrils of sweet passion draw together at the base of my cock as we kiss again.

Slowly, gasping together now and still reluctant to release each other, we edge into our bedroom and there at last I release him, strangely shy as I recall the last time that this body of mine was touched.

He senses my hesitation and begins to pull up my shirt, lips following fingers in a kind of crazy Mulder-worship while I arch my back and open my body to his caresses.

Naked at last, naked and wanting, my body desperate for the feel of him, I watch as he slowly peels away his clothing to reveal his new scars, some only partly healed.

Lubing up my fingers, I part my thighs and get myself ready for him, stroking in slick as he watches me, his face rapt. At last he's down beside me on the bed, in my arms, and we're kissing again as the reflection of our urgent caresses hangs overhead, shining from the mirror above.

The faint scratch and burn of his whisker-stained chin strokes counterpoint to the slip and glide of soft lips and wet tongue as his mouth travels over my body. His breath flutters over my sensitized skin, and I realize that this won't be slow, won't be gentle when he growls suddenly and bites into my shoulder, the stinging pain made erotic by the motion of his tongue on my skin.

Uttering soft little grunts that betray his need, he rolls to cover me, his slippery, twitching cock butting up against the crease between my leg and my thigh. Wordlessly I pull my legs up and guide him into me, so happy that he is mine again. He works his way carefully into me until he is finally back where he should be, buried to the hilt inside my body while I watch the clench and thrust of his buttocks in the mirror above.

Mouth to mouth once more, the whole of my body seems filled with the crackle and singe of summer lightning. I feel the build up like a storm, tension piling on tension as my balls tighten and rise. My heart thumps and sensation builds deep inside, tighter and tighter until I can't stop, can't hold back, can't do anything any more except scream his name, and scream I love him... and again... and more... and harder.

Flash flood. I'm a conduit and a wave of light pours through me, rippling along my cock to spurt out between us as he plunges into me, then stiffens, then cries out.

I hear sobbing.

I hear myself sobbing, too full of love and need and gratitude for anything except cleansing tears.

He licks at them, lapping at the moisture welling from my eyes to track down my cheeks. Then he smiles a little, and dropping his head onto my chest he sleeps, while I hold him, thanking whatever god might be listening that I have him in my arms once more.

Sleep comes easily then for the first time in weeks. He and I are together, alone, and happy in our love.

Awakening later in the day I find him watching me. His face is aglow in the gold of the late afternoon sunlight. When he sees that I've woken up he smiles lazily and reaches to kiss me. I hold him tightly again, and the closeness warms my soul.

"How are you feeling, baby?" I study his eyes. They still look tired and haunted although I can read happiness there too.

"Weak as a fucking kitten, that's how!" He grins at me apologetically and my belly performs aerobatics without the aid of a safety net.

"We've gotta get you back up to speed, love." I climb out of bed, reluctantly leaving the warmth of him behind me, and go to make him dinner, broiling steaks I've bought ready for him and put into the marinade that Scully thoughtfully provided. I lay out the green salad, the crusty bread, the butter and the pasta primavera. By the time he joins me, clad once more in his denims, dinner is well on the way.

After we've eaten, we curl up together on the couch. I make sure he stays close enough to me to touch, so that I can reassure myself of his continuing presence. We watch a couple of silly movies while we digest the steak.

Trying to recapture what we've lost leads to a pleasant evening that is over too soon. He drops to sleep in my arms, a pallor of exhaustion causing dark smudges to appear beneath those long lashes of his, echoed in the whiteness around his mouth.

He's never looked more beautiful to me. I sense that inside he is more at peace than he has ever been. Not wanting to disturb his rest, I tuck a blanket around the two of us and spend the night loving him, holding him, keeping the terrors at bay though the hours that the darkness presses close.

Sunday morning comes, bright and sunny again. We linger over toast and coffee, not wanting to eat too much before exercise. Alex is still bemoaning his physical condition and I have an idea, but refuse to tell him what it is. Laughing, I lead him down to my car after packing a few things that I refuse to let him see.

There aren't too many people in the Hoover Building at 8am on a Sunday morning, and together we head down echoing corridors to the fitness facility. His eyes widen in comprehension at last when I push open the door to the pool.

We have a history with this pool, Alex and I.

"I was thinking about exercise for you, baby, and came up with the idea of swimming to strengthen you and get you started." He looks me up and down, a long, slow appraising look, his lashes all but veiling his eyes as a knowing smile spreads over his face.

"I don't have a swimsuit," he murmurs, throatily, and smiles again in a way that tugs on my groin causing a wave of excitement to radiate through me. I ruffle his hair and lead him through to the changing room.

Opening my bag, I reveal my Speedo, and further, a black one for Alex. He grins again, almost shy this time, and together we strip, changing into the suits.

I watch him as he removes his prosthetic arm. I wonder for a second how this will work for him, whether he'll be able to swim. I'm not sure how he'll cope now that he only has one arm. I've planned for that however. I've brought an inflatable band that will fit around his stump and help balance him, should he need it.

With no further ado, we wander out to the pool, shoulder to shoulder. I watch as he sits on the edge, making the decision whether to go in piecemeal or all in a rush. He finally opts to launch himself in with a splash and disappears under the water for a second, emerging gasping and laughing a moment later. While he's under, I steal across and lock the door. Nobody will disturb us today.

When I return and slide into the water he's lying back, floating deamily, the muted light gleaming off his long limbs, painting sparkles on the hollows and curves of his body. I'm still, watching him give himself to the bob and ripple of the water, astonished all over again at the marble translucence of him, and the fineness of his construction. There is nothing of him that is coarse. He's all delicacy and strength, combined in one perfectly molded figure.

I turn to begin my lengths, and he rolls, otter-like and does likewise. He's slower, but his legs are powerful, and I soon see that swimming is possible for him, and even with his clipped wing he is able to find grace in his movements.

He swims deliberately, allowing the water to support him, not fighting it, graceful and efficient, and for a while we find peace in the physical exertion.

After a while, I cease to churn up and down, pausing to watch my lover, seeking him out to find that he has fetched up to the side of the pool. He's floating once again, holding the safety bar as he lays back, eyes closed, in the water's embrace. I vow solemnly to myself that he will never again be harmed, as long as I live.

Grinning then, I kick off my Speedo, and toss it over the edge to lie on the pool surround, then I duck beneath the water and slice through it to come up beneath him. I snake my arms around his gently floating form, and unfasten the tie of his swimsuit. My sudden appearance makes him start, destroying his equilibrium and leaving him thrashing in the water until I can steady him once more. My hands worm him gently out of his Speedo as I hold him still.

As I toss it over the edge of the pool to lie forgotten on the tiles, he lowers his legs, allowing himself to stand chest deep in the water, and grins at me, obviously pleased by some obscure thought. Wet as he is, and with his short hair plastered down against his head, he looks like a seal man, a silkie. I have an absurd vision of him stealing in from the shore in the night to steal children. I tell him that he's seal-like, and his grin widens with a saturnine flash of white teeth.

"Hey, Fox, I like you too." He takes a step away from me. "Hey, that's a seal of approval." He chortles, and splashes me, skimming his hand over the surface of the water that drenches me.

Groaning at the pun I can't allow to remain unpunished, I pounce, and battle is joined. I wade through the spray to seize him, laughing, and move in close as if for a kiss. I'm intending to duck him, but wet and slippery as he is, he throws me off balance, and it's me that shrieks, flails, and slips under the water.

When I emerge, spluttering from the mouthful of chlorinated liquid I've swallowed, I look around for him, intent on revenge. He's nowhere to be seen. I'm still searching when he rises like Jaws behind me and his arm encircles my neck, then his warm lips are pressed against my neck and he's pulling me back against him.

I've never made love in a swimming pool before, but I'm anxious to add the skill to my repertoire. I lean against him, feeling the heat of his skin in contrast with the cool lap and slap of the water. I turn to snuggle against him, settling my arms around him and leaning forward to trace his features with my mouth.

Between us, our cocks stiffen and nudge as we press in hard against each other. I want to devour him. I want to engulf him in the flame of my feelings for him. Taking a deep, deep breath, I loose him and sink down until the water closes over my head. I take his jutting hardness into my mouth, rolling my tongue around the head and then sucking him in deep.

Beneath the water, sounds are muted and strange. The bubble of the purification system tingles through me and strange gurgles dislocate me from time. The only heat I know radiates from my lover's cock. Frozen in the sensuous caress of water and buoyancy, I taste him, spicy and hot against my tongue until I have to breathe again. Reluctantly, I let him go and stand, gasping for a minute before catching hold of him and laying him flat in the water so that his prick bobs like a periscope above the surface of the water..

"I want... let me..." I know I'm babbling, but I need him so much. I hear his answering groan as I steady him, then I lower my head to apply my mouth once more to the head of his cock.

Licking around the ridge of it, I pull back his foreskin to expose the purple, gleaming bulb that lies beneath, and chuckle at the gasp he makes when I lap at it.

I intensify my efforts, sucking him hard, harder, then hardest, pulling him into my mouth and releasing him again in long, satisfyingly slow, sucking movements that cause him to writhe in my grip, sending wavelets splashing into my face as I stand between his legs. He's caught hold of the bar once again, and lies back as he offers himself for my mouth to worship.

Worship is the slick and slide of his velvet skin into my mouth, and the desire to have him deeper and deeper in my mouth. Worship is the need to feel him throb and strain against my tongue, and the feeling of exaltation when finally he explodes, his outpouring of acrid fluid biting my tongue and flooding my mouth, overflowing to trickle from the corner of my lips. Loving him, I bury my face in his groin and inhale all the beloved, well-remembered scent of him.

He straightens, moving in to place his mouth on mine, his tongue driving in, dirty-sweet, to taste his own arousal, sucking my tongue and pulling me to him while he grinds his hips against me. I'm lost, gasping and panting as he drags me to the edge of the pool.

"Come on, Fox. Fuck me, please." I shudder. He presses back against me, catching my cock in the crevice between the cheeks of his ass and making me buck and groan as he leans forward to brace himself on the rail. Knowing just how hurt he was, I hesitate.

"Baby, are you sure? You were pretty torn up." He leans back over his shoulder to nip my ear, and then my lower lip, breathing 'please' as he licks at my mouth.

I kiss him hungrily and nudge up against his buttocks as he spreads his legs wide for me. A little nudge, and the head of my cock is seated against his anus and he's pressing into me, moaning as he sinks himself onto me. I moan too. The sudden heat of him surrounding my dick makes me crazy, and I drive myself flush against him, then pause.

Waiting, chest heaving as I try to get myself under control, hoping against hope that I won't lose control too soon, I hear him grate out a plea.

"Please baby, make me yours again. I need... " And his words hit home like a punch in the gut. I understand him. My love can erase the bad things that have happened to him, if only I allow it. We are making each other new again.

"It's all over now, comrade. It's gone. Let it go. You're mine, now and for the rest of your life. Count on it." I push in slow and relentless, pull out again, beginning an easy, gentle rock and glide that strikes sparks against my cock. Thrust and repeat, the sparks igniting a flame that swiftly rages out of control as I travel within the pulsing silk sheath of his ass and listen to his soft voice begging me to 'fuck... fuck... fuck.'

Maddening prickling tickle as I drive in snug against him, feeling the smooth cool skin if his shoulder against my mouth. I hold his hip with one hand and slam into him, the other reaching around now to hold his penis, pumping it until he howls.

"Oh, God, Fox, I can't.... " He arches, rigid, and I feel the clutch and suck of him bearing down on my tingling cock. That does it for me. A line of molten gold surges and foams through me and helpless I empty myself into him. I can hear him sobbing gently as he slumps back into my arms, and there we stay for just another minute or two. He lolls back against my shoulder, and I find his mouth again with mine, kissing him as though he is food and drink to me.

At last I get myself together enough to turn him gently, and pull him in to me, kissing his mouth and sucking gently on it as I hold him close to feel the soft, sweet length of him pressed to me.

"I love you, comrade." I'm grinning now, grinning like an idiot. I don't seem to be able to find the off button for my stupid grin. It feels as though my heart will burst out of my chest. His eyes are closed again, and the long, long lashes curl on his cheeks, but his whole face is glowing, suffused with hungry joy that radiates from him, transcending the purely physical as he lies quiet against my chest.

Taking his hand, I raise it to my lips, kissing each separate finger and then the palm of his hand.

"I love you, Alex. You've taught me so much. I've learned how to accept responsibility for my own actions through you. Thank you for being mine. He raises his eyes then and looks at me.

"Fox, I love you, truly I do, but I'm getting all wrinkled." I giggle, and together we move to climb out of the pool, find our Speedos and head off for the lockers.

We shower and dress, then head out into the advancing morning to look for breakfast. Fall is coming and there's a sharp feel to the breeze that makes me glad of my jacket even though the sun is bright.

Hand in hand, we kick through the scattering of newly fallen leaves, crunching them under our feet and laughing like schoolkids. We pause under one large old oak tree and kiss, despite the fact that we are in public, outside the FBI headquarters. Then, we step forward, hand in hand into our future.

Together.

8: Highballs

The morning seeped in behind the sleeper's eyes, turning his dreams golden. Alex Krycek sighed, sensing the passing of the night, and snuggled down into the bed, to nuzzle up against his partner. Fox Mulder mumbled in his sleep and rolled to put his arm around Alex, not yet ready to face the day, but wanting to hold his lover to him even as he slept.

Alex, slowly returning to consciousness, could feel the insistent prod of Mulder's piss-proud penis against his thigh, and smiled to himself at the sensation. He turned up his face to kiss the sleeping man, and slipped out of the bed, heading for the bathroom.

Mulder wrinkled his face in a moue of discontent, made blurry by sleep, but didn't wake up, moving instead to pull Alex's pillow against himself. He muttered to himself as he burrowed into the pillow, and Alex resisted the urge to go back and kiss him breathless, moving instead to the bathroom to relieve himself and to brush his teeth.

His face washed, and feeling good, he crept on cat feet to the kitchen where he started the coffee filtering, and cut up a grapefruit ready to take back into the bedroom, making a couple of trips to deposit the dishes on his night table. His mind dwelled on the warmth of the man in the bed, and he wished that the coffee would hurry up and finish filtering so that he could return to him. At last, the gurgling sound of the last drops of liquid bubbling through the paper signaled that it was ready, and he poured two mugs, adding cream to Mulder's, and taking hold of the two mug handles with the fingers of his one hand.

Quietly, he glided back to the bedroom, placing the dishes beside the bed, and at last, with a moan of utter bliss, he slipped into the warmth of the bed, scooting backwards to lie against the warm body of his lover. As soon as he felt Alex's smooth skin beside him, Mulder squirmed to lie pressed up against him, and Alex took a moment to luxuriate in the heat of his lover's body before rolling to face him.

Moving towards his sleeping lover, he ran a gentle hand up Mulder's side to his shoulder and then around to sink into the springy hair at the base of his skull, his thumb delicately tracing the convoluted whorls of his ear.

Mulder mumbled sleepily, pushing his head further into the caress in a way that was unmistakably cat-like. Alex grinned and tightened his hold, leaning forward to tease, and then to cover the lush lips of his beloved. As he pulled the now drowsily muttering Mulder into the warm depths of his adoring kiss, his tongue worked languorously, parting the softness of Mulder's lips and sneaking, thief-like, into the recesses of his mouth to steal away breath, leaving behind only pleasure.

As he finally decided that Fox was awake, Alex drew away, nibbling and teasing as he went, to supervise the opening of his lovers eyes.

Lashes flickered, and normally shrewd grey eyes gazed mistily into Alex's warm, green ones. Alex felt a shiver pass down his body as he stared back at the love that shone from them.

"Good morning, baby. Sleep well?" Mulder's voice was fuzzy with sleep and once again Alex felt the thrill and twitch jolt through him as he catalogued the sensual face of his beloved, the full lips and the rangy body, warm, strong, loving and his. A lump in his throat made both breath and speech unsteady. He nodded his response, smiling anew just because Fox was here, in his arms, and they were truly in love.

"God, I love you, Fox." Alex's voice was warm molasses, drizzling over Mulder's awakening senses, and Mulder obligingly gave himself up to be kissed again, lips parting readily to permit the slide and twine of tongue while his body tightened and seethed against this man he loved, and had given up everything for.

Drawing apart at last, Alex smiled sunnily.

"I made you coffee. Drink it while it's still hot." Mulder, still bemused, permitted Alex to haul him up and took the mug that he was handed, sniffing the aroma of the freshly brewed drink and then raising his head just sufficiently to take a sip from it.

"I've bought you a present." Alex was keen to get on with things, that was plain. Alex dived out of the bed, grabbing for a large, shapeless parcel, wrapped in paper that had little green aliens all over it. Alex had spent a considerable amount of time on those aliens, and Mulder took a minute or two to admire it.

"Hey, you really knocked yourself out on the paper. I love it! Thank you, baby. Merry Christmas."

There are two types of 'unwrapper'; every Christmas makes this more and more certainty. First there are rippers, avid for content, who snatch the paper from the gift, shredding it in their haste to get at the interior. Then there are the careful peelers, who appreciate the work that goes into wrapping a gift, and who are almost reverent in their treatment of a parcel coming their way.

Fox Mulder was a ripper. He tried, just for a split second, not to be, but in the end he was true to type, yanking the bright wrapper away from its contents, and flinging it from him in his frenzy. Alex chuckled as he watched. As Mulder laid out the smooth, soft, supple, black leather of the jacket Alex had bought for him, his lover was already bouncing with the need to see him wear it.

"I wanted to see you looking dangerous, love. Armani is very nice. I'm not disparaging it, but to look really dangerous, you need to wear the jacket and stop shaving every day." Mulder gave him a quizzical grin, and emerged from his cocoon of bedclothes. Making his way into the bathroom, he murmured that he would be right back.

Watching the bunch and slide of Mulder's muscular butt until he had made his way out the door, Alex closed his eyes, instant replay starting up behind the heavy lids as he waited .

Fox...his Fox.. In just a single year his life had turned around. He was no longer a lonely skulker in the shadows, he was complete. The memories of his past life, thoughts of loneliness, violence and addiction had formed him, but no longer controlled him.

A single whim that had begun late on Christmas Eve last year had led him through chaos, to hell, and then finally beyond to happiness. He felt as if he had been reborn, and for that he had to thank Fox.

There was a muffled thumping, followed by a muttered curse, and Alex shook his head. Fox was earnest, but funny, and had more than occasionally been known to be a klutz. What he was doing now, Alex couldn't say, but he was far too comfortable lying here to go and see. He would wait until either Fox returned or screamed in pain.

There were no further unusual sounds. Alex returned to his musings as he idly dug into his grapefruit, then jumped in surprise as a particularly juicy segment squirted him unerringly in the eye. He growled, surveying the grapefruit, which ought to have known better. It lay there in the dish, quiescent, and he gave it another exploratory prod, and then proceeded to devour it rapidly, finally laying the dish aside and dusting his hands together. No grapefruit was going to get the better of him.

When Fox finally reappeared, he was carrying an enormous box, wrapped in enough tinsel to sink a small battleship. His grin was huge and self-congratulatory.

"Merry Christmas, love."

He deposited the gift in Alex's lap, and then picked up his new jacket, slipping it on before draping himself over the bed in a moody looking pose that made Alex salivate.

Alex was torn. It was years since he had been given a gift at Christmas, but right now his urge to unwrap Fox was growing in an intensity that bordered on the obsessional. What to do? What to do?

In a way, Mulder decided it for him, pointing imperiously at the package, and demanding that Alex give it his attention.

We would bet that Alex, with his history of deprivation, not to mention depravity would be a 'ripper', desperate for instant gratification, wouldn't we?

Not so. Alex, always wary, mindful of traps and pitfalls, was a careful 'peeler'. This was a novel and wonderful experience for him, and he wanted to draw out the very final threads of enjoyment from it. He untied each tinsel bow with clinical precision, rolling the disentangled length of it carefully into a skein, and then set to unpicking the tape that sealed the wrapping paper.

Mulder looked on in growing impatience, understanding a little but wanting the payoff right away, hating the tease. As Alex finally removed the single sheet of wrapping paper, smoothed and folded it, Mulder found himself itching to lay his hands on the box, take it from Alex and rip the covering to shreds. Alex, looking up at his lover, naked save for the leather of his jacket, saw a predator, perched on his heels, looming over him like a vulture, and giggled.

"Can't stand the suspense, baby?" his smoky voice floated on the air like cobwebs, and the accompanying grin contained enough malice to make Mulder realize that Alex was behaving like this at least partly for effect. Reluctantly acknowledging the hit, he subsided back to his former position at the foot of the bed, and resumed his pose.

At last, Alex had the paper folded to his liking, and placed the tinsel carefully on the top of it before turning to the box itself.

Scotch tape to be peeled, then tissue paper to be taken and smoothed, then folded, then put aside, each second ticking away on leaden feet while Mulder found he had stopped breathing.

At last the gift itself was laid bare, and Alex gazed into the box for a long minute before putting his hand out to stroke it, tentatively. Olive green silk shimmered inside the box, and the label read "Armani". Alex slowly pulled out the jacket of the suit, and held it up, turning it this way and that.

"It will fit you, love. I measured you." Mulder sounded uncertain. "I just thought you'd clean up so nicely..."

Alex flashed a loving smile, followed by a considering look that quickly morphed into a different kind of grin.

"I guess we're doing a little role reversal here?" He slipped on the jacket and then hopped out of bed, sauntering over to the closet to filch one of Mulder's ties, quickly knotting it around his neck. Mulder, most of him still reclining, watched him with visibly growing interest.

Turning towards the bed, Alex paused.

"I'm a method actor. I have to have a minute to think my way into the part of Fox Mulder." He proceeded to stride around the room, working himself into the part he was going to play. His jacket hung down to cover his ass, almost. Each time he moved, Mulder could see the cheeks of his ass reveal themselves, and when he turned to face Fox, his cock was jutting through the open front of the jacket. Fox felt himself grow weak with desire as he watched.

Alex studied Mulder for a moment, and then he slouched. His usual proud posture became a droop, and he pouted. He pouted magnificently, and from somewhere, he summoned up an aura of detached cool. Reaching for a cell phone, he was about to start calling - someone - Mulder had no idea who, but he picked up a shoe that lay within his reach and threw it at his wicked love with a lot of force. Alex giggled, and then summoned up the pout again, posing for him.

Mulder, chuckling now, sat up and leaned back on his hands. He tossed his head, lifting his chin in an arrogant manner that was pure Krycek. Alex stalked towards him, grabbed the front of the leather jacket and yanked it towards him, his face a stormcloud of threat.

"You son of a bitch!" His voice, normally soft, furry and liquid, took on a flatness that was quite Mulderian. You're coming with me. You need to pay for your sins."

"Yob tvoyu mat!" Mulder growled out the words so convincingly that Alex blinked, put off his stride for a moment. He had not had any idea that Mulder knew words like that. He made a mental note to watch his mouth in future.

"Do you have any idea how to make reparation for your crimes against humanity, the state, and most importantly, me?" The words came through gritted teeth, and Mulder appeared to consider them carefully before reaching up to pull Alex's face down for a kiss.

This wasn't just any kiss. This was a definite knock-down, drag-out, with-lips-like-these-I'm-gonna-rule-the-world-some-day superkiss. Think Kissing 301 at the very least. Alex moaned and slumped onto the bed to lie across Fox's lap. Then he reciprocated, upping the ante with his beloved until the blood roared in his ears and the world stopped on its axis.

"Oh, fuck, that will do nicely." Alex pulled Mulder's mouth down again. His own mouth avid for the feel and taste of his lover.

"Hey, I was never such a pushover. Credit me with a little dignity." Fox's voice came, mildly complaining against Alex's throat as he nipped and sucked a perfect bruise into being at the join of neck and chest.

"You don't need to be pointing that loaded weapon at me, you son of a bitch," Mulder growled, making a pretence at snapping at the thick, veined, pulsing erection bobbing invitingly in from of him. "I'll come quietly."

"That'll be a first," sneered Alex, "You usually scream like a banshee." He began an attack on the other man's nipples , dropping to his knees, the better to reach them.

Mulder permitted this for a minute or two, and then reached down to take hold of the tie that hung from Alex's neck, hauling him up until they were both standing nose to nose, erections bumping, then noses , and then as Fox leaned forward, no space between them anywhere. He crushed Alex in against him and turned is head to lay his lips against Alex's, tongue snaking in to explore, affirming the sweetness of his lover, stroking sensation against his love's palate. Alex moaned.

A swift slide of Mulder's hand at Alex's shoulder and the jacket slipped to the floor leaving only the tie as Alex swayed, leaning into Mulder's embrace, perfectly pliant, waiting.

Lips parting only to kiss again, and breath shortening as they clung to each other, tasting, reaffirming that they had arrived together at a place where they could no longer keep secrets from each other. Now they could give each other trust as well as love.

"You think you're real hot stuff, don't you, comrade?" Alex's husky voice crept, insinuating to Mulder.

"That would be me. Krycek, Alex Krycek." He grinned, and the words, Mulder's delivery, the giddiness of the season proved too much at this point. Alex gave a shout of laughter and threw Fox onto the bed, kneeling over him to kiss him breathless while he ground his cock into Mulder's until it seemed as if he were going to strike sparks.

"Bend over and grab your ankles, Krycek" he grunted when finally he tore his mouth from that of his lover, trapped beneath him, not giving him even the vaguest space for such a movement.

"You've got to be kidding, " Mulder groaned, and then gasped as Alex nipped at the angle of his jaw. "I don't owe you anything, and I'm certainly not going to give in to you, G-man."

Mulder wrapped long legs around Alex's waist, and then flipped the pair of them over so that Alex was now on his back. Then he reached to fumble under the pillow, and triumphantly brought out the tube of KY jelly.

"We have to use this up before next year, lover, it's not the Y2K version." Alex's shoulders shook, and quite frankly, he could only be described as giggly as he watched his Fox prepping himself. As Mulder took hold of Alex's cock and centered himself, Alex's laughter died, and his husky voice began to murmur intimate Russian phrases.

Mulder sank down onto Alex's penis and Alex shuddered under him as He felt the silken heat envelop him, sliding down inexorably as Fox sank onto him, groaning. Alex could do nothing.

"Oh God! Do it to me, Alex! Please do it!" Mulder's voice was ragged with need, and Alex felt his insides go liquid in response to Fox's cry. With no time to waste on tenderness, he wet his fingers with saliva and stroked them onto his cockhead, then with a push and a twist, his prick was buried deep inside Fox, riding waves of slippery darkness towards the red blaze of pleasure, tingles coursing through him and tensing all his muscles as he thrust.

Alex cried out again, his muscles twitching and clenching as he pushed inside his lover. As he began to thrust, Fox arched his back in a spasm of delight that was apparently so great it was close to agony. Alex's whole body seemed to gather itself and squeeze itself out through the end of his dick and into the air. He yelled Mulder's name, knowing that he was beyond the point of no return, and he was going to come right there.

Alex felt Fox's anus contract around his cock as he too lost control. His penis spurted into confines of Alex's grip, and he pitched forward to lie gasping on his lover's chest, his heart beating crazily. They lay that way for several minutes, slowly recovering, while Alex slowly stroked the back of Fox's neck, his hair and his spine, fumbling under the soft leather to caress.

"Oh God Alex!" Mulder was barely able to articulate. Alex chuckled deep in his throat, continuing to run his hands over the other man's back.

"Wow Fox! I'm a total wreck. Look what you did to me!" His green eyes gleamed with mischief.

"I'm sorry, comrade, I wanted to make it slow, do everything to you that I've been thinking about for the past day. I guess I got carried away." Mulder pulled up with an effort and kissed Alex tenderly.

"Merry Christmas, Alex. I love you." Mulder gazed at the man he could no longer live without.

"Same to you, G-man, and happy anniversary." Alex lay, arm around his lover, happier than he ever had been. Mulder finally struggled himself up and reached for some of the discarded tinsel and ribbon, busying himself with it. Alex felt certain liberties being taken with his person, but was just too comfortable and sated to do anything about it. After a minute or two, he uttered a mild inquiry.

"Whatcha doin', baby?" his molasses voice poured sensuously over Mulder.

"I'm just making myself a little present to unwrap later." There was a laugh in his voice, and Alex lifted his head just enough to gaze down at the huge, extravagant bow Mulder had tied around his now quiescent penis, making it look like a large prawn in a party frock. Shaking his head, he lay back down and allowed the day to bring what it would.

Sometimes the things we get for Christmas aren't apparently valuable. Don't discard them without making sure. Everything can bring happiness one way or another, given time.

The End

---

| Back to My Stories –|– Email Dr. Ruthless |