Drive, He Said
Fandom: The X-Files
Category/Rated: NC17 Slash
Year/Length: 2003/~4540 words
Pairing: Mulder/Krycek
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, only having fun.
Author's Notes: Written for the ZoneZineII.
"You son of a bitch!"
The familiar battle cry made Alex Krycek grit his teeth. Not now, for the love of whatever Supreme Being happened to be watching. Please, not now.
A hand on his shoulder, spinning him around, told him that his desultory prayer had not been answered. Moments later, the fist holding the gun crashed into his cheek, and he thought no more, except in profanities as the world faded in a bloody mist, reappeared, inspissate with pain, dissolved at last.
Returning to consciousness with a face that felt as though it had been kicked by a horse, he found himself in a moving vehicle.
Déjà vu all over again, he thought to himself, lifting a hand to his cheek. He was cuffed to the door, of course. He smiled sourly, winced as the movement sent a trickle of blood from his mouth to drip down onto his shirt, and began a mental checklist of reasons to add to the list of grudges he held against Mulder. Of course, Mulder's yanked me out of there, he growled, inwardly. And of course he's compromised weeks of work with his determination to screw up whatever I'm involved in, just because. And, he added to himself, bitterly, of course the asshole is driving too fucking fast.
His mind dwelt fleetingly on the Consortium laboratory facility he'd been observing when Mulder had come up on him, and cursed that his luck always seemed to turn sour when Mulder got involved.
"I guess you got the files I sent you, then, Mulder," he said, spitting out more blood and wincing as a stab of pain seared his cheek.
"What are you talking about, Krycek?" The normally laconic Mulder was obviously at his crotchety, arrogant best this evening. He turned to fix a basilisk stare on Krycek, and the car drifted a little until Krycek, glaring unrepentantly at his captor, suddenly opened his eyes wide in horror.
Pulling back into his own lane in time to avert the crash that had seemed inevitable, Mulder slowed the car a little, apparently concentrating on appearing aloof and undisturbed as he waited for his heart rate to return to normal.
Smiling to himself in the darkness, Krycek waited, eyes fixed on his abductor, watching for the right moment to speak. "You think maybe the tooth fairy was the one who sent them?" he sneered.
A jab from Mulder's ready fist caused bright agony to bloom on his throbbing cheekbone, and cursing, he spat more blood. "Fuck you, Mulder, I sent you chapter and verse on the lab. I sent you a series of emails, and without them you wouldn't even have known that they were there, let alone that there were hybrids in the development stage."
"Why would you be sending me information about your own side, Krycek? What dirty little agenda do you have?" Mulder's voice sounded bored, but Krycek could see the tension in jaw and throat, and knew that he was dissembling.
Sighing histrionically, he began to reel off names and dates, information he had supplied Mulder with in the past, and had the satisfaction of seeing the façade of boredom drop away from Mulder as he went through the list.
"*You* are Grey Lensman?" Mulder asked, finally.
"In the flesh," replied Krycek, smiling lop-sidedly as he acknowledged the identity. "I've always been a fan of Doc Smith. It seemed suitably obscure and fitting."
"I figured that was Langly. He's the Sci-Fi freak." Mulder, for once, seemed to have no Krycek-directed fury in him as he exclaimed his astonishment. "You sent me all the stuff about the vaccine? Why?"
"Mulder, I want to stop them as badly as you." Krycek put all the sincerity he could into his voice. He leant forward and then cursed as the cuff on his right arm restrained him. "I don't want the world to be taken over by a select race of ‘special' super-humans. There's no such thing as a master race. We were born equal, and it should be one for all and all for one."
"You expect me to believe that, Krycek?" The sneer was back in Mulder's voice. "Fine words from someone that lives in the sewers of society and sells his soul to the highest bidder on a weekly basis."
"Oh, cut the crap, Mulder." Krycek sounded bored. In truth, he was tired of the formulaic exchanges with Mulder that would always begin with violence, carry on through accusation and vituperation, until they reached their inevitable conclusion, which would, he knew, mean pain for him. "You know that I've given you what help I could. You might be too fastidious to use the means I do to get what you need, but you're sure as hell not too nice to turn down the information once I give it to you."
Mulder didn't speak at once, and for the next few miles there were no words exchanged. After ten miles or so the lights of a truck stop appeared in the distance, illuminating the wind-blown night.
"I suppose you think you've been hard done by, when you only have yourself to blame." Mulder's voice was quiet, but Krycek was suddenly alert, every sense visibly vibrating as he listened. He wondered if this was going to be the prelude to his freedom, or to his death.
"I've always accepted the consequences of what I've done," he murmured, his voice a husky tremor in the poorly lit interior of the car. He shot a swift glance at Mulder and decided that perhaps he was not going to be shot in the next couple of minutes. "Can you say the same?"
"Of course. I… " Mulder fell silent, then growled. "Of course I have. What do you mean?"
"Nothing, Mulder." The lights from the approaching truck stop flashed white over Krycek's teeth as he smiled, gleamed from the dark shadows that were Krycek's eyes. "But you know, quis custidiet ipsos custodies? Someone has to ride herd on you. Left to yourself you're a misguided missile, leaping to conclusions like a spawning salmon."
"I'm usually right." Mulder made no attempt to deny the charge; instead he began to indicate his intention to pull into the approaching stop. "Are you telling me that you've appointed yourself my watchdog? Is it normal practice for consumer groups to blow away the nearest and dearest relations of the people they are set to watch? Let me know, because if so, I'll cancel my subscription to ‘Which?'"
"Mulder, big fleas have little fleas on their backs to bite ‘em," quoted Krycek with a sardonic smile. "Picture me as your little flea if you like. A swift bite and you go here, scratch there, and generally do the right thing, although sometimes that can be a little painful for me." He paused, eyes still shadowed, chin tilted up in the arrogant way that was so purely Krycek. "More than a little, sometimes, but, to get where we're going, we all have to make sacrifices," he added, bitterly.
"Just who are you, Krycek? What are you?" Mulder's voice was soft, his words betraying a puzzlement that seemed genuine. Krycek smiled.
"I told you, just a little flea." He saw the anger flicker on Mulder's face and winced. "Getting to know me would take more than beating the tar out of me whenever we crossed paths, Mulder. Getting to know me would take effort."
"We have time. This is Oklahoma. By the time we get back to DC, we should be on first name terms with every ancestor clear back to Homo Sapiens Idaltu." Mulder's smile as he spoke was the epitome of malice, although his voice did not change.
"Fuck you, Mulder, let me go. I don't have time to go on a road trip just to satisfy your need to bond." For the first time, Krycek betrayed restlessness, pulling at the door handle with his tethered right arm. "I've got places to go, people to be."
"What's your hurry, Krycek?" asked Mulder, smiling openly now. "Don't you want to bond? I'd have thought you'd relish the chance. What's so important that you can't take time out of your schedule for a social life?"
"There's something I have to do in Cincinnati in the next three days, and I don't have time to make a pit stop in DC. Come on, Mulder, let me out of here; you've already fucked up one chance of getting that vaccine; don't compromise another."
‘Live Nude Girls,' proclaimed the elderly sign atop the building to their left in flashes that strobed through the vehicle. Krycek's eyes burned in the darkness, his bruised face and mobile mouth a faint glimmer, backlit by the garish neon.
"Three days, eh?" said Mulder. "We can make it to Cincinnati in three days. Think of the fun we'll have, getting to know each other." He stretched, feeling the back of his neck pop with a shudder of pleasure. "You can get off reciting the DOT statistics to me, can't you? That's always good for a laugh."
"Christ, Mulder, you are so wrong, you're laughable. You're going to drive through five states in three days with me chained to your dash like Andromeda awaiting the fucking kraken? Didn't you have any toys when you were growing up?" The smoky, bedroom voice was heavily laden with sarcasm. Mulder's smile grew wider.
"I'll tell you what, Krycek," he said, almost purring. "Give me your word that you won't try to get away, and I'll even let you share the driving. I just want the opportunity to decide whether you're really the messianic figure you claim to be, or the verminous piece of offal I've thought you were over these last few years."
"Come on, Mulder, can't you see that we don't have time to dally while you inspect the whichness of my why?" Krycek was angry now, and when Mulder merely folded his arms and allowed his smile to become a grin, he tore again at the cuff that restrained him, cursing bitterly when the door handle held.
There was a long pause, and then finally, Krycek sighed. "Oh, for fuck's sake… all right then. Anything. I swear I won't leave your side. I will be your constant companion from dusk 'til dawn." A thought occurred to him, and he gestured with his thumb at the cluster of mean edifices to his left. "Did you see that movie, Mulder? Think vampires run this place? You'd love that, wouldn't you?"
Mulder actually laughed as he reached to unfasten the cuff that held Krycek's arm. Lacking the wherewithal to rub it, the other man raised it to his mouth and moved his lips over it, assessing damage. Mulder watched him, avidly noting small gestures that were habitually Krycek, filing them away in the vast catalogue of his brain.
"Better? You need refreshment? The can?" Mulder's smile was considering, the look in the back of his eyes calculating. Krycek nodded, began to get out of the car, then reconsidered, and turned back.
"Listen, Mulder, oath or no, if you start giving me the old cross examination as soon as we get on the road, I am out of here." He frowned, the crease between his brows marring the youthful contours of his face. "The only way I'll do this is if you agree to start from scratch, pretend we haven't met or something like that, get into things without any preconceived notions. Any other way is going to wind up with one of us murdered." He tilted his head to one side, lips pursed, considering his own words, and Mulder laughed again.
"All right, Krycek, you're forsaking Doc Smith for Dungeons and Dragons I see. You got any dice? We'll throw for skill, charisma and vitality, shall we?" Mulder pushed open the door to his side of the car. "I need coffee. Want some?"
"Sure," said Krycek, stepping out of the car at last and stretching his cramped muscles. "I'll see you in a minute or two. I'm going to wash up."
Either he trusts me, in which case all will be well, or he doesn't, in which case I am dead meat, thought Krycek to himself, philosophically. As he strode off towards the sign that proclaimed the location of the bathrooms, he half expected a blow. In any event, it did not come and he reached the bathroom unscathed.
Surveying himself in the flyblown mirror, Alex Krycek winced. His face held the deep purple-blue of a new bruise, the skin split over his cheekbone. The resulting blood, coupled with that from the inside of his mouth, had poured down his face to cover his once white T-shirt with red. Sighing, he removed the shirt and ran the water in the sink, giving up after a few minutes when the stopper wouldn't hold the water. He made up a compress for his face from the shirt, and then began to use it to scrub his jacket, chest and face clean.
When he was done, he donned his leather jacket again, and tossed the shirt in the trash, turning to take stock of the improvements, if any. At least my face is clean, he thought. The bruise stood out on his pale skin, lending him a dangerous air. The sculpted body that showed beneath the jacket was creamy white against the black leather of his jacket and pants, and the single strap from his prosthetic arm crossed his chest, making him look like a fugitive from a bondage club. It was cold outside, but this was as good as it was going to get.
"At least I'm clean, so I won't frighten the horses," he said out loud, and turned to leave.
Outside, a light rain beginning to fall, and the wind was blowing it sideways. It stung his sore cheek as he walked back to the lot to look for Mulder's car, and he was anxious to get back inside it out of the weather. Perhaps Mulder will have a shirt I can borrow, he thought. He wasn't that much broader than the G-man, and it was cold, dammit.
The car was not where Krycek had last seen it. Uttering a heartfelt curse, he pulled his jacket around himself and realized that his wallet was gone. No doubt it was in the car with Mulder, currently withstanding the third degree. Fuck! That put paid to thoughts of a hot meal or coffee. He stood peering into the darkness in search of Mulder or the errant vehicle. He couldn't envision Mulder abandoning him here, but he could imagine all too clearly some ne'er do well stealing it and zipping off with it, leaving them both abandoned.
"Oh, man, it just gets better and better, doesn't it," he grumbled. He was about to turn and head for the diner where at least he'd be warm, when the crunch of tires on gravel told of an approaching vehicle.
Half turned, poised on one heel, he stepped back as Mulder's car swept to a standstill beside him in a small shower of shrapnel. He was about to walk around to the other side, when the window rolled down, and Mulder looked out, benignly.
"Hello? Are you looking for a date? How much?"
Oh, great, thought Krycek. It's the just met scenario, Mulder style, right? Mulder and his juvenile porno fantasies, as if I couldn't have predicted this. Okay, we'll see how long he keeps it up. Tossing his head back arrogantly, he let his jacket fall open, revealing the finely defined torso to Mulder's wide-eyed stare.
"I'm always looking," he murmured, huskily. "What do you want? I usually get $30 for a hand job, $50 for a blow, $100 for a straight fuck, and any S&M or rape fantasies are up in the thousand-dollar range. What's your fancy, big boy?"
Mulder's face was reward enough. His jaw dropped for a second, and then, swift as thought, he'd recovered, and the smile that widened his face seemed to contain way too many teeth. He reached over to the passenger door and flipped the handle. "I've got a couple thousand bucks and a couple of days to kill; get in and we'll negotiate."
Thankfully, Krycek moved around the car and climbed in, closing the door behind him with a sigh of relief. Sitting back and reclining his seat a little, he made himself comfortable, and rested for a few minutes, then suddenly noticed that Mulder was eying him intently, staring at his bare chest, and his nicely defined six pack. With an inward grin, he decided to make a show for Mulder and just see how far he would let this silly game go on. There was little room for improvisation in the cramped quarters of the car, but Krycek did what he could. He managed to angle himself so that he was leaning against the door, then spread his knees and let his hand drop so that it was resting close to his crotch, accentuating the bulge in the tight, shiny, black leather.
The effect was very gratifying. The car swerved under Mulder's control, and Krycek smirked a little, giving a snort of perverse amusement.
Mulder's lips tightened. It was obvious that the laughter did not sit well with him. As the G-man opened his mouth to say something, Krycek found himself wishing that he could just revert to the cuffs and abuse. This was making him nervous.
"So what's your name, kid?" The laconic voice was inexorable.
Krycek sighed. Okay. I'll play your silly games, he thought. "What do you want it to be?" he asked.
"I had a really ugly dog named Alex, once," said Mulder, happily diving in to the attack. "You kinda remind me of him. I'll call you Alex, if that's ok with you"
"Whatever, asshole," Krycek responded. "It's your dime"
The barb seemed to have gone astray, and Mulder was betraying evidence of disappointment, so Krycek wasn't too surprised when he began to speak again, upping the ante from the preceding conversation. "So until we get to where we can stop for the night, we can talk about prices and whatnot," he said. "Tell me something; what if I just wanna watch?"
"Watch what?" blurted Alex, and the lights from an oncoming vehicle bathed him, ivory and basalt in the suddenly bright car, his astonishment captured in loving detail before the merciful darkness descended again.
"I want you to perform for me," said Mulder, the smile back on his face as he turned his eyes back to the road. "I think you need to show me what I'm about to pay a couple grand for. Whip it out, rent boy; let's see the merchandise." He turned to look at Krycek again, his face alive with malice. "Show me you know how to use it"
The initial surprise had worn off, and Krycek squared his shoulders, determined that if there was to be a pissing contest, the first person to crumble would be Mulder.
"It'll cost you," he said, sweetly. "Twenty five dollars upfront." And, he thought to himself, if it comes out of my wallet, I'll beat you senseless with your own fucking gun.
He watched, one eyebrow raised, insolently, as Mulder fumbled one-handedly into his pocket and pulled out a wad of crumpled banknotes. Fishing out a five and then a twenty, he tossed the two bills onto Krycek's lap and returned the rest to his pocket.
"OK," said Mulder. "Get on with it, boy; I haven't got all night." The wonderfully triumphant smirk on Mulder's face told of his unholy joy, and was present for all of ten seconds, then Krycek picked up the money, reclined his seat back the rest of the way and got to his knees. Goggling, Mulder watched as his passenger straddled the center console, back to the door and turned to face him. For a moment, it was apparent to Krycek that Mulder didn't believe he would go through with it. It didn't take him long to make his decision. Mentally shrugging his shoulders, Krycek gave his most evil smile and began to unbutton the leather pants.
Beneath the black leather pants Krycek's pale flesh gleamed white in the half-light, and as he opened them further, the shadowy patch of pubic hair gave way to the rearing penis, ruddy and gleaming. Krycek took hold of it and offered it openly to Mulder, well aware that the other could smell the musky scent of him wafting across the few scant inches between them. He gasped softly, and Krycek, still smiling malevolently, heard him.
"Is this what you want, mister?" he asked, his voice as caressing as mink on skin. "You wanna see me stroke my cock? How would you like me to do it? Fast or slow, hard or soft? You want me loud or quiet?" He paused for a moment to check the effectiveness of his words, and decided that perhaps a few more would do it.
"How do you want me, baby?" he murmured, throatily, aware that Mulder was looking at his groin, seemingly riveted. "As you can see, I'm ready when you are"
The car swerved.
Krycek snickered.
Mulder gripped the steering wheel harder and ground his teeth. Apparently overcome by the desperate need to punch the half-naked man crouching next to him, waving his dick in his face his resolution not to let Krycek win showed on his features. He drew a deep breath to fire off his own sally.
"I want it slow," he said, pursing his lips as he apparently considered his preferences. "Put on a show for me; tease me. I want it loud really loud. Moan, groan, scream and talk dirty to me"
It seemed obvious to Krycek that Mulder was trying to think of anything that would make him uncomfortable enough to back down, and there was no way that was going to happen now. He'd gone this far, and he was fucked - not fucked, damned, he corrected himself - if he was going to let Mulder win. Besides, he thought, ruefully, I've always wanted to do this.
Slowly, and with many vocal embellishments, he began to stroke his own cock.
When Krycek thought about it later, he couldn't even recall what string of profanities he'd uttered, but he soon found Mulder participating verbally as well, not even noticing he was doing it, muttering under his breath stuff like, "Yeah, like that. Mmm… ohhh no, slower… slow... yeah, oh yeah."
The car swerved, righted, swerved again, and when Krycek came, long and loud, spraying his sticky white offering over Mulder, he called out a name.
"Mulder…."
He didn't realize what he'd done, so entirely caught up in the moment was he, but Mulder heard it loud and clear.
Pulling off the highway, somewhere out in the back reaches of beyond, Mulder screeched the car to a halt. Both men were panting heavily. Mulder was trying frantically to get his seatbelt off, while Krycek manfully tried to slow his breathing down to normal again and find control of his limbs.
He lay, sprawled sideways, leaning against the door, staring at Mulder through heavy lidded eyes, moaning softly. As things came back into focus, he suddenly realized that Mulder was struggling determinedly to get out of the car, and the battle made him chuckle. Sitting up slowly, he watched as Mulder finally succeeded in unbuckling his seat belt, threw open the car door and practically fell out onto the rough grass of the verge.
Buttoning up his pants, Krycek emerged from the car and walked around the side just in time to see Mulder fall to his knees, tearing at his jeans in a frantic effort to open them. As he watched, the G-man finally managed to get them undone and extracted his own cock, hard and leaking. Grinning, Krycek sauntered around to stand beside Mulder, leant in very close and whispered, "You want me to give you a hand with that, mister?"
The effect was electric. Mulder, his hand flying on his cock as he knelt on the grass in the moonlight, screamed out, "God, Alex, yes!" He came, juices spurting to fall in the long grass beside the road.
For a while, neither man spoke.
At last, Mulder tidied his clothing and rose to his feet, and they both climbed back into the car.
Nothing further was said for a while as the miles drifted behind them leaving faint memories of darkened dwellings and empty road. Oklahoma became Missouri, became Illinois. It was now early morning, and both men still seemed shaken by what had transpired. At last, Mulder pulled in to a motel that still showed lights, and went in to get a room, while Krycek remained in the car, either too tired, or too fatalistic to ride herd on Mulder. What would be would be.
"Come on." Mulder pulled the car round to a chalet on the south side of the lot, and parked. "I'm tired. You must be too."
The room was surprisingly well appointed. The two men cleaned up in silence, taking it in turns to shower and brush their teeth. When Krycek was done, he found Mulder sitting up in the only bed in the room, watching the Discovery Channel. He paused, wondering what to do next.
"Come on if you're coming," said Mulder, clicking off the TV set and letting a grin flicker across his face as he realized that he'd fazed Krycek at last.
Shrugging his shoulders, Krycek slipped into the very edge of the bed and lay there on his damaged arm, tense and tight. Sleep was unlikely to be possible, although, he thought, perhaps Mulder will be good enough to club me again. That'll put me out.
There was a sudden rustling sound. Krycek tensed up still further, until a pair of warm arms suddenly encircled him, and he felt Mulder spoon up behind him, bare flesh warm against him, generous cock sliding neatly in the valley between his two buttocks.
"Mulder…" he said, uneasily. The game was at an end, and despite what he'd done, Krycek was not going to lie down and spread for Mulder just because he demanded it. He was - and would always be - the initiator in his relationships.
There was a tickle of warm breath on his ear, snickering as Mulder spoke. "That was a good game; we should play again some time." Alex Krycek was suddenly truly at a loss, speechless as he heard the soft voice continue. "I'd change one thing though. Next time I'll pay the fifty for the blow."
Mulder chuckled against Krycek's ear, laid a kiss on the back of Krycek's neck gave a soft, yawning sigh.
"Not now, Mulder," whispered Krycek. "Sleep first. I'll blow you in the morning."
There was no answer, and seconds later, both men were asleep.
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