Alex awoke to the sound of birds outside the window. The white light of day
seeped through the closed curtains.
He sniffed and opened bleary eyes. Mulder was lying beside him, still asleep.
There were a scant four inches between them and without thinking, Alex raised
his hand to touch Mulder's hair. He stopped himself, his fingers hovering above
the soft strands, not wanting to wake Mulder. Alex sighed and closed his eyes
again, wishing he could fall back asleep. But already the doubts rose and fell
in his mind as if in a turbulent sea.
If only.
If only he could pretend that this was the final stop—for both of them. That
he was living here with Mulder, away from the bustle and harsh life of each
passing day, trying with every tomorrow to pretend that life would... somehow
improve. If only he could take shelter in the warmth of Mulder's passionate
mind and slender form. He bit his lower lip, wishing he could run his hand down
Mulder's back, sidle up to the man once more and repeat last night's
unprecedented, unforeseen activity...
He opened his eyes and stared back up at the ceiling. The room was a pale blue,
with very few personal effects of Mulder's to be found. It was almost as
impersonal as a motel room. A dark rosewood frame surrounded a floral Monet on
the opposite wall, beside an up-lighting wall lamp.
There was a musky but indefinably sweet scent and he realized it was Mulder's
own odor. He leaned close to breathe in the smell of Mulder's hair. FUCK. It
was so good, so delicious, pure Mulder aroma straight from the source. It made
his eyes half-close and he felt delirious from it, a secret smile curving his
lips. He let the scent of him fill his nostrils and lay back, delighting in the
quiet theft of the act.
Fate, the bitch, would probably have him awake from this cozy scene to find
himself alone in some cold hell of a hotel, Alex thought. Or worse, Mulder
would wake up and then shoot him when he realized Alex had taken advantage of
his emotional distress in the night. Glumly, Alex knew that the latter was
probably the most likely, with either gun or fists, even considering the fact
that Mulder had let Alex blow him several hours previously.
He lifted his head and squinted at the bedside alarm clock. It wasn't even
seven yet. He sighed and let his head drop back to the pillow.
Turning his head once more to admire Mulder sleeping, he saw that Mulder's bare
shoulders and back were getting cold, the gooseflesh already rising on his skin.
He had to fight to suppress the instantaneous, automatic reaction to move in
and wrap himself around Mulder.
To be so close now and yet so far. The pain that scraped through his insides
was somehow more raw and keen, leaving him hungry for an intimacy that was sheer
folly to even dream of. Mulder would hardly share his longing for companionship
and comfort. In truth, what he'd offered Mulder the day before had been
everything he himself wished for. Including the blow-job, he thought with a
self-directed sneer.
And he hadn't fooled Mulder. Not for one second.
He considered the information that he'd brought as his security, should Mulder
have refused to see him. In the wake of Mulder's nightmare and obvious torment
over his dead father, Alex was seriously contemplating taking the photos and
giving them to the gulls to squabble over in the waves of the Bay of Fundy.
Mulder was in no shape for any disclosure of the nature that Alex had brought.
He sighed, rubbing his eyes. Mulder was an emotional wasteland, a scarred
remnant of a previous era's pompous and presumptuous efforts to create a
sacrificial lamb out of their 'heir'. We make a matching pair, he thought. The
sheep and the scapegoat. Then he grinned fiercely. Mulder always was the black
sheep, no matter what environment he found himself in: his family, the F.B.I,
the Consortium... The human race, even. They both were. Outcasts ought to
stick together. Then Alex snorted. Somehow, he knew that trying to convince
Mulder of THAT was problematic at best.
Mulder continued to sleep, his breathing shallow, even and unchanged. Alex
couldn't bear it any longer. Either he should cut his losses and run at this
point, or go all the way and press the point home. Of course, he wanted to
press more than that, ALL the way home, hot and hard as he had not long before
they fell asleep—with Mulder in his arms. Somehow, it felt crass to try to do
it now. Mulder may have acted like a willing slut after a good cry and some
emotional venting in the dark; it didn't necessarily mean that he'd be overjoyed
to wake and find Alex fucking him again while he slept. In the cold light of
the morning after. Shit.
Silently and carefully, he slipped out of the bed. Locating his clothes, he
gathered up his t-shirt and shorts, then his jeans. He made it to the door, his
hand on the doorknob, when Mulder's sleep-roughened voice reached him.
"This is familiar. Running out on me again, Krycek?"
Alex straightened, feeling absurdly vulnerable standing there nude by the door,
his clothes draped over his shoulder. Deciding to ignore the words as they bit
deep, too deep to attend to without making a scene, he turned to regard Mulder
in the dim bedroom. "I need a shower. And coffee. And some breakfast. I can
make us something while you shower, if you'd like."
Mulder regarded him. Finally, he nodded. "It's okay. I'll put the coffee on
while you have yours."
Alex looked down, then took a breath, nodded and left the room, seeking the
safety of the bathroom.
Shit, shit! He wasn't in any kind of shape for this. He was on the verge of
breaking down and begging Mulder to let him—let him...
Let him WHAT?
Stay? Go? Go with him when he left?
He twisted the shower on with a vicious movement. Scowling, he realized his bag
was still downstairs. Sighing, he pulled on his t-shirt and shorts and went
downstairs to get his razor.
Mulder was in the kitchen, rinsing out the coffee machine and putting a new
filter in the holder. Alex quickly got his things and went back up, taking the
stairs two at a time.
The bathroom was steamy, the water having reached a warm enough temperature to
get under while he'd been downstairs. He stepped into the shower and began to
wash himself up, intending at first to get it done fast but somehow the
laid-back atmosphere and silence of their remote location influenced him. Alex
found himself taking a few stolen moments to luxuriate in the pure sensuality of
enjoying the warm water and privacy.
By the time he was finished, dressed and going back downstairs to rejoin Mulder,
he had regained the spring in his step and his confidence in the potential of
the day. Putting his things away in the bag, he heard Mulder call from the
kitchen.
"Eggs? Toast?"
He got up and went into the kitchen. "Mm. You look positively domestic,
Mulder," he grinned, as Mulder turned to frown at him.
"I may look the part but I assure you, I'm not domesticated, Alex."
"Could've fooled me. Uh, can I have those just as they are? I like them a
little bit runny in the middle." Alex picked up one of the plates laden with
toast and held it out. Mulder scraped the eggs out of the pan with the spatula
and slid them onto Alex's plate.
Sitting at the little wooden kitchen table, Alex turned to regard him. "Aren't
you going to shower?"
"When we're done. I don't really want to eat the eggs cold."
The air was thick with all things they weren't saying and Alex found himself
examining the rather awkward silence with a cautious air. He didn't want to
tempt that bitch, Fate, by breaking it first. Besides, if he knew Mulder...
He picked up one of the pieces of toast and began to take large bites out of it,
washing them down with gulps of coffee.
Mulder sat down with his own plate. Staring across at Alex, he asked, "So,
what's on the agenda today?"
Right on time. Alex sighed. Pouring himself a glass of orange juice from the
carton, he replied, "I don't know. I'm kind of taking each day at a time, you
know? It's called improvisation."
Mulder thoughtfully chewed his toast, watching Alex eat.
Mulder continued to watch and it began to grate on Alex's nerves. Especially as
Mulder just continued to LOOK at him, without even saying anything. Finally,
Alex couldn't stand it any longer and threw down his fork. "What do you want
from me?" he demanded.
Mulder stared at him innocently. "Nothing, why?"
Alex laughed in disbelief, shaking his head. "I can't eat with you staring at
me like this."
"How very Freudian of you," Mulder replied, coolly. "There's nothing much else
in here to look at. And you're sitting right across from me. But if you like,
we could eat in separate rooms." Mulder wasn't even looking at him, Alex
realized, but at his hair.
Alex sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his eyes. "Mulder,"
he said, tiredly, "what are you looking at?"
Mulder grinned, a little shamefacedly, and said, "Well, actually, now that you
mention it, your hair's wet and it's sort of... sticking up and...it looks
cute."
Alex stared back at him. "Cute," he repeated. Then raked his hand through his
hair, straightening it—or so he hoped.
Unfortunately, the self-conscious gesture only made Mulder grin wider before
gesturing with his fork at the back door. "It snowed heavily all last night.
We're blocked in," he declared, as if making a statement.
He probably blames me for this, Alex thought. "There's no need to get paranoid
about it," Alex replied, grumpily. "I didn't have anything to do with it."
Mulder stared at him once more. "What the hell is wrong with you? Are you
always a bitch in the morning?"
Alex exhaled. Then he lifted his chin defiantly, matching Mulder's gaze. "I
suppose you think that I asked Santa for all this bad weather, so that I could
have a chance to have my wicked way with you."
Mulder shrugged. "I believe in aliens and I'm a paranoid conspiracy hound. I
also believe in the possibility of World Peace and goodwill for all. So, what's
odd about adding Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy to the list?" But his tone had
taken a self-mocking turn.
Shit, Alex thought, darkly. Mulder was right—why was he so tense and
self-defensive?
He was screwing himself out of his only chance to make things right, at long
last. He licked his lips and took refuge in his coffee.
But Mulder had taken on a melancholy expression and now looked... morning-tired
and sad. It wasn't a full pout, but he looked morbid enough to tug at Alex's
heartstrings.
"Look, Mulder, I wasn't—I mean, I didn't come here to try to—last night—"
he stumbled.
Mulder was nodding and interrupted him. "I know you didn't. I think you're
just as surprised as I am, at what happened. But it isn't the end of the world
and it doesn't mean that we can't look each other in the eye. Right?" Indeed,
Mulder was looking him full in the face.
Careful to look Mulder in the eye himself as he replied, Alex tried to stagger
towards some kind of understanding between them. "Agreed. I never thought we'd
get that far. It wasn't my intention. Really. I know," he laughed suddenly,
looking down at his plate, "I know that might be hard to believe after—you
know—my Christmas present last night. But..."
Wryly, Mulder said, "Hell, I figure I owed it to you, anyway. I never did
return the favor."
Quietly, Alex pointed out, "I wasn't expecting you to."
"I know." Mulder's reply was just as quiet.
They both returned to finishing their breakfast. In the less awkward silence,
Alex found his thoughts still racing, however. Did this mean Mulder would
consider it over and done? Finished? Never to be discussed again? And were
any future acts between them out of the question?
A part of him knew that it was far too soon to tell and that in fact, if he
wanted to continue seducing Mulder into falling into these encounters with him,
all he had to do was keep playing this the way he'd begun. Another part of him
feared going too far and losing what ground he'd gained, pushing Mulder past his
limits and causing the man to snap once more—as he had so many times before.
And just what DID he want in the end? What was he trying to accomplish for
himself, beyond the promise of his friendship to Mulder in Mulder's time of
need?
A pang went through him as he realized that in all likelihood what he wanted
didn't converge with Mulder's ideas of the future. With a sickening lurch, he
knew that there was very little chance that he'd convince Mulder it was a good
idea to spend much more time with him.
Mulder probably thought that his nightmare the night before represented his
finally having dealt with the issues plaguing him and that he no longer needed
Alex's questionable help in coping with them.
Mulder stood up, draining his coffee cup. "I'll take that shower. Do you need a
hand clearing up, or are you okay with all this?"
Alex nodded, absently. "Sure. I'll be fine. Go on."
Mulder left the room and went upstairs. Alex heard the bathroom door close and
the water start running again.
Alex closed his eyes, unable to help the images from playing out behind his
lids, of Mulder standing flushed and aroused, naked under the hot spray, soaping
his body...
He wondered if Mulder's ass hurt at all from the unusual attention it had
received the night before. Alex shook his head, stood up and started clearing
the table.
He carefully washed the dishes, setting them in the drainer to drip-dry,
angrily cursing himself for wishful thinking. This entire scene was incredibly
stupid, emotionally driven and laden with mines that could easily blow up in his
face with just one wrong step into any subject that might set Mulder off.
The man's volatile temper had seen Alex at the receiving end too many times
previously for him to ignore Mulder's problem with his anger management. And
where Mulder had sometimes shown great sensitivity, understanding and compassion
towards some people, for some strange reason it was usually the opposite in
Alex's case. Mulder seemed bent on thinking Alex always had some nefarious
purpose where he was concerned.
Bitterly, Alex realized he'd cornered himself into his own private hell.
Trapped in a small, confined space with the man of his dreams for the duration
of the holidays. And it didn't matter how many times he got to have sex with
him—he'd never have what he wanted.
He knew, he just KNEW, that Mulder would end up turning a cold shoulder to him.
There was no way Mulder would ever—
Unable to stand the suddenly claustrophobic clutter of the kitchen, in fact the
entire cottage, Alex went to the front door and put on his boots and his jacket,
and then stepped outside for some air before he broke down where Mulder would
see. Mulder would see and then ask probing, interrogative questions of him
until he broke further, finally losing all credibility or composure.
With honor be it spoken
Mulder went downstairs, adjusting his collar under the thick sweater. He
checked the fireplace and noticed that he needed to get some more firewood.
Going to the kitchen, he saw that Alex had left the dishes to dry and was
nowhere to be seen. He called out, "Alex?"
A quick check of the cottage's interior revealed that Alex was gone. Then he saw
Alex's jacket and boots were missing. But his bag was still there. Relief
quickly followed on the heels of Mulder's fear.
Mulder stopped short. He wasn't afraid of Krycek leaving, was he? Hm. He
realized that he was, indeed. After all, Krycek always left. In fact everyone
usually did, whether of their own intent or not. And Krycek HAD betrayed him in
the outset.
But putting himself in Alex's shoes, Mulder suddenly understood that Alex was
probably aware of this. No doubt Alex was also afraid that he'd simply kick him
out—literally into the cold.
Mulder stood in indecision, chewing his lower lip, wondering what the best
course of action was.
First things first. The fireplace. He donned his gloves, his hat, coat and
then his boots and went out the back door, behind the cottage. There was the
ax, in the tree-stump, and the logs in the shed. He chopped enough for two
armfuls and then carried it all through into the living room. By the time he
was finished, he was sweating again. He got the fire going nicely and then went
back outside, through the front door this time.
Alex's tracks were easy to follow in the fresh, deep snow. He followed them all
the way down to the dunes, back to the water's edge. They led along the
snow-covered beach and the wet rocks and pebbles, and then went back up into the
dunes again, behind the cottage, into the forest.
He continued onwards amidst the trees. Alex had circled around behind the
cottage.
Frowning down at where Alex had obviously stopped, he looked up and then
chuckled to himself. Alex had been standing in the perfect vantage point to
watch Mulder chopping wood. He'd probably been standing there watching the
entire time that Mulder had been outside.
With a wry smile, Mulder followed the tracks around. They deviated once he
neared the driveway and continued off along the tree line before disappearing
into the woods once more.
Robins chattered above him in the treetops and from tangled bushes covered with
snow, sending small snowfalls cascading down like tiny avalanches above. There
was no sunlight but the entire forest was illuminated from the glare of the
daylight off the snow. The air was cold, and the new fallen snow was crisp and
white. He leaned over to taste the snow on one of the branches near him. The
sharply cold crystals melted instantly on his tongue, some of them half-melting
from his breath even before they reached his mouth.
Up ahead, not very far away, he saw Krycek through the bare trees, his dark coat
and hair easily visible against the white of the surrounding snow that covered
everything.
His fingers were starting to tingle already from the cold but he pressed onward,
trying to catch up with Krycek.
Krycek stopped and turned to see Mulder as he approached. Mulder grinned at
him. "We got a white Christmas, after all," he said, cheerfully.
Krycek gave a noncommittal, small smile and turned back to regard the view
through the trees. The bushes and evergreens were thickly encrusted with snow
but the leafless trees were stark against the monochrome forest.
Going to stand beside him, Mulder clapped his gloves together and wriggled his
freezing toes. "It's colder out here than it looks," he remarked.
When Krycek didn't respond, Mulder looked up at him, peering into his face.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine, Mulder." The dry reply didn't exactly invite further inquiry.
"Fine," Mulder muttered. He stood there, wondering why Krycek was having a
hissy fit now, of all times. A-ha... regrets. That was it. "Having second
thoughts? Bit off more than you could chew?"
A hard edge to his voice, Alex replied, "My bite's worse than your bark."
Mulder made a visible wince. "That doesn't really encourage me to let you have
a repeat performance."
Alex snorted. "As if you care."
"What's that supposed to mean?" An equally hard note entered Mulder's voice
now. "Don't tell me you're about to profess your deep disappointment that I
haven't declared my undying love to you. Or that I'm not down on my knees here
in the snow, begging you to drag me back up to the bedroom and fuck me until I
die."
Alex gave him a look askance. "No, I'd say you've made it pretty clear that you
aren't interested... Fox." The last was stated with an over-familiarity and a
slight dig that Mulder found needling...
And realized the danger of them spiraling down into another confrontation. He
sighed. "May I ask you something?"
A look of uncertainty crossed Alex's face. "Sure," he said, doubtfully.
"Why do you always take this so seriously? Why do you care? I mean, why should
you give a damn if I'm out here alone? Why bother to come upstairs when I'm
having nightmares? Why?" Mulder found himself pleading for an honest answer,
knowing that he all of a sudden understood perfectly—and knew the answer
already, and that there was no way in hell that Alex would ever be able to tell
him because he wasn't really sure himself.
Alex turned away, regarding the trees surrounding them, tilting his head back to
look at the treetops that formed an arch over their heads. Finally, he
swallowed. "If you haven't figured it out by now, there's no use in me trying
to explain it to you, is there?"
THAT, Mulder realized, was about as much positive confirmation as he'd ever hope
to get on this subject. He nodded and then placed a glove on Alex's right
shoulder, his arm going around him companionably. "You're right. It nearly
insults my intelligence—and yours. So, how would you feel about an old
fashioned snow-ball fight?"
Alex shook his head. "Forget it. It would turn into something else, very
quickly."
Mulder squeezed him, once, with a grin. "Is that a threat, or a promise?"
Stiffly, Alex said in an angry tone, "Jesus—can't you just—just—"
Mulder let his arm fall away and he wrapped his arms around himself, hugging
himself through the thick coat. He could no longer feel his toes. Humbly, he
said, "Thank you for coming out here, to be with me. Thank you for being here
for me when no-one else would, or could. Thank you for caring, and for showing
me kindness and love at times when I've been alone. I'll admit I was wrong
about you. You aren't here to hurt me, not now. I'm sorry that I've been...
cold, yesterday... and this morning. I believe you. No-one is that heartless."
He stopped, hoping he hadn't gone too far. "I'm willing to accept you at face
value. You're welcome to stay, if you want."
After a few moments where Mulder could actually hear his heart beating in his
ears, Krycek replied, cautiously, "A bit late if you said I wasn't... There
isn't anywhere to go. You're kind of stuck with me, now."
Mulder pressed him, however, needing the reassurance that he wasn't about to
hare off again. "So, you'll stay?"
"If you want."
"I do." A chill breeze danced around their legs, blowing up loose snowflakes
and whirling them up to fall like dust. "Come on, let's go back inside. I'm
getting frostbite." Mulder stepped around him, took him by the elbow and urged
him to follow him back to the cottage.
Krycek was silent and lagging behind him, all the way back, even once they got
inside the front door and started stripping off their coats and boots. When
Mulder went into the kitchen to make more coffee, Krycek simply sat down on one
end of the couch and stared off into space.
Shaking his head, Mulder realized that, really, they were both a couple of
burned-out basket-cases. It had been sheer folly on Krycek's part to imagine
that he was in any kind of shape to handle Mulder's breakdown... or to offer
solid support. The best they could hope for, either of them, was to provide
mutual comfort as they tried to deal with the stress of their combined past.
With resignation, Mulder took two full mugs of coffee back out to the living
room.
Handing one carefully to Krycek, he noticed that there was a brown envelope
sitting on the low coffee table. Sipping from his mug, he asked, "What's that?"
"Your information," Krycek replied, dully.
Cut to the quick, Mulder demanded, "What, you think I said that outside just to
get information from you? Cooperation?"
Krycek shook his head. "No, I believe you meant every word. That's why I'm
giving this to you now... I want to put all my cards on the table." He looked
up at Mulder with a look of resignation. "The truth, Mulder—honesty and
integrity—I don't want this to bite me in the ass later, once we've made our
peace here. I don't want you turning around later and claiming that I withheld
this, or anything else, from you."
Lifting his brows, Mulder sat down on the other end of the couch. "Fair
enough." He shot Krycek a look, noting the man's downcast expression and
slumped position. "Uh, sorry about that. I didn't mean to jump on you about
it..."
"Forget it. Just open the envelope."
"Damn it, Alex! Give me a little credit here," he said, reaching forward and
picking it up. "I'm trying."
"I know you are. Now just—open it." Alex sounded exasperated.
With a sigh, Mulder opened it and took out several 8x10 black and white
photographs.
They were all taken from the same angle, it appeared to be a legal panel, and
the subjects appeared to be a number of judges presiding at a hearing.
Frowning at the photos, he tried to ascertain the significance of them, then
felt his stomach jump unpleasantly as he recognized his father, much younger,
sitting beside the main presiding judge.
Finally, he asked, "What are these of? They had to have been taken
around...1960? 65?"
"'59. They're of the McClellan committee hearings. One of those was taken
during the hearing of Joe Vallachi, a mafia hitman."
Confused, Mulder asked, "How was Dad involved? Why was he one of the judges
presiding over the mafia cases?"
Krycek sighed. "He was in charge of overseeing the operations, ensuring that
the FBI cracked down on the mob, and also the CIA's later programs taking care
of the Sicilians in their own backyard."
"But that was a service that stood our country well," Mulder began.
"Don't be naïve, Mulder," Krycek said, in a withering tone. "Not this late in
the game. Come on. They had to eliminate any possible competition. The Cold
War wasn't just about the Project, it was also about Intelligence and the
control of the flow of information. The KGB's intelligence operations far
exceeded the CIA's, and both the FBI and the CIA had to not only clean up after
they started gaining the edge but they also had to make sure that the five
families of New York and all the little kingpins throughout America were on the
level with them. They couldn't afford to have anyone running any kind of
syndicated operation—not in narcotics, which was their main source of funding
for all their Black Ops."
Mulder sank back in his seat. "What about the Kennedys?"
Krycek shook his head. "Everyone conveniently believes that it was because J.F.
was going to blow the whistle on the UFO cover-up, and on the Hybrid Project.
But you KNOW the Kennedys were hardly clean, Mulder. Come on."
Weakly, Mulder asked, "Can you give me a straight answer, please? For once? Why
the hell was my father involved? Why was he overseeing the mafia clean-out?"
"Control. It was always about control. It isn't who controls the operations,
the little bosses, even the intelligence. It's control of information. And
your father wasn't the only one. Nearly all the members of the Consortium had
legitimate positions of power and ownership in every resource you can imagine.
It wasn't just about the military, politics, or about drugs and money, or dead
aliens. It was about running the country—the planet. Mulder, don't tell me
you didn't at least partially grasp this?" Krycek sounded pained.
Angrily, Mulder retorted, "Of course. But you're painting a picture that makes
William Mulder one of the men responsible for controlling the mafia—that he
was the biggest gangster of all."
Krycek hurriedly shook his head. "No, not really. Mulder, the mafia in each
country is the one that actually controls the infrastructure AND the
corporations. The ports of Mexico, Canada and the lesser-guarded docks are the
main import bases for drugs and weapons. Guess who oversees the running of
those operations and ensures that they continue without a hitch?"
"The organized crime syndicates, overseen by our beloved patriotic government,"
sighed Mulder. "So without the 'mafia', we don't have any kind of organized
transport of anything in or out of any country, across any border."
Krycek nodded. "Who's running Russia, now? Serbia? The Vatican? Any number of
nation states whose government is weak, unstable or nonexistent?"
"The Consortium was. And you took them down," Mulder pointed out. "So you left
all the countries of the world open to a new mafia regime, hiding beneath the
respectability of politicians and military peacekeepers, corporations and
multi-national business. All of them must have scrambled for the new positions
when the Syndicate was burned..."
Astonished, Krycek replied, "You're going to blame this on ME?"
"I'm not blaming everything on you. I'm just pointing out that you were the one
who successfully arranged with the Rebels to take out all the heads of the
Syndicate with one big barbecue roast. Remember?"
Coldly, Krycek sank back into the couch. "I cannot fucking believe this—"
"Don't get upset. I'm not blaming you. I guess, in a way, I'm thanking you.
In a weird sort of way, by doing Cancerman's bidding and killing—" Mulder
swallowed, "-Dad, you started the job back then. Getting them all roasted at
the same place at the same time was just a lucky arrangement. And my father
would have been present at that one, anyway. This is what you were leading to,
isn't it?"
A different light entered Krycek's eyes. "This is the second time in less than
a minute that you've managed to shock me, Mulder."
With a twisted smile, Mulder replied, "You had it coming. You shocked me last
night when you climbed into my lap and kissed me. Remember?"
"Not really," Alex admitted. "Maybe I should do it again, just to be sure that
I got it right."
Quickly, Mulder said, "Wait... hold on there. Hold that thought. Let me clear
up a couple more details, here. If my father was overseeing the clamp-down on
the mob-bosses back in the Sixties, exactly what was Cancerman's part in all
that?"
Krycek looked back at him, guilelessly. "He killed Kennedy, and eliminated
numerous other 'threats'. They didn't understand the concept of creating
martyrs back then. They knocked people off left, right and center. It was too
easy. They didn't realize that it would haunt them later. He was their best
hitman, Mulder. He specialized in wetwork, but he felt under-appreciated and
underutilized, particularly because most of them just thought he was a nameless
assassin while he was one of the most influential members of the Syndicate. He
was one of the MJ-12. I thought you knew all that."
Mulder was nodding. "I thought I did, too. It's just nice to know I was
right."
Krycek snorted. "Your three nerd friends there were fed a constant stream of
disinformation, just to leak to you the appropriate pieces of truth they wanted
you to hear. It may have been the Smoking Bastard who let them give it to you,
so that you'd understand his 'position'."
"Okay, uh—I'm not accusing you, I just want to know, okay, Alex? I'm not
asking this to accuse you... but," Mulder hesitated, not sure how to say it
without starting a fight. "Why didn't you tell me anything like this before?
Why couldn't you have come to me before now, and just... told me? Talked to me?
I would have listened. Christ, this is the only thing I ever wanted, was for
you to tell me the truth! To tell me what the hell was going on!"
"I know. That's why I couldn't. I wanted to, believe me. But you would have
followed it up, everything I handed to you, and you probably would have ended up
dead. Your immunity only extended so far, you realize. If it hadn't been for
your father and the Smoking Bastard, you'd have been killed as a liability to
the Project very early on. Probably with your first incursions into their
operations once you had been given the X-Files."
"Oh, come on, now," Mulder said. "That's like saying that if I went back in
time and killed my grandfather, I would never have existed. Or that if I hadn't
been born, things would be different. Of COURSE they'd be different. In fact,
if things hadn't turned out the way they did, I would have been taken, not
Samantha. Or if—."
Krycek sighed and rubbed his face with his hand, wearily. "Yeah, yeah. But the
point I was trying to get to is that regardless of what I did, or how I did it,
your father would have been killed by someone that night, whether it was me who
pulled the trigger or not... And if I hadn't killed him, the Smoking Bastard
wouldn't have made me the scapegoat for that whole DAT fiasco and I wouldn't
have ended up in a fucking silo in the dark for fucking DAYS..." Krycek cleared
his throat. "And I wouldn't have been conveniently blamed for it all and gotten
rid of, and ended up on a personal mission to... Look, Mulder, I was committed
by then to a vendetta against the entire Syndicate. If all that hadn't
happened, I wouldn't have brought down their pretty little Project around their
ears. And your dad would still be dead but the others wouldn't. Can you think
of anyone else who would have been in a position or who even possessed the
inclination to go up against them? To actively work against them? I got to them
because I WAS on the inside."
Mulder's mind was whirling. "I feel sick."
"Tell me about it," Krycek scoffed. "I've felt sick about it for a long time,
now. But I didn't want this hanging over us anymore. There's a lot to go over.
We're just scratching the surface, and you probably won't want or need to go
into it all. I know you're having a hard time, here, that you came here to get
away from it all, but I don't—I couldn't just—" he ran dry, coming to a halt
and seemingly not able to find the right words any longer.
"Is this a warped kind of confession, or something?" Mulder asked, curious.
Krycek sighed. "I guess it's turned into one. I didn't plan for it to be. I
didn't mean to say... what I said. But it's the truth. Whether you want to
believe it or not."
Mulder slowly smiled, and it stretched further into a grin. "Alex, thank you.
Thank you for finally trusting me, for finally telling me the truth."
Obviously uncomfortable, Krycek threw him a glance and shifted in his seat.
"Are you—you mean that? You're not being sarcastic? You actually believe
me?"
Mulder nodded, licking his lips and thinking, wondering. "That's a lot for me
to digest. The ramifications are... interesting, to say the least. But I
believe you. It makes sense."
"Well, good." Krycek looked lost and almost wistful. "You know, once I
realized how the world was structured, I didn't want to run it anymore. Once I
saw that I'd have to become just as bloody a dictator as any of them, behind the
scenes, I kind of lost my stomach for the job."
"More power to you," Mulder remarked.
Krycek stared back at him. "Yeah, except that..." He looked away, out the
fogged-up window, and down at the floor.
Mulder didn't want Krycek bailing at this point. It was too crucial an
understanding that they had just reached. Gently, he asked, "Alex? What is it?
You can tell me. You've given me enough of a framework that I think I can
handle it without blaming you, at this point."
Krycek rolled his eyes. "Right. There's still a lot, Mulder."
"So, lay it on me," Mulder said with a grin. "It's Christmas. I don't know
which present to thank you for more."
Krycek shot him a closed look. "If I'd known you'd be this easy with just truth
and a blow-job, I'd have gone down on you a long time ago."
Mulder nodded. "In my apartment that night, when you came to tell me about
Wiekamp."
Krycek blinked and looked away. "Most likely."
Mulder didn't believe it for a second, and probably Krycek didn't either. They
were both all too aware that Krycek would never have initiated anything further
than that peck on the cheek; not with the blood between them as bad as it was.
Mulder asked, "So tell me, Alex: what is it you were going to say? What were
you wanting to tell me?"
Krycek looked away again, swallowing.
"It's okay, you can tell me," Mulder urged, "I won't get angry."
Krycek looked down at the table before them.
"I'll believe you. I will," Mulder promised. "I don't think you'd have
anything to gain from lying to me, at this point. I mean, it's like you said
yesterday. Both of us are out of the game and it won't hurt either of us to
compare notes. Or revelations."
Krycek sat, not looking at him. He looked unwilling to carry on with the
discussion.
Mulder tried to reassure him. "I believe you, I do. What you've told me—it
makes sense."
Krycek still didn't reply. Mulder watched as a tear ran silently down Krycek's
cheek. He found himself filled with surprise, consternation and dismay as he
watched the man who'd he'd always considered almost inhumanly capable of
suppressing any kind of emotional response melt in front of him, like an icicle
held over the fireplace.
He was equally surprised at the instant reaction he felt welling up within him
to scoot over and comfort Krycek.
Krycek brought his hand up awkwardly to his face and wiped at his eyes. Not
looking back at Mulder, he said in a rough voice, "I'm sorry."
"F-for what?" Mulder was still floating in a strange transitional twilight-zone
space, not really sure what to make of this entire scene.
"For hurting you. For betraying you, alienating you. It's cost me; god knows
it has. But like you pointed out, I'm not sure where I could have changed
things. If I could go back in time and do things differently, I don't—I don't
know what I'd do differently." He sniffled, bowed his head and whispered,
"Doesn't change the fact that I have blood on my hands."
Mulder let out a silent breath, not wanting to rush a reply and maybe distract
Krycek from whatever else he wanted to say.
Mulder was on the verge of... something. Some new comprehension. He felt
frustrated with himself—his mind usually managed to put the pieces together.
As he sat there, waiting tensely for Krycek to continue this unexpected,
outpouring apology, the light finally went on in his head.
Krycek believed that since he still had the death of Mulder's father on his
hands, as well as all the other things Mulder had always hated him for, that he
didn't have a chance... with him.
All the times he'd seen this man before flashed in an odd, stilted procession in
Mulder's brain. Alex Krycek, green rookie agent, renegade thief selling stolen
secrets, double-agent manipulator, mercenary serving humanity's cause in the
darkest ways, an earnest man on his knees before him and holding his own gun on
him in the night before kissing him... All of them—each and every guise he'd
ever seen Alex wear had always had one commonality: those eyes.
Those same eyes that couldn't quite hide the vulnerability and openness whenever
he looked Mulder in the face. Those eyes that always betrayed some kind of
feeling, no matter how stony or smirking the expression he wore. The same eyes
that right now were spilling over with probable regret atop the remorse he was
professing. Eyes that had never been able to hide what Alex had betrayed last
night by initiating dinner, had shown unmistakably when he'd given him head and
finally comforted him so kindly and affectionately after his nightmare...
More tears trickled down the paths the first ones had taken and Krycek turned
his head away. Brokenly, he said in a barely audible voice, "I'm sorry."
Finally giving in, Mulder got up and sat down beside him, pulling him into his
arms. Alex was stiff and unyielding in his embrace but he held on to him
anyway. "Your hands are clean now," he murmured.
"I can't undo what I did to you."
"You don't have to. I can see that now. I DO need you; but you need me too.
We need each other. We can do this; we have to. Alex, as far as I'm concerned,
you washed the blood away with your tears."
Alex tensed again in Mulder's grasp.
"Yes, you did. You have a conscience. However you pay for your sins, corny as
it may sound, it's between you and God, Alex. It isn't for me to be your judge
or jury."
"Or executioner," Alex whispered.
"No. No, not that either." Mulder gave a morbid laugh. Then he added, "And
for what's it's worth, I'm sorry that you lost...your arm," and as he said it,
wondering if there was any easier way to say it, he felt a prick in his own
conscience knowing he was partly responsible for that particular outcome of
their sojourn in Siberia.
But Alex relaxed into him and finally turned, wiping at his face again and then
accepting Mulder's embrace, even going so far as to burrow against him, his head
tucked under Mulder's chin, leaning in against his chest.
Mulder was content to sit there, just holding him. Alex didn't say anything
more and Mulder really didn't feel like going over it anymore, himself.
They sat like that in silence for a long time. Mulder finally realized that the
room was extraordinarily hot. The cottage was well insulated and with the
windows and doors all sealed, and with the couch situated so close to the
fireplace, he could feel himself getting sweaty beneath the sweater he wore.
The additional heat of Alex's body against him was making it worse. But he
could afford to put up with the mild discomfort of getting overheated for the
sake of this special moment they'd arrived at. Besides, he suspected that the
temperature was partly from his own body heat getting trapped in the layers of
clothing he wore. And the arousal he felt as he held Alex, so close.
Alex finally moved, shifting against him, and murmured, "Thank you."
Mulder kissed the top of his head, wondering why he felt so elated at the
knowledge that now he could touch this man without feeling... guilt.
It was as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. And the veil
fell in that instant from his eyes. He'd always wanted to touch Alex—and had
been overcome with anger towards him that Alex himself had done things that made
it impossible for Mulder to touch him, without always blaming himself for
wanting to.
"Alex? What are the chances of us going back up the bedroom and fucking until
we die?"
Alex stiffened.
Mulder quickly backtracked. "We don't have to. I was only asking. Is it too
soon?"
Alex pulled away from Mulder and sat up straight once more, before looking into
his face, earnestly. "We can do anything you're comfortable with. If you can
handle jumping back into bed right now, that's fine with me. But I'm a little
worried that you'd be using it as a way of not having to deal with all this. I
mean, we've just opened the can of worms, here."
Mulder nodded. "And big, fat juicy ones they are, too. Okay, so let me ask you
this, instead. What do you want for Christmas?"
Alex's eyes darted away from his, again. "You've already given me more than I
ever would have thought possible."
Mulder reached up a hand and caught his chin, gently but inexorably turning his
head to face him. "The truth," Mulder reminded him, searching Alex's still
doubtful expression. "I can handle it. I think it's time for you to learn to
trust ME, rather than the other way around."
Alex's gaze flicked downwards. "Mulder, come on. You've hit me for less, in
the past."
Mulder winced as a little arrow of guilt shot through him. "I know. But I
won't, ever again. Not now that I can do this," he replied, and leaned forward
slightly to touch his lips softly to Alex's.
To his credit, Alex didn't flinch backwards, or instantly instigate a lip-lock,
he merely closed his eyes and returned the slight pressure. Mulder immediately
recognized the inherent risk involved in kissing Alex now. If they kept this
up, they'd slide into another long, magnetic dance and necking session that
ended up with both of them naked and writhing in a messy heap on this very same
couch. Come to think of it, that was not such a bad idea...
But Alex must have recognized the same thing for he pulled back and licked his
lips with a little smile. "Fox, you're a great guy, but you can't take
liberties like that without mistletoe."
"Why not? You did," Mulder said, with a note of mock-reproach. "What's good
for the gander is good for the goose." And he kissed Alex harder this time,
catching his lips beneath his own and sliding his tongue between Alex's lips to
play there.
With a slight moan, Alex pulled away again. "Don't do this unless you mean it."
Mulder moved back with an irritated scowl. He muttered, "Okay, okay. Then tell
me what you want for Christmas. Either tell me, or fuck me, but I'm not going
to last much longer like this."
Alex gave him an interested glance. "Really? Do tell. What part of this sordid
little scene is getting to you?"
Mulder gave an exasperated sigh. "These kisses," he said, leaning forward to
place his head in his hands.
"Ah, of course," Alex said in a knowing voice. "Those always did get to you,
didn't they? You never forgot that night in your apartment, did you?" he said,
wonderingly.
"Are you kidding?" Mulder groaned. "You burned a goddamn brand into my cheek.
I never could get rid of the impression of that one."
Alex snickered. He was still snickering when Mulder looked back up at him.
Folding his arms across his chest, and sitting beside Alex so close that they
were pressed up against the length of each other as they sat there, Mulder said,
pouting, "Fine. So just tell me, already. What do you want for Christmas?"
"Hm. No strings?"
Mulder frowned. "What?"
"A present, and one that isn't in anyway involved somehow with anything we just
talked about?"
Mulder nodded, briefly. "Yeah, right. Of course."
Alex licked his lips, nervously. And let out a breath. "Oh, fuck it," he said,
irritably. "What have I ever wanted? What's the only thing I've ever wanted
from you?"
Mulder waited. Then asked tentatively, "Is that a rhetorical question?"
"No, it's actually a very straightforward one," Alex admitted.
Mulder could feel the heat from Alex searing along his body in all the places
where they touched, even through their clothes: his arm, his hip and his thigh.
He reached with his left foot to place it against Alex's right. "Are you going
to make me guess?" Mulder asked, a little incredulously.
"Are you going to make me say it out loud?" Alex countered. "Don't tell me you
don't know by now. How much more obvious do I have to be? I jumped in your
lap, blew you, and fucked you, all in the space of—" he stopped short,
considering, "-I THINK—twelve hours?"
Mulder laughed. "You want to fuck me until I die?"
"You keep saying that. No, that's what you want, Mulder."
Sighing, Mulder playfully stroked Alex's right foot with his socked toes.
"What are you doing?" Alex asked.
"I'm playing footsie, while I wait for you tell me what you want from me for
Christmas," Mulder murmured, concentrating on moving his toes over Alex's. He
didn't usually engage in such tactile and dexterous control of his toes and it
felt odd, but interesting.
"Why is it so hard to say, all of a sudden?" Alex wondered.
"More rhetoric," Mulder commented, clucking his tongue. "But I can't help you,
or you'll just accuse me of leading the witness, here."
"You do have a bad habit of putting words in my mouth," Alex replied, with a
smile.
"I'd rather put other things in that mouth of yours, but I can't until you've
managed to get out the words that you DO have on the tip of your tongue," Mulder
remarked. "Just out of curiosity, purely from an intellectual point of view,
how long have you had a crush on me?"
"You really do have a high opinion of yourself, don't you?"
"I was joking, Alex."
"Sure you were," Alex snorted.
"I was," Mulder insisted.
"Like hell. You were fishing."
"Good point. There's a salmon steak in the freezer that would agree with you."
"Don't tell me you want me to compliment your cooking, as well? And you'll
expect me to tell you that you did a good job? That you'll make someone a fine
wife someday?" Alex was grinning at him, though. "What, are you planning some
kind of feast for Christmas dinner, Mulder?"
"Well, it's the least I can do, in return for dinner last night. Which really
was good, by the way. Thanks for that."
Alex shrugged. "You're welcome."
Mulder squirmed. "Alex, please. Just tell me. What do you want for Christmas?
I'm dying in suspense, here."
Alex bit his lip. Then blurted out, "I want you to fuck me. Until death do us
part." Then he looked monumentally embarrassed. "You're a bad influence, Fox.
I meant until we BOTH die." He shook his head.
Mulder sucked a tooth, thinking this over, hearing what Alex was saying and
feeling very odd at not having a problem with it. So, Alex wanted to play for
keeps? Hell, what ELSE was he going to do with his time?
"Okay," he said, lightly.
Alex stopped, regarding him out of the corner of his eye. He looked faintly
suspicious. "Mulder, do you realize what you just said?"
"Yeah. If I have to agree to fuck you instead of getting fucked myself, in
order to have sex, here, I'll do it anyway you like, in any position you want,"
Mulder gravely informed him.
"Mm-hm. So much for dinner, then," Alex commented. "That salmon is going to
stay frozen for a while longer."
"Fuck the salmon," Mulder said.
Alex sniggered. "No, thanks. And we seem to have reached an impasse. Dinner
or sex?"
"It's not an either-or situation, Alex. You don't seem to understand—it's not
optional. We're having sex, then food. Then more sex, then sleep. Then more
sex, followed by more food, a walk down by the beach, more sex... A nap,
followed by more food. And sex. Not necessarily in that order."
"Mulder, you're babbling. I've noticed you have a problem with that."
Mulder sighed. "People have always accused me of babbling. I was quite serious
about the sex. And the food. And the sleep, too, in fact."
"It's a serious impediment," Alex remarked. "But I know the cure."
"That's only your opinion. It's not an impediment at all," Mulder said, batting
at Alex's socked foot with his own.
"It doesn't sound like such a bad idea, what you said," Alex answered.
"What, the endless sex and meals, followed by sleep?"
"Yeah."
"Until we die," reminded Mulder. "Don't forget that part."
Alex froze.
"What?" Mulder nudged Alex's foot with his. "You didn't think I was so dumb
that I missed that part, did you?"
Alex looked down. "I wondered if you'd take it seriously," he admitted.
"Alex, stop beating around the fucking bush and just say it. Tell me what you
want."
Flushing, Alex said, "You. I want you. I haven't wanted anything else. I
already TOLD you that. How many fucking times do I have to say it?"
"Don't get upset," Mulder replied. "You haven't said that once, yet. You've
hedged around it and hemmed and hawed. There's no need to hem and haw with me."
"I think I'm entitled to a little hemming and hawing, Fox."
"Don't call me Fox," Mulder said, automatically, not thinking.
"Well, don't call me Krycek."
"Fine."
"Fine."
"Okay, then," Mulder said.
"Okay."
Mulder let out a breath, aware that both of them were stalling out of pure
nervousness. "If we don't move soon, I'm going to have to jump you right here."
Alex tilted his head. "As far as I'm aware, there isn't another living soul for
twenty miles in either direction, along the highway OR out in the bay. And it's
Christmas."
Mulder shook his head. "I want to do this properly, and I can't on this couch.
There's not enough room."
"Fine. Let's go upstairs then," Alex replied, leaving Mulder's side and
standing up. He stretched, and yawned.
Mulder got to his feet, ignoring the head-rush as he stood up too fast. Alex
met his eye then looked away.
"Hey," Mulder said. "You alright?"
"Yeah. Let's go."
Mulder frowned, but he let Alex lead the way up the stairs.
The bed was still unmade from that morning. It was queen-sized, which was
barely big enough for both of them.
Alex was licking his lips again. The curtains let in too much light to really
guard each other's expressions from the other, but Mulder realized that was the
lesser concern. Alex had said too much downstairs and was probably wondering
when the ax was going to fall. Mulder walked around the end of the bed to where
Alex was standing and pulled the surprised man into a hug, his arms going around
him and clinging to him tightly.
Fiercely, Mulder whispered, "I want you, too. I always have. Don't you dare
back out on me now; not after we've made it this far." He was painfully aware
of how open to betrayal this made him. But he was certain that this time, Alex
Krycek wasn't acting. He hoped.
Alex sagged in Mulder's arms and brought up his arm, clutching Mulder around his
waist. He was trembling slightly—whether out of nervousness, desire or both,
Mulder wasn't sure. No, there was no betrayal here, Mulder thought. If Alex
bolted now, it was out of insecurity. "Come on," he said. "It's okay. It's
alright, Alex."
"Jesus." Alex exhaled, heavily, the side of his face pressed to Mulder's
shoulder. "You don't have any idea, do you? What that does to me?"
"What?"
"Saying my name." Alex pulled back, looking into Mulder's eyes. The amount of
longing and entreaty in those eyes was so apparent that Mulder was almost
shocked.
"I don't want to fuck you, this time," Mulder began. As the disappointment and
pain clouded Alex's eyes, and he began to imperceptibly wilt, Mulder quickly
qualified, "I want to make love to you. That's what you really want, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Alex replied, hoarsely. He cleared his throat. "I wasn't expecting
this. I didn't think... I didn't presume—"
"I know." Mulder ran his hands down Alex's sides, to his hips, and began to
pull his sweater up out of the way, then the shirt out of his jeans where it was
tucked in. Alex moved as if to help him, and Mulder shook his head. "Let me.
I want to. I'll unwrap you," he clarified.
Alex stood still then, while Mulder undressed him, undoing his jeans and sliding
them down, slowly beginning to reveal Alex in all his naked glory. Mulder
hadn't been able to stop remembering the vision of Alex standing naked at the
bedroom door, earlier.
Mulder didn't say anything as Alex flinched when the shirt came off and his
stump was no longer covered—merely leaned over and pressed a kiss first to
Alex's cheek and then to his left shoulder, quickly moving to continue
undressing him. Alex relaxed a little, then.
Mulder took the time to move his hand over every inch of skin as it was exposed,
and by the time Alex stood in his socks and shorts, Mulder realized with
triumph, Alex was trembling now with suppressed arousal and with a very stiff
cock tenting his shorts.
Mulder knelt before him, getting down on his knees before reaching up to pull
the shorts down past slim hips, over the jutting cock that rose up instantly, no
longer confined, then down over Alex's knees, to step out of them. Mulder
insisted on removing Alex's socks, too.
Mulder stood and swiftly tore off his own clothing, balancing precariously as he
ripped off his socks and yanked his shorts down.
Alex was snickering as he went to the bed and shook the covers out,
straightening the sheets before climbing beneath them.
When Mulder joined him, Alex asked, "Are you sure about this? You don't have
to, you know."
Mulder lifted his brows. "I can rise to the occasion when needed. Just because
I haven't had a steady partner in years doesn't mean I can't get it up." He
grinned, but instantly recognized the foolishness of using that particular word
with Alex. 'Partner' was one of those buzzwords that conjured too many ghostly
remnants from their past. He covered his mistake by leaning over Alex and
kissing him, sucking at his lips, licking and tasting, moving down his chin and
nuzzling his neck.
Alex swallowed and lifted his own hand to caress Mulder's hair, running his
fingers through it possessively, almost roughly.
Mulder's hands were itching to touch Alex everywhere and it was with a slight
feeling of surprise that he realized it was okay, finally, to go ahead and give
into this desire. Alex's skin was satiny, warm and smooth. Mulder was slightly
overwhelmed at having all this bounty suddenly placed before him. He could
relate with what Alex had expressed the night before—about dinner, lobster and
the blow-job... Alex was so delicious that he wanted to lick him all over.
An evil grin came over him and he whispered against the pale skin at Alex's
throat, "Turn over."
"What? Why?" Alex sounded breathless.
"It's time for lunch," Mulder said, beginning to withdraw so he could nudge at
Alex, galvanizing him to turn over onto his front.
Alex complied, and Mulder pulled down the covers, exposing the tantalizing
mounds of Alex's bare ass. Mulder knelt, scrabbling and reaching for the lube
they'd used the night before which still graced the bedside cabinet by the lamp.
Then he maneuvered his way on his knees to take up a position between Alex's
parted legs.
Alex looked wanton and ready, the muscles in his slender back just tensed ever
so slightly, awaiting Mulder's touch. Even with the missing arm, he was
completely elegant and beautiful as he lay there with his face turned to the
right.
Mulder crouched there, and feeling like a boy with a new toy—it really is
Christmas, he thought—he put out both hands to stroke up Alex's thighs.
Alex's in-drawn breath was very satisfying to hear; so was his muted groan as
Mulder's hands moved up and over to cup Alex's asscheeks. Mulder leaned down and
began to kiss and nibble his way from behind Alex's right knee, up his leg,
reaching the ripe, taut buttocks. With both hands, he spread them apart and
tentatively licked at the tender skin there before delving down to flick at the
rosebud of Alex's anus.
Alex was shaking and he emitted a heartfelt moan as Mulder's tongue dipped down.
Mulder dragged the flat of his tongue up along Alex's crack, enjoying the way
Alex involuntarily lifted his hips, arching his back slightly. Returning
downwards, Mulder explored this new territory further, getting a better grip on
either side and spreading Alex even farther apart. Licking in a slow, whirling
motion around and around, he finally slipped the tip of his tongue into that
moist, dark hole, tasting the musky, secret scent of Alex.
Mulder was shocked to discover that he could very nearly grow addicted to doing
this. The little mewling helpless sounds that this act forced from Alex, the
small aborted movements as Alex tried to stay still for him—it drove him
crazy. He thrust his tongue further inside of Alex's ass, rewarded with a long
groan from Alex in response.
His dick was so hard it was leaking—and he hadn't even touched it. Just doing
this to Alex was turning him on so badly. It was probably the illicitness of
the act—he hadn't often been able to convince either Diana or Phoebe to ever
let him do this to them—let alone request it himself. And the few times he'd
lain with Dana, he'd been too preoccupied with worrying about pleasuring her to
suggest anything kinkier. But here and now, with Alex, it seemed perfectly
natural. A perfect prelude to what he intended to do.
Just the glimmer of that thought was enough to make his cock jump excitedly.
Fucking Alex... No—making LOVE to Alex... Oh FUCK—
Alex was breathing hard as he gasped out, "M-mulder, come on. I need—I need
more."
Mulder pulled his tongue out, reluctantly, and rose up slightly, enjoying the
act of leaving his hands possessively on Alex's butt. "More what?"
"More. Harder. Deeper," Alex instructed.
Mulder grinned widely. "You got it, sailor."
"I was never a sailor and neither were you."
"Too bad," Mulder quipped, snatching up the lube and squeezing it out onto his
fingers. "They have the cleanest bodies and the dirtiest minds in the
military."
Alex was quivering with silent chuckles. Finally, he said in a long-suffering
tone, "You're repressed, aren't you?"
"Nope. I'm irrepressible and don't you forget it," Mulder warned, sliding the
tip of his finger into Alex's waiting hole, feeling the ring of muscle there
give slightly around the girth of it. He continued inwards, deeper, amazed at
how hot and silky Alex was inside.
Mulder continued in a conversational tone of voice as he began to slide his
finger in and out, working the tightness and helping to loosen him, "I have to
admit that you're a wet-dream come true. I never had a chance to do anything
like this with anyone."
"Poor Fox, always on top?" Alex's voice was strained.
"Poor Missionary Fox," Mulder said, piteously.
Alex obviously couldn't stand it anymore and broke. "Mulder, can you—please,
just—just do it?"
Mulder licked his lips, savoring the lingering traces of Alex's taste, and
pushed another finger into Alex to join the first. Alex's guttural, choked cry
was enlightening.
Mulder thoughtfully began to feel around and... pressed... just so...
Alex's back arched and he gave another long groan.
Mulder smiled. Bingo, presto and abracadabra, he thought; the home-stretch.
He gently and carefully retracted his fingers and reapplied lube to them, noting
that the little tube was nearly empty. They were going to need more. A lot
more.
He managed to get just enough to anoint his cock and then lay down atop Alex,
resting on his elbows over him, before reaching down to try to align the tip of
his cock against Alex's ass.
Finally, he lifted himself back up and then kissed Alex on the back of the neck.
"You ready?"
"God, yes," Alex answered, fervently with his eyes squeezed shut.
Mulder carefully inserted his cock into Alex's nearly impossibly tight hole,
then pushed forward another inch, and another. It was like sliding into third
base, swimming towards the finish line... touchdown. Coming home. Alex's body
was wrapped around him like a glove, heated and rippling against his cock like
little fingers. He whimpered, caught.
He chewed and sucked on Alex's earlobe, moved down to mouth and bite at his
neck, then soothed the skin there with his tongue. "Alex," he murmured, "I want
to do it hard."
"It's—been a while. Just go easy at first, okay?" Alex sounded worried.
Can't have this, Mulder thought to himself. "I won't hurt you," he promised.
And remembered Alex's gentle, rhythmic rocking motion as he'd impaled him the
night before. He began to slowly move, just undulating at first, then slowly
sliding his cock a few centimeters in and out with each thrust, trying not to
just let go and fuck Alex's ass raw. He could feel sweat dripping off of him,
trickling down onto Alex's skin beneath him. The effort to not ram his dick
into this tight, sweet asshole and just let fly, let loose with a volley of
slams and—
He stopped, realizing he had to control this or it was going to be over very
soon. Alex was panting, but he had a little smile on his face, and Mulder
kissed him, saying, "You think it's funny that I'm being good, here?"
"I want it hard, too; give me another minute and I'll tell you when, okay? But
don't stop now."
Mulder's eyes narrowed. He could hardly form comprehensible speech—if Alex
was this lucid, he obviously wasn't doing his job. He began to slowly but
deeply penetrate Alex's body, letting each stroke into him carry all the way
home with the momentum of his thrusts.
Soon, Alex was tense and pushing back to meet Mulder's movements. Mulder felt a
flush of heat rise in his face and flood down to envelope his entire body. It
was all he could do to not come at that moment.
He gripped Alex hard and moaned, then whispered harshly in his ear, "I got you,
I got you at last, oh fuck, FUCK... oh God, Alex..." He reached down with one
hand and tried to feel beneath Alex's belly, intending to jerk him off, but
Alex's cock was trapped between the bed and the combined weight of both of them.
Whatever friction Alex had would have to suffice. Mulder moved back up onto
his elbows and concentrated on shoving into Alex faster.
Alex's cries were now a curious mixture of groans and squeals and Mulder's cock
was big enough that every single slide into Alex was rubbing against his
prostate. Alex bucked beneath him and came, his body shaking as he writhed in a
paroxysm of pleasure under Mulder; his shout was practically hoarse as he shot
his load, repeatedly, squirming in the grip of his orgasm.
Thank fucking God, at last, Mulder breathed to himself. And he let himself
drive into Alex with a series of vicious stabbing thrusts, letting go all
restraint. He felt as though his mind fell into pieces as the pleasure rose,
carrying his consciousness upwards, higher and higher, dizzy heights until it
was almost scary. Like touching the sky, and then floating in free-fall. Then
the explosion followed and he cried out again and again as he emptied himself
into Alex.
Ultimate release, it was contentment and satisfaction, fulfillment and satiation
all rolled into one experience. It wasn't just about sex, or pleasure, or even
control. It was about...
Happiness, he realized.
And sank down, letting his limbs drape boneless over Alex's prone form. The
world was dark and quiet, supporting and continuing the ambience of the
afterglow.
Finally, Alex said, "Mulder, I gotta breathe."
Mulder pulled himself up and off of Alex, feeling sluggish and heavy, like he'd
just rose up out of a swimming pool. He fell backwards, to lie heavily upon his
back and catch his breath.
"That was..." he said, weakly, trailing off without any words to describe it.
Alex reached out a hand and stroked Mulder's arm, his shoulder, caressing down
the planes of his chest and lingering on his nipple.
"It was good," Alex said, watching him.
Mulder dragged his eyelids open and smiled goofily. "It was fucking excellent."
Curious, Alex asked, "Better than last night? Which do you prefer?"
"Don't make me choose. I can't. It's all good." Mulder gave a sigh and turned
onto his side, to gather Alex closer against him and pull the covers up over
them both.
Alex grimaced. "Move over. I'm in the wet spot. And it's really wet."
Mulder snickered at him. But he scooted over to the edge of the bed. "Any
further and we'll be on the floor," he commented.
But Alex merely leaned over him and laid his head on Mulder's chest with a happy
sigh. "Sleep until dinnertime?"
Mulder yawned. "Yeah. Salmon won't take long to cook."
Alex was quiet for a moment and then he kissed Mulder's chest and said in a low
voice, "Merry Christmas."
"Best Christmas I can remember," Mulder muttered.
"Same here," Alex agreed. "I just want you to know that if it isn't what you
want, I won't pressure you, Mulder. Believe me. The whole commitment thing can
put people off; I've always wanted to burn white picket fences, on principle."
Mulder shook his head and stroked Alex's head, letting his hand carry on down
Alex's back. "It's not that. I don't have a problem with intimacy. My problem
is an obsessive personality. Idealism, ambition and the need to prove myself.
But out here, there isn't anything to prove myself to but a few sandpipers, so
I'll let it go. You should, too. Just let it go, Alex. We're here and that's
what counts."
"No more worrying about the past, then," Alex commented.
"No."
With that, Alex seemed content to let it go and breathed easier against Mulder.
Mulder stroked him until they fell asleep.
Touch My Mind II
by Jami Wilsen
I hear there's trouble in Shangri-La
I run through the grass
I run over the stones
Down to the sea
Show me the way back, honey
I hear there's trouble in Shangri-La
I run through the grass
I run over the stones
Show me the way back... to the sea
To understand this light that we carry
And let it light your way
Of course, you know, I generally take it
Well I make accommodations for you
And consider this
You used to be my love
I make excuses for you
