"I want you to love me," he'd said.
No one had ever said those words to Fox Mulder before.
I want you to love me.
I want you to love me.
The words had become a mantra. They were his first thoughts upon waking.
They dictated the rhythm of his steps when he ran. His windshield wipers
spoke them in the rain.
"I want you to love me."
Words an unlovable Fox Mulder never hoped to hear. "I want you to love
me."
Spoken by his enemy. The man he most hated. His own personal devil. Alex
Krycek: The Betrayer.
"You were sexually assaulted," Scully told him, once she'd gotten over her
giggles. "No, really. What if it had been me in the cuffs?" she'd asked.
"No question then, right? Alex Krycek restrained you in handcuffs, then
touched you sexually. Mulder, that's assault."
Great, he'd thought to himself. I was raped by Krycek and it felt so good
and I can't get it out of my mind and I want it again. I want HIM again. I
am such a pathetic, pitiful slut and I hate him and oh god I want him.
"I want you to love me."
The one advantage to being perennially fucked up is that when something's
bothering you, no one notices. Well, Scully did, but she had a notion why
and being the wise woman she was—not to mention friend—she kept her
comments to a minimum. She'd mentioned the Stockholm Syndrome once, and, on
another occasion, suggested specialized counseling but dropped the matter,
letting him know she was there to listen.
"I want you to love me."
His boss was something else. Krycek's assault (awakening?) left him open
to possibilities (extreme possibilities) and Walter Skinner was about as
extreme as they come: big, tough and macho, with that domineering alpha
male sneer that buckled Mulder's knees and made his cock stand at
attention, making staff meetings excruciatingly sweet torture. Great. He
not only had a hard-on for his greatest enemy but for his immediate
supervisor as well.
"I want you to love me."
Why Krycek? Why him? And why did the thought of someone wanting him to
love them hit him so hard?
Well, hell, he knew the answer to that one. He was a psychologist after
all, and he hated himself for being so needy.
"I want you to love me."
It had been two months since the last time Alex Krycek broke into his
apartment. Two months. Had Mulder pissed him off so much that he'd never
come back? Had he pissed him off enough?
Mulder didn't know if he hoped so, or not. All Fox Mulder knew for sure is
that Alex Krycek had stuck a gun in his groin and told him, "I want you to
love me." And a full two months later that thought still made Mulder hard
and weeping.
"I want you to love me."
High summer now, and Mulder ran like he was being chased by demons, which,
in a way, he was.
High summer... 95 degrees with humidity to match. Mulder ran until his side
stitched, and then he ran through that. He ran until he lost the rhythm,
until his legs stopped obeying his orders. He ran until he puked out his
guts, until his vision blurred and the voice stilled.
Stinking and sweating, drenched in his own fluids, Mulder entered the dim
coolness of his apartment. He peeled off his t-shirt, using it to wipe the
sweat off his chest, and looked around for his cat. He entered his bedroom,
heading for the shower when the sound of claws on carpet caught his
attention. A striped gray paw shot out from under his bed, grabbing onto an
unseen speck of lint. The paw disappeared, and Mulder heard the sound of
scrambling under his bed, tips of claws catching on threads of carpet.
The only good thing going on in his life at this moment was the
three-legged kitten he'd rescued a few weeks before the Krycek Incident (as
he'd labeled it). The gray-striped, green-eyed little fur ball he'd named
"Alex" on a whim (green eyes, no left... arm) had loved him and entertained
him and most importantly, it had needed him.
Mulder grinned. Alex-the-cat was about the only thing these days that
distracted him from the thought of Alex-the-demon.
"Hey, Alex," he called softly after the cat, "Whatcha doin'?"
"Just playin' with the cat," came the reply from the far side of the bed.
"Christ!" yelled Mulder, jumping and reaching for the gun he wasn't
carrying.
"Hey, Mulder," said Alex Krycek, rising from the far side of Mulder's bed.
He was clad in faded jeans and a Grateful Dead t-shirt, his hard plastic
prosthesis prominent where his left arm should be. His hair was longer than
Mulder had ever seen it and hung down across one eye. He tossed it back,
watching for Mulder's reaction.
The emotions crossing Mulder's face ranged from the usual rage that Krycek
evoked in him to confusion to lust back to confusion and settled, finally,
on a despairing helplessness.
"Why are you here, Krycek?" Mulder asked softly.
Alex smiled. It was a sweet smile, not his usual cocky smirk. Slightly
sad. "I came to see the cat." It was almost a question. "He's really
getting big."
"You break into my apartment to check on the cat?" A token protest,
really. They'd had this conversation before. "You torture me, Krycek. Why?"
Alex approached him slowly, carefully, waiting for the violence to erupt.
Standing close, still, Krycek inhaled deeply.
Mulder closed his eyes. "Don't." Another token. They'd had this
conversation also. "I stink."
"Yeah," Krycek agreed. "It's great." Then, "I like to torture you, Mulder.
You're so beautiful when you suffer. It makes you, I dunno, luminescent or
something. You glow."
"God, you're a sick fuck."
"I know." Another deep breath, then a soft exhalation. He was standing so
close Mulder could feel his heat, feel Krycek's breath stirring the fine
hairs on his body, making his cock harden. "So," Alex said finally, "you
caught the killer." It wasn't a question.
Mulder opened his eyes, confused for a moment. Oh yeah, Four Corners,
serial killer, Department of Defense... Krycek's information. He nodded.
"You... your information... it helped." Closed his eyes again. Be honest. "Your
information was the key. There was no connection without it. Thank you."
Krycek smiled that sad, sweet smile again. He knew how hard the "thank
you" was. "And you shut them down?" This was a question. So his sources
didn't know everything. Mulder felt slightly disappointed.
"They were officially shut down in 1969. How the hell does something like
that slip through the cracks?" The question was rhetorical, but Krycek
answered anyway.
"In the usual manner," he said, moving away, back toward the bed. "With
money and power... what a scam." He fumbled for something behind the bed,
pulled out a canvas knapsack, carefully disentangling the tiny claws that
embedded themselves in it when it moved. "They create a super drug to make
a super soldier, then the war ends. So what do they do?" He hauled the
knapsack onto the bed, struggled a bit with the straps, opening it. He
glanced over to Mulder, who shrugged, seemingly rooted to the spot, unable
to move. "They sell it on the street, make it 'better.' Tweak it some more
so they can make anybody do anything," he answered himself. "Makes cocaine
look like baby aspirin. Fuckin' assholes don't care whose brain they fry or
who they turn into a psychopath."
"That what happened to you, Krycek," asked Mulder finally, sarcastically,
finding his voice if not his legs. "DOD asshole drugs what turned you into
a psychopath?"
Alex stopped his digging through the knapsack to look back at Mulder.
Insults were familiar, and he seemed pleased that the agent was snapping
out of his shocked stupor.
"And you said I wasn't a psychopath," Alex smirked, reminding Mulder of
the words spoken while he begged for his life, thinking Krycek would kill
him for what he'd named his cat. "Actually," he said, "I was seduced by
words."
"Words?"
"Yeah, you know... honor, duty, love... words."
"Honor, duty and love... that's what turned you into a killer?"
"Yup," Alex found what he'd been searching for, pulled a flat, square box
wrapped in shiny burgundy paper out of the knapsack. "I brought you a
present," he said, tossing the package to Mulder like a Frisbee.
"What the fuck is this?"
"Open it." Alex approached him again, still wary. Warier, maybe.
Mulder looked askance. A present from Krycek? His first impulse was to
toss it back, but who really can resist a prettily wrapped gift? Krycek
stood too close for it to contain an explosive or poison gas, so Mulder
removed the paper, careful of needles or other sharp objects as he pulled
the tape away from the paper.
Once down to the box, Mulder hesitated, causing Krycek to smile a dare.
How brave are you? Never taking his eyes off Krycek, Mulder lifted off the
lid. Krycek's smile widened anticipating Mulder's reaction. When Mulder
finally took his eyes off his ex-partner, lowering them to the square of
cardboard in his hands, he stood stunned. In the box, on a layer of white
cotton, lay a shiny black leather collar, studded with rhinestones. It was
identical, except for its size, to the collar Mulder's cat wore. Even down
to the red heart-shaped tag dangling by an s-hook.
Mouth suddenly dry, Mulder looked at Krycek.
"Read it, Mulder," his nightmare said, for surely this was a dream.
The front of the tag read simply "Fox." On the back, "Property of A.
Krycek."
"You are insane," Mulder whispered finally.
"Not really," Krycek grinned at him. "I'm just a pervert." When Mulder
remained silent, he went on: "Think of it, Mulder. What could be kinkier
than you and me together? Doesn't it get you hot?" He looked down at the
bulge in Mulder's running shorts. "Yeah, I guess it does." He moved in
closer, almost touching, eyes locked on Mulder's. "Come on, Fox," he
emphasized the first name. "Put my collar on."
Mulder tried, he really did, to pull his eyes away from Krycek's green
gaze. But he couldn't, anymore than he could stop his hands from picking up
the collar and bringing it up to his neck. He stopped short of buckling it,
whispering: "Then what happens?"
Krycek's smile was demonic. "Then you do what I say. Until you take it off
again." He reached down to lightly brush against Mulder's erection. "You
can always take it off, Mulder. I don't intend to cuff you or tie you up.
This time."
This time. Even as his mind screamed STOP! his hands finished buckling the
collar. "I've gone insane," he stated closing his eyes.
"Lots of people say you went insane years ago," Krycek said, reaching up
to position the collar with the tag falling across Mulder's Adam's apple.
"Don'tcha think it's time you enjoyed some of that insanity?"
A slow tear trickled down Mulder's cheek and he not quite stifled a sob
when Alex traced its path down his face. "I can't make them stop hurting
you, but I can try to make you care less," he whispered. His hard left hand
braced behind Mulder's back while his warm right one kept busy fluttering
across Mulder's chest, pinching first this nipple then that one, tangling
softly through the sparse chest hair, tracing a trail across and down
Mulder's chest that lead the way for his warm, moist tongue.
Mulder moaned at the sensations, ignoring the screams in his head. It felt
so good, and it had been so long since he'd been touched like this, since
anyone had wanted to touch him. "Did you mean it?" he asked softly, still
not opening his eyes. Afraid that seeing Krycek would spoil the pleasure
and feeling a coward for that fear. "Did you mean what you said? Before.
About wanting... about wanting me to... " He couldn't finish, couldn't say the
words.
"Yes," whispered to Mulder's left nipple just before it was bitten and
suckled softly. "Yes," to the right one with a slurp and a suck.
"Yes-yes-yes," nip, suck, bite, nip, suck, bite, all the way down Mulder's
stomach to his navel. Krycek on his knees, hard left hand on his butt
holding Mulder close, lips closing around the engorged cock, sucking hard
through the silky running shorts and plain cotton briefs. "I want," another
suck and bite to the head. "I want," husky and urgent, gripping Mulder's
waistband with his good right hand, not caring about Mulder's discomfort as
he forced the shorts down over the hard penis, maddened by Mulder's need
and Mulder's pain. "I want you, I want you," over and over, the rest
muffled by Mulder's cock in the warm, sweet mouth.
But Mulder's emotional need far outstripped his physical need and he
tangled his fingers in Krycek's long hair, pulling back hard, hurting them
both. "Say it!" he screamed, eyes open, no longer trying to stifle the
sobs. "Say it so I can hear it, you son of a bitch! Say it!" Down on his
knees now, too, shaking Alex by the hair until the rogue grabbed the
collar, jerking back hard and pulling Mulder off balance and onto his back,
straddling him.
"I do, you fucking fool," crazed voice, deep with lust, hard body holding
Mulder down. "I do want you to love me," mouth finding mouth, claiming and
silencing. And finally, an eternity of tongues and teeth later: "I always
have."
Serious grinding, denim against flesh, cursing and biting and sobs and a
yell that Mulder didn't think was his but was too overwhelmed by his orgasm
to wonder much about. Sweat and snot and semen and Christ! has it ever been
this good?
"Shit!" said Krycek from somewhere above him.
"I came on your pants," said Mulder, still hiccuping his sobs. "Sorry."
A somewhat hysterical giggle from Alex. "S'okay," he said rolling off
Mulder. "I came in 'em."
"That's only fair, since I came in mine last time." Then they were both
snickering, like naughty schoolboys. "So," Mulder said, once they'd
quieted. "What now?"
"Mmmm," came the reply from a closed-eyed Krycek. "I haven't decided yet.
The bed I think. Don't want you getting rug burn."
Mulder snorted, content for the moment just to feel. And he felt, at least
his body did, really good. Relaxed. At peace. No headache or muscle cramp
threatened the back of his neck. "Don't wanna move," he said. "I'm
comfortable."
"Do it anyway. I'm not done with you. Not by a long shot." With that,
Krycek rose gracefully to his feet. "Come on, Spooky. Get it going."
"Don't call me 'Spooky'."
"Whatever you say, Fox. Just move it."
"Don't call me 'Fox'." Perturbed now.
"What should I call you then? And don't tell me 'Mulder.' I won't call you
'Mulder.' Everyone calls you 'Mulder' Mulder. I especially won't call you
'Mulder' when I'm fucking you."
"You're gonna fuck me?"
"Uh huh. Soon's I'm able."
Mulder looked up at Krycek, considering. What happened to the anger, the
hate? Was it all so easily subsumed by lust?
"Did you kill my father?" he asked after a long moment.
"Cancerman killed him," Krycek answered. "I merely pulled the trigger."
Mulder closed his eyes, willing the anger back, waiting for the guilt to
roll over him, filling and choking, negating all the warmth and furrily
pleasant feelings the recent coupling had left him. A tear rolled down and
off his face, pooling in his ear, tickling. The anger could've saved him,
kept him away from this pain, but it was gone, hiding, and all he felt was
a sad kind of guilt.
"If we're really going for the truth here, Bill Mulder killed himself."
Fox opened his eyes, looking up at Alex.
"It's true, Fox," no protest about the name this time. "He knew he'd be
marked the moment he told the smoker he was coming clean with you. He'd
been a player too long not to know that. What is unforgivable, and what I
hope he's burning in hell for, is chancing on taking you with him." Krycek
squatted down. "If he'da talked before I could kill him, we'd all be dead.
They'da killed you for his knowledge and me for not being able to. I
volunteered, Mulder," Alex was almost crying himself. "Because otherwise
they'd have sent Cardinale. And he would've killed you both, just because
he liked it and just to be sure. I had to do it Mulder," his voice was a
harsh whisper. "I had to, don't you see? It was the only way I could keep
you alive."
Silence, then a loud sniff. "Yeah," said Mulder huskily. He sat up, eyes
level with the still squatting Krycek. "It was easier hating you, I think,"
he said, before leaning in for a kiss. It was gentle this time, more an
exploration than a battle, tongues meeting in gentle wet caresses, lips in
sweet massage.
Krycek nodded, once they broke for air. "There's a reason we never killed
each other, we've certainly had plenty of chances."
"And motives."
"And motives," Alex agreed. He rose, pulling Mulder with him. "Come on,
propezdoloch, I really do want you on the bed."
"What'd you call me?"
"Foxy. Go," Alex placed the flat of his hand on Mulder's chest and shoved
hard propelling the agent back toward his bed. "How come it's clean?" he
asked, following Mulder onto the bed, stretching out on top of him, pinning
his hazel-eyed prey underneath. He stretched Mulder's arms up over his head
and nuzzled his neck and armpit.
"Stop it!" Mulder squirmed, self-conscious about his unbathed status.
"No," Krycek licked at the dark hair growing there, catching some in his
teeth and pulling gently. "Answer my question, how come the bed's cleared
off? It's usually piled high with books and shit. So how come it's clean?
Expecting company?"
"Maybe," Mulder squirmed harder.
"Me?"
"Maybe." He stopped his attempts to dislodge Krycek and frowned. "How do
you know what my bed usually looks like?" Alex just grinned. "What? You
hang here while I'm at work?"
"Uh huh." Alex continued his assault on Mulder's armpit.
"Alex!" Mulder said sharply when he could stand the sensation no longer.
"What?" Mulder's own personal demon lifted his face out of Mulder's left
armpit, shifted just a tad and clamped his teeth around a nipple.
"Argh!"
"Argh? You interrupted me to say 'argh'?" Alex dug his chin into Mulder's
chest and look up at him, giving Mulder a strange, distorted view of the
villainous rat.
"Uh, no... you still have clothes on."
Krycek just looked at him. "And your point is?"
"You should take them off."
"Why?"
"I'm naked. You should be naked."
Krycek sighed. "Mulder, you're the psychologist. You certainly know the
advantages a clothed person has over an unclothed person. I'm your top;
you're wearing my collar. Clothes are my prerogative."
Mulder sighed. "Krycek, take off your fucking clothes. Right now."
Krycek didn't move.
"Please."
Still no movement.
"Sir... before I flip you over and beat the shit out of you."
Krycek sighed again, an echo of Mulder's, before rolling off him to stand
beside the bed. Mulder rolled onto his side, head on hand, watching.
"Strip," he said.
"You're awfully bossy for someone wearing a collar," said Krycek as he
toed off his tennies.
In answer, Mulder ran his free hand down his body, stopping to grasp his
cock, licking his lips lasciviously.
"And you're not very good at following orders." Krycek peeled off his
t-shirt, easing it over his head and off the prosthesis. He paused, right
hand resting on the strap holding it in place. Mulder swallowed visibly,
and willed his face not to react. The arm on-arm off choice would be
entirely Krycek's, with no help from Mulder. A pause, a look, a sigh and
the arm came off, to be lain gently out of the way on the floor. Mulder
smiled his approval. One-handed, Krycek undid his jeans, never taking his
eyes off Mulder's. He eased them over his hips, wincing as he unstuck them
from around his genitals. "Eew," he said, pushing down the jeans and
stepping out of them.
Mulder chuckled, causing Krycek to narrow his eyes. He leaped on the bed.
"Clean me up," he commanded.
Mulder grinned. "Sure," he said, moving to clamber over Krycek. Alex
stopped him.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?"
"To get a washcloth," Mulder said, frowning at the stop of the game.
"No," said Krycek, squeezing his arm. "You clean me up. You. Clean me up."
Mulder stared, uncomprehending at first. "Oh," he said finally, eyes
widening. "Oh. Oh, god."
"Yeah."
"Yeah," Mulder repeated, eyes wide and dilated. "Oh." The last words he
said before swallowing hard and putting his head down to Krycek's groin,
sending out a tentative tongue.
"Oh, yeah," from Krycek, signaling he was on the right track.
Encouraged, Mulder broadened his strokes, lapping over belly and thighs,
nuzzling and sucking Krycek's sticky semen off crisp pubic curls. The taste
was both repellent and addictive. It tasted like him—is there any man
alive who hasn't tasted his own come?—and yet not. Different diets, maybe.
Pure protein with just a hint of sweet. God! So good. And the smell... Mulder
buried his nose in Alex's hair, nudging at his cock like a pig after
truffles. Nibbling at his hairy sacs, forcing Alex's legs apart, forcibly
burrowing his head under the creamy white ass, biting at those lovely
cheeks. Coming at Krycek's anus the hard way, tonguing like a homing
missile. Mulder wished for a longer tongue, like other men wish for a
bigger dick.
He took the cock in his mouth finally, when all traces of semen and salt
were gone. Too ambitious for his own good, Mulder gagged, trying to deep
throat Alex all at once.
"Stop!" Krycek hollered, twisting away.
Stunned, hurt, Mulder felt his eyes fill. "I'm sorry. I tried... "
"Oh, Jesus, Mulder!" Alex grabbed him by the hair, forcing him up the bed
for a painful kiss. "It was great," he rasped out in a voice even lower
than usual. "But I don't wanna come in your mouth. I wanna come in your
ass."
"Oh, god, Krycek."
"You're a virgin?" Something not reckoned.
"No. Not exactly." Green eyes to green-gold.
"Mulder," patient, yet anxious. "You either are or aren't. It's not
multiple choice."
"I was 19. It's been almost 20 years."
"Was it awful? Were you raped?" Concern overriding lust.
"No," Mulder said, dipping his head to the sweaty chest before him,
finding a hard nipple to suckle. "It was great. Too great. I loved it.
But... " Mulder switched to the other nipple, "It meant that Bill Mulder's
faggot son really was a faggot. It was so good, I couldn't do it again. I
never wanted to." He left the nipple, then ran his tongue down Krycek's
side, clamping his teeth on what would've been love handles, if there'd
been any spare flesh anywhere on the assassin's lean body. He bit hard,
until Alex yelled.
"God! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," trying to twist away from the
teeth. "I'll go. I'm sorry."
"Fuck you! No you won't," releasing the tortured flesh, then clamping down
hard on another spot.
Krycek arched against the pain, loving it, wanting more of anything Fox
Mulder would give him. "Yes! Fox, I'm sorry. Let me go."
"No."
"Yes."
"No." Savagely, Mulder bit again, gnawing to draw blood. "No," he said
releasing. "No, you mother fucking rat bastard." Another savage bite,
causing a scream. "No. Bill Mulder's dead. No." A bite, gentle this time.
"No," a soft suck to the tormented flesh. "Please. Alex, please. Fuck me."
"Jesus. Turn over."
"Jesus isn't here," Mulder ever the smart aleck said, complying in a shift
of bodies.
"Asshole." Krycek straddled him, reaching up to snag pillows. "Here, get
comfortable." He endeavored to help Mulder stuff the pillows under his
hips. "I hope to be awhile."
"Braggart."
Alex chuckled and kissed him on the ass. "Scared?"
"Yeah, a little." Mulder felt so... wanton... with his chest on the bed and his
ass elevated. "I don't know what to do."
"Just relax," Alex kissed him again, adding a little tongue to the butt
cheek. "Spread your knees for me," he said. "Show me what you've got
there."
Mulder whimpered, but complied, widening his knees as much as he
comfortably could and then spreading them some more, wanting the
discomfort.
"Reach back and spread your cheeks for me," Krycek directed.
Mulder moaned. He did as told, and arched his back, sending his ass up
higher.
"You are so beautiful." Mulder heard the words, felt their whisper against
his anus. Then he felt the tongue, warm and wet and somehow sharp, probing
against the tight muscle. Alex Krycek was killing him, as he'd always known
Krycek would someday do.
"So good," he whispered, dying a little. "Alex, that's so good."
Alex nipped him gently in response, then hardened his tongue, forcing it
through the orifice, fucking Mulder with that tiny, wet muscle. It went on
for days, it seemed to Mulder's short-circuited brain. Krycek seemed to be
in no hurry, drawing sounds out of Mulder the agent never knew he could
make.
"Still scared?" he whispered finally, coming out for air.
"No," Fox answered, amazed that it was true. "Fuck me, Alex. Please."
"You're sure?"
"Christ! Where's my gun?"
A chuckle against his anus, then nothing. "Alex?"
"Shush, baby," and a tearing sound. Then something cold and slick,
trickling between his ass cheeks. Alex tapped a hand still spreading his
cheeks. "Brace yourself good," he said. "I can't help."
One handed, no shit. He felt Krycek close then. And a slick hand on his
ass. A finger against his hole, teasing and probing, forcing its way in. It
didn't hurt, exactly. But it felt strange, invasive. He felt
self-conscious, like he needed to fart, then the finger probed harder,
angling up, touching...
"Shit!" Mulder yelled, pushing hard against Krycek's hand.
"Liked that, did you?" Alex probed again, touching his prostate, loving
Mulder's responsive curses.
"Fucker, fucker, fucker, god Alex, don't stop."
Alex bit him gently and removed his finger, replacing it quickly with a
second, then a third, stretching the muscle, brushing against his prostate
every time he thought Mulder might be feeling discomfort.
"Get ready," he rasped, and Mulder felt more slick at his ass, then pain,
a burning, blossoming ache that grew from discomfort to out and out agony.
He groaned out a curse. "Breathe deep," Alex told him. "Relax."
"Fuck that," Mulder didn't think he could stand the pain, then Alex made
it in, and the pain leveled, thrumming inside him. His cock grew. It
obviously thought this felt good.
"Do yourself," Alex whispered in his ear, starting to pump. "Come on, Fox,
jack yourself off. Milk it for me, baby, make yourself come." Mulder felt
Alex's long, slow strokes, pushing all the way in, brushing against
Mulder's sensitive pleasure center, then pulling almost all the way out,
over and over again until Mulder did start stroking his cock. Alex followed
Mulder's rhythm, going faster and faster, strokes short and hard, and at
the end, right before he climaxed, Mulder had to wonder when it started
feeling good... he'd been unaware, caught off guard when the pain turned to
pleasure. And then he was shooting hot come over his clean bed and he felt
Krycek's spasm, too, and oh god! it was even better than he remembered.
Mulder collapsed when Alex pulled out, back aching, butt burning. He
rolled over on his back, watching Alex strip off the condom and lean across
him to deposit it in a wastebasket.
"I think we scared the cat, Mulder," Alex said.
Mulder again, the sex must be over, Fox thought, post-coital depression
starting. "Yeah, well, he's never seen anyone on the bed before."
Alex lay back down, not quite touching but close enough for Mulder to feel
his heat.
"So, did you really clean the bed off for me?"
"Do you really lurk here when I'm not around?"
"You first."
"Christ," Mulder said, covering his eyes with an arm. "Yes. I think so. I
never thought about why, just that I had to clean it up." Silence. Mulder
finally took his arm away and look over at the pretty rat sweating at his
side. "Your turn."
"Yeah. I come here sometimes. If I need a place to hang out for a few
hours, or if you're out of town or something." Alex grinned, "Since I'm the
one who's usually breaking in, it's pretty safe for me, you know?"
Mulder shook his head. "You do take chances. So, what now?"
"You keep asking me that."
"Well, you're the one who's supposed to be in charge."
"Rest then. You want some vodka?"
"Krycek, I don't have any vodka."
"Yes you do. In the freezer." At Mulder's look, Alex continued, "you don't
just show up at a person's apartment without bringing a bottle of
something. I was raised better than that."
Mulder just shook his head. "You really are a piece of work, Krycek."
"So, does that mean yes?"
"Yes. I guess so."
"Good." Alex bounced off the bed. Ah, youth, Mulder thought, unable to
move.
Mulder smiled when Alex came back into the bedroom, holding an icy bottle
of Stoly in his hand and a half-grown cat in the crook of his elbow.
"Strays," Mulder said affectionately, feeling both grateful and
benevolent. "Skinner warned me about picking up strays."
Krycek stopped and glared. "Please tell me you're not boinking the boss."
Mulder snorted, yeah, like that's a possibility. "I haven't boinked anyone
in half a fucking decade. Why, you suddenly jealous of large, bald men?"
Krycek sat on the side of the bed, nudging Mulder's hip with the frosty
bottle. Fox yipped, and moved over, while Alex gently unloaded the cat onto
the bed.
"Here, help," he held out the bottle for Fox to unscrew and settled
himself cross-legged. He took a long pull at the bottle, considered Mulder,
took another pull, then handed it off, saying, "Jealous? Yeah, kinda. You
could do worse than Skinner."
Mulder opened his mouth, but could think of nothing to say.
Alex continued, "I mean, he'd take care of you. I wouldn't like it, but I
wouldn't worry so much."
Mulder didn't know what to tackle first: Krycek's worrying about him or a
discussion of Walter Skinner's sexual proclivities.
"I was right to begin with," he said finally. "You are insane."
"Oh, come on, Mulder. Don't tell me you've never fantasized about those
big hands of his, having their way with your nubile body."
"Shit, Krycek! You wanna tell me what really went on on that balcony after
I left?"
Krycek favored him with a really long look. "It was a long, cold night. I
spent it waffling between wishing he'd come out there after me and being
afraid that he'd come out there after me." He snagged the vodka bottle back
and took a swallow. "Mother fucker never came out."
"So, he's straight."
"Hell, Mulder. I don't believe anyone's really straight. Not entirely. He
just didn't want anything to do with my nasty ass."
Mulder took the bottle back. "There's a lot of words I'd use to describe
your ass. Nasty isn't one of them."
"Smooth talker." Alex bent over, dangling his hair down, teasing the cat,
who batted at it. Alex-the-Cat balanced back on his haunches, looking much
like a mutant prairie dog, batting at Krycek's dark, silky hair.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Krycek," Mulder said. "He's gonna snag
your nose."
"No he won't," countered Alex-the-Rat, jerking his face out of the way of
the killer kitten claws.
"He does me," Mulder said in a I-can't-wait-to-say-I-told-you-so voice.
Krycek raised his head and looked pointedly at Mulder's decidedly large
nose. "Well, duh," he said, then dipped his head back down to torment the
cat.
Mulder wondered briefly just how much outrage he could manage lying naked
with a frozen vodka bottle in his hands. "Fuck you," he said and took a
swallow.
"Later," Alex said, "you have a chore to do, first."
"Now you're going to make me work for sex?"
"It's not work if you enjoy it, Mulder." He flipped the cat over on its
back and began tickling its belly. Alex-the-Cat flattened his ears and
kicked furiously at Krycek's hand with his hind feet while gnawing on
Alex's thumb. Krycek relented, releasing him. The cat leapt off the bed and
zoomed out of the room, bent, no doubt, on wreaking both havoc and revenge.
Krycek rose, too, and went rummaging through Mulder's closet.
"Planning your wardrobe?" Mulder asked, curious.
"No one can wear Armani like you, Mulder," Alex replied without turning
around. "I wouldn't presume to try and fill your pants."
Mulder snorted. "So, what are you looking for?"
Alex gave a little exclamation of triumph. "This'll do," he said, turning
and brandishing a worn leather belt.
"What the fuck do you think you're gonna do with that, Krycek?" Mulder
asked as Krycek approached the bed, slapping the doubled-up belt lightly
against his thigh.
Mulder flinched when Alex brought it down gently across his groin. "Not
me, Mulder," Alex whispered, laying the belt across Mulder's hip and then
reaching for the vodka. He took one long swallow, then another. "You," he
said, not looking at Mulder.
"Me?" Mulder squeaked.
"Yeah," Alex took yet another drink, then sat the bottle on the
nightstand. "I want you to whip me, Mulder." He met the agent's incredulous
gaze finally. "Please."
"Alex, I... ," Mulder swallowed, then began again. "Why?"
"I need it." Back to a husky whisper. "I... it helps me. I can sleep,
sometimes, for weeks... after... without the dreams... I dream... you know?...
Nightmares.
You ever have nightmares, Mulder?"
"Yeah, I have nightmares," he replied, all eyes and nerve endings.
"They come to me at night. Ghosts. People I've killed... betrayed... I try to
explain... in my dreams, you know? To tell them why. But it's like they can't
hear. Won't hear. They won't forgive me. None of them. Except Melissa." His
voice went lower, almost inaudible. "Melissa forgave me."
"Melissa? Melissa Scully?"
Alex nodded. "I wasn't... it wasn't my bullet. But I was there. I was there
to kill Scully. Dana. But it wasn't her that walked through the door. It
was Melissa. And Luis killed her. And so the hit was blown. And it was my
gig. So they went to blow me up, after we copped the tape from Skinner," he
was fugued now, looking at a movie in his own head. Mulder, both fascinated
and horrified, could only listen, clenching and unclenching the belt Krycek
had given him.
"Melissa forgives me. She helps me now sometimes," he laughed a harsh,
humorless laugh. "How's that for an X-File, Mulder? A woman I helped kill
comes back from the dead to help me fight the people who sent me to kill
her. Well, kill her sister. Weird, huh?"
Mulder just stared, then leaned over to grab the vodka bottle from of the
nightstand. "Do I haunt you?"
Krycek laughed again. "You have to ask? Jesus, Mulder, you've haunted me
since the first day I ever saw you. It was at Quantico. A lecture you gave
on serial killers, when you were still riding high from Monty Propps,
before 'Spooky' became a bad word. Fuck, man, I fell in love with you at
the Quantico lecture hall." He grabbed the bottle from Mulder and took
another drink, feeling the liquor finally, starting to slur. "You wouldn't
believe the fuckin' ghosts who haunt me, Mulder. But you, you're the worst.
I loved you so much. And still I betrayed you."
"And you think me whipping you will help?" Mulder was outraged, angry all
over again. This was Alex Krycek after all: rat bastard, double agent,
assassin, betrayer, round-assed savior...
"Mulder," Alex pleaded. "What's to lose? It can only hurt."
The anger flamed out of Mulder, replaced by... what? Compassion? Pity? "And
you think this," he gestured with the belt, "makes up for all that?"
"Of course not. It just... it just helps me sleep. That's all. Nothing makes
up for what I've done." His voice was so devoid of hope that Mulder's heart
clenched. Alex was after all what he so easily could have become.
"You're the flip side of me," he said. "You're what I could've become if
they hadn't taken Samantha." He said it in a voice filled with awe, having
an epiphany. "My god! That's the only difference in us, isn't it? You never
had a Samantha."
Alex just looked at him.
"It's true!" Mulder was profiling. "Your father was part of the
Consortium, just like mine. But yours never had second thoughts. Or,"
Mulder was on a roll, "he was killed and you were raised under their
influence."
"No," Alex said sadly. "I can't blame my father. He was just an immigrant
junk man, hoping for a better life for his son. He beat me into a
scholarship and I did well. Then I got accepted at Quantico... then they found
me and pushed all my buttons. And here we are, Mulder."
"Here we are," Mulder repeated, giving up the profile. They locked eyes,
each trying to read the other. Alex broke first, stretching out face down
on the bed.
"Come on, Mulder. You know you like it. It's a wet dream come true, I'm
asking you to beat the shit out of me." When Mulder didn't move, he added,
"Do it. Or take off the collar and tell me to leave."
Mulder's eyes widened at that. He didn't want the game to end. "I don't
know that I can," he whispered.
"You don't seem to have a problem using your fists on me."
"I'm always pissed at you when I do that!" Mulder was shouting now, anger
and guilt vying for domination.
"Okay, then. Don't think of it as beating me. Think of it as foreplay."
"Oh, god."
"Hmmm."
"Alex," there was a slight note of hysteria in his voice, desperate. "Who
does this for you normally? When I'm not around to torment?"
"This is America, Mulder," Alex settled more on the bed, grasping the
covers and getting the pillow 'just so' under his face. "You can purchase
most anything." He turned his head to look up at Mulder. "But it's not the
same."
Mulder took a deep breath and brought the belt down lightly on Krycek's
ass.
"You hit like a girl, Fox."
He did it again, only a little harder.
"You're gonna make me look up Scully, aren't you? Bet she could give me
what I need."
"Asshole," Mulder put down a stripe on Alex' creamy white ass.
"Better, Mulder. Now you're hitting like a 'big' girl."
Mulder put his back into it, causing Krycek to arch up and hiss.
"Yeah, you're getting it. Almost there."
"How many then?" asked Mulder through clenched teeth, excited, hating
this.
"As many as it takes to get me there." Mulder swore in reply, so Alex went
on, "You'll know when it's enough. I'll tell you."
"So, I just keep hitting you until you yell 'stop'?"
"You really are naïve, Mulder. You don't stop when I yell 'stop.' Of
course, I'm gonna yell 'stop' 'cause it's gonna hurt. It's supposed to
hurt. The point of the exercise is to hurt. A lot. I'll yell and cuss you
and carry on. You don't stop. You don't stop until I've had enough."
"But how will I know?"
"You'll know, Mulder."
"Oh, god," Mulder said, and hit him. Hard. Again and again. No complaints
or taunts from Alex, so he reckoned he got the intensity down right. The
marks that appeared on Krycek's backside fascinated him. Red welts on that
smooth, white skin. Mulder found himself making patterns. An hysterical
part of his mind wondered if he could spell his name, like pissing in the
snow. He became aware on a subliminal level of Krycek's keening sobs and
curses. He noted them, but took them as encouragement. Applause, an urging
on. It was lovely, really. The pretty marks, the way Krycek's body tried to
push its way through the bed away from the lash, for lash is how Mulder now
thought of his old worn belt. It was heady, this. He felt strong,
invincible. He felt as if he were creating something new. Something
special. He felt like god.
"Fox!" The anguished wail finally broke through to Mulder and he dropped
the belt, appalled. Krycek's back was... meat... a red mass of pain. And it was
more by luck than any kind of skill that the skin was only broken in a few
places.
"Oh, god, Alex. Alex... I'm sorry, Alex... oh god... " Mulder didn't know what
to
do, how to comfort him. Alex cried into the pillow with great gulping sobs
and incoherent entreaties to a 'Fox' Mulder did not know.
"Alex, Alex, what can I do? I'm sorry, what can I do? What... "
"Thank you," whispered into the pillow. "Thank you. Fuck me, Fox... "came the
reply finally, between sobs. "Fuck me, please. Oh, Fox, fuck me." The sobs
were quieter now, softer and less anguished. "Oh, please, fuck me. I need
you, Fox. Please."
Fox was sobbing, too, and he was hard, so hard. It shamed him, how hard he
was, how hard he got beating Krycek. What did this say about him, that he
was so hard?
He fumbled for condom and lube, "I'll hurt you," he said, frantic, not
knowing where to put his hands, afraid to touch, lust making denial
impossible.
"It's okay, just, please, do it... fuck me, please, Fox."
And then Fox was prepping him, gingerly pushing between his reddened
cheeks, trying not to touch the outraged flesh. He pushed through the tight
sphincter, knowing that here at least had not been injured by him. A
finger, then two, three. Scissoring and stretching, probing for the
pleasure spot, wanting to compensate for the pain he caused.
Alex arched, this time toward the source and not away. Fox removed his
fingers, replacing them with his aching cock. Wanting to be gentle, wanting
not to cause pain. And Alex was like a slick, velvet furnace. So tight and
hot. So very good. It didn't take long, not for either of them. Fox held
out until he felt Alex convulse and clench, then he was coming, shouting,
an affirmation to life untainted by politics and hidden agendas.
"Thank you," he heard Alex whisper as he rolled off. This started his
tears all over again.
"You're thanking me? For beating you bloody?" A slow understanding... Alex
had been at least as hard as he was, just as aroused. Fox hard from
beating, Alex hard from being beaten. It was a thing beyond his ken. "I
don't understand."
"Yes you do," Alex said. "You just don't want to."
"Oh Alex, I'm so sorry..." An apology for doing it, for enjoying it.
"Mulder you did what I wanted. Exactly what I wanted. What I needed. Thank
you, Mulder. Thank you."
All Mulder could do was cry and try to hold him without hurting him any
more.
"Redemption through pain is an awfully broad subject, Mulder," Agent Dana
Scully said sitting down in front of her computer. "Can I ask why you're
interested?"
"Just something I stumbled onto this weekend. Wanted to brush up in case
the subject ever turns up in an X-file."
She turned and looked at him, trying to read under the surface. "Why would
you think there's ever going to be an X-file about it?" she asked, glaring
at him, trying to will him into telling her what was really going on.
"Just a hunch, Scully. That's all. Just a hunch."
END...
Strays II
by moco
"I want you to love me," he'd told Mulder, right after making him come in
his pants. Right after giving him—as his partner Dana Scully had said on
first viewing it—"the biggest damn hickey I've ever seen," and the key to
solving a nasty round of serial killings, which enabled them to shut down
an illicit DOD drug ring.
