debchan99@yahoo.com

Web page: http://adult.dencity.com/debchan/index.html

Twenty, twenty, twenty four hours ago…I wanna be sedated.
Nothing to do, nowhere to go… I wanna be sedated.
The Ramones

Alex allowed a small, feral smile to curve his lips as he shot the last guard. In the ensuing silence he spun around to make sure no one else moved in the small formerly white room now liberally splashed with red. None of the bodies stirred, not even the sole figure wearing a white coat. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to kill the doctor until he found out what they’d used. Bastard must have been caught in the crossfire. Damn.

He stepped over the body to approach the figure bound in the room’s only chair. He slid his fingers into the silky seal brown hair and tugged until the drooping head tilted back. Dazed hazel eyes blinked at him and Alex instantly noticed the dilated pupils, the dreamy lack of focus. Fuck. Drugged to the gills. Mulder, Mulder, Mulder. What sort of mess have you got yourself into now?

"Hi, Mulder. Happy to see me?"

The eyes blinked again. Mulder frowned as if in deep concentration, then murmured, "No."

Alex tsked and said in mock reproach, "I’m hurt. And after all the trouble I went to." Mulder’s eyes closed and Alex yanked on his hair until the other man opened his eyes again. "No time for a nap now. Unless you want to stay here?"

A spark of panic momentarily filled the dazed eyes staring up at him and Mulder shook his head.

"Didn’t think so." Alex released his grip on Mulder’s hair and knelt, quickly unlocking the metal bands holding Mulder’s arms and legs in place. He stepped back and glared at Mulder’s lolling head and slumping body. "Come on, Mulder. Snap out of it. Let’s go."

Mulder obediently struggled to his feet and took a swaying step toward Alex before collapsing at his feet. Shit. "Okay, let’s try this again." He pulled the other man to his feet and hooked one of Mulder’s arms over his shoulder while clasping Mulder’s waist with his left arm. He drew his gun with his free hand and spoke quickly. "Listen to me Mulder. If you want to get out of here you have to trust me. Just follow my lead, do what I tell you to do and everything will be fine. Do you understand me?"

Mulder leaned against him and mumbled, "Yes."

Alex shook his head at the meek compliance in Mulder’s voice. "Jesus, you’re really fucked up, aren’t you? Okay, come on."

They stumbled to the door, Mulder a heavy weight on his left side. Alex scanned the hallway, smirked at the shattered security cameras and dragged Mulder down the deserted corridors, around the corpses he’d left behind on his way in and out the front door. He took a deep breath of the cool night air, let it wash out the lingering traces of cordite and blood still in his nostrils then hustled a staggering Mulder down the alley and into his car.

Mulder’s head lolled back against the seat as Alex reached over him to grab the seat belt and buckle it into place. "Wouldn’t want you to get hurt." He patted him on the thigh, then started the car just as he heard sirens in the distance. He fought the urge to gun the engine and take off, realizing it was just an after affect of the adrenaline rush. Instead, he sedately drove out of the alley and onto a side street that would take them to the interstate.

Okay Alex, you’ve managed to kill a bunch of goons and rescue a doped up Federal agent. What are you going to do now? He chewed his lower lip and scowled, pissed that he really hadn’t thought beyond that. Always have a plan, Alex. Didn’t you learn anything in the last few years? Fuck that. Plans were for people with time. Mulder had been snatched so quickly Alex only had time to react and follow.

Keeping at the speed limit, he glanced in the rearview mirror, noted with satisfaction that except for his car the streets were empty. He slanted a look at the uncharacteristically silent Mulder and met his ex-partner’s somber stare. A bruise bloomed on one cheekbone, his eyes were heavy, his lips were swollen and slightly parted and damned if he didn’t look like the poster boy for debauchery. The torn shirt with missing buttons and rumpled slacks only completed the picture.

He shifted in his seat and mentally snarled ‘forget it’ to his cock. There was a time and place for everything. Now was not the time for this. Face it Alex, there will never be a time for this. Might have been once upon a time but was now as dead as the Elder Spender’s dick.

Okay. Stop thinking about it and concentrate on the problem at hand.

Mulder was seriously out of it and there was very good chance at least one of the cameras had captured his image before he’d been able to knock out the security system. Mulder was still vulnerable and he…Krycek flicked another glance in the rearview mirror. He was used to being a moving target. But he always moved best alone.

"Where’s Scully?"

"Symposium in California," Mulder murmured.

Fuck. So much for dumping Mulder on her doorstep. There was no way Alex could just drop the other man off at home, not in the state he was in. Especially not when Alex knew there was a good chance he’d just be grabbed again.

"And Skinner?"

"Vacation. Alaska."

Double fuck. No chance it was just a coincidence that Mulder’s two closest allies were out of town at the same time. He couldn’t take him home, couldn’t leave him with anyone.

Alex bit off a quiet curse in Russian and considered other alternatives. Dump him on the side of the road or take him back to his current hideout.

He chewed his lip and glanced at Mulder again, taking in the somnolent eyes and his relaxed posture. Alex ran through a mental checklist of all the possible drugs they could have used on Mulder and made an educated guess that the man had been saturated with a psychotropic designed to make him compliant and prone to suggestion. No way was he going to survive a minute of his own. Fine. Okay. Looks like door number two was the winner tonight. Damn it. He liked that apartment and thought he’d be able to stay there at least another couple of months.

Alex shifted in his seat, uncomfortable under the weight of Mulder’s steady regard.

"Why don’t you lean back and close your eyes?"

Mulder’s lids immediately slid shut at Alex’s terse question. Shit. The situation suddenly was fraught with possibilities. An uncounted number of commands occurred to Alex, fought to be spoken aloud. Touch your mouth, lick your lips, put your head in my lap, take your clothes off, suck me, fuck me, tell me you want me, only me, oh Jesus, Mulder…

"Mulder." The other man’s name escaped him in a groan and Alex had to take a deep breath before growling, "Just keep your eyes closed."

Alex fought for a modicum of control. I am not doing this. Yeah, it might work. Mulder might be sweetly acquiescent, might do everything Alex demanded, might fulfil every single one of Alex’s lonely little fantasies. But in the end it wouldn’t mean shit, would be the equivalent of jerking off. His current life might suck but he was not that pathetic. And Mulder would just hate him even more.

"I’m not that desperate," he muttered. Or that much of a bastard. Look at him, fucked up, so suggestible you could probably convince him that taking a dive into an empty swimming pool would be a great idea. Where’s the challenge in that? He’d do whatever he was told, would open that pretty mouth and…Shit. Stop it right now. Deal with the situation and eat your regrets later.

"How are you feeling?"

After several moments of apparently deep reflection, Mulder replied, "Tired. Afraid."

Surprised by the open honesty in Mulder’s reply, Alex tightened his grip on the steering wheel and bit back the impulse to say something comforting. He did not feel sorry for Mulder. He didn’t. If their situation were reversed, Mulder would happily, fucking gleefully, take advantage of it. Probably not in the same way Alex was tempted to but…

"You don’t need to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you." Shit. I did not just say that.

"You always hurt me, Krycek." The soft, slow voice was matter of fact.

Alex’s chest tightened as guilt and regret made it difficult to breathe. He drove in silence for a few minutes before quietly repeating, "I’m not going to hurt you, Fox. You’re just going to have to trust me on that."

Mulder made a slight gesture of negation. "I can’t." Mulder’s voice was slow and every word sounded like it had been pulled forth against his will. "Don’t…don’t call me Fox."

Well, well. Not so biddable after all. "Nice to know that some things don’t ever change." He sighed and goosed the accelerator as he steered onto the on ramp to the interstate. "Nevertheless, you’re going to have to until we can get that shit flushed out of you."

"Can’t," Mulder insisted in a petulant murmur.

Jesus fucking Christ. "Look, Fox," he emphasized the name, "it may have escaped your understandably muddled brain, but I’m the good guy here. I’m the one who pulled you out of there before they could even begin to ask you a question or plant any ideas inside that gorgeous, fucked up head. I won’t hurt you, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. So stop giving me shit."

"…don’t call me Fox."

"Sonofa…Fine. Now shut up and let me drive."

Take me to the river. Dip me in the water.
Washing me down, washing me…
Hold me, tease me. Love me, squeeze me.
‘Til I can’t…I can’t take no more.
Talking Heads

Mulder fought back a wave of nausea. Carsick. Something about the sensation of moving yet sitting still always made him sick. It was bearable when he drove. Maybe the illusion of control made a difference. But riding in the passenger seat always made him feel like he was just a speed bump away from vomiting. He would have said something, but Krycek had ordered him silent and his brief ability to rebel seemed to be gone.

Because of the drugs. Mulder ran his tongue over his teeth, felt each and every ridge then swallowed thickly. Drugs. They’d injected him with something while he was still dazed from the blow to his head when they’d grabbed him. He dimly remembered snatches of dreamlike conversations swirling over his head like smoke. "…should be saturated soon…leave him alone…won’t get anything yet…" And then the muffled cough of a silenced gun, screams, the bark of more guns and silence. And then Alex. Krycek.

Krycek. He tried to open his mouth and speak the other man’s name when another intense wave of nausea rolled through him, only succeeded in making a helpless whimper. Helpless. Couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Maybe it was a dream. When Krycek wrapped his arm around him my god, Alex, what happened to your arm? and they’d staggered down the hallway it was so like some of his old nightmares that he knew for sure they’d never reach the outside, that they would forever lurch around and over dead bodies, smell that sweet, sickening stench of blood and it would decay and if ochre had a odor it would be rotting blood…

The wave crested. Unable to fight it, Mulder turned his face toward the window and let go.

"Jesus, Mulder." Krycek’s voice echoed faintly in his ears. Mulder dimly noted the other man sounded shocked, then promptly disregarded it as his stomach brought up a fresh surge of bile.

The car stopped, rocking violently on its shocks and almost triggered another wave. Then the door wrenched open and fresh, cool air filled his gasping lungs and oh god, thank you, thank you, the car was no longer moving.

Mulder leaned his head against the car’s frame and for a long, luxurious moment did nothing but savor being still. After a few minutes hours? he registered soft cloth gently cleaning off his mouth and then felt something metallic tasting press against at his lips.

"Drink, Mulder. Just a sip. No, don’t swallow, just spit it out. Good. Again. Better?"

Mulder nodded his head.

"Wanna try drinking a little? Clear your throat?"

He nodded again and licked his lips. The can tilted and he eagerly drank the little bit tepid, flat soda he was allowed.

"Easy. No more for a little while until we make sure that stays down." A cool, gentle hand brushed the hair back from his sweaty forehead. Mulder leaned into the contact, heard himself make a little noise of distress when it was removed.

"What happened? Carsick?"

After parting his lips to say yes and hearing no sound emerge, Mulder just nodded again.

"Why didn’t you say something?"

A helpless shrug.

"Fuck, you’re out of it. What a mess."

Mulder wanted to point out it wasn’t his fault but settled for sighing in agreement. It was indeed a mess.

"Okay. Just hang on for another mile. We’re almost there."

Almost where?

His head was carefully pushed back against the car seat and he heard the door shut. A moment later, the whir of the window going down proceeded a rush of cool, night air as the car began moving again.

Eyes still closed, Mulder mentally counted off the seconds but found himself getting stuck on fifty two so he had to keep restarting. He’d started the fourth time, determined to get to fifty three when he noticed the car stopped.

"Mulder. We’re here." He felt his seat belt release just before fingers brushed his cheek. "Come on, open up your eyes and get out of the car."

Mulder slowly opened his eyes and stared into Krycek’s impassive face. In the direct glow of the streetlight the other man was a stark contrast in light and shadow. Mulder couldn’t help comparing this face to the one in his memory, sweet and disingenuous now hard and world weary; Lucifer before and after the fall. Helplessly, Mulder allowed Krycek to pull him from the car and through a doorway. Another hall and through another door. He received a vague impression of an area with the bare minimum of furnishing for a living room before Krycek hustled him down another short hall.

"Bathroom," Krycek murmured. "No offense but you’re a mess."

With a grimace of distaste, Mulder plucked at his clothing and realized for the first time he’d been breathing through his mouth in a vain effort to avoid inhaling the sour aroma of his own vomit. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bathroom mirror and closed his eyes in dismay, tried to pretend he wasn’t here, that he didn’t hear the sound of water gushing into the tub, that his clothes didn’t unpleasantly cling to him. It didn’t work. With every heartbeat he could feel the effects of the drug weakening his will, making him want to sink to the floor, to just give in to its insidious promise of peace. He swallowed and tried to concentrate, went over the list of symptoms he knew he could expect so he could try to deal with them; dizziness, blurred vision, confusion and…and… They were there, he could feel the answers tantalizingly dancing just beyond his grasp but he couldn’t remember them and the horror of that realization made him gasp in distress.

"It’s not that bad," Krycek murmured, closer to him now. "God knows I’ve seen and smelled worse."

Like I care what you think, Mulder thought resentfully.

"Jesus, Mulder, your pout is so expressive. Yeah, I know you could give a fuck about my opinion. Get out of the clothes and into the tub."

After a few minutes struggle, it became humiliatingly clear that whatever drugs they’d given him adversely influenced his hand eye coordination. Krycek grimly watched him try and fail to guide a button free then made a sound of exasperation, swatted Mulder’s hands away and undressed him as if he was a child, then helped him step into the bath.

Settled in the water, Mulder shot a resentful glare at Krycek who flipped down the lid on the toilet and took a seat.

Krycek raised a mocking eyebrow. "If looks could kill. Relax, Mulder. Get cleaned up. I’m only here to make sure you don’t fall asleep and drown. Unless of course you want me to help?" He smiled without humor when Mulder sharply shook his head no. "Didn’t think so."

Kyrcek turned his head and began to hum tunelessly as Mulder sank deeper into the tub, the almost too hot water making him relax against his will. How long had it been since he’d had a bath? It was… Nice. Comforting. His eyes started to slide shut and he blinked hard as lassitude swept over him, trying to keep his mind focused on the task at hand. Wash.

As Mulder lathered up a wash cloth and clumsily sponged away the lingering traces of his semi digested lunch from his torso he looked up to see Krycek studying him, eyes narrowed in speculation.

"Why are you so quiet?"

Mulder glared at him.

"Not that I mind. It’s a nice change from the usual litany of my supposed sins."

With another glare, Mulder weakly jabbed his middle finger in the air.

"Now there’s a Kodak moment." Krycek sighed. "If this is some lame ass plan to avoid answering any questions, feel free to abandon it at any time and speak your mind. I said you can trust me."

With this tacit permission freeing his tongue, Mulder mumbled, "No." He reached for the soap, watched it slip between his lax fingers and added, "I hate you," with as much venom as he could muster.

"I know." Krycek spoke without inflection. He slipped out of his jacket in a lithe movement and knelt next to the tub.

Mulder watched numbly as Krycek pushed his right sleeve up past his elbow and reached into the water, brushing Mulder’s knee as he grabbed the soap. He knew he should react, should raise his hand and push the other man away, hit him, maybe in the throat to crush his larynx, destroy that beautiful lying voice forever. Or his face; shatter the high cheekbones, smash the delicate nose and split the lips on that cupids bow mouth. Instead, he sat passively when Krycek silently plucked the washcloth from his other hand and slanted him an inquiring glance.

"Need help?"

It's been a long time since the book of love,
I can't count the tears of a life with no love.
Carry me back, carry me back,
Carry me back, baby, where I come from.
It's been a long time, been a long time,
Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time.
Led Zepplin

Alex firmly kept his eyes focused on Mulder’s face. He was long past the age when staring at another person’s nude body gave him some sort of illicit thrill, but he suspected this case it might be different. Besides, he’d learned long ago there was very little joy to be found in gawking at the unattainable. "Do you need some help?" he patiently repeated.

Mulder simply stared at him with that same vaguely suspicious expression he’d worn since he’d got in the bath, then averted his face towards the wall.

Typical Mulder reaction when faced with unpleasantness. Pretend it’s not there and it will go away. Jesus, what else did you expect Alex? When Mulder does pay attention it almost always results in bodily injury. Be happy for small favors. Nevertheless, some perverse part of him missed being the object of Mulder’s focus, even if it pissed Mulder off. Maybe especially if it pissed him off. At least he touched Alex then. Sick, Alex. Sick and pathetic.

"Oh dear," Alex murmured as he lathered up the washcloth and lightly stroked it along the line of Mulder’s spine, deliberately ignoring Mulder’s slight flinch. "I’ve been snubbed by Fox Mulder. Now none of the really popular boys will ask me to prom."

Mulder made a muffled noise that might have been a laugh or a grunt of distaste.

Alex ran the washcloth over Mulder’s lower back then dipped it in the water repeating the movement before rinsing the soapy residue away. He wanted to discard the cloth between his hand and Mulder’s skin, wanted to trace the ridges of Mulder’s spine with his fingertips, to feel for himself if the shivering skin at the nape of his neck was as silky as it looked. Without his consciously willing it, his hand slowed and lingered, more caressing than washing and he let out a soft breath of pleased surprise when the muscles under his hand relaxed.

"I’ll assume that was a laugh, Mulder. Unless you’d care to correct me?"

With a gesture of negation Mulder hunched his shoulders and slightly pulled away.

Alex merely shifted until he could reach the other man again and resumed washing his back. "You know, I always knew you were an ungrateful son of a bitch, but I never thought you were such a fucking coward."

Speaking very slowly, as if he had to concentrate on every word, Mulder grit out, "Is this where I’m supposed to prove I’m not a coward? You must not have been paying attention in Mindfucking 101. It only works if I care what you think."

Alex kept his touch strictly impersonal as the washcloth moved over Mulder’s back, down to his waist, back up to the nape of his neck. "Mulder, if I was trying to fuck with your mind it wouldn’t be over something so trivial as simple conversation." I’d just tell you the full, unvarnished truth.

He let the washcloth drop into the water and clenched his fingers against the impulse to touch. Yet he couldn’t help leaning forward, just a little bit, just enough to take a quick breath and inhale the heady scent of Mulder’s skin wearing his soap.

"All clean," he said as he stood abruptly, removing himself from temptation. "I’ll assume you can get out and dry yourself off." No way was he going to stand there and hope that naked body would tumble into his arms in a parody of an embrace, no way was he going to towel said naked body dry. It was too much like some overwrought nighttime drama. Alex could see it now; his superior toweling techniques ("Won the Bronze for this in Alberta," he’d modestly say) would whip Mulder into an uncontrollable sexual lather, force him to confess his undying love right there on the bath mat and they’d both live happily fucking after. Yeah. And monkeys will fly out of my ass.

He rummaged in the medicine cabinet and found a new toothbrush, set it on the sink. "You might want to use that too. I’ll find you something to wear."

Without pausing to see Mulder’s reaction, Alex strode through the door and into his bedroom. He angrily jerked open the closet door, randomly yanked some clothing off the shelf and stood for a moment, trying to distance himself, gain some perspective. Eight hours, maybe ten and Mulder would be over the worst of it and be on his way back to his apartment, his life and never ending quest for the Truth. And Alex would be looking for a new place to live.

He cast a glance around the sparsely furnished room and grimaced at his reflection in the mirror. You chose your path, Alex. With no going back, so stop bitching about it, stop eating your heart out. It’s pointless.

Alex returned to the bathroom and found Mulder unsteadily standing on the bathmat clumsily wrapping a towel around his waist.

Mulder’s head lifted at Alex’s approach, his hazel eyes studied him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. His pupils were even more dilated and his movements were slow, sluggish.

Schooling his face into an impassive mask, Alex silently extended his hand with the clothing.

Instead of taking them, Mulder cocked his head and stared at Alex’s left side. "What happened to your arm, Krycek?"

Alex stiffened reflexively, then forced his muscles to relax. "Can’t you call me Alex? You used to."

Mulder frowned and shook his head slightly. "What happened to your arm?"

Alex shrugged. "I couldn’t say. I haven’t seen it for a while and it never writes." He glanced away, unwilling to see either avarice or pity in Mulder’s eyes, not knowing which would be worse.

"Mail from Russia can be erratic," Mulder said slowly, evenly.

Ah. As uncomfortable discussions went, that could have been worse. Alex dropped the clothing on the toilet seat. "Get dressed, Mulder."

He turned his back and listened to the slow rustle of fabric sliding over skin then finally the rasp of a zipper signaling it was safe to look. He turned to see Mulder leaning against the sink and swallowed heavily. Shit. Stripped of his uniform of expensive suits, dressed in Alex’s clothes, eyes half closed, his lips slightly parted, his cheeks still flushed from the heat of the bath, Mulder looked like every one of Alex’s fantasies made flesh. Christ. The next few hours were going to be long.

I know there's a place you walked
Where love falls from the trees
My heart is like a broken cup
I only feel right on my knees
The Who

Mulder unsteadily followed Krycek into the living room and dropped onto the couch with a barely muffled groan of relief. God, he hated this, despised feeling so weak and clumsy, loathed his normally agile brain for its inability to do anything but lumber through each thought like a constipated elephant with a bad sense of direction. There was something he should be doing, something he needed that was missing. He latched onto the thought with a sense of desperation, tried to examine it but felt it slip through his grasp like mercury. Frustrated, Mulder let it go.

He watched Krycek through hooded eyes as the other man threw himself into a chair and stared out the window, his expression distant and faintly grim. He really bore little resemblance to the man who haunted Mulder’s memories. Not the falsely eager, green young agent. That was Alex and Mulder never allowed himself to think of him. The only Krycek Mulder gave himself permission to think of was the cold eyed, remorseless killer and sometimes, unwillingly, the desperate fugitive lightly painted with nervous sweat and the lurid lights of Hong Kong. This Krycek just looked weary and resigned. Mulder turned over the new knowledge of Krycek’s loss in his mind and hazily wondered if that was why.

As if Krycek felt the weight of his stare, he slowly turned his head and impassively stared back.

"What do you want, Mulder?"

The soft rasp of his voice was the same. That at least never changed, no matter what face he wore.

"Mulder?"

What did he want? There was a time when he could have answered that, would have if Alex had asked. To find Samantha, to have the respect of his peers, for his parents to love him, to hear Alex moan his name in that crushed velvet voice, for the ability to go back in time and stop things before they went so horribly wrong. But this wasn’t Alex and he’d never say those things to Krycek.

"I want to go back," he heard himself whisper, appalled.

"There’s no point. They’ll have cleared out by now. You won’t find any evidence or information. Just an empty building."

Mulder opened his mouth to explain, then snapped it shut, even more appalled.

Krycek raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry, then shook his head. "I don’t think it was anything to do with the Consortium," he muttered. "Wrong set up and they’d never risk a daylight grab. Plus, it was too easy to get in and out. Really shitty security." He frowned at Mulder and continued in a suddenly hard voice, "Even so, don’t go back. I can probably find out who they were easier than you can."

Against his will, Mulder found himself nodding in compliance and blinked in surprise when Krycek visibly relaxed and leaned back into his chair. For a moment his lips curved in a faint smile and he looked so much like the Alex he remembered that Mulder almost smiled back. Then he abruptly reminded himself where he was, who he was with and swiftly turned his head into the back of the couch, disengaging. The other man was too close and he was too dazed to summon the anger that usually protected him from these rare flashes of Krycek’s humanity.

With an almost inaudible sigh, Mulder closed his eyes and nestled closer into the couch. Enfolded in darkness, he surrendered to the lassitude creeping through him and sighed again. He dimly considered that might have been a mistake when he inhaled and experienced olfactory overload. Alex. He smelled like Alex. The scent of the same soap, the same faintly sweet laundry detergent he remembered Alex smelling off covered him like a blanket. He bit back a moan. It was like finding a dead lover’s clothing in your closet years later and experiencing the loss all over again. It wasn’t fair. You shouldn’t be able to mourn something you’d only contemplated and fantasized about but never actually had, about someone who’d never even really existed.

He opened his eyes when something nudged his shoulder and found Krycek standing next to him, holding a bottle of water in silent offering. And suddenly Mulder realized his mouth was a desert, that the last drink he’d had was a sip of flat soda in Krycek’s car. He grabbed the bottle and drank greedily, only pausing for breath halfway through.

"Jesus," Krycek said, sounding amused and exasperated at the same time. "Look, I realize it just about kills you to ask for anything, but if you want something you have to tell me."

And oh, that was too close to his recent thoughts, the unwillingly recalled dreams of Alex’s silky voice murmuring in his ear, "Tell me what you want. Let me give you everything, anything you need. Just tell me…"

Mulder shook his head, unwilling to speak for fear of what might emerge, aware that he was staring at Krycek, unable to break his piercing gaze. The diffused light of the lamp in the corner erased the cynical lines around his eyes, took away the years and suddenly it was Alex leaning over him.

Krycek frowned and leaned closer. "Come on, Mulder," he coaxed. "Is it really that hard?"

Yes. Absolutely, Mulder thought with dismal acceptance. He nervously licked his lips, noted that the other man’s eyes flared and intently followed the movement of his tongue, that Krycek’s lips parted so his own tongue could mimic the slight movement, heard his breath catch then resume in a deeper, heavier rhythm.

"Mulder?" His name was breathed out on a long, incredulous exhale.

Yes. Alex, yes.

And now our bodies are oh so close and tight
It never felt so good, it never felt so right
And we're glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife
Glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife
-- Meatloaf

Drugs. It’s the drugs, Alex thought grimly. Exhaustion, not arousal made Mulder's eyes heavy. He was not staring at Alex's mouth. When Mulder raised his hands as his speculative stare intensified, Alex braced himself for an attack and started to pull back.

Too late. Mulder’s hands gripped the front of his shirt but instead of pushing, they pulled him down. Right on top of Mulder, who clumsily rolled him into the cushions.

What the fuck? Alex opened his mouth to speak and Mulder swept in. His tongue hungrily explored Alex’s mouth, his lips demanding and pleading and oh fuck he’d never been kissed like this. This wasn’t kissing, wasn’t exploring, it was fucking memorizing, cataloging each taste, texture and oh god he wanted it to never stop. When Mulder pushed himself into the cradle of Alex's hip and rocked against the erection Alex had been ignoring for hours, his ability to think coherently died a whimpering death. All he could do was wrap his legs around Mulder's in a vain effort to pull him closer.

When Mulder paused to take a breath, Alex growled and pulled him back in, tilting his head to let Mulder make sure, like any good investigator, that the taste and response was the same from this side, too. A pause and a brief lick at his lips and he whimpered at the loss, at the teasing, then moaned low in the back of his throat when Mulder’s head dipped and he captured Alex’s mouth again.

With a groan, Mulder pulled away and buried his face at the juncture of Alex's shoulder and neck, licking and sucking then biting down hard until Alex let out a harsh cry of mingled pain and pleasure.

"I want you to touch me," Mulder gasped into Alex's ear.

Alex surged underneath him, his hand pulling at Mulder's shirt to slide underneath and caress the silky, shivering skin of his abdomen, then lower, over rough denim to cradle the heavy weight of Mulder's erection. A low groan of satisfaction reverberated through the room. Alex didn't know which of them made the sound, didn't really care. All that mattered was Mulder's mouth on his throat, biting, licking, nuzzling and the heat of his cock pressing into his palm.

After fumbling with the button and zipper, Alex wrapped his hand around the heated silk of Mulder's erection and unconsciously echoed Mulder's low, choked sound of pleasure. And this was, oh god, so unbelievable, so fucking incredibly good, to have Mulder writhing against his hand, brokenly moaned out, "Fuck yes, Alex," in his ear and when Mulder shuddered and pulsed his release out over Alex's hand all he could do was helplessly follow.

In the aftermath, Mulder languidly nuzzled his throat as Alex dazedly thought, shit, no hands. That was a first.

Alex murmured, "Jesus. Mulder." Lazy with post orgasm lassitude, he ran his hand over Mulder's back in slow, sweeping caresses, marveling when Mulder allowed it, actually arched toward his touch. There's going to be hell to pay when he sobers up, Alex thought with resigned acceptance.

As if on cue, Mulder's casual exploration of Alex's throat halted and he turned to ice. He muttered in an appalled voice, "No." Mulder shook his head as if to clear it and rolled off Alex onto the floor, landing in a clumsy sprawl.

Here it comes.

"No," Mulder repeated as he curled into a protective huddle. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Alex murmured his name, heard the pleading tone in his voice and grimaced in disgust and sudden furious dismay he could be reduced to this so easily.

He could see Mulder was fighting to deny what had happened, despite the evidence of his unfastened jeans and the semen covering his stomach. Fucking trying to ignore me, to pretend none of this is real.

Furious, Alex slipped off the couch and crouched next to him, grabbed his chin and shook it.

"Look at me."

Mulder averted his face and compressed his lips in a thin line.

"No you don't, Mulder," Alex growled, his previous languor gone like the morning mist under a hot sun. "You don't get to pretend this didn't happen, that you didn't want it to happen. You fucking kissed me. You shoved your tongue down my throat and your cock in my hand and moaned in my ear while you came."

The other man's eyes slowly opened, still dilated, still hazed by a combination of the drugs and his recent orgasm. "No," he murmured again.

"Yes, you did. Look at my neck. You fucking marked me. Yeah," he continued in a harsh whisper as Mulder's eyes became heavy again. "You changed everything. Fuck if I know why, but you want me. Don't you?"

Mulder's gaze darted around the room, either looking for escape or just avoiding Alex.

"I wasn't going to do this," Alex murmured, almost to himself. "I wasn't going to take advantage of this. But you changed the rules." He stroked his thumb over Mulder's lips, felt his breath catch as they parted and Mulder's breath deepened and his cock stirred. Somehow, for some unfathomable reason, Mulder wanted him. "Answer me, Mulder."

In a low, rough voice, Mulder ground out, "It doesn't mean anything."

Well, Jesus, that was no surprise. "Then you can admit it without worrying. Come on, Mulder." When Mulder's mouth twisted in an effort to keep the words inside Alex hesitated. This wasn't fair, wasn't right, wasn't how he wanted this. Yet he heard his voice whisper in a low command, "Tell me. Say it."

Mulder's eyes closed. His mouth worked silently before he breathed out, "I want you."

Fuck yes. "Open your eyes. No, look at me. Now tell me again."

Heavy hazel eyes stared at him full of angry, unwilling arousal. "I want you."

No not fair at all, but suddenly that didn't matter much. "Good. That's good. How do you want me, Mulder?"

When Mulder silently pulled him down for a kiss, Alex willingly complied, lost in the feel of the other man's hands cradling his head, the long fingers weaving through his hair. For a long, delirious moment he almost forgot how they had come to be here, then came back to himself and realized this might be his only chance to hear what he needed. Reluctantly, he pulled away just enough to whisper, "You have to tell me. If you want me, you have to tell me."

"Fuck. Touch me. Kiss me."

"Where?"

"Everywhere. I don't care. Just…yes," he moaned as Alex stripped away his shirt and lightly brushed shaking fingertips over his chest.

He arched into every touch, rubbing, pushing against Alex's touch like a demanding cat. Nearly giddy with power, Alex lost all sense of time and right and wrong as he watched Mulder writhe and whimper at every stroke of his fingertips. So long, he'd wanted this for years, ages, without ever hoping it would happen, knowing it was fruitless and suddenly simple physical surrender wasn't enough.

"How long?"

Mulder's eyes opened, fever bright. He licked his lips and moaned, "What?"

"How long have you wanted me? Did you want me when we were partners?" He traced a circle around a taut nipple, watched in fascination as it tightened even further.

Mulder tossed his head. "Yes."

"When we were in Hong Kong?" Alex slid a leg between Mulder's.

"Alex…Yes."

He gently rocked his pelvis against Mulder's fully erect cock and breathed, "In Tunguska?"

"Alex," Mulder moaned as he began to thrust upwards.

"Answer the question, Mulder. Did you want me when we were wrapped around each other on that concrete floor trying to stay warm? Did you want to pull our clothes off and find out how warm we could make each other in that cold little cell? Did you?"

"Yes."

Alex lowered his head and rewarded him with a kiss, then pulled away to mutter feverishly, "So much wasted time. You fucking bastard," then kissed him again, a hard, punishing kiss.

Mulder responded just as furiously and suddenly Alex could feel the change from reluctant acquiescence to emphatic arousal as Mulder rolled him to his back. His hands frantically pulled at Alex's shirt until it caught on the straps of his prosthesis.

Alex froze. Shit. "Mulder," he croaked in panic. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Don't. Wait. I don't want you to-"

Mulder tugged at the straps and pulled them through the buckles. "I don't care. Let me."

No one had seen him without his arm since he'd had it fitted. There were times when the memory of the pity in the doctor's eyes made him want to go back to Moscow and shut them forever. Yet for Mulder he lay still, let him pull the shirt free and the arm off, then waited for the pity, for the revulsion.

Instead, Mulder's gaze only touched on the wreck of his shoulder, then hungrily traveled over his face, his bare torso, the denim stretched over his erection. "You're beautiful," he murmured. "Still so beautiful."

And he gasped as that simple comment disintegrated the tight band of tension around his heart, making him shudder as Mulder lightly touched the scars before hungrily kissing him again. With a wordless sound of surrender, Alex closed his eyes and helplessly tried to respond as Mulder's tongue fucked his mouth in the same rhythm as his rocking hips. When the zipper of jeans gave way and Mulder's long, clever fingers wrapped around him, Alex stiffened and ripped his mouth free to let a wail of need burst free.

"Don't you dare come," Mulder warned in a breathless whisper. "Not yet, I waited too long for this, Alex, so don't you dare fucking come." He lifted his head and stared down the length of their bodies to where his fingers stroked Alex's cock, his eyes intently following the uncoordinated thrusts Alex couldn't control.

With a low, broken sound, Alex lifted his head and looked down, mesmerized at the sight of his cock sliding back and forth between Mulder's elegant fingers and could only helplessly whimper.

When Mulder touched him with his other hand, collecting a drop of moisture on one fingertip and bringing it to his mouth for a taste with a barely audible hum of appreciation, Alex cried out, "Oh fuck, please!"

"What, Alex?" Mulder's voice was a smoky whisper. "Please what?"

Aware the tables had turned, that he was out of control, that he was fucking begging, Alex could only gasp out, "Fuck me."

I've been waiting so long,
To be where I'm going.
In the sunshine of your love.
--Eric Clapton

Mulder watched in dreamlike fascination as his fingers slid over Alex's cock.

Maybe this wasn't even real. Perhaps the drugs had kicked in and this was nothing more than a delusion. Maybe he was really still curled up on the couch, lost in delirium, possibly even drooling on Alex's cushions.

Part of him rejected that theory since his fantasies generally placed him in a passive role, the seduced, not the seducer. Yet another gratefully latched on to the concept. If this wasn't real, then…he could do anything. Everything. He shied away from contemplating what that meant, what it might mean if this was real.

Alex surged under his hand and panted out, "Mulder, please." Begging was good, definitely part of the fantasy.

He licked his lips, tasted Alex. "What? What, Alex?"

"Fuck me."

And suddenly it hit him. His hand on Alex's cock, the taste of Alex on his lips, in his mouth.

Real.

The enormity of what he was about to do made him rock back on his heels and pull away.

No, a small, distant voice in the back his mind cried. A sluggish certainty crawled through him. This wasn't right, wasn't supposed to happen, no matter how much he wanted it, wanted Alex.

Bad enough he'd touched him, kissed him, admitted he wanted him. This wouldn't, couldn't happen because afterward there would be no living with it, no way he could look at Scully or his mother ever again and not want to die. He heard a low, distressed sound, realized with dim shock he'd made it.

"Mulder?" Alex's lashes fluttered up to reveal questioning, passion glazed eyes.

"Alex, I…I…" Mulder groaned miserably and shook his head.

Alex raised himself on his arm. He repeated, "Mulder?" in a voice tinged with concern.

Again, Mulder shook his head, then looked away.

"Too late for second thoughts, Mulder." Alex twisted up until he was right in Mulder's face. He touched Mulder's pulsing cock through the open fly of his borrowed jeans, gently cupping it. "Or even third or fourth ones."

"I can't."

"What?"

"I can't."

Alex reared back and looked at him. The delirious abandonment on Alex's face faded and was replaced with grim comprehension. "You can't," he repeated slowly. "Even though you want to."

He grabbed Mulder's chin and forced him to meet his searching gaze. For what felt like an eternity, Alex's stare drilled into him, then his mouth twisted in a bitter smile and he whispered, "You bastard. You're really going to make me do this. Fine. If that's the only way…fine." His lashes lowered then lifted to reveal eyes filled with cold calculation.

"Mulder." Alex's voice had lost its desperate edge, became smoky, smooth, commanding. "Look at me. Are you listening?"

Mulder nodded, the barest movement of his head.

Alex spoke slowly, carefully enunciating every word. "You. Are. Going. To. Fuck. Me. You do not have a choice. Do you understand?"

He nodded again and shuddered in relief.

"Good. Get up. Since spontaneity is out of the question we'll use the bed."

In an eerie reply of earlier events, Alex propelled Mulder down the hallway and into a dark bedroom then flipped on the bedside lamp. The indirect light left most of his face in shadow, hiding his expression but Mulder could see him swallow and take a deep breath before he spoke in that same low, commanding voice.

"Undress me. Slowly."

Mulder moved forward and placed his hands on the waistband of Alex's jeans before sinking to his knees. If he leaned forward, just an inch, if he opened his lips he could…But no, it wasn't supposed to happen that way.

When he shook his head in protest of conflicting urges, Alex growled out his name. He reflexively looked up and noted Alex's eyes still glittered but had lost the feverish intensity of before. There was a cold anger mixed in with the desire. His lips compressed and thin lines bracketed his mouth as Mulder slowly pulled the jeans down his legs, letting his fingertips trail over the silk of Alex's skin.

"Now you."

Feeling self conscious, he shrugged out of the shirt, then stood and wriggled the jeans over his hips and down his legs before kicking them free. He cast a quick glance at Alex, was relieved to see some warmth creep back into his eyes.

He parted his lips to speak but paused as Alex reached out, lightly traced the line of his collar bone and murmured, "You are so fucking beautiful." Then he pulled his hand away, clenched it in a fist and took a deep breath and suddenly Mulder was filled with the cold certainty that Alex was going to tell him to get out.

Instead, Alex lay back on the bed, extended his hand and beckoned imperiously. "Come here."

Nearly shaking in relief, Mulder eased on to the mattress next to him, so close each breath lifted his chest to brush Alex's left side.

Alex took his hand, placed it on his chest, directly over his heart and quietly commanded, "Touch me."

With Alex's hand lightly resting on his, Mulder slowly spread his fingers and carefully flexed them until his nails lightly abraded the other man's skin. Alex's only response was a slight tremor of his own fingers and a quickly inhaled breath. Experimentally, he traced a circle with his fingertip around the closest nipple, then delicately used his nail in the same pattern and watched in fascination as the puckered flesh grew even tighter.

"Yes," Alex breathed.

Alternating gentle touches with the barest application of his nails, Mulder carefully explored Alex's torso. He gauged where to linger, where to apply more pressure by the tremor of Alex's hand and the way his breath would catch when Mulder found each exquisitely sensitive patch of skin.

But when Mulder's hand drifted lower to cup his erection, Alex squeezed his fingers in warning, then ran his hand up Mulder's arm and cupped the back of his head.

"Now kiss me." And again he directed Mulder's actions, cradling his head, moving it from point to point on his body.

Mulder followed the same pattern, kissing, licking, nibbling. He used his lips, teeth and tongue on the sensitive spots he'd memorized earlier and nearly moaned in delight when the fingers convulsively tightened in his hair and Alex gasped out a shaky curse.

When Mulder reached the head of Alex's cock and blindly nuzzled it, Alex rapped out, "No. Don't."

Confused, Mulder parted his lips to ask why, then shut them. Speaking would break the spell, dissolve the illusion this was against his will, take away his guiltless pleasure.

Alex's fingers brushed his cheek and his voice softened. "Not this time. I'm too close."

Mulder decided to ignore the implicit promise of the words 'this time', turned his head and captured one of Alex's fingers between his lips instead.

"Don't," Alex gasped and pulled his hand away as if it'd been burned.

As Mulder rubbed his cheek against the point of Alex's hip, he felt something hit the mattress next to his hand. He stared at the condom and tube of Wet, remained motionless until Alex growled, "Get me ready."

His fingers coated, Mulder gently parted Alex's thighs, found the delicate opening and watched in fascination as his finger pressed in. And it was only then that he realized he was mindlessly thrusting against the silky skin of Alex's leg, that the tables had turned and now he was the one out of control. And Alex…

He looked up and saw Alex's face was tightly controlled, only the glitter in his eyes and the slight flush on his cheeks betraying his arousal. And Mulder wanted that earlier wildness back, wanted to hear Alex 's voice break, to see him mindlessly writhing in pleasure. He crooked his finger, searched and felt a stab of satisfaction when Alex gave an inarticulate cry and arched into the contact.

Easing in another finger, he did it again and groaned when Alex gasped out his name then grit out, "Look at me."

Mulder helplessly obeyed, taking in Alex's dilated pupils, his parted lips.

"Good. Now fuck me."

Without any hesitation, Mulder moved into position, sank into him and oh god, yes. Yes. Finally. For a moment he paused, then Alex pushed against him and moaned his name as Mulder slowly withdrew and thrust back in.

Part of him noted Alex's every cry, gasp and convulsive shudder with satisfaction. There was no vestige of intelligence or control in his eyes now, just mindless need.

Wrapping his legs around Mulder's waist, Alex pushed against him, gasped, "Harder."

Mulder savagely thrust back in, mindlessly following Alex's demanding movements.

Alex's pleasure pushed his own higher. His mind captured indelible images, quick, mental snapshots. Alex's mouth contorted in a grimace of pleasure, how the sweat made his skin glisten, the incredibly long sweep of his lashes resting on his flushed cheeks.

At some point he dimly realized he'd taken hold of Alex's cock without being told to, that his other hand rested in the center of Alex's chest, his palm absorbing each heartbeat.

Alex's movements became uncoordinated. His hand twisted in the sheets, his eyes opened, locked with Mulder's and he murmured, "Mulder. Tell me…"

"What?" Mulder panted as he leaned in closer.

"Oh fuck, Mulder." He threw his head back, wailed and came.

And again Mulder could only helplessly follow Alex's lead, pressing deep within him as the last shiver of pleasure rippled through him. He leaned forward and rested his head on Alex's chest until his breath returned to an approximation of normal, then gently withdrew and pulled off the condom.

Alex wordlessly urged him to lie on his back and stared at him for a long moment, his eyes shuttered but with a vulnerable cast to his mouth. His lips parted as if he would speak. Instead he shook his head and sank against him, burying his face in Mulder's throat and murmured, "Put your arms around me." He made a low sound of contentment as Mulder complied, then added in a curiously gentle voice, "Now go to sleep."