Work Text:
Lure
by JiM
"I don't suppose we could forego the handcuffs this time?"
"But they're a tradition, Mulder," Krycek said with a smile, gun hand very steady. With a clumsy jerk of his left arm, the hardware spun across the space between them to land in Mulder's lap where he sat in the grit and garbage of the alley. "Put 'em on."
Sighing, Mulder complied. The cool snick of the cuffs sounded like whispered laughter to him. He wondered when he would get to live the sunlit boring life he assumed everyone else in the world lived -- the life that no one he knew actually ever got to live. The life that didn't involve greasy alleys, metal restraints or shooting at anything more dangerous than a rabbit.
Krycek jerked the barrel of the gun, gesturing for him to rise. Damn. He should have gotten to his feet before fastening the cuffs. How many times would he have to do this before he remembered that simple rule? Of course, making him clumsy, with his hands cuffed before him, was a standard psychological trick and Krycek knew a great many of those.
This time, Mulder had fallen for the simplest and flashiest lure in Krycek's armory, the promise of knowledge. Information, the Mulder drug of choice. He felt like a junkie, succumbing once more to... Alex Krycek. He stood in the cold alleyway, in the orange shadows thrown by the sodium lamps on the street, and let that small truth float up like the misty breath whispering out from between his lips. Shit.
Krycek took three steps toward him, until he was standing too close, until his breath steamed and curled around Mulder's face. The gun was a cold kiss against Mulder's ribs, burningly cold through the thin material of his dress shirt.
I should learn to button my coat, he thought vaguely.
"Good boy," Krycek murmured. "This is how it's going to be, Mulder. You're going to do everything I tell you and you live through the night. Understand?"
Krycek's eyes, colorless in the odd light, seem to flicker, like flame licking at dry tinder. Lurid, fantastic images strobed through Mulder's mind -- what would Krycek tell him to do? His knees ached and his mouth watered and his muscles clenched with imagination. And he knew that this, this, the darkness that sparkled deep within him was why he would never live that boring, sunlit life that glittered like tinsel just beyond his grasp.
Krycek was waiting for his answer.
"But that's what makes every date with you such an adventure, Krycek. You must have to beat them off with a stick."
Krycek's eyes flashed dangerously at Mulder's words. Oh god, his mouth was on automatic again. He wondered if being gut shot would hurt worse than his shoulder wound had. Then Krycek laughed and brought the gun up, away from Mulder's side. "You're such an asshole, Mulder. Why do I bother?"
Fascinated, Mulder watched Krycek open his hand, letting the gun dangle by the trigger guard and rest against his palm. Then he brought his hand up to Mulder's face and cupped his left cheek, the gun cold and unyielding against Mulder's skin. Pressure on his jaw made Mulder tip his head the way Krycek needed. Lips, soft and warm on his right cheek. Words in Russian misting against his skin, murmuring secrets that Mulder already knew, somewhere in the glittering darkness within. Caught between the freezing metal and the taint of Alex's human warmth, Mulder capitulated. He knew that Krycek felt it, knew the moment Krycek accepted the unconditional surrender. There was a smile against his cheek, then Krycek moved back a pace and dug in his pocket. He produced the handcuff key and pressed it into Mulder's hand. "Now let's go have some fun. You'll like what I have to show you tonight...."
And they were off again.
end