He knew it was risky. What the fuck in his life, such as it was, wasn't
a risk anymore? But if
he could be said to trust anyone, it would be Mulder. His ex-partner.
His enemy.
His ally.
Sent him the receipts. Gave him all the pointers he needed. He had a
slight twinge at the
fact that he was, of necessity, selling out Dave and Matt and Phillip
and the rest of the men
who had saved his life. Been such excellent tools. But weighed his
own needs and his
handlers' agenda, that small betrayal was not enough to stop him. And
measured against
the hope, however faint, that Mulder would help him finally bring down
that son of a bitch
who had supposedly been his boss, the set-up was no betrayal at all.
Jerry had looked at him, in that one moment before he pulled the trigger.
Disbelief, clear in
his eyes, for a heartbeat before the bullet went into his forehead.
At that range he couldn't
miss. And Jerry had known it. But he'd had to do it. They were getting
away. He had to stop
the truck. He hadn't gone through hell to set this up and get back
to Mulder only to have a
half-baked revolutionary fundie fuck it all up. So long, Jerry. Been
fun. Bang.
Pain. Mulder's eyes, huge in a pale face under a combat helmet, that
beautiful mouth a thin
line of disbelief before drawing into a sneer of pure unadulterated
hatred. Staring up the
barrel of a high powered rifle and talking his way out of his own death.
Mulder really got off
on punching him like that. Pulling him to his feet, slapping him around,
knocking his hat off.
And Little Miss Scully sitting there so tight assed and proper, letting
him get away with it.
Just... watching. He wondered if she liked to watch. Looked like it.
Damn. He'd forgotten just how damned beautiful he was.
'Help me get him. For your father. For her sister.'
'For my life.'
In Crystal City
What the hell was it with these guys? Mulder pulling him around like
he was a life sized
Raggedy Andy, then Skinner, looking like a fucking tank, punching him
right where
Mulder had, calling him boy, telling him they weren't finished. Sheesus.
He didn't think he'd
ever get his breath back!
Punched like a goddamned tank, too.
Then left him out on the balcony! On the fucking balcony! He didn't
survive that damned
silo to freeze his nuts off on the fucking balcony.
Could use a blanket.
One wind-roughened hand clenched the collar of his jacket closer around
his throat, and
Alex Krycek did his best to ignore the cold air running up through
the iron railings pressing
into his back. He hated the cold. Always had, ever since he was a child
in his home land,
and it had only been exascerbated by his imprisonment in that goddamned
silo. His jaw
ached from clenching it to keep his teeth from chattering. His feet
were numb. His back
hurt. And he wasn't sure if he had taken the only chance he was likely
to get to ever take
his life back, or finally made the mistake that would end it all for
good.
A rustle of the blinds and the soft snick of the lock in the sliding
glass door jerked him from
the almost-doze he had dropped into. As he watched, the bulky shadow
defined itself into
his former supervisor. Skinner stepped lightly out onto the balcony,
moving silently over to
his captive and stopping to stare down at him.
"If you came to gloat," Krycek forced out through gritted teeth, "I
hope you brought a
blanket. It's fucking freezing out here."
The ex-Marine tilted his head, as if testing the air with his nose.
"No, not nearly. Must be
at least 45." He crouched down, one hand reaching out to rattle the
handcuff chain,
checking the fit.
"Making sure the leash is tight enough?" Krycek couldn't keep the sarcastic
tone from his
voice. As Skinner's other hand descended ruthlessly to circle his throat,
cutting off further
words and craning his head back at an uncomfortable angle just short
of pain, he wished he
could learn to control his tongue better.
"When I put you on a leash, boy, you'll know it." The growling menace
in the words sent a
shiver down his back that had nothing to do with the cold air. "I don't
know why Mulder
wants you alive. I don't even particularly care. If you have information
you'll give it to us,
one way or another."
Krycek's eyes widened as the older man knelt in front of him, shoving
his legs apart
roughly with his thighs, leaning forward until he could taste Skinner's
breath on his lips. "I
don't trust you, Krycek. You're a double crossing, lying, murdering
piece of shit." The hand
holding the cuff chain slid freely over the captive wrist, down the
length of extended right
arm, along the bunched shoulder muscle to curve along the right side
of Krycek's face.
"But I will tell you this. Whatever Mulder's motives are, he's going
to be listening to you,
going to be acting on things you tell him." Both hands tightened fractionally,
and Krycek
suddenly found it hard to breath. His left hand came up to tug at the
strong hands holding
his throat, but he couldn't budge the hold. With a quick movement,
Skinner's hands shifted,
the thumbs meeting under the point of his chin, forcing his face up.
"Double cross him
again, boy, and you will wish you had never been born." A hard mouth
descended, full on
his own, forcing his lips apart. There was no gentleness in the kiss,
if it could be called that,
just sheer dominance and power. His teeth parted, making way for the
tongue raping his
mouth, and he choked on the forceful entry. Dimly he was aware of a
sharp pain as Skinner
bit him, cutting into the soft flesh of his inner lower lip, then the
intruder retreated, and the
hold on his throat slackened. He drew in lungsful of cold night air,
nearly sobbing in the
effort to get his breath back, and stared silently at Skinner. Obsidian
eyes glared back at
him, anger and determination fighting with fiery lust. A broad palmed
hand swept down his
chest and curled hurtfully, tightly around his balls. "Betray him again,
Krycek, and your ass
is mine."
He managed a weak nod, which seemed to satisfy the AD. The grip was
relaxed and
Skinner stood abruptly. Krycek watched, swallowing dryly, as the glass
door closed behind
the other man. Skinner stopped once, looked over his shoulder, the
dark menace of him
imprinting itself on Krycek's mind. He couldn't hold the stare, and,
licking the blood from
his lip, he took a deep breath and stared through the bars at the street
lights seventeen
floors below. Now he knew where he stood. He'd had no idea Skinner
felt like that about
Mulder. If he had, he never would have come back. Mulder he could handle,
eventually,
with care. Skinner? No way in hell.
He settled back against the bars and closed his eyes, trying for some
rest. It was going to
be a long, cold night.
In the Car on the Way to New York City
It had been a silent, tense drive. Looking at the clock set in the dash,
Krycek sighed.
Again. Almost eleven o'clock and still nearly an hour to go before
they got... wherever the
hell they were going. Mulder hadn't been exactly forthcoming. Secure
in the shadows of the
dimly lit cabin, he let his eyes drift over the weary figure sprawled
in the driver's seat.
Mulder's eyes were squinting from fatigue, his generous mouth set in
a grim line as he
stared at the black pavement stretching out in front of the car. Deep
green eyes raked him
slowly from the fringe falling across his forehead, down the strong
profile to the broad
chest, long fingers resting tiredly on the wheel, clenching and relaxing
to a rhythm only he
could hear. The gaze swept lazily southward, over the lean torso to
the strong thighs,
splayed slightly, and came to rest on the curve at the juncture of
those thighs.
Unconsciously, Krycek's tongue crept out to moisten his dry lips. Mulder
had no idea just
how appealing he was, never had known. As he stared, resting the back
of his head against
the door window, his mind began to drift.
Early days, when he then-partner had not yet learned the extent of his
betrayal, when they
were actually beginning to gel as a team. Not for long, not nearly
long enough, but for a
tantalizingly brief time, they had seemed to be in synch. Mulder had
started to relax, call
him Alex, rely on him a little. Smile at him. Once in awhile, casually
reach out with those
long, elegant hands, and touch him on the shoulder, on the arm, on
the back. He'd been
playing with fire, he knew that, but he'd dreamed. They couldn't take
that away, because
they hadn't known about it. Just moments. Sounds, the faint scent that
was uniquely
Mulder, the sight of him in his swim trunks, the way his mouth pursed
when he was
thinking, his studious look in those glasses of his. His thoughts betrayed
him, and he shifted
to make his growing erection less constricted in his jeans.
Mulder glanced at his silent passenger. The double agent hadn't said
anything since he'd
initially asked where they were going and Mulder had told him he'd
know when they got
there. Maybe. Krycek appeared to have drifted into some sort of stupor.
Probably just as
well. At least then he kept his mouth shut.
His mind worried at the problem confronting them. What the hell was
that rock? Was it
just space junk, like Scully seemed to think? Or was Krycek actually
playing straight with
them for once in his life, actually telling the truth? Or at least
as much of the truth as they
could drag out of him. His mind flashed to the feeling of Krycek doubling
over his fist,
falling past his body, and the fierce triumph he had felt at hitting
him, the pleasure he'd
gotten from hurting the man responsible for hurting him so badly. He
hated Krycek for so
many things... Scully's abduction, his father's death... the betrayal
of his hard-given trust
and seldom- extended friendship. He sighed, unconsciously, and pursed
his lips. He didn't
like the fact that he could enjoy hurting someone, even someone like
that rat bastard, so
damned much. Pushing the troubling thought away, he focused his tired
mind on the task
ahead. Time enough for Krycek. Later. When the urgency was gone, and
he was alert
enough to sort out his tangled emotions.
The thought brought him up short. Tangled? Emotions? About Krycek? Another
flash, this
one a moment after Scully's disappearance. Krycek, handing him a cup
of coffee, staring at
him with worried, dark eyes. Alex again, handing him a towel, staring
a fraction too long at
his body as he briefed him. A touch of desire, quickly masked, and
an instinctive response
of his own. Oh. Shit. He did not want to go there. He risked a quick
glance at Krycek. A
glint showed him that he wasn't asleep, as he'd thought. He was staring.
At him. He bit his
lower lip and forced his wandering thoughts firmly to the back of his
mind. No way in hell
was he going to think about Alex Krycek and sex. Not now. Hopefully
not ever. He glared
at the road in front of him and set his jaw.
The sooner this was over, the better. Before he lost what was left of
his mind.
On the Plane to Russia
He'd had to take the cuffs off at the airport, when he realized that
Krycek was his best shot
at an interpreter. They'd had a dicey few moments getting through customs,
but his SG
source had come through. The extra papers she'd given him for emergencies
came in
handy. Not that anyone looking at them would ever believe that they
were brothers, but
still... Mulder's eyes began to close of their own volition, finally
putting an end to the
thoughts chasing themselves through his weary mind. As he felt himself
finally giving in to
his body's need for rest, he reached over the armrest and clasped Krycek's
left wrist firmly.
Slipping one end of the handcuffs over his own right wrist, he closed
the other end around
Krycek's undamaged left arm. The other man gave him a startled look,
but Mulder ignored
him and cradled the hand in his lap, firmly curving the broad palm
against his leg, pushing
the long fingers between his thighs under the cover of the light airline
blanket.
"You so much as twitch and I'll wake up," Mulder managed to growl, then
laced his fingers
tightly over Krycek's wrist and allowed his eyes to close. Within moments
he was sound
asleep.
Krycek sat perfectly still, torn between amusement, irritation, and
an arousal so strong he
nearly couldn't breathe. Leave it to Mulder to find a way to keep him
in his seat, keep him
bound, and still give himself an early warning system if Krycek did
try to get out of the
cuffs. On the other hand, Mulder was a trained psychologist, and he
did hate Krycek with a
passion, so maybe he knew just how much he, Alex, wanted to touch him
right where he was
touching him, and this was his way of tormenting him for all of the
crimes he held him
responsible for committing. The knot of purpose and counter purpose
running through his
head collided with the lust running rampant there and the resulting
confusion left him
unsure whether to laugh, curse, or do what he really wanted to do ...
turn his hand ninety
degrees and cup the cock resting so damned close to his palm. Squeezing
his eyes shut, he
gave up the fight to make sense of his conflicting thoughts, and quietly
banged the back of
his head against his headrest several times. It was going to be a fucking
long flight.
Three hours into the red-eye Krycek was awakened by a gentle weight
falling against his
shoulder. He contained his instinctive response to twist away and carefully
turned his head
to see the soft fall of brown hair blending into the dark brown of
his jacket. Mulder was
deeply asleep, lines of fatigue running under his eyes and between
his brows, pulling the
corners of his mouth down. Krycek fought the sudden, intense urge to
devour that relaxed
mouth, and realized at the same time that his fingers had relaxed during
his own nap. His
hand had slipped backward slightly and was angled into Mulder's left
thigh, cuddled up
against Mulder's crotch, curving around his testicles, lightly brushing
the length of his cock.
He took a deep breath, and smiled grimly. Talk about heaven and hell.
If Mulder woke up
now he'd probably forget where they were and beat the shit out of him.
Or want to, at least.
And if he didn't... he would sit here. For hours. And grope Mulder.
He'd had worse flights.
Four and a half hours into the flight Mulder woke with a jerk. He sucked
in a deep breath,
savoring an unexpected musky scent, and opened his eyes slowly to find
that sometime
during his nap he had slumped sideways, coming to rest against Krycek's
chest, his face
wedged into the curve where Krycek's shoulder met his neck. He smelled
good. Sleepily, he
shifted, and the hand cradling his cock shifted with him, sending a
bolt of arousal through
his system and waking him up abruptly and completely. That rat's ass
son of a—He looked
closer.
Krycek was out like a light.
Sound asleep and feeling him up. Christ. The man had the instincts of
an octopus.
Grimacing slightly at the crick in his neck, unwilling to admit even
to himself just how nice a
pillow Krycek had made, he carefully slid his hand between his erection
and Krycek's
fingers. The contact made him draw in his breath sharply, and caused
the other man to
wriggle and murmur a soft protest. Twining his fingers around his prisoner's,
Mulder pulled
the wandering hand firmly away from his crotch and settled more deeply
into his own seat.
It was going to be a fucking long flight.
In the Back of a Truck on a Siberian Road En Route to Tunguska
So far, it had gone okay. Krycek managed to find them a ride, dickering
with the driver like
a native. Now, they just had to wait. And hope the jouncing over the
uneven road wouldn't
break their necks. Or their kidneys. Not that they'd need to worry
about it, really, because
at this rate they'd freeze their asses off before they got anywhere
near Tunguska. And they
still had a hell of a long ride ahead of them.
Mulder forced his thoughts away from the depressing turn they were taking.
His own self
doubts were coming out with a vengeance. What the hell had he been
thinking? Here he
was, in Russia, heading toward God knew what, with forged documents,
to confront who
only knew what sort of a situation, with only Alex Krycek to rely on
as his translator and
back up. Alex Krycek, for god's sake. There were times when he seriously
wondered about
himself. And now they were in the back of a rattling old truck with
one burlap sack between
them and the wind whistling through the canvas and he was freezing
his ass off and he didn't
know what the hell he was heading into... He squeezed his eyes shut
and pinched his
fingertips over the bridge of his nose, hard. He had to be here. Had
to find out what was so
damned important. Had to expose the truth... or at least those parts
of the truth that were
his to find. It was the only thing to do. The only thing he could do.
His unwilling companion looked at him with some concern. Ever since
they'd debarked from
the plane, Mulder had had that strained look around his mouth, the
one that said he knew
he was doing some damned fool thing but he was going to do it anyway,
and anyone who
would stop him better get out of the way. Unfortunately, that normally
white line around his
lips had a distinct blue tinge. Coming to a decision, he grabbed the
burlap sack covering
their feet and pushed himself to his knees.
"Here," he offered, tossing the sack over Mulder's legs and abdomen.
"You're freezing."
Mulder caught the end of the sack and stared at him suspiciously. "What
about you?"
"Share." He deftly inserted himself under the sack with Mulder, slipping
an arm around his
waist when the other man made a move to create more distance between
them. "Damn it,
Mulder, get back here. I've spent too fucking long recently freezing
my balls off. I'm sick
of being cold. We've got a ways ahead of us and I am not going to
freeze the whole way
there."
Mulder stared at him for a long moment, much like a mouse stares at
a snake, then he
relaxed. "Yeah. I'm not too wild about hypothermia, either."
Neither man spoke for several minutes. They gradually warmed one another,
cold hands
curved around warm waists, thighs touching, carefully not meeting one
another's eyes. The
road grew rougher as they left the paved road and started down the
dirt and gravel track
that led into the forest. A particularly rough bump jolted them forward,
and Mulder found
himself tangled up with Krycek, his knee thrust between the younger
man's thighs, chest to
chest, with Krycek's face buried in his throat. As the jostling truck
bed settled, they lay
frozen, each very aware of the hard warmth pressing between their groins.
As the rhythmic
sway of the truck moved them, their erections pressed together, and
identical moans were
ripped from their chests.
This was not the way they had planned to keep warm.
Without conscious permission, hands began to move. Mulder pulled himself
slightly away,
and stared into eyes as dazed as his own felt. Keeping those eyes locked
with his, he
struggled with the clasp on Krycek's jeans, brushing his fingers repeatedly
over the hard
bulk of the erection beneath as he did so. Krycek's eyes widened, the
pupil expanding until
all the color he could see was a ring of pure green around a pool of
black. Then, abruptly,
the solid body was wiggling, turning, maneuvering them both until they
were lying on their
sides, and Mulder's hips were even with Krycek's mouth, as Krycek's
were to Mulder's.
Strong hands worked almost frantically at buttons and zippers, bared
flesh drawing up in
goosebumps as the cold air whisked over buttocks and thighs. Mulder
instinctively drew his
upper knee at an angle, allowing Krycek greater access, as the other
man's hot breath
played over his straining cock. A tongue lapped at the moisture already
gathering at the tip,
and he shuddered. Licking his lips to spread some of the saliva gathered
in his mouth, he
wrestled the cotton briefs away from Krycek's strong thighs and freed
the erection
imprisoned there. A small, rational part of his mind was screaming
obscenities at him, but
the overriding hunger that was the rest of his body ignored it, concentrating
on the crisp
hair, smooth skin and hot velvet over steel under his hands and mouth.
His first taste of Mulder was everything Krycek feared it would be.
Addictive. Tangy and
slick and right and addictive. He slid one hand gently behind the heavy
sac and drew it
away from the heated skin of the perineum, drawing a fingertip across
the tender skin,
revelling in the shudder that wracked Mulder's body and the tightening
on his own cock.
Then Mulder slipped his mouth over Krycek's glans, and he gave an answering
shudder.
The hand that had been teasing Mulder's sac slid further up, sliding
through the moist heat
between his ass cheeks, teasing the tight hole, dipping inside, flickering
along the thin skin.
Mulder growled deep in his throat and pushed closer, taking Krycek's
cock as far into his
throat as he could, sucking strongly. One hand forced its way down
between their bodies,
cupping Krycek's head, working him into a rhythm, fucking his mouth
fiercely.
They were so close, chest to chest, head to thigh, skin sliding and
rubbing, the fine hair on
Krycek's chest tormenting Mulder's nipples, legs curled around one
another. Their hands
met, clutched, and they lay wound around one another, Mulder's left
hand clasped in
Krycek's right, his right hand circling the base of Krycek's penis
as he sucked the head,
Krycek's left hand rolling Mulder's balls inside his sac as he swallowed
the other man's
cock as deeply into his throat as he could reach. The intensity of
the encounter set both
mens nerve endings on fire, and climax, when it hit, was explosive.
Krycek came first,
pushing strongly into Mulder's mouth, and Mulder let go of his shaft
to curve his hand
around the younger man's ass, pulling him close, the taste and force
and unexpected elation
of it pushing him into his own orgasm. Krycek clamped his lips as firmly
as he could around
the cock pumping into him, holding on to the best of his ability considering
the force of his
own climax still rocking him. As the thrashing body beside him finally
calmed, he petted and
stroked the wet flesh under his fingers. Mulder's hand, fingers cramped
from their hard
clasp, shook itself free from his, and Krycek reluctantly drew back
from the warm haven of
Mulder's groin.
Avoiding the eyes of his... what, enemy? Lover? Co-conspirator? Reluctant
ally? He didn't
know quite what to call him anymore. Krycek pulled his jeans up quickly,
stuffing his
replete cock back where it belonged, pulling himself to the opposite
side of the truck.
Across from him, he could hear Mulder doing the same. A shift, a soft
thump, and two
booted feet came to rest beside his left thigh.
Silence. So, Mulder didn't want to talk, either. Krycek licked the last
few drops of semen
from his lips and stared out the back of the truck at the Siberian
forest. Fine. If it didn't
happen, it didn't happen. If it did... he'd find out what he had to
pay for it soon enough.
In a Siberian Cell
It had all gone to hell so fast they hadn't known what had hit them.
Separate captures. Whips. Horses. Horses, for godssake. What the hell
was this? Doctor
fucking Zhivago? Gulags and experiments and Russian prisoners who gave
cryptic
warnings... in English.
He was living a nightmare.
Mulder came alert with a start when the door flew open and Krycek was
thrust inside. The
other man looked panicked, nearly ill, sweating and wild eyed as he
talked of torture and
needing to escape. Then, he cornered him, demanded to know what he
had told their
captors, what story he had given them, if he had betrayed them. An
arm to his throat,
blazing eyes staring into his own, that tensed body under his.
"Don't touch me again."
A command. A reminder. A contest of wills that he found he couldn't
win. Krycek arched his
back, thrusting his chest out, daring him to manhandle him. Daring
him to... touch him
again.
Mulder looked at him, sizing up the force behind the glare. Seeing the
taunt behind the
harsh words. Reading the arousal under the fire. He took a gasping
breath and retreated to
his own corner of the cell.
Torture? It was here, now, in this stone room with him. Under his own
skin, racing with his
own heart, crawling along his own limbs, making the tiny hair on his
neck stand up. God
damn him. He wanted Alex Krycek. Hated him, distrusted him, needed
him, and wanted
him.
Krycek saw the confusion and defiance etched in Mulder's features, and
settled into his
own corner to watch him. Was this where he paid for the stolen pleasure
he'd grabbed with
both hands in that truck? Was this when it started to really hurt?
Or would Mulder make
him wait for it, draw it out, really turn the knife in his gut? Knowing
the way Mulder's mind
worked, it would undoubtedly be prolonged. He was a master mind-fucker,
and he knew
every trick in the book for making his victims twist. Krycek's eyes
narrowed and his mouth
turned down at the corners. The real killer was that Mulder didn't
even know he was doing
it most of the time. And if he ever found out he had that kind of power
over him, Krycek
was dead. He'd have no defenses left against the man.
Not this time. Krycek lifted his head and glared at Mulder, folding
his arms over his chest
and daring him to do something, anything. He'd had enough. He'd been
slugged and cuffed
and frozen and dragged over half the world and had his mind blown by
a man who wouldn't
even admit he'd done it, much less kiss him afterward. And he'd had
enough. If anyone
was going to get them out of this it was going to be him. And Mulder
damned well better
accept it and treat him like a human instead of something he scraped
off the bottom of his
boot, or damned if he wouldn't leave the nasty tempered son of a
bitch here.
Mulder stared back at Krycek, wondering what was going through his devious
mind to
cause such a dark frown on his face. He looked like he wanted to kill
something, or
someone, and he was glaring directly at him. He swallowed. The one
reaction he really
hadn't expected to get from Krycek staring murderously at him was another
erection. Shit.
He was stuck in a gulag cell in the middle of the Siberian forest and
... and he wanted to
fuck Alex Krycek. The irony, or perhaps the insanity of it, overcame
him and he began to
snicker. The snicker grew, and he fought it, not wanting a full blown
case of hysteria on his
hands.
Krycek started at the odd sound of Mulder chuckling unrestrainedly,
and the glare
softened into a worried stare. As the chuckling grew into full laughter,
he levered himself
away from the wall and came over to check on his companion. Mulder
had wrapped his
hands around his ribs and was holding himself tightly, as if he was
afraid he'd fly apart if he
let go. Krycek bent awkwardly over the shaking form and laid a hand
on his shoulder.
"Mulder? What the hell is wrong with you?" He gripped the trembling
shoulder hard, trying
to get his attention. The hazel eyes, brimming with unshed tears, finally
met his, and the
other man shrugged.
"This." Long arms reached up and wrapped themselves forcefully around
Krycek's back,
pulling him off balance and sending him to the floor on top of Mulder.
"I told you not to touch me aga-"
The protest was stifled by Mulder's mouth closing over his. Pure shock
kept him
immobilized long enough for Mulder to hook a leg behind his knees and
roll them over,
coming to rest with Mulder pinning Krycek to the floor, pressing their
hips together, with
the agent's hands sliding down Krycek's arms to twine their fingers
together, effectively
stopping any protesting movement the younger man might have made. Not
that he would
have, by that point. Mulder's heat felt too good in the damp chill
of the cell, and if this was
the punishment Mulder would mete out to him for the way he'd jumped
him earlier... he'd
take his punishment with all the enthusiasm he could muster.
They ignited one another. Neither would give ground to the other, and
their sex was more a
battle than a sharing of bodies, with each man fighting for control
in turn. Krycek's thin tee
shirt ended up against the far wall, while Mulder's sweater and undershirt
followed close
behind. Krycek fastened teeth and tongue on the soft down around Mulder's
nipple, and
Mulder nipped and lapped at the tender skin at the base of Krycek's
throat. Boots and
jeans followed the shirts, until naked flesh pressed against naked
flesh, and the electricity
between them welded them together in a mix of sweat and musk and clenching
legs and
grasping hands. When the tangle of limbs had sorted itself out, with
low growls and harsh
groans on both sides, Krycek had Mulder on his back in the corner of
the cell, his knees
spread wide, hands clutching at slick shoulders, head thrown back.
Krycek knelt between
the splayed thighs, resting Mulder's ass against his own groin, supporting
the small of his
back with one hand while the other made its way into the cleft of Mulder's
ass, gathering
sweat along the way, gentling the thrashing hips. He worked one finger
into the tight hole,
loosening the clamped muscle, wringing a long, low moan from Mulder's
tight throat.
Feeling the entrance begin to relax, he twisted a second finger in
to join the first, looking up
to meet hazel fire as Mulder stared at him, panting, small whimpers
escaping with each
thrust of Krycek's fingers.
"Tell me." Mean, probably, to demand that Mulder admit what he wanted.
But this was not
going to be rape, and he'd be damned if he'd let his... lover? ...
get away with pretending
after ward that this hadn't happened. "Tell me what you want, Mulder."
Obstinate mouth. He had such an obstinate mouth. Krycek leaned down
and sucked at the
lower lip thrust out at him, then drew back as Mulder opened his mouth
and flicked
Krycek's lip with his tongue. Mulder made a frustrated noise, but Krycek
wasn't giving in.
"Tell me, damn you. Tell me what you want or so help me I'll stop right
now." He twisted
the fingers once more for emphasis, raking the tips across Mulder's
prostate, giving him a
taste of what he was chancing letting go. Mulder arched in response,
his already hard cock
pulsing in reaction to the caress.
"Fuck me, damn it." The hoarse whisper was hard to hear, and Krycek
leaned closer,
repeating the tormenting caress.
"What? I didn't hear you, Mulder."
"Fuck me! God damn you, Alex, fuck me! Now!!"
There was no denying that demand, especially given the near scream the
raspy voice had
managed. Krycek slipped his fingers from Mulder's body, ignoring the
keening whimper of
disappointment, and slicked pre-ejaculate from Mulder's cock as well
as his own along his
swollen shaft. Wasting no further time he shrugged Mulder's knees into
the hollows of his
shoulders and positioned himself for a smooth thrust through the tight
muscle and into the
hot passage behind it. Mulder gasped at the sudden pain, and Krycek
paused, rocking
himself into the other man's body slowly, trying to hold back and allow
time for Mulder to
adjust to the intrusion. Finally, with his teeth clenched so hard they
felt about to shatter and
his back so tense with holding himself in check he was nearly rigid,
he was all the way in.
Mulder took a deep, ragged breath, and the pain transmuted into mind
destroying pleasure
as Krycek began to move, angling his entry to press against his gland
with each stroke.
Mulder's erection, which had faded at the initial pain of penetration,
resurged with a
vengeance, and he thrust up to meet Krycek's downstrokes, his hands
falling back to the
other man's hips, pulling him in savagely, pressing hard enough to
leave bruises. Krycek
thrust one hand into the thick hair at the back of Mulder's skull,
pulling him back so that he
could look his fill, his other hand closing around Mulder's straining
cock with expert
precision, timing his milking fist with the pumping of his own cock
in Mulder's ass. The dual
stimulation drove both men quickly beyond reason. Krycek hung on with
grim
determination until he felt Mulder's cock pulse under his fingers,
then thrust all the way in,
allowing the rippling muscles clenching his cock to milk his own orgasm
from him. With a
smothered scream, he arched his back and came hard, finally collapsing
onto Mulder's
chest, blindly seeking his mouth.
Mulder's legs fell to either side of his hips, and he turned the older
man's face to his, lips
opening over that delicious mouth in a hard, deep kiss. Possession.
His. And Mulder's.
He wondered how Mulder would like St. Petersburg.
finis...
Tunguska... Missing Scenes
by Brenda Antrim
Before the Raid
