Krycek tilted his head slightly to use the reflection in his sunglasses as a
mirror. Mulder was still behind him, but he was moving low to the ground
apparently so Krycek wouldn't spot him. He was still another two blocks from his
car, but the streets were almost deserted in the dusk. He walked faster, but
Mulder broke into a run.
Krycek bolted as well, but to cross the street was to run to a much more crowded
area. He ducked down an alleyway instead, and got about halfway down before he
heard Mulder click the safety off.
"Freeze, Krycek!" Mulder shouted. His voice echoed against the stone walls, and
Krycek froze, putting his hand up. "On your knees!"
Mulder sounded pissed. Krycek dropped down. The ground was dry for a welcomed
change; he never thought he'd be grateful for a heat wave. He might get another
day's use out of his jeans yet. Nothing disgusted him more than having to kneel
down in slick mud.
He didn't turn around as Mulder approached him, but he bent his head as Mulder
dug his gun into the back of Krycek's neck. "Easy with that," he said.
"Give me an excuse, dickhead," Mulder growled.
"The dog ate my homework," Krycek said.
Mulder didn't have the sense of humor he used to. Krycek fell down to his hands
as Mulder pistol-whipped him, and black rings closed down over his vision as the
sudden flash of pain started a sharp headache. He coughed, trying to shake his
head, but that only made the pain worse. "You asked," Krycek snapped, annoyed,
once he managed to keep the ground from bucking underneath him.
"What are you doing here, Krycek?"
Krycek didn't answer. He tried to push himself back up to his knees, but the gun
pressed down on the base of his spine and he remained on his hands and knees.
"You were saying?" Mulder prompted, gripping onto Krycek's shoulder.
"They said there was a psychotic FBI man running around. Thought I might come
down and see," Krycek said, and the gritted his teeth as Mulder ground the gun
deeper into the soft spot behind his skull. Maybe he would have to get the jeans
cleaned after all; or someone would. "Do you really expect me to just tell you?"
"No, Krycek, I'm kind of hoping you don't," Mulder snapped.
Krycek moved his feet so that the balls of his feet were on the ground, and took
a deep breath. He hadn't been shot yet, which was always a good sign. "Who told
you I was here?" Krycek asked.
"Do you really expect me to just tell you?" Mulder repeated, digging his fingers
into his collarbone. Krycek winced, letting Mulder feel it, and in the moment
Mulder took to adjust his hold, Krycek threw himself back.
Mulder hadn't been expecting it. He moved one of his arms to put Krycek in a
sleeper hold, but Krycek grabbed onto it with his single hand and backed up. The
gun hadn't gone off yet, but he didn't realize Mulder had dropped it until he
felt it slide between their bodies. Krycek continued to back up, hoping that
they reach the wall of a building before Mulder managed to find the gun again.
They hit against the wall, hard, and Krycek tightened his grip on Mulder's arm.
The gun pressed between his shoulder blades, but Mulder couldn't reach it. He
undulated, keeping Mulder away from the gun as it slid down their bodies. Once,
maybe, Mulder had been stronger, but apparently the years of deskwork had caught
up to the man, and not even the weekend trips to the Y made them even. The gun
fell to the ground with a clank, and Krycek kicked it away.
"Give it up, Krycek, you're only delaying the inevitable," Mulder snapped. Now
that the gun was gone, Mulder grabbed Krycek's hand as he tried to keep Mulder
from strangling him. Mulder almost crushed it, and Krycek swore as Mulder yanked
it away. Suddenly, Mulder's arm was tight up against his throat. Krycek tried
to gasp as the pressure came down over his carotid artery. The black rings came
back, but it was time for him to play his trump card.
He undulated again, only this time deliberately bringing his ass up against
Mulder's cock, which was hard against the suit pants. Mulder's grip on his
throat tightened, and Krycek jolted again in response. He really hoped Mulder
wouldn't be into strangling him as Krycek jerked against his cock. The thought
stopped him, what was erotic asphyxiation if someone else was doing it? "Let
go," he managed.
"Not this time," Mulder growled.
Krycek felt sick as the grip didn't loosen, but he moved against Mulder's hard
cock again. He didn't have much more time conscious; his body was already
starting to distance himself from his hands and feet. "I'll let you...fuck me,"
he wheezed.
The grip on his throat tightened, but didn't let him go entirely. "No funny
stuff?" Mulder demanded.
Krycek would have laughed, but all that came out was a grrrrlllgkkcch from the
back of his throat. He went limp against Mulder, and Mulder lowered him down to
the ground. "Don't move," Mulder snapped.
Krycek coughed, but couldn't hold his throat and hold himself up at the same
time. His larynx felt crushed, but he shook his head. He wasn't going anywhere
soon. He coughed again, and collapsed as much as he could onto his stump and the
prosthetic so that he could rub his throat.
Mulder gripped onto the back of his neck, tight, but didn't go for the gun that
was only six feet away. Krycek looked up, but a dumpster kept them out of view
from the road. Mulder yanked down Krycek's jeans; Krycek couldn't fight without
distracting Mulder, but if he went too passive it might scare Mulder off, so he
froze and let Mulder see him tremble. He didn't want Mulder to think; it had to
be pure instinct.
Mulder prodded him, and Krycek winced. "Jacket pocket," he said.
"You on your way to a hot date, Krycek?" Mulder asked, pulling out a condom and
some lube.
Krycek bowed his head; Mulder didn't know how right he was. "Be prepared," he
said, and tensed as Mulder's fingers prodded inside him, but then forced himself
to relax.
Mulder didn't answer him, he just dropped his slacks. Krycek heard the sound of
the cloth against Mulder's thighs, and then the condom package tore. Mulder
scissored his fingers inside him, and Krycek grunted again. It wasn't to make it
easier for Krycek; Mulder was making it easier for himself, and Krycek knew the
difference.
He felt Mulder's hand on his hip, and it shook as Mulder pressed his cock against
him bluntly. There was too much lube for him to fight it, and he wouldn't have
even if he could. He just dropped down to his elbow so that he could take
Mulder's blows.
His jaw started to ache and he realized how tightly he was clenching it as Mulder
dug his fingers deeper into Krycek's hips. There was so much anger in the
thrusts; Krycek had to focus on something else to keep from responding to it.
Mulder was muttering, but the words from him were too vile. Yes, he was a whore,
a slut, and a bitch, but he didn't need to hear it.
Warm spit landed his T-shirt, and then Mulder was over him, shuddering. The
words didn't stop, but Krycek knelt there on his hands and knees and took
Mulder's hatred along with the weight.
It took a few minutes for Mulder to get off him. He pulled up his slacks, but
Krycek didn't move off his hands and knees as Mulder picked up the gun.
Krycek was too sore to do anything but look up as Mulder pointed it at him, with
the safety still off. "This never happened," Mulder snarled.
Krycek cleared his throat. "It never does," he said. Mulder had no idea how
much planning these random meetings took.
Mulder looked down at him again, contemptuously, and then stuck his gun back in
its holster and left him there.
Krycek waited until he couldn't hear the footsteps before he rolled on his belly.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trusting the dumpster to keep him out of view for a
minute longer. It was all he needed; all he ever needed.
Alleyway
by Barb G
