Guardian Angel
Angels I
by Jami Wilsen
When a human presumes to wear the cloak of the Angel of Death, a terrible
price will be exacted from them. No one is more aware of this than I am.
Believe me. I know better than anyone else can, just how terrible the price
I will have to pay will be. On Judgment Day, when I die, when I'm standing
before ... well, whoever it is who's there, I know that not just the pound
of flesh closest to my heart—although you can count on that being the
first to go—but all of it, my whole body, will be rendered as payment.
There won't be any part of me that can be salvaged; all that will be left is
a quivering spirit, naked before the judges who weigh its worth against the
pain I have caused, and the times I have blotted out the lives of numerous
other souls. Maybe. That's if I hold to the Christian belief system and
I'm not sure that I do anymore. I mean, if the Bible really had the truth
down, it wouldn't be contradicted by the presence of all these aliens. It
would seem to be the height of human arrogance to imagine that we were the
only life that 'God' in his wisdom saw fit to create in a universe as big as
the one we inhabit. But that's all beside the point.
The true horror is that it wasn't that I had no conscience, no moral center,
no soul or awareness of what I was doing: I did. Every step of the way.
And I went down that road with my eyes fully open. At first I was a fool. I
had no idea I was being used. But I have no reason to lie to myself. I
figured it out pretty quickly. I was a tool; used by evil, for evil, for
the purposes of doing evil unto others. And I knew it. I can never justify
it; I can't even rationalize it to myself in the privacy of my own mind.
But I can say that if I hadn't done the things I did, not only would I have
been discarded as easily as they picked me up and replaced by another tool
probably less aware of these issues than myself, but other victims, other
innocents, would also have suffered greatly. Far more would have died and
the few times that I managed to make a difference would never have happened.
I blame the Syndicate Elders for the deaths and the horror in my life and
also for the lives I've taken. Not to say that I didn't have choices to
make. But if I hadn't been there, no one would have been around to make a
difference on the inside. Not to mention the fact that once I got out, I
did everything I could to bring them down... And succeeded, I might add.
I'm not saying I believe that it is 'right' to sacrifice pawns, but when one
is playing the game, it becomes inevitable that one will be faced with that
choice sooner or later. The problem with people like Mulder is that they
pretend that they aren't also playing the game. They presume to wear the
cloak of Justice Herself, and judge me from their high ground, pitting their
superior 'good' and 'right' justifications against 'evil', presuming to
dispense justice against 'villains' and all the while practicing the worst
kind of dishonesty of all: self-deception. That's true hypocrisy. And
that's something they'll never admit to. I just wish Mulder would climb
down off of his soapbox and stop preaching to others. You know? Lend a
hand instead of delighting in being the fly in the ointment? It really
doesn't help the situation all that much and it gets old after the first few
times one has to sit through the angry diatribe.
The sad part about this is that it's the only way he can feel he's making a
difference. The smoking bastard knew it too, and exploited it ruthlessly.
Well, if one won't admit even to oneself that one is playing the game, one
can expect to be used. He wasn't a pawn; no, Mulder is a white knight. And
like all champions, he actually believes that it makes him somehow superior
to everyone else on the board. If only he could see, take off the blinders
and take a look around, he'd understand that maybe the black knight on the
opposite side isn't an enemy at all, but a necessary polarity to his role in
the game. A foil against getting caught up in the game and believing one's
own bullshit. Think of all we could accomplish if he worked with me rather
than against me. We'd be unstoppable. Instead we always go around the same
merry-go-round, with him flinging curses and blows every time we meet. He's
hopelessly stuck in his crusade, his quest.
Of course, I'm 'evil' for even trying to point this out, so I won't bother.
Besides, like a good little knight, he'd just charge. Enemy ahead: visor
down, weapons ready, charge! Ask questions later, in the interrogation
room. No Miranda, no Fifth Amendment—just a few choice insults and
vicious jabs interspersed with a couple of rounded punches.
So I'll keep doing the work that he sneers at. He has no idea how much of a
target he has made of himself, though. I'm certain that Mulder has a
subconscious death wish. Why else would he throw himself into the thick of
the worst situations without backup, leaving Agent Long-Suffering Scully to
ferret him out by sheer intuition and maternal instinct? Time and again he
places himself in harm's way; someday there won't be anyone to catch him
when he falls, no one to bail him out when he gets in too deep. But, I do
what I can, silently, from the wings. I doubt he has a clue as to how many
times I've saved his ass.
The way I see it, it's my token gesture of atonement for the initial
betrayal he still hates me for. That's when the enmity started. Everything
else just seemed to lead on from it—and it all went to hell from there.
Too many things I can't undo and probably wouldn't, even if I had the
choice.
Bill Mulder was just as responsible as the Smoker for all the horrors
perpetrated by the Consortium in the name of their twenty-five year plan. If
anything, I think I hated him more for his mistreatment of Fox. If I had to
choose which of them to shoot, Bill Mulder or the smoking bastard, I
couldn't. I'd have to insist that they stood together, one before the
other, so I could take them out with the same bullet.
So here I sit, on the flight from LA to DC, protecting a man from certain
death that awaits him sometime between now and the end of the journey—a
man who has not even the faintest idea of the danger he's in, and would like
nothing better than to see me dead. It's a risk, of course, but I don't
think Mulder would shoot me outright on a plane full of passengers. It's
likely that he might forget about depressurization in the heat of the moment
but as long as I avoid the airplane toilets, I'm fairly sure I'm safe.
I'm not sure who the ghoul is, shadowing my Fox, but I'm going to remove the
asshole as soon as I find out where he's located. He may already be aboard
this flight, so I'm not taking any chances. I'm also glad that Darlene is
here. She's good; I've worked with her before. But it's going to be a long
flight and so far, Mulder hasn't seen me although I know it's only a matter
of time. I'm hoping that I'll at least get another hour's worth of peace
before the dance begins, because if all goes well, I'll have to keep his
attention and stall him indefinitely right up until we land. That way we
can flush out the killer and Darlene can take him out while I keep Mulder
out of harm's way. If the killer's even on board. I just hope that the
other reason for our presence here aboard this particular flight doesn't get
compromised along the way.
Mulder looked up as the stewardess whisked open the curtain that divided
first class from everyone else slumming it in the rest of the plane. She
looked like she was getting ready to serve drinks again. He licked his
lips; his mouth felt dry and he was sure that he was getting a headache from
dehydration as well as the turbulence. It was a long haul and he wanted it
to be over now... He waited, absently looking back down at the files he
was reading, waiting for the stewardess impatiently. She finally pulled out
the trolley and started serving the first row of seats.
Mulder caught sight of someone in first class and for a moment the world
pitched and yawed horribly. He knew that face. There was no mistaking that
profile. Pinned by the rising rage and overwhelming curiosity that held him
frozen in place, his eyes burned with purpose as he watched his mortal enemy
sitting... nonchalantly sipping a Coke, for God's sake—
The stewardess broke his line of sight and he started to rise before
remembering that his seatbelt was still fastened. That the slime-bag
rat-bastard should be sitting up there in first class while he was sitting
back here, next to the anti-disciplinary mother with her two noisy,
obnoxious brats from hell, infuriated him to no end.
He asked for water and sipped it, waiting until the stewardess had passed
before getting up and moving forward. As he neared the man in the dark
business suit, in the aisle seat closest to the entrance, there was no
mistaking his identity: it was Alex Krycek. The bastard had obviously
crept on board last, trying to avoid detection. The window seat beside him
was empty. A vengeful and terrible smile of satisfaction lit Mulder's face
as he came to stand beside Krycek's seat and he leaned down, resting his
left hand on the headrest directly behind Krycek's head and the other on the
arm of the seat.
Krycek looked up, startled and a little angry at the intrusion, but as he
recognized Mulder staring down at him, he swiftly relaxed into an expression
of resigned irritation. He sighed and looked back down, away from Mulder,
before facing forward with blank indifference.
In a low, monotone voice, Mulder said, "You sneaky, miserable, goddamned
piece of shit. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you here and
now."
"Mulder," Krycek replied tiredly, "Do you really want to kill me in front of
everyone?"
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't."
"The nice people on this plane might get upset?" Krycek ventured, eyes
flicking forward to catch Darlene's gaze. She nodded once, slightly and she
came a little closer to them, pretending to be fiddling with the items on
the trolley—close enough to listen. Mulder didn't notice.
"I think once I explained to them who and what you are, they might be more
understanding. Do I need to get out my badge or are you going to go with me
quietly? It's up to you if you want to make a scene, Krycek." Mulder
wasn't bluffing.
"And why should I go anywhere with you?" Krycek smirked up at him. "Not
that I wouldn't mind spending a little quality time with you somewhere more
private, Mulder, but really—on board a plane? The Mile-High Club is
probably doing quite well without us. You might find all the toilets
occupied."
"I'm not falling for your crap this time, Krycek. And you're not getting
out of my sight either. This is one time I'm not letting you disappear
without answering some questions."
"Why?" Krycek asked, his voice giving away nothing.
"Because you always leave," Mulder said, before he could stop think about
what he was saying.
Krycek was looking at him. He seemed to stop and turn this answer over and
over in his mind.
Mulder could see Krycek thinking it through and wished he hadn't said it.
What in hell had possessed him to say it? He continued onward, hoping to
just bypass this horrible little moment altogether.
"Come on, get up. Let's go."
"You're kidding," Krycek grinned up at him. "Like I'm going anywhere with
someone who usually attacks me on sight."
Darlene chose this moment to intervene. "Sir? You are going to have to
return to your seat. This is first class. And it's obvious that the
gentleman doesn't want to speak with you. In any case, we don't need a
scene here, and I will have to ask to see some identification. If he is a
known felon, there are easier ways to deal with the situation. We can
notify the captain and crew, and alert the airport when we land."
"In which case this slippery bastard will already have found a way to get
lost. No, I'm staying up here with him. You can upgrade my ticket to first
class, if you like, but he's not leaving my sight." Mulder had taken out
his badge and shown it to her as he spoke.
Darlene glanced at Krycek, who gave her an imperceptible nod. "Very well,
sir." Her voice was stiff. "But please try not to alarm the other
passengers."
Mulder shuffled by him and sat down beside Krycek, in the seat on the other
side of him by the window. Krycek sighed. Mulder turned to regard him.
"What are you doing here?" At Krycek's pained look, Mulder added, "And if
you don't want a spectacle you can just answer me instead of playing games.
Don't make me force it out of you. You know I will, Krycek."
Krycek turned to look directly into Mulder's eyes, meeting his gaze almost
with a challenge. "I know. I'm surprised you can keep your hands off me,
this time." And before Mulder could rise to this, Krycek continued,
"There's a man tailing you. He's aboard this flight. I don't even know
which passenger he is. Believe it or not, Mulder, I'm actually here in a
protective role. Looking after your ass. And there is one other
operative on board, too. I'm not alone. So you might want to lighten up a
little."
At the ripple of anger and disbelief that crossed Mulder's face, Krycek
added, "I'm not going anywhere at fifty-thousand feet. If it makes you any
happier, we can go lock ourselves away for the rest of the flight. But I
strongly suggest that you not draw undue attention to either of us. By
approaching me so openly here, you've blown my cover. If he is here, he'll
already be watching you."
Mulder swallowed. The thought of spending the rest of the flight locked in
a cramped airplane toilet with Krycek was... disturbing on so many levels it
wasn't even funny. But the desire to get the man on his own, away from the
eyes of the rest of their fellow fliers was unbearable. He so badly wanted
to put some pointed questions to the rat-bastard. And not have to worry
about his method of persuasion, either.
"I'm not sure if I believe your story of this tail or not, but even if it's
true, it doesn't explain why you're here," Mulder stated. "It's too much of
a coincidence that you're on the same flight I am, and this tail is far too
convenient."
"Let me put it this way," Krycek replied. "What choice do you have? Without
making a scene and possibly drawing him out that way? I assure you, he's a
professional."
"Why is he following me?"
"Because of the information that he has been told is going to be passed to
you on this flight," Krycek said, immediately.
Mulder was surprised; he hadn't expected Krycek to be forthcoming. And it
practically begged the question. "What information? And who assigned him to
me? What's the hit? Have I been targeted for termination, or what?"
Krycek shrugged. "I don't know. But it's a sideline agency, dealing in
black ops affairs for one level of the government—"
Mulder interrupted him, "Which government? Ours?"
"U.S.," Krycek clarified, before continuing, "and believe me, they don't
give a damn about your FBI career or your connections with the previous
Syndicate. They'd take you out along with me just to get the information.
They know how hot it is—and that it was stolen from their files three days
ago."
"Stolen? By whom?" Mulder was almost afraid of the answer, it seemed too
easy.
Sure enough, Krycek smirked at him. "Mulder, I'm not stupid. I can't give
you the information here, for two reasons. First, he'd see that you have
it. He'd make his move sooner, seeing I'm involved. It could get nasty.
Second, I figured you'd react like this, so I'm willing to cut a deal."
"There's not going to be any deal," Mulder said forcefully, before
remembering where they were and toning his voice down. "Either you hand
over this 'information' to me right now or I will make a scene, to flush the
bastard out in the open, or to prove that you're full of shit and trying to
save your ass by feeding me a bunch of crap, as usual."
Krycek raised his brows at him and then slowly said, "Believe me, Mulder,
this information is so good, it's your Holy Grail."
Mulder moistened his lips. He was painfully aware that Krycek was probably
stringing him along again. "Start talking. If you can't give it to me now,
you can at least explain what it is."
Krycek shook his head. "I was planning on giving it to you when we landed.
All I can tell you is that it's proof-positive of extra-terrestrial life. A
body. Well, bodies. More than one. Ancient bodies discovered at an
archeological site in the Rocky Mountains, in northwest Wyoming. Near the
Rockies... Bighorn Basin. Ever been there?" At Mulder's frown, Krycek
continued, "They want this knowledge suppressed because they know that if
word gets out, the place is going to be crawling with excited press,
civilians, anthropologists—it'll be a circus. They really don't need that
kind of attention. Think about it: physical evidence of alien life here on
our planet, dating back nearly ten thousand years..."
"Why are you passing it on to me?" Mulder was suspicious of Krycek's
motives. It sounded too good to be true.
Krycek looked away, considering the silent screen before them where the film
was being projected for the benefit of the passengers with the earphones.
"This is one project that needs to be exposed, Mulder. You'll know why when
you read the file."
Slowly, Mulder said, "Fine, I'll tell you what. Let's make another deal:
you hand the information over to me now, let me read it and you can watch my
back. In return, I'll let you go when we land."
Krycek stared at him with surprise. "How generous. Why should I believe
that?"
Mulder returned his gaze evenly. "Because it's your call, Krycek. Because
until I see some proof of this hot news, I have no choice but to fall back
on what I know of you from personal experience. You're a liar and a coward
and I know you'll do anything to ensure your own safety, even at the expense
of others."
Krycek sighed. "And why should I trust you to let me go when we arrive?"
"I'll keep up my end of the deal, Alex. But only if you produce this
information. Otherwise, I'm bringing you in."
Krycek smiled slightly. "And my fellow operative? Do you really think they
wouldn't interfere?"
"They won't, because you'll explain the situation to them." Mulder regarded
him coolly. "It's up to you. You were going to give me this stuff anyway."
Krycek snorted. He seemed to consider Mulder's suggestion. Finally, he
nodded. "Okay. I'm going to get up, and go into that toilet," he
indicated the one nearest them, "and in a few minutes, come in after me."
Krycek leaned down to retrieve a slim, black briefcase from under his seat.
He unbuckled and got up, leaving Mulder to wonder how they had managed to
progress from a near in-flight tussle to him joining the
rat-bastard-traitor-son-of-a-bitch into the airplane toilets after all.
He swallowed, wondering why the idea was so fascinating. For some reason,
he was nervous, and as the seconds ticked by, he grew aware that a certain
level of sick excitement was rising within him, only to settle in his
stomach.
When he thought that enough time had elapsed, he got up and went to the
door, opening it and taking into account the need for speed, quickly
shutting the door behind him. Trying suddenly not to feel claustrophobic
about being enclosed in such a small space with Alex Krycek. Jesus.
Krycek was smiling. "You know, I don't think I've ever been in such a tight
spot with you before, Mulder."
"It'll be a lot tighter and even more uncomfortable if you don't get on with
it, Alex," Mulder replied dryly, a warning in his voice.
Krycek leaned the briefcase over the sink and opened it. The files were
visible as Mulder peered past Krycek's arm. Photographs. Black and white,
even some in color, showing skeletons... mummified remains... dwarf-like and
bizarre, almost hideous in their inhuman proportions. "Jesus," he breathed,
"they look like little people—" he stopped.
Krycek flipped through them and then turned the file so Mulder could read
the document header: Remains of Artifact #5. Krycek turned to him, Mulder
leaning back instinctively in the enclosed space, away. "There it is,
Mulder. It's all there. Now do you believe me, about the tail?"
"Yes." Mulder found himself practically drooling—his hands were itching
to grab the files and read them. Krycek closed the briefcase. "Wait,"
Mulder said, lamely.
Krycek grinned at him. "I'll let you go through it all when we go sit back
down. But I'm altering the deal. See, the way I figure it, it's not really
fair. There's no way you'd be able to do anything once we landed, in any
case. About me, I mean. So promising to let me go just doesn't cut it. I'm
already gone. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask for something else."
"What?" Mulder was ready to promise anything at this point.
Krycek's eyes glittered, a slightly feral expression coming over his face,
leaving Mulder with the feeling of being trapped. Mulder straightened, his
eyes narrowing.
But Krycek's reply left him stunned. "Considering where we are, I don't see
why we shouldn't take advantage of the situation. I'm not a member of the
club yet, and given your solitary nature, I'd bet you aren't either."
Mulder stared at him. "You're insane," he declared at last. "You're crazy,
if you think I'm—"
Krycek reached out in a lightning-swift movement and Mulder found Krycek's
hand on the back of his neck pulling them together, their lips meeting in a
mid-air collision.
Not giving him time to react, Krycek furthered it along, kissing him warmly,
sensuously, drawing it out, passionately even. Before Mulder could remember
that he really didn't, shouldn't, be wanting this to be happening,
Krycek's hand moved from Mulder's neck down along his arm and then around
him, to his back, bringing them even closer together.
Abruptly, Mulder found his limbs and his will once more, and pushed away,
leaving a mere six inches between them. It would have to do. It still
wasn't enough. Krycek's eyes were dark, his face surprised and flushed.
Mulder could only imagine what picture he presented, he didn't dare flick a
glance at the mirror beside them. He swallowed. The impression of Krycek's
lips was burning on his own. He merely stared back at Krycek, wondering why
the man didn't move. Krycek seemed to be waiting—for what?
As the moments slid between them, Krycek's face shuttered once more and he
looked almost chagrined, as if waiting for Mulder to threaten him, to go for
him.
Mulder cleared his throat. He felt a sarcastic smirk coming over him, the
perfect and only shield against the sudden vulnerability he felt at being so
close to Krycek after what had just happened.
"Last time, it was a kiss for an impassioned speech and a night's adventure
on an Air Force base. Tell me, Alex: what would I get out of you if I let
you fuck with me? Don't tell me you're so hard up for dates you have to
whore the secrets you steal?" Mulder tried to ignore the heat he felt in
his face, scarcely able to believe he was even in this situation.
Krycek said, "At least I'm not so desperate to get my hands on alien bodies
that I'd offer my ass to whoever can point me in the right direction."
Mulder felt the breath go out him. "Bastard son of a bitch—" He lurched
forward, meaning to wipe the smirk right off the rat-bastard's face—only
to find himself abruptly facing the sink, bending over the briefcase, Krycek
twisting his arm behind him with surprising speed and strength. Mulder had
to put his other arm up in that instant, bracing himself, unless he wanted
his head pushed down further. And he gasped as he felt Krycek's full length
of his body leaning into him. The telltale bulge of Krycek's arousal was
pressed tellingly against Mulder's left thigh, burning the skin of his leg
and his ass through the fabric of his pants.
"Uh-uh, Mulder, I don't think so," Krycek breathed in his ear, the husky
voice making him swallow in spite of himself and causing a shiver to lance
through him. "Play nice; we don't want to attract attention, do we?"
Mulder steeled himself. Bitterly, he said, aware of the hoarseness of his
own voice, "Come on, Alex. You were asking for it with that one."
"Yeah? You were the one wanting to make this more physical," Krycek
countered.
Mulder choked out a laugh, his arm tightening as Krycek gripped it harder,
twisting it just a little bit more behind his back. "You're the one who
kissed me, remember?"
Krycek growled behind him, in his ear, leaning over him, pressing him
against the sink. "I meant the fighting, asshole. I'd really rather leave
here without any bruises or bleeding."
His voice strained and going up in pitch as the tension and pain in his arm
grew just a little too much, Mulder bit out, "Okay, okay. All right. I
won't—I won't go for you."
The tension eased up on his arm, mercifully, but Alex didn't seem to be
moving. In fact, he seemed frozen there, practically draped over Mulder,
from behind him.
Mulder shifted. "Alex? Come on. You got your kiss; I really want to read
that file."
Waiting. Krycek's breath coming a little too short and fast in his ear.
"No, this time you have to pay for the information, Fox. This time,"
Krycek swallowed, "this time your ass is mine." He shrugged slightly;
Mulder felt the movement against him, behind him. "Otherwise, no file for
you."
Mulder licked his lips. Perfect. Forced to have sex with Alex Krycek,
fifty-thousand feet up. "Fine. No file, then. You can keep it. I'm not
for sale, not even for alien bodies." He drew a breath, trying to ignore
the brand of Alex's stiffness that was burning against his butt, the way
that Alex's thighs were tight up against his own. Not to mention the
hardness of his own cock pressed against the edge of the sink. It was very
nearly uncomfortable. If it weren't so hot...
But Alex sank slightly, sagging over him. Mulder chanced a glance up at the
mirror and saw Alex's eyes were closed, a look of resignation, even
disappointment, on his face.
Mulder couldn't hide the accompanying disappointment he felt himself from
following. And it wasn't over the file, either.
He cleared his throat. "A-Alex? This is kind of painful. Do you mind?"
Krycek stepped back, letting go of him. Mulder straightened and turned to
face him. Krycek had a weary expression now, as well as wary, his eyes a
little too haunted, too wounded and too wide. They had a pleading quality
about them that Mulder abruptly found simultaneously upsetting and inviting.
Mulder folded his arms across his chest. He tilted his head slightly to the
side, searching him with a questioning gaze. "What do you want, Alex? You
want me? We can talk about it; just don't ask me to exchange sex for
information. It's demeaning."
But Krycek was obviously trying to rally himself. He straightened before
lifting his chin higher. "And jerking off over porn in lieu of any real
relationship isn't?"
Mulder clucked his tongue, shaking his head. "That's the wrong track to
take with me. Really. I'm talking about your sordid little offer; your, ah,
'indecent proposal'. You can't buy me, Alex."
Krycek flushed, his eyes flickering. His eyes shadowed and the mask fell
back into place, adopting his customary indifference at this. "Fine. Keep
the file." He was about to say more but a sudden rattle of the door jerked
them both with an unpleasant shock, turning in unison to look at the door.
Whoever it was must have finally read the 'engaged' sign on the outside of
the door, for they were left alone. Leaving them to look back at each
other, waiting for the other's reaction.
Mulder shook his head again, leaning back against the sink, his arms still
folded. He said again, "You want me, Alex? I'm willing to talk it over.
But don't mix it up with your clandestine criminal activities."
Krycek looked slightly ill, like it was beginning to dawn on him that he'd
made a gross miscalculation. Mulder considered him; maybe Krycek had
thought that letting the momentum sweep them into it would have been enough
to get Mulder to go along with it. Mulder raised his eyebrows, waiting.
Krycek let out a breath, frustrated. "You want it too," he pointed out,
with a knowing glance down at Mulder's groin where his arousal hadn't
dissipated.
Mulder shrugged. "It happens. Doesn't mean that it means anything."
"Oh, okay. Then you won't mind if we finish what we started." Krycek
stepped forward, taking this as his cue to lean in against Mulder again, his
arm going around him once more, almost as if daring Mulder to make him stop.
Mulder allowed a sneer to cross his mouth before leaning closer, turning his
head to the side to press his mouth to Alex's. Heat, and more heat—the
sweat was suddenly trickling down his sides. Christ, whoever would have
thought that Krycek's mouth would be as sweet as he'd imagined after that
initial curve ball and the subsequent wonderings it had evoked afterwards.
He was getting lost in Alex's lips; warm, soft, perfect, far too good.
Delicious.
And the realization that Alex was sliding his hand down to unzip Mulder's
pants, reaching in to touch his hard length and free it from his boxers...
Mulder gasped, pulling back to get a breath, the sensation of Alex's hand
holding his cock leaving a wake of fire burning back up to his brain.
There was the stunned awareness of his hands moving seemingly of their own
volition to go to Alex's jeans and undo them, drawing out the other man's
cock, feeling the silky shaft and the way that it leaped in his hands as
Alex moaned against him almost desperately.
Alex sucked in a breath and savagely seized Mulder's mouth under his once
more, nibbling at him, Alex's tongue sliding between Mulder's lips to seek
out his. He had to admit that Alex's desire for him was as much a turn-on
as their circumstances.
Mulder found his awareness shifting between the sensation of their tongues
sliding against each other wetly, unbearably hot, and the groin-tugging
feeling of Alex's cock against his own as Alex shoved his hips into
Mulder's, making their cocks rub together. The action drew a whimper from
Alex's throat as their kiss continued, unbroken, even as they set up an
instinctive rhythm and then Alex was shuddering against Mulder, tremors
seizing his body.
The sudden, startling sensation of Alex's wet come spilling all over their
hands and Mulder's jolting prick sent a shaft of pure lust shooting up
Mulder's spine, all along his skin, over his whole body. And then he felt
it rise—the wave peaking all throughout him to gather in his lower gut and
surge with explosive, beautiful showers of sparks in his bloodstream and out
his cock as his orgasm hit him, pearly ribbons of his come mingling with
Alex's.
Alex was leaning against him, his face in Mulder's left shoulder, panting.
Mulder closed his eyes, breathing hard, allowing the languorous blissful
lassitude that held his body in its sway to control him. He relaxed, and
then a knocking on the door reached both their ears. Alex straightened, a
strange expression in his eyes as he looked right back at Mulder.
"Y-Yeah? What? I'll be out in a few minutes," Mulder called, grabbing up a
handful of tissues and cleaning himself up.
There was a long silence. Mulder zipped up his pants. The stewardess
called, "Sir? Are you okay? Are you feeling all right?"
"I'm fine. Nearly done." He stared back at Alex who had already cleaned up
and zipped up his own jeans.
Alex held his eyes for a little longer and then slid away. "I'm fine,
Darlene."
"Okay. Just checking, sir." She moved away.
Mulder raised his brows and then chuckled. "She's the other agent, isn't
she?"
Alex let out a breath. "Mulder, I—" he broke off.
The silence was palpable. Mulder sighed. Sardonically, he asked, "Have I
earned the file, do you think? I really do want to read it."
Alex opened his mouth, his lips parted to speak, then obviously decided to
not bother. He stepped close once more, kissing Mulder slowly, lingeringly,
repeatedly. Mulder let him, responding barely, wondering why any desire for
a physical altercation with him had fled. He didn't want to hit Alex. The
tension was gone. Alex didn't look happy though. Mulder swallowed. Hell,
did he really want to know why? "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"
Alex licked his lips. Leaned in again and kissed Mulder hard, warmly.
Drawing back, he took a breath. "Come on. Let's go. Bring the files. You
can read it up in first class."
Chewing his lips thoughtfully, Mulder waited a few moments after Alex left
and then picked up the briefcase. As he left the toilet, he bumped into a
man obviously in need of its amenities. "Excuse me," he said, absently.
Going back to sit down next to Alex, he was almost excruciatingly aware of
the proximity of the other man. The smell of him. The heat of Alex's body,
and the way Alex refused to look at him. Instead, Alex seemed preoccupied
with glancing around them, obviously scanning the passengers to see if
anyone had noticed their return.
Darlene passed them, a look of concern on her face. It cleared as Alex
looked up at her. Some unspoken signal passed between them. Mulder looked
down at the file in his lap. He tried to concentrate on the photos and the
extraordinary evidence that appeared to be for all intensive purposes 'real'
and valid. But the events of the last fifteen minutes were indelibly
grooved into his brain and he couldn't focus on anything else.
Thoughtfully, he turned to face Alex, waiting until Alex realized his eyes
were on him and returned his gaze. "Exactly how long has it been that way
for you?" Mulder asked, genuinely curious.
"About as long as it has been for you," Alex replied, a little too glibly;
especially with the way he looked away, his eyes filled with something that
Mulder found himself interpreting as regret.
Mulder lifted a brow. "Oh? And if I said that I'd felt like that since the
very beginning?"
With a tight smile, Alex said, "It wouldn't surprise me. You have an
impulse control problem where I'm concerned."
Mulder stared at him. "If you're implying that I can't keep my hands off
you, you're right. But then, you can't seem to stop kissing me, either."
At this, Alex did look back at him and met his eyes, squarely. "Do you want
me to?"
The question took Mulder off-guard. "Want you to what?"
"Stop kissing you," Alex repeated, his face unreadable now.
Mulder exhaled. "No. But it doesn't change what you are."
Alex rolled his eyes at this. "Please. Don't start on all that again. I've
memorized it already."
"Fine," Mulder replied, stiffly. "I just don't want you imagining that it
somehow cancels out the past. Just because we shared a male bonding
moment."
"Is that what that was?" Alex said, sarcastically.
Mulder smiled slightly. "It was for me. Why? What was it for you? Was it
particularly significant? What, you're gonna tell me you'd been waiting for
that for years, Alex? Hell, if it meant that much to you, why'd you wait so
long?"
Another stewardess came close, smiling brightly and offering food,
effectively stopping Alex from making any kind of reply to that. It left a
feeling of unfinished business between them though, and Mulder felt cheated
out of getting a response from him. It was one time where he wished he
hadn't had the last word.
Especially as Alex refused to answer even as she moved away and they ate
their respective dinners. As airplane fare went, it wasn't bad, but Mulder
found himself wishing too that they were on the ground. When he tried to
analyze why, he found himself coming to the startling conclusion that
maybe Alex's presence meant more to him than he realized, also. It wasn't
just that he wanted to get answers out of him; he wanted to continue the
mental parry and counterthrust with him. To get the truth out of him, by
whatever means. And not just the 'truth'... The truth of why Alex kept
initiating these sexual interludes. When had things changed? One
encounter, they were... In Siberia. The next, Krycek was leaning over him
in the dark kissing him on the cheek. And Alex without an arm... Jesus. He
felt a twinge of regret and even a little guilt at that. Then he remembered
his father.
Mulder swiftly felt sick at the realization that Alex could be playing him
along, stringing him down a well-tread path of seduction and mind-fuckery.
He tried to focus on the files.
If Alex was tired of talking with him, fine. Mulder had his information and
it certainly was intriguing. But as an hour passed, and then another, and
he knew they must nearing the final hour before they landed, he turned to
Alex once more, breaking the tacit silence.
"So, Alex, who appointed you my guardian angel?"
Alex looked up at him, surprised. "What?"
"You said you were here on this flight to look after me, make sure that the
assassin didn't get to me," Mulder elaborated.
Alex shrugged. "I kind of figured it was part of the plan, seeing as I was
bringing you the information, anyway."
"That's—not quite what I meant. Why are you looking after me? Have you
done this before? Without my knowledge, I mean?"
Alex looked away, down before him. "Sometimes."
"Why?" pressed Mulder.
Alex looked up at him. "Why do you think?" But he refused to say any more.
Even when Mulder said, "I think you can't leave me alone."
Alex didn't answer.
Mulder sighed. "So what happens when we land?"
"You get off. We follow. Don't bother trying to look for us. We'll watch
your back." Alex sounded curt. He obviously considered their conversation
ended.
Sure enough, the announcement that they were going to be landing imminently
effectively broke the mood that had settled over them. A new tension
mounted.
Mulder waited until the end however, after they had landed, and were
cruising in to taxi along the runway, to lean over to Alex and say quietly,
"It meant as much to me as it did to you." He hoped that would draw out
some kind of response. Maybe even a slight confession, however ambiguous.
Alex flicked a gaze at him, but didn't say anything. But the hope in his
eyes made him seem younger and a little less dangerous somehow. It was
enough to be incriminating. Mulder drew the only conclusion left to him:
Alex had been wanting him for some time, indeed. Probably from the first.
He'd suspected so, even through the ridiculous puppy-dog act in the
beginning.
And then the 'ding' went, over their heads, along with the seatbelt sign
flicking off, and people were standing up. Darlene came to stand next to
Alex and whispered something to him. Alex turned to Mulder. "You'd better
get off as soon as possible. You'll want to be one of the first to
disembark. Keep your eyes out."
Mulder nodded. And then he was retreating to pick up his carry-on bag, back
to the aisle where he'd been seated when they first left. He tried to catch
a glimpse of Alex as he left but both he and Darlene seemed to have
disappeared completely.
He left the plane uneventfully, trying to ignore the disappointment he felt
now that the encounter was over. He couldn't help wondering if the story
about his 'tail' hadn't been a ruse after all. And tried to dispel the
disappointment instead with the looming anticipation of verifying the files
in the briefcase that Krycek had given him.
On the drive back home, however, he couldn't stop replaying the memory of
those kisses, the last few kisses Alex had given him, over and over his
mind. He hadn't imagined it; Alex had been a little too sincere. And to
his supreme discomfort, his dreams were filled with them all too vividly for
nights afterward. Even over the memory of Alex pressed up against him,
coming on him, with him, which served for excellent jerk-off material in
spite of his attempts to not think about it.
When word came back that the information Alex had given him was good, and
indeed too hot to ignore, he thoughtfully began to compose a strategy of how
to behave the next time their paths crossed. He wasn't even worried that
they would; he knew Alex wouldn't be able to stay away.
Train of Thought
