The knock came again and he called out absently, "I'm busy!"
Again with the knocking! Damn it. "Who is it?"
There was a silence and then an all-to-familiar voice called back, muffled
through the door, "Krycek." There was an obvious pause as he waited to see
if Mulder would react. When there was no reply, he continued, "I need to
talk to you, Mulder."
Damn it. "Not right now. Can't it wait? I'm kind of busy, here," he called
back, scrolling down intently.
Now this particular file was very interesting indeed. He had half a mind
to download it and forward it to Frohike and see what the guys would make of
it... Multi-tasking all these windows was crowding his taskbar and he was
worried that his browser would crash before he'd finished perusing the
files. It was a secure area he'd accessed and he was worried about losing
the connection before he finished sifting through its contents. It had been
happening more frequently of late; just when he had something really good,
Explorer would crash and he'd have to go through sometimes tortuous
processes to get back in. And god alone knew when and if he'd ever get back
into this particular NSA database again. He couldn't bookmark this stuff,
they'd be onto him if he did.
There was another, longer pause from Krycek. "I'm afraid not. I have to
see you tonight. Look, this is time-sensitive, Mulder. There are some
things you've got to hear."
Impatiently, Mulder called, "I'm busy, here. I gotta check this out... this
is a good one. Go away. Or—come in if you have to. But be quiet, I need
to finish this."
"Mulder, your door's locked. Could you at least tear yourself away long
enough to open it?"
His voice amply demonstrating his distracted state and irritation at
Krycek's constant interruption, Mulder shouted, "Look, just—can't you let
yourself in like you usually do?!"
Incredulous, Krycek regarded the still-locked door before him. This
exchange was becoming surreal. He'd thought he would be answered with
either gunshots or a full-blown fistfight.
He'd expected to find the man asleep, actually, so he considered that he was
lucky he didn't have to wake him—or disturb a private ritual, although
that could have been interesting... But when he'd arrived on the street and
looked up at the window, the light was on. The whole time he'd gotten out of
the car and made his way into the building and up the stairs, he had visions
of Mulder sacked out on the couch lounging in front of a cheap sci-fi on TV,
or even indulging in one of his notoriously cheesy porno videos, parading
before him.
He sighed and delved into his pocket to fish out his lockpick. Soon, he let
himself in and was shutting the door behind him. Mulder was actually
sitting at his desk surrounded with papers, intently regarding his computer.
The lamp was on, the only other light was from the monitor illuminating
Mulder's face.
"You're working late. Found some good x-rated sites?" Alex cautiously
moved closer, ready to move if Mulder showed signs of getting up.
Mulder's glasses gave him an owlish look. He sighed deeply from the desk,
before his PC. He didn't bother looking up. "So you bother to knock now?
What do you want, Krycek?" Mulder hoped his tone conveyed the opinion that
Krycek's presence was about as welcome as a bout of amoebic dysentery.
Alex shrugged, sitting resignedly on the couch. He sounded as weary as he
looked. His clothes were innocuous, even ordinary. Jeans, t—shirt,
jacket. Not even leather this time. He'd dressed to blend in, ordinary
enough to be invisible. His gloved left hand was conspicuous though; his
right hand was bare. "To help you, for a change. Come on, why do I ever
come here? I've got a lead for you." How original, he sneered at himself.
He wondered if that sounded as pathetic to Mulder's ears as it did to his
own.
Mulder peered over his glasses at him momentarily, over the monitor. "Did
you at least bring your own gun this time? It was kind of humiliating to
have you holding mine on me, the last time you graced me with your
presence."
Secretly he wondered, if he stayed calm then things wouldn't get out of
control. He didn't think the man wanted him dead, but who knew who else
did? Entertaining assassins after midnight. Christ. After the events of
the last time Krycek came here, Mulder had wondered if he was actually
afraid... Of Krycek? Of this man; he realized he didn't know him at all. He'd
known him for years and knew less of him than ever. God, he'd be stupid not
to be wary. He was dangerous. And he really didn't feel like fighting for
his life just now, or trying to kill Krycek either.
He added, "What are you doing here? What the hell do you want?"
"To talk. I told you, I have information for you—critical, actually.
Believe me, you'll thank me in the morning." Alex took out two of his guns
and placed them on the table in a gesture meant to let Mulder know that he
had come to talk.
"Forgive me; I'm inclined to not give a shit. What, you're not here to
finish the job you should have done years ago?" Mulder sighed again and
began wrapping up what he was doing. It was obvious Krycek was not going to
leave him in peace, at least until he'd handed him whatever covert,
precarious shadows he had for him to chase this time.
Krycek threw him a look. "Oh, please. Give me a break; if I had any
serious intention of killing you I would have done it years ago. You
already know that. Don't you ever get sick of bickering with me?" Careful,
there. Don't want to sound too whiny, do we? Alex debated the wisdom of
having come here at all. Then again, he was bored. Let this be a lesson to
you, Fox, beware free agents dabbling in Consortium business who suffer from
restlessness who have irrational desires to tidy up loose ends in their
lives.
"Not really." Baby-faced killer. I oughta throw him out on his ass.
"Yeah? Well, I find it tiresome. You know, just for once, I'd appreciate
it if you treated me like a human being. God knows you don't have enough of
them in your life. Bug monsters, vampires, flukemen and aliens... All I want
is to talk in a civil manner for once. I'd like to get past the usual crap;
maybe hold a decent conversation with you without your usual bitch-session
about me being a traitor, bastard and all-around son of a bitch. In fact,
I'd like us to start over." And added silently, why don't I just get down
on my knees... it would prove just as effective. Alex didn't think Mulder
would buy this tonight. Which of course was ironic because Mulder never
accepted the actual truth when he gave it to him.
Mulder leaned back in his chair and removed his glasses, rubbing his face.
"Bullshit. I don't buy it, Krycek. If you really felt that way, you
wouldn't have betrayed me in the first place. Actions speak louder than
words, and you've always made your intentions abundantly clear with your
actions, while lying through your teeth," Mulder said in a disinterested
voice.
Mulder wasn't sure which made him more angry; Krycek's baby-faced, blatant
act of feigned innocence or the hollow, guarded expression he pulled when he
looked away, as though afraid that Mulder might discover his opinions meant
something to him. Mulder was tired of the attempts to emotionally
manipulate him. Of that wounded look that crossed Krycek's face every so
often. It was all an act, and it grated on his nerves. It always had. It
still had a lingering feel of the original 'fresh-faced, green, junior
G-man' attempt to ingratiate himself and prove his loyalty... The charming
killer. The cold, pretty killer. Pretending to have a heart. Ha. That
ranked up there as the most aggravating, actually. Don't think about that
kiss he gave me, though. Don't go there.
He added, "Come to throw me another crumb from the table? Or is this
another wild goose chase? I'm not sure it's worth it. Don't you ever get
tired of playing us all off against each other? I ought to do the right
thing and just shoot you here and now. Do the world a favor." Or finish
what you started last time, seeing as you were too afraid to... whoa. Don't
go there. Stop thinking about it... make him bring it up first.
Alex stared at him. "You actually think that I'm responsible for all the
shit that's happened to you and everyone else? The Syndicate's gone; the
Elders are dead, torched by Rebel aliens, so I should pay for their sins?
Isn't that a little too convenient, seeing as you don't have anyone left to
pin the blame on?"
"You betrayed me! You betrayed your country, your own goddamned planet, you
murdered my father and—you—" Mulder stopped in his tirade, not wanting
to give in to the red rage that was all too easy to fall into. He was aware
that the man would be armed despite the two guns on his table. And although
he'd never actually attacked him, he knew Krycek could defend himself.
Which was interesting when one considered that he only ever defended
himself when Mulder went for him, never tried to hit him back.... Hm. Maybe he
could find out why. "So you're saying you weren't there? That you aren't
responsible for the things that happened to me and to my partner and our
families?" Mulder glared at him. "That you don't want me in a box, six
feet under?"
"Of course not, you idiot. Why do you always have to—I wasn't to
blame for—!" Alex exclaimed, stopping. He was getting irritated. Why did
Mulder always manage to get under his skin. "I wasn't even involved—at
least, not in the beginning. Come on, Mulder, think about it. It wasn't
until after Tunguska that I really began to find my way into the Syndicate.
On Skyland Mountain when they took Dana Scully, I was told to stop you,
that's all. To keep you from getting there. They would have taken you
too, you can't tell me you don't believe me on that score now! Not after
everything you've seen, everything you know. They had a necessarily
exclusive group—they couldn't afford to let just anyone in on their little
'project'. The possibilities of sabotage and infiltration were high, they
always had been. It wasn't until after Kazhakstan that I got back in with
them. I was lucky the Brit decided my potential help was worth letting me
live. He knew what I was, what my abilities were and how I could benefit
them."
Mulder laughed grimly without humor. "I can't believe you think I'll
believe a word you say, Krycek. You can spin all the fairytales you want,
it won't make me believe you. You killed more than my father, you killed my
trust. And the Brit is dead. Looks like you weren't there for him when he
needed you most, either. I can't help thinking he got the short end of the
stick. But, that's what we get for trusting you."
Alex found himself clenching his jaw. He let out a terse breath before
turning away. "Where do you think he got the Russian vaccine that he gave
you to save Scully in Antarctica?"
Mulder stopped short. "Okay. Alright, I'll concede that. But it doesn't
explain what you're doing here, now. If you want to confess your sins, find
a priest. If you need a shoulder to cry on, get thee to a nunnery. I don't
know what you expect from me, and I don't care."
Alex shrugged dismissively. "I don't have any expectations." He regarded
Mulder impassively from where he sat. "I'd just like to be able to talk.
No guns, no handcuffs. And no beatings."
"I can't be bothered to hit you right now, anyway. Oh, you mean really
talk, like two old friends? Don't take this the wrong way or anything,
Alex, but I don't think about you. Ever. Friendship has to be earned.
Just like respect."
Alex lifted his brows. "And the respect of one's opponent? I respect you
as an enemy; I always did."
"I know. And there's the problem, 'enemy mine'; I have yet to believe
you're anything but." He cast him a disparaging glance. "I don't respect
you, I don't trust you and you've given me every reason not to. You say I
can trust you? Prove it."
Alex retorted, "I don't have to prove anything to you. Besides, you said it
yourself; actions speak for themselves. If you stopped with the Chicken
Little impression long enough to take a look around, you might see that I'm
trying to save asses, not kick them."
"I'm getting tired of this. Enough, already. What do you want?"
"I don't know why you bother asking, since you never believe what I tell you
anyway."
Mulder started to get more angry than bored. "I'm sick to death of playing
games. And I'm really tired of arguing points with you. It's late. What do
you want from me, Krycek? Tell me," Mulder demanded, "or get the hell out
of my apartment!"
Krycek finally broke. He was tired, it was indeed late and he was sick of
Mulder's attitude. "What do you think I want?" he hissed, the anger
transforming him, revealing so many previously hidden emotions that Mulder
was quite taken aback to suddenly see them all revealed at once.
"Why is it so fucking unbelievable that I might want to be able to speak
with you, without you trying to pistol-whip me or strangle me with your bare
hands?"
"I'm not usually like that... I guess you just bring out the worst in me."
Mulder wondered if he were seeing the real Krycek behind the cold-blooded
mercenary. Or if this were another act, or if a display of emotions from
this man meant that he actually meant what he was saying but it had nothing
to do with what was really going on. Somehow, seeing any emotion on his face
other than the usual smug blandness made him more human. He didn't need to
start seeing that. Mulder took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was
far too late at night for him to try to sort through Krycek's manipulations
and possible motives. But when he opened his eyes again Krycek had not
vanished and was still sitting on his couch with that goddamned wounded look
again.
Right: examine what was before him. Take it as a given that he was only
human and could be riled. There was doubt and fear in there, borne of long
suffering. To see that his eyes had always shown it, too, was surprising:
they'd always been there, only Krycek had hid them behind a stony mask of
cold indifference. It was in the eyes, Mulder decided. And realized he
could have some fun with this. And he could salvage the evening even if it
was just at the expense of Krycek's composure, now that he'd already had to
disconnect from his NSA site he'd hacked into. Oh well. Not a complete
waste of time here, if he managed to get Krycek to spill something. Besides,
he didn't want to admit it, but smashing his knuckles into the other man's
face was a bit old after a while and had lost its appeal. He didn't think
it would help dispel the hatred he had for him. And somehow, arresting him
seemed pointless. Maybe it's because I'm tired, he thought. That's gotta
be it.
Unaware of Mulder's pause and new insight, Alex continued, "I'm tired of
being your whipping-boy. I want you to take me seriously for once. Why
can't you—" he faltered, as if realizing he'd been about to reveal too
much.
Friendship: an interesting concept in tandem with Mulder's unrelenting
hatred of him. It would be nice just once to have Mulder not treat him like
he was his enemy. It would be too perfect, Alex thought, to give Mulder the
ideal means of revenge upon him for his original betrayal—which hadn't
been one, actually. He'd been told to do a job and he'd done it to the best
of his ability... He'd been hired by CSM before the FBI, long before being
placed with the senior agent. Mulder would never see it that way.
Different points of view. Alex wanted to pound something with frustration.
Everything he'd done had been justifiable, ambiguous at best and sometimes
the only option he'd had, but Mulder would find a way to twist all of it and
find the immorality of his actions, saying, 'see, you were wrong; you're a
bad person and should be punished accordingly'. For a profiler, Mulder
sometimes was given to incredibly shortsighted behavior. When he was too
close to something it tended to blind him to the reality of the situation.
And therein lay the clue on how to approach Mulder's usual routine towards
him.
Mulder regarded him with a tolerant expression. Something in Krycek's eyes
told him that it was worth getting into this. Something... something he didn't
want Mulder to know, about why he was really here. Something he kept buried
even from himself. Mulder's instincts were tingling, telling him to see
where this led this time, instead of rejecting the man's explanations and
presence. He thoughtfully bit his lower lip. "Okay, Krycek. It's your
dime. I'll listen, for what it's worth."
Alex's eyes narrowed. Yeah, right. Didn't mean he'd believe him though.
Oh well. What did he have to lose, at this point? It was a free interview.
Might as well take the chance while it presented itself.
"Look, I know you were angry that you'd been taken in by me when we first
met. You relaxed your natural suspicion and paranoia and got burned, not to
mention embarrassed. And it wasn't all an act—hence it's success. I
really did look up to you and what you were doing. I wished I wasn't
already in so deep that I wouldn't have jeopardized all of us if I'd bailed
at that point. I don't have a death wish. But I made the mistake of
actually trusting Cancerman. Maybe I got what I deserved for betraying you,
there. But I was cut loose afterwards, I was a little too good at what I
did, I wasn't just a hired gun and that scared them. I could see what
they were doing and all too often I was able to work out what their agenda
was without even being let in on it. That's why fucking Spender tried to
fry me in a car bomb and then left me to rot in that...." He trailed off, and
took a breath.
"Look, I did what I had to do, to survive. And I really don't see how you
can blame me for that. I'd love to know what you'd have done if you were in
my shoes." He shook his head, looking at the opposite wall without seeing
it.
Mulder regarded him. "Well, there's this thing you might've heard about:
it's called a conscience? Killing people in cold blood and stealing
information to sell to the highest bidders isn't considered very polite down
our way." Unbidden, the memory of seeing Krycek looking sick and confused
after having just shot Augustus Cole, believing he'd saved Mulder's life in
doing so, flashed across his mind. He buried it. He didn't need to get on
a sympathy jag for Krycek, of all people.
"How can you presume to sit in judgment over me, Mulder? Don't even try to
pretend you haven't killed outside the line of duty, yourself. You're
playing the field just as I am. You bend the rules when it suits you. You
don't work for the FBI, you're working for yourself. 'Spooky Mulder',
indeed. We can always count on to you to be chasing little green men in
flying saucers. Your whole act, your crusade is a carefully built-up web of
self-deceit based on the premise that if you say the right things in the
name of justice and truth, it justifies the pursuit of your sister at the
expense of everything else."
Krycek had to be as tired as he looked, too, Mulder mused to himself. The
man was cracking; getting emotional and talking way more than was ordinary
for him. Sharing in-depth—no, revealing personal opinions; they couldn't
all be lines. He looked too upset. Time to break down even more of those
usual defenses, thought Mulder.
He deliberately did not get upset in response. In fact, he just sat there.
He hoped he looked thoughtful and quiet, as though accepting the fact that
Krycek had made a point and got to him.
Finally he said, "Yeah, okay, you might be right. But at least I have a
goal, an aim. Something to work for. It might be personal, but it's in a
good cause. I'm not just working for myself, I'm working for more than an
ideal. It goes way beyond principles or even generalizations like
'humanity'. You're the one who's working for just himself, to save your own
sorry ass."
Alex snorted. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. You're not working for
your sister or anyone else, you're trying to purge the guilt trip leftover
from her abduction, your childhood and your—" he stopped, aware he'd almost
gone too far and mentioned the dreaded 'f'-word.
Fathers and sons... He wondered which was worse; Mulder's father resenting
and blaming a young boy all those years for a decision that he had made
long before Fox was born, or Spender shooting his own son simply because he
turned out to have more of Mulder's conscience and sense of justice than
he'd thought. It was a toss-up. He could sympathize because his own father
—no, he wasn't going into that.
But Bill Mulder's ghost always lurked between them every time they met.
Even dead and from beyond the grave, the old bastard was still screwing up
his 'son'. You ought to thank me for getting rid of him for you, Alex
thought. Mulder sat there looking pissed off and pretending not to be;
angry again because of all his imagined terrible deeds that he was supposed
to have committed. Well, not all of them imagined, Alex corrected with a
twinge of conscience that Mulder didn't think he possessed. But sometimes
the end does justify the means. Some things he'd had to do were beyond
anything Mulder could ever forgive. Thank god he'd never find out. And the
price?
Ah, Fox, if only you knew, thought Alex. The world revolves around you,
doesn't it? And then he thought, why not? Why not play the angle, keep the
spotlight from returning to him... things could be worse. At least Mulder
hadn't thrown him out yet.
"That smoking bastard was proud of you. He had high hopes—they all did.
You weren't meant to turn out so righteous and morally outspoken about the
search for the truth, though. The loss of your sister was supposed to push
you into their open arms. You were the prodigal son. Instead it made you
hunt them down, and in doing so created an inadvertent legend. You've
immortalized the X-Files. Congratulations. They feared you for it. You
showed too much initiative... a failing I shared, actually." He gave a short
laugh, almost mocking. "You were the heir-apparent, destined to assume the
mantle and carry on the good work, only you realized that the price wasn't
negotiable and the outcome wasn't worth the cost of your soul."
"Should I be grateful that you paid that price instead?" Mulder asked,
sharply, wondering if Krycek realized he kept staring at his hands. He
glanced down at them, wondering what Krycek saw in them. Maybe it was his
fingers. On a purely aesthetic level, his fingers were nicer than Krycek's.
He was glad. He'd always felt Krycek was a lot more attractive than he
was. But if Krycek's gaze dropped any lower he was going to have to kick
the shit out of him after all. Being checked out and groped by Krycek was
not his idea of a quiet night in.
Alex regarded him with disbelief. "Are you on PMS or something? Fuck, I
can't believe you're being so bitchy ... I'm talking about ruling the world.
They aren't there anymore; all that's left is a splintered global power base
composed of small-minded, ignorant and greedy political factions we call
government, for lack of a better word."
"Yeah? I never wanted power, Krycek; all I wanted was my goddamned sister
back!"
"Well, I'd like my arm back," Alex muttered. "Not to mention my life. We
don't all get what we want. Sometimes we end up making sacrifices for
people in the name of duty, even in our attempts to make up for past
wrongs."
Mulder threw him a guilty glance before he could stop himself. And sighed.
They were both well aware that if Mulder hadn't dragged him out of that camp
in Siberia, Alex wouldn't have lost his arm. Abruptly, he climbed to his
feet and wandered towards the kitchen. "You want anything?" he called out,
nonchalantly, and not a little tongue-in-cheek, "Coffee, tea? Me?"
"No, thanks." Alex deliberately ignored his sarcasm. "I don't think you're
capable of giving me what I want. Neither understanding nor forgiveness are
in your vocabulary." And I'll be damned before I beg for those things from
you, he thought. Then pressed his lips together. Since when did he care
whether Mulder forgave him or not? And why was he letting him get to him
tonight? Oh yeah; it was because he came here specifically to try to clear
all of this. It had been an ill-formed plan from the start. Get Mulder
past the fist—swinging stage onto arguing, then angry talking, gradually
easing into neutral conversation.
Mulder reappeared, leaning in the doorway. "Oh, really? How about a free
throw? Get me back for some of the times I hit you? I'll let you have one
shot. Take your best."
"Unlike you, I never got my kicks from wanting to slap you around, Mulder,"
he growled. "I can take you anytime. I just don't see the point in
Neanderthal pissing contests."
"Fine. Suits me. But don't ever expect me to offer again." Mulder turned
and disappeared back into the kitchen.
Alex pressed his hand to his forehead. He felt a headache coming on. His
shoulder ached and he was exhausted. He wondered why he didn't just give
him the damned lead and leave. But then, even a razor-sharp battle of
repartee with Mulder was better than nothing. He was still interacting with
him and truth be told—
I miss him. It's really good to see him again. It's been a while; too
long.
The admission scared him slightly. Usually he tried to never let himself
think about it. But a little frisson would go through him whenever it
became necessary to seek him out for a clandestine nighttime rendezvous. He
wondered what Mulder would do if he forced Alex about the issue of tonight's
little visit and discovered what he was really doing there.
There was a measure of comfort in just being able to look at him again, to
see him in the same room rather than on the end of a hidden wire on his
phone, or a camera in the FBI offices...
I honestly just wish we could talk, without always ending up like this. I
wish he could forgive me. Impossible. And why do I give a shit?! Why am
I doing this? Oh, right; because I needed an excuse to see him. And why?
He's an asshole! Right. All work and no play makes me a desperate fool, I
guess. But man cannot live on emptiness alone.
He allowed himself the momentary indulgence of loneliness. He had no
friends. There weren't really many opportunities to talk with someone who
might understand the various weird elements that composed his life. Mulder
at least would know what the hell he was on about.
He exhaled tiredly and leaned his head against his hand, resting his elbow
against the sofa. He was glad Mulder hadn't attacked him, this once. Was
actually tolerating his presence. And then couldn't help wondering if it
was because the last time they'd met he'd let down his guard, actually
kissed him and given him back his gun. Even given him a chance to take a
shot, if he'd wanted to. Shit... He'd replayed that so many times afterwards.
Especially the way his skin had felt on his lips.
Alex tried to remember what the hell had possessed him to actually find the
courage to do that. Let's see; it had been dark and the urgency to impress
upon Mulder the seriousness of the situation, as well as his sincerity, had
driven him to do something that could easily be misinterpreted.
He wasn't even sure he could interpret it himself. Planting a kiss on him
was just about the most easily misinterpreted act possible. He'd
rationalized that it was to get Mulder to climb out of his depression.
Oh, come on, he said silently to himself, you wanted to do it. You wanted
to grab that opportunity to let him know that you wish things were
different, to try to break through that anger whenever he sees you.
I wonder what he really thought of it. I'm surprised he hasn't come out
with any choice new insults. I've certainly given him a fresh new line of
ammunition—
Mulder's reappearance in the living room with two mugs jolted him. Alex sat
up straight, his adrenaline-laced reaction stopping Mulder in his tracks
with a look of surprise that turned into a smirk. "Jumpy, much? Here, this
should help. A caffeine hit to your system'll do the trick nicely. I swear
by it, myself; keeps me going all night long."
He handed him a full cup that Alex took, bemused. Mulder sat down on the
other end of the couch. It was a little too close for comfort. They were
hardly amiable acquaintances. Alex found himself considering what Mulder
might mean by this gesture. He didn't have time for this, did he? He'd
already stayed far too long. He checked his watch. 1:16 AM... Christ. "I
can't stay. There's something important you need to check out tomorrow. I—"
"Yeah? I didn't have any plans, so maybe I can accommodate you. I'll tell
you what, I'll take what you give me on blind faith if you'll turn yourself
over to me now and let me pick your brains over at the Bureau. After I get
back, of course, from what is sure to be another illuminating glimpse into
something tantalizingly juicy that you've picked out for me that will evade
me with equally disappointing results as last time. Or if that doesn't work
for you, let me check my diary. Maybe we can do lunch instead. Is next
week okay? Say, Monday?"
Alex stared at him. "Sometimes you are unbelievably immature."
"Flattery will get you nowhere. But I'll settle for the best explanation
you can offer for why you kissed me. I mean, what'll it be this time? I
find myself wondering what you'd be willing to do if I actually invited you
over sometime. Rather than waiting to see what you'll do next time you
break in." Gotcha, Mulder thought, at the surprise and vulnerability that
inadvertently slid over Krycek's face as the implications behind his words
sank in. It was quickly covered with his usual stony implacability.
"Screw this," Alex declared, setting his coffee down untouched on the table
before him. "I made the mistake of thinking you were still after the truth.
Your priorities are just as whacked out as the last time I was here."
"I can't believe I'm giving you the time of day, or is it night? Early
morning? Coming from a liar as pathological as yourself, I'm surprised
you'd think I'd trust any information you give me," murmured Mulder, sipping
from his own coffee. "Last time I listened to you, I got mind-wiped."
Alex's hand clenched in his lap. Tightly, he asked, "Because you were so
close to it they had to cover their tracks. You were in the right place at
the right time, for once." And he added with a sidelong glance, "Thanks to
yours truly." He stood up. "You keep bursting my bubble. Why won't you
give me any credit? Every time I hand you something valuable, you throw
it back in my face or pretend that it wasn't me who led you to it. From now
on I won't bother wasting my time or yours. Happy?"
"Not really. You keep avoiding the issue. I can't trust anything you say
until we've established a personal basis upon which I can begin to trust
you. And that means resolving certain issues regarding your rather suspect
motives in our sordid and, well, frankly fucked-up relationship. Traitor.
Murderer. Killer." Yet, Mulder's voice lacked its usual venom when he
said it.
Alex stared down at him, trying to get a handle on where Mulder was actually
coming from. "Mulder, I hardly think that accusing me of being a bastard
will solve the bigger problem. You can't see past personal grudges. You
keep letting your personal problems cloud the picture for you. It's way
bigger than either of us."
"I can't see you shooting my father as anything but personal, but... Krycek,
sit down. Come on. I take everything personally. If it isn't personal,
then it's a line—it's just propaganda. It has to mean something to me and
to others on an individual basis or it's bullshit. You know that. And I
hit you because you piss me off, on principle. You'll notice I haven't
taken a single swing at you tonight. So stop complaining; you're the one
acting like a child, now."
Alex looked down at him, stiffly. "So much for an adult conversation, huh?
Back to the bickering." But he sat back down, sinking with a frown. "I'm
so fucking tired of this—in fact, why don't you get your gun? Just go on
and take your shot. Here, use mine." He nodded at the table. "Get it over
with. Maybe it'll do you some good to purge all that pent-up hostility over
your father's death. Clear the way for some sound thinking. God knows you
need it after your stint in the nuthouse. Must've hurt to have the two
people you trusted most turn on you like that." He shot him a wary look.
It was a sharp reminder and the point was made: how Mulder could continue to
bear a grudge against him on the principle of trust when even Scully and
Skinner had displayed their own fallibility...
But Mulder didn't rise to it. He sipped at his coffee again. "That's
funny; I was going to say the same thing to you; ask you to put me out of my
misery. Since I'm as screwed up as everyone seems to think I am."
"Spare me your self-pity trip. I have my own to deal with."
"I noticed." The quiet change in Mulder's voice was enough to remind him
that he was looking for a way under his guard.
Alex licked his lips, wondering how he was going to be able to depart
gracefully. "I don't want to fight anymore. It's pointless and
accomplishes nothing."
Mulder had also noticed the higher color in Krycek's face, and the way he
avoided holding his gaze. His eyes narrowed. So Krycek didn't like sitting
next to him, huh? "I don't want to fight, either—I'm too tired. We both
are. So relax. Let's just call it, for now. I'd like to get back to that
earlier point, about that intriguing way you have of attempting to prove
your sincerity. In the dark. Without words. What are you; the Syndicate
whore? Must be tough, not having any asses to kiss, or old men to bend over
for, anymore."
This had of course the opposite effect of making Krycek tense even further.
Interesting, Mulder thought. And realized that making him squirm was even
more fun than taking out his frustration on him in the form of blows... He
made such an easy target of himself. Now why would he do that unless he
secretly felt, perhaps subconsciously, that he deserved it or that there was
some truth in it?
Almost defensively, Alex glanced at the door and then regarded the floor.
In a low voice, he answered, "You choose to believe what you like,
whatever's convenient. You always do."
Alex couldn't believe he'd actually said that aloud. He sounded almost as
if he was sulking, and he hadn't meant to. He wondered if it were just him
or if there was a strained, tense current in the air between them. Almost
electric, as though at any moment something violent might erupt and yet due
to their agreement to not go down that road again the energy continued to
build this time. To new volatile heights. There was something different
about it though. As if Mulder were daring him to make the first move.
Mulder always broke the tension by going for him; ending their dance in a
clinch at gun-point where the only sane thing left to do was to back away
and distance themselves from each other until the next confrontation. It was
almost sexual. And he had been trying so hard to keep any hint of that from
entering into it tonight.
He found himself sweating... he'd never imagined Mulder might allow it to
escalate to this point. He agitatedly pulled off his jacket. It was far
too hot.
"I will", Mulder answered, slowly, "and I have to say, from where I'm
sitting it looks an awful lot like you've got some kind of masochistic
tendency. You always come back for more. You could have phoned me, or sent
a message. But you always come in person, knowing that I'll most likely
lose my temper when I see you. I'd say you do have a conscience: a guilty
one, and you think that if you can buy back my trust with little snippets
and goodies, that that'll wash your sins away. And that every time I hit
you, you get a little closer to paying off your debts to me. And you do owe
me. Only I don't think any number of beatings could ever repay what you
took from me. It'll take a lot more than that."
"Fuck you, Mulder." Alex snapped at this; a tight coldness settling in
his belly. Like anger and hurt and sorrow all wrapped into one. "I'm not
sitting here for you to take verbal shots at me in lieu of real ones." He
was a fool to remain here... he was going to leave. He didn't have to take
this.
"Actually—it's the other way around, I believe. Fuck you, Alex.
Otherwise you'd be man enough to give as good as you get." Mulder was more
than aware of how close to the breaking point he was pushing him. He
suspected that he might be a little too close, the man was an assassin but
the curiosity to see if he could actually break through Krycek's reserved
exterior and get a response was too irresistible. The tension now was so
strong he could almost see it in the scant couple of feet that separated
them.
Alex went white, breathing harder. The urge to wipe that smug look off
Mulder's face was overwhelming... and he knew Mulder was needling him
deliberately. The asshole had no idea the danger he was in. Anger—wanting
to grab him and hold him down, hit him... to do whatever took his imagination
in the moment... to make him cry out, god, yes.
And yet, humiliation washed over him as he realized Mulder was right: he
couldn't hit him. Not deliberately. Not like Mulder did so casually to
him. He had no desire to hurt him. He never had. Oh sure, he'd felt the
impulse to hit back but had never done so, putting it down to it being
beneath him to dignify Mulder's violent bullying and righteous indignant
anger. But even when he'd found himself really wishing he could smash his
fist in the other man's face, he'd been unable to allow himself to.
Probably for the same reason Mulder couldn't ever stop himself from doing
it...
He found himself sitting paralyzed, unable to move. He wanted to get up and
leave but doing so now would seem as if he were running away, even if it was
the only mature and dignified thing left to do. To remain now was to play
on Mulder's level and by his rules. But he had no choice. The thin, narrow
edge between being fucking furious... and bending yet again to figuratively
take it up the ass—he could understand what Mulder was implying. Was he
actually prolonging his own role as Mulder's whipping-boy with his actions?
Mulder was taut, waiting to see whether Krycek would get up and leave or
not. He didn't think the man would attack him. Not from a simple verbal
provocation. And he could smell him from where he sat; musky, damp with
fresh sweat—was that fear or desire—it gave him a sudden urge to run his
tongue along his neck...
Alex's voice was noncommittal; and actually quiet, belying the silent storm
inside of him. "What do you want?"
"Well, you've never actually apologized to me; are you aware of that? In
all this time, not once?" Mulder's answer was calm, measured. His posture
was relatively relaxed, too. As though he really didn't think there was a
reason to fear Krycek's reaction.
Alex's eyes flickered and he blinked once before letting out a breath. "I
always figured you wouldn't believe me." He dared a glance at Mulder.
Krycek sounded sincere. Like not even daring to hope that he might believe...
Shit.
Mulder realized he'd just lost his leverage in the same instant that he
acknowledged that Krycek actually cared what he might think of him, or that
Krycek was feeling anything at all. That engaging with him on this level
placed him on an equal footing, actually. If he believed Krycek was
sincere, that he cared, he was vulnerable to whatever manipulations the man
might consider. On the other hand, if he admitted that he cared what
Krycek was actually going through, he was also vulnerable. Fuck. He bit
his upper lip, considering.
Oh, the hell with it. He didn't want just an apology, or even to beat him— he wanted... he wanted to know that it meant everything to Krycek and nothing
to himself. To be able to walk away without any investment at all, and to
leave Krycek with the guilt and responsibility. I am not going to be the
one who gets hurt this time, he swore to himself. Finally, he replied, "You
could always try to earn my trust again."
"I thought you said I'd killed it," Alex scoffed.
"Well, there're some things even you can't do unless you really mean it.
Unless you're sincere."
"Such as?"
Mulder smiled, the first authentic one since Krycek arrived, in fact. "You
could rub my feet, for a start."
"What?" Not really believing what he was hearing, Alex wondered if Mulder
was implying what he thought he was. That smile wasn't helping, either.
It was playful. Which was not good; it was dangerous, actually.
"You heard me."
"Yeah, I'll pass; I don't think that would place us on an equal footing, if
you'll pardon the expression."
Mulder raised his brows and cocked his head at him with an almost quizzical
look. "You have to earn equality, and you have to earn that before you can
earn respect or trust."
"Right. And if I lower myself to being your personal foot-slave, I'll lose
any possibility of ever being taken seriously again. Very funny. You know
you really are sick, Mulder? I can't believe I've sat here buying this as
long as I have."
"Neither can I. So what's keeping you here?"
A flare of pure arousal ran through Alex at this frank challenge. He wanted
to blurt out, the possibility of kissing you again even if it's just the one
time. One kiss on the mouth, just once. He closed his eyes. This was— insane. Madness. He didn't want that. No. It was far too simple, and the
act would simply leave them right where they were, at an impasse. He could
feel a surge of something very close to desperation welling up inside. No
matter which way it went, he would end up losing. Always. Because Mulder
hated him, and if he did kiss him again, he was just proving Mulder's point.
Consortium whore. Somehow, that particular appellation stuck in his
throat. And hurt. He felt lightheaded, wondering if exhaustion and caffeine
combined with adrenaline, desire and anger was healthy if endured too long.
Mulder grinned at him almost devilishly. "I take it from your speechless
state and blank stare that you don't know? Shall I tell you?"
"Be my guest."
"The same thing that keeps you coming back here again and again."
"And what's that?" Calling Mulder's bluff. What fun. Not. Alex was
defensive.
Mulder shrugged. "You want to be fucked. By me—you want me to do it. You
need me to do it; anyone else wouldn't be able to give you want you want,
because of your guilt complex."
Alex almost burst out laughing, from the release of tension as well as
derision. "If it that was the case, I'd just tell you. I would've asked
years ago. Come on, Mulder, I thought you were supposed to be good."
Mulder rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Oh GOD, tell me you're not that
lame—let me guess. Romance, roses and declarations written in flowery
script?"
"Where's that famed profiling ability of yours?" Krycek's almost comical
frown jabbed a little, lessening the fun. "All I ever wanted was for you to
like me."
Mulder found himself at a loss for words, for once. Krycek had on his 'you
won't believe me, you never do, but it's true' face. He had all the
appearance of a kicked puppy trying to put on a brave front. Shit, that
meant that he was right—Krycek was feeling sorry for himself. What had
he let himself in for? He found himself wondering if he really wanted to
continue this or just call it a night. Cold feet? He considered Krycek's
mouth, those impossible eyelashes. It ought to be illegal for a man to
possess eyelashes like those. Gave him an unfair advantage; they let him
confuse the enemy...
Krycek continued, "So I guess you want to fuck me, am I right? Or is it
the other way around? It makes sense, actually. You're always grabbing me
and pushing me around, even if it's to try and beat the crap out of me.
Anything to get your hands on me."
Mulder began chuckling to himself, quietly. That was the little pot calling
the kettle black. Jeez. He rubbed his face with both hands. And yawned,
letting his head drop back against the couch and closing his eyes.
"Whatever. You started it though, with that kiss. Go on; tell me you don't
want me. I dare you; I double-dare you."
"This is silly," Alex declared, "we're not in high school. If you don't
believe that I like you, that I've only ever wanted you to like me, then
maybe you aren't really worth the effort."
"It's kind of hard to like you, Krycek. You make it fucking difficult.
Maybe your choice of career has something to do with it. Or maybe it's your
lack of ethical consideration regarding other people's lives." Mulder
didn't even bother opening his eyes. He was certain the night had gone on
too long, that he was dreaming Krycek's visit and the man wasn't sitting in
a pout beside him. He wished he wasn't actually, because he was hard and
wanted to take care of it. Then again, that's what Krycek was here for, the
reason why he'd come in the first place. Maybe he should go ahead and give
him a show.
"You're pretty hard to like, yourself." Alex's reply was accompanied by the
silent motion of reaching out his hand to touch Mulder's face. He simply
rested the back of his warm fingers briefly against his cheek.
Mulder opened his eyes, staring ahead, considering. His voice was rougher,
lower. "But it's hard to keep not liking you, too."
Alex pulled his hand away. "Mulder? You said I could take one shot,
earlier. Did you mean it?"
Mulder looked at him out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he should be
worried. "Yeah. Why? You suddenly feeling up to it, or something?"
"Let's just say I'll take what I can get. If I can't have your friendship,
than I'll take this." And he slowly shifted near, scooting close, reaching
out his hand again to Mulder's cheek. Only this time, he turned him to face
him, giving him enough time to pull back if he wanted. Mulder didn't move,
his eyes on Krycek's mouth.
Alex took a breath and then leaned in close, his eyes shut, finding his
mouth by feel. God, so warm and sweet, melting, this simple act. Mulder's
lips were soft and hot, and surprised. Alex wondered why he indulged in so
much self-deception where Fox Mulder was concerned. He felt a new and
strange little emotion fluttering inside of him. And identified it seconds
later as their kiss deepened, Mulder opening his mouth under his. What was
that feeling? It was singing away inside of him. Acceptance, affection,
intimacy, it was... love. It didn't matter if they were friends, enemies,
lovers, it was all the same to him. He still felt it. N-no. Not this, not
now. He couldn't afford to. Why wasn't Mulder moving back and hitting him
for this?
He pulled away suddenly, his heart racing. His face felt hot, but Mulder's
cheeks were flushed, too. He suddenly couldn't look him in the eye. This
was absurd. He was confusing the two. Love was not lust. He couldn't give
him both. Not at the same time. Mulder would break him.
Something in Mulder snapped like a rubberband. It must have been the openly
suffering look on Krycek's face, the over-brightness of his eyes, his sudden
reticence and shyness. His fear. The way he pressed his lips together in
one of his rarely-observed moments of reserved seriousness. Mulder briefly
wondered if he could be faking it, but the anguish in the way Krycek sat
there, refusing to look at him, told him that at this point it didn't
matter. Damn, this really did mean a lot to him! He had to admit, it
made it more exciting, this way. And thought, why the hell not?
Alex closed his eyes, savoring the moment that had just passed, wondering if
Mulder would now tell him to leave. It had been worth it, after all. He
could live with this. He wouldn't analyze the fact that he'd just lost all
chance of Mulder respecting him now. The words 'Syndicate whore' rang in his
ears and hurt. And hurt. He hurt, feeling it suffuse him to the point
where he didn't care anymore. Mulder could do his worst, it didn't matter.
Talk about hitting rock-bottom, he thought. What's the point of anything
anymore.
And then abruptly found himself being pressed backwards into the couch, down
farther and farther until he was twisted slightly, lying on his back,
Mulder's hands firmly holding his shoulders down. And then Mulder's mouth
was on his, hot and swift and hard. Passionately, as though Mulder had
finally flipped. He couldn't think, could barely visualize what exactly
comprised a sensible response to this other than to open his mouth and yield
to it, this terrible sinking into wet heaven. Mulder's body was full
against him, holding him down; the heat coming off him was enough to make
him want to rip his clothes off and lick him all over.
Then there was Mulder's tongue nudging his lips, sucking at them, slipping
between them to duel with his own tongue, flicking across his teeth, the
taste of him, oh god... the scent of him, in his nose, drowning in it, it was
too much. It had been too long, and never with someone where it meant this
much. He heard a distant moan that was dragged out and realized it was his
own.
"Alex, Alex," Mulder was muttering brokenly against him as he planted wet
kisses on his face, one hand reaching up to hold his head, lacing his
fingers through his hair and stroking his face with the other. And then
Mulder was diving in for another; slower, longer this time.
By the time Mulder lifted his head, Alex was breathless. His face was
burning. Hell, his whole body was on fire. Ablaze... it was like swimming
through thick liquid fire: hot, hard, wet and deep. He licked his lips and
attempted to assess the options open to him in the next few moments. It
could go well or it could go very, very badly; particularly if Mulder
remembered that he was supposed to hate his guts. Hoarsely, he whispered,
"W-want you." That's what came out. He hadn't meant to say that, though.
Never mind.
Mulder gave a half-hearted groan and leaned down to let himself lay on him,
resting against him with his face crooked in tight into the right side of
Alex's neck. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a few seconds to revel
in the intoxicating experience of Alex Krycek's warmth, the smell of him,
the closeness. The heady blend of desire and caution in the way Alex held
himself, as though Mulder would pull away at any moment. And Mulder smiled.
This was a much better punishment than anything he had thought up before.
Alex's arm was trapped under Mulder in this position and he could only rest
his hand inefficiently against Mulder's left hip. He said in his ear, "Fox?
Please tell me you're not jerking me around, here."
"Okay. We'll jerk around in the bedroom instead." Mulder's reply was
muffled against his neck, his breath making Alex writhe a little in spite of
himself.
"Look," Alex said, more firmly, "is this—are you going to regret this?
You know, in the cold light of day and all that?"
"Mm. Probably. But, I'll make you a deal: if the sex is bad, we walk away
and forget it ever happened. If it's great, then we play it by ear."
The gentle nibble of teeth and hot breath on his earlobe was distracting
enough without the sensation of Mulder moving atop him. "Okay. So, what I
do to get by in life is all right with you for now? I'm tired of being
lectured."
"Shut up, Alex." Mulder attacked his neck, alternately biting and licking
the smooth skin there.
Alex's cock was hard and aching in his pants, trapped as it was against the
constricting material—especially in his current position. He wriggled
under Mulder, from both the heated mouth worrying at him and his erection
that was now insistently demanding he stop ignoring it. And if Mulder didn't
stop grinding his groin into him it was going to be all over.
But the wriggling only made Mulder stop and hold him down more firmly.
"Going somewhere?"
"No, but I'll be coming somewhere, and soon if you don't get off me. Unless
you want me coming in my pants?"
Mulder relinquished his hold and pulled himself up. He stood and offered
Alex his hand to pull him upright to his feet. Alex took it. A languid
smile crossed his face and he surprised Alex by wrapping his arms around him
and pulling him close against him once more, with a kiss more sensual than
before, more appreciatively, taking the time to taste, to memorize.
With his heart thudding in his ears, Alex pulled back and looking directly
into those warm and somehow mournful eyes. "Are you really gonna let me have
you? You're gonna go through with this?"
"Why do I keep getting the impression that you hold your breath after
everything you say?" Mulder kissed him with a smack on his lips. Delicious.
In fact, more than. Well, okay; it was obvious Alex was still worried
about something. He'd wait to pounce. Until they got in the bedroom,
anyway. "Didn't you have something you needed to tell me, Alex? Or can it
wait until morning?"
Alex's gaze slipped away. "Actually, now that you mention it..." he died out.
Mulder lifted his eyebrows. "Yeah?" His arms slipped away, leaving Alex
free to step away if he wanted to.
"There wasn't anything. Not really. It wasn't anything that can't be done
at another time. It wasn't that important. I just wanted to—"
Mulder reached out his hand to cup Alex's chin and lift his head to face
him. "Yeah?" He repeated. "What?"
"To see you. Just, to see you again. That's all."
Mulder considered this. "I thought so, actually. Sounds like high school
behavior to me. You know, I think this is the first time since it all
went to hell that I believe you?"
"Thanks, I think." Alex's tone was dry. "I'm dying here. Do you think we
could move on, now?"
Mulder found Krycek's nervousness a definite turn-on. He grinned. "So
move." He shook his head, "After you; I want to watch your ass."
Alex stepped away, walking towards the bedroom. He opened the door and then
stopped and half-turned, with a smile. "Sorry, but I have to ask. Why a
waterbed?"
Mulder came in behind him. "It's a long story. C'mere." He had pulled off
his tie and shirt and now began assisting Alex with his t—shirt.
His shoulder... Mulder's hands moved against the straps of his prosthetic.
Alex pulled away, his throat going dry. "It's—it's not a pretty sight."
Mulder reached for him again though and kissed him savagely, leaving a burn
on his chin, his lips swollen, to kiss away his doubt.
Somehow, every time Krycek showed a little more of himself behind the
crumbling defenses, every time he slipped into a vulnerable mode, Mulder
felt his balls tighten and draw up. He wanted to ride him, hard. Pinch his
nipples, twist them, make him cry out... "It's a little late to back out
now," he muttered against him, before stepping away once more, to remove his
socks and shoes. And then unzipped his pants and slid them down. He knew
Alex was watching and couldn't help making a slight production of it,
pulling his briefs down even more slowly. "Get over here," he ordered.
Alex closed the bedroom door, leaving very little light in the room. Without
letting himself dwell too long on anything, he removed his shirt, and the
prosthesis. And then the rest, boots and jeans, followed... It was easy,
in the dark, knowing he couldn't see him. Usually he didn't let it bother
him; but Mulder's appraisal mattered. What spiked into his heart the most
though, was that he didn't have two good arms to hold him with. He
fervently promised to make up for it.
Mulder pulled back the covers beside him. "Next time you plan on coming
round, do you think you could make it a little earlier?"
"No problem." He joined him in the dark, and found Mulder's arms wrapping
tentacle-like around him, pulling him close while he possessed his mouth
again.
There was something novel about being naked together. The earlier tension
hadn't dissipated at all. If anything it had stretched to a fever-keen
pitch. Each of them wondering if the other would really go all the way.
Their legs were entangled and the glaringly inescapable sensation of both
their hard cocks against each other's bodies were like two hard brands on
their skin, between them.
Alex just hoped Mulder wouldn't freak out at any point and bail. Mulder
didn't disappoint him, however, and brought his hands down to investigate
his nipples, pulling at them and finally pinching them hard enough to make
him wince and gasp. He reached down a hand to grip Alex's cock, hard,
forcing a deep groan from him. "J-jesus! Fox. God—"
"Been a while since someone did that for you?" Mulder murmured.
"I don't think anyone else has touched me in... a long time. A very long
time."
Alex launched himself at Mulder's mouth, allowing himself the luxury of
losing control. He decided to let go and just follow his whims, wherever
they led him. And he was pushing him back against the bed, inching his way
down his neck, to the delightful, perky nipples, sucking at them until they
pebbled, smoothing his hand through the curls on his chest. Across that
trim stomach and then Mulder was parting his legs as Alex felt for the hard
cock with his face, rubbing against the silky shaft with his cheek, letting
it blindly caress him before opening his mouth. Without any warning, he
took him in as far he could on his first bob down. He heard the breath
sucked into Mulder's lungs and almost smiled around the sizeable erection
filling his mouth.
Mulder nearly lost it; his hands shot down to hold Alex's head. Alex began
the exquisitely tortuous slow rhythm of moving up and down. Alex lashed his
tongue on the glans and then sucked hungrily on the crown before he skewered
his mouth on him again. He kept a steady pace for a few more seconds until
he felt the telltale tensing as Mulder began to near completion. No way, he
thought. Not this time, anyway. And gripped the base of his penis.
Mulder cried out as Alex let him slip from his mouth.
"Fox, I want you. Let me—come on—let me have you," Alex gasped.
"Move!"
Mulder was still for a moment and then rolled over, to lay on his front.
Somewhat relieved that Mulder was going along with this, Alex moved behind
him to position himself between his legs and then ran his hand soothingly
along his thighs, down along his lean flank, over the taut buttocks.
Stroking his pale cheeks, he grinned to himself in the dark. Now this was
worth all of it. Any of it, combined. Any price. Even reparations and
accusations in the morning. And he lay down, happily getting into position,
bending Mulder's knee to push his right leg up farther out of the way.
Pressing his face against the soft skin, he began to place slow kisses on
each cheek, moving down farther until Mulder was making little shudders
under him.
Mulder was gripping the edges of the pillow with white knuckles. The
thought of that beautiful mouth moving on him, those fuckable lips doing
this to him, made his cock drip, trapped as it was against the bed. As the
soft, almost tickling sensation of Alex's tongue licked gently and
admiringly against his tight pucker, he clenched his teeth but couldn't help
the answering groan. Willing him to go farther, Alex didn't disappoint him.
With a teasing side-to-side motion before sliding right into him, Alex's
tongue then began to stab into him lightly and swirl around, long and wet.
"Alex. Alex!" he called out, unable to hide the ragged tone of desperation.
Down below, Alex pulled back. He sounded patient. "Yes, Fox? I'm kind of
busy just now."
Mulder was breathing heavily, his head whirling. "Will you—just do it,
already."
"Do what, Fox?" Alex had a mischievous tone of innocence.
"Just, fuck me! Come on!"
The rich chuckle that reached his ears filled him with a double prong of
anticipation and unease. "When I'm all done here, when you're ready," Alex
replied, patting his butt lightly. "And certainly not until I'm ready."
And returned to his relentlessly slow and languorous task of driving Mulder
insane. He wasn't going to stop until he was well-lubricated, knowing what
he was planning to do afterwards. Besides, he wasn't eager to abandon this;
rich and wonderful, and to make Fox squirm and beg, oh god the power. The
thrill of hearing that voice asking him for it!
Finally, after a keening kind of moan, Mulder found himself begging.
"Please, Alex! Fuck me now! Come on—please! Fucking do it! Now!"
Alex let him writhe and struggle a bit more, knowing it wasn't really enough
to bring him off. Then he clambered up, letting every inch of him slide
against Mulder's fevered flesh as he settled himself against him, moving to
nestle his cock along the now-slippery crack. "Fox—oh, baby... Listen,
when was the last time you did this? I only ask because I know how it can
be, and I'm willing to take it slow, for you."
Mulder considered this before replying in a quiet, subdued voice. "Yeah.
But don't worry, I can take it."
Alex snickered somewhat, teasing his balls with a light touch, caressing
them lightly and making him move in new ways. "You actually trust me, huh?"
"Hell, if I can't now, then what are we doing here? Don't you dare leave me
like this." And he bucked back against him, causing a moan from the man
atop him as his prick slid along his length, nestled between his asscheeks.
Mulder wildly felt under the other unused pillow for condoms, grabbed one
blindly and ripped it open, thrust it back at him. Alex immediately seized
it. Without wasting any time, he rolled it on with trembling fingers and
returned to the ultimate point of no return, of doing Fox...
"Fuck," muttered Alex with feeling, reaching down to help guide the tip of
himself to the tight hole and press inwards with just a nudge.
Mulder was lost in the unusual experience as it burned and stretched him.
But he gritted his teeth against the impatience he felt; he was more than
ready and wanted the tight friction of it. Finally he couldn't stand it any
more. "Damn it, Alex! Just fuck me! Jesus."
Alex laughed lowly in his ear at the desperation in his voice. "Yeah, you
want it, Fox? You got it. Here you go. All you want, all you can take,"
as he began to push upwards, farther and deeper into that impossibly tight,
hot vise-like grip. It felt like a hundred silken, molten fingers curling
and wrapping around his cock. "God!" he breathed. This was not going to
last long.
The head of Alex's cock was bumping against that sweet, wild spot inside
with every slow thrust, sending a hot flash of urgency through him. Mulder
began to wonder if one could die from being fucked. He could suddenly
understand why old men who married teen nymphos died of heart-attacks...
And then there was nothing but the solid, rapidly increasing tempo of Alex
fucking his ass. Each time Alex pushed into him, his legs got weaker and he
found a guttural cry forced out of him. Mulder reached down to grasp at his
cock with one hand under him.
Alex couldn't stand it anymore, losing it in the need to drill Mulder's
tight, deliciously hot ass under him into the bed. The bed was moving,
giving them the sensation of floating on a lake or on a wave-tossed, choppy
sea. He was deliriously ramming into that hot channel, delighting in the
noises Mulder was making beneath him. He found himself licking and biting
the back of his neck mindlessly. Fox wasn't helping, struggling and shoving
himself against him. "Fuck me, fuck me harder, dammit, oh god, fuck me,
harder, Alex! Oh fuck, fuck, FUCK!"
And then the cream was boiling inside, erupting, shooting out of him even as
Mulder's ass suddenly clenched around him tightly and was pulsing sweeter
and tighter around his cock than he could stand. He was crying out,
shaking, the ecstasy of little lights and tenderness screaming silently in
his brain as he felt his come nearly wrenched out of him, draining him of
whatever was left with whimpers and sighs.
Mulder let the darkness sweep over him; he hadn't come as satisfyingly as
that in a long, long time. He was mildly disturbed by the lone thought that
wandered across the surface of his mind; it was addictive. Surely this
didn't mean that the only time he could feel this good was with Alex
Krycek... and why was Alex here again? Oh yeah; because he'd wanted him.
Had come over to 'talk'. Yeah, right. How ... sweet, actually. He smiled
to himself. So the rat—bastard had a weakness after all: him. There were
rich possibilities here. And that high-pitched shriek when Alex came;
actually, there was nothing girlie about it. In fact, it was a really hot
sound. He wanted to hear it again, and drifted off scheming of all the
different ways he might be able to make Alex do it more than once.
When he came to, he realized Alex was still lying atop him, although he'd
pulled out of him at some point. Alex was idly caressing his arm, his hand
moving up and brushing through his hair. There was a slight tremor in Alex
though. And then he felt what he thought was a drop of sweat land on his
neck. It was followed by another and then a trickle and it suddenly
clicked. "Hey, you okay?"
"I can't—I wish—I don't want to go. I don't want to leave just yet."
His voice was rough and torn, and small. Almost like a boy's. "Please?
It's been so long since I had this." ...and it's been so long, I've wanted you
for far too long. I don't want it to be over so fast.
He hated himself for allowing himself to get drawn into this, for listening
to his cock rather than his brain. Common sense told him this would prove
far more painful in the long run. It would've been better to simply lust
after him from afar. Yet here he was, having successfully got him into bed,
still clutching at him.
Mulder felt a combination of pity and concern at the suffering in his voice.
He couldn't help feeling touched that he'd be afraid of being kicked out at
this point. "Alright." Mulder began to pull out from under him. "But
let's move. I can't hold you like this." There were tangled and awkward
movements and then Alex was being folded in Mulder's arms with generous
affection.
"Jesus, Fox," he whispered, "if I'd known you would—Well... I would have
done things differently. I wouldn't have—" A kiss on his forehead was
supposedly comforting. But it was still placating.
"Shut up, Alex. Leave it alone for now."
Going along with this for the moment, Alex fell quiet. He let himself be
soothed, Mulder wiping his tears and even kissing his cheek in a gesture
more gentle than he thought possible of the man, but he knew that it would
change with the morning. It had to. Nothing could be this good forever.
Not the least because of the incredibly high stakes each of them held in
their respective parts in the current game. He was still for too long
because Mulder stopped moving, himself.
"Alex?" Mulder was suspicious. "Come on, stop dwelling on it."
"Okay, but I just have to say one thing."
Mulder waited. "Yeah?"
Alex was nearly inaudible. "I'm sorry."
"What?" And it hit him. The full import—"Oh. Right." And then he said
in the safety of the dark, "So am I."
"I didn't want to need you."
"Me neither." Mulder sighed. "But I'm not going to worry about it. Maybe
you should let it go, you know? Just enjoy the moment."
"I can't." A hard edge entered Alex's voice.
Oh, for god's sake. "Why not?"
There was a harder edge to him now. "Will there ever be a next time?"
"Damn it, Alex!" he chuckled, "This is worse than—You're as bad as a
woman, you know that? I've never had to hold someone for so long
afterwards." He felt Alex stiffen in his arms and added, "It's not bad sex
at all. So, we'll just play it by ear, like we agreed. Okay? But will you
stop with the commitment anxiety? Lighten up. If you don't know that you
belong to me, now, let me get it into your thick head. You're mine, got
it?"
Alex didn't answer, merely lifted his head and captured Mulder's mouth again
in a kiss intended to convey acceptance but ended up making Mulder's cock
twitch and leap slightly against him. He snickered at this, once. "Yeah, I
got that. Loud and clear."
"Impudent," Mulder muttered, "sassy and completely bad. Bad, bad, bad."
"Hey," Alex protested, weakly, as Mulder shifted suddenly, turned and pinned
him under him to the bed, using his shoulders and weight to leverage
himself, keeping Alex under him, "I thought you were tired."
Mulder grinned down at him in the dark, enjoying the indulgence of holding
him down, the feel of his long legs and other... warm, luscious parts naked
against his own skin. He wanted him again. Now. "You're mine," Mulder
repeated, more seriously. "Do I have to prove it to you?"
"Oh, yeah," growled Alex, with a hard push upwards, nearly dislodging him.
"God, take me, Fox... prove it to me." Anything else he might have said was
swallowed up in the urgent press of Mulder's mouth to his. And couldn't
think as his brain was robbed of intelligence.
I guess it'll be a longer night than I thought, Alex mused dazedly as Mulder
lifted his legs up to rest them on his shoulders, helping him balance by
holding them in place.
"You're so fucking beautiful." Mulder couldn't see it but he was certain
that Alex's face was turning red because the hand he placed against his
cheek was heated. "Stop fighting me, Alex. You're the one who's fighting
me. Give in to me. You know you want to." Mulder enjoyed the way saying
things like that made Alex react. He tended to blush and squirm while
pretending he wasn't. He smiled. "So pretty," and he slid a finger into
Alex's mouth, loving the way that mouth, those sweet lips wrapped itself
around his finger. He then withdrew it, and moved his hand swiftly down to
Alex's ass, wetly sliding it into him, carefully inching his way upwards.
God, it felt the same, only tighter, oh dear lord and his cock was going in
there?! He hadn't expected the way Alex twisted under him, choking.
"Fuck, Fox, oh god... Fox, please, please! Oh, sh-shit—ohhhh..."
A knowing grin crept over Mulder's face—he knew exactly how that felt...
and he reached up, straining to feel around under the other pillow for the
lube he knew he had there. He pulled out another condom too, glad that he'd
never bothered putting them away. He quickly unwrapped it and pushed it
onto himself, cursing under his breath when it was a little tight towards
the base and he had trouble getting it unrolled all the way down. Fumbling
to squirt enough onto his fingers, he then slathered his cock. Alex was in
for a longer ride this time, he knew. And he grinned wider.
Alex was getting incoherent in his need. "Come on... now. Want you—inside
me. Please!"
"I love it when you beg," Mulder gritted out, bending slightly and then
enjoying the way Alex arched into him as he speared him slowly, so slowly.
But hard.
Alex was open-mouthed and gasping. Mulder nearly came from just having his
penis sheathed inside him. Mulder waited until Alex began to make little
eager movements with his hips. Alex's legs slipped down to press against
him tightly, wrapped hard to his waist and sides, still jerking against him.
"You like that, baby? You want me to fuck you—harder?" He punctuated
this with a quick, savage thrust.
"Ohhh, fuck, yes—god—"
Mulder couldn't resist leaning down to plunder that mouth as he drove deeper
into him. Then he began to pound him with earnest effort. "Huh? More?
Have you—been—wanting—this? You want—me?" Timing each word with a
further thrust as he began to slide more deeply into him, leaving a good
second or more between each one, making him wait on the edge for them— before slamming in again. "Talk to me, you bastard, I want to hear you say
it. Oh, fuck—gonna—fuck the truth out of you..."
"Yes, I want it, want you, Fox.... Fox," the words were being ripped from him
along with his breath, feeling more and more lost as the battering against
his prostate began to take its toll. "Want your... hand on me. Fox, touch
me... fuck me, please... oh f-fuck!" And then he was falling over the edge
again, far too soon, that brilliant burst of pleasure that ripped out his
mind as Mulder continued the assault on his ass more quickly and with more
jaggedly erratic thrusts. Mulder wrapped his hand around his cock, tight.
Alex's orgasm was as intense as the previous one, maybe even more so
considering the fucking he was getting this time... although there was
considerably less juice. He was babbling something over and over, hoarsely,
entreatingly, the only thing that could help release the pressure of trying
to express how fantastic, how fucking good it felt. And then his world
stopped along with Mulder as he held him still, pausing. Mulder was panting
above him, and then sank to suck at his mouth, ravaging him with abandon.
Mulder felt his heart squeeze inside him as Alex was coming, shaking, crying
out. It did something to his insides, he couldn't hold back. "I love you,
too. Alex, Alex," he ended, on a wail, "Alex! Oh FUCK—" and then he was
shuddering convulsively as he emptied himself into that dark, hot hole,
plunging him with more erratic thrusts until he ran out of momentum as well
as come, and collapsed onto him. Alex's legs slipped down woodenly and
Mulder snuggled against him, letting the jounce and slosh of the waterbed
beneath them lull him into a perfect stillness.
Alex lay there, his eyes blinking in the dark. Had he just heard right?
Was he hearing things? Mulder just said he loved him.
For god's sake...
And then: 'too?' He loves me too?
And realized he'd been shouting that he loved him when he came. Fucking god.
Busted.
Oh well. Maybe it was true. Pure contentment and satiation settling inside
him for the first time in years rendered worry meaningless.
He couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. And it felt good, Mulder laying on
him. He moved, slipping Mulder's shrunken cock out of him and nestling into
him companionably. He left it for the daylight to solve. And smiled as he
felt the even breaths as Mulder's chest rose and fell against him.
finis
Nothing Left to Lose
by Jami Wilsen
The knock on the door was distracting but not to the point that it made
Mulder lose his train of thought. He ignored it.
