//He was running again legs pounding the road eating up the distance God
his lungs were on fire but he couldn't stop had to keep going had to get
away had to do it now—
//But one foot hit the pavement and stuck there like a lead weight one
foot then the other—
//And he looked down and saw it black and oily swamping his feet
creeping over his shoes up his ankles soaking into his jeans—
//And he tried to run tried to move but he couldn't the oil just kept
rushing flowing higher up to his waist now—
//And he was dying he knew that now this thing was gonna eat him swallow
him whole—
//And he opened his mouth tried to scream but the oil flooded in like
black concrete choking cutting off his air—//
And he jolted awake with a sharp, sudden intake of breath, pulse roaring
through his head like a freight train.
//Just a dream, Alex...just a nightmare so chill out...you oughta be
used to it by now...
//Yeah, same nightmare, different night...every fucking night for the
past six months...//
"You okay?" came a voice from the driver's seat. It took him a minute
before he realized who that familiar monotone belonged to. Mulder.
Weird thing was, for a second there that familiar monotone actually
sounded concerned. Part of him still had to be dreaming...
He bit back a rueful chuckle but didn't answer, just hauled himself into
a sitting position, unrolling the window as best he could with his hands
cuffed in front of him, hoping the crisp night air would clear his head.
After a few minutes it seemed to be doing the trick, and he finally
lifted his head from the seat cushions.
So here he was, with Mulder in a car driving...somewhere north, he
concluded, glancing out the back seat window into the night sky,
studying the stars. Mulder hadn't told him anything, had hardly spoken a
dozen words to him since they'd left D.C., though he'd let him lie down
in the back seat for some rest a little while ago. At least, he thought
it was a little while ago; he didn't have his watch anymore, and it'd
still been light out when he'd gone to sleep.
He let his eyes drift shut, zoning out, trying not think about how much
he hurt. His wrists were swollen, scraped raw by the handcuffs, a slow,
dull throb hovered just over his right eye, and there was another,
deeper ache, twisting in his bladder every time the car hit a bump.
He cleared his throat once, twice, but Mulder didn't move, didn't even
act like he'd heard him. Restless fidgeting wasn't getting him anywhere
either. "Pull over," he rasped finally, punctuating it with a swift kick
to the back of Mulder's seat. "I gotta take a leak."
"Tie a knot in it, I'm not stopping."
"Hey, fine, I'll just piss my pants—and you can sit there smelling it
till we get wherever the fuck we're going."
God, he loved watching that tiny muscle in Mulder's jaw twitch and jump,
hearing his soft, exasperated exhalation of breath, both unmistakable
signs that he'd gotten to him. The car slowed, veering to the side of
the road, jerking to a stop, Mulder getting out, circling the rear of
the car, opening his door, waiting for him to climb out. The autumn air
was brisk, cool, flooding his lungs with its freshness, stinging his
skin. He hadn't been outside at night all that much lately; it felt
good.
He held out his wrists, eyes locking on Mulder's for long seconds,
waiting for him to unlock the cuffs. "You wanna hold my dick while I go,
that's okay by me."
Mulder couldn't get the key out of his pocket fast enough, undoing the
left cuff none too gently but leaving the right one on, biting down on
lower lip as he did so, breath misting the air in short, jerky puffs.
"C'mon, let's get this over with, get back on the road."
//Oh, Mulder, you're so easy to tease...and so much fun too...//
He made a show of examining his freed left wrist, running his fingertips
along bloody, abraded skin, choking back a laugh as Mulder turned away,
a strange expression twisting his mouth, shining in his eyes, half-sour,
half-pained.
The same look he'd had the previous night, back in Queens, when he and
Scully were interrogating him about Mayhew and his group. He'd been
leading Mulder on like crazy, talking to him in that low, breathy
near-whisper so he'd have to lean in closer to hear, getting right up in
his face, forcing bodily contact.
Scully'd picked up on every nuance of their verbal slam-dancing—no
fool she, though he'd gotten the distinct impression it wasn't exactly
news to her. Had Mulder filled her in on the details of their too-brief
fling back when they'd been partners, or had she simply figured it out
for herself? Either way, the idea of baiting him, watching him twist in
the breeze right there before Scully's eyes had proved too damned
delicious to resist.
So he hadn't, and now he was paying for it in spades. It didn't matter,
though, none of it did, not after what he'd been through lately. Yeah,
getting punched and pummeled and handcuffed to an eighteenth-floor
balcony in the middle of fucking winter hardly measured up to having
your soul ripped away like so much flayed skin...
Mulder's hand on his arm jerked him back to reality. "You gonna go or
not?"
Nodding, he moved away a few steps, shooting Mulder a look that told him
he wasn't going to break and run, not that he'd have much of a chance
even if he tried—the ground was so squishy-slick with mud he'd
probably take a header right into it and end up choking himself to
death. Pushing that thought aside, he turned his back and unzipped,
emptying his bladder with a grateful sigh, then just stood there for a
few seconds, eyes closed, savoring the night, fresh air and soft sounds
surrounding him.
And a couple not-so-soft sounds—Mulder clearing his throat, weaving
from one foot to the other. "Let's go, Krycek."
He could feel it now, feel deep hazel eyes boring into his back, making
him shiver with a sensation that had nothing to do with the cold; it
felt more like a long sip of wine, tiny waves of heat radiating
everywhere, settling in his belly, between his legs. Grinning, he
stroked himself just enough to get a nice half-hard-on then zipped back
up, adjusting the package for maximum effect. If he was going to play
cocktease, he might as well go all the way.
Didn't look like he'd have to, though—Mulder's eyes zoomed straight
to his crotch the second he turned around, and he was already working on
an impressive bulge of his own. "Get in the car," he ground out through
clenched teeth, yanking the door open.
He took his time walking the few steps back, drawing out the moment,
relishing it, stopping, waiting till Mulder had no choice but to meet
his gaze again, eye-to-eye this time. "Get in the fucking car," Mulder
repeated.
"You first."
"Goddamn you, Krycek, get in!"
"See something you like?"
"What?"
"You've been looking at me like I was a rare steak since you pulled me
out of that truck last night."
"Get in."
"C'mon, Mulder, who d'you think you're kidding? You want to fuck me so
bad you can taste it. Even Scully could see it—"
"You sick son-of-a-bitch!" Mulder's fist sailed up out of nowhere,
catching him on his right temple before he could duck, the whole world
suddenly dipping, tilting, sight and sound fading, knees crumpling under
him—
Mulder's arm grabbing him, hauling him back up, their faces so close he
could feel Mulder's rapid, warm breath on his skin.
He barely had to move to cover Mulder's mouth with his, biting, sucking
at that lush lower lip until he heard a soft moan and thrust his tongue
inside, Mulder opening, yielding completely, Mulder's hands clutching at
his arms, sliding like silk up his back, felt himself falling, then the
cold, tacky familiarity of vinyl under him, dimly realizing they'd
tumbled into the back seat.
He was drifting, bobbing and weaving in a hazy-grey twilight, everything
fading away, everything but Mulder lying there on top of him, tongues
sliding, working hot and wet first in his mouth, then Mulder's, hips
bumping, grinding together...
"Do it," he gasped when they finally broke apart, pushing Mulder up
slightly, flipping himself over on his stomach. "C'mon, do me now..."
Mulder didn't move, though, not of his own volition anyway, just sat
there, mouth working, eyes glazed over, shell-shocked. "I-I don't think
I can..."
He wasn't listening to Mulder's feeble protests, concentrating instead
on getting his jeans unzipped, alternately pushing and wriggling them
down over his hips and ass. Apparently that was enough to convince
Mulder too; the next thing he felt was Mulder's hand stroking his hip,
the small of his back, fingertips easing between his cheeks, finding the
tiny puckered hole, rubbing gently, one finger sliding in all the way to
the first knuckle—
Stopping, withdrawing, Mulder's hand still there, poised on one
ass-cheek, trembling. "What's the matter?" he asked, twisting halfway
around.
"I, um...don't have anything..."
Neither did he, he realized. No condoms, no lube either. Shit. Well, it
wasn't like he'd had a chance to hit the drugstore lately. "S'okay," he
said, sitting up as best he could manage with his jeans tangled around
his thighs, leaning over to give Mulder a quick kiss. He wasn't letting
this chance pass him by, no matter what. "Do me anyway. I don't mind."
"No way, it's not safe—"
"When'd you start caring about that?" He didn't bother waiting for an
answer, just climbed to his knees, draping himself over the back of the
seat, hips thrust out at an inviting angle. Mulder was behind him a
second later, undoing his jeans with a soft, soul-stripping moan,
rubbing his erection against the cleft of his ass; he could feel it
pulsating in time with the beat of Mulder's heart, and his own. "Do it,"
he whispered, grabbing Mulder's left hand right next to his on the back
of the seat, entwining their fingers.
He almost yelped in protest when Mulder's right hand abruptly left his
ass, traveling up the sloping plane of his back, grabbing a handful of
hair, pulling him back for a rough, deep, all-too-brief kiss, thrusting
two fingers where his tongue had been a moment earlier, making him suck
on them, swirl his own tongue around them, coat them with saliva.
And then they were between his ass-cheeks, both fingers, pushing
insistently inside him, stretching him, opening him until he couldn't
stand it anymore and jerked backward, squeezing, impaling himself.
A couple more seconds and he felt it, felt the tip of Mulder's erection
entering him, slowly, gently pressing forward, felt Mulder draping
himself over his back, both hands intertwined now, felt Mulder's
heartbeat in his hands and his ass, felt Mulder's breath warm and
labored, brushing his neck and throat, felt Mulder pushing deeper inside
him.
Jesus, he'd forgotten how big he was, a huge steel club plowing him
open, gritty and tight from lack of lube, but he forced himself to
relax, sucking in slow deliberate breaths until the worst of it passed
and Mulder slid in as far as he could go, then started moving.
He closed his eyes and let his forehead rest against the back of the
seat, his whole world shrinking to just this, just him and Mulder and
the incredible sensations singing through his body, Mulder slowly
stroking in and out of him, building speed and momentum with each
thrust, balls slapping his ass, faster now, breath searing his skin like
a blowtorch, ragged, urgent—
Mulder's mouth on his shoulder, his neck, crying out, biting down at the
same time, giving one last brutal thrust, hot, sticky warmth shooting
deep inside him, his own following a split-second later, ripping,
boiling up from the base of his spine.
They rolled to the seat together, wrapped around each other, not
speaking, barely breathing. Finally Mulder sat up, rezipping his pants,
opening the door, climbing out, plainly waiting for him to follow suit.
It was starting to rain again, lightly now, scarcely more than drizzle,
but the sky's unrelenting cover of grey promised more later. Mulder had
the passenger's side front door open by the time he got out, shutting
the back door, gesturing for him to take his place in front...
Fastening his right handcuff around the door latch as soon as he sat
down.
He just stared, gaze flicking from Mulder to the handcuffs and back
again, staring, not believing. Not wanting to.
Mulder said nothing, just circled the front of the car, opening his
door, sliding in, buckling up.
"Mulder... c'mon, stop fucking around and unlock me."
"No."
"Look, if I wanted to run away I could've done it before now!"
Mulder let out a derisive snort, starting up the car, pulling back out
on the road. "That's the real reason you let me fuck you, isn't it? You
figured I'd get all misty and nostalgic if I finally got my cock up your
ass again and I'd turn you loose. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I'm
not that easy."
"Mulder, I didn't—"
"Shut up," he snapped, eyes cold now, flinty, two flash-frozen
stagnant pools. "You're a whore, Krycek, plain and simple—always
were, always will be. I got nothing left to say to you."
He stared out the window, watching trees fly by, dark, thick wilderness.
Fire lived behind his eyelids, pricking and stinging, but he blinked it
back. He wasn't about to give Mulder the satisfaction.
THE GULAG
The cold was pervasive, bone-shattering, and it hadn't even started
snowing yet. They'd let him keep his boots and heavy jacket, but he
still felt frozen clean through. He would've thought twenty-odd years of
New England winters would've prepared him for just about anything.
He'd been pacing the narrow cell for what seemed like hours, hands
tucked under his arms, stamping his feet, trying to keep moving, keep
warm. They'd thrown Krycek in here with him awhile ago and, after
exchanging a few choice words, he'd crawled onto in a corner, onto a
thin straw pallet—the only one in the cell—pulled a dirty woolen
blanket over himself, and apparently went to sleep. Mulder hadn't heard
a peep out of him since.
And right now he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Even
trading insults with Krycek was better than being left alone with his
thoughts, especially after what had happened on their way up to New
York...
//Hey, Scully, guess what I did? I fucked Alex Krycek in the back seat
of my rental car...
//Guess that's one security deposit I'll never see again.//
His mind spun back to that night, replaying it, trying to shake it
loose, make some kind of sense out of it. But there was none; Krycek had
offered, he'd accepted, that was that. He couldn't even claim he'd been
seduced, not when it'd been his cock in Krycek's ass. He'd known what he
was doing every step of the way; there was no sugar-coating it now.
And no way to make it easier to live with, either. Krycek was a
prisoner in his custody—at least, he had been two days ago—and if
Skinner found out what'd happened, he'd have Mulder's badge, and
probably his head on a pike besides. That is, if he ever made it back to
the States...
A sharp, sudden sound jolted him from his reverie; it took him a second
to realize it was coming from Krycek's corner. He was tossing, jerking
restlessly, eyes snapping open, breath coming in hard, ragged spurts,
like he'd been running a marathon. Just like two night ago, in the car.
Their eyes met, locked, green on hazel, freezing time. Then Krycek
rolled over, facing toward the wall this time, yanking the blanket back
over him.
Silence again.
He turned to the window, looking out, grabbing one bar, testing its
strength. The mortar was loose, but not loose enough for one man to pull
it the rest of the way out by himself, and even if he did, the window
was way too small for him to wriggle through. Moonlight bathed the
entire compound, throwing the barbed-wire fences encircling the
perimeter and the guards patrolling them in stark relief. No easy way
out.
And a few yards past the fences lay the forest, dense, inpenetrable
miles of it. Even if he managed to break free of this place, he'd lost
all sense of where the road was; he could wander around in the woods for
days looking for it, if he didn't freeze to death first...
Another noise from Krycek's corner, half-muffled this time, soft and
steady, not snoring, no, it sounded like he was awake, wide awake—
Wide awake and crying.
He spun back toward the window, trying to tune out the sound, but it
kept seeping through, tearing at his heart. He should never have brought
Krycek with him to Russia. He should have left him in the car at the
airport and called Scully from inside the terminal to come pick him up,
which was what he'd been planning to do in the first place. Of course,
he hadn't told Krycek that...
Four, five steps, and he'd traversed the entire length of the cell,
finding himself at Krycek's corner. "Move over," he said roughly,
kneeling, plopping down on the only visible sliver of unoccupied pallet.
Krycek half-rolled over, head snapping up, eyes red and bleary, face
pale, streaked with telltale wetness. "What for?"
"I'm cold and I'm tired and I want some of your blanket. Move over."
Krycek scooted away until he was almost hugging the wall but made no
other protest, lying there still and utterly passive while Mulder
arranged the blanket over both of them, stiffening when Mulder's fingers
brushed his bare forearm.
//God, feels like he's been walking around in a blizzard naked.//
Rolling onto his right side, Mulder slipped the left sleeve of his
jacket off and moved closer, his front pressed to Krycek's back,
wrapping the loose flap of jacket around him as best he could. Krycek
didn't speak, didn't move, just let out a ragged, resigned sigh.
"You had a nightmare, didn't you?" Mulder asked finally.
No answer.
"You had one that night in the car too."
A strange sound came, short and strangled; Mulder wasn't sure if it was
a laugh or a sob. "What made you decide to give a fuck all of a sudden?"
"Tell me about it."
"Go to hell, Mulder, I'm not telling you shit."
"It might help if you did."
"Yeah? And how would you know?"
"Because I have them too," he said softly, letting his lips dust the
nape of Krycek's neck, a palpable shock rocketing through both of them
at the sudden, intimate contact. "I have them all the time. Tell me."
One deep breath, then another, and he could feel Krycek's heartbeat
quicken, thumping in his chest like a fist trying to punch its way out
of a cardboard box. "It's the same every night...I'm running away from
that ...that thing, that black oil thing, it's coming after me but I
can't get away, it's all around me everywhere I look everywhere I step
and I can't move..." He was crying again, voice cracking, breaking. "And
th-then it's all over me, up to my neck, my m-mouth and I'm choking,
strangling on it and that's when I wake up..."
//Oh, Jesus...sweet Jesus God...//
"S'okay, s'okay, Alex," he murmured, running a hand up his arm, trying
to calm him, or at least warm him up—his skin still felt chilly as
marble. "It was a dream. It didn't really happen—"
"B-but it did. That thing, it...possessed me, took me over, mind and
body. It was like I was trapped inside this huge beast with a glass
belly ...I mean, I could see and hear and speak, but it wasn't really
me. I was aware of everything that was happening, but I had no control.
That thing, it...ate me, swallowed me whole...and every night I have to
relive it."
They lay there a long time, bundled together, saying nothing. Mulder let
his eyes drift shut, listening to Alex's breathing grow slower,
steadier, burrowing closer until his chin hooked over Alex's shoulder,
planting a soft kiss just under his earlobe. Alex smiled, eyes lazily
fluttering open, tilting his head back so their mouths could touch.
God, kissing him was like falling into a river of fire, stealing his
breath, ripping away his last tattered threads of rational thought. Alex
responded hungrily, rolling flat on his back, lips parting, tongues
delving deep, breaking away, coming back, licking, nipping, teasing with
tiny bites, Alex finally pulling his head down, devouring him again—
Mulder rolled on top of him, hand snaking down, sliding under Alex's
thin grey t-shirt, skimming over smooth, still-cold skin, both of them
shivering at the contact, still kissing, his hand drifting lower, down
to Alex's fly, fingertips brushing the rising bulge straining at his
zipper, grinning at Alex's startled, half-pained moan, then his soft
sigh of relief as he popped the fly button, easing the zipper down—
"Mulder..."
"What?"
"I-I don't think this is such a good idea..."
He looked up into Alex's eyes, dark now, dark as forest moss. "D'you
want me to stop?"
"Yes. No. I mean, I want to, but..." He bit his lower lip, two spots of
vivid red appearing high on his cheeks. "I'm, um...still a little sore
from last time."
Shit. Well, it wasn't a total surprise, not after the way he'd fucked
him the other night, hard and deep and rough, with no lube to ease the
ride. God, after that experience, he was amazed Alex was still willing.
But he was, and Mulder wasn't about to let this opportunity pass him by,
not when he could feel Alex's skin warming under his touch. He didn't
want to move, though, lying here on top of him felt so damn good, and
besides, it was so cold now that anything that poked out from under the
blanket would probably freeze solid on contact and break off like a
dried twig. But there were other ways, other things he could do to make
them both happy, and they wouldn't have to bare much more skin for it,
either.
He finished pulling Alex's zipper down, smiling as his stiffened flesh
sprang into his hand, and he started a slow, gentle stroking with his
fingertips, feather-light, making Alex's breath catch, hiss out in a
ragged stream. The tip of him was already smeared sticky with pearled
milky-white moisture, and he ran his thumb along the tiny slit, Alex
gasping as he did so, capturing a droplet, carrying it to his own lips,
salty, bitter musk exploding onto his tongue, flooding his senses like a
blast furnace.
He lifted up, just enough to get his hand down to his own fly, ripping
it open, freeing his throbbing erection, the roaring in his ears finally
starting to fade. Jesus, he was already hard enough to cut diamonds—
they both were.
Alex shifted, tried to flip over, but Mulder stilled him with another
deep kiss, bringing their erections into contact, starting to move.
They slid to the center of the pallet, one edge of the blanket
overlapping their heads, wrapping them in welcome darkness. Mouths
melding, hips rolling, they thrust mindlessly, plowing each other's
bellies, a delicious double swordfight that stopped time, narrowing the
entire world down to this place, this moment—
Down to Alex's raw, strangled groan, and his own mirroring it a second
later, backs arching, thrusting hard one last time, warm, wet silkiness
spurting, jetting between them.
He didn't know how long they lay there together, not moving, waiting for
something to happen, he didn't know what. Finally they both seemed to
come to the simultaneous silent consensus that neither one of them was
giving up the pallet or the blanket and they relaxed, breath and
heartbeat gradually returning to normal, Alex rolling to one side,
letting Mulder curl around him as he'd done before.
"You...didn't have to do that for me, y'know," Alex murmured drowsily.
"I would've sucked you off if you'd asked me to..."
"I know I didn't have to...maybe I just wanted to."
"You wanted to make love to a whore?"
That shocked him awake in an instant, and he almost got up, but the cold
brushed its icy fingertips across the back of his neck, and he slid back
down, staring up at the ceiling.
Alex levered himself up on one elbow, gazing down at him. "I wasn't
faking it, Mulder."
"So you came, so what? Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"I meant the dreams, and me lying here crying. I wasn't acting, trying
to make a play for your sympathy. The dreams're real. And so's this," he
said, stroking Mulder's shoulder, cupping his throat.
He didn't want to, but he looked up, into Krycek's eyes, dark again,
dark and stormy and troubled. He'd seen that look before, back when they
were partners, after Alex had shot Cole, killed him. The first time he'd
had to kill in the line of duty, or so he'd claimed. He'd seemed so
innocent back then, so enthusiastic and guileless...
Later he'd tried to convince himself that it was all an act, a game, and
he'd let himself be taken in, played like some green rookie. But maybe,
just maybe, he'd been wrong.
Killers didn't cry for their sins. Maybe whores did, but Alex hadn't
sounded like he was begging for forgiveness. He'd sounded like a little
kid whose whole world had come to an end. The same sound he'd heard
echoing off his living room walls more times than he wanted to remember.
"Mulder, I swear to you, I didn't—"
"Shut up," he rasped, pushing Alex back down on the pallet, rolling on
top of him, kissing him deeply, roughly. The icy air was seeping in
again, and he pulled the blanket back over their heads, arms wrapping
around each other, snuggling close.
A temporary truce, that's all he'd call it. Not friends, not lovers.
Best enemies, huddled together for survival.
Not what he wanted, but for now he'd take what he could get.
The End...
Wilderness
by Sugar Rush
HIGHWAY 61 NORTH
9:47 p.m.
TUNGUSKA, SIBERIAN FOREST
TWO NIGHTS LATER
