That was the only possible explanation. No other explanation could cover how
he had somehow transported from a men's room in the Hong Kong airport to a
godforsaken hole with a hulk of barnacled metal for his only company. And
nothing else would account for the nightmare of kneeling on top that hulk,
puking some sort of oil and feeling like his body was being turned inside
out without benefit of anesthesia. His eyes felt like they were on fire, and
he was covered in an oily residue that made his skin crawl. And no one was
listening to his screams.
A corner of his mind knew that he was alive. He wouldn't hurt this badly if
he was dead. He was so hungry his stomach was tied in knots, and his throat
was parched from lack of water and screaming. Sometime during the night his
bladder had released, and he could barely stand his own stench. His watch
was broken, and he had no idea how long he had been there. The light never
varied. Nothing ever moved. There was no noise. No sound, except the voices
in his own mind.
They were getting louder. And they were drowning out the little corner of
his mind that knew he was alive.
Fox Mulder stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His expression
was completely blank, but his eyes were alive with emotions he normally kept
tightly contained. He slammed the handle down on the faucet and nearly threw
his toothbrush into the holder. This case, if he could classify it as such,
was bringing up a lot of dirty linen he usually hid in the more remote parts
of his psyche.
He made his way through the darkened apartment to throw himself moodily on
the couch. Alex Krycek had been his partner for a very short time, but it
had been a busy period. He had betrayed him, spied on him, given Scully to
the bastards who would use her as a guinea pig and do God only knew what to
her. Even after the gig was up and he knew that the little rat bastard
worked for The Cancerman, he had not been free of him. Krycek had poisoned
his water, beat up his boss, killed his partner's sister and murdered his
father. He should hate him. He did hate him. He had to hate him.
He threw his head back against the softness of the cushions and remembered
other things. The fire in Krycek's eyes when he told him that he admired
him. The gentleness in his voice as he handed him coffee the morning after
Scully's disappearance. The way he had looked at him when he climbed out of
the Bureau pool and handed him a towel. His big, dark, puppy eyes and his
eager enthusiasm. It had all been a front. All of it, a lie.
It was just a little harder to convince his body than his mind. The way he
had looked in those tight jeans and that leather jacket, thrown against that
bank of phones in the airport, played again in front of unseeing eyes. The
way it had felt to hold him down with his own body, so close, belly to
belly, Krycek's thigh wrapped around his hip...
A heavy sigh escaped him as his right hand trailed slowly down his chest to
rest in his lap. As the images flowed past in the darkness behind his closed
eyelids, his fingers slipped under the waistband of his shorts and curled
around his cock, already hard, already beginning to leak from the force of
his thoughts. For just a short while, Krycek had managed to slip under some
of his iron defenses. He had almost believed. His hand moved faster, harder,
his palm pressing into the straining flesh, fingertips catching the moisture
from the head and spreading it over his heat, using it to speed his strokes.
His left hand joined his right, squeezing the sensitive head, rubbing hard
circles in counterpoint to the pulling of his right. In very little time,
his hips were thrusting off the worn cushions, jerking in time to his harsh
panting, and he threw his head back and cried aloud as he came, semen
splattering against the material of his waistband, a contained explosion.
The flashes of red and pure white behind his lids slowly faded away, and he
dragged his hands away from his now quiescent cock. He bit his lip and
squeezed his eyes as tightly closed as he could, ignoring the ache in his
chest.
Yes. He had to hate him. There was no other alternative.
He was still alive, wasn't he? He'd always considered himself a strong
person, not a tough guy, no, not really, but strong. Had to be. Didn't he?
She was sitting next to him, smiling at him, shaking her head.
"Go away! It wasn't my fault! I DIDN'T FIRE!"
Her smile didn't falter even as she faded from sight.
Damn him. Him and his fucking cigarettes. If he hadn't been smoking in the
stupid car Mulder never would have ever found out. Not until it was too
late. Not until no one else could save him. He knew all his secrets. Used
them. In the patchy darkness where the silo lights didn't quite reach, where
the shadows bent the light and the fuzziness in his eyes made the shadows
move, he saw him. Wreathed in smoke. Pale, cold eyes, staring at him.
Laughing at him. Knowing him. Playing him. Use a lie as close to the truth
as possible, and eventually it becomes indistinguishable from the truth.
He had never lied to Mulder. He simply hadn't told him the whole truth.
If he had, they would have killed the other man. And his work would have
been a failure. His life would have been a failure. They were the same,
after all, weren't they? Take care of Mulder.
He could hear his voice. Calling him Alex, in that gentle tone he so seldom
used, without the ever-present mockery, untainted by distrust, warm and
soothing as aged whiskey.
Then her voice joined the chorus. He had killed her, even if he hadn't
pulled the trigger, for hadn't that been his plan? Take Scully out of the
picture permanently? Leave the path free for... what? Aged whiskey and soft
kindness. The smoke cleared for a moment, then returned as thickly as ever.
The high, thin tones of his superior, the edge of distaste, the frigid
clarity of a dead soul in a living body. Overpowering the other voices until
they receded, guilt and the lost hope of love buried under hatred and death.
The voices rang in his mind, driving him to an escape he could not find.
Frantic to escape them, lost to his own hopelessness, he began to dig at the
loosened edge of a metal panel, clawing at the concrete crumbling under his
bleeding fingers.
He had been buried alive. Now he had company.
He hated him, but he needed him. And he knew where to find him. He just had
to do it quickly or there would be nothing left to find, and his most
promising hope of bringing the worst of the conspirators to justice would be
gone.
The preparations didn't take very long, but Mulder still chafed at the
delay. Frohicke had been his usual helpful self, handing him a printout of
the duty rotations of the special forces personnel assigned to the silo in
Black Crow, North Dakota, including focus areas of special interest where
patrols were most highly concentrated and high traffic areas. Langly gifted
him with a lovely little grey box with two switches that was guaranteed to
detect any movement or audio sensors within a two hundred foot radius, and
Byers chipped in with some of the most detailed area maps and Department of
Defense schematics Mulder had ever seen. One intense evening of planning
later, Mulder was in a Cessna two seater heading northwest to Grand Forks
and Scully was spending her precious free time between a full slate of
autopsies trying to find a way to change her email address to avoid incoming
poems heavily emphasizing roses and sapphires. The little guy just never
gave up.
Flashes of memory returned. He couldn't tell if they were real or not. As
the hours passed, he couldn't tell if anything was real or not anymore. But
a few things felt like they could be.
Mulder's voice. It was here. Screaming that Krycek was here, that he knew he
was here. The voice growing fainter. "You can't hide the truth" he thought
he heard faintly under the thunder of booted feet and the sounds of his own
retching. But the truth was hidden. Because of Him. The smoking bastard. The
one who brought him here. The one who left him here. To die.
He knew he had. The small voice that told him he was alive hadn't spoken to
him in a long time, so he knew he must be dead. Too bad, really. Mulder had
tried to help him. As he had tried to help Mulder. As he would have always
tried to help Mulder, even if it hadn't been his assignment.
In the dark, in the pain, two faces crystallized behind his eyelids. One his
ally. One his enemy. One he hated. One he loved.
He had never been one for regrets. He lived in the present, couldn't afford
not to, there were too many people trying to kill him to let his attention
wander. But he did have a few forlorn wishes. One, that he had found some
way to convince Fox Mulder that he really did admire him, when he had had
the chance. That, given a hint of encouragement, that admiration could have
been a hell of a lot more. He hurt for him. And two, that he hadn't been
able to kill the Cancerman when he had the opportunity. Now he'd never be
able to do either.
Too bad he was dead.
Flat land and cows weren't much help with hiding. Mulder drove the rental
Honda as sedately as possible, trying his best to give the impression of a
tourist meandering the back roads of North Dakota, not a one man rescue
team. His luck, and Frohicke's hacking, paid off, and he was able to avoid
patrols from Grand Forks all the way to Black Crow. He pulled into the field
behind his target silo exactly forty minutes after sundown the third day
after being forcibly removed from the scene by the Cancerman's private army.
Motion sensors had been placed every nine feet along the maze of corridors,
and audio sensors every fifteen. Langly had tried to explain the workings of
his grey box, but Mulder hadn't followed him after the first few minutes of
technobabble. He knew when to turn it on, when to turn it off, and if it was
working.
It was.
Following Byers' schematics, he took the direct route down the maintenance
catwalks until he got to the eighth level underground. Pausing to catch his
breath, he listened hard. There shouldn't be anyone here, but he could swear
he heard... scratching? And singing? Someone was singing. And not doing a
very good job of it. It sounded like an old Sting tune, sung by someone with
a very bad cold and severe asthma.
Well. That answered one question. Krycek was alive.
Completely out of it, from the sound of it, but still breathing, even if
barely. And trying to escape.
Mulder eased around the final catwalk, moving a metal access panel and
pausing, crouched in the opening, for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he
couldn't hold back the gasp.
There it was. The UFO. Barnacles encrusted the bottom of the massive, dark
shape, but it was unmistakable. Eyes caught by the sheer size of it, he
straightened and stepped into the room, not hearing the beeping of the
motion detector alarm on his belt.
Alex Krycek paused in his digging and looked up at the sound of footfalls in
his personal hell. Who else had died now? Who was joining him? He blinked,
twice, trying to bring blurry eyes into focus, and made out a tall, lanky
figure moving toward the hulk of metal as if entranced. Ah. Mulder.
Obviously, the Cancerman's thugs had killed him too, and he'd ended up here
to keep the UFO company. Although this made perfect sense to him, his body
reacted instinctively when he saw the door to his prison fly open and a
kevlar armored figure raise his rifle toward Mulder's unprotected back.
Mulder was distracted from his study of the alien craft by a scuffling
sound. He dropped his eyes and looked with horror at Krycek. His eyes were
wild, sunken into his face, and he was covered with oil and dirt. His hands
were torn and bleeding from where he had apparently been digging at the
concrete foundation with his fingers. And his lips were drawn back in a
feral snarl. Before he could make any move to calm him, the dark figure
hurled itself at him. He threw himself to the side and prepared to defend
himself, but Krycek went right past him. Rolling over and staring at the now
opened door of the chamber, Mulder watched in open-mouthed shock as Krycek
knocked an assault rifle from the hands of a guard Mulder hadn't heard
enter. In three sharp movements, Krycek had disarmed him, ripped the helmet
from the soldier's head, and broken his neck. The guard died silently.
Mulder gulped and pushed himself to his feet, watching Krycek turn, as ready
as he could be to defend himself from the madman facing him. To his complete
surprise, Krycek didn't attack. Instead, he stood, swaying slightly, with
what looked like a smile on his cracked lips. Mulder took a cautious step
forward.
"You're safe now," the other man rasped out painfully, then the smile
disappeared as his eyes rolled and he lost consciousness. Mulder caught him
before he hit the ground.
The stench was nearly overpowering, but Mulder bit down on his reflexive gag
and hefted Krycek's boneless form over his shoulder. He shuddered briefly as
he passed the guard's sprawled body. He couldn't believe how fast Krycek had
killed him. He had less than ten minutes now to get out of here before the
second guard came around and the alarm was sounded. Settling his inert
burden more securely over his shoulder, he set out at a trot.
He'd take the elevator going back.
The drive had been a sedate if nervewrackingly tense one. Less than fifteen
minutes outside of Black Crow he had seen frantic activity in the rear view
mirror, but by then he had been at the turn off to the maze of dirt roads
surrounding Stump Lake. The cabin was precisely where Frohicke had marked,
and he pulled into the lea near the cabin and turned to his passenger.
Krycek had remained unconscious for the duration of the drive.
Mulder began to take a deep breath, and broke off almost immediately with a
grimace as he caught another strong whiff of Krycek. The man needed bathing
badly. From the look of him, food would be a really good idea, too. He
sighed and made his way to the passenger door, keeping a sharp lookout for
any prying eyes in the area. It looked as abandoned as he could have hoped.
Pouring Krycek out of the seat and over his shoulder, he carried him inside
and dumped him none too gently on the carpet in front of the couch. Two more
trips emptied the car of the luggage, bags of food and supplies he had
brought along. He'd known that Krycek would be in bad shape, if he was still
alive, and had planned to hide for a day or two in the cabin, both to allow
the Consortium's manhunt to spread out a little and to give Krycek some time
to regain his strength. He'd use the time to try to work out a bargain with
the other man. Information in exchange for his life. If Krycek didn't want
to help him and Scully put the Cancerman away, then he would throw the slimy
little bastard to the wolves.
Krycek was beginning to stir as Mulder finished putting the rest of the
groceries in the pantry. He slammed the cupboard door a little harder than
necessary, wanting to alert his disoriented 'guest' to his presence. After
seeing what Krycek had done to the guard, he certainly didn't want to
startle him. Red rimmed dark eyes, long lashes encrusted with dried oil and
salt from his tears, stared mutely at him. He couldn't read the expression
they held through the fatigue. He took a long breath and crouched quietly
next to Krycek. So far, so good. He hadn't tried to break his neck and
escape. That was a good sign.
"Hi," he began quietly. He tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible,
as nonthreatening as he could make it. "You okay?" No response. Krycek
continued to stare up at him, for all the world like a wounded animal who
was too tired to chew his foot out of the trap. "You, uhm, you need a bath.
Can you stand up?"
He pursed his lower lip and studied the body lying in front of him, trying
to determine the best way to go about getting him clean. A low moan
interrupted his train of thought. Startle hazel eyes flew up to clash with
forest green, and he found himself holding his breath. Something was not
quite right here. Krycek was staring at him as if he had never seen him
before.
"Krycek?... Alex?" He tried again, very gently. Krycek's eyes closed and
for a moment an expression of pain tightened his features. Then he forced
himself to his elbows and tried to lift himself up. He only got as far as a
half sitting position before Mulder leaned forward and wrapped a strong arm
around his waist.
"I've got you. Come on, now, into the shower with you." The short walk from
the living room to the bathroom took too long for Mulder, not nearly long
enough for Krycek. Finally, the two men staggered into the small room.
Mulder propped Krycek's battered body on the toilet seat and balanced him
with one hand as he flipped the shower controls with the other.
"Can you manage it?" Blank dark eyes staring up at Mulder made him seriously
doubt it. He sighed again and leaned his charge up against the wall,
carefully balancing him so that he wouldn't slip onto the floor. As steam
began to fill the room, Mulder eyed the stall, then studied Krycek. No help
for it. He had to do it for him. Stripping quickly and efficiently, he
didn't notice the spark of interest that flamed in Krycek's eyes, bringing
life back into his features for the first time since he had rescued him.
Mulder knelt on the floor in front of Krycek, wrestling with his boots and
cursing the dried oil practically gluing the leather to the skin. Another
small moan issued from deep in Krycek's chest. Mulder ignored the sound and
tossed the ruined footwear out the door. Gritting his teeth against the
smell and the feeling of the oil beneath his hands, he reached up and rolled
the soggy sweater off the other man, tossing it into the hallway. He pulled
and tugged until the filthy jeans and shorts finally peeled away from the
muscled thighs, and they joined the other discards. Mulder ran his hands
along Krycek's sides until his palms rested under the smaller man's armpits,
then hoisted him bodily into the shower, grumbling steadily under his
breath.
Krycek couldn't understand what Mulder was saying, but he could feel the
rumble of his voice through his back as he leaned against the taller man's
chest. He hadn't realized being dead would be so much fun. He must have done
something right along the way or he never would have ended up in a steamy
room with a naked Mulder holding him up, gently running a soapy cloth over
his skin, rubbing away the pain and the weariness and the filth, making him
clean and safe. As the strong fingers began to run through his hair,
kneading shampoo into his scalp, he rested his head back against the curve
of Mulder's bare shoulder. Yes. He could stay here forever. Being dead had
its benefits.
It took three complete cycles with the washcloth and nearly an entire bar of
soap before the skin under his fingers began to feel silky again, free of
the gritty oil and accumulated filth that had coated Krycek. As the water
began to cool, Mulder found himself running his hands in slow circles over
the wiry body leaning against him. Krycek had lost weight. He could count
his ribs, his collarbone felt almost fragile, and the sharp edge of his
pelvic bone seemed near to cutting through the tender skin there. With a
start, he realized that he was practically caressing the younger man,
standing under the running water, lost in thought.
"Lost, for sure," he muttered to himself. "Losing my damned mind, is what
I'm doing." Hurriedly, he twisted the spigot off and wrapped a bath sheet
around Krycek. Grabbing another for himself, he quickly tied it around his
waist and walked Krycek into the bedroom. Drying him haphazardly, he propped
him against the headboard and turned toward the door.
"Don't move. I'm just going to get some dinner." A light snore was the only
response. He stopped and glanced at the bed. Krycek had slipped sideways to
sprawl against the pillows, sound asleep. "It can wait. You're no good to me
until you get some rest." He changed direction and made sure the windows
were nailed shut from the outside, a precaution he had pre-arranged with
Frohicke. Crossing the room and closing the door quietly behind him, he
locked it and pocketed the key. He wasn't taking any chances on Krycek
deciding to leave before he was ready.
He busied himself with the task of opening cans and warming up dinner. As he
was finishing up, he heard a slight noise from behind the bedroom door and
took a deep breath. Show time. He gathered up the soup and hot chocolate he
had laid on a tray and reached for his keys. Listening for a moment before
turning the lock, he slowly nudged the door open with his foot. Krycek was
sitting up in bed with a vague look on his face, head turning slowly from
side to side.
"Looking for something?" Mulder asked suspiciously as he crossed the room
and placed the tray on the bedside table.
"My, uhm, my pants?" Krycek sounded far away, and not quite sure of himself.
"Burned 'em," Mulder lied. "You're stuck here for now, so you might as well
enjoy it." He pointed at the food. "Eat up."
Krycek's eyes lit up at the sight of the tray, and he reached unsteadily for
the mug of soup. His fingers trembled, and he nearly knocked it to the
floor. Mulder sighed. "Here. Let me help you or you're going to end up
wearing more than you eat." Krycek subsided meekly, and Mulder cast him
another suspicious stare. He must really be wiped to be so submissive.
He settled himself along the edge of the mattress, his thigh resting against
the outside of Krycek's, and lifted the mug, placing it carefully to the
other man's mouth. Krycek lifted one shaky hand to cover Mulder's and drank
deeply, closing his eyes in apparent bliss as the liquid ran down his
throat. Mulder found himself staring, caught by the sheer sensuality of his
enjoyment. When Krycek's eyes drifted open, they locked with Mulder's, and
neither broke the glance, until Mulder pulled away suddenly, almost spilling
the soup himself.
"I think you can handle it from here," he growled, and retreated to the
armchair at the side of the bed. Krycek cradled the mug in both hands and
continued to sip, his eyes following Mulder's every movement.
"Why did you come for me?" he asked quietly. Mulder's eyes narrowed as he
considered the question.
"Because I need you," he answered honestly.
"I don't have the digital tape anymore. I... for some reason I gave it to
the Cancerman." He grimaced in disgust at his own actions, then shook his
head slightly and continued. "So, what do you need me for?"
"To testify." At Krycek's disbelieving stare, he bit his lip and carried on.
"We had Cardinale in custody. They got to him. We'd keep you in personal
protective custody and make sure you made it to the trial in one piece."
"What could they do to me?" Mulder didn't believe his ears. Surely that
innocent tone and naive question hadn't come from Krycek. He ignored it,
deciding the rogue agent was yanking his chain.
"You're the key to bringing them down. That is the only reason why I haven't
killed you outright for murdering my father."
Calm dark eyes bore into his, and Mulder read utter sincerity in them. "I
didn't kill your father."
"Then who did?" he snarled, sorely tempted to shoot the lying little
bastard.
"He killed himself."
Mulder froze. For a moment the world contracted to the sound of his
heartbeat in his ears. Images played in front of his eyes, shimmering
through the drugs he had been on at the time, but details his trained eye
had catalogued unconsciously. The placement of the entry wound. The
expression on his face. The spilled pills. The angle of trajectory that the
bullet would have had to take to come from the bath tub. The angle of the
exit wound. The burns on his skin.
Fuck.
The little shit was telling the truth.
He swallowed, hard. "Why were you there, then?" His voice was shakier than
he would have liked. Krycek didn't seem to notice.
"To protect you." He really seemed to believe it, too.
"From what?" Angry, incredulous words. "My father?"
"Yes. Keep him from hurting you, with the truth." Krycek's voice was slow
and dreamy, and he stared fixedly at Mulder. "You keep looking for it. And
it will only hurt you. Have to keep you from being hurt. Have to protect
you. Well, had to. Too late now."
"Too late for what? What do you mean, protect me from the truth?" Mulder was
completely confused. Krycek wasn't making any sense at all. He had been sent
to hobble him, to block his work, not help him.
"If you got too close they would kill you. I had to make sure they didn't
kill you. That was my assignment, keep you from the truth and keep you
alive. But I can't do that, can I? 'Cause I'm dead now, so I can't protect
you any more."
Mulder felt his jaw drop. Dead? He thought he was dead? "Mm-hm. Alex? You're
not dead." Insane, yes, but not dead. He kept the last thought to himself.
"Of course I am, Mulder. Otherwise why would you be here? Why would you be
caring for me? Feeding me? Cleaning me? Holding me?" The words grew
gradually softer until the last phrase was a bare whisper. Mulder found
himself leaning forward to hear as the tone fell, until he found himself
almost completely out of the chair, less than a foot from Krycek's intent
face. Sitting back abruptly, he scrabbled at his waistband until he found
his handcuffs. Taking the mug from Krycek's relaxed grip, he placed it
within reach on the table and firmly clipped Krycek's right wrist to the
headboard.
"Sleep tight, Krycek. See you in the morning." Maybe then you'll be back in
the land of the living, he added under his breath, and shut the door on
those dark, somber eyes.
Bedding down on the sofa, Mulder stared into the darkness for a very long
time before sleep finally claimed him. Even when he did sleep, the images
wouldn't stop tormenting him. He saw his father, Krycek, the Cancerman, Sam,
Scully, Skinner, even Melissa, calling out to him, taunting him, and
pleading with him. So many losses. So many lies.
Krycek found himself staring at the ceiling. Something wasn't quite right
here. If he was dead, why did his wrist hurt? And why did he feel so
energized? Weren't ghosts supposed to be transparent and droopy? Acting
instinctively as his mind worked on the puzzle, his left hand dug at the
edge of the tray until he had worked a section of wire loose from the
decorative trim. Bending it and wiggling it in the lock, he listened for the
click. His patience was finally rewarded by the loosening of the cuff around
his wrist, and he slipped his hand free and sat up in the bed, folding his
arms around his knees and resting his chin on his fists. Well. Looked like
he might not be dead after all. Now, what should he do about it?
His options were limited. The Cancerman had too many resources, and he had
lost his insurance when he lost control of the digital tape. He had no
money, no allies, and damned near omnipotent enemies. He stared at the door.
He could run, and they would find him, and he would be a dead man. Or he
could stay, help Mulder, and they would find him, and he would be a dead
man. Any way he looked at it, he was dead.
So he might as well enjoy it.
Carefully picking the other cuff lock, he gathered up the handcuffs and
padded, naked, to the door. The handle of the spoon worked quite well as a
lever to get the plate of the door handle pried up, and extended inward,
with a little judicious jiggling, flipped the lock handily. Easing it open,
he stepped lightly to the side of the sofa, and let his eyes roam freely
over his prey.
Mulder lay tangled in a sheet, deep in a nightmare, sweat beading his
forehead and cheeks, chewing on his full lower lip as he mumbled something
incoherent. His tee shirt was twisted from his contortions, and the material
rode up so that Krycek could see a light dusting of hair and one dark pink
nipple. He licked his lips and studied the possibilities of the couch. As he
watched, Mulder lifted his right arm and flung it over his head, as if he
was pushing something, or someone, away from him. That made it simpler.
Quietly as a cat, Krycek slipped a cuff over the relaxed wrist, then ran the
chain through the oak crossbar on the back side of the couch. Before Mulder
could wake enough to realize what was happening, Krycek grabbed his left
wrist and wrenched it upward, clasping the other cuff around it and
squeezing it shut. Mulder was well and truly caught.
He came fully awake with a low growl, lashing out with his feet and trying
to kick at Krycek. Alex stepped behind the arm of the sofa, out of range,
and pushed down firmly on Mulder's chest. He then calmly yanked the sheet
away from Mulder's legs and began to tear it into uneven strips. Wide,
frightened, angry eyes, glinting with green highlights, glared impotently at
him, upside-down to him in his secure position. When Krycek made no further
move toward him, Mulder subsided, panting heavily.
"How the fuck did you get out?" he rasped.
"Carefully," Krycek grinned down at him. "Hush now." He took one of the
strips of linen and gagged Mulder, taking care not to hurt him or restrict
his breathing. Then, dodging further frustrated kicks, he tied Mulder's
ankles loosely but firmly to the opposing crossbar. Mulder could spread his
feet almost eighteen inches apart, but couldn't turn, or kick, or escape. It
would do. Krycek stared down at his captive and took a deep breath. Maybe
being dead had its advantages. He could do whatever the hell he wanted to.
And he had wanted to do this for a very long time. Pushing the tee shirt all
the way up and over Mulder's head, he bunched it around his wrists,
cushioning them so that Mulder wouldn't hurt himself on the hard wood of the
sofa arm. Then he efficiently peeled his shorts down his legs, leaving them
gathered loosely around his feet. He stared at the long, nude form of his
erstwhile partner and felt his pulse pick up, and his throat begin to dry.
Mulder was beautiful.
He began by slowly running his hands up the length of Mulder's legs, testing
the long, lean muscles with his fingertips, lightly feathering his
fingertips over the tendons in his ankles, the curve of his calves, playing
in the hollows of his knees. Mulder was barely breathing now, staring at him
in fascinated horror. Krycek skimmed the bunched muscles of his thighs, then
dipped his caressing hands to the softness of his buttocks, a touch he'd
been hungry for since the first time he had seen Mulder in swim trunks. The
muscles tensed under his hands, the cheeks drawing in, trying to escape his
touch. He smiled, and curved his arms around the slender waist, fingertips
meeting in the small of his back. Mulder was making small, distressed sounds
through the gag, and Krycek lowered his head to the agent's stomach, kissing
the soft skin lightly. He flicked his tongue out to follow the scant trail
of hair up the center of his chest, hands coming back around to trace the
line of his ribs. His wandering lips found the raised softness of a nipple,
and he paused to lap at it, nibbling lightly, then sucking the small nub of
flesh until it had puckered into a tiny pebble under his teeth. He laughed
deep in his throat, listening to the sounds from behind the gag mutate,
soften, the muscles in Mulder's throat working to ease the sudden tension.
His hand rose to torment the other nipple as his mouth continued its upward
ascent, nipping lightly at the straining tendons at the sides of his neck,
kissing the hollow of his throat, laving it with his tongue. He could feel
Mulder's pulse, feel it accelerating, with fear or arousal he didn't know,
and at this point, didn't care. His erection was getting insistent, pushing
into Mulder's groin, and he knew he'd have to pick up the pace. He had
wanted this too long to take it with the slow care he wanted to use, but
they had all night. Mulder wasn't going anywhere, and he sure as hell wasn't
leaving.
He continued his journey, the kisses rougher now, open mouthed, more teeth,
a more frantic tongue. He pulled at Mulder's earlobe with his teeth, then
soothed the small hurt with a quick swipe of his tongue. His fingers had
found Mulder's cock, which was responding of its own accord to the sensual
stimulation of Krycek's hands and mouth. As he buried his face in the warm
curve of Mulder's neck, his right hand encircled Mulder's burgeoning
erection and began to stroke it firmly, pulling at the shaft, palming the
head. One knee slid between Mulder's legs and forced them slightly apart,
and his left hand insinuated itself between his thighs, cupping his sac and
rolling his balls lightly from side to side. He alternated manipulating the
sac with running a finger lightly over the perineum from sac to anus,
feeling the tender skin flinch involuntarily, enjoying the instinctive way
the balls crept up under his touch. Mulder quickly became erect under the
double assault, his hips arching off the soft cushions of the couch. A low
moaning was coming from him now, a mixture of denial and arousal and anger
and helplessness.
He was so close now. Dropping his other leg to the side of his captive's
hip, he laid his erection alongside Mulder's and caught both straining cocks
with his hands. Pushing the hard muscle of his thigh rhythmically into the
base of Mulder's cock, he milked their cocks together, the slick flesh
sliding, pressing against one another, balls slapping against each other,
building the pressure until his hands were a blur over their flesh. Mulder
was bucking underneath him now, as desperate as he to reach climax, writhing
under the hands driving him on, the wet, hot cock rubbing hard against him.
With a muffled scream Mulder began to convulse, and the creamy liquid
spraying over his hands was the final push Krycek needed to go over the
edge. With a long moan his own spasms joined Mulder's, and he ground his
hips into the other man's, wringing them both dry with his fists.
Krycek collapsed onto Mulder's trembling body, panting hard, his hoarse
breathing matching Mulder's own. For the first time he noticed the tracks of
tears running from the corners of Mulder's eyes, disappearing into the
ruffled hair at his temples. He leaned forward and licked at the salty
trails, ignoring Mulder's attempt to back away. Smoothing the dark,
sweat-soaked hair back from Mulder's forehead, he shifted on the couch until
he could lie comfortably, curled up against the agent's chest.
"I guess we need to talk."
A muffled grunt was his only response. Lifting his head to study the gagged
mouth, dazed eyes and overall incredulous expression, he allowed himself a
small smirk.
"Okay. I'll talk. You can listen." He began to trace idle patterns in the
soft skin under his hand, watching with interest as a trail of goosebumps
followed his fingertips. "You never knew it, but I was telling the truth. I
really did—do admire the way you work. Not the work itself, but your
methods. You're smart. Probably the smartest man I've ever heard of.
Definitely the smartest I've ever met. And you're determined. And you're ...
passionate." His voice lowered, eyes getting a faraway look in them. "What I
wouldn't have given to've been able to change that passion's focus." He
suddenly splayed his fingers wide, spanning the pectoral muscles and
pressing lightly. Mulder jerked slightly, but stayed still, the harsh
cadence of his breathing his only sound. "You are so good at finding the
truth, your precious truth, and you never had a clue." He raised himself on
the hand resting on Mulder's chest and stared hard into uncomprehending
green- flecked eyes. "You still don't." Dipping his head, he ran the tip of
his tongue over the full lower lip edging the bottom of the makeshift gag.
Drawing back to admire the sheen of moisture now coating it, he smiled down
at the other man. "I love you."
Mulder bucked, complete denial in every quivering muscle as he tried to
knock Krycek off of him. Without missing a beat, his tormentor backhanded
him, effectively stunning him and forcing him to listen to the rest of his
words. "My assignment was to keep you alive and to keep you in the dark. And
I did a damned fine job at it, too. Y'know why? Because I wanted you both
alive and in the dark. Not for their reasons... for mine." He thrust one
hand through the thick, short hair at the back of Mulder's skull and
clenched his fist, pulling his head back and forcing the weakly struggling
agent to face him. "You were my hero at the Academy. When I got this chance
I jumped at it. Hoover's history aside, the FBI isn't exactly tolerant of
gays. And I had the hots for you for months before I even met you. Then,
when I had the chance," he lowered his head and began to nibble his way
along Mulder's jaw, stopping at his ear to whisper fiercely, "at you, I
jumped for it." He licked delicately around the shell of the ear, then
dipped his tongue in. Mulder squirmed, and he drew back, blowing lightly
over the wet skin. A strangled whimper worked its way from behind the gag.
"Because I wanted you. And after watching you, studying you, working with
you, hurting with you, I found out I loved you, too."
Another muffled sound, and a slight negative shake of his head, all Krycek's
tight grip would allow.
"Oh, yeah, I did. But there wasn't a fucking thing I could do about it. Once
they get their claws in you ya might as well give it up, because you never
shake them loose. I tried. I didn't kill your father, like they wanted me
to. I held my fire when Cardinale killed Scully's sister. I even held on to
the digital tape instead of handing it over right away. So they blew up the
car I was sitting in." Mulder went completely still, staring at Krycek, an
inquiring look on his face. "I figured it out from the way the others were
acting, and the clock on the dash. Got out right before it blew and started
to run. And you wanna know why they were going to kill me?" A raised brow
answered him, and he loosened his fingers, gently combing through the hair,
settling it back in place. "Not for fucking up, not really. Not for losing
my commitment, 'cause I never had any in the first place. Not to them. But
because I'd proven that my need to protect you was stronger than my fear of
them. Hell, even in Hong Kong when the French bastards were after my
contact, I got you on the right side of the door to buy you some time before
I escaped."
He drew a deep breath and slid his other hand up behind Mulder's neck.
Slipping the knot that held the gag, he dipped his head again and caught
Mulder's mouth in an open kiss, capturing his jaw with one hand and holding
him still. Somewhat to his surprise, Mulder didn't try to bite him. He
didn't kiss him back, but he did accept the invasion of Krycek's tongue.
Alex put his soul into the kiss, trying to prove himself with the heat in
his lips and hands and body. Only when he finally needed to gasp for air did
he draw back. Panting lightly, he stared at Mulder's face, waiting for a
response, any response. The one he got made him close his eyes in
frustration.
"You are out of your fucking mind."
Krycek took a deep breath and glared at Mulder. Stubborn son of a bitch.
"First you're convinced that you're dead, then that you're some kind of
goddamned Galahad, and now you're in love with me?!" Mulder's voice had
gradually gained strength until he was practically screaming at the man
draped on top of him. Krycek winced, and sighed. He placed his fingers over
Mulder's mouth, and when the larger man tried to shake them off, he curved
his free hand around his throat. The agent heeded the implied warning and
quieted down.
"I am dead, Mulder. However this works out, I'm dead. I help you, they kill
me. I run, they kill me. No way to go that they won't kill me." His voice
softened and he traced the full lips under his hand tenderly. "So, yeah, I'm
dead. May be time-delayed, but it's gonna happen. As for the protection ...
the Cancerman wants you alive for some reason, and I haven't the faintest
what it is. But I do too, so it worked out. And yeah." He shifted slightly,
and thrust his hardening cock into Mulder's stomach, enjoying the widening
of his eyes, the expansion of his pupils, the instinctive movement of his
pelvis as Mulder reacted to his advance. "I am in love with you. And before
I unlock those cuffs, you're going to know it."
Cupping the other man's jaw with both hands, he kissed him again. Mulder
tried to keep his lips firm against the determined assault, but he was
fighting a losing battle. Krycek worked at his lips with his tongue until,
with a slight moan, Mulder gave up and accepted his entry. As he deepened
the kiss, his hands slipped from around Mulder's neck, trailing fire down
his chest, across his abdomen, to the thick curls at the apex of his thighs
and the hard flesh there. One hand held Mulder's cock steady, barely
pumping, encouraging his arousal, while the other hand concentrated on the
head, teasing at the droplet of fluid at the slit, spreading it around the
crown with his fingertips. Krycek finally broke the kiss and gave that
delicious bottom lip one more affectionate suck before slithering slowly
down Mulder's body to replace his hand with his mouth.
Mulder gasped aloud at the first contact of hot, wet mouth on his erection.
His hips thrust upward in spite of himself, and he closed his eyes at the
triumphant grin surrounding his flesh. Krycek began to pump his shaft
firmly, sucking on his cockhead with alternating soft and strong rhythm, not
so slowly driving Mulder out of his mind. When he pulled back and stilled
his hands on Mulder's flesh the agent was unable to stifle a broken plea for
him to continue. The sudden dip of the mattress on each side of his hips
caused his eyes to fly open, and he stared as Krycek, his face flushed with
want, his mouth wet with a combination of saliva and semen, knelt above him.
The compactly muscled body hovering above him sent an arrow of pure lust
running from his dry throat straight to his groin, and his cock jumped,
bouncing lightly against Krycek's ass. He didn't have long to wait.
Krycek reached behind him and grasped his erection at the base, holding him
still. Using his other hand to spread his asscheeks, he very slowly placed
the head of Mulder's cock at the tight entrance to his rectum. Mulder
watched with his heart caught in his throat as Krycek took a deep, relaxing
breath and pushed the head into his anus, throwing his head back as the
bulbous tip slipped through the ring of muscle. He froze there, allowing his
body to adapt to the invasion, and giving Mulder a chance to get used to the
new pressure on his sensitive cockhead. The silence in the room, broken
until then only by the combined harshness of their breath, was filled with a
low, grumbling moan as Krycek released the tensed muscles in his thighs and
sank fully, slowly, on Mulder's erection. Coming to rest on his bent knees,
Mulder buried to the hilt in his body, the hot soft roundness of Mulder's
sac against the stretched skin at the base of his anus, his own balls
pressed tightly into the cradle of Mulder's pelvis, his cock twitching
against the warmth of Mulder's belly, Krycek took another deep breath and
very nearly came. This was a wet dream come to life.
Bending over slowly, he brushed Mulder's open mouth with his own, then
straightened and began to rock with mind-numbing care a mere two inches up
before sinking down again, angling the entry so that the tensile muscle
rubbed insistently at his prostate with every stroke. Mulder's hands were
clenching spasmodically in the manacles that held him, his breathing coming
in gasping sobs, sweat shimmering on his skin. Krycek balanced himself with
one hand on Mulder's thigh behind him, the other creating a matching rhythm
on his own rampant erection, in concert with his rocking movements. The
combination of Mulder's vulnerability, his own control, and the incredible
sensations radiating from impaling himself on Mulder's cock were too much,
and he shuddered as he came, grinding himself in a circular motion onto
Mulder, pumping his cock hard and splattering semen across Mulder's chest.
The entrapped agent felt the hot splashes on his skin and the strong
squeezing on his cock, deep in Krycek's body. He couldn't hold it and
climaxed himself, shouting hoarsely as he felt himself milked with each
contraction.
Krycek folded slowly over, Mulder's softening cock slipping out of his ass
with a wet, soft sound. He curled his hands under Mulder's armpits, curving
his fingers into the strong shoulders, burying his face in the scented curve
of the larger man's collarbone. He sighed deeply.
"Yeah." It was a statement, but Krycek wasn't sure of what. He waited
silently, listening to the thumping heart under his cheek slowly settling
into a normal rhythm. His patience was eventually rewarded.
"I can't think of any other reason why you would do that to—with—why
you'd... oh, hell."
He couldn't hold back the grin, although he managed to stifle the chuckle
threatening to break free. "So eloquent, Mulder." He raised his head and saw
the strangest expression on the strong-boned face. It looked like a
combination of satiation, confusion, understanding, lust, and acceptance.
Not the disgust he feared, or the hatred he was used to seeing. His grin
softened into a genuine smile.
Mulder twisted uncomfortably in his bonds. "My hands are dead, Krycek. You
wanna unlock these things?"
"Are you going to run away?" Krycek asked seriously. Mulder stared back at
him equally as seriously.
"No. Despite what's, uhm, happened here," Alex watched with fascination as a
deep blush spread from Mulder's chest along his throat and washed over his
cheekbones. "I still need you and you, well, you haven't really got any
better offers." I hate you, he thought with quiet desperation. Don't I?
As Krycek opened his mouth to answer, the cumulation of months on the run,
alien inhabitation, imprisonment with no nourishment and body draining sex
caught up with him and he yawned hugely. Mulder looked taken aback for a
moment, then had to grin. "Hey, Alex, unlock me before you pass out." Krycek
nodded, eyes falling closed, and scrabbled in Mulder's jeans pocket for the
small ring. He fumbled with the key and barely waited for the snick of
unlocking metal before giving in to his fatigue.
Mulder stared at the tousled head resting on his chest and shifted on the
couch, settling the smaller man's weight more comfortably against him.
Bringing his arms down and rubbing his wrists painfully, he found himself
embracing Krycek. Shrugging internally over the bizarre circumstances in
which he found himself, he rested his arms around the warm back and nestled
his chin against the dark curls. His eyes closed as his own exhaustion
overtook him.
Krycek woke to a bright shaft of sunlight peeking through the curtains,
highlighting the peaceful features of Fox Mulder. His former and, it seemed,
future partner looked completely relaxed for the first time since he had met
him. As he lay quietly in the loose embrace, he took a deep, cleansing
breath and realized for the first time in what felt like years that he felt
truly alive. Watching Mulder through his lashes, waiting for the other man
to awaken, he knew what his next step would be. Time to quit running. Time
to fight, and time to take sides. This man's side. A feral smile curved his
lips as he thought of his, and Mulder's, enemy. It was time for justice, and
time for vengeance.
Sometimes when they buried the dead alive, the dead don't stay buried.
finis
Bury the Dead Alive
by Brenda Antrim
He was in hell.
