Inhaling the musky scent of sweat and semen Fox Mulder knew he wore both.
His chest, shiny slick to the naked eye, was sticky and taut. The sparse
matted hairs pulled against his skin with every ragged breath and still he
watched, frozen in rapt fascination, his hands held fast on the damp,
disheveled bed.
The other man's face was hidden but short, dark, sweat soaked hair
emphasized the curve of his skull. Well-defined muscles shifted just under
the bare golden skin of his shoulders and back.
Mulder felt heat and tension pool to his groin as the wet, searing mouth
drew him in harder, deeper, all but swallowing him. His head dropped back,
fingers clawed helplessly at the sheets as he let out a primal yell and
pumped his thick juices into the hot waiting mouth.
Mulder awoke disoriented, his scream still ringing in his ears. His tongue
worked in vain, searching for enough saliva to moisten his dry throat. Sweat
stung his eyes; he blinked roughly, adjusting to the semi-darkness. His
cock, hard and aching, begged for a touch.
Another empty, lonely release found by his own hand, another night's sleep
lost.
Hours later in the small basement office the dream replayed with vivid
clarity through Mulder's mind. Every image perfect... save one... the
man's face. It had been the same as the previous night and so many nights
before—-a week worth of nights.
Always awakening at the exact same place and knowing no more now than he
did
that first time. Well, at least I'm not screaming in fear, there's some
satisfaction in that. He shook his head and gave a rueful grin. The content
of the dream didn't bother him; it was the anonymity. I'm not in a
relationship. Haven't been for years. Not that I would call any of my
encounters relationships.
Still this dream of a faceless man ate away at him, causing him to lose his
edge at work. He saw concern in the eyes of his colleagues, especially the
ones of his partner.
"Jesus, Mulder, you look like shit." Rough delivery but Alex Krycek was
never subtle... ever.
Startled from his thoughts, Mulder regarded his partner coolly under the
harsh fluorescent light of the office. Fuck. How long has he been standing
there? "Sorry Krycek, I had no idea my looks offended you."
Krycek offered a tightlipped smile. Hardly. Oh no... don't go there.
"No offense intended Mulder, you just look beat. What's the problem? Trouble
sleeping?" Dropping into the nearest chair, he waited for an answer. Go
ahead, lie to me. Tell me 'no'.
The solicitous tone in his voice made Mulder glance up from the file in his
hand. Since he and Krycek had once again become partners some months
back,
they had formed a type of uneasy alliance. It was hard to forget the
betrayals but Mulder was learning to live with the myriad of feelings. He
was almost beginning to trust Krycek a little. For a brief moment, he closed
his eyes. But I'm not trusting you with this.
"No... yeah..." Mulder let out a frustrated sigh, leaned back in his
chair and locked his fingers behind his head in a modified stretch. "Weird
dreams, that's all. Don't worry about it, Krycek, I'll be fine."
"You want to talk about it?"
There was no mistaking the genuine concern. He froze in his thoughts. Talk
about this? With you? I'd rather choke. I don't want to talk about this with
anyone. It's hard enough recognizing it for what it is. What it means. Took
me years to admit it to myself. I am not about to admit it to you.
"No... no, but thanks anyway."
"The offer's on the table if you change your mind." Krycek smiled. Relax
Mulder, I'll change the subject. That's what you want.
"We have a meeting upstairs in 10 minutes, you have everything?" Krycek
continued.
"Yeah, I've got it all. Is this a long one?"
"No. 15 or 20 minutes tops—we need to divide these records between us and
arrange some kind of cross-referencing system. Hey, can you grab the file
on
the Kingston Clinic? It's in the bottom right hand drawer." Krycek busied
himself gathering the last few sheets of paper and tucked them
into a manila folder.
Mulder leaned down to the half-opened drawer. After a moment of rifling
through files he came up empty handed and more than a little frustrated.
"Are you sure it's in here? I can't find it."
"I know it's in there."
"Then you look. I've got a call I need to make." The aggravation was
clearly evident now by the clipped words and icy tone. Mulder reached for
the telephone, moving aside to let his partner nearer to the desk.
Krycek looked over at him, a quick retort burning his tongue in an effort to
escape. He swallowed it back down knowing it wouldn't help the situation. He
hunkered down to examine the contents of the drawer, all six feet of him
folding tightly into the compact space while muscles moved fluidly under the
fabric of the white button-down. He half listened to the drone of Mulder's
voice in the one sided conversation; the words didn't interest him in the
least, it was the exhaustion and anxiety surrounding them that held his
attention. What the hell's going on with him?
"I know the damn file is in here somewhere. Did it ever occur to you to
straighten up this mess every so often?" Krycek knew he wouldn't get a
response but felt he should offer up some token of discontent all the same.
Hearing Mulder repeat a time, he felt the swivel chair shift as the agent
moved to hang up the telephone, he looked up.
"What are you mumbling, Krycek?" Mulder asked, scribbling a note on the
worn
desk blotter.
"I said..." The rest was lost under a voice from across the room.
"So this is what you guys do in the basement all day?"
The sweet southern drawl was a dead giveaway. Mulder's head snapped up at
the unexpected sound. His eyes narrowed as he shot a cold look at Fairland
Davis, leaning comfortably against the door frame.
Krycek sat back on his heels just enough to crane his head around the corner
of the desk to look at Davis. "What?"
"Nothin'. The view's just a little different from over here, that's all." A
broad smile lit up his face and rose all the way to his golden eyes, giving
them a wicked gleam.
Glancing around, Krycek sized up the situation. Oh. "Get your mind out of
the gutter, Davis. What's up?" he asked, trying desperately to mask the
remains of the chuckle in his voice.
"We need the file on the Kingston Clinic." Davis answered as he moved into
the office.
"Yeah, I know, I know, I'm still looking for it. What? The phone's not
working?" He asked with a grin while searching for the elusive file.
"Just thought I'd deliver the message personally. Hey, Mulder... what's the
matter? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Krycek looked up to find Mulder standing motionless, his features frozen in
weird caricatures of themselves; eyes wide and glazed, mouth slightly open.
He was staring at Krycek in what could only be termed utter disbelief mixed
with undeniable horror.
Memories of the dream flashed before his eyes. The way Krycek looked at
that
angle, the shape of his skull, the hair, the... Jesus no! Oh fuck! Oh fuck
no! It can't be him! Mulder's mouth developed that dry metallic taste; the
one he always got when something really scared him. He tried swallowing but
his throat muscles refused to cooperate.
"Mulder!"
Krycek's voice yanked him from the memory's tight grip; he felt a hand on
his shoulder and nearly jumped out of his skin. Jerking away slightly, the
backs of his legs came in contact with the swivel chair behind him. He
nearly fell backwards. He looked disoriented but Krycek could tell he was
fighting hard to regain control.
"Wha... what?" His voice barely functioned. Terror danced brightly in his
eyes.
"What the hell is wrong with you? Are you all right?" Krycek's concern edged
toward fear. Oh shit. What gives?
"I'm fine, I just... I just remembered something, okay? I'm fine, just
forget it." He pulled back and away. Calm down you idiot. Can't let them see
you like this. Push it in the corner. Think about it later. Get through the
rest of this day. Anxiety and confusion married and set up house in this
stomach. Oh Jesus... why? Why him? Krycek. Krycek!
"Mulder—"
Razor sharp words cut Krycek off mid sentence. "I said 'I'm fine', Krycek.
Let it go." Mulder turned on his heel and walked out of the office, leaving
the remaining two agents to stare slack-jawed at his retreating back.
Something other than anger and fear filtered through Mulder's words. Krycek
couldn't put his finger on it but he didn't like it, not at all. He traded a
wary look with Davis but let the subject drop just the same.
"Touchy today, isn't he?" Davis's voice lowered to a barely audible whisper.
"Been like this for at least a week now, haven't you noticed?" Krycek said,
slowing his walk to get them just out of Mulder's earshot.
"For the most part I try not to notice anything about the guy but, yeah, he
has been acting a little loopier than usual lately. I just figured it only
happened when I was around." Davis replied.
Krycek sucked back a sigh and dipped his head in response. He knew there
was
no love lost between either of the men.
Generally he stood back from the tension that floated around them. He
wouldn't... no he couldn't choose sides and, thankfully, no one had asked
that of him. A fierce sense of friendship and loyalty for Davis collided
with a fierce sense of loyalty and something else, something he couldn't
quite identify, for Mulder. It wasn't friendship, not in the same sense as
his with Davis. He wasn't sure if Mulder even considered him a friend, an
acquaintance perhaps, but probably not a friend. Mulder had a lot of
acquaintances. Still there was something about him that made Krycek take
notice, made him protective and it wasn't just the job. He had spent a few
of his own sleepless nights trying to piece it together and come up with a
few answers; just none he would admit to anyone.
"If you ask me, I think that guy could use some serious time on the couch... and not his own." Davis continued, conversationally.
"Go ahead, you tell him that." Krycek laughed out his response.
"I'd rather not but thanks for the offer, Alex." Davis' voice bore a slight
chuckle.
They caught up with Mulder and rode the elevator in uneasy silence, trading
To Sleep, Perchance to Dream
by Phyre
"Dreams are answers to questions we haven't yet figured out how to ask."
Fox Mulder—'Aubrey'
Translucent white curtains shimmered their response to the oppressive
tropical heat drifting through the open windows. White fan blades turned in
a lazy circle inches from the high ceiling, gently stirring the heavy
midnight air. The room held a bed with rumpled sheets, and a naked seated
man, his face illuminated by moonlight. He watched as another man, kneeling
between his thighs, licked and nipped at his swollen cock.
concerned glances behind his back.
