At least he was gone today. And it didn't look like he had gotten sick on
the rug— a very good sign. A small, gleefully evil part of Mulder hoped
that young Mr. Krycek was suffering from the mother of all hangovers from
hell today. It would serve him right for breaking and entering.
Mulder wandered back to the living room and checked his phone messages while
booting up his computer. He quickly checked through his various e-mail
accounts, but found nothing urgent waiting for him. After a day of
travelling, writing reports, and listening to Scully drone on about some new
medical theory, Mulder wanted nothing more than to relax with a beer and
some TV. Flipping through the channels found nothing of interest, so he put
in a video and sprawled on the couch.
He was very relaxed while watching KoKo and KiKi practicing their particular
talents on each other's nubile bodies, but when Fernando, the pool boy,
joined the fun, Mulder suddenly became distracted from the girls. Fernando,
with his dark hair, sultry eyes, and fuck-me mouth, reminded him too much of
Alex Krycek. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, sipped his beer, and
tried to focus on the movie. Something hard was poking him in the hip so he
scooted over to find a small plastic box stuck between the cushions.
He pulled out the half-empty box of cinnamon Tic Tacs and tossed them on the
coffee table. They slid across the wood coming to rest against the vodka
bottle with a taunting click. He stared at the innocuous little breath
mints and drained his beer. He got up and went to the kitchen for another.
He settled back down, sipping the cold beer and pondering the night before.
Alex must have been sitting or lying on his couch so that the box fell out
of his pocket. Alex was the only person Mulder knew who practically had a
jones for Tic Tacs. Back when they were partners, he had teased Alex about
his neurotic need for fresh breath, while silently enjoying the cinnamon and
spice scent of his gorgeous young partner. And Alex had always...
Wait a minute. Wait just a fucking minute. What's with all this "Alex"
crap? When did he stop being "Krycek -the -Russian -traitor -slash -Syndicate—assassin -who -killed -my -father"? Mulder thought frantically. Daydreaming and
fantasizing were one thing,
but now he was reminiscing about the good old days, which hadn't really been
all that good. Had they? Well, Alex hadn't been a bad partner and he had
believed in Mulder and his work. Hadn't he? Mulder wasn't certain, but he
liked to think so. It made everything that followed a little easier to
take.
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. His fingers slowed as they
passed over the bridge of his nose. He idly measured his beak with his
thumb and forefinger. It was rather... substantial— not at all like the
pointy little thing that passed for a nose on Alex Krycek's face. Now
that was a frivolous confection, hardly worth noticing except that it fit
so perfectly with the rest of his face. An erotically appealing, yet
infuriating face that could pass from angelically sincere to wickedly sly in
an instant.
Krycek had been sticking his paltry little honker into Mulder's business
with alarming frequency of late. This development was disturbing to Mulder
on so many levels. This latest business of breaking into his apartment and
getting drunk was especially disquieting. Alex was provoking him for a
reason, but he couldn't see what it was yet. He pondered various options as
he sipped his beer, working up a nice mellow buzz.
He finally decided the most likely reason for Krycek's recent appearances in
his life was a simple one. The man was trying to drive him crazy. Mulder's
hold on sanity was admittedly tenuous in the best of circumstances, so it
seemed quite possible that Alex, acting either on his own, or under orders
from who knows where, was trying to drag him over the fragile line into
total ready-to-be-committed-to-a-nice-soft-room lunacy. And the
son-of-a-bitch was probably having a damn fine time doing it, too.
Mulder gave the Tic Tacs and vodka bottle one last glare and swung his feet
up onto the couch, stretching out into a more comfortable position. He
snuggled his head into a throw pillow then groaned as the scent of Krycek's
aftershave surrounded him in a phantom embrace. It was that same damned Old
Spice that went straight to his groin and called his cock to attention. The
same fragrance that had driven him to distraction Monday through Thursday on
the green junior G-man who had followed him around like a puppy. Of course,
Friday's Polo had had the exact same effect. He never had found out why
Krycek only wore Polo on Fridays. It was just one more mystery that made up
the enigma called Alex.
He sniffed the pillow deeply and the scent made his cock jump, eager to come
out and play. With resigned horniness, he unzipped his pants and grabbed
the waistband of his boxers. He lifted his hips and pushed his clothes down
to his knees. He turned his face into the pillow and stroked his hard cock
slowly, trying to rein in his excitement. He didn't want to give in too
soon. He imagined it was Alex's hand on his needy flesh, running his
fingers up to the head, circling and circling, hitting the most sensitive
spots over and over.
Drawing in the scent of Old Spice with each quickening breath, Mulder was
close, so close to completion. His orgasm was starting the snaking glide
down his spine, and his cock was leaking with pre-come, making his hand's
path smoother and hotter. Almost there, yes Alex, so close, here it comes
baby—
The phone rang, shattering the fantasy of the moment but barely taking the
edge off Mulder's passion. He was too far gone to answer and he knew the
machine would get it anyway. The hand on his cock stroked harder and faster
while the other worked his balls and the magic spot right behind them. He
was close again... yes, that's it...
His own brief message finished and a dark smoky voice came over the machine
as clear as if he was right there in the room, "Mulder. Are you thinking
about me?"
"YES!" Mulder yelled, as his body arched off the couch and come shot up his
belly and onto chest.
As he settled down and caught his breath, he realized Krycek was still
talking, but Mulder had no idea what he was saying. He reached over,
snagged the phone, and panted, "Krycek, what the fuck do you want now? If
you're calling from my office, I'm really gonna be pissed."
"You don't have an office anymore. Big bad Jeff Spender's got it and your
old girlfriend too."
"Thank you so much for reminding me exactly how hellish my life has become
lately." He breathed deeply to calm his racing heart but Alex's scent, now
mixed with the smell of his own semen, filled his head with images that made
his heart beat even faster. A tingle of interest from his recently spent
nether regions shocked him back to reality. "What do you want Al— uh,
Krycek?"
Krycek chuckled and said wonderingly, "You almost called me Alex."
"I did not!" Mulder snapped as he sat up and pulled his clothes into some
semblance of order, as if Krycek could see him lying there half-naked
therefore gaining some advantage.
"Yeah, you did. Was that a zipper I just heard? Why Mulder! You were
thinking about me!" Krycek let loose with that soft sexy chuckle again and
Mulder knew he was nearly lost.
Great, he's also got the ears of a bat! thought Mulder but all he said
was, "If I was, it was just to wonder why you left your empty bottle on my
table."
"So you would have proof that I had been there, naturally. I thought you
might not have believed me on the phone last night."
"Me? Not believe you? I wonder why that could be," Mulder muttered
sarcastically.
"Ah, come on, Mulder, when have I ever lied to you? I mean when it was
really important."
Mulder shook his head at the sheer audacity of the man. He sighed, rubbed
his eyes, and asked once again, "What do you want, Krycek?"
Krycek laughed briefly and said, "You, you brilliant moron. Isn't it
obvious by now? Do I have to draw you a picture?"
"You—you want me? You want me? Me?" Mulder asked incredulously.
"But... but..."
Krycek's sigh curled around Mulder's heart as he said, "Why do find that so
hard to believe? Don't you think you're lovable?"
"Lovable?" squeaked Mulder. "You're drunk again aren't you?"
"Nope, stone cold sober. And don't get all bent out of shape, okay? I was
just asking a general question. I am not making a declaration here."
With a click, Krycek was gone again, and Mulder was left holding the phone
in stunned silence, until the annoying buzz of the dial tone reminded him to
hang up.
"Apparently, insanity looks a lot like my apartment," muttered Mulder as he
hung up the phone. He was still as confused as ever, but now he was also
lonely.
He raked a hand through his hair and looked around the room a little
blankly. His eyes lit on the coffee table and he nearly smiled. He picked
up the Tic Tacs, shook out a couple, and popped them in his mouth. The
burst of cinnamon made his tongue burn and tingle, but it felt good, almost
like a kiss.
He got up to go take a shower and picked up the bottle to take to the
trashcan, but, on second thought, he set it back down. It could wait, and
while it was there he didn't feel quite so lonely any more.
Scratch'n Sniff
by Amy B
Fox Mulder came home from his latest penalty assignment in the swamps of
Louisiana to find an empty Stolichnaya bottle on his newly cleaned off
coffee table. He shook his head and put his bags away, wondering at his
lack of surprise and, more importantly, lack of anger. So... Alex Krycek
had used his apartment as a rest stop last night and then called to tell him
so. That took plenty of nerve, something Krycek had never lacked.
