Go to notes and disclaimers


Renaissance Man
by Queen Mab and Ratadder


Mulder couldn't believe he'd actually agreed to this. He dragged himself out of bed at 7:30 am, showered, and got dressed, yawning over coffee until Scully arrived at 8:15.

"We need to leave early," she'd insisted. "It's an hour drive to the Faire site and Charlie wants to see the opening ceremonies."

As if his life wasn't bizarre enough already, Scully had coerced him into accompanying her and her 6 year old nephew to a Renaissance Faire. They'd been in their office on the day before Scully took off for vacation, Mulder with his feet propped up on the desktop, Scully perched on the edge, nibbling some of his sunflower seeds.

"Come on, Mulder, it'll be fun! And it won't hurt you to do something normal for one day."

"Normal? How is pretending it's 500 years ago and running around saying 'yea verily and forsooth' normal?"

She gave him Scully Look Number 4—the one that suggested she was almost—but not quite—ready to give up on him altogether. "Mulllldeeeeer... it's a craft fair, with great food and fresh air and entertainment. Escapism at it's finest."

"Okay, okay, I'll go. You're right, it would be nice to just relax and people watch for a day."

Then he got Scully Look Number 11, which set off the alarm bells in his brain. That was the one where she was thinking up something that he wasn't going to like, and was prepared to con him into it. "I could ask around some of my friends and borrow a costume for you."

"Ha-ha, very funny."

"Ah, come on! You've got the legs for tights. Or a kilt! I know a guy who—"

"No, thanks."

"Mullll-deeerr..."

He'd managed to remain firm in his refusal. So when Scully knocked on his door, he answered it wearing running shoes, faded blue jeans and a "Lost in Space" t-shirt with The Robot on the front, arms flailing wildly, and 'Warning! Warning! Danger! Danger!' in large red letters underneath.

Scully wrinkled her nose at his outfit, and sighed in a put-upon way. Mulder was too busy gawking at her to notice Scully Look Number 2 (barely concealed exasperation).

She was every man's fantasy of a wench: ankle length skirts, one in forest green under one in dark rose; full sleeved, low-cut blouse in soft pink gauze; and a bodice of dark burgundy leather, laced scandalously tight, which pushed her breasts up into soft, creamy mounds that threatened to spill out at the next deep breath. Mulder wondered if she realized that his height gave him a really interesting view.

"Mulder, this is my nephew, Charles Scully, Junior. Charlie, this is Mr. Mulder."

"Good morrow, Master Mulder," Charlie said seriously, performing a sweeping bow, then offering his hand.

Mulder looked at Scully, who grinned. "He's getting into his Faire persona."

"Uh-huh. Hi, Charlie, nice to meet you. Cool costume."

The boy was wearing dark green tights, a pale green pirate-style shirt, and a dark burgundy vest. Cute kid, Mulder thought, looks a lot like Scully, same red hair and intelligent blue eyes.

Scully had taken a week of vacation time for her nephew's visit, and they'd already done most of the tourist jaunts in and around DC. Now Charlie sat in the front seat of the car, chattering happily with his aunt, occasionally twisting around to giggle at Mulder, who sprawled in the back, smiling at them.

"How come he's mundane, Auntie Dana?"

"How come I'm what?"

Scully laughed, and glanced at him in the rear view mirror. "Mundane. Those of us who go in costume refer to those who don't make any effort to play along as "Mundanes". It's not a compliment. Charlie, Mulder has never been to a Ren Faire before, so we have to show him all the really fun stuff, okay?"

"Okay! We've been to lots of Ren Faires, Mr. Mulder. We have one back home, too, and Auntie Dana goes with us a lot. Oh, we have to make sure he gets a banger!"

Mulder's eyebrows rose.

"It's a sausage, Mulder."

"I knew that."

Bangers were spicy grilled sausages, served on a roll, with grilled onions and hot mustard. Not quite like the bangers he'd had in England, but delicious all the same. Sort of the Faire version of a hot dog, Mulder decided, but much, much better than any hot dog he'd ever had.

At the opening ceremonies, The Lord High Sheriff and the Lord Mayor welcomed them, explaining that Pleasure was the order of the day, and asking all to keep the Law of Faire: Do as You Will, Harm None.

"Pagan influence there, Scully?" Mulder asked.

He got a grin in return. "Just now noticing that?"

The Mistress of Misrule, in glorious motley, declared the Faire open to all, and the crowd surged into the gates. One of the ticket-takers inspired much foolery when he announced that his was the Virgins' Gate, so only those who were entirely pure could pass through. Mulder noticed that Scully didn't use that entrance either.

He tagged along behind Scully and Charlie, listening to their excited talk, and enjoyed watching them as much as anything else. Charlie was at that charming age: old enough to talk to, but not old enough to think grown-ups were hopelessly clueless. Bright and curious, constantly in motion, he exclaimed in delight at everything he saw.

A privately-owned wilderness area in the hills above B____ provided the setting for the Faire. Easy access by freeway into the past, Mulder thought wryly, time machine optional. Wide dirt pathways wound in and out among the mostly green trees; a few leaves had turned early to fall glory. Awnings made of patchwork burlap in vivid colors hung between the limbs to create colorful shade. Gentle sunlight filtered through the leaves and the burlap; the dusty air was earthy smelling and refreshingly clear of car exhaust.

Scully and Charlie blended in with the other 'Rennies', colorful and festive. Mulder, while not the only sartorial rebel in the crowd, felt like an outsider, truly mundane. He couldn't quite imagine himself in a doublet and knee pants, but he did envy Scully's ability to fit into the fantasy, her hips swaying flirtatiously, joking with other costumed folk. This was a side of her he would never have imagined.

They came to one booth that sold hand-made musical instruments. Charlie was enchanted with the ocarinas, little lemon-shaped pottery things that reminded Mulder of the tonettes he'd been forced to play in first grade. After Mulder offered to buy him one, Charlie thoughtfully considered all of the choices, then selected one with glossy ripples of green and blue. The seller let Charlie take his time, seeming to understand the seriousness of the decision. When he'd finally chosen, she strung the ocarina on a cord to hang around his neck.

"There, young master, and thank 'ee for your custom. May your day at Faire be joyous!"

When Scully asked him if he was having a good time, Mulder had to admit the Faire was interesting. According to Scully, it was put on every fall by local chapter of The Guild of Temporal Whimsy, a national club organized into kingdoms, which recreated Renaissance culture and every day life—'renaissance' being broadly defined as anything from the 14th century to the 17th. The local chapter had chosen to dedicate themselves to emulating Elizabethan England. It seemed to be a very complicated and expensive hobby, Mulder decided, especially if you were into jousting. The armor, lances and upkeep on the horses must cost a bundle.

"Well, many of the entertainers and craftspeople do this for a living." Scully explained. "They travel all over the country, from one fair to the next, year round. And The Guild has private events for members only."

"You seem to know a lot about it. Don't tell me you're lady-in-waiting to the local queen?"

She laughed. "No, I'm not that involved. But Charlie's dad and Missy and I used to go to Faire every year when we were teenagers, and Missy worked in a 'Drench a Wench' booth one year. Even when we had to move because Dad got transferred, we would find a Ren Faire, no matter how far we had to go. Bill always thought it was stupid and a waste of time."

The ease with which she spoke of her murdered sister surprised Mulder. Now that he thought of it, he would have expected her to be at least a bit melancholy in the presence of her nephew, who resembled her enough to be the son she could never have. But she was smiling happily as she watched Charlie join a group of musicians and dancers, tootling along with them on his ocarina. The two of them sat on a hay bale, under the shade of one of the sheltering trees, thin wisps of sunlight making Scully's hair glow and her eyes sparkle.

"What is 'drench a wench' anyway?"

"Oh, it's a game. The wenches line up on a hillside, and for a dollar, you get three tries to hit one of them with a large wet sponge shot from a giant slingshot. If you hit a wench, you get a kiss."

Mulder laughed. "I can see Melissa doing that! Did you ever stand up on the hillside, Scully?"

"Well, I worked the game one afternoon, but I was too uptight to enjoy it. Some of the guys could be pretty aggressive. Missy just knew how to handle it better than I did. Missy loved Faire. She swore she often saw fairies scampering along the tree branches, giggling at the silly mortals. I never saw one, of course."

Mulder reached over and squeezed her hand. "Sounds like you have a lot of great memories."

"Yeah," she sighed dreamily, "There's just something about a Ren Faire. It doesn't really matter where it is." She glanced sideways at him. "And I can imagine you're wondering at dull old scientific Dr. Scully playing dress-up and looking for fairies among the leaves."

Charlie came up just then to ask for something to drink, so they headed toward one of the ale stands, where Mulder paid an exorbitant amount for a Pepsi for Charlie, bottled water for Scully and a dark draft for himself.

As they continued down the path, a costumed woman accosted them. She carried a tall wooden pole with three cross-bars, heavily festooned with roses made of strips of suede: hair clips, brooches, earrings, and some on long 'stems' of wire, in a rainbow of colors. "Good day to ye, gentle folk! Fine roses, the finest in the shire!"

Scully chatted with the woman as she looked over the selection. Mulder spotted a hair clip with burgundy leather roses that matched Scully's outfit. He paid for it casually, then handed it with equal nonchalance to Scully.

She pulled her hair back from her forehead, and secured the clip at the back of her head. 'It's lovely! Thank you, Mulder.' Her smile made his heart ache. He'd rarely seen her look so genuinely relaxed and happy.

By noon the pathway was getting crowded. Scully led the way to one of the outdoor theaters, working them up close to the stage, so Charlie could see. She had a talent for snagging the one vacant hay bale right where she wanted one.

Morris dancers. Mulder sighed. I suppose it was inevitable.

Exposed to the fine art of Morris dancing during his time in England, he never did understand the fascination. Scully and Charlie seemed quite absorbed in the dancing and music onstage. Mulder sipped his beer and watched for a few minutes, then leaned over to whisper to Scully. "I'm going to wander around for a while."

"Okay," she replied in a low voice. "We're going to watch the dancing, and there are some craft activities designed for children we're going to visit. And Charlie wants to go see the School of Piracy. I've heard of this troupe, but I've never seen them, they usually don't come this far east. They're supposed to be very funny. Why don't we meet back at that ale stand at..." She paused to look at her watch. "Say, three o'clock, if we don't meet up before then."

"Okay, sounds good." Mulder pocketed the Faire map she handed him, and worked his way through the crowd to the back of the theater.

He had some nervous moments when he realized that the beer was going right through him, and he couldn't find the facilities. He finally caught on to the meaning of the large signs saying 'Privies' and visited the rows of portapotties discreetly hidden by tents of brightly colored burlap. They weren't exactly authentic period, and he knew that the gentlemen of the day had no hesitation about pissing in any convenient corner, but he preferred at least some privacy.

Wandering along the crowded pathway at random, he let his mind shut down, and just people-watched. Scully was right, this was a good way to escape the Mundane world. Relive the good old days when the worst things you had to worry about were the bubonic plague, invasion by the Spanish Armada and being burned alive for heresy.

As he strolled along, he came upon a small stage, set within a circle of trees not far off the path. Designed to resemble the deck of a ship, the stage had steps on either side going up to a higher platform with a 'mast' in the center, flying a Jolly Roger. At the back of the lower stage hung large portrait of Queen Elizabeth I in full panoply, surrounded by a vivid blaze of fire, with the presumed name of the ship in exaggerated Old English script: The Flaming Queen.

Laughing folk filled the rows of hay bales, cheering the performers capering about the 'ship'. The two on the main 'deck' danced a demented hornpipe, while a third leaned on the railing above and shouted increasingly agitated orders in an outrageously bad Scottish accent.

A large sign read:

Captain Duncan McKeir's School of Piracy! Swashbuckle with the Most Dastardly Rogues on the Seven Seas! Shows at 10:30, 12:30, 3:30 Demonstrations Throughout the Day

This must be the group Charlie wanted to see. Mulder checked his watch; the show had just started a few minutes ago. He moved along the outside aisle, making his way slowly toward the stage. The two 'dancers' were now engaged in a slapstick argument, while the third fellow continued to harangue them in exasperation. Something about his voice...

Mulder found a tree close to the stage, with a not too uncomfortable niche where the trunk split into two, and perched, leaning against the rough bark. He studied the pirate now scampering down to the deck, waving his arms and shouting in a drunken manner. He wore a dark brown jerkin, full-sleeved 'pirate' shirt, baggy knee pants, boots, and a floppy hat with an absurd fluffy orange plume. His warm brown hair and beard set off a pleasant face, which blazed with comic fury at his inept crew. He looked like Errol Flynn's goofy kid brother after a few too many beers.

Mulder blinked. It couldn't be. It was. It wasn't.

It was John Byers.

"Ye mangy curs, the Captain will have yer guts for garters!" he shrieked. "Now stop that prancin' about and do it right!"

The band of pipers and drummers at the edge of the stage began playing again. This time the two dancers executed a still playful but more or less correct hornpipe as Byers explained, with the exaggerated precision of the tipsy, the importance of proper hornpiping among the skills of a professional pirate.

They finished to enthusiastic applause, the pirates bowing—and Byers nearly toppling over backward. Mulder chuckled; his nerdy friend had an unexpected theatrical streak in him. It seemed to be a day for finding unexpected aspects of his friends' personalities. What next? A.D. Skinner as the village blacksmith, doing stand-up comedy while he shoed horses?

He got his answer to 'what next' almost immediately. One of the pirates gestured off into the trees, "Master McStagger, look! Up in the sky!"

"It's an albatross!" Byers-McStagger cried.

"It's the Spanish Armada!" said the other pirate.

A figure came swooping across the stage, flying gracefully through the air on a rope. He swung back and forth several times, posing heroically, before jumping lightly onto the deck.

"It's Captain McKeir, King of the Pirates!" The three shouted in unison. "Huzzah!"

The crowd applauded and shouted "Huzzah!" Well-trained audience, Mulder mused.

If Byers was Errol Flynn's goofy kid brother, this was The Real Thing. Tall, sleek, elegant, the man wore a snug doublet, tight knee pants, high boots, and cuffed gloves, all in black leather. The doublet, partially unbuttoned, showed a gleaming white shirt with lace frills at the collar and a good bit of a virile chest. Dark red glints highlighted the black hair that waved over his forehead and the neatly trimmed moustache and beard that framed his sensuous mouth. The emerald green plume on his black leather hat danced jauntily as he swept it off in a deep bow to the audience. "Captain Duncan McKeir, at your service, my lords and ladies."

This was absolutely impossible. Mulder watched in stunned amazement as Byers, in his character as Master Angus McStagger, first mate of The Flaming Queen, greeted his captain. Who was Alex Krycek.

Outrageously bad jokes on the ship's name, the leisure activities of men on long sea voyages with no women, and Master McStagger's drinking habits wove in and around tales of the heroic exploits of the King of the Pirates. The two crew members were the clowns, doing pratfalls, the butt of most of the worst jokes. McStagger was the stickler for doing things by the rules, very concerned that the new recruits to the ranks of Professional Pirates—that is, the audience—must learn the proper Way Things Are Done.

And McKeir was the dashing rogue, the anti-hero who defied authority with a laugh, made sarcastic asides to the audience, and wooed the ladies with panache. Several times in the course of the show he would suddenly see some likely lass, stopping the action while he leaped off stage to take her hand and kiss it with a gallant flourish, then, reaching into his doublet, offer her a long-stemmed rose made of black leather. Never great beauties, the chosen ones were ordinary women who were blushing and grinning by the time Captain McKeir bounded back onto the stage, blowing a kiss to his light-o'-love as he went.

Mulder soon had difficulty thinking of them as Krycek and Byers, they became McKeir and McStagger so completely. The only way he could remind himself that the man onstage was his old enemy was to focus on his left arm. It made sense now that it had been Byers who informed him about Krycek's disastrous encounter with the Russian peasants.

After his return from Tunguska, Mulder had set both official FBI resources and The Lone Gunman to the task of discovering the fate of Alex Krycek. No trace of him could be found until about three weeks later, when Byers claimed an informant had told him that Krycek was back in the U.S., in bad shape, minus his left arm. He'd even gotten some details as to how it had happened. Mulder was horrified; he may want to strangle Krycek with his bare hands, he would be perfectly happy to beat the crap out of him, but this... He had come so close to the same fate himself: he remembered his own terror as he frantically struggled to convince the Russian truck driver and his wife that hacking off his left arm really was unnecessary.

Traumatic as the experience must have been, Krycek seemed to have made a full recovery, and to have one hell of prosthesis. His left elbow and wrist flexed slowly, his left hand was stiff, but he compensated beautifully. Mulder thought that his audience probably had no idea of his disability.

"Gentlemen," The Captain said, his Scottish accent more accurate and more subtle than Byers', "Mayhap we could demonstrate for our new recruits how to get the ship under sail and take them on a short tour about the harbor?"

There ensued much silliness over raising the sails, the crew getting tangled in the rigging and the Captain standing near the front of the stage, hands on his hips, shaking his head and rolling his eyes at the audience. One of the sailors started singing the theme song from 'Gilligan's Island' and was promptly smacked on the head. The crew and Master McStagger tried valiantly to get the "ship" moving away from the "dock", but kept getting turned around the wrong way.

"McStagger, turn us into the wind, we must away!" McKeir cried.

McStagger replied, in a dead-on impersonation of the late, great James Doohan, "I dinna think the engines can take much more of this, Captain! The dilithium crystals are.... uhmmm...."

As the audience snickered, McKeir sighed heavily, crossed his arms over his chest, and Looked at McStagger. Just Looked. The two crewmen smirked. Byers squirmed with embarrassment. The audience's giggling got louder as they held their poses, just Looking at each other.

Mulder found himself grinning. Very silly stuff, but the ebullience of the players was contagious. Finally, the Captain had to give up the idea of sailing lessons, and proposed, instead, that some of the new recruits be taught the art of fencing.

While the two crewmen and Master McStagger went out into the audience to chose participants, Captain McKeir drew his sleek rapier and demonstrated how to hold the weapon, the correct stance and a few basic moves. As skilled with a sword as he was with a gun, Krycek moved gracefully and with precision, his false left hand at his hip as his right arm cut efficient, deadly arcs through the air. He was so damn gorgeous, and the lace-and-leather look did things to Mulder's libido that should be illegal. Or patented and bottled. Mulder sighed, dreading and savoring the wave of lust that overwhelmed him every time he saw Alex Krycek, robbing him of common sense.

The chosen volunteers, all children between about six and fifteen, included girls as well as boys. Seems that the Flaming Queen is a politically correct vessel, Mulder thought.

The "recruits" were issued wooden swords, blunt and not dangerous unless someone got a hard swat with the flat edge. But the four actors were in control of the situation, giving the children a wonderful time being part of the show, while learning just a bit about the art of fencing. Charlie would love this, Mulder thought, before he realized that A) he was thinking about letting an innocent child within range of a murdering rat bastard, and B) if Scully saw Krycek she'd have him in cuffs inside thirty seconds.

Mulder then pondered why he wasn't attempting to arrest the traitor himself. Well, if he pulled his ID and marched up to the stage, the audience would just assume he was part of the show. Besides, he didn't have his gun or his handcuffs. He'd have to wait until he could find Scully as back up, then they could catch up with Krycek off stage, possibly arrest him without making a scene...

Master McStagger and Captain McKeir took center stage to demonstrate some fine points of encounter. Even though Byers was shorter than Krycek, as well as ostensibly drunk, they were well matched as adversaries. Their weapons glittered in the sunlight as the blades swept around each other, neither man creating enough of an opening to make a hit. Then, suddenly, they both twisted at the same moment, and, with superb timing, each man's sword swept up between his opponent's legs. Both men froze, each glancing cautiously down to find a long blade resting right under his crotch.

The audience howled. Krycek and Byers, still frozen in position, still in perfect unison, glanced at the audience, glanced at each other, glanced down, glanced at the audience...

As the laughter got louder, they finally jerked their sword arms back, grimacing, then turned away from each other and walked on tiptoe to opposite sides of the stage. After taking a moment to recover, Krycek bowed to the audience and said, in a slightly high pitched voice, "Gentle folk, we are professionals, don't try this at home."

Each of the volunteer swordspersons received a badge naming him (or her) an Honorary Pirate and was allowed to keep her (or his) sword. After graciously acknowledging the applause of their delighted audience, the pirates spent some time with their new recruits, answering questions and giving further demonstrations of swordsmanship, mostly serious but apparently none of them could resist clowning for the kids.

Byers had spotted him. The lone Lone Gunman hopped off the stage, strolling in Mulder's direction, pausing to bow to spectators and thank them for their kind attention to the show. As he neared Mulder, he held out his hand and said loudly, "Good day to ye, old friend! Would ye be after having a bit of a tipple with me, then?"

Mulder nodded, smirking. "Sounds good, Master McStagger. Will your friend the Captain be joining us?"

"Oh, aye, that he will, Master Fox." Byers winked, lowering his voice and dropping his persona. "As soon as he can tear himself away from his adoring public."

Surrounded by admiring children, The King of the Pirates basked in the attention. Mulder's profiling instinct kicked in, and he suddenly knew that Krycek was absorbing the warmth and good feelings, storing the memories for darker, lonely days ahead. Then Byers took Mulder's arm and lead him around the side of the stage, through a burlap curtain, and into a cool, shady space under the "deck", where a table and chairs made a cozy rest area for the actors. The two pirates poured mugs of beer from a pitcher, offering to share with the newcomers. But Byers reached into a pack stashed in a corner, and pulled out a bottle of Glenmorangie.

"I save this for special occasions, and special friends." he said, pouring a generous few fingers-worth of whisky into pewter mugs.

"Notice he didn't offer us any, Will?" one of the pirates said in mock-disgust.

"Ye've had your share, ye bilge rats!" Master McStagger reappeared briefly, then vanished again in a burst of laughter. He raised his mug to the two pirates, who saluted back, and went back out to resume the almost continuous demonstrations of swordsmanship and other pirate skills that filled the time between shows.

Byers lifted his mug. "To friendship?"

"Am I still your friend?" Mulder asked quietly.

"Of course, Mulder." Byers sighed. "One of my best friends."

"Uh-huh. But?"

"But I'm also Alex's friend. I am allowed more than three friends, aren't I?" Mulder must have looked confused, because Byers grinned. "Langley, Frohike, and you. And Alex makes four."

Mulder sipped his whisky, gasping as the silken flames lapped at his throat and tickled his stomach seductively.

Byers got right to the point. "Look, I know what you must be wondering. No, I've never betrayed anything to Alex that you wouldn't have wanted him to know. Of course, that statement is somewhat misleading, because there have been things you'd have wanted him to know if you knew the real consequences of him not knowing, but you wouldn't have told him yourself, because you didn't."

Mulder looked at his mug and wondered; he didn't think he could get totally drunk on three sips of whisky. Okay, plus one beer an hour ago. So he must be sober. "It scares the hell out of me that I understood what you just said."

Byers laughed, and relaxed a little. "Put it this way: I am your friend, and Alex Krycek is not the enemy you thought he was. And, my friend, we are at Faire, it's a beautiful day, perhaps you should consider not being Mr. Self-Righteous G-Man for a few hours and just enjoy yourself."

So. Byers was not only Krycek's friend, he apparently trusted the rat. Byers might be a crazed geek who saw nefarious conspiracies in every shadow, but he was no fool. Mulder's own attitude aside, however, there was also someone else's attitude to deal with.

"Scully's here."

"Shit," said a husky voice behind them. Krycek pushed through the curtain. "I'm busted!" But he was grinning.

Mulder couldn't help looking him over. Krycek dropped his hat on the table, and wiped a sleeve across his forehead, which was damp with sweat under the lock of hair that fell over his left eyebrow. Small pearl earrings dangled at his earlobes, very period, and devastatingly sexy. Lucky for Krycek, the whisky had mellowed Mulder out enough so that he didn't even consider hitting him.

"I dunno," Mulder drawled, "if Scully sees you looking like every maiden's wet dream, she might have other ideas." Did I actually say that? He flinched. Oh shit...

"Do women have wet dreams?" Krycek wondered, accepting a mug of whisky from Byers with sincere thanks. Mulder noticed that he held it in his left hand.

"Why not?" Mulder took another sip from his own mug. "Besides, you haven't seen her."

"She came in costume?" Byers asked.

Mulder nodded, "She says she's a wench. Very... lots of... well, let's just say she's provided material for my wet dreams for the next few years." I must be drunk, he decided, I'm standing here discussing Scully's tits with John Byers and Alex Krycek.

"Good thing Frohike isn't here," Byers said. "And in answer to your next question, Mulder, no, the other guys don't know I know Alex. They also don't know about me being a member of the Guild of Temporal Whimsy."

Krycek snickered. "Oh, they probably do, being the devious, nosy bastards they are. They're just saving the knowledge for future blackmail."

"You're probably right," Byers laughed. "I'm going to get back out there. Alex, we'll cover things, you've earned some time out. "

"Thanks, John." Krycek slapped Byers on the shoulder. "I think Mulder and I are going to have a talk, if he doesn't just decide to arrest me."

Byers Looked at Mulder, as if challenging him again to drop the "self-righteous G-Man" attitude, then, with a wave to both men, pushed past the curtain.

Krycek whistled, "Wow, you must be very special to him, Mulder." At Mulder's eyebrow-quirk, he gestured to the table. "He left the bottle."

Mulder nodded, acknowledging the compliment. "Seems you're special to him too. He says you're a good friend."

"Yeah, well, Byers has saved my ass more times than I can count. He's the one who helped me find a place to hole up while I was healing from..." He touched his left arm.

Mulder squirmed uncomfortably. "He told me about that. Uhmmm... look, I'm sorry. I've wanted to kill you myself, but..."

"Oh, I know. I never blamed you, Mulder." Krycek took a slow sip of his whisky, savoring the velvet burn. "We've both been used and abused and screwed over so many times by so many people. Usually at the command of that smoking bastard."

Mulder jiggled his mug slowly, watching the liquid fire swirl. "So you're saying we're both more sinned against than sinning?"

That got a laugh, head thrown back and eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, I've done my share of sinning. I probably even deserve most of the sins committed against me. But, Mulder... oh, hell, why bother?"

Krycek put down his mug, and held out his wrists, one warm and real, one cool and fake, both still covered by black leather gauntlets.

Mulder had to smile. "I don't actually have my handcuffs on me at the moment. No gun, either. It's my day off."

Lowering his hands, Krycek gazed at Mulder uncertainly. "And what about Agent Scully?"

"I can't answer for her. If you're lucky, she'll never know you're here—oh shit."

At Krycek's questioning look, he sighed. "Scully's here with her nephew. He told her he wants to see the School of Pirates show. Scully's heard of your act, but doesn't know who Captain Duncan McKeir is."

"Uhmmm... I guess we'll deal with that when we come to it. Our next show isn't until 3:30. Maybe you can distract them before then." He picked up his mug again, and they sipped in companionable silence for a few minutes.

Close up, Mulder could see details of Krycek's costume he hadn't noticed at a distance. Like the way the doublet fitted across Krycek's broad shoulders, narrowing to his slim waist, with a row of short tabs around the bottom that emphasized his sweetly rounded ass. Like the way the white lace glowed against his tanned chest with its scattering of dark curls. Like the way the leather boots caressed the long, muscular legs past the knees and flared to cradle his thighs. Like the rows of pea-sized buttons and button loops down each side of his pants. Mulder wondered if they were all functional, and had a vivid fantasy of undoing them, of pulling off the pants, leaving only the leather doublet and boots, with nothing between but skin, and...

Damn, this is good stuff, he blinked at the empty mug. Krycek looked quite smug, as if he'd guessed where Mulder's thoughts had been.

"You started to say something, then said 'why bother?' and surrendered. What were you going to say?"

Krycek sighed. "I said 'why bother?' because every time I try to tell you anything, you call me a lying rat bastard and hit me."

"Yeah, guess that kinda makes it pointless to talk to me, doesn't it?"

"Kinda, yeah."

Krycek pulled off his gloves, and unbuckled his sword belt, tossing them onto the table. Mulder tried not to stare at the prosthetic hand; covered with some stuff of a skin-like texture and color, it almost perfectly matched Krycek's real hand. Only the dull lifelessness betrayed it. Krycek saw him looking, and flexed the thumb and first two fingers, rotated the wrist, then the elbow.

"Controlled by state of the art computer chips, powered by rechargeable batteries. Works great, except when I get too close to someone's garage door opener."

Their mugs were empty, and both men found themselves feeling deliciously mellow. The whisky was a rich indulgence to be savored, but they decided they wanted something less exalted. "Hey, I'm hungry." Krycek said, "If you're not going to arrest me, let's find the Toad-in-the-Hole booth, then grab some ale."

And that was how Mulder found himself sauntering through a Renaissance Faire with Alex Krycek, sipping ale from a waxed paper cup, feeling warm sun on his shoulders, a cool breeze in his hair, and a pleasant throbbing in his crotch. When Krycek leaned closer to point out a particularly ridiculous costume, Mulder felt overwhelmed by the combined scent of sweat, warm leather and ale. He wondered how soon his arousal would become noticeable.

Especially since watching Krycek eat his Toad-in-the-Hole was such an erotic experience. Mulder caught himself staring each time the spicy sausage blanketed in deep fried pastry slid between those pouty lips. He wondered if Krycek was being deliberately provocative.

"So tell me, how do you have time to be both the King of the Pirates and a traitorous-murdering-rat-bastard?"

Krycek's tongue flicked over his lips, catching tiny flakes of pastry. "Actually, The Guild of Temporal Whimsy makes going underground pretty convenient. No one thinks much of it if I show up at an event, crash in their tent or van, then disappear again."

Krycek turned off the main walkway onto a side path that led up a hill into a secluded grove of trees. Several couples were taking advantage of the semi-privacy to indulge in some serious necking. Krycek sat on a low branch, leaning back against the trunk, and gave Mulder a weary look.

"Aren't you going to ask me if I killed your father?"

Mulder sat at the base of a nearby tree, gazing lazily at his nemesis through lowered eyelids. Krycek wasn't fooled; the alert gleam in those eyes made a lie of the seeming disinterest.

"Wouldn't you rather laugh about some of those costumes? I loved the three hundred pound Xena-wannabe."

"Yeah, he was amazing, wasn't he?" Krycek said seriously. "You know, at first glance he did look pretty ridiculous. But he also looked like he was having a great time. Like he'd managed to leave reality behind for a while and be the self of his fantasies."

"Is that what you're doing here?"

"Something like that."

"So, how is being a pirate that different from being an assassin and errand boy for the Consortium?"

"Oh, smooth, Mulder." Krycek took a long sip of ale, then leaned his head back, closing his eyes. "For one thing, I haven't really worked for the Consortium for a long time now."

"Does the Smoking Man know that?"

"I hope not. And yes, I killed Bill Mulder."

The confirmation didn't have the impact Mulder had always assumed it would. He'd never figured out how he'd known it was Krycek who had pulled the trigger. Somehow his imfamous intuition had worked through the haze of drugs he'd been under in those dark days. But further revelations about his father's involvement with the Consortium and with the disappearance of his sister had blunted the grief and guilt he'd felt over Bill Mulder's death and how it came about.

"I don't know if you'll believe me, and I don't know if it makes any difference now, but I made it as clean as I could. If I hadn't volunteered, they'd have sent Cardinal. He would have killed both of you."

Mulder thought about that for a while. The sun filtering through the leaves made shifting shadows that lulled him into complacency. Somehow nothing really mattered except the warmth, the smell of damp wood, the sounds of music and laughter in the distance. He smiled lazily as he realized he was sitting unarmed at the feet of his enemy, about to doze off. Then his bladder started complaining.

"Uhmmm... time to visit the privies again."

Krycek made a disgusted noise. "Never catch me in one of those things. Just go round to the other side of the tree, no one will see you."

Mulder unzipped, and Krycek came to stand next to him, unfastening some of the buttons on the sides of his pants. Again Mulder wondered about those buttons. As two hot golden streams struck the base of the tree, Mulder slid his eyes casually over Krycek's equipment. Impressive. He realized that Krycek was checking him out too. Okay, it meant nothing. Guys always check each other out.

"Gee, pissing on a tree together," he drawled. "Does this mean we're doing that male bonding thing?"

Krycek smirked. "All we need is someone drumming and waving around a smudge stick. We could get in touch with our inner warriors."

Just then, someone not far away began a lively dance rhythm on a bodhran. And someone nearby lit a joint. They both smelled it at the same moment, and cracked up. Mulder tucked himself back into his jeans, which wasn't easy since his cock definitely had other ideas. Glancing over again he saw that Krycek was just as aroused as he was. And Krycek knew he knew...

Mulder started to speak, but was interrupted.

"I've wanted to do this for years." Krycek leaned closer, his eyes drifting closed, and gently kissed Mulder's mouth, sucking his lower lip between his own lips, biting it ever so lightly. Mulder froze, then melted in a blaze of heat that was like drinking a whole fifth of single malt scotch at once.

But just as he snaked his tongue under Krycek's teeth, Krycek pulled away. His eyes still closed, he leaned his head against the tree, and shuddered. Mulder suddenly realized that Krycek expected to be hit.

The sounds of other couples making love so near, hidden in the foliage, added to the fire in Mulder's veins. He gently but firmly pressed Krycek back against the tree trunk, sliding one leg between his thighs and running his hands up over the soft leather doublet to cup Krycek's chin, holding his face as Mulder's lips took greedy possession of his mouth. Soft whimpers of surprise and pleasure, and then hands tightening over his ass, pulling him closer, sent all the blood rushing from his head to more critical parts farther down. Mulder rubbed his erection against Krycek's, reveling in the savage joy that surged in him—Krycek wanted him as much as he wanted Krycek.

An eternity or a minute later, Mulder gave in to the necessity of breathing, and released Krycek's lips. His own lips tingled deliciously from the mildly abrasive whiskers. Krycek moaned roughly, opening his sparkling green eyes, his hands sweeping up over Mulder's chest. He grinned at the Robot on Mulder's t-shirt, "Guess you weren't listening to his warning, Will Robinson."

"Am I in danger, Dr. Smith?" Mulder licked the salty sweat from Krycek's jaw, nibbling his way up to the earlobe.

"Dr. Smith?" Krycek's voice broke unevenly, as he laughed and gasped at the same time, "Can't I be Major West? At least he was cute, even if he was a lousy actor."

Their hips continued to slowly grind together in an almost casual rhythm, each relishing the feel of the other's hardness. Krycek sighed and dropped his head onto Mulder's shoulder, his fingers, real and fake, digging into those shoulders as he groaned softly, bucking in increasing desperation.

"Oh God, that feels so good! Mulder, listen, there's a campground for performers on the other side of this hill. I have a tent there, with a sleeping bag, and plenty of lube."

"You want to..." Mulder wasn't sure what he thought Krycek wanted. He knew what he wanted. He wanted to be deep inside Krycek's ass, thrusting into him with all the violence he'd shown the man in the past. He finally admitted to himself that this is what he'd wanted all along.

"I want you to fuck me," Krycek whispered, "I need you inside me, I've needed it for so long."

Mulder swallowed sharply; just hearing those words in that voice had him ready to give Krycek what he wanted right there and then. He managed to remember how to stand up straight, although his knees seemed to have other plans. He checked his watch; it was one-thirty. "I'm supposed to meet Scully at three."

"We have enough time. It will have to be enough time." Krycek pressed his mouth against Mulder's quickly, his tongue sweeping over Mulder's teeth. "Our past was fucked, poisoned by that smoking bastard. God knows what the future will be, if we even have a future. We've got now, and that's probably all we'll ever have."

"So stop with the pop song lyrics already, let's find your tent and I'll make your dreams come true. Or at least make you come."

"I'll settle for that."

As they crested the hill, Mulder looked down at a semi-organized array of RVs and tents of all shapes and sizes, more rows of portapotties and not enough camp-showers. Krycek had pitched his tent on the far side of the encampment, enough away from the others to give them some semblance of privacy. The few people around at that time of the day were there for the same reason as the two men.

Passing one vivid blue bubble-shaped tent, they heard a female voice keening in ecstasy. She sounded like something from one of Mulder's videos.

"Aaaahhhhhhh-oh! Oh! Oh! OH! Ooowwwww!"

Mulder nearly stumbled. "Her boyfriend must be good," he whispered.

"Girlfriend," Krycek snickered.

"Oh, God."

They finally made it to Krycek's one-man tent, Mulder hot on Krycek's heels. His blood pounded, the heat of arousal crawling through him. His lips throbbed slightly where Krycek had kissed him, where his moustache had tickled, and the taste of the man was all over his tongue.

Krycek unfastened his doublet as he walked, and slid it off. His thin, damp shirt clung in soft wrinkles to his chest and arms. Mulder couldn't keep his hands to himself. His fingers reached out and fought their way up under the edge of Krycek's shirt, playing teasingly over his sides before sliding down to catch in the top button loops of the pants, tugging hard enough to impede Krycek's progress and bring himself into full, delicious contact with that ass.

"Mulder!" Krycek twisted with a breathy laugh as he was pulled tighter back against Mulder's body. Loving the sound almost as much as the feel, Mulder let one hand climb up under the shirt again, crawling over the softness of Krycek's stomach possessively. He brushed just hard enough to tickle, coaxing another laugh and making Krycek jerk, driving his ass against Mulder's groin. "C'mon... I have to get the tent open if we're going to get any further," Krycek murmured in that crushed velvet voice, struggling halfheartedly. Grinning and rubbing against warm leather, Mulder buried his nose in Krycek's neck, just below his ear, and inhaled deeply.

"I can't believe we're gonna do this in a tent in the woods... how primal. I feel so butch," Mulder mumbled. The smell of sweaty Krycek invaded his senses and drove a hook straight through him to his cock, pulling his hips into frantic motion.

"You don't let me get that tent open, we're going to be doing it a lot more primal than you think, Butch," Krycek groaned, arching back into the rhythm of Mulder's thrusts against him. Mulder took inordinate pleasure in the increasingly breathless cadence of the words. If he had to be this on edge, at least he was driving Krycek just as wild. Suddenly, he took in the height of the tent over Krycek's shoulder, and got an inspiring visual image.

"Okay, open your tent." Mulder released Krycek so quickly that he stumbled again and tossed an exasperated look over his shoulder. Dropping forward onto his knees, he bent over to tussle with the zipper, giving Mulder the full view he'd been hoping for, and then some. Whistling through his teeth, Mulder let his eyes wander over the lifted buttocks perfectly displayed in front of him, lost in admiration of the way the soft leather pants molded to the full curves of Krycek's cheeks, the way the boots caressed those thighs. "Da-a-amn."

"What are you swearing about," Krycek muttered as he finally got the zipper working and started dragging it open with a harsh rasp. "I'm moving as fast as I can..."

"Don't rush on my account," Mulder responded dreamily, once again losing the battle of 'don't touch' as his hand reached out and dealt a firm pinch to one rounded cheek, then started to fondle and squeeze.

Krycek yelped and started to twist, but Mulder sank down over him, settling against his back and holding him in position while his hand continued to feel up Krycek's ass. "Oh, don't get up," Mulder nuzzled the back of his neck, taking deep sucking breaths of Krycek-scented air. "I'm sort of taken with this position."

With a throaty laugh, Krycek ducked his head lower and started to squirm into the tent, wriggling as much as possible. Crawling with his chest as low to the ground as he could, he let his ass rise into the air, obviously catching Mulder's fixation and playing to it. Mulder let him shimmy out from under him, giving up the tactile stimulation willingly just for the sheer pleasure of the sight. He felt his breathing hitch and his cock swell against the pressure of his jeans. He'd wanted this man so badly, so many different times, and here he was... the 'come and take me' position was too much. What little was left of rationality and logical thought melted down and dribbled out Mulder's ears, to be replaced by myriad images of all the quickest ways to get his dick as far up Krycek's ass as humanly possible. And then just a little bit further.

Working his way into the green-filtered light of the tent, Krycek tossed a sultry look over his shoulder and spread his knees wider apart as he crawled onto the unrolled sleeping bag taking up almost the entire tent floor. "You waiting for an engraved invitation back there? I thought you were feeling butch..."

Mulder snapped. With a strangled groan he dove into the tent and was on his quarry, wrapping himself around Krycek's kneeling body and sinking his teeth into Krycek's neck.

"Zip up... zip up..."

The words made no sense. All Mulder could think about was getting his zipper down.

"The tent, Mulder... zip it..."

"Oh..." Mulder peeled as little of himself away from Krycek as he could, and twisted his torso back to reach for the tent flaps. He spent a moment being thankful for long arms as he caught the zipper and yanked it shut, then spent a moment being not quite so thankful for long legs as he felt the tent top pressing against his head and back as he resettled himself on top of Krycek. Then it was all moot as his cock rode up into the heated haven of Krycek's ass and crotch from behind, and his face pressed against the back of Krycek's sweat-damp shirt. The temperature rose appreciably with the tent flaps closed and two large bodies packed into the small space, but Mulder was already too overheated to notice.

Nipping and biting his way up to the nape of Krycek's neck, he started fumbling madly at the pants buttons that had been teasing him for far too long. Krycek moaned and bucked beneath him, hips lifting and pressing back against Mulder's rutting. Krycek was saying something but the words were lost in the haze of lust that fogged Mulder's brain. The buttons on one side gave, then the other side, and the pants slid down to admit Mulder's seeking fingers. Letting both hands delve into the loosened pants and plain white cotton briefs, Mulder fondled and stroked swelling flesh as he freed Krycek's cock and balls from their confines.

Chewing his way over to Krycek's right earlobe, Mulder sucked it into his mouth and slowly wrapped one hand around Krycek's cock, pumping, the other weighing and squeezing his testicles gently. Krycek whimpered and bucked... back against Mulder's erection, forward into Mulder's hands, back again. Mulder let his hips ride out the rhythm of Krycek's movements for a few moments, enjoying the increasing friction, before realizing that anymore of that was going to have him coming in his pants. Releasing Krycek's earlobe and genitals simultaneously, and grinning at the pained protest he got, he shifted back just far enough to give himself a little leverage, grabbed hold of the tight pants and yanked. Krycek arched and shimmied, trying to help, but mostly only bucking Mulder up into the top of the tent again.

"Hold still," Mulder commanded, trying to peer down between their bodies, working the pants down over the swell of buttocks and wondering what the hold up was when they wouldn't move any further. With a grunt, he kick-started his brain and put thought together with sensation and realized Krycek was rubbing his crotch frantically against Mulder's right thigh. Slapping Krycek's ass, hard, only got him an even more enthusiastic groan and more excited squirming, neither of which helped his already stressed self-control. "Jesus, Alex...," he gasped, and reared back further, forcing Krycek's hips up and yanking the pants all the way down off his ass.

Krycek tumbled forward at the rough handling, no longer supporting himself on his hands but leaning forward over his forearms, face against the sleeping bag. Mulder heard another grunted something, but was too busy working on his own jeans to separate the words. Krycek's bare ass on full display was a potent distraction and all Mulder could concentrate on was getting inside. His fly finally opened under his shaking fingers, and he jerked his shirt up and his pants down, just enough to release his burning cock. His balls pulsed reproachfully and he lifted them up and hooked the waistband of his briefs under them, freeing them and pushing them up and forward against his hard-on at the same time. Pressing forward, he let out a growl of delight at the sensation of skin on skin as he drove up against that sweet ass. His cock settled snugly between Krycek's buttocks, and he hissed at the perfection of it. So good, so overwhelmingly good, it derailed his focus from penetrating and suddenly all he wanted was to rock against the wriggling body under him, rub his cock in the heated crevice, feel the press of soft flesh against his balls, spend himself between those generous cheeks. Wrapping his arms around Krycek's waist again he found himself doing just that, mindlessly pursuing his climax until the tossing head in front of him connected none-too-gently with his face.

"OW!"

"What the fuck you doing? I told you, I've got lube, you can fuck me," Krycek panted impatiently. "You don't have to settle for that... come on." He rotated his hips encouragingly and Mulder bit his lip hard to keep from either coming, or telling Krycek he hadn't been 'settling' for anything... contact with Krycek's ass was delectable no matter what form it took.

But clearly Krycek wanted to be fucked and the minute that thought made it through Mulder's thick head, he wasn't about to let it go again. Reminded of his goal, he went after it again with single-minded intensity, lifting his hips away from Krycek to slow the stimulation. "Where... what've you got," Mulder choked, resting against Krycek's back and blinking to clear his eyes and scan the tent. Krycek's head jerked to the left and a muffled voice said, "Cocoa butter." Sure enough, Mulder saw the little white tub and snagged it without even having to stretch. As he unscrewed the cap and dug his fingers into the cream he caught the chocolatey smell adding its signature to the heavy scents filling the tent. He inhaled deeply to savor it as he shifted his balance onto his left hand. Working his creamed right hand between his groin and Krycek's ass, he burrowed his fingers between Krycek's buttocks and started searching for his anus by feel. Krycek groaned in appreciation, his eyes rolling back and his legs struggling to spread wider against the stricture of the pants caught up around his mid-thighs.

"Like that?" Mulder rumbled needlessly, rubbing his fingers up and down the divide his cock had just been nestling in so comfortably. Krycek made a helpless "unh" sound, which Mulder took for a yes, and bit the sleeping bag. Mulder grinned and extended his search, letting his fingers press the cheeks apart, opening Krycek to his invasion before circling one finger over the hot pucker. "Ah ha, that's what I'm looking for," Mulder murmured teasingly, rubbing his nose into Krycek's increasingly bunched shirt, rooting for the smell of Krycek's body through the lingering sweet of the cocoa butter.

Krycek whimpered as Mulder's finger rubbed back and forth, back and forth, over the tight opening, without breaching it. Mulder felt the flesh contract and bloom against his fingertip and laughed into Krycek's shirt, then bit and sucked at the cloth, distracting himself from the whine of his own erection that wanted to drive into that pulsing hole. "Feels like you're definitely in the mood for this, Alex..." Mulder trailed off as he let his slick finger press gently into Krycek's anus, laughing softly again as the sphincter relaxed instantly and sucked him in. "Yeah? You want me up your ass, Alex?" He withdrew the finger and waited for the groan. When it came he pressed the finger forward again, then eased back. A hot pulse of lust pounded through him, driven by the sadistic pleasure of having this man wriggling and begging under him, spreading his ass to be filled. As erotic as it was, it made a great impetus to jerk back the reins on his own impatience, in order to drag out the burning torture a little longer. "Tell me, Alex... tell me what you want or you don't get it." He punctuated the words with another series of firm rubs over the twitching asshole.

"Mmmnuh..."

"What was that?" Mulder circled the swollen pucker with finger and thumb and pinched lightly, once, then again. "I didn't quite catch that. You'll have to do better than that."

"Motherfuckingbastardcocksucker..."

Mulder bit down on Krycek's shoulder. "Nope, that's not going to do it either." He lifted his head to watch Krycek's face twist against the sleeping bag. One green eye glared balefully up at him from above a hotly flushed cheek. He grinned down at the lovely profile and teased the asshole at his finger with a little more pressure. "Try again?"

The increased pressure had Krycek's eyes widening, lips parting on a gasp, his right hand opening and closing on the sleeping bag. "Mmmunh... Muhh... Mulder... fuck... oh please... yes, I want you up my ass," the harsh voice groaned out, dark lashes sweeping down to cover that green eye, face flushing darker.

Mulder savored the words and the reactions as he drove his finger firmly into opening, welcoming flesh. "Again, Alex," he hissed gleefully as he started working Krycek's ass. "What do you want?"

As he watched, entranced, Krycek's mouth parted again, a low moan ripped from his throat before he bit his lip. "Want you," he panted, quickly this time, eyes still shut. "Want you up my ass, inside me, please Mulder, please... I need it so bad... oh yes!" The emphatic groan accompanied the sudden opening of those eyes again, as Mulder found and rubbed the gland he sought.

"Right there, Alex?"

"YES! Oh god... Mulder... yes, pleasepleaseplease... right there..." Krycek loosed a tortured wail as Mulder's finger retreated.

"More?" Mulder grinned, having entirely too much fun reducing this man to a begging wreck. He pressed in again with two fingers as Krycek shrieked and bucked back, again trying to spread his thighs further apart and again hampered by his pants.

"More... yes... please, Mulder, more, please..."

"You like those fingers?"

"Yeee-eees," Krycek moaned pitifully then yelped, while Mulder stroked and prodded, circling the prostate then suddenly rubbing it firmly over and over again. Krycek's hips danced under his ministrations, unable to thrust back and forth as much as he'd obviously like due to Mulder's weight spread over him, holding him in his hands-and-knees position. Mulder shifted himself again to give his own left hand a break, but continued to probe thoroughly, constantly moving his fingers in an uneven rhythm, stretching the tightness. The cocoa butter made everything delightfully slippery, and his hand moved easily when he began to work his thumb up and down the crack of Krycek's ass in time to the thrusts of his fingers inside.

"Ready for more, Alex?" he murmured, overcome with thoughts of what that slick channel would feel like surrounding his cock. "Ready for a hard dick up your ass? Ask for it nice and pretty and maybe I'll give it to you."

"Oh god... Mulder, please, I need your dick up my ass and I will so get you for this, you fucking bastard, but godfuckingdamnit fuck me fuckmenow..."

"Now would you call that nice?" Mulder emphasized the words with a gentle in-and-out thrusting motion with his doubled fingers.

"Unnhgh!" Krycek twisted and bucked with frustration but Mulder just relaxed his entire weight and bore down on Krycek until he subsided with a whimper, giving in. "Please Mulder, I need a hard dick up my ass, I'm so ready for it, need it to be you, need more need more inside me now... please, give it to me, please fuck me...."

Mulder's cock surged strongly at Krycek's rough, husky voice murmuring the out of control litany liberally peppered with keening groans. Knowing he had stretched himself to the limit, and stretched Krycek a little beyond, he pulled his fingers quickly out of Krycek's slippery, opened ass and caught his own cock, smearing himself with his buttery hand and the fluid dripping steadily from his cock. Pressing up against Krycek's ass, he used his hand to guide himself in until he felt the head pop through the sphincter, Krycek's throaty groan playing counterpoint to the sensation. With a steadying breath, he wrapped his arms around Krycek's chest and slowly worked his hips forward, nudging his cock into the parting, sucking flesh.

Krycek rose up on his right arm again, forcing his ass back and higher, until Mulder finished penetration with a grunt and a thrust. "YES!" Krycek hissed, wiggling his ass against Mulder's groin, moving forward and back the little bit he could, fucking himself on the hardness impaling him. "Oh god, Mulder, feels so good... feels so good... move..."

"With pleasure," Mulder rasped next to his ear, drawing back and pushing forward gently. Setting up a steady rocking motion, Mulder felt his head and back rubbing against the nylon of the tent, static electricity crackling through his hair. The thought that he and Krycek were generating actual electricity made a laugh rise up in his throat, but Krycek's squirming and begging turned it into a choked groan before it could emerge.

"So good... so good... harder, Mulder, do me harder... drive it in... oh yes yes yes, that's it... harder... god your cock feels so good, so big, so hard... fill me up, I need it so bad..."

"Alex," Mulder gasped against his hair, working his hands up under Krycek's shirt to feel out his nipples, pinch and rub them. "Keep talking... oh god... incredible..."

"Oh yes, do it to me... gotta... oh man, this position sucks... Mulder, Mulder stop... oh! yes there..."

Mulder kept moving for at least a full ninety seconds before the words penetrated his brain as deeply as his dick was doing to Krycek's backside. "Wha—hunh?"

"Position, Mulder... oh fuck you feel good! This position... it's hell on me... gotta move. My arm..."

"Shit!" Mulder rocked back and sat on his heels, pulling Krycek with him, keeping them joined. Krycek's body lifted and slumped back against him, ass resting on his thighs, back falling against Mulder's chest. Both of their heads stretched the top of the tent, their hair making a soft rushing against the material. Krycek sighed deeply as Mulder absorbed his weight, and rubbed his left shoulder through the sweat-soaked shirt.

"Sorry... too much pressure on my stump... tried to lean down onto my chest, keep the weight off, but it's just too hard... I'm too unbalanced for that position," Krycek gasped, never going completely still, his ass squirming on Mulder's lap. "Jeeeesus, Mulder... you feel even further up inside me like this. God, how big are you..."

Mulder laughed breathlessly into Krycek's neck. "You bring out the best in me, what can I say," he mumbled.

"Well I'm lovin' it," Krycek growled, flexing his thighs and working his hips. "Wow..."

Mulder whimpered and sank his teeth into Krycek's throat. "You're so fucking hot... but Alex, Alex I can't thrust this way... you're killing me here..." He groaned as Krycek's ass clenched around him again, and he tried to drive up. Krycek's weight held him pinned though, and he was at the mercy of Krycek's tiny, teasing movements.

"What's that? You want me to move? I dunno, Fox, I think you should ask me nicely," Krycek drawled, letting his hand come into play for the first time, reaching for his own cock and stroking slowly, then fondling his balls. Mulder peered down over Krycek's shoulder to watch, fascinated.

"Aaaallllexxxx," he whined, reaching down and pulling the single hand away to replace it with both of his. "Please... I gotta move..." He played gently with the head of Krycek's cock, his other hand massaging the heavy balls. Krycek's own hand slipped up under the shirt to tweak his own nipples while he continued to shift just enough to keep pleasuring himself on the hard cock he sat on.

"Yeah yeah, I know... I need more too. Just a minute, this just feels so damn good. Don't you just love that feeling of fullness, when you're totally stretched and—"

"ALEX!"

Krycek laughed evilly. "What's wrong, Fox? Don't like the teasing when it's on the other foot?"

"Don't do that to me... your voice alone is bad enough..."

"Okay, get ready," Krycek murmured, and then suddenly he was lifting forward, their bodies separating, pulling a groan from both of them. "Get these pants the rest of the way off me," he managed, as he leaned forward again and stretched on the sleeping bag. "And hurry up. I want that back inside me." Krycek cast a hungry look at Mulder's pulsing erection, standing out eagerly from his opened jeans.

Mulder hastened to obey, but he was slowed by his lust-fogged brain. It took several frustrating moments to figure out that there were buttons at the knee-bands on the pants, and he was swearing before he got his fingers coordinated enough to get all eight buttons through their loops, but finally the pants and briefs slid down over those delicious boots. Alex wriggled free and kicked the cocoa butter to one side.

Mulder sat back on his heels, and drank in the exquisite sight before him. Krycek lay on his back, knees slightly raised and spread. The black leather boots contrasted deliciously with Krycek's firm, pale thighs. The white shirt was transparent with sweat, flowing in soft, feminine folds over his strong, masculine body. The hem of the shirt was bunched up around Krycek's hips, offering teasing glimpses of black curls and other delights. The lace collar framed broad shoulders, long throat and utterly male face, with its features at once virile and delicate.

Mulder drew a shuddering breath, and asked, "So what would be better for you?" as he flopped beside Krycek and reached for Krycek's shirt.

"Leave that," Krycek snapped quickly, brushing back Mulder's hands. A hard shove to Mulder's chest enforced the order, and Mulder found himself flat on his back. Without bothering to fuss with Mulder's jeans or shirt, Krycek clambered up on top of him and straddled his hips. "This will work," he said confidently. "There's nothing wrong with my legs. Just help me get started here, will ya?"

Mulder caught on immediately as Krycek arranged himself and rested his one hand on Mulder's sternum, leaving it to Mulder to guide his bobbing erection back to Krycek's body. Mulder used one hand to position his dick and the other to guide Krycek's hips as he eased the entrance, then moved both hands to stroke over Krycek's inner thighs as the body above him relaxed and sank down fully. He whimpered softly as the slick heat surrounded him again and tightened. Relaxed. Tightened.

Krycek tipped back his head as he settled and groaned feelingly. "Yes yes yes yes yes. Oh Fox, you are it. This is the best. You're so good. Yeah, this is much better. GOD. Arch your hips up, make me feel it. YES! Like that... do it again." Krycek tightened powerful thigh muscles and started rocking, lifting and lowering himself just enough to set them both on fire again.

Mulder arched and thrust, ignoring the protest of his lower back by concentrating on the feeling of Krycek's thighs flexing under his hands. He was inside that body, inside that impossible ass, and the knowledge was as heady as the sensations. Watching Krycek move rated somewhere up around the most incredible sight he'd ever laid eyes on. His own body raced out of control, lost in the squeezing friction of Krycek's ass, but his mind locked on the image of Krycek pumping himself wildly on the cock spearing him, head tossing, thighs flexing, chest heaving under his rucked-up shirt. His nipples stood out clearly through the thin material, and Mulder couldn't resist reaching up and pinching them. Krycek twisted and made the best noise, causing Mulder to repeat his actions and then start rubbing each nipple between finger and thumb. Krycek's eyes went wide and he stared down at Mulder, the picture of erotic abandonment, mouth open, panting, lips shining and puffy from biting himself, cheeks flushed, hair hanging over his forehead, sweat dripping down his jawbone.

"Alex... you're beautiful," Mulder whispered, and then he was arching and crying out as spasms shook him, intense pleasure rushing up and over him and out before he could try to hold back, or make it last, or pace himself. It was over in seconds and he lay gasping, dizzy with sensation, spots circling before his eyes. A soft keening filled his ears and he blinked, focusing on Krycek, still writhing and trying to get continued stimulation from Mulder's softening cock. His own organ stood out, darkly flushed and painfully erect, and Mulder felt a stab of embarrassment for not ensuring Krycek's pleasure before his own. But what was he supposed to do with that wiggling around on top of him? He could hardly be blamed for losing track of things...

He felt Krycek's hand leave his chest and watched, dazed, as Krycek started pumping his own cock. Without thinking his hand shot out and caught Krycek's wrist. "Wait, don't..." he managed, voice hardly above a whisper. "Let me." Krycek stared down at him as if he didn't understand, chest heaving, desperate for release. Finally he nodded and released his cock. Mulder tugged on his hips, easing him up and away from his own over-sensitized groin. Krycek moaned brokenly as Mulder's cock slipped free of his ass, but Mulder pulled him forward and rolled him onto his back. "Sorry about that," Mulder murmured as he shifted to a sitting position and pressed Krycek's thighs apart. "But this seemed to get you going earlier," he smiled as he slipped two and then three fingers up into Krycek's loosened, well-used asshole.

"Oh god yes," Krycek hissed, his hips rising to work himself on Mulder's hand.

With none of the teasing of before, Mulder used his fingers mercilessly to fuck Krycek strong and regular, grinning when Krycek's groans took on a sobbing quality and his body tensed repeatedly. He circled his other hand around the hard cock straining against Krycek's stomach, and holding it firmly, worked his thumb right up close under the crown. Stroking steadily with his thumb in time to his thrusts in Krycek's ass, he let his hand squeeze and release gently and focused raptly on Krycek's face. "Keep your eyes open," he murmured to the bucking man before him. "Look at me, look me right in the eye. Don't look away."

Krycek twisted and panted and moaned, but stared up at Mulder obediently. His face was impossibly open, his eyes wide, his lips trembling as his mouth worked. Strangled sounds escaped from his throat, teeth and tongue flashed in the gasping mouth.

Mulder felt his chest tighten inexplicably at the vulnerability, the intimacy. He smiled slowly, and never altering his rhythm, whispered again, "So beautiful... so very beautiful." Watching Krycek orgasm made him want to do this over and over and over, to never stop touching this man in a way that would coax just that look, just that openness. Hot fluid spilled over his hand and the muscles around his other fingers contracted again and again. But that face... the pure release. Mulder could barely breath.

He gentled his fingers in Krycek's ass but left them there until the last shudders had raced through him. Only when Krycek lay still and panting did he release the spent cock and ease his fingers out of heated flesh. He grabbed some wet-wipes and cleaned his hands, grinning down at the dazed man. "Like that?"

"...unh..."

"I'll take that as a yes," he murmured, stretching out beside Krycek on the sleeping bag and staring happily into the wide, blinking eyes.

"...unh..."

"You're really cute when you're sex-stunned."

"...mmmmm..."

Mulder leaned in and brushed a kiss over the parted lips, sucking the lower lip into his mouth. "By the way, your hair is sticking up all over the place from rubbing up against the roof," he mumbled against Krycek's mouth.

"...mbblrgh..."

"So what are you doing with cocoa butter, anyway?"

"Glrslah."

"One more time?"

"Slarhhss." This time Krycek seemed to realize his tongue wasn't obeying his brain. As his breathing finally slowed, he cleared his throat and clarified before Mulder could ask again. "Scars. My scars. It's good for scars."

"It is?"

"Mmm hmmm." Krycek pressed closer and snuggled against Mulder. "Smells better than plain vitamin E, ya know?"

"Oh I know," Mulder pressed another light kiss to the still-slack mouth. "Although I gotta tell you, I don't think anything smells better than you." The lips under his own turned up into a smile.

"Sweet liar." Krycek's teeth nipped Mulder's lower lip.

Mulder laughed and licked Krycek's chin. "I like you a little raunchy. It's verrry sexy." He emphasized his point by lowering his face to Krycek's throat, licking again and then inhaling deeply. Suddenly he lifted his head and stared down at Krycek intently. "I would have sucked you off you know... I wasn't avoiding it. I just wanted to watch your face when you came."

The smile that tilted Krycek's mouth made his breath catch all over again. "Give me a few minutes and you can show me how you're not avoiding it," Krycek offered.

Mulder grinned. "A few minutes?"

"Hey, it's been awhile. So sue me. You... uh... do things to me."

"Do I now?" Mulder crowed. "That's good to hear. Considering."

"Considering?"

"Considering what you do to me." Mulder smiled down into the surprised face. "Anyway, I was just feeling sort of bad about finishing you off with a handjob there. Didn't mean to finish without you but... well, it's been kind of awhile for me too."

"I'll just take it as evidence of how hot I am, hunh?" Krycek rasped with a wink.

Mulder caught his breath and leaned in to brush his lips lightly over Krycek's. "Yes," he whispered into Krycek's mouth. Pulling back, he licked the tip of Krycek's irresistible nose.

After a moment's pause while Mulder watched Krycek blinking and swallowing, Krycek cleared his throat. "Well, don't feel bad. It was a pretty damn good handjob," he finally said huskily.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Silence descended and Mulder began to be uncomfortably aware of the half-on, half-off state of his clothes. He wanted to take them off, curl around Krycek and rest for a while, but he knew time was ticking. He shut his eyes, blocking out everything beyond the little green nylon world of the tent. He wondered idly if anyone was close enough to have heard them. He blushed suddenly as he thought of some of what Krycek had been calling out, at his encouragement. Hell, at his insistence. He felt his cock stir at the memory of making Krycek beg, and his lips twitched.

"What are you thinking," came Krycek's honeyed voice, and Mulder opened his eyes to see those green eyes hovering just inches in front of his own.

"Guess," he whispered.

Krycek laughed and stretched lazily, dropping his hand to coast over his lax genitals. Mulder felt another spike of heat flare through him, and groaned, desperately trying to avoid looking at his watch.

Krycek seemed to know what he was thinking, "We have to get back."

"Oh, God, Alex. We can't... we can't be together after this, can we?"

"I don't see how. Too dangerous for both of us."

He was right. And Mulder knew also that they could never fight their way through all the emotional baggage from their past, through all the pain and anger, the betrayals—and Mulder now realized there had been betrayals on both sides, not just Krycek's. Krycek was right; the past had been poisoned, and there was no future for them. Mulder closed his eyes and wished vainly that the world ended at the tent entrance.

"We both have work to do, Fox. That work might sometimes put us on opposing sides."

"So we just walk away from... this."

"Yeah, we both just walk away. But hey, we'll always have Paris."

Mulder laughed, "Right, Ingrid."

"Huh? How come you get to be Bogart?"

"Because you have sexier legs than I do. You have to be Bergman."

"No way! Bergman never had a beard!"

They both knew the jokes were lame, but humor got them through the awkwardness of cleaning up as best they could and pulling their clothes back on in the confines of the tent. Mulder stroked the boots one last time, running his hands from the ankles all the way to the tops and beyond, sliding them over Krycek's ass, before sighing wistfully.

The walk back to the Faire grounds was silent, neither man could think of anything to say. Mulder didn't regret anything that had happened that day, but there was a heavy burden of regret for all the time before, wasted time, and all the time after today.

It was just after three when they approached the "Flaming Queen". A dozen or so people sat on the hay bales, cheering encouragement as the two crewmen "on deck" gave a fencing lesson to a group of children. Mulder stopped short when he saw that one of the kids concentrating so intently on a wooden sword was Charlie Scully Jr. Then he realized that two of the people sitting front of the stage, looking right at him and Krycek, were Byers and Scully.

"Oh shit," Mulder and Krycek said in unison.

But when Scully's eyes met Mulder's, she smiled slightly. When her eyes met Krycek's, she nodded, looking him up and down with an odd expression on her face.

So Byers had told her. Warned her? Prepared her, anyway. As the two men came closer, she stood, her arms crossed under her chest. Which, in that bodice, created an effect that got the attention of all three men.

"Uhmm, hi, Scully! How was the Morris dancing?"

"We enjoyed it very much, thank you, Mulder." she said calmly, all the while staring at Krycek. She didn't seem quite able to deal with his appearance, in both senses of the word—the way he looked, and the fact that he was there at the Renaissance Faire at all. As a performer, yet.

She looked at the crowd growing around the stage; the next performance began in twenty minutes, and it was a popular show. Then she looked up at Mulder, taking in his dishevelment, his swollen lips and the pleading look in his eyes.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Mulder." She gave him Scully Look Number 2. "There's not much I can do about this now, is there? I don't have my handcuffs hidden in my cleavage."

The three men gazed at said cleavage, each privately thinking that she could easily get a set of cuffs and her gun down there. None of them had quite realized before how well-endowed Scully was in the cleavage department...

"Auntie Dana, Auntie Dana!"

Charlie came running up, waving his wooden sword, "Look, Auntie Dana, I'm a pirate! Did you see me swashbuckling? Hi, Mr. Mulder! Look, I'm a pirate!"

"Hey, cool, Charlie." Mulder knelt down to examine Charlie's new "weapon". At the edge of his line of vision, he noticed Byers quietly hand Krycek his hat, gloves and sword belt.

"Master Charles," Byers said, back in his McStagger persona, "May I present to you Captain Duncan McKeir, the king of the pirates?"

Charlie's eyes got huge as Captain McKeir swept off his hat and bowed graciously, "Master Charles, honored to have ye aboard." Striking a heroic pose, Krycek rested his right hand on his sword hilt. Charlie's eyes got even bigger as he saw the glimmering silver rapier.

Scully stiffened as she watched Byers and Krycek draw steel so close to her nephew. But the two pirates jumped up onto the front of the stage, and ran through a series of maneuvers designed to show off their skill and elegance of form. Mulder found himself breathing harder as he watched Krycek. So dangerous, so beautiful.

"Wow!" Charlie bounced up and down in excitement. "They're even better than in the movies!"

Even Scully smiled—very slightly. Although that was probably at Charlie's childish enthusiasm, rather than Krycek's personal charms. Probably.

"Do you want to stay and watch the show? I saw it earlier. It really is funny, and the bawdy stuff will go right over Charlie's head."

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for anything, Mulder." Scully gave him Scully Look Number 6 (oh so superior and condescending, with a touch of humor to take the sting out).

They sat right up front, on the aisle. Look Number 6 continued quite a way into the performance. But Scully gradually relaxed, and laughed at some of the jokes. Charlie loved Krycek's entrance, swinging on the rope. Mulder thought that Krycek was showing off even more than usual, knowing that he was in the audience. Or perhaps getting laid had released his inhibitions. Like Krycek had problems with inhibitions.

Mulder suddenly noticed that one thing was different this time; Captain McKeir wasn't flirting with women in the audience the way he had earlier. No wait, there—he's got that look of delirious adoration, he's coming off the stage, he's clasping his hands over his heart, he's approaching...

Scully. Who looked like she'd just found dog shit on her shoes.

Krycek had a devilish gleam in his eyes. He took Scully's hand in his, pulling her gently up from her seat, and lifted her hand to his lips, delicately kissing the palm, as he said, projecting the back rows and beyond, "Oh fair maid, ne'er have I seen such beauty!"

Scully jerked very slightly, as if aborting an attempt to snatch her hand away. She apparently didn't intend to give Krycek the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. She also stubbornly resisted the desire to wipe her hand on her skirt when he released it.

He continued to gaze down at her rapturously, "I am your adoring slave, do with me as you will!"

Mulder held his breath. Scully Looked back at Krycek for a few heartbeats, her eyes like blue ice. Then, she rose up on tiptoe suddenly, wrapping her arms around his neck, and crushed her lips to his.

Krycek's eyes opened wide and his glance met Mulder's. He looked stunned. But he recovered quickly, and responded to the kiss with enthusiasm. As the audience whooped with laughter, Scully bit him hard on the lower lip, then released him. Her eyes were still icy, but she smiled triumphantly.

Charlie giggled delightedly.

Reaching into his doublet, Krycek drew out two black leather roses. He made a big show of kissing them, then offering one to Scully with a courtly bow. She took it, still smiling smugly. In a tiny gesture only they could see, Krycek gave the other rose to Mulder, with a wink.

"Good-bye." he said quietly.

Mulder tried to smile, and felt like he was going to shatter. "Here's looking at you, kid."

Then Captain McKeir leaped back onstage, swashbuckling to the delight of his audience.

Charlie bounced with the energy of a very tired little boy, stubbornly refusing to let the day end. As they made their way to the car, he blew into the ocarina, accompanying himself as he danced a hornpipe and waved his sword around. By the time they were out of the parking lot, he was sound asleep.

Scully glanced into the rear view mirror; Mulder sprawled in the back seat, twirling his black rose by it's stem, and gazing off at nothing.

"Byers and I had an interesting conversation," she offered.

"Did you? About what?"

"He says that in a few days he may have some useful information for us. Regarding, as he put it, a very illegal genetics project, which, after you dig through several layers of fake corporate owners, turns out to be directed a certain nicotine-addicted gentleman."

Mulder sat up and pulled his thoughts out of his crotch, "Did Byers reveal the source of that information?"

"Not in so many words. I think we can guess, though."

With a sigh, Mulder slouched back and rubbed his rose along his cheek. Oh Alex, be careful.

But maybe the future wasn't totally fucked after all.

###

snakedoctor13@yahoo.com
Ratadder's Fanfiction

Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Krycek/Mulder
Time: Anytime between "RatB" and "Requiem"
Spoilers: Vaguely "Anasazi", obvious "Terma"
Disclaimer: The X Files characters in this story are the property of 1013 Productions. No infringement of copyright is intended. We just let them have more fun than CC does.
Feedback: enthusiastic praise and constructive criticism cheerfully accepted at: snakedoctor13@yahoo.com
Lord Ratadder notes: The Queen is being regally generous in giving me coauthor credit. This lovely story is hers, I only wrote some of the smut.
Summary: Mulder goes to a Renaissance Faire and discovers some interesting things about several of his acquaintances.
This story is for our second-favorite Ratboy, the other Alex

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