Could Louisiana possibly be any more humid? And hot and mosquito infested?
Haven't these people heard of autumn? He stripped his wet nasty clothes off
and headed for the shower, where he soaked up more heat and humidity in the
form of hot water and steam. It felt so wonderful, he decided that
Louisiana was not bad at all. The food was good at least.
After desultorily drying off, he pulled on boxers and collapsed on the bed,
remote control in hand. He flipped through the channels with little
interest, finally settling on an infomercial featuring the Stupendous Yappi
and his psychic hotline. He turned the sound down to a background drone and
closed his eyes.
Instead of sleep, he found visions of Alex Krycek dancing in his head. The
lying, murdering, traitorous... et cetera. Whatever. Mulder was tired.
Tired of the litany of curses and insults that ran through his head at even
the thought of Krycek. Mostly he was tired of his own conflicted feelings
for the man.
For even when Alex was his most infuriating, he was also strangely alluring.
Although he had betrayed Mulder, he had also helped him on occasion. And
though he was a stone cold killer, he never once fought back when Mulder
punched him and shoved him around. Just what the hell was that all about
anyway?
Mulder was beginning to wonder who was crazier, him or the rat bastard that
took up way too much of his thoughts these days. If Scully ever found out
about his new obsession, he knew where her vote would be cast.
In the two weeks since the incident in the alley, Mulder had found himself
frequently distracted by random thoughts of Alex Krycek. He could be
walking down the street, catch a glimpse of black leather, and suddenly he
was back in his apartment with Krycek pressing his lips to Mulder's cheek.
A brief glance into green eyes sent his mind back to the alley and that
velvety voice saying, "Take it Mulder. You know I won't shoot you." His
libido would conveniently edit out the second part of the comment so
Krycek's voice would echo through his body, "Take it Mulder." And he would
be consumed with the desire to do just that. Over and over again. Any and
every way possible.
The chirp of his cell phone brought him back to the dumpy motel room. He
reached over to the bedside table and picked it up, absently wondering why
Scully didn't just knock on the door. "Mulder," he answered from habit.
"Hey Mulder. How the hell are ya?" A jaunty male voice spoke into his ear
making him sit straight up on the bed. While the voice was painfully,
arousingly familiar, the jovial tone was not. He sat stunned into silence
so long that the voice said, "Hey Mulder, old buddy! You still there?"
"Krycek?" he asked, still disbelieving what his ears were telling him.
"What the hell is wrong with you? Are you on crack or something?"
"Nope. I'm cool. Well, I did have a little vodka," replied the multi-agent
cheerfully.
"How much is a little?" Mulder's curiosity was getting the better of him as
he was confronted with a rather exotic creature—a happy-drunk Alex Krycek.
"I dunno. Half a bottle, maybe? Nah, had to be more'n that. Who cares? I
was thinking about you, Mr. Fox-don't-call-me-that Mulder. 'S not the
first time, of course, but it is the first time I felt like taking a chance
on talking to you."
Mulder spoke slowly, almost gently. "Where are you and how did you get my
number?"
"I know everything about you, Fox-don't-call-me-that. I know you're
colorblind, which could explain the ties except they'd still be ugly even
without color. I know where you keep your porn videos in your desk at work.
I know that if you don't start feeding your fish more often they're gonna
die... again."
Mulder's teeth began to grind a bit as he asked,
"Where...are...you...Krycek?"
"I'm at your place, buddy. Didn't I mention that already? You know, you
have got some freaky stuff in your video collection. Did you know that?
Freaky... I like freaky. Freaky's good. Fun. You remember fun don't you?"
"Krycek, get out of my apartment. I am not your buddy. I don't even like
you. You killed my father, you bastard."
"I DID NOT! You always have to pull out that tired old accusation when you
know good and well that I did no such thing. I could never hurt you in such
a heinous manner, Fox-don't-call-me-that."
Mulder sighed as the indignant voice on the line lowered with hurt. He
promised himself that if Krycek started to cry he was definitely hanging up
the phone. Settling back against the pillows, Mulder waited to see if
Krycek would come anywhere near the point of this call before one or the
other of them passed out.
"Mulder, are you still there?" Krycek was quiet now and his voice had taken
on a seductive timbre.
"Yeah," Mulder breathed cautiously. "I'm here."
"Would you do something for me?"
"Probably not." After a moment, he sighed and asked, "What is it?"
"Call me Alex."
"What? Why?"
"I'd just like to hear it. Spoken by you—just once— when it's not in
anger. I love your voice, Mulder. It can be very warm and soft. Like when
you talk to Scully. Talk to me like that just once. Please?"
As Alex was speaking, Mulder was focused on the deep rich sound of that soft
husky voice coming through the phone. His eyelids slipped down as he
pictured the sensual mouth speaking the words. Mobile lips caressing each
syllable. How talented that sweet mouth must be, thought Mulder as he felt
himself getting aroused.
He held back a moan as he slipped his hand down his belly and into his
boxers. He took his aching flesh in hand just as Krycek spoke again.
"Mulder, you there?"
"Yes...Alex," sighed Mulder as his hand began to pump his rigid cock. He
was already so close just from the sound of a smooth sexy voice on the
phone. The girls from the phone sex place never had this effect on him.
Just...
"Alex. Mmm, Alex."
"Thank you, Fox Mulder." Happy-drunk Krycek was back as he said, "Pleasant
dreams." Then a click and he was gone.
Mulder dropped the phone and continued to pleasure himself and in minutes he
was coming, forcefully shooting into his hand and over his belly.
He cleaned himself up and muttered, "What the fuck was that all about?"
Mouth to Mouth
by Amy B
Mulder stumbled into the motel room utterly exhausted. He and Scully had
chased a so-called "Gatorman" through miles of woods and swamps; only to
finally catch up to a regular guy with an exotic skin disease, and a
penchant for stealing from other fishermen's catches. They had turned him
over to the sheriff with a handful of prescriptions from Dr. Scully for
various ointments and unguents. All this while they were officially
supposed to be tracking fertilizer sales for Kersh.
