The phonecall had reached him at the office just the day before. He'd been alone,
working late as usual, Scully having gone out of town to visit her brother. The
moment he answered he realized that this was not going to be a routine errand.
"Doing your paper-work, Mulder? That's one thing I don't miss from my Bureau
days."
A faint chuckle in his ear. Teasing.
"Do you know who this is?"
"Yes."
Alex Krycek. No other man had a voice like that.
"What do you want?"
"Don't sound so angry, Mulder. I know you're curious. I have a proposition for
you that I'm sure you'll like. 7 p.m. tomorrow. Wingfield's Hotel in Arlington.
Room 209. Don't tell anyone. Come alone or not at all."
"Krycek, what the..."
"Patience, Mulder, patience! You'll find out when you get there. And remember—just you and me."
"Krycek!"
But the bastard had already hung up.
His first thought had been that it was a set-up. A plan to get him out of the way
or even killed. He knew only too well that Krycek was capable of that. Of far
worse. He had no reason to trust him. So why was he going? Curiosity, he told
himself. After all, he was famous for always wanting to find things out, for
always doing the strangest things to uncover the truth. This rendez-vous with
Krycek was just one more on the list of all the stupid risks he'd taken in the
last few years. Nothing special.
But deep down he knew that there was another reason, one that scared him more
than any trap that could be waiting for him. One that he didn't know how to deal
with.
There was an intensity in his relationship to Krycek that almost made him
frightened of himself. He'd never thought he was capable of the kind of anger
that that man brought out in him by just existing. Had never hated anyone with
such passion. Had never felt such an irresistible urge to hurt another person, as
he felt every time he laid eyes on that rat. He wanted to tear his lungs out with
his bare hands, hearing him scream for mercy. Blow his brains out at point-blank
range, feeling the warm blood sprinkle over his own skin. Would have, if Scully
hadn't stopped him. Had every reason to. And yet, that was far from all.
Lately, he'd been having these dreams. Rarely at first, but more frequently as
time went by. Dreams that were turning his world upside down.
He would dream of Alex Krycek. As so often in real life they would be fighting.
One on one. A desperate struggle for life or death where nothing was held back.
He'd see himself beating his enemy up, feel the impact of his knuckles on his
jaw, of his boots in the small of his back, and he'd enjoy every second of it,
revel in every gasp of pain from his lips. But sometimes—and this was more
frightening still, because the pleasure of these dreams would be more intense
than anything he'd ever known—the roles would be reversed. He would be on the
receiving end, wrestled to the ground, lying helpless with Krycek on top of him,
unable to break free, feeling the younger man's blows in his face, his hardening
grip on his wrists, experiencing excruciating pain, expecting no mercy, soaring
with bliss.
And then, as if either of these scenarios wasn't screwed up enough, the dreams
would change. They would become openly erotic, his own body meeting Krycek's not
in hatred but in desire. Lips and hands touching, exploring, arousing and
satisfying needs that in his waking hours he would never have guessed at. Needs
so shameful that when he awoke, as he always did, panting with lust and longing,
he would curse his own mind for making him feel like this.
He'd had sexual experiences with men before, though that was long ago by now. He
had turned out to be more of a ladies' man in the end, and what little sex he got
nowadays was always with women. Even so, he saw nothing to worry about in having
dreams about another man. That was okay. But Alex Krycek! The bastard had killed
his father, for God's sake! Scully's sister and probably innumerable other
people. He was a cold-blooded murderer and one of the most loathsome people to
walk the face of the earth. How could he possibly want anything from him other
than to watch him die in the gutter like the scum that he was?
And still the dream-images haunted him. Waking up on his couch in the middle of
the night he'd be so hard, so aching for relief that he had to touch himself, had
to give himself at least the shadow of what those dreams had promised. He would
try to block the images out, fantasizing instead of beautiful women, of having
them in every delightful position he could think of. But as he slid his hand
gently down his body towards the burning bulge in his shorts and began to firmly
stroke the hardness of his cock, every effort to keep the dreams out of his mind
would prove futile. As the waves of pleasure went through him with each new
stroke, making him twist and moan, he'd see no one but Krycek. That face... Those
piercing looks... That slim body moving with catlike silent ease against his
own... And as he closed his eyes, nearing the climax, pumping his erection
harder, faster, needing to come, he would see not his own hand there but Alex
Krycek's. Or Alex Krycek's mouth. Or even...
He had done his best to pretend that the dreams never happened, or that they
didn't matter. That all this had nothing to do with reality. But how could it
not, when at the height of orgasm he had even screamed his name. The name of his
father's killer.
Since the dreams began he had only seen Krycek once face to face, and then only
for a moment. But that moment had seemed endless, as if frozen in time. No words,
no violence. Just a meeting of eyes across the void between them. They'd held
each other at gun-point, knowing that the situation was a dead-lock they would
both survive. And as he'd stared into the sparkling cold of those deep green eyes
he'd felt a bolt of electricity running through his body, through his mind.
Wiping out everything but the memory of those dreams and the sound of his pulse
rushing headlong through his veins.
And then it was over. Krycek backed away and disappeared. Other people came.
Things to do, problems to deal with. But afterwards, in his apartment late at
night, he had replayed the scene over and over again, searching for a sign that
he wasn't the only one who had been struck by lightning.
Not that it made any difference whether he was or not. After all, he had no
desire to act on the crazy impulses that possessed him in those nightly visions.
He didn't want to fuck Alex Krycek! The mere thought was insane, ridiculous,
sickening. Or was it?
What if all that uncontrollable rage he felt towards Krycek was really a defence
mechanism, a trick of the mind to protect him from... what? The fact that he
secretly lusted after the man he despised more than anyone else he'd ever met?
After a man who could put a bullet through an innocent person's head without even
blinking? That was ridiculous! But still...
When he'd first got to know Krycek he'd liked and respected him. He was highly
intelligent, gifted, full of determination and courage. Certainly not without a
sharp sense of humour. And—though putting that thought into words sent
unpleasant shivers down his spine—he was a beautiful man. None of those
qualities had been lost in the years gone past. But something had been added. Or
perhaps it was always there beneath the surface. A calculating cruelty that made
him ready to do what ever it took, sacrifice anyone or anything, to assure his
own survival. He might once have been fond of the enthusiastic young FBI-agent,
but surely he couldn't be attracted to a man like that?
That wasn't true, though. He'd never felt any sexual attraction to Krycek when
they were partners. Those feelings had appeared now, in the face of everything he
knew about the other man's crimes, after all the times they'd tried to kill each
other. So... could that mean that it was somehow the cruelty itself, that cold,
relentless heart, that made him...
No, he couldn't go further with that train of thought. He didn't want Alex Krycek
and that was the end of it! Dreams didn't mean a thing! There was nothing to
worry about.
"Pull yourself together, Mulder," he said out loud, and with sheer effort of will
managed to focus his attention on the wet road in front of him. He was almost
there now, at the meeting place, where practically anything might be waiting for
him. He needed to be alert, ready to deal with whatever reality came along. He
couldn't let himself be distracted by something as absurd as what he'd just been
thinking. That would be a surefire way to get oneself killed.
"A proposition I'm sure you'll like," Krycek had said. Did he mean that, or was
it a trap or a sick joke? No way to tell. He would just have to wait and see.
Which was all the more reason not to go there at all, and certainly not to go
there alone, without telling anyone. And yet he was doing exactly that. Perfect
proof that he was as mad as everyone said. But he was curious, and Krycek's words
had been "Just you and me". He was prepared to take the risk.
Just you and me. For some reason that made his body stir in the strangest way,
caused a tingling deep inside him that was almost... And hadn't there been
something in Krycek's voice? Something... Well, there was no time to think about
that now. It was nearly seven o'clock, and there the hotel lay before him,
respectable-looking and peaceful, giving no clue to what was going on.
As he stepped out of the car and walked across the parking-lot in the rain he
looked carefully around him, but all was quiet and still. Nothing out of the
ordinary. In the lobby the receptionist was talking to a grey-haired old lady,
while a young woman sat in an armchair rocking a baby in her arms. They all
struck him as perfectly harmless, regular people. He decided not to stop and ask
questions. Instead he went directly up the stairs, taking two steps at a time but
forcing himself to move slowly, despite the nervous beating of his heart. When he
got to the second floor entrance he pulled his gun out and released the safety,
while he pushed the door open a little at a time.
The corridor was empty. Not a soul in sight. He went in, moving warily forward,
his weapon discreetly ready by his side. As he reached room 209 he looked round
again, still seeing no one. He put his hand out and felt the door. It was
unlocked. With a swift movement he threw it open, aiming his Sig at whoever was
waiting behind it. But the room was deserted. And just as his mind began to sense
the meaning of that, he heard an unmistakable metallic sound immediately behind
him.
He'd walked straight into the trap.
"Glad you could make it, Mulder. Would you mind stepping into the room for me?"
Krycek. Where the hell did he come from?
"Don't try anything. That would be very stupid, seeing that I have a 9 mm
automatic pointed at the back of your head and won't hesitate to use it."
Of course. The room on the other side of the corridor. Why hadn't he thought of
that? Too late now. He followed the order and went into the room.
"That's right. Keep going. You seem very quiet tonight. Haven't you got any smart
comments for me? Or are you too busy wondering what I'll do to you later on?"
Confident bastard.
"I was only thinking how natural it must be for a spineless rat like you to shoot
someone in the back."
"That's more like it! You can stop right there and put your gun on the table, and
then we can get down to business."
"What business are we here for, Krycek? Assuming it's not to exchange
wisecracks and insults over a cup of coffee."
"Oh, you'll see. Don't worry. It will be right in your line of taste."
Sure. Then how come he had a gun to his head and had to fight not to let his rage
and fear break down his calm exterior? He had a bad feeling about this night. A
feeling that it would change everything. As he heard the door close and lock
behind him he clenched his teeth and made ready to face whatever was coming his
way.
Alex Krycek locked the door and looked at the man standing in front of him, hands
raised over his head. Fox Mulder. He had dreamt of this moment since the day he
first met him, never daring to take the step, but now the time had come.
His heart was already racing in his breast, but he had no doubt he appeared
perfectly calm. He was used to hiding his emotions. He could sense the
uncertainty of his antagonist, though, and that was good. That was exactly the
way he wanted it to be. Untouchable, unbreakable Agent Mulder, inwardly trembling
at the thought of what he might choose to do to him.
"Take off your coat."
Mulder obeyed without protest, and with one fluent motion of his body the heavy,
silklined cashmere fell to the floor.
"Now your jacket."
"Are you sure you didn't make a mistake yesterday? Shouldn't you have called a
stripper?"
He was glad Mulder had his back turned, because he felt the corner of his mouth
twitch into a smile. Not because the joke was any good, but because it was so
typical. This dry wit always held up in defiance as a shield against a hostile
world. On another day it might have aroused his anger and made him knock Mulder
to the floor with a single blow to the nape of his neck, just to hear that little
cry of pain that couldn't be withheld. But tonight he had something better
planned. Much better.
"No, I've got the right man. Do as I say!"
The dark-blue suit-jacket came off with a reluctant shrug.
"Now I'll check you for weapons. Keep still and you won't get hurt."
He went closer, pressing the muzzle of the gun into Mulder's back to give force
to the warning. He could smell him now, feel the heat of his blood, sense the
silent rhythm of his breathing. He ran his left hand quickly over his body,
forcing himself not to dwell anywhere for more than a fraction of a second. Then
he knelt down by Mulder's ankle and swiftly removed the back-up .22 that he'd
known would be there.
"You're getting predictable, Mulder. No weapons that I didn't expect to find. No
hidden transmitters. And I know you haven't told anyone where you are. You're
simply too afraid of not finding out why I asked you here."
"You don't seem in a hurry to tell me that, though. Could we get on with this?"
"My pleasure. You may have noticed that I've let you keep your handcuffs. See
those curtains in front of you? I want you to go over there and cuff yourself to
the rod they're hanging from. And don't worry. I've done my research. There's no
way you'll be able to break free. Get going!"
He gave him a hard puff in the back with his gun and forced him forward towards
the curtains that separated the bed from the rest of the room. Then he watched
closely as he pulled the handcuffs out of his belt, locked one bracelet round his
left wrist and raised his hands to pull the chain over the iron rod that ran from
one wall to the other. It was all going surprisingly smoothly, but then Mulder
was smart enough to realize when there was nothing to do but wait till the right
moment to strike back presented itself. Then he would go for it with the speed
and exactness of an attacking cobra. He always did. That was a lesson he'd learnt
during all these years of fighting—never count Fox Mulder out.
The curtains were completely drawn apart, so there was nothing in the way, but
the rod ran high up under the ceiling so that even a man as tall as Mulder had
some slight trouble cuffing himself to it. When he'd done he turned around,
facing Krycek for the first time, standing steadily on the floor, but with his
hands raised so that his body was forced into an absolutely straight position.
Now, there was nowhere he could go.
Krycek went up to his prisoner and pulled at the handcuffs to make sure they were
properly fastened. And of course that triggered another ironic remark.
"Don't you trust me to do a good job? That really hurts my feelings, you know."
This time he didn't reply. Instead he grabbed hold of Mulder's hair and yanked
his head back with a sharp pull. The hair was soft between his fingers, still
moist and glistening with rain. He felt an impulse to pull harder and harder,
making his victim scream in agony, but he'd caused him to scream like that
before. This time he would have something different.
He looked down into his face, drinking his beauty in deep draughts, trying to
quench his thirst the way he always did every time they met. Stocking up for the
long, lonely nights when all he'd have to keep him company would be the memory of
this... perfection. He would lie there in the dark, going over every movement of
this man's body, every word from his mouth, remembering the strange, exquisite
pain of every blow received, the tearing pleasure of every blow given, slowly
letting the thoughts of those intense real life confrontations transform
themselves into fantasies almost unbearably sweet of touching and being touched,
not with hard knuckles and boot-heels, but with soft lips and searching
fingertips.
Those dreams of Mulder filled his every waking and sleeping hour, his need to
have him growing with every new encounter. But never had he expected to achieve
fulfilment. Not until that last run-in when their eyes had met and he'd seen deep
inside Mulder something that had never been there before. Something that had
triggered an explosion of fire within him and finally given him the guts to take
what he wanted.
Now, as he held the FBI-agents head in his grasp he scanned those green,
hazel-streaked eyes for it, fearing, as he had done ever since that day, that
he'd been wrong, that it had been nothing but a figment of his own imagination,
or that it had gone forever as suddenly as it had appeared. He knew how bitterly
he was hated, knew that he deserved to be, and knew that there could never be
forgiveness or reconciliation. So how could these breathtaking eyes, glittering
as if their Creator in a playful whim had seen fit to sprinkle them with gold
dust, possibly contain anything like that? But beneath the defiance, beneath the
hatred and the loathing and the need to hurt, it was there. He could see it
clearly now, he had made no mistake. There was desire. Desire for him. Veiled,
certainly, by all those other emotions, not allowed to surface. But it was there.
And tonight he would bring it out and savour it, make every inch of this
beautiful body tremble with it, ache with it, beg of him to satisfy it. Tonight
he was in control.
He let his eyes wander over the older man's face, exulting in every line. And
then, as always, his attention was caught by that mouth, that unbelievable mouth,
unlike any other. The fullness of that lower lip—as if swollen, bee-stung,
bursting to be kissed. How he longed to just run the tip of his tongue along that
curve, and then lean in and... But not yet. That was too sudden, too intimate. If
he did that now he would get nothing but bites and kicks in return. He would save
that for later, when that mouth would be ready and willing to yield, to melt into
his own with unthinking eagerness. With another seemingly insensitive tug he let
go of Mulder's hair and stepped away from him, put his gun on the table, pulled
up a chair and sat down. It was time to talk.
As he watched how Krycek sat down some five feet in front of him, straddling the
chair and leaning his arms on its back, Mulder did his best to clear his head. He
needed to think straight, get a grip on the situation, but those green eyes,
staring so intensely into his a moment ago, that hand almost pulling his hair out
with the roots, seemed to have clouded his mind completely. For a second there he
could have sworn that Krycek was going to kiss him, and he'd felt almost... No.
That belonged to those nightly dreams. Had nothing to do with reality. He had to
think about the important things. Why was he tied up? Why had Krycek sat down,
looking so relaxed? Perhaps...
"Who are we waiting for?"
The shadow of a smile flitted across the younger man's face.
"We're not waiting for anyone, Mulder. I thought I told you that. Tonight it will
be just you and me."
A real smile now. Wicked. Accompanied by a hard sparkle in those incredible eyes.
A flash of lightning reflected in an emerald.
"Just you and me."
Those words might turn out to mean almost anything, but inexplicably they seemed
to cause a fever in his veins that burnt him in a way that... No! He had to
focus, had to listen to what Krycek was saying. But his voice was so soft, filled
with undercurrents that pulled him in every direction at once. Made him want to
slap him. Made him want to...
"You see, Mulder, I've brought you here tonight to take our relationship where it
inevitably had to go."
While he was talking he dipped his hand in the back-pocket of his black jeans and
pulled out a small object. What was it?
"We've fought each other for so long now. Hated each other so passionately.
Crossed each other's plans more times than I can count. Caused each other so much
pain."
With an almost imperceptible movement he made a thin strip of shining metal
spring from the thing between his fingers. A switch-blade.
"It wouldn't surprise me, Mulder, if there was no person in your life you felt
more strongly about than me. Sometimes one's enemies come to mean more even than
one's closest friends. I, on the other hand, don't have any friends. So there is
no one who matters more than you. And sometimes, like tonight, I get so tired of
repeating the same eternal pattern. Of hurting and being hurt back. Beating and
being beaten. I want to break the circle. I want to bring about the release that
I know we've both been longing for."
The knife was swirling in his hand, catching the lamplight, reflecting it, the
blade folding in and reappearing with every delicate turn of his wrist. Mulder
just couldn't take his eyes off it. He worried about it, feared that it was the
end Krycek had reserved for him. A swift, silent death, terrifying but merciful.
The kindest use a knife, because the dead so soon grow cold. But he felt
something different, too. Fascination. No, more than that. Admiration for the
other man's skill, for the way he made the sharp edge dance between his fingers
without even appearing to know it was there. That elegant, effortless virtuosity.
The fusing of the man with the knife into one lethal being. It was so...
beautiful.
This was insane! Here he was—unarmed and handcuffed—watching his worst enemy
playing with the weapon he was in all likelihood going to use to kill him with,
and he thought it beautiful! He must be losing his mind!
"What I'm saying, Mulder, is that the time has come for us to consummate our
relationship."
That smile again. Teasing him.
"Is that a nice way of saying that you've finally had enough of me and intend to
slash my throat?"
A different smile. Softer. Somehow more unsettling.
"No. It's a nice way of saying that tonight you won't get hurt, you'll get
fucked. And yes, I do mean that literally."
Mulder's thoughts raced as he desperately tried to grasp what Krycek was saying.
Surely he couldn't mean that! There was no way in hell that he...
"You're just playing mind games, Krycek. We both know that. So cut to the chase.
Why are we here?"
Had to struggle to keep his voice steady, but that came out alright. Mustn't let
him know he was getting to him.
"This isn't a game, Mulder. I've wanted you for so long that I can't remember a
night when you weren't in my dreams. Tonight I'll make those dreams come true.
For both of us. Because I know you feel the same way. I saw it in your eyes only
a moment ago. No matter how much hate you put into those angry looks you're
sending me you can't hide the desire underneath. But don't worry—I will give
you everything you need. Everything."
At the sound of those words the unwanted images from his own dreams came flooding
into his mind. And with them a longing that seemed to fill his whole being, take
control of him. But it wasn't real! It couldn't be! He couldn't feel like this!
And besides, Krycek had to be lying. The bastard had to have something else in
mind.
"If that's the way you think things are, then why am I cuffed to a bloody railing
here, huh? And what the fuck do you need the knife for? Tell me that!"
"Well, you're just too pig-headed to let me come near you otherwise, aren't you?
Even if you do want it so bad you can taste it. If you weren't tied up you'd have
beaten me to a pulp by now for saying what I just did. And as much as I enjoy
your beatings, I think it's time we tried something else."
One last flick of the blade and in a single smooth motion he was out of the
chair, coming towards him.
"And as for this little darling..."
He looked down at the object in his hand for the first time, thoughtfully drawing
his thumb along the razor-sharp edge.
"Let's just say that I have a thing for knives."
As he raised his eyes to his victim's face again they seemed to burn with a cold
fire that was pure evil.
Suddenly Mulder was acutely aware of the helplessness of his position. He
couldn't move more than a few inches to either side of the curtain rod, and
though he could slide his hands down its length that would only bring him up
against the wall. Sure, his legs were untied—he could kick to defend himself.
But even if he managed to keep Krycek at a distance, what good would that do?
There was still no way he could break loose. And if he cried for help, what might
not that cold-blooded murderer do to whoever answered the call? He didn't want to
find out.
As Krycek approached, knife in hand, he instinctively backed away from him, his
heart pounding with fear. Then he felt the bunched up curtain behind him, and the
solid wall underneath. He was trapped. Fine. He would have to do his best right
here. Mustn't let Krycek see how upset he was. Had to seem indifferent, in
control. Force himself to speak, keep his voice in check.
"So you like knives? I should have known you'd be a sexual pervert."
The other man was close now. So close he could feel the warmth of his body, the
heat of his breath.
"I promise you, Fox, before this night is through you'll have a taste for them
too."
Before he could open his mouth to object to the use of his name he felt the cold,
sharp metal against his cheek. An electric surge went through him, made every
cell in his body alive with fear and anticipation. He was almost trembling now,
but he willed himself to stand still, while the tip of the knife slowly travelled
over his face, caressing it with featherlight touches. He closed his eyes and
swallowed hard, tried to block out the tingling in his skin, the thrill that was
spreading, spreading...
A violent tug to his throat brought him abruptly back. Krycek was holding on to
the knot of his tie, pulling him forward, almost lifting him from the floor. He
stuck the knife inside the noose and with one swift cut ripped the fabric apart,
causing Mulder to fall backwards, the handcuffs for a second digging painfully
into his wrists.
"Hey...!"
"Oh, don't be mad. That tie was a disgrace anyway. The world will be a better
place without it. It's a pity about the shirt, though."
He cut away the uppermost button on the agent's shirt, and then let the blade
gently circle the shallow pit at the base of his throat. Mulder felt his pulse
beat harder and harder against it and barely dared to breathe, fearing that the
least bit of pressure would make the sharp edge penetrate his skin. So this was
it. Krycek did mean to slash his throat after all. Then...
But just as he was making up his mind to start fighting back, the knife left his
throat. Instead he felt how all the buttons on his shirt were slowly cut off, one
by one, each falling with a light tap to the floor at his feet, the hard metal
softly touching every newly uncovered patch of skin before moving on to the next
one. He was being undressed, carefully, in the most frightening and erotic way
he'd ever experienced. And as the final button came off and the cloth was lifted
apart to bare his chest he felt his body respond, fill with a warmth that
welcomed the sharp coolness of the blade as it returned to draw complicated
patterns across his breast.
Through it all he held his eyes closed, tried to appear unmoved, silently
enduring, but with every new caress this became more difficult. When the blade
reached his nipples, gently playing with them, licking them like a deadly tongue
of dry steel, he felt his body begin to give him away, his nipples contracting
with desire, screaming for more.
And then the knife was gone, folded together with a distinctive click and put
away. He took a deep breath and dared to open his eyes.
What he saw was of course Krycek. Smiling at him, raising his hand to touch his
face.
"That's right, Fox. Look at me. You know you want to, and the things I'm gonna do
to you will certainly be worth seeing."
His fingers on his cheek now, moving down his throat, down his chest, so hot
after the coldness of the steel, feeling so good. And as if that wasn't enough to
take away every last bit of self-control he still possessed he leaned in and
gently licked the lobe of his ear, leaving a trail of burning kisses from there
all the way to his nipple. Mulder had to bite his lip to keep himself from
moaning with pleasure as Krycek's tongue worked that nipple, incessantly,
hungrily, as if he could never get enough. And his hands, sliding under the open
shirt, firmly stroking his back, driving him out of his mind.
He was growing hard now, his stiff cock straining against the front of his pants,
aching to be touched, making it impossible for him to resist... No! He couldn't
be feeling this. He was still in control. Krycek mustn't discover... This wasn't
real!
With a desperate kick he managed to push the other man away from him. But he
immediately realized that that wouldn't be enough. There was a fire burning in
those green eyes now that told him Krycek wouldn't give up. He would have his way
no matter what. With violent strength he was shoved back into the wall, pressed
up against it, held there, knowing that the rage and desire of his enemy was too
much for him to fight, that he couldn't possibly escape this. And then he saw the
anger subside and something that looked like amusement take its place.
"Is this what you were trying to hide from me?"
A hand lightly placed on his groin, sending a tidal wave of fire through his
body.
"Why do you bother, Fox, when you know that I can take care of it for you better
than anyone has ever done before? All you have to do is trust me."
"Go to hell, Krycek!"
"I'm sure I will. But not just yet, my friend. Not just yet."
He went down on his knees in front of his prisoner, with both hands holding his
hips locked against the wall, in case he'd try to break free again, his lips
kissing the sensitive skin on his stomach.
Mulder leaned back and let the kisses carry him away. They felt so wonderful, and
right now he simply didn't have the strength to make himself resist them. He just
wanted to give in, wanted to feel that warm mouth do all those things he'd dreamt
of, fill all those needs he'd tried so hard to repress. As Krycek unbuckled his
belt and unzipped his pants he tried to protest, told him to stop, but he knew
his voice lacked conviction, and he didn't even get a response. He could kick him
away again, of course, but somehow his legs wouldn't obey him. While every piece
of clothing on his lower body was removed he just stood there. Waiting, hoping,
dreading.
And then it was there. Oh God yes, it was there. Alex Krycek's tongue, gently,
teasingly licking the tip of his cock, making it harder still, making it ache
with desire. He clenched his teeth, but this time he couldn't hold back the
involuntary gasp that tore from his throat. Immediately the fire down there
disappeared and was replaced by Krycek's voice, curiously hoarse now, but cold,
cutting like a knife.
"Do you still want me to stop?"
Every atom of his being screamed no, don't stop, don't ever stop, but with an
incredible effort of will he forced himself to look down, to look Krycek steadily
in the eye and say:
"Yes!"
Those eyes—so filled with amusement, so cruel, so beautiful. All of him so
beautiful, kneeling there on the floor, his face tilted upwards, his mouth only
an inch from the begging hardness in front of him.
"Nice try, Fox. But I don't believe you."
He bent his head and with excruciating slowness trailed his tongue along the
swollen vein on the underside of Mulder's erection, making him tremble like a
leaf from head to foot. And of course the bastard had been right. It was
certainly worth seeing. It was the most mind-blowing sight he'd seen in all his
life. And as he reached the tip with one last swirl and let go, there the green
jewels were again, looking up at him, mocking him.
"I believe you like that. Don't you?"
Another swirl of the tongue, taunting him.
" Don't you?"
And this time, when those lips closed around the head of his rock-hard shaft,
sucking it, wiping out everything but that glorious feeling, he couldn't hold
back, couldn't lie anymore, couldn't keep himself from moaning:
"Yes!"
Instantly, as if it were a reward, he was sucked deeper into that soft heat,
swallowed whole, then released and drawn in again. Helplessly lost now, wanting
nothing but what that mouth was giving, he finally let himself go, let his hatred
and his rage give way to the desire and the need that grew with every new
movement of his lover's head. Breathing hard, barely able to stand upright, he
grabbed hold of the curtain rod and squeezed it till his fingers turned white. He
was so close now, so close. Couldn't take anymore. Had to come. He began bucking
his hips, thrusting himself deeper into Krycek's mouth, trying to speed things
along. But then he was held in an iron grip, forced to stand still, not allowed
to move. He was almost there, though. Almost there. He just needed...
"Alex... please... so good... feels so good... want you to take me there...
please... I'm so near...please!"
Suddenly the warmth around his cock was gone, leaving him aching for more.
"No, Alex... don't stop! Please don't! I need it so bad. Please!"
But Alex was rising from the floor now, standing beside him, a look of triumph on
his face. And then his fingers, gently stroking his cheek, calming him down.
"Shsh, it's alright. I'll give you everything you need. I promise. It's so good
to hear you beg. But I want this to last. I want it to last as long as it
possibly can. Now, I'm going to unlock the handcuffs. When I've done that I want
you to take off your shirt and go lie down on the bed, on your back, and then
handcuff yourself to it. Do you understand?"
He nodded quietly, not trusting his voice.
"And remember—I still have the knife, and I'm still prepared to use it."
As he heard the key turn in the lock some last remnant of reason told him that
this was it, this was his chance to knock Krycek down and take control of the
situation. Stop this madness. But he was too far gone for reason, unable to think
of anything but what this man would do to him on that bed. There was no need for
a knife to keep him in check. His own irresistible longing for satisfaction was
more than enough to make him do whatever Alex told him. So he stretched himself
out naked on the bed, locked his hands to the metal bars at its head and waited,
willing to submit to his enemy's every whim.
Krycek stood by the bed and watched as Mulder tied himself to it. His arms had to
be numb by now, hurting, and yet he didn't complain, didn't say a word. Perhaps
there was no need for handcuffs anymore, perhaps if he let him loose... But he
wasn't taking any chances with this. He couldn't bear the thought of Mulder
stopping him now, of not being allowed to fulfil the desire that had him so
completely in its grasp. And besides, Fox was breathtaking like this.
For a while he just stood there, admiring the loveliness of the man lying before
him. His eyelids were closed, the golden-brown lashes resting lightly on his
cheeks, his face almost peaceful. His chest was heaving rapidly, though,
revealing the tension, the longing that was tearing him apart. A thin film of
sweat covered his body, made the whiteness of his skin shimmer in the soft
lamplight, glow as if with a radiance from another world. There was no one like
him.
He stretched out his hand and ever so gently touched that velvet skin. Let his
hand slide down across the strong torso, down towards what seemed to cry out for
his attention. He could still feel the taste of that amazing hard-on in his
mouth, the sight of it now making his own erection threaten to burst through his
pants. With the lightest of caresses he stroked the length of his lover's cock,
feeling its heat under his fingertips.
He had thought that during all those years of yearning he had imagined every
possible delight that this man could give him, every possible expression of
passion. But now he knew that he had been wrong. As his fingers grazed his shaft
Mulder's body arched upwards, every single muscle contracting in a quake of
pleasure that made him strain at the handcuffs and forced a sound through his
lips that no words could hope to describe. It was a reaction of such intense
unexpected beauty that no dreams could ever have been deep enough to fathom it.
So beautiful that it actually hurt, almost brought tears to his eyes.
When the trembling subsided he saw Fox open his eyes and look at him. There was
no veil now to separate him from the desire burning in that greenness, no hatred
or loathing to keep him away. This was the moment he had waited for. He sat down
on the edge of the bed and cupped Mulder's face in his hand. As he bent down
towards him he saw those exquisite lips part to receive him, felt his head
eagerly lift from the pillow to meet him. And then, as he let his own lips
finally touch the splendour of that sensuous mouth, his lover's tongue was there
to welcome him, to lead him into a kiss beyond what any fantasy could have
envisioned, and he knew that if such a thing as paradise existed it could be no
different from this.
But he couldn't wait any longer now. He had to have it all or his sanity would
shatter like glass under the pressure of his overwhelming need. Gently breaking
away he got up and undressed himself quickly. Then, lying down beside Mulder,
savouring the feeling of his naked skin against his own, he softly kissed his way
down his body, enjoying every strange little sound elicited from his throat. With
firm hands he parted Fox's legs, marvelling at the willingness with which they
were opened for him, ardently stroking and licking the sensitive insides of his
thighs.
Seized by a sudden impulse he reached down among his clothes on the floor and
took the switch-blade out of his pocket. As he sat back on his feet and let the
knife unfold in his hand he saw a gleam of fear in Fox's eyes that gave him a
thrill unlike any he had ever known. Carefully he placed the cold
metal on his hot thigh where his lips had been only a second before, and felt a
shiver run through Mulder's body at the touch of the blade. Lightly he made it
caress him, tease him, and then, with uttermost precision, he let the sharp edge
penetrate the skin. The short scream that followed, and the thin line of blood
against that delicate whiteness, turned him wild with lust. Hungrily he leant
down and licked the wound, lapped up every last ruby-coloured drop, tasted the
life of his lover in his mouth, heard him whisper his name in a breath of
sweetest agony.
Certain now that Mulder would be with him till the end he threw away the knife
and brought out a tube of lubrication. Pulling Fox's knees up for easy access he
coated his fingers with it and gently inserted one of them in his warm opening.
He was so tight, and the movement inside him made him twist and turn from side to
side, but there was no resistance. No resistance anymore, only graceful
submission. Slowly he added another finger, drawing a gasp from the man beneath
him that warned him not to rush this, to take his time. Had to make Fox relax,
prepare him. But as he spoke, his voice muffled and hoarse with desire, he heard
something different.
"Alex... no more fingers... please... I want you... all of you... want you to
fuck me... Won't you fuck me, Alex? Please?"
This was almost too much. Fox Mulder lying there, radiant with beauty and
longing, begging to be fucked. Begging him to do it. It was too much. He wanted
it so badly himself, knew that if he didn't hurry he could come right here, just
from this. But he had to hear those words again, had to be certain they were
real, not part of his dreamworld. Provokingly, he let his fingers sink deeper
into the warmth.
"You're not ready yet, Fox."
"But I am, Alex... I am... I can't stand this anymore... need you inside me...
right now... please, Alex... take me... take me now!"
Those eyes, that pleading voice... How could he deny him anything? With trembling
fingers he lubed the hardness of his cock and guided it in, feeling the muscles
yield and then close around him, embracing him. As he buried his entire length
inside that burning heat a low moan issued from Mulder and he saw his hands
desperately clutch the bars of the bed. In this moment in time he was his,
completely and utterly, through force and free will given over into his power,
his to satisfy and enjoy, no matter what had gone before or what was to come. In
this moment they were one, and no future horrors would ever be able to take that
bliss away from him. This moment was his forever.
Over and over again he pulled almost all the way out, then thrust back in,
turning his lover's moans into cries of pleasure, rising and blending with his
own. He tried to hold on, move slowly, make it last, but it was too good, too
wonderful. As he felt his climax drawing closer he wrapped his hand round
Mulder's swollen cock and began to firmly stroke it, in perfect rhythm with the
movements of his hips. He felt Fox rise to new levels of rapture and was intent
on taking him as far as he was able to go.
He was so close now, almost there, unable to keep himself from moving faster with
each new thrust. But it was alright. He knew Fox was right there with him on the
edge. He could let himself go.
As his mind and body exploded in a blaze of red hot light he heard Mulder scream
his name in ecstasy, felt him coming in his hand, pressing against him like a
wave of heaven.
And then all was quiet. Gently he withdrew and collapsed onto his back next to
his lover. For a long time he could do nothing but lie there, catching his
breath, letting the last shivers of unadulterated bliss run through him and melt
away. Then he turned on his side and looked at Fox.
He was lying motionless, so still that if it hadn't been for his shallow
breathing he would have taken him for dead. He looked so peaceful, so perfectly
at rest, a smile on his face like that of a reclining Buddha, as if he'd seen the
uttermost secrets of the universe and knew the way to paradise. A joy rose within
Alex as he realized that he had done that, that he had transported this paranoid
man into such a state of tranquil happiness, given him this. It was more than he
would ever have dared to ask for. And then, as though he felt he was being
watched, Mulder opened his eyes and looked directly at him, and for a second,
before his eyelids dropped languidly down again, the smile broadened on his lips,
seemed to beam with gratitude, made his heart so full it started singing in his
breast.
It was time to leave. This was so beautiful, so perfect. He didn't want to be
here when Fox came to himself again and destroyed it with hatred and anger. He
slid off the bed and dressed himself quietly, put the knife in his pocket and
stuck the gun in his belt. Then he sat down on the bed and stroked his lover's
cheek one last time, looked into those eyes still clouded with pleasure.
"Tonight you were everything I ever dreamt of and more. If you should feel like
doing this again I won't be hard to persuade."
He unlocked one of Mulder's hands and fastened the bracelet round one of the
bars, then placed the keys on the nightstand, just barely within his reach.
"I'm putting the keys here so you can uncuff yourself after I am gone... Well
then, if nothing else I'm sure I'll see you around."
Reluctantly he tore himself away and walked out the door. Leaving him was harder
than he'd thought it would be. But he could do this. He had fuel now for an
eternity of loneliness, enough to keep him going even if he had to spend the rest
of his life locked in an underground silo. As he stepped out into the parking-lot
he saw that the rain had stopped falling and stars were shining down on him from
a clear sky. He smiled. Tonight he had been happy for the first time in more
years than he could remember. Whatever happened he was going to be okay.
Alone in the hotel-room Mulder got up and uncuffed himself, then sank back down
onto the bed. He held out his hands and looked at them, saw the heavy bruising
starting to form around his wrists. But he hadn't even noticed any pain, or
rather, the pain had become part of the pleasure, of the unbelievable ecstasy
that had seized him and...
What the hell had he done? How could he let this happen? It wasn't enough that
Alex Krycek had fucked him. No, he'd actually begged him to do it. Begged him.
One touch of that man's tongue and every ounce of pride and self-control had gone
out the window. He was weak. Spineless. He had even allowed himself to be cut
with a knife, for God's sake! Worse—he had enjoyed it. He was sick. Twisted. A
pervert who got his kicks being tied up and fucked by his father's murderer.
But it had been so good. So beautiful. No one had ever made him feel like that
before. When he had come in Alex's hand, his hard cock deep inside him, it was as
if he had died and gone to heaven. He had never known such a state of bliss in
all his life. The memory made him want to go after Alex, take him in his arms and
hold him there forever, lose himself again and again in his irresistible embrace.
But at the same time he wanted to hunt him down and kill him, shoot him like a
dog, wipe out once and for all the source of all this confusion, all this
madness. God, he hated him so much...
In complete exhaustion he buried his face in his hands and gave in to the tears
of desperation that were burning in his eyes, let them shake his body in
convulsion after convulsion of unbearable anguish, crying himself into a restless
sleep.
Just You and Me
by Isagel
The rain was pouring down hard on the freeway in front of him, the water on the
windscreen becoming more difficult to see through by the minute, despite the even
swooshing of the wipers. The traffic was thick and he knew he ought to keep his
concentration on the road, but there were far more pressing things racing through
his mind. Thoughts that wouldn't be put off. Thoughts about why the hell he was
doing this.
