Turkey Trot

Fandom: The X-Files

Category/Rated: NC17, humor

Year/Length: 2003/~9700 words

Pairing: Mulder/Krycek

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, only having fun.

Author's Notes: Written for the ZoneZine II

The sound of Christmas music echoed through the darkening streets of Arlington. A band of carolers made their way down the path outside the apartment block, and there was laughter as they sang snatches of "Oh, Holy Night."

Mulder wasn't listening. He was in his kitchen, looking at the enormity of the task he had set himself, and for some strange reason, it felt as though the task was looking right back at him.

Serve me right for being a total idiot, he thought, as he surveyed the huge turkey that he had just removed from the freezer. I shouldn't have boasted to Scully about my ability to do this. I've never cooked a turkey in my life, and the thing is just huge. He poked it with his spatula, and the thing skittered off the worktop and plummeted to the floor with a sound like a car crash. Sighing, he kicked it, and then yelled, hopping and holding his toe.

Mulder's inept handling of the bird was rather amusing, but Alex found himself increasingly worried by the goings on in Mulder's kitchen. The man needed help

As a general rule watching Mulder was fun. Alex had been doing so on and off over the past few years. Of course, Mulder found the hidden cameras every once in a while and they had to be replaced. It was an enjoyable game in Alex's opinion. Living in the same building as Mulder without the fibbie ever having a clue just tickled Alex's funny bone. He wondered if Mulder even had a clue about just how many times Alex had blocked consortium thugs from doing the man harm. With a drink at hand, he sat himself in front of the monitor and prepared for his favorite show...

Alex watched the monitor with horror and disbelief. What in the hell was Mulder thinking? The idiot couldn't boil water without causing a major disaster. And now he was apparently going to attempt cooking a turkey? A frozen turkey.

Although Alex couldn't claim to be a great chef, he was capable of preparing an edible meal. Certainly he could manage to make a turkey. Rather well, if he did say so himself...

Mulder's inept handling of the bird was rather amusing, Alex found himself increasingly worried by the goings on in Mulder's kitchen. The man needed help. Serious help. Maybe it would be best if Alex went and knocked the idiot out so he could save the turkey - and the poor, unsuspecting tenants of the building. Because, at this rate, Mulder would probably manage to blow up his apartment and start a fire that would kill off a large number of his neighbors.

Down in the kitchen, Mulder was cursing the bird that seemed to be completely ignoring him. He picked it up off the floor and deposited it back onto the worktop. He wouldn't be beaten by something that had a reputation for complete stupidity. It was a turkey, for heaven's sake. Nothing more. Eying the thing as if it were an emissary of Satan himself, he took a cautious poke at it. It began to slide again and he stilled it.

"Stay there, dammit!" he gritted, and began to attempt the removal of the plastic that covered it. The frozen mass proved rather recalcitrant, and the sharp knife he'd chosen for the job was constantly skidding off the surface of the plastic wrapped bird, and all too soon the inevitable happened. The knife slipped, jerked, and sliced into Mulder's thumb.

"Sonofabitch!" he yelled, as blood dripped and the turkey remained inviolate.

Temporarily suspending operations, Mulder stomped off to the bathroom to find band aids and possibly a tranquilizer or two. This wasn't supposed to happen, but at the moment it seemed to be Mulder zero, turkey two. He would change that. Honor demanded it.

Okay. This was getting ugly. Alex's amusement at Mulder's wrestling bout with the turkey faded abruptly when the fumbling idiot actually managed to slice his thumb.

What to do? After considering several options, he decided to call Mulder and offer a little anonymous advice. Having Mulder realize that his apartment was under surveillance - again - was a minor inconvenience. As soon as the bugs were located and removed by the terrible trio, as Alex called the Lone Gunmen, he'd wait a week or so, then replace them.

Dialing Mulder's number, Alex waited patiently for an answer.

"Mulder."

"Meester Muldaire, you must defrost dat turkey before cooking eet."

"Who is this?"

"Such information ees not important. Let us just say dat I am concerned."

"Concerned? About what?"

"De turkey, de possibilities for disaster eef you continue on your present course."

"Who the *hell* is this?"

"Just defrost de turkey. Fill your sink wit' warm, not hot, water, and soak eet."

"Fuck you, whoever you are."

Well, Alex thought as Mulder disconnected, that went well. With trepidation, he returned to watching the monitor. He made himself another drink first, though. A double.

"How the hell am I supposed to deal with this thing when I'm being watched by the whole of the damned universe. I've got performance anxiety now," growled Mulder, as he moved over to the sink and began to fill it obediently. "Can't even make Christmas dinner without the spy-school all coming out to watch and laugh, and that guy sounded like the Pink Panther." Did the Consortium have a bunch of comic spies now? That's what it sounded like to Mulder. He growled again, and dumped the indestructible bird into the sinkful of water.

Reaching for a bowl, he turned and went for the ingredients for stuffing. This was something that his mom had made every Christmas, and Mulder knew that he could do it too, if he set his mind to it. "Breadcrumbs first," he mumbled, beginning to rip apart a loaf of bread. "It's easy. Mom used to have this stuff all organized in an instant." The bread reduced to rubble, Mulder went back to fish the turkey out of the sink. It was still frozen, and he frowned.

"Should be thawed or whatever he called it by now." He did succeed in peeling off the plastic it had been wrapped in, but also managed to propel it off the counter and across the floor once again. The dive he made to effect its rescue was both athletic and ill-advised. As his head came into contact with the edge of the door, the hollow booming sound made him believe he was having a close encounter of a most unpleasant kind. Sitting on the floor, he hugged the cold, wet turkey to him, and counted the planets as they revolved around his head.

Deeply offended by the Pink Panther comment, Alex stuck his tongue out at the figure on the screen. Smart-assed bastard. He drained his drink in one gulp and went to mix another. Ice and Stoli in the glass, he looked at the bottle of tonic, debated the matter, then decided that he would forgo the wash this time. Actually... what the hell did he need a glass or ice for? He swallowed the two (well, okay, three) ounces of vodka in already poured and set the glass aside.

Bottle of Stoli in hand, he headed back to the computer. Damn good thing, too. Because the fool had apparently decided that seven minutes in water would defrost a solidly frozen, ten or twelve pound turkey. Even worse, Mulder had managed to send the bird flying again and, from the dazed expression on his face after impacting the door with his idiot head, had probably managed to give himself a concussion.

Which was most likely a condition Mulder had become so accustomed to that it was more normal to him than not.

Once again, Alex Krycek cursed fate or karma or god or whatever the hell it was that made him so... fond of the stupid, clumsy, irritatingly persistent, gorgeous, brilliant man.

Or, maybe he was an idiot, himself.

After a deep and satisfying swallow of vodka and a little thought, Alex shook his head. "Naaah." He was many things, but not an idiot. Some external force was at work here, causing him to have this unhealthy and dangerous fascination with Fox Mulder.

Then there was the fact that Alex wanted nothing more in this world that to sink his cock as far as he could into Mulder's ass...

He didn't remember picking up the phone and dialing Mulder's number again. Another sip of vodka and he didn't care why he'd done it. Calling Mulder was a good idea. After all, someone had to save the moron from himself. Rescuing the turkey was secondary.

"Mulder."

"Are you okay, Meester Muldair?"

"Just peachy... Mister Pink Panther."

"Your sense of humor is dreadful as usual."

"You wound me, Mr. Panther. I'll have you know that I'm considered a funny guy by most people."

"They don't mean 'humorous', Mulder. They're calling you weird."

"I'm hanging up now. Oh, buy the way, Mr. Panther, you forgot to use your accent. Tsk tsk. Bad thug."

"Oh, fuck you. Put that poor turkey back in the water, it is SO not thawed yet."

"But damn it, I need to get the stuffing into it." Mulder knew he sounded petulant, but he couldn't help himself. He had to get this show on the road, the turkey into the oven and Christmas dinner on the table. He had set himself that goal, and he was damned if he would fail. "I don't have all night, you know. I have still to start on the potatoes and stuff." He gestured to where the packet of instant mashed potato was waiting, along side a further packet of frozen carrots. "I couldn't find frozen sprouts. Guess I have to do something with these," he said, indicating the paper bag that contained something green. "I don't have time for this turkey thing."

He ran more hot water and dumped the long suffering bird back into the sink, muttering imprecations as he worked. His tie was dangling into the sink, and he ripped it off, flinging it across the kitchen in fury. "Damned Clouseau. How come he watches me doing this anyway? How come they all find me so fucking fascinating?" He picked up the knife, and began to chop at an onion, sending that flying across the counter to rebound into the sink where it disappeared beneath the hot water. "Shit!"

Fumbling for the onion, he retrieved it at the expense of a burnt finger, and sucked the abused digit for a moment before he resumed his chopping.

Eventually, the onion - or what was left of it - had become a small heap of rubble. Mulder hadn't peeled it first, and the brown skin had been well chopped in. He tossed it all into the basin with the breadcrumbs and reached for the bunch of sage that was sitting on the counter top. He tossed the whole bunch in and looked at it. "Mom did something to it," he mused. Grabbing scissors, he began to snip the leaves into pieces.

By the time Mulder started in on the sage, Alex was nearly apoplectic. Not even the joint he'd fired up could keep him calm as he watched unwashed sage, stalks intact, being cut with scissors dull enough to do no more than bruise the tender herb. The onion had been bad enough. Really, how was it possible for a grown man to *not* know that the outer layer be peeled? But this... what Mulder was doing to the sage was just too much.

Again, he picked up the phone.

"What now?"

"Mulder, for god's sake, don't you know anything about cooking? You can't stuff the turkey until it's thawed. And, you peel an onion, you idiot. As for the sage..."

"Take it easy, there, Clouseau."

"Do NOT call me that."

"Aww, have I injured your sensitive, thuggish feelings? I *am* sorry."

Alex blew a raspberry into the phone and hung up.

"Oh," Mulder said to his audience. "Aren't you the touchy one? Better watch that, lose your temper at the wrong time and, well... no more Pink Panther. Or should I call you 'Thug'? Yeah, I like that. Thug it is."

Stomping in a kind of a staggering way over to the couch, Alex flopped down, turned on the TV, and continued to smoke. The pot was gooood shit. Very good. A sip of vodka between tokes seemed to make the weed seem even better.

"Shit! Goddamn! Motherfucker!"

Alex tried, he really did, but his curiosity got the best of him and he warily approached the computer to see just Mulder had done this time.

Mulder had hauled the turkey out of the water once again, and was now attempting to do something with it, although what that might be not even he really knew. He had the thing upended, and from somewhere - presumably the depths of his bedroom, he had found a hairdryer. With the hairdryer, he was busily blow-drying the turkey - or at least that's how it seemed.

"I'll show that thug," he muttered, and gave the turkey a savage shake. It leapt from the counter to drop like a stone onto his foot. Just as it hit, Mulder let go the hairdryer, and it flew unerringly through the air to land in the sink full of water.

There was a blue flash, a burst of static, and all the lights in Mulder's apartment went out, leaving Alex watching a dark screen as he listened to the disembodied howls of rage of his ex-partner.

"Gotta save that idiot," Alex moaned. "Again!" He shook his head, "What am I saying? Not again, *always*."

Resigned to do the rescue, influenced mightily by the booze and the pot, he headed downstairs to Mulder's place. Not bothering to knock, after all, Mulder had the most pickable lock Alex had ever come across, he entered the darkened apartment.

Being as Mulder tended to get a tad bit violent whenever their paths crossed, Alex elected to silently follow the string of profanity coming from the kitchen. His path was a little wavery, but he made it successfully through the apartment.

His pride at having proven yet again that Mulder had all the self-preservation of a pickle was dashed when he tripped over a lump on the kitchen floor.

"OW!"

Okay, the lump was Mulder. Why he was on the floor was a mystery that Alex really didn't want to solve. Besides, he was busy trying to keep Mulder restrained without causing harm to either of them.

"Dammit, Mulder, just keep still, will you? I'm not here to hurt you. Actually," he chuckled, "I'm here to save you - and that poor, abused turkey."

Mulder stilled. "Krycek?"

"No, Mulder. I'm the official in charge of rescuing turkeys from people like you."

"You," Mulder announced indignantly, "are drunk. And you've been smoking pot, I can smell it on you."

"And if I had any sedatives, I'd've taken them. Do you have any idea how painful it's been to watch you destroy a perfectly innocent turkey? And that's another thing, instant potatoes are not acceptable for a Christmas dinner. Where's the cranberry sauce? And the peas. And the rolls."

"You're an idiot, Mulder. You *do* know that, right?"

"I am not. I'll have you know that I'm very intelligent. Just because a man can't cook a turkey..."

Alex sighed. He really wished he'd brought the vodka downstairs. "Hey, Mulder?"

"What?"

"You got any vodka?"

"No."

"Any kind of booze at all?"

"I think I have a bottle of Jack Daniels around here. Not that I'm going to offer you any."

"Fucker."

"Bastard."

"As far as I know, my parents were married."

"Shut up, Alex." Mulder wriggled in Krycek's hold. "You gonna let me up any time soon? I promise not to hurt you. Much."

With what Mulder suspected was a string of very uncomplimentary curses in Russian, Krycek moved aside. Then he just lay there on the floor next to Mulder.

"Well, get up then, Clouseau," said Mulder, grouchily. "The turkey won't wait. This one is a brutal little sucker. It fights back."

"Don't be stupid, Mulder. The damned thing is dead and frozen. Did I say dead? Anyway, it won't run away from you, and it sure as hell doesn't have malicious intent." Krycek sat up, and fumbled around the floor for the errant bird, catching hold of it as he groped in a corner. Turning, he dumped it onto Mulder's lap. There goes the Armani, he thought to himself with a snicker. That was fun.

"Bastard," said Mulder, without malice as he caught the cold, clammy turkey in both arms. "Now what do I do? I need to roast it, and the power is gone."

"It's simple enough," responded Alex, with a smile that was heard rather than seen in the darkness. "Bring it upstairs and roast it in my oven."

"Okay."

Mulder rose to his feet and took a step to the door, his unwieldy bundle clasped to his bosom as though he were Eliza, turned out in the snow with a fatherless babe.

As he reached the door, he paused.

"Upstairs?" he said in tones that were more than a little menacing.

"Alex sighed. "Look, Mulder, you should be happy that I decided to take care of you. You aren't fit to be let out on your own." He uttered a short bark of laughter as Mulder uttered an angry protest. "Suffice it to say that I have the means of your salvation up on the seventh floor. Are you coming or what?"

Just as his own words reached Alex's ears, Mulder gave him a look that clearly said, "Huh?"

Which pretty much summed it up, so Alex decided the best thing to do was get the hell out of Dodge. With all of the dignity he could muster, he led Mulder - still embracing the turkey from hell - upstairs.

And it went well, all things considered. Mulder made it to Alex's apartment without saying anything aggravating. Most surprising, no one was injured, mind-wiped, or killed along the way.

That was the good news.

The bad news was that Mulder was utterly silent. Which might not have been a bad thing, except for the fact that his mind was clicking away a mile a minute, his eyes fixed firmly on Alex, obviously thinking about that ill-considered 'are you coming' comment.

As he opened his door and waved Mulder into his apartment, Alex glared suspiciously at the smirk forming on Mulder's face. Not that Mulder shouldn't be thinking what he was thinking... That wasn't the problem at all. The problem was that he was right. Alex had fucked up in a major way and not only did Mulder know that, he knew that Alex knew that he knew.

Mulder looked around curiously, then stared at Alex expectantly. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"The kitchen, Krycek. I have this turkey to cook. Remember?"

Suddenly Alex realized exactly what he'd invited. Mulder. Turkey. Oven. "Give me that thing and sit down somewhere. You are not going to blow up my apartment. I like this place."

Mulder stepped back, cradling the turkey to his chest, and shook his head. "Uh uh. It's my turkey, I'll cook it."

"My kitchen. My oven. Hand it over."

"But I told Scully that I could do Christmas dinner. You want me to lie to Scully?" Mulder was at his most pleading, eyes bright and puppy-like, face with just that touch of eager ineptitude that always grabbed Alex by the balls and made him lust. "You know how she gets; she'll be all hurt and ‘Mulder how could you,' and I'll… I'll have to tell her how you sabotaged me."

"You wouldn't!" The low blow that was being suggested made Alex's voice rise several octaves as he attempted to express his concern. "You wouldn't rat me out to Scully."

"Ah, but I would have to, don't you see?" Mulder sensed his companion's discomfort, and was going for the jugular. "You know how she gets when you tell her a little white lie. She fixes you with that fisheye stare and is sooooooo disappointed. No, thank you. I'm not about to submit myself to that if there's another scapegoat handy."

The click as Alex thumbed the safety off his Glock made Mulder jump. Eyes wide, he looked at his companion with the kind of expression one expects to see on the face of a St. Bernard that has failed to rescue a lost traveler, and has had his little keg of brandy snitched by bandits on the way home.

"Why the gun, Alex?"

"Drop the turkey, turkey. I insist." Alex ostentatiously took a silencer from his pocket and screwed it onto the muzzle of his gun.

"But… but Alex?"

"Drop it, right now, or I shoot." The husky voice was implacable - that of a man who was determined to do his duty, no matter what the penalty.

"Shan't!" Mulder's retreat into schoolboy defiance was sudden and complete, cut short very swiftly by the pop of Alex firing his gun into the beleaguered bird. "Fuck! You want us all to get lead poisoning?"

"Don't care," said Alex, and fired again.

Mulder gaped at Alex in disbelief. "You shot my turkey."

"That's not all I'll shoot if you don't Put. That. Turkey. Down."

"Alex-"

"I am not kidding, Mulder. If you don't give up the turkey, I will be forced to take drastic measures."

Weighing his choices, give Scully another chance to scold him or take his chances with Alex and his Glock - which was aimed quite steadily at the turkey... the turkey being the only thing between Mulder's chest and Alex's bullets - Mulder decided that Scully's disappointment didn't even begin to equal the possible 'drastic measures' Krycek might have in mind.

So he dropped the turkey. On his own foot. Which hurt. Quite a bit, actually. While he was hopping on his uninjured limb, he wondered - in between voicing some fairly blue comments about turkeys and assassins and guns - why it was that Alex was making such odd noises.

One look told the story. The man was laughing. Not smirking. Not snickering. Alex Krycek, traitor, assassin and all around pain in Mulder's ass, was laughing so hard that tears were rolling down his face.

Gathering the shreds of his dignity together, Mulder lowered his aching foot to the floor, crossed his arms on his chest, and glared at Alex.

"Well, you've killed dinner, Alex. I suppose that means my job is to cook it."

"If you go near my oven I *will* shoot your pretty little ass."

Mulder stopped dead. He took a step backwards, glaring at Krycek in his most dignified manner.

And tripped over the turkey.

"Fucking hell!" he yelled, temporarily forgetting the pretty little ass comment as said ass connected with the carpet. "The thing is possessed. Get it away from me."

"You got it." Alex swooped on the fallen bird and bore it off in triumph, leaving Mulder still sitting on the carpet looking fuddled. He could soon be heard from the kitchen, making busy noises as he set about doing the right thing by the sorely abused turkey.

Stumbling to his feet, Mulder crept into the kitchen to watch his strange, saturnine nemesis prepare the turkey.

Stripped of the leather jacket, Krycek was down to his T-shirt, whistling as he found onion and breadcrumbs, herbs and an egg. Stuffing was mixed, and set aside before Mulder's fascinated gaze. Onions were held steady for his one armed approach with the aid of a device that had sharp pins on it. Turning to replenish the warm water in the sink, Alex had the roasting pan ready to receive it when it should be ready.

"It's going to take an hour or two yet, Mulder," he said, at length. "You might as well join me in a glass of something cheerful." He smiled sarcastically. "You can celebrate your narrow escape from the haunted turkey."

Moving efficiently, Alex prepared a pitcher of eggnog and followed Mulder out into the living room. They settled at opposite ends of the couch, and Alex poured each of them a drink.

He watched with barely concealed amusement as Mulder shook off his amazement at realizing that not only did Alex Krycek actually need to eat and drink like any other human, he could find his way around a kitchen without causing a disaster. The hazel eyes narrowed as they took in Alex's apartment.

"How long have you been living in my building?"

One eyebrow quirked upwards, as Alex set his glass on the coffee table and directed a sly smirk at Mulder. "I wasn't aware that you owned this building. I'm sure that I don't make my rent checks out to your name."

Mulder snorted impatiently. "Don't try to distract me. How long have you lived here?"

With a shrug, Alex casually said, "Four years, on and off."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Alex! Why are you... watching me?"

"I-"

"Wait a minute. Just... Did you just say I had a pretty ass?" Mulder asked out of the blue. "Exactly how closely have you been watching me?"

"How closely would you like me to watch you?" Krycek waggled his eyebrows at him, suggestively. "I can do distant…" he sipped his drink, and made a move along the couch toward Mulder. "Or I can do close," he put the glass down, hiccupped a little, and then pounced on the astonished Fibbie. "Or I can do hot pursuit," he said with a smirk. "Your choice."

As Mulder gaped, he found himself pressed back against the arm of the couch, and a disturbingly hot male body was draped over his. "So what's your preference, Agent Mulder?"

"I… I…" Mulder said, eloquently. He closed his mouth and looked at the man who was covering him, taking in the brilliant eyes, the fine pores of the skin of his cheeks, the firmly molded lips that were smiling gently. "What are you doing?"

"I thought that you'd watched enough adult movies to realize what I'm doing." The words were soft and seductive, but the smile had knives in it. "However, if you need a couple of demonstrations before we get to the main course, I'll be happy to show you everything. What do you say?"

Without further ado, he dipped his head and fastened warm, moist, eggnog tasting lips to Mulders'.

Stunned into submission, Mulder lay quiescent under his kiss, not responding but not pushing him away. Well satisfied with himself, Alex pulled away from Mulder's full lips and smiled happily at the glazed expression in the hazel eyes that tracked his every move.

When Mulder flushed prettily and looked down, Alex reached up and petted his cheek kindly. "You think about it while I take care of a few things in the kitchen."

Climbing off of Mulder's slack body, Alex stood in front of him and brushed his hand over his clothes, ostensibly to straighten them, actually to make sure that Mulder got an eyeful of the erection straining the fly of his black jeans.

As he walked into the kitchen, Alex resisted the temptation to whistle with sheer enthusiasm for the task ahead. Getting Mulder into his bed would probably be more fun than he'd ever had in his life.

Mulder thought rapidly. He was out of his depth, and he wasn't sure how he felt - other than completely rattled. His much vaunted profiling abilities had never been up to the task of peeling the layers from Alex Krycek. He'd never been able to pierce the man to the core and discover what made him who he was.

Because he was Mulder, half of him wanted to stay and discover just what Krycek would do, despite the fact that it was making the short hairs on the back of his neck prickle with queasy anticipation. The rest of him was poised for flight. He was prepared to abandon the turkey and face the dreaded Scully down rather than find out exactly what was in the double agent's mind.

Torn, he sat on the couch, rigid and sweating, while Krycek clattered about in the kitchen.

The timid half of him had just staked a claim on his legs, and he was rising to his feet to high-tail it back to his own apartment, when Alex reappeared in the doorway, bearing a plate with cheese, pickles, crackers and cold cuts piled high. Mulder laughed nervously.

"I was just stretching my legs," he murmured, weakly, and plopped back down into his seat once again.

"I thought that you might like a snack, seeing as there are still at least fourteen hours before Christmas dinner will be ready." Alex's lips twitched suspiciously as he brought the platter in and placed it on the coffee table, but he didn't say anything, merely took his seat again and reached for a cracker as though nothing had happened.

After a moment, Mulder followed suit, beginning to believe that he had imagined the entire interlude, and that he was probably ready for some serious counseling and maybe a few of the really good drugs.

And obviously Alex was reading his mind, because he reached into a carved wooden box on the table and pulled out a joint and a lighter.

"Um," Mulder shifted in his seat nervously. "Maybe now would be a good time to remind you that I'm a Federal Agent?"

Alex laughed. "Mulder, get over yourself. It's Christmas. Relax, for god's sake." He shifted to Mulder's side and lit the joint, holding it out in offering after inhaling deeply. With a hitch of one shoulder, he silently challenged Mulder, an evil gleam in his green eyes.

Not quite sure that Alex hadn't already slipped him some mind-altering substance, Mulder watched with not enough surprise as his fingers accepted the joint. He stared at its glowing tip for a moment, then raised his eyes to Alex's. "Why are you doing this?" he whispered.

And there it was. That little duck of Alex's head. The one that always accompanied his smiles. Like he wasn't supposed to show amusement or something. Then he did the eyelash thing. Swallowing heavily, Mulder stared at Alex and wondered when exactly he'd lost his mind and gone from wanting to hurt this man to... wanting him.

"I think it's pretty obvious why I'm doing this," Alex said, still smiling, still using his eyelashes as deadly weapons. "The question is, why are you doing this? Why haven't you run to Scully? Why are you still here?"

Frowning in thought, Mulder lifted the joint to his lips and inhaled with practiced ease. "Because you shot my turkey," he finally answered.

The truly frightening thing, Alex realized, was how very much that answer didn't confuse him. In fact, it seemed perfectly sensible.

"Ah yes," he said, taking a hit and drawing the smoke deep into his lungs. "Ancient Chinese proverb; I know the one. Confucius say he who shoots a man's turkey must take responsibility for the man for ever after. That what you meant?" He handed the joint off to Mulder and watched the other man dither.

Putting his hand out to take the joint, then drawing it back again, not once, but twice, made Krycek swear softly. "For pete's sake, Mulder, look here."

Raising the tab to his lips, Alex took a long drag and inhaled deeply, then suddenly swooped on Mulder, pulling him into a kiss, the like of which he hadn't experienced in living memory.

Hot lips, scratchy chin and probing tongue all became Mulder's world as he sat, astonished at his own inability to fight back, and then Alex breathed his lungs full of aromatic smoke.

His head swam, and he moaned. By the time the kiss ended, Mulder was reaching for the joint with one hand, and for a cracker with the other. He'd forgotten completely about turkeys, stuffing, Scully and every other Christmas related trapping. All he could think of was sitting right here beside him on the couch, and the profile he had in his mind's eye was suddenly standing out in stark relief.

Relief, he thought to himself. Need to get me some of that.

Mulder looked... Well, if a kiss did this, a good fuck might be nearly unsurvivable. Studying pouty, kiss-reddened lips and heavy-lidded eyes, Alex strengthened his resolve. Before the night was over, he *would* test his ability to survive Mulder.

Besides, it was time someone took Mulder in hand. So to speak. Scully had proven unequal to the task and Skinner was useless. Mulder was far more likely to listen to the man in the moon that either his partner or his boss. Alex was tired of having to rescue Mulder's ass, pretty as it was. The time had come for a proactive approach.

Pleased with the progress he'd made thus far tonight, he decided it was time to let Mulder watch him work more magic in the kitchen. "Come on, it's time to get the turkey ready to go into the oven."

"You threatened to shoot me if I went near your oven."

Alex wasn't sure which contributed more to Mulder's dazed state, the pot or the kiss. It *was* kick-ass weed, no doubt about that. On the other hand, his kisses were not to be taken lightly, if he did say so himself. Whichever was the case, Alex decided the results were quite astonishing. And he wasn't a man prone to astonishment.

It was working already. Mulder had listened to and heeded his warning. As a reward for good behavior, Alex magnanimously conceded that Mulder might venture into the kitchen if supervised by Alex himself.

Mulder didn't appear quite as thrilled by the prospect as he might have expected. Alex would teach him, though. It might take a little while, but Mulder would be well worth the time and energy expended.

The turkey loomed in the sink - a menacing mountain of goosepimpled flesh and savagery. Mulder looked at it and shivered.

"It won't hurt you, Mulder," came the annoyingly seductive tones of his companion. "I think I winged it."

"Oh, fuck off, Krycek," was the best he could do in response. "You mean you aren't going to bore me with DOT statistics on the number of light aircraft that have bitten the dust due to bird strike? That amazes me."

"No, Mulder," was the sweetly spoken reply, and Krycek's smirk remained intact, much to Mulder's annoyance. "But if you like, I can tell you about the people who have suffered from salmonella due to undercooked birds, because people didn't wait to thaw their turkey out before stuffing it and shoving it in the oven? Will that do instead?"

There was no answer that Mulder cared to make to that, so he merely stood and watched as Krycek felt inside the bird, his arm disappearing into the carcass as he tested it out to check.

"I'm going to stuff it now, but I think first that we should maybe reduce the possibility of lead poisoning for our happy gang of revelers, don't you?" Without waiting for an answer, Krycek began probing with a knife, and there was a clatter as the first bullet, woefully flattened, clattered out onto the counter top. "Okay, Mr. Turkey. I think you're going to live," he chuckled and began to look for the next one.

Mulder looked on, his eyes wide, as Krycek deftly removed the other bullets and set about stuffing and dressing the doomed bird.

"Okay, Krycek. Suppose you tell me if you've been moonlighting as a short order cook in some greasy spoon." Mulder was attempting to conceal how impressed he was, but the smirk showed that he'd failed.

"Not at all, Mulder. I've just got a bit of common sense, is all," he responded, and turned to put the beleaguered bird into the oven.

Alex could feel Mulder's curious gaze on his back as he efficiently cleaned up after himself, sitting the dishes in the sink to soak, then wiping the counter down with a sponge. Grinning inwardly at the questions Mulder wanted so badly to ask, he dried his hands on a dish towel and headed back out to the living room.

If - and that was a big if - Mulder actually asked, Alex thought he just might let 'slip' a few of the more benign parts of his past. Enough to make the other man even more curious, anyway. Because, as he'd learned the hard way, a bored Mulder was a dangerous Mulder.

Once the other man had joined him on the couch, Alex poured them each more eggnog and sat back against the cushions. "My grandmother," he offered quietly, just a hint of wistfulness in voice, "taught me to cook. The year I turned twelve.

Years of training kept Alex still under the inquisitive hazel eyes. He concentrated his attention on his drink and waited.

"I never met any of my grandparents. They all died before I was born," Mulder finally said quietly. "Did you... What was she like?"

"She smelled good," Alex answered, just as quietly. "And her house was always warm."

"Was that in the US, Alex?" asked Mulder, somehow unable to picture a Krycek with a family, learning to cook, or indeed doing anything except appear fully grown, Glock in hand to cause him grief.

"Yeah. MY babchi was from the old country, and she came over late in life, but she loved her new home, and she loved me and my sister. She took it upon herself to teach us all the old skills she'd brought over. Because of her, I know how to make piroshki and borscht." He glowered at Mulder as he raised his glass to his lips and sipped. "And I know how to roast a turkey without killing everyone that tastes it."

"Oh, go on, rub it in," said Mulder, much struck by the idea of some applecheeked old babushka showing a juvenile Alex how to navigate a kitchen. "You have a sister?" he said, idly.

"Yeah," responded Alex, unhelpfully, and moved closer to Mulder, pressing his thigh up against the FBI agent as though he needed the warmth, and Mulder suddenly felt rather breathless, as all the blood suddenly deserted his brain and headed south to take up residence around his groin.

He gasped, and froze.

"I…I… I…" he said, and then was silent.

Alex nodding solemnly, as if in agreement with Mulder's stuttered nonsense, was not the response he'd expected. A smirk, yes. A raised eyebrow, sure. A snicker, possibly. But, a nod? Just didn't quite... compute.

"You're acting very strange tonight, Alex."

"Am I?" And there was a message in there somewhere, if only Mulder could figure it out.

He considered the matter as he refilled his glass with eggnog. While the probability existed that Krycek was playing with him, Mulder allowed himself to contemplate the possibility that, for once, the man was just being himself.

On the off chance that that possibility might be true, Mulder relaxed into the couch, allowing his leg to rest against Alex's. He glanced at Krycek from the corner of his eye and shrugged. "I don't know. You. Well enough to say one way or the other."

Alex laughed. Out loud. And a very pleasant sound it was, Mulder thought vaguely.

Thoughts were suddenly scattered as he felt Alex crowd in even closer, and all conscious brain activity stopped as warm breath fanned his cheek, and a hand turned his head inexorably until soft lips could fasten to his. He moaned softly, unsure of the etiquette in a situation such as this.

The kiss - for that was what it was - seemed to go on for hours, and Mulder wondered if he'd made a mistake in permitting it. His groin had filled, and his breath had an alarming tendency towards panting. He wasn't sure if that was something that should be happening. Finally, Alex drew back a little, and Mulder seized his opportunity.

"Uh, Krycek…? Alex?"

"What, Mulder?

"You're kissing me."

"Ten out of ten for observation, Mulder. I guess that's what comes of being a highly trained FBI profiler. There's no hiding anything from you." The silken voice was breathily amused, and Mulder felt just a little aggrieved.

"Oh, come on, that's not fair." He turned his face to the side so that Alex's lips came down on his right cheekbone rather than the mouth he had been aiming for. "You're making fun of me."

"Nope. Not at all. I'm kissing you is what I'm doing," said the husky voice, and then the lips found him again, driving all sense away in a fog of arousal.

Alex was hard pressed not to strip Mulder, lay him out, and fuck him into tomorrow. Finally, *finally*, after so many years of dreaming, of jacking off to fantasies of a naked Mulder, of a naked Mulder responding to his caresses, the day had finally arrived. Of course, he'd have to take it slowly. Mulder was, after all, a skittish creature. And, unless Alex had missed his guess - an unlikely occurrence - Mulder had no experience with male/male sex.

Aside from the fact that he'd wanted Mulder in his bed from that very first meeting, Alex loved nothing better than to introduce a virgin to the joys of gay sex. He just *knew* that Mulder would be a natural. His mouth was made for sucking cock, and his ass begged to be fucked. And Alex was just the man for the job.

The kiss ended only because asphyxiation was fast becoming imminent. Gasping for air, Mulder stared questioningly into Alex's eyes.

"What?"

"Alex... are you... are we... Um."

"Relax, Mulder. I won't force anything on you. The level of 'umming' is up to you," Alex reassured him. Then he started a light nibbling along Mulder's jaw.

"A-alex?"

"Mmm?"

"I don't... I'm not..."

"Not what?" Alex mumbled against the skin of Mulder's throat.

"Not gay. Dammit, Alex, what have you done to me?"

Looking down at Mulder's crotch, Alex had to snicker. "Given you a hard on?"

Following Alex's eyes, Mulder blushed at the very visible sign of his arousal. "Oh, fuck," he moaned.

"Maybe later," Alex said in a promising tone.

Then he climbed onto Mulder's lap. Thighs on either side of Mulder, he distracted the man with a ravenous kiss while he stealthily unbuttoned the shirt that lay between his hands and Mulder's silky skin.

Mulder's world was suddenly all about gentle fingers probing and smoothing, about the cool draft on his skin making him shiver as the hot mouth learned him, learned the softness of his lips, and the desperate need that he couldn't disguise.

He moaned against Alex's skin, unable to stop his own hands from touching, first tentatively, and then demandingly as he suddenly realized just what it was that had been missing from his life.

When Alex bore him back against the cushions of the couch, he went willingly, clinging to his assailant.

"So, Mulder, are you ready to turn the other cheek?" The sardonic tones conjured images that he wasn't able to dismiss, and as Alex's groin pressed and rubbed against him, Mulder found himself bucking mindlessly against him, while that relentless mouth went on and on, sucking and tasting, nibbling and licking.

Before he could protest, Alex had his shirt open so that he could bend to taste the coppery nipples, delivering sharp little bites to each one that stung in a way that made his arousal grow. "This is… I don't know what this is, Krycek," he protested, half heartedly attempting to push his assailant away with one hand while the other, buried in Alex's hair, clung to him.

"Think of it as a visit from the Christmas fairy, Mulder. I'm going to teach you all about stuffing."

Mulder groaned. "Jesus, Alex. Your sense of humor is awful. Is that a Russian thing?"

"Fuck you."

Alex smirked at the man beneath him and ground his erection against Mulder's equally hard cock. And, really, he couldn't have asked for a more enthusiastic response. Dropping his head to the back of the sofa, Mulder gasped and arched into the touch. Alex leaned forward and explored the length of neck offered so easily. His hand stayed busy, alternating between Mulder's nipples, rubbing and pinching the excited nubbins.

"We're gonna be good together, Mulder," Alex promised. "I'll make you feel things you've never even dreamed of."

"Might prove... Ah, yeah... difficult," Mulder said. "I have some pretty amazing dreams."

"Dreams are all well and good, but I promise you, tonight will surpass any dream you've ever had."

Mulder grinned. "Your modesty overwhelms me, Alex."

With a mock pout, Alex looked at Mulder. "Overwhelmed is a good look on you, Mulder. I can't wait to see your face when I really start to show off my talents."

"T-talents?" Mulder stuttered, distracted by the hand that Krycek had somehow managed to slip between them and press against his cock.

"I'm a very talented man, Mulder. *Very*."

With that, Alex slipped out of Mulder's lap, sliding down to kneel between his thighs. He efficiently unbuttoned and unzipped Mulder's jeans. Damn. Mulder had gone commando. It took a few moments to recover from that little revelation. Running one finger across the head of that weeping cock, he had Mulder's complete attention as he raised his hand to his mouth and savored his first taste of Mulder's come.

Hot mouth, superheated skin, thoughts that flickered like fire as jolts of pleasure tingled along his veins, and Mulder found himself uttering prayerful curses, begging that Krycek stop, no, don't, don't…

Don't stop.

"God," he moaned, hands clamping to either side of the ratbastard's head.and pressing into the silken mouth that was driving him out of his mind.

"Yes?" Krycek looked up, half smile on his mouth, although how anyone could look cynical with a cock in their mouth temporarily eluded Mulder.

"Keep that up and I'll be prepared to believe it," gasped Mulder, totally gone now as Alex's fingers began to probe his ass, teasing the soft spot within the crevice between his cheeks.

"Oh, I have every intention of keeping it up," said Krycek, deadly serious as his eyes bored into Mulder's, somehow seeming to read every thought, every need, as he carried on with his assault on Mulder's virtue.

A stinging ache, and there was an intrusion within him, something that burned until Alex took him into his mouth again and sucked hard, drawing in a warm dull spread of aching sweetness, and then the need to spread himself open, let Alex in. Mulder was lost, groaning and panting as he begged for whatever Alex would give him.

*Begged*

How humiliating. At the moment, though, he couldn't have cared less. The warmth of Alex's mouth, the clever way he used his tongue to stimulate the most sensitive places on his cock, the sheer enthusiasm Alex didn't try to hide from him, all contributed to Mulder's lack of control over the words and sounds coming out of his mouth. Alex crooked his fingers just so, touching a spot Mulder understood in theory, but had never investigated himself. And, damn, that had been a mistake. If he'd had the slightest inkling... Well, he most certainly would have tried this.

The addition of a third finger made him gasp. Yes! Jesus Christ. Why the hell hadn't someone *told* him about this? He'd never imagined that his asshole could feel this way. And, if fingers did *this* to him... How much better would Alex's cock feel.

"Okay, Mulder?"

"No. It's not enough. I want you in me, Alex. Now!"

"My, my, Mulder. So demanding."

It wasn't easy, but Mulder managed to open his eyes and focus on Alex's face. "I want this. I want it now."

"Your wish is my command," whispered Alex, his voice all smoke and desire as he pulled Mulder's ass over to the edge of the couch.

The first press of Alex's cock against his ass felt as though it would split him in two. It was huge, impossibly so, and Mulder whimpered at the pain as his erection sank slowly in the west.

"Relax, Mulder. It's going to be wonderful if you just relax." The soft voice was as smooth as cinnamon and cream; it washed over Mulder like a wave, and made his nerve endings prickle with anticipation. His dick twitched, and he gasped as Alex finally breached him, popping through to fill him, first the head, then increasing fractions of his cock until they lay together, Alex's balls tight against the smooth skin of Mulder's buttocks.

"You feel incredible, Mulder."

"I… it… aaahhh…" Mulder fell silent again. It was as much as he could do to find his voice. Actual coherence was way beyond him.

"Breathe, Mulder. I hate when people turn blue while I'm fucking them."

"You are seriously twisted, Alex. You do know that, don't you?"

Alex snorted. "You're a fine one to talk."

"This is... weird," Mulder breathed.

"Weird good or weird bad?"

"Good. I think. It hurts and feels good at the same time." Licking his lips, Mulder met Alex's eyes. "Is it always this way?"

"First time is rough. But, after... well, you don't mind the initial pain because you know how good it feels once you get going."

"Oh." Closing his eyes, Mulder concentrated on the fullness inside of him. It was feeling... well, not exactly pleasurable, but not as painful. Alex did something with his hips, Mulder wasn't sure what, but... "*Oh*!"

"Starting to get the picture, Mulder?" he asked with a smirk.

"Do that again, Alex."

"Your wish and all that," Alex said.

He did that thing again, then he pulled out a little and pushed back in. And, yes indeed, there were definite possibilities here. Alex's cock managed to hit his prostate, causing Mulder to shiver and groan. His hands found their way to Alex's hips and he silently urged more movement.

"Do we have a winner?" said Alex, in that maddeningly seductive, breathy voice. "Anyone would think that you were starting to like it."

"Move," urged Mulder, in strangled tones. "I need you to…" Whatever the rest of his sentence had been going to be, it was stifled by the mouth that covered his, swallowing his words and sending shivers of delight through him.

"Moving as ordered," grinned Alex, at length, beginning a driving, pounding rhythm that was hard at first, and then became harder and more urgent yet as he got into the swing of it. "How's that?" he asked, stabbing in, his cock a lethal weapon.

Mulder said nothing, merely held on as he was fucked til his teeth rattled.

After a while, he began to be able to move in reciprocation, his body seeming to know what it needed to do even though his head was whirling with sensation, overlaid by confusion.

There were no words. Alex's lips were busy on his body, mouthing parts of him he would have been willing to bet were not erogenous zones, until now. All he could do was take it - take it and want more. As Alex's motions grew harder and faster, Mulder found his voice at last, and began to plead as the dull pleasure sharpened in his gut, sending slivers to prickle his nerve endings.

If he'd had the slightest inkling that Mulder would, *could*, look like this, Alex would have fucked him years ago. His eyes were heavy with pleasure, his lips reddened by their kisses, his face flushed with exertion.

"Alex... god! I need to... Shit, Alex, *do* something!"

Changing his angle slightly, Alex hit Mulder's prostate on his next thrust. And, oh, didn't that get a lovely response! Mulder's back arched, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he yelled something that might have been approval. Of course, knowing Mulder, it could just as well been a passage from the collected works of Auden.

Grinning, Alex wrapped his hand around Mulder's erection, matching the strokes to the movement of his hips.

"Gonna come... Alex, I'm gonna-" And Mulder grabbed Alex's ears, pulling him into a fierce kiss. High pitched noised sounded from his throat as he lost all sense of rhythm, thrusting erratically onto Alex's cock and into Alex's fist.

"That's the general idea," murmured Alex, sucking at the tender flesh of Mulder's neck and viewing the purple brown hickey that resulted with approval. His hand flew over Mulder's cock, daring him to retain his sanity as he pulled on it, dragging sensation up through it with his bare hands.

The climax that took Mulder rocked him, locked his muscles tight, made him keen and finally scream as it burst through him under Alex's nimble hands. As the sticky, white fluid began to spurt between Alex's fingers, Mulder thought he was going to explode. Seconds later, as Alex followed him into the sweetness of orgasm, he knew that he was.

When it was all over, and Alex lay panting limply on his chest, he probed gingerly to see if the back of his head was still in place.

"Jesus, Alex," was all he said.

Moving sluggishly, Alex climbed up into Mulder's lap and collapsed with a sigh. "I suppose I don't need to ask if it was good for you."

"Shut up and let me enjoy the afterglow," Mulder grumbled.

"I'll give you five minutes, then we take a shower."

"Ten."

"Seven."

"Eight."

"You drive a hard bargain, Mulder. But, I suppose I can stand to stay here for a little longer," Alex conceded.

"Smartass."

"You're just now figuring that one out?"

"Fuck you, Alex."

"Sure."

"What?"

"Later, after dinner, you can fuck me."

"I... um... really?"

"Yes, Mulder, really."

"Can I try giving you a blow job too?"

Alex groaned. "You can try whatever you'd like."

"Wow... Alex?"

"Yes, Mulder?"

"Do we *have* to wait until after dinner?"

The dawn itself was just showing on the horizon, but the sky was glowing, brilliantly lit as the firemen attempted to extinguish the largest turkey roast in Virginia. Along with the other ill-fated occupants of the building, Mulder and Krycek stood in the parking lot across the road, watching their Christmas dinner as it went up in smoke.

Scully had come rushing to Mulder's side, and stood beside him, neck craned to watch the sparks erupting from the shattered windows of the fourth and fifth floor as the firemen played their hoses on the conflagration.

"It was such a wonderful turkey, Scully; you'd have loved it."

"Mulder, I can't believe what lengths you went to just to get out of making me Christmas dinner." Scully was smiling as she said it, but Mulder's face was petulant as her words sank in.

"But I *did* make it, Scully. "It was full of stuffing and everything." He sounded aggrieved, and the luscious lower lip was in full play. Mulder was pouting as only he could.

"He actually did have a bird, Scully." Alex entered the discussion at this point, earning himself ‘Frosty Stare Mk1' from the small redhead.

"See?" Mulder said reproachfully. "I really did cook a turkey."

"Well," Krycek drawled. "Technically speaking it was his turkey. But *I* cooked it."

Arms folded across her chest, Scully fixed them both with a suspicious look. "You cooked it. Mulder, would you care to explain how Krycek ended up cooking dinner?"

"I... um... His oven was larger?"

Krycek snorted.

Scully raised one eyebrow skeptically.

Mulder sighed and adopted his best 'I'm a good boy' expression. "I'd never tried to cook a turkey. Alex was just giving me advice."

"Uh huh. Just how did 'Alex' come to be in your apartment?"

"He was passing by?" Mulder said weakly.

"Well, Mulder, this being the holiday season and all, I won't press you for the truth."

The three stood silently, watching the firemen at work. Once the fire had come under control, Mulder turned to Scully. "I guess we'll have to think of an alternate plan for dinner."

With a long-suffering sigh, Scully smiled rather grimly. "We'll have to eat at my place, I suppose."

"Scully?" Mulder asked, tilting his head in Alex's direction.

"Yes, Mulder, Krycek is invited."

"Great! So... what should we cook? I don't suppose you have a spare turkey in your freezer, I know how to cook one now."

"Uh… Scully?" said Alex, attempting to catch her eye.

"I think it would be a good thing if I did another one before I lost my nerve. The last one was somewhat traumatic." Mulder was pouting again, his words abstracted, as if he were doing yet another voice-over. Krycek stopped him right there.

"Traumatic? You were brutal to the poor thing."

"At least *I'm* not the one that shot it." Mulder retorted, and then blushed as he quailed beneath Scully's ‘Frosty Stare Mk 16.'

"Well, if you'd set the alarm or something, it wouldn't have caught fire." Alex sounded bitter as he fought back the only way he could, with his favorite gun currently burning to a crisp somewhere in the ruins of Hegal Place.

"It was *your* apartment. You should've set an alarm." Mulder sounded somewhat hurt at the implication that the ill fated turkey had gone to waste because of his lack of action.

"Well, how was I to know that you were going to be such a slut?"

"A slut? That's nice! You're the one that seduced me…"

Dana Scully deduced that this was a very good moment to fade out of the equation. As she backed away and headed for her car, she could hear the two men, still bickering, growing fainter and fainter, until at last they were gone…

"Merry Christmas, Mulder," she whispered, softly, and headed for her mother's house, where the turkey would be perfect..

Illustrations by Feedback to kaNd

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