Another merry Christmas to me. I had Mulder locked in a storeroom
with me, but the stupid bastard refused to take the situation
in the direction where it should go. Gorgeous ass or no, someday
he'd push me too far.
Being forced into a small space had made us both touchier than
usual. Not knowing how we'd get out made it worse. The room
had no windows, with the only light being provided by a dim,
ancient bulb hanging from the high ceiling. The bastards had
fused the lock shut with a welding torch, so I couldn't pick
the damn thing. They'd also disarmed both of us before tossing
us in. In Mulder's case, "disarming" included confiscating
his cell phone.
Mulder continued blathering about my traitorous nature until
I became thoroughly disgusted and said, "Oh, sure, Mulder.
This was all part of my fiendish master plan. I like nothing
better than getting locked in a small space with you when you're
in a slap- happy mood."
That cooled him down a bit, but then he started to sulk. Sure,
that thing he did with his lush bottom lip when he sulked was
fun to watch, but a sulky Mulder was only marginally better company
than an angry, lashing out one. God hated me.
No wonder all those head injuries never did any lasting damage.
The man had a skull like a brick. Mr. Psychology never had
a fucking clue about me.
I really wished he'd wise up. Aw, hell, no chance of that
one. "Christ, Mulder, I really wish you could understand
me better some—" Oh, fuck, I just said that out loud didn't
I? Shit! I never could keep my damned mouth shut. Even in
the dimness I saw confusion flow over his face before he went
utterly blank. "Krycek, I—"
Suddenly, I could feel my left arm. At first I thought it
was another phantom experience, but it wasn't the same. I closed
my eyes to concentrate on it. It certainly felt like I had the
arm back, but it refused to respond when I tried to flex the
fingers. Actually, the right arm refused to respond to commands
either. What the hell was going on?
I could see, but I could swear my eyes were closed. And I
saw— myself? It certainly looked like the face I saw in the
mirror. I should have seen his, topped off with the stupidest
looking winter stocking cap ever created.
"Krycek," Mulder said, and I could swear I felt his
panicked voice vibrating through the skull and flesh of my head
as if I said the words myself, "I can't see! And what the
hell happened to my arm?"
Then the voices started, flooding me in confusion. Actually,
it was only one voice, but it spoke in tandem with itself on
four different simultaneous lines of thought, and so quickly
I couldn't make out anything more than a babble. A blast of
terror/wonder ran me over, followed by a sudden buckling down
to something more analytical and machine-like, trying to understand
what had happened and why.
I think I opened my eyes, because I felt Mulder's relief.
I felt my arms moving slowly and my eyes focusing on them, but
they weren't mine: they were Mulder's. He must have been watching
himself through my eyes. I knew now what had happened to us.
I was experiencing his thoughts, feelings, and body, while he
experienced mine. I even felt his cold, a burning in eyes, nose,
and scratchy, raw throat.
I just didn't know why.
I could briefly make out Mulder's quicksilver, polyphonic thought
lines well enough to hear him consider and reject several possibilities.
Things were bad indeed if the prospect that made the most sense
involved leprechauns.
I felt one of his thought lines ruefully agree. ...I don't
even believe in leprechauns [too silly even for me], and it's
the wrong season anyway; what a world; this would be fascinating
if it were happening to someone else and not me, us, now; [Conspiracy
plot or preternatural occurrence? How could science possibly
explain this one?] I wonder what's going on [How do we make it
stop?]...
"Before this happened..." He stopped a moment, no
doubt confused by not being able to feel his voice or his tongue.
"I was going to say I wished I understood what you were
thinking too."
So we had wished the same thing simultaneously. Maybe that
had something to do with it, but who knew for sure? "So
why am I experiencing you right now?" I asked. Not that
I had never felt any curiosity in that direction. And it was
fucking strange to speak without getting more than a vague feeling
of my own mouth moving.
He didn't answer me in words, but I felt his thoughts twist
and churn. ...Why bother? No one could understand me; no one
would want to anyway [Everyone leaves, even when they actually
stay in body. :::image of Scully, colder than human, hating
and resenting me/sound of Mom's dead voice on the phone telling
me not to visit for the holiday since she didn't want to deal
with me; "Sometimes I can't help thinking you're not my
son.":::]; I don't deserve it or make sense anyway //pain//
[I have nowhere to go even if I did get out of here]; what a
fucking joke; how much is Alex hearing of this? Oh, shit, how
much is he hearing of this? //terror/hope/wonder/terror//...
Then I couldn't make out much at all, as Mulder quieted his
mind a bit.
Not that I minded much. That last blast had hit me like a
punch to the gut. I couldn't believe the misery I'd just experienced.
I wished—aw, hell, I'd better not start that up again. I felt
the urge to comfort him.
He lightened up a bit, with a faint ray of thanks. That's
right; he could probably hear my thoughts too. Oh, shit. I
didn't want anyone to know me that well.
"I'll try not to listen, then."
"Fuck you, Mulder."
"You'd like that... wouldn't you? You have to be kidding
me." It was so damned weird listening to him talk without
being able to look at him. I knew he felt the same about me
right now.
I sighed. "Why did you think I never fought back?"
"I tried not to think about it. Your... arm and the straps
for your prosthesis... do they hurt like this all the time?"
he asked softly.
"Yeah, but you get used to the pain." But you understood
that, didn't you? I felt his head nod.
"I'm sorry."
And he truly was.
"Of course I am," he said.
It would have meant more if he didn't take responsibility and
guilt for so many things, things that weren't his fault as well
as things that were. Sometimes I wondered how deep his masochism
ran, how much he enjoyed his own pain.
"Not very. Could you adjust the straps a bit? I think
they're chafing more than they have to."
I couldn't resist the urge to let him suffer a bit with them.
After all, I had to deal with it every damned day. "Oh,
I don't know..."
"Krycek..."
"Nope." His hand closed into a fist and punched his
own right arm, hard. It hurt like hell. I felt the grin on
his face. Cute, but what kind of wussy boy did he think I was?
Hell if he'd win that way. "Suffer, you bastard."
He somehow gathered enough control of his body to make an
uncoordinated lunge for me, determined to adjust the prosthesis
himself. The moment of contact couldn't be described. I experienced
my own body heat and the slide of leather under his hands even
as I vaguely felt his hands on my chest. It felt so damned good
from both sides, and the awareness of that doubled pleasure only
increased it more. I could barely think. Mulder had gone instantly
hard, and his groan seemed to vibrate at the bottom of my throat.
Almost as amazing was the knowledge that Mulder had wanted
me since he'd first met me, had been attracted by my mind and
body from the beginning. It had made my betrayal all the worse,
though not completely unexpected to him, who had been betrayed
by almost everyone he'd ever known. None of that experience
made his anger any easier for him to bear.
Now, his lust warmed me, but his affection stunned me. They
fed my own.
"Yeah, stupid of me, huh? I always liked talking to you,
Krycek, even when I wanted to throw you through a wall. And
you're so damned beautiful. It doesn't make a difference what
happened with your arm."
Damn, he had seen deep. "Easy for you to say."
"I'm living with it right now." He sighed, and I
felt it. "I don't know why the hell you'd want me..."
he said.
Something perverse in me made me ask, "What about your
father and the betrayals?" I could just see us doing this,
then him turning on me once the lust cleared. I wouldn't be
able to bear that.
"If I did that to you, just shoot me. This will sound
so stupid, and I'm not sure if I can even say it right..."
He didn't have to. His thoughts cleared for me as he struggled
to order his thinking to put it into words. More than anyone
else, even Scully, I'd stayed with him and refused to ridicule
him for what he believed. He'd come to see my unpredictability
as one of the predictable things in his life, and he felt that
he needed some predictability somewhere. I couldn't argue with
him there.
His thoughts shocked me, but they were a pleasant shock. "I
know," I said.
"You know," he answered with a kind of wondering
happiness.
What came next was confused, but no less intense for it. I
couldn't know which of us ended up on the bottom or who did what
exactly, but I would never forget how it felt. The slide of
body against body, even through all the layers of confining winter
clothing, drove us insane. We kissed almost mindlessly in a
tangle of tongues and warm skin. I gloried in the feeling of
his two hands stroking and gripping the back of what had to be
my jacket even as I felt the caresses along my back. We were
each the toucher and the touched simultaneously.
Trapped in one another's bodies, we couldn't coordinate ourselves
well enough to take our clothing off; we had no finesse. It
didn't matter. I felt what he felt, and he felt what I felt.
There were no wrong moves. Orgasm pulled us down like an undertow,
and it seemed to go on forever, with each of us feeding the other
back, lengthening and intensifying the experience
We came to slumped together, both shivering and sweating like
racehorses who'd just finished the prize-winning run. I was
myself again, anchored in my own body and alone in my head, though
I still felt the lingering echoes of Mulder's contentment and
affection. I already missed him a bit.
We were both sticky messes, and we'd probably have to toss
the jeans and underwear. Mulder sleepily stripped those off
us and wrapped us in his coat. They wouldn't be comfortable
when they dried, but at least they wouldn't dry with us stuck
in them.
I still didn't know how this had happened to begin with. I
couldn't think of Christmas miracles without smirking, but I
certainly couldn't argue with the results.
"Maybe we can find something in these boxes to help us
get out," Mulder said against my neck. The feeling of stubble
rubbing against my skin made me shiver.
I couldn't help entertaining thoughts of the bastards coming
back and me clubbing them with my prosthesis, but none of that
helped us now. "Maybe. Does Scully know you're here?"
"She's off visiting her brother for the holiday. She
doesn't have a clue."
"Figures. So it sounds like we'll be checking the boxes."
The heat of his slight fever burned into my skin, and I felt
him getting hard against me again. "But could we clean
one another up a bit first?"
He answered with a kiss. Merry Christmas to me after all.
Beggar's Ride
by Viridian5
