From: x4xp@earthlink.net
Date: 21 May 2003 21:43:05 -0700
Subject: [atxc-pi] NEW: boy -NC-17- (0/6)
Source: atxc
 
Title: boy 
Author: Shannon Kizzia 
Feedback Email: x4xp@earthlink.net 
Author's Website: http://hegalplace.com/shannon/ 
Archive at Gossamer: Yes to Gossamer 
Status: NEW - Standalone 
Size: 184k 
Category: Drama, Story, Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, BDSM 
Pairings: Mulder/Krycek 
Rating: NC-17 
Gossamer Category: Story ~ Angst ~ Slash 
Summary: See headers. 

boy
by Shannon Kizzia (shannon@hegalplace.com)

Website:  http://hegalplace.com/shannon/

Rating:  NC-17

Keywords:  M/K

Category:  SRA

Spoilers:   the mythology up through Paper Clip

Summary:   "I'll *never* side with you.  *Nothing* you
can give me will ever change that."

"Nothing?" the man asked, quietly.  There was a pause
as Mulder looked at his implacable face, and Mulder
very nearly flinched.  Then the old man turned and
motioned to his thug.  And the dark figure was pushed
forward.  Into the light.

Archive:  Have at it, but let me know where, please.
:)

Date of First Posting:  05/21/03

Disclaimer:  Chris thought 'em up, but his vision of
their dynamic was somewhat myopic for my tastes.  This
version of the boys is mine.

Notes:  The Crypt is actually a leather/sex shop in
Hillcrest here in San Diego and I just transplanted it
to D.C.  Peter is a fictional character of my own
creation and not an actual employee of that fine
establishment.

Also, I used lines from a South Park episode.  One, I
know is right.  The others I know are a little wrong.
It's been a while since I've seen it.  Please, SP fans,
forgive me!

Dedication:  I'm somewhat ashamed to admit that this is
my wonderful Satina's birthday fic.  4 months late.
Ahem.  Still, it was a labor of such love.  I've
enjoyed writing this story so much.  Happy Belated
Birthday, Satina.  I hope my boy was everything you
wanted.  :)

............

Mulder shuffled his feet in the gravel, hands in his
pockets, breath clearly visible in the midnight chill.
He looked around him again, bouncing on the balls of
his feet, partly anxious, partly just freezing his
goddamned testicles off.

He never should have agreed to it, he thought.  When
the old man called.  Not Cancer Man.  The other one.
The refined one.  The one Mulder was pretty sure didn't
want to actually get his hands dirty with killing.  The
one who had spoken to Scully at his father's
funeral...God, was it just six months ago?  He'd called
her young lady, she'd told him.  And tonight, he'd had
a man call Mulder.  The man said the Brit requested a
meeting.  Mulder had imagined a midnight talk in some
drawing room, complete with a thousand 19th century
hardbacked books lining cherry wood shelves and a
desk...a chair...that kind of thing.

Instead he was freezing his goddamned testicles off on
an abandoned gravel lot, off of an abandoned gravel
road somewhere near an industrial complex.  It smelled
like oil and fire and tar and dirt.  He'd parked the
car a half a mile back as told.  His cell phone was in
the locked glove box as told.  He had his gun, of
course.  The old man couldn't legitimately ask him to
part with it under such mysterious and suspicious
circumstances.  But he was expected to be divested of
it upon the prompt arrival of his host.

Prompt my ass, Mulder thought, blowing on his hands,
teeth nearly chattering.  His gun would be useless if
he froze to death.  Which seemed likely and could even
have been the plan all along.  Yeah, lure Mulder out to
this fuck-forsaken place and tell him you have
something for him...an integral piece of the conspiracy
puzzle...one he's been trying to get his hands on for
some time.  Tell him it's an offer he can't refuse.
Throw in something about his sister and he'll be there,
waiting in the cold like some forgotten dog, ever-
hopeful.  And he'll simply freeze to death.  The
perfect plan.

He was about to prove them wrong, turn tail and hoof it
back to the car and possibly over to Scully's for a
frostbite remedy, when a car turned the corner and
shone its headlights in his eyes as it parked.  He
raised his arm, trying ineffectually to ward off the
high-beams.  They didn't turn off as the car stopped,
and a bulky man with a gun already drawn got out and
walked over.

"Mr. Mulder," he husked.  "Your weapon."

"We just met," Mulder said, shivering.  "Shouldn't you
buy me a drink first or s-s-something?"

He was met with a barely caustic stare to which he
rolled his eyes and removed the gun at his back,
handing it over to the thug warily.  The man merely
took it and walked back to the vehicle.  He slipped
soundlessly back inside...  And then nothing happened.

Mulder made a sound like a child ten seconds away from
a temper tantrum.  He waited several moments more,
trying to see past the glare and into the front
windshield of the car to no avail.

"Oh come on!" he whined loudly through blue lips.  And
just before he resorted to stamping his feet, the back
door opened, and a tall, thin, elderly man stepped
gracefully out.

He walked forward, unhurried to Mulder's chagrin.  He
was in a long coat, hands in his pockets.  Casual.
Like it wasn't 19 fucking degrees.  Like he knew
without a doubt that the promise of something
substantial for Mulder to sink his teeth into would
keep the over-eager agent from inflicting physical harm
on him.  Mulder balled bone-chilled fingers into fists
and waited.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Mulder," the Brit intoned
conversationally.

"No problem.  I like spending time on the wrong side of
the tracks in the middle of the night during a winter
storm watch," Mulder stuttered.

"I hope you can appreciate the necessity of meeting
like this.  This is not the business of gentlemen.
There is nothing gentle about our dealings.  Wouldn't
you agree, Mr. Mulder?"

"You tell me,"  he said, wrapping his arms around
himself in a desperate attempt to maintain some body
heat.  He didn't care if the Brit saw it as a
vulnerability.  He'd rather be warm and alive than cold
and dead with his pride intact.

"I've brought you something," the old man said with a
slight raise to his eyebrows.

"Is it a pony?" Mulder asked, feeling his sanity start
to drift away in the gusts of cruel wind.

The old man just stared at him, eyebrows raised still
further.

Mulder's brow furrowed in frustration.  Maybe the chill
was slowing the vibration of the molecules in his
brain.  The old man continued.

"What I've brought you...is a gift."

"A gift?"  Mulder asked, more than skeptical.  Scully
would be so proud.  "Since when do you people give
anything away?"

"Too true," the other man conceded gracefully.  "You've
been in the game long enough to know that everything
has a price.  Even human life.  Especially that.  What
I'm offering you..." he said, then paused, giving the
moment its due import.  "...*is* a human life."  He
gave an almost imperceptible tilt back and to the left
with his head and the door to the car opened again and
the bulky man hauled another, smaller, huddled form out
into the open.  The light of the car cast them in
silhouette and Mulder strained to see in the extreme of
dark and light.

A human life?  He could never accept that!  Why, he
thought to himself, his heart racing in fear and a
sense of impending doom.  What did they think he wanted
with...it...him?  Was it a hybrid?  And therefore
proof?  Jesus.  What could they possibly want from him
in return?

"What we want is very simple," said the gentleman,
placing his hand on Mulder's shoulder, making Mulder
jerk away from the touch.  Mulder glared at the hand on
his shoulder.

The old man looked at him for a moment, thinking, then
removed his hand and said, "I see we need to talk, Mr.
Mulder."

Mulder frowned at him for a moment, then cast his
glance over the old man's shoulder at the two
nondescript figures huddling in the pool of unnatural
light.  He then brought his attention back to the Brit
who was now gesturing in the other direction.  Mulder
turned slowly and began walking away from the car with
the old man, looking back over his shoulder once more
at the dark outline of the human life he was supposed
to want to take.  The Brit stopped a few steps away,
out of earshot of the two men.

"The game has...changed, Mr. Mulder.  While you weren't
looking.  While you were looking the other way."

"What are you talking about?" Mulder asked, becoming
irritated at the too-slow leaking of information.

"The man you call The Smoker, The Cancer Man.  He and I
do not always see eye to eye.  It has come to light
that his methods...his ideology...conflicts with mine."
He looked at Mulder meaningfully.  "Ours."

Mulder looked at him sharply.

"Don't look so indignant, Mr. Mulder.  We have more in
common than you think.  We each have something the
other wants."

Mulder narrowed his eyes.  It was obvious to him what
it was that they had and he wanted.  Answers.  Question
was, what would they ask in return?

"What do you want?" Mulder asked tightly.

"Your allegiance," the other man answered.  Mulder
cringed at his words.  "I am willing to offer you
something you desire very badly...as a token of our
good faith."

Mulder firmed his jaw.  "I'll *never* side with you.
*Nothing* you can give me will ever change that."

"Nothing?" the man asked, quietly.  There was a pause
as Mulder looked at his implacable face, and Mulder
very nearly flinched.  Then the old man turned and
motioned to his thug.  And the dark figure was pushed
forward.  Into the light.

Mulder's heart stopped.  "Krycek."  It was a whisper
into the whipping wind.  He took one step forward.
Another.  Leaning into the momentum finally as he ran
at him, breath seething through gritted teeth.  He
lunged at him, heart now frantically beating in his
chest.  He grabbed at him wildly, feeling the leather
squeeze tightly in his hands.  He pulled him roughly
out of the large man's hold, blind to anything but the
need for vengeance he felt taking over his entire body,
his consciousness.  Everything else just went away with
the first feeling of his fist connecting with flesh.

Krycek fell on his back on the ground, landing hard
with a quiet groan.  He didn't get up.  Mulder stood
over him, breathing heavily, chest heaving, jaw
clenched, eyes burning savagely.

"Get up,"  he growled, but Krycek didn't obey, only
rolling on the ground a little in response.  "Goddamn
it,"  Mulder murmured angrily and reached down to grab
him by the lapels of his jacket, yanking him partially
up off the ground.  Krycek just dangled there, dead
weight, head hanging back on his neck.  And it was then
that Mulder actually saw him.

His brows creased as he stared down at the barely
conscious man.  He hadn't hit him *that* hard.  Krycek
had a black eye, obviously from a previous encounter.
He had a split lip, encrusted with old blood.  His eyes
were rolling, having tremendous trouble focusing on
anything.  He wouldn't and possibly *couldn't* stand on
his own.

Mulder looked over at the Brit.  "What is this?"

"He's yours.  To do with as you please."

"He's what?" Mulder asked in complete confusion.  He
looked back at the man below him and, repulsed, let him
drop back down to the ground.  It was then that he
noticed that Krycek's hands were cuffed behind his
back.  He didn't catch himself, falling on his arms and
rolling to the side, moaning softly.

"Yours," answered the other man.  "We got what we
wanted from him."  He leveled his gaze at Mulder.

The tape.  The answers.  They had it.  That's what they
were saying.  They got Krycek, and they got the digital
tape.  And now...?

"The knowledge that's on that tape...it can be yours,
too,"  the old man informed him slowly.

It took a moment for Mulder's wide eyes to narrow down
to suspicious slits.  He cursed the way the cold dulled
and slowed him.  "If I join you."

"Well, of course,"  said the refined man.

Mulder looked down at Krycek.  <He's yours.>  To do
with as I please.  "Why?" he asked without taking his
eyes off Krycek.

"I told you.  He's my gift to you.  Don't you want
him?"

Mulder clenched his hands into fists and swallowed.
<Don't you want him?>  If his urge to grab him, sling
him over his shoulder, and hustle him back to his car
was any indication...  He had Krycek.  If he wanted to
claim him.  He had vengeance at his feet.  At his
fingertips.  He felt his fingernails cut into his
palms, somehow not so cold now, existing in the
exquisite heat of his anger.  Did he want him?  Fuck
yes.

"Help Mr. Krycek to his feet, would you?" the Brit
instructed his thug, and the large man bent to do as
told, wrestling Krycek's limp body to standing.  "He's
been given something to make him a little
more...compliant.   It will wear off in a couple of
hours.  But I don't think him capable of walking on his
own just yet."

Mulder swallowed again, unaccountable excitement
thrumming through his body.  He was actually sweating
now in the freezing cold air.  Jesus...  His head was
reeling.  He heard the old man as if through a tunnel.
The words just kept washing over him.  Krycek.  His.
Krycek.  All his.

"What if I don't...ally with you?" asked Mulder
quietly.

"It makes no difference," answered the man with a
shrug.  "As I said.  He is a gift.  You own him.  At no
time will anyone come to reclaim him.  If someone does,
you can rest assured they are not of our group and deal
with them accordingly."

Mulder's hands were trembling.  But still the old man
continued as if he had all the time in the world.
"When I say he is yours, I mean in every sense.  If you
wish to kill him..."  Krycek whined small in the back
of his throat, seemingly incapable of protesting his
own demise any more than that.  "Or you can turn him
over to the authorities, of course."

Mulder looked up, ashamed that he had not yet
considered that option.

"I would, however, advise you to consider your choice
carefully, Mr. Mulder," the man went on.  "Were our
associates to learn of his where-abouts, he would be
eliminated very quickly.  And the information he has
could be very dangerous in the wrong hands."

Mulder frowned, considering.

"Mr. Mulder.  Trust no one."  They stared at each other
for long, intense moments, Krycek hanging in the thug's
disinterested grip between them.  "You need time to
think about this.  I understand.  We'll be in contact
soon.  Expect a call or a visit in one month's time at
which point we will discuss your involvement with us
further."

Mulder barely heard him, his attention sliding back to
the drugged and beaten man before him.  The thug then
thrust him forward and Mulder flinched.  Krycek moaned,
his head rolling.

The gentleman paused, waiting for Mulder to claim his
gift.  "Go ahead, Mr. Mulder.  Claim him.  He's your
boy now."

boy.  The word resonated through Mulder's mind.  boy.
He shivered, repulsed and...excited.  He slowly reached
for Krycek, hating that he would have to touch him in
any way other than beating him, which he fully intended
to do as soon as humanly possible.  Fuck, he *itched*
to do it!  But now...  The thug helped Mulder thread
his arm around Krycek's back, beneath his bound arms,
and Mulder reached a strong, resentful arm around
Krycek's waist in the front in the disgusting parody of
a hug, taking his weight, stumbling slightly as Krycek
tipped off balance and almost took them both to the
ground.  Krycek's head hung low down to his chest.

"Have a pleasant evening," the Brit said, holding
Mulder's gun out to him.  Mulder took it awkwardly with
the arm still around Krycek.  The side of the gun
pressed hard into Krycek's side.  The gentleman nodded
in greeting, then got into the car, and he and the
henchmen drove away, leaving Mulder and his gift
standing alone in the chilling darkness.

................

boy.

Mulder paced the apartment, unable to sleep despite the
late night hour.  Despite the exhausting experience of
being gifted with a human life.  Despite the struggle
of half-dragging, half-carrying that...human (if you
could classify him that way) half a mile to his car and
then again into his building, into the elevator, down
the hall, into the apartment, finally letting him drop
on the living room floor.

Now he paced around him.  Alex Krycek.  Drugged and
sleeping the fitful sleep of the damned.  Krycek.  His
boy.  Mulder pinched his bottom lip between his thumb
and finger, internally balking at the old man's choice
of moniker.  Why?  Krycek may have had the soft,
innocent-looking features of someone much younger than
himself, but he was most certainly a man.   Behind the
wide-set, glittering eyes...the small, pert nose...the
pink lips...the admiring, green partner...was the black
heart of a cold-blooded killer.  A traitor.  There was
nothing boyish about Krycek's dark soul.

boy.

Was that what he was to them?  All those foul old men?
Was he their boy?  Their errand boy?  Fetching the
Cancer Man his smokes, getting tea for the Brit,
getting Scully for their experiments...?  Mulder found
himself cursing the drugs they'd given him.  He wanted
him awake.  He wanted to see those eyes.  Full of
fear...of knowing who owned him now.  He wanted to hit
him.  Bloody his lying mouth.  Make him cry and beg for
forgiveness Mulder would never give him.  But he wanted
it just the same.  He needed it.  He needed to break
him.  Physically, mentally...every way there was to
break a man.

He nudged him roughly with the toe of his boot.  When
he got no response, he did it again, this time
delivering a harder kick to his side.  Just a plaintive
groan.  Mulder knelt at Krycek's side and pulled him up
by the jacket again.

"Wake up," he spat.  "Wake the fuck up."  He shook him.
When he didn't stir, Mulder shoved him back away from
him, feeling a small amount of satisfaction when his
head thudded against the floor.  He stood staring at
the still form of his nemesis.  His former partner.
His...

There were other...connotations...associated with the
word...boy, Mulder thought.  Unbidden came a sick flash
of Krycek being forced to his knees in front of a
withered, old cock, of his mouth being forced open
around the offensive flesh...of the others watching...
Mulder closed his eyes as if to rid himself of the
vision by removing its unwitting star.  He walked away
from the unconscious man on the floor, his hand coming
to his forehead.  Is that what the old Brit meant?
Well..even if it was, Mulder knew that as much as he
wanted to punish Krycek, to beat him and shove him and
make him face up to his sins, he didn't want *that*
from him.  He shook his head as the image of Krycek on
his knees persisted against the dark of his eyelids.

Mulder walked to his kitchen, the unfamiliar sensation
of leaving Alex Krycek alone on his living room floor
raising goosebumps on the backs of his arms.  He pulled
a bottle of water out of the fridge.  It had been
opened.  Half of it was gone and there was a collection
of water droplets clinging to the misty inside of the
bottle.  Mulder unscrewed the cap and took a drink, one
hand on his hip.

He thought about calling Scully.  She'd just tell him
to call the police.  She'd just feed the guilt already
making his mouth taste sour.  He took another swallow,
unaware of the stale quality, masked as it was by the
cold and by his preoccupied thoughts.

Mulder considered calling Skinner.  But it was all too
recently that he'd found Scully's gun drawn on him in
his apartment...that he'd had the tape.  He'd helped
them after that, but it didn't erase that image from
his memory, and like the old Brit said, trust no one.

He was sighing in indecision, exhaustion weighting his
eyelids, when he heard a sharp groan behind him in the
other room and his eyes flew open, wide, excited,
angry, and ready.  He turned toward the sound, walking
back through the doorway, and saw Krycek rolling onto
his side and off his bound wrists.  He walked to him,
put a foot in his back, and shoved.  No thought was
involved.  Mulder wanted the gift of acting purely on
instinct with Krycek as much as the gift of the man
himself.  Krycek fell onto his stomach with a grunt.

"Get up,"  Mulder ground out, on fire with the need to
have revenge.  He remembered what the old man had said
about calling the authorities and the pounding guilt in
his throat made him even angrier.

Krycek coughed, his throat dry.  He was probably
thirsty.  He could suffer, Mulder decided.  And the ex-
agent got to his feet slowly.

"Turn around,"  Mulder husked.  Krycek didn't hesitate,
but he didn't hurry as he turned to face Mulder.  The
bruising around his eye just made his iris appear
greener...eerily so.  Mulder found himself frowning at
it in distaste.

They faced off, Mulder seething in anger that had
steeped for months, Krycek silent, sick-looking,
waiting.  Mulder realized he hadn't seen his face since
he almost shot him.  Though he'd imagined it countless
times.  He looked harder now.  His hair was shorter and
spikier and he was a little thinner.   They'd beaten
him.  Even in the frigid air of the night, Mulder had
deduced that pretty quickly.  They beat him to get the
tape.  He wondered how many men it had taken to wrench
it out of his greedy hands.  He couldn't help but let
his gaze flit over the bruising on Krycek's face.  Some
gift.  He was obviously used goods, somebody else
having made the marks Mulder had fully intended to make
himself.

"Do you know why you're here, Krycek?"  Mulder asked,
not sure why he wasn't just beating him back into
unconsciousness yet.  Maybe he'd fantasized about this
moment for so long that he didn't want it to end that
soon.  When Krycek just stared at him enigmatically,
breathing shakily through his raw mouth, Mulder
prompted him.  "Fucking answer me,"  he muttered
hoarsely, making fists and then releasing them over and
over again.

Krycek blinked once.  "Yes."  His whisper was almost a
croak, coming from a throat unused in quite some time.

His whisper seemed to fill the room.  Mulder noticed
suddenly that Krycek was his same height.  He hadn't
remembered that.  It felt odd to share the small space
with a man of his size.   The sound of the fish tank
buzzed in his ear.

"You're going to give me answers,"  Mulder informed
him, voice shaking with emotion, maybe with the
improbability of his demand being satisfactorily met.
"You're not going anywhere," he continued, some part of
him eternally hopeful that something could come of
this.  That if he just hit him enough, that if Krycek
had to experience Mulder's pain up close and personal,
he'd have to give him something...real.

Mulder decided that, in some way, it didn't matter
*what* Krycek said.  Just so long as he could exhaust
his anger hitting him.  He took a shaky breath.

"Whether you lie to me...or you tell me the truth...I
fucking own you."  What did it feel like for Krycek to
hear that?  He gave nothing away.  Was he...used to it?
Was Mulder just another in a long line of owners.  It
didn't seem like Krycek to be owned.  It felt strange
and bitter like a good stout in Mulder's mouth after he
said it.

Mulder took a step forward, the kinetic energy barely
reined in under his prickling skin.  "You lie to me,
Krycek?...and I'll have you wishing you'd never been
born.  Understand?"  He felt a little like he was
reading from a movie script, drunk on champagne.  The
air around the other man's face distorted and blurred.
Mulder's lips had made the words, feeling like the
vowels filled his mouth with rancid air.  He only hoped
he was making sense.  His head rang.  Alex Krycek.  The
man who killed his father...  Why shouldn't he just
kill him?  The fingers on his right hand twitched and
he became aware of the stoic push of gunmetal in the
small of his back.

Krycek only swallowed, betraying nothing in his look or
his small reaction.  Mulder drew back his tingling
right hand and back-handed him across the face, already
so angry at not having more from him...not having
enough.

"I asked you a question, Krycek,"  he said, now
towering over the man doubled over to the side.  He
watched Krycek slowly straighten up, and the other man
finally nodded, blinking slowly once as he returned to
full height in front of Mulder.

Mulder took a deep breath.  He never got his question
answered before.  He'd been waiting so long.  He almost
didn't want to know.  It wasn't even so much that he
had to know it.  He already knew it.  He just wanted
Krycek to say it.

"Did you kill my father?"

He waited, studying Krycek's features for a reaction,
and getting next to nothing.  And then finally, "No."

"Fucking liar,"  Mulder whispered, and he planted his
hands in his chest and shoved him backward as hard as
he could.  Krycek stumbled and fell against the table
by the couch.  He sat on it awkwardly, unable to use
his hands and was barely on his feet again before
Mulder slapped him hard across his face once and then
again and then grabbed the hair at the top of his head,
tilting Krycek's battered face up, making his throat
arch.  His face was nearly expressionless.  Well, maybe
there was a hint of apprehension there.  In the eyes, a
little wider than they were before.  In his breathing,
which was rather fast.  The tension held in his parted
lips...

Mulder looked into his eyes, standing close, the only
contact between them Mulder's tight fist in Krycek's
short hair.  Krycek stumbled slightly, still not
looking away from the rage in Mulder's eyes.

"You shot him in cold blood.  You shot him and you ran,
you prick," he spat, pushing Krycek's head away from
him and then taking a different hold, under his chin,
thumb squeezing on one side, fingers pushing into his
face on the other.  "How dare you fucking lie to me,
Krycek?"  Then he threw him down with the hand on his
face and Krycek stumbled sideways, not quite falling
all the way to the floor, which made Mulder angrier,
and he pushed him with both hands until Krycek fell to
his knees near the coffee table. Then he kept pushing
him until he was flat on the ground on his stomach,
rising up off him quickly and taking a swift vengeful
kick to his side.  "Lying *prick*."

Krycek moaned once and curled in on his abused stomach,
around the leg of the table, and Mulder wiped his mouth
with his hand and stalked away.

............

Once he calmed down enough to think straight, he
realized if he wanted anything from him, any answers,
lies or not, he needed to keep Krycek alive.  The other
man had passed out again.  Mulder guessed that whatever
they'd given him was powerful and packed quite a hang-
over upon departure.  Krycek hadn't thrown up, but that
could have just been for lack of anything in his
stomach.  He looked green and somewhat out of it,
still.  Mulder didn't think, if Krycek wasn't drugged,
that he'd be able to sleep in Mulder's presence.  He
was probably trained to stay awake for days if he was
in any imminent danger.  And here he was unconscious on
Mulder's hard floor.

Mulder waited until he was awake, doing little beyond
studying the man's features in the meantime, as though
trying to glean secrets from the creases around his
mouth and the set of his jaw, studying the positioning
of his eyelashes on his cheeks like tea leaves in the
bottom of a cup.

He sat facing the wrong way on his computer chair,
fingers drumming impatiently on the chipped wood.
Watching.  Krycek breathed in and out like any other
human.  His chest rose and fell.  Mulder was mesmerized
by the normalcy.

As 2 AM became 2:30, Krycek began to stir.

Mulder wanted to question him again.  He had so much to
say...to ask.  But the one question that mattered to
him had already been asked and the answer had most
likely been a lie. He didn't think he could stomach
another one, and if he didn't give Krycek some water
soon he was going to be of no use whatsoever, and he
wouldn't have even had the satisfaction of taking an
active part in killing him.  Thirst.  That was no
justice.

So Mulder wordlessly got up, passing the waking Krycek,
and got him water.  In a bowl.  He set it on the floor
of the living room and stood back from the man, now
sitting up, looking heavy and useless.  Possibly more
alert, but also more cranky.  He wore a scowl on his
face that spoke volumes even if he was still
steadfastly silent.

"Go ahead,"  Mulder said evenly, looking down at him.
The other man was so thirsty that he hardly hesitated
before he bent over the bowl on his knees and began
lapping at it like an animal.  Mulder felt a fire wash
through his bloodstream watching Krycek like that.  But
when he realized he'd been standing and staring for all
of two long minutes...  He gulped and turned away,
sitting at his desk and booting up his computer.

He found himself straining to see Krycek's reflection
in the screen as the computer went through start up.
He had Alex Fucking Krycek on his living room floor,
beaten and cuffed, drinking from a bowl on the floor.
He shifted in his chair, taking a deeply and hardly
calming breath.

His email came up.  He clicked on 'compose' and typed
in Scully's address.

Hey Scully.  Something's come up.  Family

business.  Don't worry.  I'm sorry I can't talk

to you about it in person, but it's pretty

urgent.  I have to leave town and take some

vacation time.  A month.  I'm sorry.  I know

what an awkward position this puts you in.

Hell, maybe it doesn't.  Maybe you can get some

stuff done without me there to hound you with

the paranormal.

I'll handle Skinner.  I don't want you to worry

about that.  I don't want you to worry, period.

I'll be in touch.  Email me at this address if

you need to talk to me.  Take care of yourself.

Mulder

As he hit send, he heard Krycek clear his throat behind
him.  He changed his focus, looking at Krycek in the
screen rather than the words.  He was kneeling still,
but no longer bending over his water dish.  He was
looking at Mulder, and then down in exasperation, then
back at Mulder again.

"Mulder."

"Shut up,"  Mulder said dispassionately without turning
around.

"I have to..."

"You don't *have* to do anything except shut the *fuck*
up, Krycek."

"I'm gonna piss on your floor, damn it!"  Krycek nearly
yelled.

At first Mulder thought it was some kind of threat, but
then it occurred to him that he, of course, *would*
have to use the bathroom by now.  Probably had to a
long time ago.  And since he didn't want Krycek losing
control of his bladder all over himself, he decided
he'd better figure out a way for the man to take a
piss.

"Mulder," Krycek hissed.

"I heard you, I know, shut up," Mulder answered,
dropping his head down into his hand.  "Those cuffs,"
he said, and then lifted his head, looking at his worst
enemy.  The bruising around his eye was starting to
pale.  "Know where the key is?"

Krycek swallowed and looked down at his jeans and back
up to Mulder.  "Front right pocket," he answered in a
husky whisper.  He looked like maybe he was trying not
to look hopeful.

Mulder looked from Krycek's face, down to his hip where
his jeans were slung low, then back up again.  "Stand
up."

Krycek got easily to his feet, unfolding his tall body
and grimacing slightly.  Mulder stood as well, slowly,
delaying the inevitable, cursing in his mind and trying
to keep his expression dry, if not a little put-out.
Nothing more.

His heart beat faster as he approached Krycek.  He was
finding it did that when he got close to him, more
right before he started hitting him...and when he *did*
hit him, the rush of adrenaline was almost unbearably
incredible. It had been that way when he'd caught
Krycek outside of his building even through the haze
and distortion of the hallucinogens.  He had certainly
felt it when Krycek had come out of the darkness
tonight, presented as his boy.  And it was here now.  A
flutter of pulse.  Too much saliva, then not enough.
The stench of his own nervous sweat.

(Continued in part 2)

Part 2
See part 0 for story information.


He took a breath and they looked into each other's
eyes.

"Hold still," Mulder husked.  Then he pulled Krycek's
pocket out as far as it would stretch with one hand and
reached into it with the other.  As he fumbled for the
key, still looking into Krycek's unreadable eyes, the
back of Mulder's hand brushed the other man's cock.
Krycek gasped and Mulder ripped his hand away quickly,
key held tightly in his fist.

Mulder searched Krycek's eyes for a moment, focusing on
one and then the other, darting back and forth.  But
Krycek betrayed nothing.  Like the gasp was a figment
of Mulder's over-active imagination.  Mulder swallowed.
He felt himself wanting to look down between Krycek's
legs as though to assess the threat of the man by the
look of the outline of his cock.  It was animalistic
and base and Mulder felt it fit right in with wanting
to dominate Krycek through violence.  They were
rams...lions...wild and driven by the same set of
rules.  Survival of the fittest.  Kill or be killed.

He was repulsed by the train of his thoughts.  The
words with which he defined himself in relation to Alex
Krycek.  Who he became when in his presence.  And now
he wasn't going to be *out* of his presence.  It scared
him.  More than scared him.  The man in front of him
had the ability to transform him.  He knew he wasn't
playing by his own rules much less the FBI's.  It was
so discomfiting, Mulder denied the dark thoughts the
light of his analysis.  He just focused all his
feelings of anger, rage, even hate...on the man in
front of him.  When it was all said and done, all he
wanted...more than the answers...was Alex Krycek scared
for his fucking miserable life.

He searched Krycek's unfathomable eyes and felt his jaw
tighten even more, his eyes harden.  He walked around
behind Krycek, pulling out the small gun that had been
resting in the back of the waistband of his jeans, and
pushing it into the man's back.  Mulder fit the key
into the cuffs roughly, breathing harshly on Krycek's
neck.

"If you so much as breathe too hard, I'll kill you," he
told him as he snicked one cuff loose.  "Just hold them
at your sides."  Mulder was almost impressed that
Krycek didn't gasp, didn't inhale sharply with the pain
of moving arms that had been imprisoned far too long as
he did as told.  He knew it hurt like a bitch.  And
Krycek didn't make a sound.

Mulder dropped his eyes to the chaffed wrists and then
brought them back to glare with narrowed eyes at the
back of Krycek's head.  "Turn around.  Slow.  Nice and
easy, Krycek."  His voice was breathy, the excitement
of actually letting Krycek's strong hands get free for
a moment taking over and changing his voice.  Krycek
turned to him.

"Wrists together in front,"  Mulder demanded and Krycek
obliged silently.  Mulder made quick work of recuffing
him, trying not to focus on the red marks around his
wrists.  He didn't think he'd have to remind himself
all of what Krycek had done to deserve those marks and
any others he'd brought upon himself with his
traitorous actions, but...those marks were angry.  Raw.
Mulder swallowed and backed away.  The fucker deserved
every pain Mulder could inflict.  He deserved to die
for what he'd done...the pain he'd caused.  He had to
stop thinking of this man as human.  He was inhuman.
As much as any alien.  The blood may have been red, but
it ran cold through his veins.

Mulder suddenly didn't think he could stand to look at
him anymore.  He wondered why he still was.  Oh that's
right.  He hadn't told his *boy* he was excused.
Krycek stood before him, any truths or vulnerabilities
hidden behind the cool green of his eyes.  And he
waited.

"Bathroom's in there,"  Mulder said motioning with his
chin.  "Leave the door open.  If you're not out in
three minutes, I'm dragging you out by the hair."

Krycek turned to go and soon, after an inexplicable
whispered curse from the interior of the bathroom,
Mulder could hear him relieving himself, the door
having been left open as ordered.  Mulder made a show
for himself of walking over to the desk and absorbing
himself in some spam email about penile enlargement.
Then he heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on.
What a fucking gentleman.

Seconds later, Krycek exited appearing minutely more
relaxed.  Mulder thought it wasn't so much more relaxed
as a fraction less tense.

"Sit down.  On the floor,"  Mulder demanded and though
his tone was almost bored, he felt that same familiar
excitement thread through his veins.  "Since if I don't
feed you, you'll die," he droned, opening his desk
drawer and pulling out a Tiger's Milk bar, "...and I'm
not through with you yet..."  He turned toward his
prisoner and threw the bar in his general direction.
"Here."

Krycek picked it up, his face once again unreadable as
he began ripping open the foil packaging after a
moment's hesitation.

Mulder continued.  "When you're done, I'll cuff you to
my radiator and that's where you'll sleep.  I don't
wanna hear dick from you, Krycek, unless you're about
to piss yourself again.  I'm through with even looking
at you tonight."

To Mulder's surprise, Krycek nodded slowly in
acquiescence, chewing on his meager dinner.  Mulder
flipped on the television to a basketball game and sat
down on his couch.  "Not a fucking word," he warned the
suddenly agreeable Krycek with unnecessary venom
bleeding through his tone.

He was feeling more than a little awkward about what
he'd formerly perceived as one of his ultimate
fantasies come true.  Krycek.  His.  Now that he had
him, though, he wasn't sure what to do next.  He had
questions.  It wasn't that.  It was just that suddenly,
he wasn't sure if he wanted Krycek's answers.  Even if
they were the truth.  That realization shocked him.
And he found himself wondering if Krycek was good for
anything more than whatever half-truths he might leak.

When Krycek had finished his meal, he reached for his
water bowl, hands now being in a much more desirable
position for picking things up.

"Stop,"  Mulder said evenly.  "I didn't say you could
use your hands."

The only reaction that betrayed anything stronger than
annoyance on Krycek's part was the tightening of his
hands into fists...before he bent to lap up more of his
water, the sight once again exciting Mulder beyond all
reason.  Mulder got up from the couch, not letting
Krycek drink his fill as he toed the other man's chin
away from the bowl.  Not strong enough to bruise, not
gentle enough to be considered tender.   Mulder bent,
quickly and roughly securing his nemesis to the
radiator, where Krycek laid down without resistance and
shut his eyes, seeming for all the world like he
himself had chosen this spot and took no issue with
sleeping on the hard floor, one arm awkwardly lifted
off of it over his head slightly, no pillow, no
concessions...nothing.

Mulder glared at his composed face for a moment, then
he went in and turned on the gas oven for heat since
the radiator didn't work anyway and there was a man
cuffed to it now besides.  He cranked it to 450,
opening the oven door, then went back to the living
room and pretended to watch his game.  Around four in
the morning, after a long hour of unending, circular
thoughts about the situation, Mulder fell into a
restless slumber.

.............

"It's third and goal for the Patriots here in the
fourth quarter and Bill, I gotta tell you, if Dallas
doesn't get some defense fast they are gonna be sayin'
goodbye to a bid at the Super Bowl."

Mulder slumped farther into the couch, lamenting that
there were no good basketball games on.  He fingered
the remote and waited to see if New England decided to
pass.

"Touchdown, New England!  Looks like this game is over,
Mike,"  said Bill decisively, and Mulder flipped the
station.

The screen flashed images into the darkening room,
light erasing the previous shadows and creating others.
Krycek had been so quiet, Mulder wondered if he was
asleep.  He cut his glance over surreptitiously.
Krycek sat very still, head slightly bowed, legs
crossed.  Mulder found himself taking the opportunity
to stare.  Krycek was a mystery to him and Mulder hated
that.  Even now, watching him swallow, his Adam's apple
moving in his throat, analyzing the pallor of his skin
and the way the leather on his jacket was cracked in
several places...  It wasn't enough.  It didn't give
him anything real.  Because Krycek was never what he
looked like he was.  From the very first day, he'd been
lying, wearing that suit like he'd just graduated from
the academy.  Mulder'd thought it looked like an outfit
he'd wear to his upper class future in-laws' fancy
dinner soirees, where they'd look him over up and down,
judging, but always silently as it would be bad form to
openly criticize.  His look was flawless in all its
cheap, cheesy flaws.  And in the end, he'd out-smarted
arguably the best profiler in the Bureau.

And now...  In this leather and jeans and dirty white
T-shirt...heavy boots...short-clipped hair made more
efficient and lower maintenance without the Dippity-
Do...  Who was he now?  Who had he ever been?

What had he worn when he'd taken his first hit?

Mulder swallowed and slow-blinked his eyes back to the
television, distracting himself from the morbidity of
the thought with thirty second sound bites.  He
realized he'd stopped on the Travel Channel and they
were doing a special on Great Gay Get-Aways.  He
hastily changed the channel and couldn't help looking
over at Krycek on the floor.

The morning and afternoon had been awkward with few
words and oddly electric glances.  Mulder had fixed
Krycek a bowl of Wheat Chex.  When he'd placed it in
front of him on the floor, Krycek had looked up at him
from under his long lashes.  Perhaps wondering what
he'd done to merit a spoon.  Mulder couldn't be sure.
The eyes hinted at so much but said so very little in
and of themselves.  It was infuriating.  Mulder had
simply walked away, unwilling to ask for anything from
this man, even if it was for Mulder's own psychological
comfort.  A thousand questions had bombarded his brain:
Is this how the others treated you?  Why aren't you
screaming to be let go?  Why don't you beg for a couch
cushion, some sugar for your cereal, forgiveness?  Do
you like Wheat Chex, Krycek?  What was your mother's
name?  Is she alive?

He'd avoided Krycek all day just to avoid the
questions.  To avoid the life swimming in the wet, jade
eyes.  It was so much easier to hate him when he was
this nearly mythical shadow forever on the edge of his
life, not sitting quietly and enigmatically on his hard
living room floor.  And so he'd steered clear of
Krycek.

Until now.  And once again he found himself staring.
Mulder sighed absently and, after hours of withdrawn
stillness, Krycek lifted his head minutely and brought
his eyes to Mulder's.

Mulder held the gaze, wondering if he would feel it an
accomplishment to make Krycek look away first.  But no
one looked away, and before the moment grew too
awkward, Mulder drew a deep breath and leaned forward,
resting his elbows on his knees.

"Who beat you?"  he asked, his voice rough from not
speaking all day.  He cursed that it made him sound
emotional over the thought of Krycek being beaten.

Krycek blinked, seemingly unsure if it was safe to
answer being that he'd previously been told not to
utter another word.  He must've decided that Mulder's
continued stare qualified the question as more than
rhetorical because he answered in a voice just as husky
if not more so.

"The old guy ordered it."  He paused, squinting at
Mulder in the dark.  "Is that what you mean?"

Mulder tilted his head and nodded, blinking.  He didn't
have to know whose actual hands were on him.  Did he?
He picked up a half-eaten bag of sunflower seeds off
the coffee table and popped one into his mouth, looking
speculatively around the room as if he'd not seen it
before today, like somebody waiting in a doctor's
office.  He worked the seed in his mouth and looked at
the television again, feeling ridiculous.

His next question was out before he'd made the final
decision to actually ask it.  "You fight back?"

He had to look up when something like a laugh came from
the man.  Aborted and humorless, but a laugh none-the-
less.  Mulder looked into dark-fringed eyes.  There was
nothing of amusement there.  In fact...the other man
looked like he was trying not to tremble.

"You think I wanted to give up that tape, Mulder?"
Krycek asked, averting his eyes.

"Why didn't they just kill you?"

Krycek raised his eyes to him once more and this time
held.  He took a breath and fairly shivered the words
out.  "Either you don't like the truth,"  he said and
paused, taking a short, choked breath, then letting the
rest out in a half-whisper.  "Or you don't listen,"
Krycek's quiet voice scraped along Mulder's skin like a
serrated blade.

Mulder watched Krycek tremble before him on the floor.
He squinted into Krycek's eyes and the other man looked
down, still trying to control his breathing.  Mulder
realized that Krycek had no doubt about the purity of
his desire for the truth or his listening skills.
Krycek knew Mulder already knew the answer to the
question.  And he didn't want to tell him again.  To
shove it in his face.

Mulder reined in his anger.  "You're not a very good
`boy', are you, Krycek?"

At that, Krycek looked back up.  He caught Mulder's
eyes with his own.  And he licked once at the healing
cut on his lip.   His look was almost a promise.   Not
a promise.  An invitation.  To find out.  Mulder
clamped his mind shut on all the things Krycek had
probably been as somebody else's boy.

He continued on.  "So their immediate conclusion was
that I'd want you."

"Don't you?"  Krycek's eyes stared at him, all rugged,
unperturbed innocence.  The question hung in the room
like a poisonous fume, too powerful for being just two
little words, too full of...hope.

Mulder took a deep shaky breath.  He'd asked for that.
Didn't make him less angry about having it so blatantly
put out on the table.  If he hadn't wanted Krycek with
something like maniacal possessiveness, he wouldn't be
here.  And everybody knew it.  Mulder felt his face
flame.

"I want what you know, Krycek,"  Mulder told him.

Krycek somehow became more tense at hearing this.  He
closed his eyes, squeezing them shut for a moment
before opening them and focusing on a spot on the
floor.  "Ask me."

Mulder could barely hear the words.  Krycek's lips
hardly moved as he spoke them and they came out as a
tortured breath.

So now he was attempting to be the boy Mulder wanted,
obedient, cowed.   Maybe Mulder should have relished in
the power.  Maybe the pretense, if that was all it
really was, should have at least been somewhat
comforting.  Instead, Mulder felt so sick he had to
turn his face away and close his eyes.

"You'll tell me lies,"  Mulder murmured under his
breath.  Then he stood and picked up the remote.  "Go
to sleep."

Krycek opened his mouth to speak again, his inhalation
stuttered.

"I said go to fucking sleep!"  Mulder yelled, throwing
the remote down on the couch and walking past the man
on the floor to get to the bedroom, where he sat
heavily on the musty sheets, head resting in his hands,
knowing he wouldn't sleep for all the questions in his
head he couldn't yet bring himself to ask.

............

It was finally light enough to see after hours of
straining to.  All that was visible from this point was
Krycek's boot.  His right foot, ankle...little bit of
the length of his shin.  His jeans were caked in gravel
dust.

Mulder had slid down off his bed, sitting at the foot
of it on his floor.  He'd thought about calling Scully.
He needed her.  And yet she would take this away from
him, his one opportunity at vengeance...and then
answers...and then vengeance again.  She would try to
help him.  But in the end, she wouldn't understand.
But he was so tired.   He just wanted to hear her voice
and know a little sanity for a while.  Instead, he
asked silent questions of Krycek's boot.  They had been
incessant, a mental litany of inquiry.  All remaining
unanswered, maybe unanswerable.  It was torture.
Knowing that even though he had him here indefinitely,
he may still never have anything he could trust.  Still
his mind asked.  Over and over.

Where did you come from?

What are you thinking?

Are you scared of me?

What do the aliens want?

Have you seen them?

Do you know where she is?

Is she alive?

Why her and not me?

Mulder felt an aching pain in his chest then and the
questions vanished to give it room.  His whole body
ached.  Some aches were physical, the left-overs from
the exertion of pulling a drugged Krycek all over town.
Some were not that.  He wished for once they'd just go
away.  Leave him alone.

Why, Krycek?

Why you?

Did you always know, from the moment you held your hand
out to me to be shaken, that you were going to kill
him?  Was his death a red, dry erase pen mark on a
calendar?   Was it your destiny to do this to me?

Was it your choice?

Pain sliced behind his eyelids and between his temples.
He touched his hand to his head.  His hand was very
cold and his head was too warm.  He pulled himself
slowly to his feet.  He was still in his jeans and
henley from yesterday.  He thought about changing to
something else,  something softer and clean, but that
felt like too much of a vulnerability.  All he allowed
himself was the removal of his shoes and socks.

He walked barefoot past Krycek who appeared to be
sleeping still.  A crease dug a canyon on his forehead
running vertically between his eyebrows.   Maybe the
rat bastard had bad dreams.  Another sharp pain ripped
through Mulder's head, so he continued on into the
kitchen.  He took three Advil and returned to sitting
on the couch.

It felt better there.  Where he could see him.  Better
and worse.  The last thing he knew was that he was
watching him sleep.  Heaviness pushed his head down
onto the back of the couch and dragged his eyelids
down, too, finally.  And Mulder didn't know he'd fallen
asleep.

.............

He woke from his nightmare.  He couldn't see for a
second, the clock on the VCR going from a green blur to
7:26 after three or four deep, fast breaths.  He looked
around the apartment, the image of his father's
completely black eyes still vivid in his mind.  It was
always the same.  His father hugged him.  It turned
into a squeeze.  He was suffocating.  He always managed
to push him away only to see those eyes.  Black as
death.  Black voids, masking a silent evil he felt
permeate his skin as his father began to walk toward
him with slow purpose.  Then there was the shot.  And
he would wake.  Did wake.

He was home.  His father was not here.  His father was
dead.  He loved his father.  His father had been a
*good* man.  Mulder felt the tears sting his eyes and
schooled his breathing back to normal.

"Jesus..."  It was a frightened yet fascinated whisper
from across the room.  From the radiator.  From...

Krycek.

<He's yours.  To do with as you please,> he heard the
Brit say in his head.  His memory.  Oh God, it was all
true!  He was here...and Mulder owned him.

Mulder surged up off the couch, no clear intention on
his mind except that he had to get something from
him...anything.  He had to make him accountable.

Hadn't he told him to be quiet?  Hadn't he ordered
silence from him?  Mulder felt the black rage fill his
lungs with each breath.

"No words," he said, fighting back tears.  "No.
Fucking.  Words."  He fell to his knees, grabbing an
astonished looking Krycek from the floor and hauling
his upper body up and into him.   "Can't follow simple
instructions, huh Krycek?" he quavered.

"I just..."  Krycek stammered, looking between Mulder's
wild eyes.

"You just what?  You couldn't help but FUCK with me
again!?  Too fucking tempting!?"  He knew he was barely
making sense...knew he was going on pure emotion rather
than intellect.  His dead father floated bloody behind
his eyes still.

"No, Mulder..."

"What!?"  Mulder jerked up on the front of Krycek's
jacket.

"You were..."  Krycek's voice shook.

"I was what?"  Mulder yelled into his face.

"You were..."  It was a whisper.

"Did you kill my father!"  Mulder yelled, and it was
more a statement, his anger holding back the grief for
the time being.

Krycek took a breath.  And then he spoke in a quiet,
impactful hush.  "It doesn't matter how many times I
say no, Mulder.  You know I did.  So why do you keep
asking?"

Mulder wanted to yell.  He wanted to scream.  His face
screwed up in a rictus of agony, lips pouting and tears
brimming.  This was NOT what he wanted.  It wasn't how
he'd seen it.  "Goddamnit..."  he half-whispered, half-
sobbed, holding Krycek loosely now by the leather.

Krycek blinked.  "Mulder,"  he whispered softly, and it
halfway woke Mulder from the spiral of his pain.

"Nnnoooo!"  Mulder yelled, releasing one fistful of
jacket and hauling back, tears now coursing down his
cheeks, and he punched Krycek in the face.  Once,
twice, a third time.  Hard, pounding punches.  Then he
took Krycek's bloody face and pushed it sideways down
into the floor, falling on top of him, his own face now
transformed by a horrible mixture of his hate and pain.
The tears kept coming as he began to sob, holding
Krycek down and shaking with the force of it.

He was lying on top of him, pinning him with his
weight.  He took Krycek by the hair with both hands,
jerking and turning his head so Krycek would see him.
He had so much to say.  This man killed his father.  He
admitted it.  He finally said it.  And Mulder realized
he'd wanted it not to be true all along.  He might as
well have just killed him again in that moment.

"I hate you,"  Mulder cried, the cursed pout securely
back on his face, his fat tears dripping down onto his
enemy.  Krycek didn't struggle.  He just laid there
bleeding from his mouth, out of breath.  "I hate you,
Alex."  And then he collapsed on top of him, face
buried in the crook between Krycek's neck and shoulder.
He sobbed, hands loosening on the other man's scalp.
He shook against him, his whole body fairly convulsing.

He shook on Krycek's tense body, something in his chest
breaking open, and he couldn't help it.  Mulder wished
he could kill him.  He deserved to die.  He deserved
nothing more than he gave his father.  A sob ripped
from Mulder's constricted throat and he would have sat
up, pulled his gun, and fired the kill shot...except
that the body under his was so warm.  And he hadn't
cried about his father in months.  And he couldn't make
himself leave.

Suddenly, he became aware of movement.  Very small.  An
arm rising.  Krycek's free arm.  He inhaled against the
stubble on Krycek's throat, ready for the fight.  But
Krycek's hand just hovered in the air beside Mulder's
body, waiting.  Before it then started to close the
distance.  Slowly and hesitantly.  Mulder held his
breath, his skin prickling, heart thudding against the
other man's.  He squeezed his eyes shut, awaiting the
touch.  So good...so bad...  And then he felt it.
Krycek's warm palm lain against his back.

It sent him whirling again into the blackness of his
rage.  "Fuck you!" he yelled again, leaping back from
Krycek, the very idea of him conceiving to offer any
kind of comfort however small...it made him want to
vomit.  He scrambled to standing, wiping his eyes.  He
yelled down at his captive.  "You say one more
thing...*one* more..."  His voice broke.  "I will kill
you."

He left Krycek there on the floor and stalked into the
bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

...........

For the next three days, he fed Krycek.  He filled his
water bowl.  He let him sleep at night.  He didn't hit
him.  Didn't touch him at all.  Hardly looked at him.
He actually thought about killing him once or twice.
Just because when he did have to look at him, it hurt
so much.

Mulder left the house a lot.  Left Krycek bound to the
radiator.  Left him with a box of cereal or a banana
and, as always, the water.  Once when he'd been out for
about six hours, he even brought him back a Big Mac.
He walked in the door, threw the thing down at Krycek's
side without looking at him, the sad, hopeless look
feeling like it was permanently affixed to his face
now, and just kept walking into the bedroom, closing
the door behind him and not coming out till the next
morning.

After the third day, he realized this...boy
thing...just wasn't working.  He began making plans for
the return of his gift.

On the morning of that fourth day, Mulder awoke in a
sweat.  He awoke from a dream.  A very nice dream.  A
disturbing dream.  He woke up with a hard-on so massive
it was close to pain.  He sat up on the couch, looking
over at Krycek on the floor.  He didn't appear to be
awake.  He turned guilty eyes away from him and buried
his face in his hands.

Images kept torturing him behind his eyelids.  Images
of him...and Krycek.  He shook his head.  He thought of
his father, dying on the white tile.  His erection
began to soften.

He went to the bathroom to take a piss and brush his
teeth.  He looked at the green toothbrush lying on the
edge of the sink.  The one he'd given Krycek.  He'd
finally relented and allowed him his dental hygiene.
Although he had still not permitted a shower.  Krycek
had begun to reek kind of powerfully.  Mulder found
that he didn't hate his smell.  Not like he hated the
actual man.  The smell...hot, salty, and gritty, was
actually strangely pleasant...invigorating.  He
remembered drawing that smell in with each tear-choked
breath as he'd lain atop him.

Mulder was chagrined to find his dick reacting yet
again with his train of thought, the dream still too
close and far too real.  He washed his mouth out and
looked at himself in the mirror.  He had to get rid of
Krycek.  He had the one answer that mattered.  He'd had
*that* all along.  Now he just wanted the man out of
his life once and for all.

Mulder exited the bathroom and nudged the sleeping man
with his foot.  "Get up."

Krycek gasped and rolled into a sitting position,
wincing at the way his wrist twisted with the movement.
At the very least, Krycek could look forward to being
released from those cuffs soon.  Mulder knew he already
had some nerve damage.  He didn't feel bad about it.
He could have inflicted much, much worse.

He knelt and unlocked the cuff from the radiator,
securing it to Krycek's other wrist so he could stand
up.  Both men rose and Mulder really looked at Krycek
for the first time in days.  Dark circles under the
jade green eyes...

Jade green eyes looking up at him before he enveloped
Mulder's bobbing cock in his mouth...

Mulder squeezed his eyes shut and then reopened them,
seeing this man here in front of him now, not the one
from his dream.

"I'm letting you go,"  Mulder told him.

Krycek's eyes narrowed.

"Well, not free.  I have to give you to someone.
Perhaps the police."

Krycek inhaled deeply, assimilating the information,
not betraying his thoughts.

"I don't know,"  Mulder continued, searching for the
answer out loud, biting his lip and looking away.
"Maybe I'll give back the gift,"  he said, sneering on
the last word.  "Maybe I'll return you to your former
employers."

Mulder looked up at Krycek's soft gasp.  It was the
first sound he'd heard from those lips, that throat,
since that night.  It was Mulder's turn to narrow his
eyes.  "What?" he asked, his curiosity getting the
better of him even though the last thing he wanted was
Krycek thinking he cared about anything he had to say
anymore.

His reply was so soft, Mulder had to ask him to repeat
himself.

"They'll kill me."  The whisper was barely that.  It
looked like it hurt him to try to speak.  And that
wasn't something you wanted to say *any* day.

Mulder looked from one intense eye to the other.  Kill
him?  The skinny Brit?   God, of course he would.  Why
wouldn't he?  If he gave him to the police, the
Syndicate would have him offed in his cell that very
night.  And if he gave him back to the Brit...

<We got what we wanted from him.>

They had the tape.  The only reason they *didn't* kill
him when they had him was because they thought they
could get something out of Mulder with him.

Mulder decided to play it cool.  "So?  That's what I
would've ended up doing eventually, anyway."

He watched Krycek's Adam's apple slide slowly up and
down his throat as he measured the falsehood behind
unreadable eyes.  Well, not totally unreadable.  He was
afraid.  Maybe not of Mulder dealing him the death
blow, but of Mulder's willingness to transfer him over
to someone who had the moral depravity to carry out his
own dark fantasies.

If Krycek only knew his latest dark fantasy, Mulder
thought before he could stop himself.  He tried to mask
his own inhalation of excitement and epiphany with the
idea that sprang from that thought.

"Why shouldn't I give you back?" Mulder asked.  "You're
no good to me.  All you are is your lies, Krycek.  And
I'm done with those."

Mulder stared hard into the other man's eyes, watching
the very real fear grow there.

"I didn't think..." Krycek croaked out of his disused
throat.

"That I'd do it?  Give you back?  Why, because you're
so damned *special*?"  He spat the words.

Krycek shook his head, eyes wide now.

"Didn't think I had it in me?  Didn't think I could be
cruel?  Like you?" he offered with a small smile of
triumph.  He could physically *feel* the power shifting
in the room back in his favor, his confidence growing
in his new plan by the second.

"I--"  Krycek began and cleared his throat.  "I have
things you want."

"I told you.  I don't want your lies,"  Mulder said
easily, his deep voice reverberating through his chest.

"I'm more useful to you alive, Mulder."  His voice,
usually so confident, carried an edge of panic Mulder
had rarely heard.  He *really* didn't want to go
back...was *sure* they'd kill him.  Well, he would
know, thought Mulder.

"What can you give me?"  Mulder asked.  "Except more of
the same?"

"Anything,"  Krycek whispered, brows crinkling for a
moment.

"I'm listening."

Krycek took a breath.  A shaky one.  "I can get things
for you."

"What things?"

"Information.  Contacts...  I can deal you into the
game, Mulder."  His bound hands flexed open and closed.

"No deal."

Krycek's voice rose a little more.  "I can *give* you a
key player.  Take out a hit..."

"I don't want any of those things anymore, Krycek."
Then quietly, "Maybe I never did."  And louder again,
looking smugly into Krycek's face.  "You can't give me
what I want.  It's over for you.  Now let's get this
over with."  Mulder reached for Krycek's wrists and the
other man pulled them away, taking a step back.
Mulder's eyebrows rose.

Krycek didn't make any noise when he tried to speak,
but his lips moved.

"What?"  Mulder asked, already knowing the weighty
word.

Quietly, eyes squeezed shut.  "Please."

"I'm sorry, I still didn't quite hear you, ratfuck.
What was that?"

(Continued in part 3)

Part 3
See part 0 for story information.


Krycek pinned him with an imploring gaze.  "Please."

Mulder stared back at him.  "Begging.  I like it."  He
crossed his arms and widened his legs a little.  "Why
should I keep you?"

"Please, Mulder, they'll kill me."

"I've heard that one.  What will you do for me?"

"Anything, Mulder.  Please."

"Anything?"  Mulder asked, raising his brows.

"Anything...anything..."  Krycek breathed.

Mulder took the three steps needed to come nearly up
against him.  He took the key out of his pocket and
unlocked Krycek's cuffs, taking them off both wrists,
freeing him.  Krycek looked at him, disbelieving.

Mulder stepped back.  "All right, you can stay."
Krycek looked at him in amazement.  Mulder leveled him
with a hard stare.  "Take your clothes off...boy."

Krycek gasped again and Mulder held him fast with his
eyes.  He had to control his *own* response when,
without question, his enemy began to undress.  Jesus!
Mulder's cock bounded up toward his belly, restricted
by his blue jeans.  He wasn't hard because he wanted
Krycek.  That wasn't even really what the dream meant,
he knew.  It was just the power.  The sheer
power...having it over another human being.  *This*
human being.   It was unreal.

Krycek's mouth was slightly open.  He was breathing
through it.  He watched Mulder through hooded eyes.  He
let the jacket slide off his arms to the floor.  Mulder
watched its descent and then when it landed with a thud
and a chink, he brought his gaze back to Krycek's, his
own eyes hooded, lazy, though his pulse was racing.

Next Krycek took hold of the bottom of his sweaty t-
shirt and peeled it up his torso, revealing his taut
stomach and muscular chest and shoulders.  He pulled it
off over his head, sending his hair into riotous
spikes.

Mulder's cock twitched, hard, and he grunted quietly,
absently.

Krycek dropped his hands to his button fly, licking his
lips and closing his mouth.  He tilted his head to the
side slightly, still watching Mulder.  His legs were
slightly spread and the denim was stretched tight
around his strong thighs.  Mulder looked down to where
Krycek's hands hovered and fiddled with the first
button.  Just seeing his hands so close to his...

"Take 'em off,"  Mulder commanded hoarsely,
breathlessly.

And Krycek unfettered the buttons.  One at a time.
Holy shit, thought Mulder.  He's doing it.  He's
fucking doing it.  He wondered how far he would
go...how much power he had over him now.

His thoughts had turned inward as Krycek bent, pants
unbuttoned but still relatively intact, to take off his
boots and socks.  While he was crouched, he removed
both pants and underwear, and then straightened back up
to full height.

Mulder's shocked stare dropped down to Krycek's cock.
Fully fucking erect and dusky pink against his belly.
Krycek, his mortal enemy, a man that hated Mulder as
much as Mulder hated him...was standing before him,
completely naked.  And he was so. very. hard.

For him?  For Mulder?  He...*wanted* this?  He wanted
this.  He wanted Mulder.  Mulder's head spun as he made
himself drag his greedy eyes back up Krycek's body to
look into eyes that seemed all pupil.

This changed everything.

"You want to live?"  Mulder asked around the lump of
intense excitement in his throat.

Krycek's answer was a throaty whisper.  "Yes."

"You want me to keep you?"

"Yes."

"Can you do what it takes to be my boy, Krycek?"

The other man whimpered quietly before answering and
his cock twitched.  Mulder controlled the desire to
lick his lips.  "Yes."

Mulder looked deeply into Krycek's eyes.  "Good."  He
walked slowly forward, seeing the other man's breath
catch.  When he got close, Krycek began to drop to his
knees.  Mulder reached out a hand and caught Krycek on
the shoulder, and though it practically burned, he left
it there.  "No way.  You think I want that dirty mouth
on me?"  Then he shoved Krycek backward toward the
radiator.  "Wrist,"  he said, holding up the cuffs
again.  Krycek presented it to him breathlessly, and
Mulder secured him to a point higher up so that he'd be
forced to stand.

"Stay there.  Don't move except to bat those pretty
eyelashes.  And don't say anything unless I ask you a
question."

With that he turned around, and he left a naked,
bewildered-looking Krycek in his living room.

..........

Mulder closed the bathroom door behind him, turning on
the water, strong and hot.   He stripped off his
clothes as fast as he could, hissing as his jeans
scratched over his straining erection.  When he was
naked, he stepped in under the spray.  He took himself
in hand immediately, closing his eyes.

"Awfuck," he cried, hand slapping fast on his cock.

The POWER!  He had him.  He hadn't really felt like it
before.  Had felt like he had no control of himself
much less this enigmatic man.  But now...  He thought
about him out there, holding still, not touching his
cock.  That cock...  It had been hard.  Krycek had a
weakness.  And that weakness was Mulder himself.  It
made Mulder's dick pound.

He grimaced and squeezed around the base hard, looking
down at himself.  He watched his own cock swell and
jump.

Krycek had begun to kneel for him.  He had been about
to...  It was just like the dream.  Just like the
dream.  How did he know?  Mulder started to jack
himself again, closing his eyes.  What if he'd let him?
What would it feel like to have a man's mouth there?
Alex Krycek's mouth.  What would it feel like to choke
him with it?  To ram the lies back down his throat.
His hand moved fast.  Could feel him...

"AhfuckmeAAAAHHHH!!"

He came long and hard, jets and jets of cum bathing his
hand before being washed away down the drain.  He
breathed through his mouth, milking the last out of
himself.  And then he caught his breath with one hand
planted on the shower wall.

..........

Mulder sat on the couch, flipping through his magazine.
An ad for Hugo Boss caught his eye, or rather, he
pretended it did.  He made himself stare at the grey
silk, nodding slowly for ten seconds.  Then as he
turned the page, he kept his eyes trained down.

How much longer?  How long had he *been* there?  By
Mulder's internal clock, it seemed like about an hour.
Maybe more.  He decided the man's knees had probably
had enough.  Without looking up, he spoke.

"Get up.  And turn toward the wall."  His tone was
distracted.

He felt movement off to the side and flicked his eyes
in that direction just in time to see Krycek, still
naked, still uncuffed, turn away from him.

It had taken several days to work up the courage to
actually do it...let him free for a while.  But
something made Mulder want it.  Something powerful.
And he had not been disappointed by the decision.  The
power of controlling Krycek with his words only was
heady.  Mulder knew how reckless it was, even stupid,
because even a naked, unarmed Krycek could kill swiftly
and without much warning, most likely.  But that's what
made it good.

"Put your hands up flat on the wall.  Head down."
Krycek did it.  And now Mulder was presented with his
pale, round ass and broad back.  He didn't let himself
get a really long look.  Those looks were for Krycek's
benefit, not his.  They didn't do anything for Mulder,
after all.  Only the power turned him on.  That and
Krycek's own arousal.  Something about seeing how
ramrod hard he got at the slightest provocation from
Mulder...  It felt so good it should have been illegal.
He already knew it was a sin.

He flipped casually through five more pages before he
just had to look up at his captive again.  "Clench your
butt cheeks,"  he commanded on a whim.

He watched it happen.  Jesus fucking Christ.  His
breath actually caught.

"Harder,"  Mulder demanded softly.  He tilted his head
to look at the squeezing globes.  What would that feel
like around his...  "That's enough,"  he said sternly,
as much to reprimand himself.  Krycek's ass relaxed and
just as Mulder was about to go back to his perusal of
Vanity Fair, he did a double take on Krycek's raised
wrists.

Shit.  He'd forgotten.  And they were worse than the
last time he'd thought to look at them.  They were
violently red, obviously infected.  Lacerations cut
deeply into the flesh and there was extensive, black
and purple bruising all the way around it seemed.  They
had to be excruciating.  And Krycek hadn't said a
thing.

Mulder slammed the door shut on the burgeoning feelings
of admiration he found himself experiencing.  This was
fucking Alex Krycek.  He'd shot his father in the head!
He was nothing to be admired.  He could suffer through
this relatively small pain.

Mulder flipped past a tampon ad angrily and stared down
at the article on George Clooney, not really seeing.
Then he threw the magazine to the side onto the couch
and sighed, looking at his coffee table in prideful
indecision.

Finally, he stood.  "Come on."

Krycek's head turned to the side, but he didn't move.

"I said come on,"  Mulder repeated and waited until
Krycek took his hands slowly off the wall and turned to
face him before drawing his gun and pointing it at the
naked man.

Krycek's inhale of surprise and fear should have been a
victorious moment for Mulder.  Instead, he found
himself wanting to explain that his death was not
imminent.

"Go into the bathroom.  Turn on the light,"  he
instructed.

Krycek obeyed, walking tensely past Mulder and doing as
told.

"Sit on the edge of the tub.  Wash your wrists off."

Krycek's head turned slightly, a loud question on his
mind, but he didn't voice it.   Then he did as told,
sitting down gingerly, turning on the water, hissing as
he began to clean his wounds.

Mulder lowered his gun arm absently, watching Krycek
treat the garish red lacerations.  It was almost
mesmerizing...watching the simple actions of Krycek's
arms turning slowly under the spray of water.  He put
his gun back into the waistband of his jeans at his
lower back.

"Keep `em under there.  Don't fucking move, Krycek,"
he said, feeling strangely like he was playing two
roles at once.  Doctor and prison guard.

He crouched down on his heels and peered, eyes
squinted, into the dark space beneath the sink.  Mulder
felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end,
feeling Krycek off to the side of him.  Krycek hissed
again and Mulder nearly jumped.

He turned his head to see Krycek cautiously treating
his own abrasions.  He felt the absurd urge to
apologize, but quickly squelched it as he turned back
to his task of finding his first aid supplies.

"You can stop now if you want."  The second the words
were out, he regretted them.  He heard the water turn
off and didn't let himself turn, still rummaging
through the items beneath his sink.

He gathered up the antiseptic spray, Neosporin with
maximum pain relief, and bandaging and stood, turning,
to see Krycek's sizeable body precariously balanced on
the thin edge of porcelain, shoulders slumped, soft
dick hanging down between his legs, wet wrists dangling
off his knees.  He looked...ridiculous and Mulder
fought the smile off his face.  It wasn't so much how
he looked but knowing how cold that tub must have been
against his ass.

Mulder knelt in front of him, pulling a towel from the
rod at his side.  "Hold out your wrists."

Krycek hesitated, his brow furrowing in what must be
his utter confusion at what he must have perceived as
care-taking.  Mulder hardened his look.  "Do it."
Krycek held out his mangled appendages and Mulder
looked at the angry wounds in front of him, sighing.
Then he held the towel loosely on top of his open palms
and gently pressed them to Krycek's injuries, patting
all around them slowly and carefully, once hissing
himself when he squeezed too tightly and Krycek
grimaced.  Krycek looked up into his face then, and
Mulder threw the towel aside, picking up the
antiseptic.

He shook it vigorously, his jaw tight and tense, and
then sprayed it over both wrists messily.  Krycek
gasped, but Mulder had no reaction at all this time.
When he was done with the spray, he angrily mashed the
lid back on and set it loudly down on the floor beside
him before picking up the ointment and squeezing a
generous amount onto his fingers.  Then he looked back
at Krycek.

Heaving another put-out sigh, he very tenderly dabbed
the medicine onto the lacerations and places rubbed raw
by the cuffs, working the stuff very gently into the
infected areas.  Krycek breathed deep and slow.  Mulder
wished he'd flicked the fan on so he wouldn't have to
sit there listening to it.

He made swift but careful work of wrapping Krycek's
lower arms, and when he was finished, he stood up fast
and backed away, his arms crossing over his chest.
"You smell,"  he told the other man, shortly.  "I'll
let you bathe tomorrow.  I don't want to get those
bandages wet,"  he continued, not meeting the other
man's eyes.  "I still have to use the cuffs tonight
when I go to sleep,"  he explained and became
frustrated with himself for feeling the need to give
such explanations.  "You can go back in,"  he said
quietly, gesturing with his head to the living room.
But as Krycek stood and walked past him, he went on.
"I'll get new ones tomorrow."

The naked man stopped in his tracks, head lowered, not
looking at Mulder.  But his lashes fluttered.  And then
he nodded, the motion small, and walked out of the
bathroom.

.........

Mulder looked at his watch.  10:25.  He was going to
have to cuff Krycek to that radiator soon.  He changed
channels at the speed of light.  He wondered if it was
driving Krycek insane.  He glanced up to see the man
standing facing the corner.  He was like a statue,
unmoving and...  Mulder shook his head to clear it.  He
felt frustrated and he wasn't sure why.  He looked at
his watch again.  10:26.

The thought occurred to him again.  He didn't like the
thought.  He had been pushing it out of his mind all
night.  But still it came.  He glanced over again and
then back to the TV where he'd stopped on a show about
mummies.  Was Krycek rolling his eyes, thinking him so
predictable and clich?  Did Krycek...*like* shows
about mummies?  Mulder conducted an impromptu test and
switched channels, looking at Krycek's bare back.
Nothing.  Mulder sighed and put it back.

10:27.  "I'm, uh, I'm going out,"  he told his statue.
He half wished Krycek would spin around and argue with
him.  Mulder got up off the couch.  "Go sit on the
floor next to the radiator."

Krycek obeyed, turning from the corner, and Mulder
reluctantly picked up the ungiving steel cuffs, walking
over to him.  He watched as Krycek sank down in front
of him, folding his legs underneath him, then he knelt
down, too, a frown on his face.  Why did he so not want
to do this?

Krycek held his right wrist up against the metal of the
radiator without being asked, waiting.  Mulder exhaled
loudly and clicked the restraint into place both on the
man's wrist and the heater.

"Look at me,"  Mulder said quietly.

Krycek now looked up into Mulder's face.  There was no
resentment at being yet again cuffed, his abused arms
chaffed all the more even with the barrier of the
bandaging.  Mulder was at a loss, not having any
passion, any anger to react and respond to.

"I'll be back soon."

He stood and scooted the water bowl carefully over to
the man on the floor.  Then he went into the kitchen
and brought out a slice of American cheese and a red
apple which he put next to him.

"Don't fucking move around too much," he told him,
frown still firmly in place.  "I don't wanna have to
redo those bandages."

Krycek lowered his eyes and began unwrapping his
processed cheese.  Mulder picked up his keys and,
without a backward glance, he strode out the door.

.......

"And what can I interest you in tonight, honey?" the
thin, black man in blue eyeshadow and burgundy lipstick
asked him.

Mulder should never have come here.  It was a horrible
idea.  The worst.  And yet he just couldn't get it out
of his head.

"You gotsta speak up, baby.  This is The Crypt.  You
say what you lookin' for and darlin', we got it.  So
what'll it be?"

Jesus, did he have to have *this* guy following him
around?  All he wanted was to pick out his purchase in
peace, pay for it quickly and with cash, and leave.
Now some of the other people in the store were starting
to turn and stare.  Jesus fuck, it's not worth it, he
thought.

And then he flashed on his captive.  Chained up.  With
those wrists.  And he looked at his helper with a scowl
and spoke quietly.

"Cuffs."

"Oh honey, we got cuffs!" he exclaimed and then
conspiratorially and ridiculously dropped his voice and
spoke out of one corner of his mouth, leaning in to
Mulder.  "You got a man or a woman?"

Mulder cleared his throat and tried not to choke on the
word.  "Man."

The salesperson, (Mulder looked at his name tag.),
Peter, looked him up and down.  "Unh huh, unh huh, all
riiight.  Follow me, baby."

And he led Mulder back to a glass case.  "We talkin'
wrists, baby, or ankles, or what?"

Mulder had to clear his throat again.  "Wrists."

"Ooo, we got some nice ones here, real affordable, too
for bein' leather and all."

Mulder pulled at his bottom lip and didn't look at the
man.  "Anything...lined?"

"Oh you mean with sheepskin?" Peter asked, laying a
limp hand against Mulder's chest and then taking it
away.  "You just follow me."

Mulder skulked behind him, nearly shuffling his feet,
when something caught and held his eye.  In a vertical
glass case hung a one and a half inch wide silver,
steel collar, shining brightly like a beacon in the
pink and white lights of the store.

Mulder stopped.  He walked to the case, peering inside.

"Mmmhmm,"  agreed Peter.  "That's reeeal nice."

"Leather-lined?"  Mulder asked.

"Oh yeah, oh yeah.  Topa the line, hun.  That's a real
fine collar.  Say, your man real butch or he kinda
femme?"

"How much?"  Mulder asked, voice rougher.

"Okay, okay.  Lemme go check.  I'll be right back,"
said Peter, recognizing no nonsense when he heard it.

"Wait,"  Mulder stopped him.

"Sho, baby."

"I'm also going to need about four feet of chain.
Good, strong chain.  I'm not playing around.  It needs
to be able to withstand a lot.  You have anything like
that?"  Now Mulder looked at him and he saw the fear
and awe enter the other man's eyes.

"Okay," he whispered now.

"And padlocks.  Two of them.  You sell padlocks here?"

"Uh...yeeeah.  I think I got what you lookin' for.
Just a sec."  And then he went off in the direction of
the back muttering something under his breath about all
the good, brutal tops being taken already.

Mulder just stared at the collar.  Krycek's collar.
His boy's.  He'd ask himself what in fuck he was doing
but he was pretty damned sure he didn't want to know.
He just pulled out his wallet.  And waited for Peter to
return.

.........

He was...nervous.  There was no denying it.  In the way
his palms became clammy against the steering wheel, in
the way every song on the radio had irritated him
beyond measure until he finally hit the button,
silencing the crass DJs and alternative rock.  In the
way he kept eyeing the pink plastic bag in the
passenger seat.

Mulder swerved to avoid the blue Cadillac pulling out
away from the curb and cursed under his breath.  He
wondered if he would find Krycek asleep or awake.  The
surreality of the moment slammed into him like a
cannonball to the gut.   Krycek's naked body flashed
across his vision instead of the mostly deserted road.
He glanced at the bag again and sighed, resting one
elbow on the door of the car and leaning his head into
his hand.   Hegal Place sped up on his right, but
instead of making the turn to go home, he kept going
straight ahead, unsure himself of the decision, but
honoring the need he could feel tossing unpleasantly in
the pit of his stomach.  It was the need for more
space, more time, less Alex Krycek, less pain, more
asphalt disappearing under his car, more miles between
them, more perspective than Krycek's pale, heavily
silent presence would afford him.

Mulder looked at the bag again...flashed on a dungeon,
a large man in a black, leather hood with a whip.  A
thin man chained to the wall.  Wall sconces.  Low
flame.  Metallica playing.  Mulder grabbed the bag and
threw it into the backseat, then turned the radio back
on, finding a song he didn't know the words to, and
turning it up.

He turned onto the freeway entrance and sped up,
wishing he had more than a four cylinder engine.  He
thought about actually using his trust fund to get
himself a decent car.  Something not a Taurus.  He'd
never particularly cared what kind of car he drove as
long as it got him from here to there.  But he found
himself wanting to go faster now.  Needing to.  He
pushed the pedal down and waited less than patiently
for the speedometer to climb over seventy.

His trust.  All the money his father didn't give to his
mother.  Half of it should be his sister's.  For that
reason, as well as countless others he preferred not to
acknowledge, he wouldn't use it.  It sat in a bank
somewhere in Massachusetts collecting dust.

Mulder thought of the picture he'd been shown, of his
father outside that mountain-side facility in West
Virginia.  He'd looked so young.  All that dark hair.
And he'd looked so serious.  So...lost.  His eyes
staring into the camera, but not seeing anything except
the insides of his tortured mind.

Mulder chose to believe he was tortured then.  His
father was a good man.  He would be tortured by what
they were doing.  Wouldn't he?

<Did he ever ask you to make a choice?>  His own voice
pierced through the memories.  His mother's face...
That was tortured.  She hated him.  She'd actually
hated him and apparently still did.  Was she...glad he
was...?

Mulder pushed the pedal down farther, feeling the car
vibrate unhealthily at just under eighty.  It didn't
stop the thought, which seemed inevitable.  Fated.
Like he was driving toward it instead of away from it.

Would she be grateful to him?  Throw her weak arms
around his neck and hug him?  He could almost hear her
tear-clogged voice.  "Thank you, Alex...."

He turned the dial violently, throwing the radio into
loud static, punctuated with bursts of an annoying
commercial.  He felt like the world was tilting.  He
briefly entertained the idea of an earthquake, but
dismissed it.  It was merely the lightness of being
produced by a severe, unwanted shift in paradigm.  Not
that it was true.  It didn't ring in his ears with the
persistence of pure truth.  But it did settle strangely
against his heart, carving a place, creating a horrible
doubt in the form of a bloody cut into his tender
tissue.

A good man.  Scotch in hand.  "Get out of the way of
the TV, dammit!"

His mother.  "He just wants..."

"I don't care what he wants!  Get out of here, Fox, for
God's sake.  I can't stand to look at you!"  His voice
slurred, eyes red whether from tears or alcohol or no
sleep...

"But Dad..."

He stood up.  Fox backed away.  He saw the Scotch spill
from the tumbler in his left hand.  Didn't see the
right until it was too late.  "I said get out!"  The
hit was somewhere between a slap and a punch, but it
landed on the still tender bruise he'd left the last
time, and the look in his eyes stung worse than the
loose fist.

Fox ran out into the night.  It had begun to snow
lightly.  The flakes were wet against his face.  No
tears.  He ran....

Mulder swerved into the left lane to pass a slow truck.
His bottom lip trembled.  Unbidden, another night swam
up behind his eyes.  A night where his father had
actually hugged him.  And Mulder had forgiven him
everything in that moment.  He didn't realize that he
had.  That there were other memories about another man.
A distant, sad, angry man who clutched his drink close
and pushed his son away, pushed his daughter away
farther.  Many memories piled on top of one another.
Instantly forgotten or painted a different color in his
mind by that one night.

He'd hugged him and then he'd died.  The good man was
taken away from him.  By Alex Krycek.  At least, that's
how it'd always felt.  He hadn't allowed himself to
look past the pain of loss and the swirling black of
rage.  It had danced in front of him like a lady with a
scarf.  His hatred for Krycek was attractive like that.
In the way that hating his own father was grotesque and
nearly unthinkable.  Nearly.

He thought of his mother again.  Her voice had never
sounded so passionate in her life as when she had
condemned him.  She sounded like part of her wished she
was the one to have pulled the trigger.

His world tilted again and he thought he was going to
have to pull over and vomit.  Instead he just eased off
the gas and took the next exit, turning around under
the highway, and getting back on going in the direction
he'd just come, heading back home.  He saw a sign for a
Days Inn and briefly thought of pulling off...staying
the night.  He wanted to be away from him, while at the
same time some part of him was practically busting open
with the need to collar Alex.

Alex.

He wasn't supposed to be Alex.  He was supposed to be
Krycek.  Liar.  Murderer.  Rat.

boy.

His mind supplied the new label easily, almost
challengingly.  His fingers tightened around the wheel.
He realized he was still listening to loud static and
flipped the radio off yet again.  He drove the rest of
the way in silence, putting miles between him and his
thoughts of his father.   Getting closer and closer to
home.  To him.

.............

He opened the door to see Krycek lying down.  He pushed
it behind him, purposefully slamming it shut and
watched Krycek's head lift sharply off the floor and
turn to him.  But his expression wasn't one of
annoyance, and the fear there was even over-shadowed by
something else.  Something distinctly hopeful-looking.

"On your knees,"  Mulder commanded.  As Krycek obeyed,
Mulder withdrew a frightening looking length of heavy
chain from the bag and let it drop to the floor.  He
stared at Krycek, searching discreetly for a reaction.
The other man's eyes lowered to look at the chain and
then rose back up to him, accompanied with a slow
swallow.  It was something.  Mulder's heart pounded
furiously.

He reached into his pocket and took out a key, tossing
it toward Krycek.

"Uncuff yourself."   Mulder watched and, after Krycek
was done, instructed him further.  "Now slide the key
and the cuffs over on the floor."

Once again his order was obeyed and Mulder picked up
the now useless steel and set both key and cuffs beside
him on his table.  Then Mulder leaned down and grabbed
the end of the long chain and threw it over next to
Krycek.  He was rewarded with a small flinch as it
landed loudly just a couple of inches from Krycek's
naked thigh.   He then took one of the padlocks out of
the bag and threw it.  Krycek caught it in two cupped
hands and looked at him.

"Attach that to the radiator,"  he told Krycek blandly
and while the other man turned and did as he was told,
Mulder rummaged in the bag and brought out the collar
and second padlock, tossing the bag aside and picking
up the other end of chain.  As he waited for Krycek to
finish his task, he felt himself begin to get hard.

But it was when Krycek clicked his lock in place and
turned to see what Mulder was holding and gasped that
he felt a hot jet of pure fire surge through his cock
and stiffen it painfully.  Mulder felt his eyes blaze
with impatience and possessiveness.   He let his arm
relax at his side, loosely holding the restraint, and
he watched Krycek's eyes follow its movement as though
charmed.   Mulder licked his lips absently.

"Get over here,"  Mulder growled and Krycek blinked
fake-innocent eyes up to his.  "Stay on your knees,"
he elaborated and watched with barely under control
breathing as Krycek began to walk over on his knees.
Mulder felt his eyelids get heavy as Krycek crawled
gracefully across the hardwood of his foyer.  Mulder
hadn't thought anybody could do that well...could
actually look good doing it.  He watched Krycek easily
and slowly shift his weight from one kneeling leg to
the other as he maneuvered his body forward toward
Mulder.  His dick was slightly swollen against his leg.
Mulder merely glanced at it, enough to notice its dusky
color, but not long enough to analyze shape, size, or
texture.  All he'd taken so far were those types of
stolen glances.  He balled his free hand into a fist.
And then he let his gaze drop once more, just to make
the other man more uncomfortable.  But as he watched,
it seemed to swell more, did swell more.  It rose up
against his hip now, deep pink...smooth.  Mulder
blinked and raised his gaze to Krycek's face, now close
beneath him.

"Stop,"  he ordered, but it was a whisper and he cursed
the weakness even he heard.  Before he'd even thought
it through, he drew back his open hand and slapped
Krycek across the face.  His head snapped to the side
and Mulder was presented with his left cheek and the
remaining bruising there on his cheekbone, yellow and
green now.  He felt his face twist with guilt and
anger, but when Krycek's clear, verdant eyes came back
to peer into his, what he saw there wasn't
recrimination.  It was just acceptance.  They were back
to hitting again.

"Don't look at me,"  Mulder ordered and as Krycek's
eyes looked away from his, Mulder felt a little more
like he could breathe.

He lifted the collar and heard the change in Krycek's
own respiration.  He could feel the other man's breath
against his hand and fought down a shiver.

"Ever been collared, Krycek?"  Mulder asked as he fit
it around the man's neck, trying not to let his fingers
brush skin.  He closed it, fastening the padlock in
place through both the chain and the strong loop set in
the front of the collar at Krycek's throat.  And then
he pulled on the chain and watched Krycek stumble
forward slightly on his knees, losing his balance
momentarily.  "Answer me, boy."

"No,"  Krycek said so low it was almost a whisper.
Almost.  The unfamiliar sound of Krycek's voice
reverberated along Mulder's spine.

"C'mon, Krycek.  boy like you probably had a collar for
every day of the week and a cock down his throat every
night."  Mulder didn't realize until it was out that
he'd all but categorized the act of collaring Krycek as
something sexual, or something that would lead to sex,
or more correctly, to rape.

Krycek's eyes fluttered closed and his eyebrows drew in
and down.  Did he think Mulder was going to rape him?
That Mulder wanted to?  Mulder tugged up on the chain
and the man's eyes opened again, but as instructed,
didn't seek out Mulder's intense stare.  Mulder grabbed
him by the hair with his free hand and tugged back,
exposing the pale throat and shimmering steel around
it.  Krycek still hadn't spoken up to refute the
theory.  Was he just not going to talk because he knew
that would carry a punishment?  Or...did that mean it
held an element of truth?  Mulder nearly shuddered.

(Continued in part 4)


Part 4
See part 0 for story information.


"Did they use your mouth?"  Mulder asked, his perverse
curiosity getting the better of him.  He felt a little
sick at the thought, but as he gazed down at the
conflicted face in front of him and felt the soft crush
of his hair in his fist, his cock thrummed with life,
with blood, with appalling excitement.

"Did they?"  Mulder asked, and his voice was thick and
rough.  He shuffled his feet in just a little more,
wrapped the chain around his hand, pulling it a little
tighter.  He held his breath for an answer.

It came out as a halting whisper.  "Yes."

Mulder's mouth came softly open on a slow breath.  He'd
said yes.  They'd used him.  Someone had used him.
Krycek sucked cock.  That pretty, pink mouth had
wrapped around a dick -- Two?  Three?  Ten?  Twenty? -
and he'd sucked them off.

Oh God, his chest hurt and his erection fucking ached.
Mulder felt himself feeling sorry for him, feeling ill
at the images that erupted in his mind.  Of Krycek
being forced to give blow job after blow job as they
all stood around him in a circle, dark suits in the low
light, leering eyes and cruel smiles, laughter even,
crude words yelled in encouragement...  <Take it, boy!
Oh yeah, look at him go!>  <All the way!  All the way!>
And a cock was rammed into Krycek's mouth.

They chanted in Mulder's head as he looked down at
Krycek's face in front of him.  <All the way!  All the
way!>  They cheered and jeered.  And the Krycek in his
head opened his mouth, his jaw, wider as they got
louder.  They chanted still, feverish in their need,
and Mulder moved in closer, gripped Krycek's hair
tighter.

<All the way!  All the way!>

Mulder leaned his hips forward.  Just an inch.  Maybe
not even.  But it was enough.  It brought his clothed
crotch close enough to gently brush Krycek's lips.

Oh, God.  Fire!  A blaze of liquid heat coaxing his
cock to twitch toward that mouth, those parting lips.
Again.  Just a small press forward, a bump into his
face.  And then a slow, smooth thrust.

<All the way!  All the way!>

Krycek groaned, a strangled sound, but unmistakably
aroused.  Mulder opened eyes he didn't realize he'd
closed.  He looked down at Krycek who now was
unabashedly looking up at him, a flush coloring his
cheeks.  And Mulder knew it wasn't Krycek who had
groaned.  It had been him.

Mulder took a quick step back and Krycek swayed
forward.  Mulder saw his tongue just barely peeking out
against his lower lip before he regained his balance
and licked his lips.

Mulder threw Krycek away from him, then, and the other
man fell back onto the floor, erection bobbing in front
of his hard belly.  Mulder looked at him, breathing
hard, wanting to yell a thousand things, wanting to
shove him away again, farther, shove him down to the
floor, wanting to do things...horrible
things...wonderful things.  The hate he felt for
himself in that moment spilled over as one tear
streaking its thin trail down his face.  Whatever had
happened here...whatever had almost happened...just
couldn't again.  Mulder swallowed it all back,
everything from lust to bile, and wiped angrily at the
moisture on his cheek, now itching annoyingly.

He wanted to affect some damage control.  Explain away
what he had done.  But nothing would come out of his
mouth.  Because nothing made any sense.  Nothing was
more true than that he had wanted to do it, to feel
what it would be like.  Nothing would come because he
could think of nothing else but the want and the need
and the ache and the way just that smallest bit of
contact had felt.

He closed his eyes on Krycek.  And then he walked away.
He went into the bedroom and he shut the door.  It was
dark and quiet.  He leaned against the door and put his
hand over his eyes.  He could still feel Krycek's lips
on his cock.  God, he could still feel it.

He pushed off the door and walked over to the bed,
lying down on it.  He couldn't, wouldn't, touch
himself.  He tried to think of anything but the man
chained up out in his living room.  It was long moments
before he succeeded and his erection flagged.  It was
long hours before he drifted into a restless sleep.

.............

Mulder awoke the next morning to the bright light of
day.   He barely opened one eye and swallowed past the
thick, musty taste in his mouth.

He felt like shit.  He let his head fall back down onto
the pillow, momentarily entertaining the thought of
just staying in bed for the day.  That moment turned
into another, and then that one to another.  Soon, he
had lain there for an hour more and what finally
prodded him out of bed wasn't a desire to get up, to
eat, to start the day...certainly not to lay eyes on
his prisoner.  It was merely that he had to take a
monster piss.

He rolled out of bed, still in his wrinkled clothes
from yesterday and smelling acrid and foul.  He trudged
out into the living room, keeping his eyes down cast as
he went directly to the bathroom and shut the door
behind him.  He relieved himself, moaning quietly at
the pleasurable sensation of all the toxins exiting his
body en mass, then he flushed the toilet, brushed his
grimy teeth, and started a near scalding shower.

As he soaped himself, feeling every cell in his body
being either shed along with the dirt or luxuriously
reinvigorated, he couldn't not think of Krycek chained
out there to his radiator.  How many days had it been?
He still had not bathed.  Mulder thought of how
miserable he must be and how he'd decided to let him
have the common allowance all prison bound criminals
are afforded and actually let Krycek take a much needed
bath or shower.

Mulder dropped his chin to his chest, closing his eyes,
and let the water run over his head and down his body.
He rolled his head on his neck, trying to stretch the
tight muscles there.

He supposed it was really the only humane thing to do.
Why did being humane to Krycek feel almost impossible?
Why did it feel like with every kindness he was
forgiving him for everything horrible he'd ever done?
Why did he turn into a raving lunatic around Alex
Krycek?  Why did Krycek's punishment, and likewise
Mulder's revenge, feel so horribly, awesomely
satisfying, only to dull and turn sour and stale and
empty in the aftermath?  Why couldn't he just be one or
the other?  And why couldn't he just get it out of his
system for good?

Mulder stepped out of the spray, turning the faucets
off, and shook the excess water out of his hair.  He
stood there looking at the mint green tiles, thinking
about a day when Alex Krycek was still just a green,
badly dressed agent.  Still a human.  He thought about
that day at the pool.  How exhilarating that was to be
nearly naked in his presence.  To rise up out of that
water like a Greek god and feel his eyes on his body.
It had been a rush, an adrenaline high, to feel those
eyes.  Even though at the time he'd never construed the
other man's attention to mean anything...sexual.

Mulder absently grabbed for a towel hanging over the
shower rod and started drying himself slowly and
thoughtfully.  It was pretty clear Alex Krycek
was...attracted to him.  Mulder shivered in the cooling
air as he ran the towel over his arms, then stomach.
He didn't want to believe it was possible.  Was afraid
to believe in anything about Krycek, even with the
sizeable evidence of the erection he often got in
Mulder's presence.  Maybe he had a...medical condition.
Mulder's lips actually twitched up at the thought,
suddenly visualizing a visit with Scully and a full
examination of Krycek to determine the possible causes
for his extraordinary horniness in such an extremely
deterrent situation.

Mulder caught himself grinning and guiltily trained his
features back into their comfortable scowl, stepping
out of the tub and wrapping the towel around his waist.
It was like that that he stepped out of the bathroom,
still absently pondering his strange relationship with
Krycek.

It wasn't until he heard the gasp that he looked up.

And then he had to control the drool that was
collecting under his tongue.

He looked at Krycek...naked and collared...and it was
like reliving that exchange by the pool.  Krycek's eyes
blazed a sparkling, penetrating green.  Mulder watched
the other man's chest rise and fall with his deep,
slightly shuddering breathing.  He felt the hot, liquid
trail those eyes left along his body and only then
realized he was just a towel away from naked himself.
And Krycek was brazenly devouring every inch of skin he
could search out on Mulder like he wanted to memorize
it and save the image for later...maybe forever.

It was heady.  It was intense.  It was dangerous.

Mulder glanced down, his own breathing shallow and
arrhythmic, and took in the sight of Alex Krycek's cock
filling with blood and rising against his hip.  He felt
the stray water droplets trickling down his torso,
between his shoulder blades...felt how low the towel
rode his hips, felt his own cock tingle with the energy
building taut and electric between them.  His whole
body felt completely and utterly alive.

He balled his hands into fists and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he didn't look directly at
the other man.

He had to clear his throat to talk.  "You need a bath."

As he inhaled and realized he could indeed smell the
other man more now that he was clean himself, he
couldn't help but notice how different Krycek's scent
was.  It wasn't sour, wasn't sharp.  He just smelled
like...warm, salty skin.  He smelled like dirt and
grime and...skin.   Mulder looked up at Krycek ,
schooling his expression to something vague,
unpredatory, and as disinterested as he could manage.
He wondered if Krycek could see right through him to
the turmoil underneath.

"How are your wrists?" he heard himself ask and nearly
cringed.

Krycek swallowed and cleared his throat.  He looked at
the floor, then back up at Mulder, but he just nodded,
unspeaking.

Mulder accepted that as his way of saying he was fine.
He felt a strange little disappointment at not hearing
his voice.

"Take `em off," he instructed, nodding toward his
wrists, trying not to feel the simmering power being
almost naked near an absolutely naked Krycek conjured.
But even devoting all his mental energy to the
unwrapping of his bandages, there it was...just hanging
in the air between them, obvious and enormous, truly
taking on the characteristics of an elephant.  An
extremely horny elephant.

Mulder felt the absurd desire to laugh, but decided it
would call into question his sanity which might affect
the power dynamic even with Krycek bound and naked.

As Krycek stripped away the last of the bandaging,
Mulder realized he was going to have to get closer to
examine the wounds he himself insisted on being able to
see.  He contemplated running off into his bedroom to
get some much needed clothes on, but that alone felt
like a defeat of some kind, so he stayed.

"Stand up," he ordered softly, cursing the seductive
quality that issued forth, wholly unwelcome.

Krycek got to his feet and once again Mulder was struck
by how tall he was.  He felt more dangerous here, naked
and incapacitated in his living room, than he ever did
toting his gun and lurking in shadows, clothed in dark
denim and leather.

Mulder walked forward, subduing the ever-present urge
to shove him, to punch him, to punish and assert
dominance.  He felt it even now as he prepared to play
doctor.  He swallowed and stepped within arm's reach of
the other man.

"Let's see."

Krycek brought his wrists up and Mulder tore his eyes
away from the man's face to look down.  The markings
were less garish, now turning darker with bruising as
the lacerations began to heal and lose their fiery, red
intensity.

Mulder felt the heat coming off of Krycek and it
carried his frustratingly less-than-repulsive smell.
Mulder took a step back, turning his head.

"They look better.  I'll be right back."  As he turned
to go back into the dubious sanctuary of his bedroom,
he cursed under his breath.  "Why don't you just say
excuse me next time," he murmured as he shut the door
between them.

He dressed hurriedly, thinking only of the clothes he
was putting on until he had to come back out and
thinking about Alex Krycek was unavoidable.  That
aggravating scent lingered in the room.  The whole rest
of the apartment except for Mulder's bedroom seemed to
smell like Alex Krycek.  And Mulder hated that he
didn't hate that.  He'd never even halfway enjoyed how
another man smelled at any given time.  Why did his
worst enemy have to ooze sweat-scented pheromones out
of his every pore?

Mulder stalked over to the table in the foyer, feeling
more settled and grounded by the grey t-shirt and jeans
he'd thrown on and oddly more cranky as well.  Like the
clothes themselves held a negative energy that now
seeped into his skin.  He blamed his mood in part on
Krycek's continued stinkiness, and swiped the key up
with agitated determination.  He turned to the other
man.

"Don't move," he instructed as he got close enough to
unlock his collar.  Close enough to feel his breath
again.  He stepped away as soon as the task was taken
care of.

"Go get yourself clean," he said, waiting for Krycek to
move away from him.  He just stood there, appearing
uncertain.  "Go on,"  Mulder prodded.

Krycek nodded again, brows knit, and then walked away.
Mulder fought the urge to watch his bare ass as he
retreated, but lost, feeling unable to look away and
unable not to feel disgusted with himself for wanting
to see it.

As the door closed behind him, Mulder raked both hands
through his hair and sighed.

..........

He heard every drop.  Could tell which ones hit the
tile.  Which ones fell on his body.  Mulder's whole
body yearned to see, to fully experience,  what he
could now only hear.

He sat on the couch, his head in his hands, his foot
bouncing nervously.  This shouldn't be happening.
This...longing.  Unnamable, fierce, misdirected
certainly.  Undeniable.

So much water.  Hitting all that pale skin, stretched
over efficient, strong muscles, bulkier than his,
bigger than his...all that power...his....

One hundred drops, a thousand, touching down on his hot
skin, sliding off along his stomach, dripping off his
dick.

Mulder grabbed roughly at the remote and flipped on his
stereo, turning up the volume to drown out his horrible
thoughts.  He waited for them to be carried away on the
grinding guitars.  He waited for this feeling to recede
back into his subconscious.  Waited for the pull to
stop...the draw to walk to that door, fling it open,
and...  What?  He didn't know.  All he knew was that he
wanted something.  He needed something from this man.
Needed to maybe watch him get clean, to see for himself
that no amount of soap could rid Krycek of the dirt
forever discoloring his soul, that nothing could change
him.  Nothing.

He felt the familiar jolt of hate that usually
accompanied his thoughts of Krycek, paired with the
vague but powerful longing to do something, to see his
wet, slick body, to feel it under the assault of his
hands...fists...mouth....  It was torture.

He got up.  Paced in front of the couch.  His breathing
was quick and excited.  Sick.  He felt sick.  The
energy built.  So did the music.  Driving him closer to
the closed door, the sounds of Krycek's shower ending.
Driving Mulder closer to the edge of some internal
cliff.  He could sense the edge and a little, spiteful,
devil-angel voice whispered at him:  Step off.

He leaned his hands against the door jamb, dropping his
head.  Breathe it off, he told himself.  Breathe.

But with every breath the voice seemed to get louder.
With every tense moment, with every drumbeat, every
humid second of this small distance between them, this
flimsy door...it spoke to him.  Louder.  A shout.
Undismissable.

Then the door opened suddenly and Krycek stood there,
naked and glistening.  Mulder's eyes snapped up and
caught Krycek's.

Fire.  Hate.  Need.

The voice:  Take it.

And with something akin to a growl, Mulder grabbed
Krycek by the shoulders and slung him up against the
wall to the side of the bathroom door.  His back and
head impacted with a thud and Krycek grunted.

Mulder pinned him there with his body, holding his
hands against the wall with his own, up and out to the
side from Krycek's head, and he growled into his ear as
he started humping his denim-clad crotch against
Krycek's naked one.

"Nnnaaahhhh!" Mulder snarled into Krycek's ear,
squeezing his hands tightly and thrusting hard against
the thick, hard rod that was Krycek's cock.  Mulder
rubbed himself painfully erect against it, listening
only to the crazy thudding off his blood through his
body and the ringing in his ears, the driving music,
the evil voice:  Do it.  Take it.

And he did, hips working between Krycek's thighs,
punching him with his aching cock instead of his fists.
He breathed and whined into Krycek's ear, eyes squeezed
shut, nerve endings alive and thrumming, his whole body
rocking into Krycek's until he was pounding him into
the wall, grunting with each impact.  He felt each time
in his cock and his grunts turned to moans, his balls
drawing up tight to his body.

OhGOD, the ache!  So good.  So rough and so bad and so
fucking right!

He drew back and reached in-between their bodies,
fumbling with his pants.

Do it.  Take it.  Feel it.

He had to feel it.

Mulder ripped his jeans open and freed his cock, and
pressed himself into Krycek once more.  Their cocks
touched and...

"Oh shit..." Mulder cursed through gritted teeth.

Krycek moaned low and deep and hot against Mulder's
cheek, and Mulder answered it with a growl as he
started thrusting again, this time feeling his own
naked cock hitting Krycek's every time.

Too good...  Unbelievably good...  Like pain.  Like
nothing else.  He felt himself building to orgasm. He
wanted it.  Needed it.  Couldn't not have it now.  He
almost didn't hear the whimpered voice in his ear.

"Mulder..."

But when it registered...

Mulder stepped quickly back away from Krycek.  Hands
letting go of his bruised and just now healing flesh.
He felt wild.  Out of control.  He looked at Alex
Krycek up against the wall in front of him, cock hard.
Like his own.  Alex Krycek.  Sick.  He felt sick again.

Without thinking, he hauled his fist back and let it
fly against Krycek's face in a vicious backhand.
Krycek stumbled to the side, drops of blood flying from
his mouth.  He watched him through a haze of residual
lust and the growing sickness.

And then it became too much, so he turned around and
quickly shoved his straining cock back into his jeans,
buttoning them up with shaking fingers.  He stalked
over to the stereo and hit the button, silencing it.
He kept his back turned, feeling the weight of the
other man's energy.

Long moments passed before a low voice broke it.

"Mulder."

Unthinking, an animal, Mulder turned and let the
momentum of his anger carry him back.  He pushed Krycek
up against the wall again, holding him just under the
chin, around the throat.  But he found he had nothing
to say.  To his horror, tears welled up in his eyes as
he looked into Krycek's.  He squeezed his throat.

"Fuck," he hissed as Krycek began to choke.  A tear
fell from Mulder's eye and he released Krycek who began
gasping for breath.  Mulder raked his hands through his
hair again and then covered his face, bending almost in
half with the pain and the fear and the longing and a
thousand other things that seemed to rush his body like
disease.

He heard Krycek catch his breath, and Mulder sank down
to the floor, sitting with his knees drawn up into his
body, his tears falling against his will.  What the
fuck was happening to him?

"Mulder."

"Shut the fuck up," he cried.

He waited for something.  Anything from him.  Attack.
Retreat.  Anything.  He waited within his own little
world of pain and confusion, until finally he heard
Krycek moving.  He heard the other man walk across the
room away from him.  He heard the sound of chains being
dragged across his wood floor.  Then he heard a click,
and the small sound of metal sliding along the floor.

Mulder lifted his head.  And saw Krycek.  Recollared
and sitting leaned against the radiator, looking at him
with sad, deep eyes.  Mulder gasped.  He looked across
the room at the key shining in a bit of light, out of
Krycek's reach.  He looked back at Krycek.  Into his
eyes.  Pain lanced through Mulder's chest.  And it
wasn't attached to hate this time, or to betrayal,
mistrust, rage, or injustice.

And it hurt more than all of those things.  So much so
that he had to get up and leave, stumbling blindly into
his bedroom and shutting the door, lying down on his
bed, and drowning his pitiful cries into the fleshy
cotton of his pillow.  Until his eyes were dry and he
was irrevocably empty.

..........

He woke with a start, sitting up in bed and breathing
heavily.  He could almost still smell the gunsmoke, the
acrid smell that accompanied the blood.  His heart was
beating fast and hard in his chest.  And then he was
hit with the surreal vision-memory of Krycek's dead
body and his father standing over it and laughing.

His gut twisted and he tried to clear his head of the
image.  He looked out the window and it was dark.  He
looked at the clock.  It was past ten.  At night?  He
felt disoriented and heavy and exhausted from the
nightmare.

The images began to fade and become more dream-like,
less reality.  But his stomach was still in knots.  And
it growled.  Loudly.

Shit, he'd never eaten.  And neither had Krycek.

Krycek.  Fuck, Krycek who he'd humped like a mindless
dog.  Krycek, whose cock felt like silk and who now
smelled like Mulder's soap and who killed his father
and who had made him cry.

"Jesus," he muttered to himself, rolling out of bed.
He felt spent.  Totally without the energy to feel much
of anything anymore.  For that he was thankful.

He stalked out into the living room, looking over at a
sleeping Krycek and taking in his hard, naked body in
repose.   He closed his eyes briefly, the still, dead
Krycek of his dreams flitting before his eyes, so he
opened them again and went to pick the key up from the
floor.

He walked silently on bare feet over to Krycek and
knelt down.  He wasn't even through moving when hands
had grabbed him, spun him around to land on his ass,
and his back was up against Krycek's chest, one strong
arm wrapped tightly around his throat,  the other
gripping his hair painfully, ripping a handful out by
the root.

He didn't even have time to struggle.

Then he heard Krycek gasp in his ear and his hold
loosened somewhat, but not all the way.  "I'm sorry,"
Krycek whispered on another gasp.  "I'm sorry."  And
then he released Mulder completely and Mulder crawled
out of Krycek's now non-existent grasp and turned to
face him, regaining his breath.

Mulder nodded, stunned, and rubbed the place where
Krycek's arm had been around his neck.

"Did I hurt you?" Krycek asked quickly.

"N-"  Mulder cleared his throat and felt the
humiliation settle in, post-adrenaline.  "No."  Not
just humiliation.  The incomprehensible slap of
knowledge that Krycek could take him.  And he didn't.

Krycek just nodded and then closed his eyes on a sigh.
"I'm sorry," he said again softly.

"It's okay,"  Mulder found himself saying wryly, dryly,
though his insides were turned upside down and
backwards.  "You owed me one," he added and was careful
not to look at the other man as he moved in once again
with the key.

Krycek's eyes flew open, alert and ready and Mulder
froze.

"I'm just going to take it off," he explained.

Krycek looked suspicious for a moment longer and
finally asked, "Why?" in that hushed, gravel voice of
his that always made Mulder think of alleys and guns
and old, conspiratorial men, and his tired, one-track
life.

"What, you don't have to piss like a son of a bitch?"
he asked, still not looking at him now, but moving in
and releasing the lock quickly and with a bare minimum
of touch.  He didn't wait for an answer, standing up
and wiping his hands on his jeans like they'd been wet
when they hadn't.  "Go pee, Krycek.  I'm gonna fix some
food."

"Thanks," Krycek murmured and Mulder practically
flinched.

"Don't thank me," he said roughly, and turned to go to
the kitchen.

..........

Mulder ate his eggs and toast on the couch and Krycek
ate his across the room on the floor.  They ate in
silence except for the news broadcast that Mulder had
on low.  A male reporter with plastic, golden-brown
hair smiled into the camera and told a bad joke.  His
female partner laughed patronizingly.  Krycek snorted
quietly and Mulder nearly choked on a bite of egg.

He looked over to the still naked man on the floor with
his dinner half eaten.  He had a lopsided smile on his
face.  When he saw Mulder staring at him he murmured,
"Sorry," and went back to eating.  Mulder continued to
stare for a moment and then went back to eating
himself.  But only or a few seconds and then he turned
his attention back to Krycek.  He found himself
watching how he ate...how he chewed...how he sat.  He
held the fork in his left hand.

Mulder opened his mouth to say something.  It started
as an order, but died on his tongue.  It changed into a
request and that wilted even faster.  Why was this so
hard?  Why was his heart racing?

"C'mere."

Krycek looked up in the middle of a bite of food and
stopped chewing, just looking at Mulder in surprise.

"I said, c'mere," Mulder said with a sigh.

Slowly, Krycek unfolded his body and stood, bring his
plate with him as he walked over to the couch.

Mulder stopped him.  "There.  Sit down.  On the floor."

Krycek lowered himself onto the floor next to the
coffee table, a few feet from Mulder's legs.

"Put your plate down," Mulder said, becoming more
comfortable by the second.

Krycek set his plate on the table.

"Eat,"  Mulder said softly and with just the barest
hint of a smile on his lips.

And Krycek did, bringing a fork full of egg to his
mouth carefully.  Mulder went back to his own meal,
watching the flickering of the TV in front of him and
allowing Krycek to watch or not as he pleased.
Together they ate until all the food was gone from
their plates.

Without a word, Mulder got up and took his and Krycek's
plates to the kitchen, filled them with more of the
scrambled eggs warming in the oven and added two more
pieces of bread, this time just buttered but not
toasted, onto their plates.  He felt exhilarated.

He sat back down, placing Krycek's plate in front of
him, and then turning his attention to the television
again.  The newscast ended and Mulder picked up the
remote, chewing and changing channels.  He got to
Comedy Central and was about to move on...but the
memory of Krycek's aborted laugh tickled his mind and
caused him to stop.  He set the remote down.  And he
waited.  Not wanting to hope.  Not wanting to want.

"I'm not a pussy.  You're a pussy, pussy," the gnome
told Cartman and Krycek immediately started choking.

Mulder looked over, almost reaching out, feeling his
hand twitch and lift a little.  "You all right?" he
asked, not quite expecting that response.

"Uh, yeah," replied Krycek, swallowing wide-eyed.  He
nodded, cleared his throat, and kept watching.  Mulder
turned his attention back to the screen thinking that
this might not be the best idea.

He picked up the remote just when Cartman retorted,
"Little pussy gnome, don't call me a pussy.  Pussy
gnome," under his breath.

"Haaa!!"  Krycek burst out abruptly and then silenced
himself.  He glanced over at Mulder who was now looking
at him with wide, curious eyes.  "Sorry," Krycek
apologized, lowering his lashes.  Mulder watched as
they didn't stay lowered and Krycek looked up at the TV
once more, his eggs all but forgotten.

"Someone mind telling me why we're following this
little pecker?" Cartman asked the other kids.

Krycek let out a whooping laugh that almost scared
Mulder.  And this time he could only quiet it back down
to some barely controlled, choking giggles.  Mulder
felt himself watching Krycek more than the show.

The gnomes launched into their underwear stealing
campaign and Krycek lost it again, this time laughing
so hard he teared up.  And he couldn't seem to stop.
Mulder looked on in awe.   Krycek dissolved into a fit
of giggles, but then when something else funny
happened, he exploded in a roar of laughter again.

And Mulder started to laugh, too.  He turned back to
the TV and a cart full of underpants landed on Kenny
and killed him.  Kyle exclaimed heatedly, "They killed
Kenny!  You bastards!"  And Krycek nearly fell over
laughing.

Mulder looked at him, amazed.  When Krycek got himself
under control, he noticed that Mulder was staring at
him again.  He stifled his hysteria and lowered his
eyes again.

"What's the matter, Krycek, never seen South Park
before?" Mulder asked, trying to control the smile that
wanted to take over his face.

Krycek looked over at Mulder sheepishly and shook his
head.  "No, I haven't."  He sobered, looking at Mulder,
but then someone said something revolting and over-the-
top again on the show and as Mulder continued to look
into Krycek's eyes, he saw the other man start to
crumble, his bottom lip trembling and his eyes tearing
up again.

"I'm sorry," Krycek said again just before he melted
back into hysterical laughter.

Mulder said it to himself quietly, wonderingly.  "It's
okay."

............

It was after one in the morning and Mulder had been
watching TV with Alex Krycek for hours.  It had been
tense and weird and surreal at times.  After the South
Park episode was over, an uncomfortable resurgence of
awkwardness settled between them.  And it stayed there
to some extent the rest of the night.  It was there
now.

Mulder was finding it more and more difficult to
pretend that they could do this.  That he could just
have this and not feel like he'd somehow helped pull
the trigger.

Krycek had not tested Mulder.  Had only taken what he'd
been given and not pushed for more.  Mulder hated him
for that.  He hated not knowing a fucking thing more
about him in this moment than he had when the Brit had
first summoned him into the glare of the headlights.
His boy...

Mulder hated that he sat there naked and didn't ask for
more of the coffee Mulder had let him drink out of a
mug.  Didn't complain about having to watch the replay
of the Duke/Arizona State game.

He hated that he never fought back when he hit him.

"You've never hit me."

Mulder held his breath, wondering why he said it, but
knowing in the static anxiousness of waiting for his
answer that he knew exactly why.

Krycek didn't even look puzzled.  But he did look like
he was worried about giving a reply.  Mulder looked at
him and raised his eyebrows, expectantly.  Krycek
looked down.

"No."

(Continued in part 5)

Part 5
See part 0 for story information.


Mulder swallowed and summoned the courage to push
forward.  "Why?"

Krycek's eyes danced over the floor.  Mulder watched
his mind tumble toward a solution.  The truth?  Or
something he'd make up to keep Mulder from going into a
rage?  The age old dilemma caught high in Mulder's
chest and ached.

"I don't want to hurt you,"  Krycek answered simply,
glancing up for only a moment.

Mulder felt his body get heavy, felt the old hurt
settle in his heart once more.  "Then why have you?"
he asked, voice thickened.  Krycek opened his mouth.
Paused.  Closed it and swallowed.  When he opened it
again and looked at Mulder, Mulder stopped him.
"Nevermind."  Then a whisper, "I don't want to know."

Then Mulder stood.  And he walked around the table,
around behind Krycek, facing the bedroom.  He didn't
turn around when he spoke again.  "C'mon."

After a pause, he felt Krycek stand, and then Mulder
walked away from him, trusting that he would follow, as
he turned off the living room light and entered the
bedroom.  When he was standing beside the bed, he spoke
again without turning around.

"I want you to sleep on the floor.  You can leave in
the middle of the night.  You can kill me in my sleep.
It doesn't matter."  He turned to look at the man he'd
been calling his enemy and who now...who now he knew he
couldn't kill, arrest, ever truly hate, or even hit
again.  And all because he'd heard him fucking laugh.
He looked at Krycek, into his eyes, and told him
plainly, sadly, "I won't make you.  Either leave...or
lie down."

He watched with wary eyes as Krycek took another step
into the room.  And then another.  His breath caught as
he saw him advancing like a cat, rather than taking the
offered out he was given.  He couldn't quite believe it
as Krycek lowered himself to the ground, all the while
looking into Mulder's eyes, and then curled up on his
side, hands pillowing his head.

Mulder swallowed, looking down, not believing his eyes,
not knowing what to do, what to say.  He watched as
Krycek closed his eyes, displaying his own trust,
offering something to trust in return.  Mulder felt the
sting behind his eyes and noticed his hands had begun
to tremble.  He stopped them by stripping his shirt off
over his head.  Krycek's breathing changed, but he
didn't open his eyes.

Dumbfounded, Mulder crawled into his bed, still in his
jeans, and settled beneath the covers.  He closed his
eyes before tears could build in them, telling himself
that just because he'd stayed now didn't mean he'd be
there in the morning.  Didn't even mean there'd be
another morning for Mulder.  He told himself again that
it didn't matter.  It was mostly true.  His world
wasn't his anymore.  He laid there still and tense and
tried desperately to fall into the abyss of sleep.

.........

He woke suddenly and his first response was to roll
over and peer over the side of the bed to see if Krycek
was still there.

He wasn't.

Mulder sucked in a breath and held it, willing himself
not to fucking lose it, not to fucking scream and cry
and find his gun and blow his fucking brains out.  He
was gone.  He'd told him he could go.  And he left.  He
was just...gone.

When he finally had to release the breath, it came out
as a loud, hopeless sob.  He pulled in another
agonizing breath and couldn't control the same violent,
horrible soul-shattering tears that had begun the
second the realization had sunk in.

Gone.  Fucking gone.  Mulder looked down at his
upturned hands as though he'd just been holding him and
he'd slipped away like a ghost.  And he cried.  He
cried because he knew only now what he wanted from Alex
Krycek, and it wasn't answers.  It wasn't excuses or
apologies or a punching bag or even his father back
from the dead.  He didn't want any of it.  He just
wanted HIM.  Just the man.  Here.  With him.  And he
was just.  Fucking.  Gone.

It was then that Mulder heard the toilet flush.  One
last sob wrenched from his lungs.  And then he froze.
It hit him full force that Alex Krycek had not, in
fact, left.  And that he, Mulder, had fallen completely
apart thinking that he had.

He heard the water turn on in the bathroom just before
his ears started to ring and all other sound faded
away.

Still here.  Still here.  And he was a SLAVE to that.
It was more than his mind could wrap around.  It made
him too sick for his stomach to roil.  It broke him too
hard for him to cry.  It scared him too bad to run.
And so he sat on the bed, vision narrowing to a small
bit of carpet, breath halting...shallow.  Heart broken,
put back together again, and then exploded into a
million pieces.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye.  He
didn't blink and couldn't look.  If it was Krycek, he
was seeing him like this, and there was nothing Mulder
could do.  The ringing got louder.  He became light-
headed.  He felt his face wet with tears but couldn't
lift a hand to wipe the wetness away.

As if summoned on that thought, he felt a presence by
his side.  Heard the ringing turn into sharp, chaotic
buzzing sounds.  Then there was a face in front of his,
getting in the way of his piece of carpet.  He stared
as if he could see through to it, stay connected with
it.  It was the only thing holding him in his body
right now.

And then he felt something.  On his face.  His cheek.
His skin felt thick and it tingled where the thing was.

Gone.  He was gone.

Not gone.  Right here.  Right here.

"I'm right here, Mulder, look at me," the far away
voice seemed to say.  It sounded like his name at
least.  He almost wanted to look at the face now taking
up his entire field of vision.  He felt the tingle in
his face become warmth.  And then he knew what the
thing was.  A hand.  Alex Krycek's hand.  And his
fingers were brushing away his tears.

He wanted to say no.  He wanted to push his hand away.
He wanted to disappear.

"Mulder, look at me,"  Krycek whispered urgently.

He wanted to ask why.  He wanted to do it...so wanted
to see him, feel him.  Here.  Not gone.  Right here.

"I'm here.  Mulder.  God, Mulder, please look at me.
Come back to me."  The voice got clearer.  "Please."
And then all the ringing stopped.  He could breathe
again and every time he did, it hurt.  Fucking Christ,
he needed him.  It made him sick, but that was it.  The
bottom line.  He needed Krycek.   Every moment he
continued to let the other man stroke away his tears
was a defeat.  And a salvation.

"Mulder?" Krycek asked, wiping across his cheek with
his thumb.  Mulder blinked.  Krycek's other hand came
up and he cupped his face, sifted through his hair.
"Mulder..." he whispered.  Mulder blinked again.

Every feather-light touch burned.  Every second, Mulder
wished he could go back and refuse his gift.  Because
this was no gift.  It was a curse.  He hadn't gained a
`boy'.  He'd lost himself.   Krycek stroked through
Mulder's hair.  And Mulder let him.  Because it felt
phenomenal.  Nothing had ever felt better.  And the
physical pleasure was all he had now that he had
nothing else.  And if Krycek took that away...

Mulder closed his eyes.

"Mulder.  What happened?"

Mulder shuddered as Krycek's left hand caressed lightly
behind his right ear.

"Here, lie down.  Lie back,"  Krycek said softly and it
sounded so good that he complied, lying back into the
mattress and letting Krycek help move him up the bed.
"I think you're in shock," he said, brows furrowed in
concern.  He started to draw the blankets up under
Mulder's chin, but Mulder stopped him with a tiny
whispered word.

"No..."

Krycek's hands froze, the blanket lifted up off
Mulder's torso.  "No blanket?"

Mulder shook his head, the effort like climbing a steep
hill.  He forced his next word out, swallowing what was
left of his pride and hoping Krycek would recognize
some semblance of his old, domineering self.  That he
would give him that.

"You."

Krycek stood over him looking confused for a moment.  A
moment in which Mulder almost cried he was so miserable
anticipating the rejection.  But realization settled
over Krycek's features.  And the fact that he looked
more than a little nervous was a balm to Mulder's
shattered sense of what was true in his world.

Krycek threw the covers off in silence and Mulder
looked down his body, shivering slightly and feeling
each second of no touch as years.

And then Krycek crawled up over him.  Mulder was forced
to look up into his face.  His beautiful, looming
face...as he laid himself on top of him, resting his
elbows at the sides of his head, holding Mulder's face
in his hands.  Their bodies aligned, chest to chest,
and Krycek's naked crotch settled in against Mulder's
clothed one.  Krycek cocked his head to the side,
investigating this changed man under him it seemed and
Mulder had to close his eyes it was so like being
psychically read.

But the warmth was so good.  The weight.  The
proximity.  Krycek's hot skin and his hot breath, the
movement of his body as he breathed, as he stroked
Mulder's hair and face.

"Like this?" Krycek asked, the concern evident in his
gravelly voice.

"Shut up," Mulder whispered.  He felt Krycek take it in
and slide into the next moment easily, without
attachment to the last.  He felt him shift and situate
himself more comfortably, felt the swollen length of
his semi-erect cock nestle next to his soft one and
that subtle aligning of their flesh caused Mulder's
cock to surge to life.

"It's okay, Mulder,"  Krycek said soothingly and it
made Mulder want to smack him in the face.  It made him
wish it weren't unthinkably impossible to wrap his own
arms around him.  He ached he wanted it so bad.  He
gripped the sheets instead.  "Whatever you need,"
Krycek murmured.

He needed the last year of his life back again.  He
wanted to be able to do this right, and that could
never, ever happen.  This would always be them.  The
tragic realization that your hate has turned to love
and it will never have the chance at life because when
it was hate it hated too much.

Krycek snuck his right arm under Mulder's body, cupping
his shoulder blade and laid his head on Mulder's chest,
scooting down slightly.  Mulder closed his eyes.  He
let the silence drag into long minutes, maybe an hour.
He couldn't tell when he went to sleep, and he couldn't
tell if he was dreaming when he dreamed, because
nothing seemed more dream-like than reality.

............

He woke at dawn, the light barely hinting at itself, a
lavendar-grey suggestion against the inside of his
eyelids.  And Alex Krycek was draped over him like a
spent lover.  Pressed up against his right side.  Hand
on his chest.  Head on shoulder.  Leg thrown over and
between his.  And his own left hand was on Krycek's
back.

Mulder released a quiet, indulgent sigh.  He was
finally touching him.  Just touching him.  Without
violence and accusations.  It was incredible.

Fingers brushed against his skin once and he stopped
himself from gasping at the light, unexpected touch.
He couldn't tell if Krycek was awake or sleeping still,
and he didn't open his eyes to find out.  He felt his
whole body come alive under the other man's body,
though, as a complete awareness settled over him.  He
dissolved into all the little places Krycek's body was
touching his own.  He deepened his breathing just to
feel Krycek move with it, just to get his fingers to
shift a quarter of an inch across his chest, just to
feel how it brought his nipple closer to the other
man's mouth.  Still, he kept his eyes shut.

Mulder laid there breathing...waiting for Krycek to
awaken...for a spoken word or even a shift in sleep
that would change things, end this.  But nothing
happened.  Krycek's weight was solid and heavy against
his side and across his chest.

Mulder took another deep breath and became very aware
of his own hand on Krycek's back.  Just under his
shoulder blade.  How warm and how strong the body under
his hand felt.  Mulder breathed in slowly and then held
it.  And he very achingly gently and slowly, brushed
his thumb across Krycek's back and around to his side.

He waited.  Expecting Krycek to startle awake.  But
there was nothing.  Nothing but the otherworldly rush
of being able to touch him.  And so he let out his
breath, eyes trained closed, so badly wanting to see
the man on top of him, but feeling so much safer in the
purplish dark of his own mind...and he stroked his
thumb back across Krycek's skin.

Incredible.  The smallest touch set his heart racing
and his cock started to fill quickly with blood,
throbbing against his leg inside his jeans.  He did it
again, tracing the path he had before, so slow...not
wanting to alert Krycek to the fact that he was being
caressed.  He felt the soft skin of his back turn into
the softer skin of his side and then felt just the edge
of his hard chest.  His next breath was shuddering.
The power was fucking exquisite.

And then he felt Krycek's breath flow quickly out
between his lips and across his overly warm skin.  As
though he'd been holding it.   Mulder allowed his lips
to part, his eyelids stretching over his eyes with the
desire to open and see what he was touching, but he
wouldn't let himself just yet.  The anonymity, artifice
or not, was empowering.  And he shifted under Krycek,
fitting the other man's leg more securely between his,
so that the strong thigh was pressed against his
growing erection.  Krycek's head turned and his open
mouth caressed Mulder as he breathed, shallowly now,
but quiet.

Mulder felt like devouring him, the urge animalistic
and raw and potent.  But he breathed it back.  He
shifted his strokes closer to Krycek's chest, moving
his hand slowly and subtly so that he could reach the
very outside of his nipple.  He didn't touch it...just
came right to the edge before retreating in a smooth,
teasing stroke. Even when Krycek's breath hitched and
came out a quivering almost-whine, Mulder just let the
smallest triumphant smile grace his lips, acknowledged
that his cock went harder than granite...and kept
stroking.

After two...five...eight more passes of Mulder's thumb
on Krycek's chest, he finally, slowly, let the pad of
his thumb lightly rub over the tight nub and felt
Krycek jerk against him once, his cock mashing against
Mulder's hip, before melting back into repose.  Mulder
took his thumb away for a moment, stifling his own urge
to massage his cock against Krycek's leg, just letting
it throb there against the other man, and waiting until
Krycek was totally relaxed again.  Then he pressed his
thumb down on his nipple hard, circling it slowly, and
Krycek moaned into his chest, his lips vibrating on his
flesh.

Fucking unreal.  Mulder allowed himself a near silent
sigh, his head tilting back on the pillow, body
stretching against the other man's luxuriously.  He
relaxed the pressure on Krycek's nipple, leaving it
with a tiny flick and eliciting another small moan.
The fight to keep his eyes shut was now maddening, but
also, in a way, addictive.  It felt so fucking good to
stay like this, pretending...escalating...but not
looking at him, not truly acknowledging him, or even
really himself.  It was too good.  He couldn't leave it
just yet.

Instead he found Krycek's nipple blindly again with
eager fingers and pinched it, at the same time sneaking
his right hand in and laying it surreptitiously against
Krycek's back, holding him in close, unable to wiggle
away from the tortuous touch.  Krycek jerked and Mulder
increased the pressure.  Krycek's head lifted away from
his chest and he could feel him breathing fast and
aroused through his open mouth.  He couldn't help but
smile.  As he then pinched tighter.

"Ahgod..."  Krycek gasped out a choked cry, and Mulder
let his breath out in a rush, twisting his nipple now
and gritting his teeth, the sound of the other man's
aroused voice ratcheting up his own arousal to the
point where he couldn't stand staying still any longer.
Mulder started thrusting his hips up into Krycek's
thigh and pulling and twisting the man's nipple in
earnest, grunting himself now as Krycek whined and
cried and gripped his shoulder tightly, just riding it
out until Mulder finally released him.

Mulder took no time though to let Krycek catch his
breath.  He flipped them both over quickly and roughly
so that Krycek was lying on his back beneath him.
Mulder buried his face in his neck, biting and
breathing and licking as he ripped his jeans open one
handed, all his weight resting on his left arm and
Krycek's shocked body as he worked his pants down his
thighs and finally off all together, throwing them to
the side before jabbing his hand underneath Krycek's
lower back and holding his body in close while he
started to hump.

Mulder's left hand gripped Krycek's hair as he rubbed
their cocks together and they both groaned, Krycek up
to the ceiling and Mulder into the side of Krycek's
neck.  Mulder slid his hand down to Krycek's ass and
squeezed hard as he thrust against him.  He had to grit
his teeth again to keep from doing it too hard and
hurting them both with his out of control passion.  But
it felt too good to be true, pinning Krycek down with
his body and marking him as owned.  And still with his
eyes squeezed shut tight.

He felt the night melt away and a new power take hold
inside him, a new kind of control.  He felt the sheet
come untucked at its corners from Krycek's pulling at
it, heard the desperate, inarticulate cries, felt
Krycek's thighs spread for him wider, felt the hard,
hot cock against his own, bumping it, felt the smooth
asscheek in his hand tighten with Krycek's own clumsy
attempt to fuck himself against Mulder.  He growled
against the other man's neck.  And then he stopped.

He let go of Krycek's hair with his left hand and slid
his right around to stroke up Krycek's torso.  He took
hold of Krycek's arm, sliding up his tricep, over his
elbow, until it was over Krycek's head.  He skipped
over the man's wrist, avoiding the still tender area
and took his hand in his.  Then he did the same with
his other arm, until they were laid out with Mulder
completely covering Krycek's body with his own, fires
blazing where their skin touched, Krycek's cock weeping
against his, the heads kissing, wetting.  Mulder waited
for a moment, holding Krycek's hands together above his
head with both of his own.  He breathed against his
neck, brushed his pliant lips against his earlobe.
Then he opened his eyes to hooded slits and whispered.

"Grab the headboard."  He felt Krycek shiver and groan,
and he let go of his hands.  As Krycek obeyed and took
a tight grip on the wooden slats, Mulder planted his
hands on the bed and slid down the man's body a little
so that his lips hovered over the nipple he had taunted
earlier.  Now he saw it, close and hard and ready for
his mouth.  He licked his lips.  And then he licked
Krycek's nipple and his eyes closed again as the man
under him gasped.  He peeked up to see Krycek's eyes
squeezed tightly shut as his head thrashed on the
pillow and his grip tightened.  He smiled and then
sucked the nub into his mouth and worked it with his
tongue.

He'd only ever been with a woman and he hadn't thought
doing this to another man would be anything like the
same experience.  And it wasn't.  The power he felt at
making Alex Krycek writhe under the assault of his
mouth was beyond anything he'd ever imagined.  The
groans were deeper, the reaction more violent, more
base, and Mulder's reaction mirrored all of it,
answering the throaty groans with deep, animalistic
groans of his own.  He bit down harder than he ever
could with a woman and Krycek growled loudly.  Mulder
felt the sound rocket through his cock and he felt like
growling himself because not only was this not a woman
crying and sighing under him like he was used to...it
wasn't just any man he was making sound this way, do
these things.  It was Alex Krycek he was driving
completely fucking insane.

Mulder lifted his head, breathing hard, holding himself
just an inch or two above the other man's body.  He
glanced up at Krycek's tense, slightly distressed
features.  Then he flitted his eyes closed and pressed
his lips to his chest, first on the hard, round
pectoral muscle, then the sternum.  His lips tingled
whenever they touched his body.  They became dry and
salty with Krycek's taste.  He found himself getting
lost in trying to kiss as much of Krycek as he could,
feeling the muscles jump here, and when he bit there, a
gasp...lick there, a sigh.  It was all such an awesome
experiment.  He felt like he could keep at it for an
hour, just teasing Krycek's sensitive chest...and now
his ribs.  But then the other man spoke.  He almost
didn't hear.

"Don't...."   It was a stressed whisper, and Mulder
looked up to see his eyes shut, his lashes...moist.
His biceps bulged with the tension of gripping the
bars.

Mulder felt his heart pound excitedly in his chest.
Don't what, Krycek?  Don't kiss instead of hit you?
Don't make you feel good?  Mulder allowed a small
smile, his lips hovering over his belly now.

"No talking," he said devilishly, lowering his mouth to
the taut stomach under him and searing wet, biting
kisses into the salty-sweet flesh.

Krycek groaned, head tossing to the side again, one
foot pounding the bed in agitation.  Mulder just kept
kissing across his stomach, licking into his navel
languidly, dipping in and then retreating to travel to
his side, sucking at him, Krycek still dutifully
holding the headboard even as he writhed and tried to
get away from Mulder's persistent mouth.

Mulder kissed down to his hipbone, laving it gently,
and then leaving wet kisses along his thigh.  He
settled one hand on Krycek's other leg, as he licked
and kissed back up his hip just to the side of his
massive erection.

"No..."  Krycek cried, trying to cover his face with
his arm without releasing his hold.  "No, Mulder...
Please...  Don't do this."

Mulder lifted his head, watching Krycek throw his arm
off of his face and flex his hands against the slats.
And then he watched a tear squeeze out of the corner of
Krycek's eye.  He almost felt bad for what he was about
to do.

"Look at me," he demanded smoothly and he watched
Krycek's wet, deep green eyes open and find him
hovering between his legs.  Their eyes met and the
contact was almost painful to Mulder.  He made himself
hold it.  His heart was ready to explode out of his
chest and he willed his voice not to shake as he spoke.
"Shut up, Alex."

And then he lowered his mouth to Alex Krycek's cock and
sucked.

"Ohshiiaahhhhh!!!"  Krycek yelled, his whole pelvis
coming up off the bed, his dick pushing past Mulder's
lips and into his mouth making him gag briefly before
he pulled off a little and then Krycek's hips lowered
back to the bed.

Jesus*FUCK*!!!  Mulder felt like he was going to come.
He felt restored to all his power.  He felt
magnificent, high, so goddamned fucking fantastic!  He
slurped off of Alex's cock and groaned open-mouthed as
he tongued the head enthusiastically, brows knit, eyes
closed in rapture.  Perfection.  This was it.  Sucking
Krycek's cock and making him make that noise...they
were born to do this.  All the hitting, all the
fighting, all the hurt...  It was all to get here and
experience this.  As he stretched his mouth open to
suck his shaft into his mouth again and Krycek cried
out once more, he knew it even more.

"Nuh...  Nuh...  Ohgodmulder..."

Mulder hummed around the cock in his mouth, amazed that
he was actually doing this with another man...blown the
fuck away that he was doing this to Krycek...and that
it was so exquisitely good.   His hands roamed
aimlessly over Krycek's legs and stomach and chest,
just trying to touch as much of him as possible.  He
didn't know what he was doing.  He had no plan.  Just
touch.  Just taste.  And after all of this time with
Krycek existing in his life, in his apartment, quiet
and enigmatic, to have him like this!  Crying and
moaning and cursing and on the skinny edge of
control...  He hadn't realized how much he wanted this,
how sad and wrong and empty it had been before now.
Was this here all along?  Just waiting to be his?

Mulder was so caught up in the experience he almost
missed the subtle change in Krycek's voice.

"GonnacomeMulderno.  Gonnacomecomecomenoooo!"

Mulder opened his eyes and saw Krycek's upper body
surge up off the bed, wild eyes beseeching his.  He
took one last long suck and then smiled above Krycek's
glistening cock.  He watched the other man breathing
erratically for a moment before he spoke softly, the
power rushing his body like a drug.

"Lie back down," he ordered, and Krycek did, looking
relieved.  "Let go," he added and watched Krycek's grip
loosen and his arms lower back down.  He didn't wait
even a moment.  Mulder took hold of Krycek's shoulder
and threw him over onto his stomach, using as much
brute strength as he could muster as well as the
element of surprise to get him rolled over quickly
before sliding his own body back down on top of the
other man.

His cock slid up between the cheeks of Krycek's ass.
Mulder took hold of his arms, feeling their sweat
slickened bodies coming together perfectly.   His lips
were at Krycek's ear.   "Can't come till I do," he
murmured, smiling against him and starting to slide his
cock against Krycek's ass.  Krycek bit his lip, closing
his eyes tightly again and another fat tear rolled down
his face.  Mulder watched it, still moving, knowing
Krycek wasn't crying because he was told he couldn't
come yet, but because he knew Mulder would make him
come eventually.  As Mulder smoothly stroked himself
through the intimate valley between Krycek's hard, pale
cheeks, against his tight little asshole over and over,
he knew why Krycek was crying, knew why this wasn't
okay with him.  The violence was all he knew.  It's all
he'd ever known.  He had no idea how to be with a
Mulder that actually wanted his pleasure rather than
his pain.  And the kindness strangely hurt him in a way
the cruelty never did.

Well.  He was just going to have to get over that.

Mulder let go of one strong arm to stroke his fingers
through Krycek's hair, pulling gently as he thrust his
cock gently as well.

"Alex," he whispered, lips at Krycek's ear again, eyes
closing.

"No..."  he whimpered, sadly, almost strangled.

Mulder thrust harder once and then stilled.  "You're my
boy, Alex."  His hand sifted softly through the dark
brown hair, petting.  "You're mine.  No one else's.
Not anymore."  He kissed the wet trail the tear had
made then.  "Mine."

And he started a slow undulating thrusting again that
had him groaning and once more closing his eyes,
leaving Alex to deal with it one way or another.  He
felt the man beneath him start to shake with barely
controlled sobs.

He turned his head and kissed down Krycek's neck to his
shoulder, keeping his cock sliding at a slow, even pace
as Krycek's body trembled as he cried.  He couldn't
help that rocking Alex Krycek's world felt pretty
damned good even as he tried to calm and relax him back
into the experience with the tender rocking of his
body.  Still, it was feeling too good, both breaking
through the silent, hard wall he himself had helped
Krycek put up, and the extraordinary feeling of nearly
fucking him.

Fucking him...  Oh God, it sounded so damned good and
so frightening and so...inevitable.  His cock certainly
wanted to...was so hard and thick and ready it almost
hurt.  Mulder slid it out from between Krycek's
asscheeks and slipped his hand between instead,
marveling that it felt good there.  Warm and moist from
sweat and...inviting.  He found Krycek's hole with his
fingers and Krycek inhaled sharply, tensing.

Mulder eased himself back down closer so he could
whisper in Krycek's ear again.  "Relax," he said soft
and deep.  And Mulder felt him gradually let go.  When
he did, Mulder began tenderly circling the clenched
opening with his middle finger.  Krycek started to
tremble again, and without a word, Mulder took his
finger away and moved his hand down to one leg, shooing
it with a gentle flick of the backs of his fingers
against Krycek's inner thigh so that it would open
wider for him.  Krycek obeyed and he tapped the other
leg, commanding silently that he open himself and
become more vulnerable.  Krycek complied and Mulder
slid his finger between Krycek's now slightly separated
cheeks and touched the puckering hole again.

He settled in, upper body on top of Alex, hips and legs
pressed into his side as he manipulated his asshole
until it relaxed enough to allow Mulder's middle digit
to push inside.  He worked it smoothly in up to his
hand where he curled the rest of his fingers in and out
of the way.  He felt Krycek's ass close tight around
his finger and hug it firmly.  Mulder ran the fingers
of his other hand back into Krycek's thick hair,
scratching along his scalp and closing into a loose
fist as he started fucking him with his long middle
finger, slowly loosening the way for his still aching
cock.

Krycek moaned and made a fist around the corner of
Mulder's pillow.   Mulder watched his face.  Watched
how he grimaced and it looked like pain and Mulder
almost stopped, but then it would relax, the creases
around his eyes disappearing and teeth ungritting, lips
becoming soft as he'd moan again.  And then it looked
like ecstasy.  And Mulder moaned, too, eyes flitting
closed as he laid his cheek against Krycek's back while
he thrust his finger in and out and moved his own hips
against Krycek's body, his cock trying to feel it
already.  Fucking Krycek...  He was going to fuck
Krycek.  He felt dizzy and had to remember to breathe
deeply and slowly again.

He lifted his head off the other man, still finger
fucking him lazily, and opened his bedside table
drawer, rummaging as quietly as possible for the
condoms and small bottle of lube he knew were there.
He hoped the expiration date was still good.  He found
the box and fumbled one out, and grabbed for the nearly
full bottle of lube, not bothering to close the drawer
again, too intent on the man lying at his side,
panting.

Mulder withdrew his finger and moved so that he was
straddling Krycek's hips, his thighs going hard with
holding him up away from the other man as set the
bottle down and ripped the packet open.

Krycek's eyes opened and his head lifted slightly.  He
turned his eyes to Mulder looming over him, cock
standing up nearly to his belly.  He looked down at the
condom in Mulder's hands and whimpered.  Mulder let a
lazy, lopsided smile dangle at his lips as he smoothed
it over his cock slowly, watching Krycek's eyes fill
with arousal and uncertainty...a little fear.  Maybe a
lot.

It occurred to Mulder as he slathered his cock with
lube, then dropped his hands to Krycek's ass and began
squeezing and rubbing the hard, smooth muscles
appreciatively, both working himself up into a
heightened level of anticipation and trying to calm
Krycek's tensing body so that the fuck would hurt as
little as possible, that he should be the one who was
afraid.  He was the one who was about to fuck a man for
the first time.   He was the one about to change his
relationship with Alex Krycek irrevocably.  But he
wasn't scared.  As much as maybe he should be...he
wasn't.  He was...ecstatic, ready, so excited he could
hardly breathe anymore.   He closed his eyes, unable to
stop touching the amazing body beneath his.  He felt
right. The man under him felt right.  Doing this...was
*right*.

Krycek whimpered under him and Mulder opened hooded
eyes to peer down at the reality of the man beneath
him.  He repositioned himself so that he was yet again
lying atop Krycek, his weight leaned to one side on his
left arm, so that his right hand could grasp his cock.
He was nearly shaking as he lined himself up with
Krycek's opening.  He merely tickled around the hole,
letting Krycek feel him and know he wasn't going to
just shove himself inside brutally.  That even though
part of him wanted nothing more than to pin him down
and brand him with a hot cock up his ass in one swift,
decisive thrust, he breathed it down, knowing he wanted
this to be what it had been up to this point, something
different than he'd even given Krycek before...than
he'd ever, himself, taken.

Mulder lowered his parted lips to the damp skin of
Krycek's back and kissed him.  And then he breathed
into his skin, "Not gonna hurt you, Alex."

He circled his dick at Krycek's asshole coaxing it open
to receive the head.  He took several moments, not
rushing, as much enjoying the teasing feel of Krycek's
hot, soft, vulnerable skin against his cockhead as
letting the man under him get used to the idea that Fox
Mulder was going to be fucking him.

Mulder smiled at the thought.  He felt...he couldn't
name it.  This thing that was curving his lips,
squeezing tight in his chest one minute and then
breaking wide open the next.  He guessed it was
freedom.  From who they were.  From anything having to
do with what they had previously meant to each other.
Nothing would ever be the same now.

On that realization, Mulder felt the head of his cock
pop past the tight muscle and heard Krycek cry out
under him.

"Ahhh!" Mulder cried out abortively in answer to
Krycek's shout of surprise and possibly discomfort, he
wasn't sure.  Mulder took several fast, panting breaths
through his open mouth, the desire to push all the way
in right this fucking second nearly too great.

Then, still breathing like he was in a triathlon, he
looked down at where his shaft was barely inside Alex
Krycek and had to clamp his hand around the base of it
to stave off the now overpowering urge to just COME!
He shut his eyes on it and just waited.

When Mulder opened his eyes, it was to find Krycek
looking back at him with an unreadable look on his
face.

"Okay?" Mulder found himself asking breathlessly.

Krycek's lashes fluttered as he blinked rapidly.  And
then he nodded.  "Yeh..."  He swallowed and turned his
forehead back down into the pillow as he merely nodded
again.  Mulder thought he heard a whispered yes, this
one sounding more a surrender than the first, gasping
one.  It made his cock fill with pride, with a rush of
blood, hardening and lengthening him even more such
that he pushed a little farther into Krycek's ass
without having decided to thrust.  And it felt so
goddamned good he *did* thrust then.  Slowly.
Steadily.  He slid inside.  Inch by aching inch.

(Continued in part 6)

Part 6
See part 0 for story information.


"Nnnnnnfuuuuhhh..." he groaned on a sigh as he slid
home.

"Nnnnaaahh!" Krycek yelled on the rush of his expelled
breath, and then he whimpered as Mulder settled in
against him, shifting his weight onto his right elbow
as well as his left now.

"Ohshit..." Mulder breathed, lips moving on Krycek's
back sensuously.  He stayed still for a moment, feeling
his dick throb inside the other man.  Krycek whimpered
again softly and Mulder lifted his head, looking at
him.

"Hurt?" he asked, unsure if he could stop now no matter
the answer.

"Yessss," Krycek hissed, gripping and regripping the
pillow.  "It's good," he breathed something more than a
whisper and Mulder felt it tingle along his skin at a
frequency that revved up his entire body from brain to
balls.  "Mulder'sgood," he finished on a groan and
Mulder answered it.

"Unnngod..."  And Mulder pulled his hips back, dragging
his long cock about halfway out before pushing smoothly
back inside.  Their twin grunts echoed off Mulder's
apartment walls.

Mulder fucked him slowly.  He wanted to memorize what
it felt like to be inside Alex Krycek.  He cursed that
it felt like his brain was actually melting.  The
thought made him smile, as with eyes closed, he rocked
his cock into and out of him and his sweat-shined body
slid easily across the horrible, wonderful, impossible,
perfect, wretched man beneath him.

He leaned down, encouraged by the desperate moans
dragged from Krycek's throat, and licked between his
shoulder blades as he stroked into him.  He bit lightly
at Krycek's shoulder as he ground against him.  He slid
one hand down to his hip and held him, and he bit
harder.

"Naaaah!" Krycek yelled, head turning to the side on
the pillow.  Mulder pulled on his hip, adjusting him in
even closer, titling his hips back a little more,
squeezing, and groaning at the change in angle.

"OhAlex..." he breathed, head tilting back and eyes
rolling behind closed lids.

Mulder started to move faster, the friction against his
cock almost painful now.  He knew he wasn't going to
last long.  That this would be over soon.  Unbidden,
the spark of tears stung his eyes and his brow
furrowed.  He carefully wedged his hand under Krycek
and found his drooling cock, fisting it and squeezing,
feeling reckless and letting the adrenaline guide him
rather than the towering intellect he was purported to
have.

He felt Krycek lift his hips, both driving him back
into the cradle of Mulder's pelvis, impaling Mulder's
cock impossibly deep in his ass, and giving Mulder room
to jack him.

Mulder smiled against Krycek's neck and kissed him
quickly behind the ear.  "Thanks," he whispered.  And
then he started fucking earnestly, uninhibitedly, fast
and dirty inside Krycek's now quite relaxed ass and
pulling sloppily at Krycek's naked cock.

To Mulder's surprise and delight, Krycek started
pushing back into him with his limited leverage, taking
the fuck even a step further, making it even harder.

"Shit..."  Mulder grimaced.  "Alex, shit."

"Muh...Muldergodnoaaaaahhhhh!!!"  Krycek cried as he
came in Mulder's hand and on Mulder's rumpled sheets.

Mulder followed him, his world narrowing to only the
hot, tight tunnel squeezing his cock.
"Aleh...ohffffffuuuuuuhhhh!!!"  He ground against
Krycek's ass as he emptied himself on panting, gasping
breaths, head thrown back, body quaking.

When he was done and couldn't hold his spent body up
anymore, he let himself relax down fully onto Krycek's
glistening body.  He let his cheek rest on his back.
And he willed his cock to stay hard long enough to stay
inside just a little longer.  Together they breathed.
No post-orgasmic words were exchanged.  And Mulder was
still on top of him until he had to pull out, holding
the condom in place and then rising up off of Krycek
completely to go take it off and toss it in the
bathroom waste basket.

On his way out, he caught his own reflection.  He
caught and held his own eyes.  Clear, green-brown,
sparkling eyes.  Mulder let those eyes travel over the
rest of his face, blushed to high color from the
exertion of fucking Krycek.  He swallowed and trailed
his eyes down his neck and chest, shiny with not-yet-
dry sweat.  When was the last time he'd been sweaty
from sex?  God, was it...Kristen?  He realized he could
hardly remember even being with her.  And his face had
not looked like it did now.  Certainly not his eyes.
He'd been pale and sallow and exhausted after that,
only wishing never to see her face again, never wishing
to have to see Scully's face behind his eyes as he
tried to fuck away the pain of her loss.

Not only was this not anything like that.  This was
like nothing he'd ever felt before.  He looked...great.
He chuffed a modest laugh at himself and wiped the
beads of sweat from his brow.  He looked
great...because he felt great.  Fucking Alex Krycek had
made him feel like he was a goddamned god.

Mulder wiped his hand over his whole face before he
could let himself smile.  Then he turned out the light
and walked back into the bedroom.
Krycek...Alex...still lay on his stomach, probably in a
small puddle of his own cum.  Mulder's nose wrinkled
involuntarily.

"Why don't you shower and I'll change those sheets,"
Mulder said into the otherworldly quiet and Krycek
jumped and lifted his head.  Then he nodded and crawled
gracefully off the bed.  Mulder watched, his eyes
savoring every ripple of tired muscle, as Krycek stood
and began to walk out without looking at Mulder.

Mulder reached out when he was almost past, stopping
him with a hand across his upper abdominals, standing
side by side.  He felt the other man's breath
shuddering out of him and he watched his face in
profile.

"Don't be long," he said softly, and then he left
Krycek to stand in the middle of the bedroom or go
shower as he would and started to strip the bed.  When
he turned around to toss the extremely soiled sheet in
the hamper, Krycek was gone and shortly Mulder heard
the water turn on.

He resurrected some only slightly dusty forest green
cotton sheets from the seldom visited linen closet and
put on a new fitted and loose sheet.  Once that was
done, however, he found he wasn't all together certain
of how to proceed.  Stay naked, lie in the bed, and
proposition Krycek for seconds upon his return?  Put on
clothes and fix food?  His stomach rumbled at that one,
but he settled his hands on his hips and looked at the
newly made, previously debauched bed in thought.  Maybe
they really ought to...talk.

It seemed like a more alien idea than actually having
sex with him had.  Mulder swallowed and decided a
combination of the second and third choices could be a
good thing.  And maybe the first could come later if
things went well, his lascivious brain supplied as an
after-thought.

Mulder got clean boxer briefs and sweats for himself
and put them on, deciding that a few layers would
benefit the situation considerably and guard against
steering away from the plan to put off a discussion
with more mind-warping sex.  He desperately needed an
unwarped mind, he knew, while at the same time he
actually feared being clear.  What if in the cold light
of day they both became what they had been before?
What if, instead of Krycek lying to him now, he was
just lying to himself?  There was really only one way
to know.

He was on his way out when the thought occurred to him
that he might not actually be capable of talking
coherently to a naked Krycek anymore.  He went back and
rummaged through his dresser drawers again, settling on
a pair of grey sweats and throwing them across the foot
of the bed.  He squelched the urge to straighten them
out and walked out into the living room, hand raking
through his hair, listening to the sound of Krycek's
shower.

He really didn't feel like making breakfast.  Didn't
want to eat anything he had in the apartment, nor
prolong the inevitable by pretending to slave over a
hot microwave with two frostbitten Swanson TV dinners
while his brain gave him a thousand and one reasons not
to talk...to just go back to the way things were and
hope it was enough.

No.  He couldn't do that.  The need to get some things
out on the table was like an itch he couldn't scratch
by himself.  It was just under his skin.  It couldn't
wait.  Not one more hour.

Mulder picked up the phone and dialed the number he'd
long since memorized for Flip's Twenty-Four Hour Pizza
Delivery and waited for the thickly accented answer.

"Ya."

"I'll take..."  Mulder stopped, realizing he didn't
know what kind of pizza Krycek liked, realizing on the
heels of that that he cared what kind of pizza Krycek
liked.  "Uh...two large.  One pepperoni and uh..."  He
gestured to the room in indecision, holding his breath.
"Pineapple," he finally said, rolling his eyes at the
strange choice, but sticking with it.

"An' th'other,"  the man prompted shortly.

"Extra cheese," he said, feeling his stomach lurch in
hungry agony at the thought.

He finished the call and hung up, realizing he wasn't
listening to water anymore.  His pulse quickened and he
tried not to breathe too loud.  He sat on the edge of
the couch, hands clasped to keep himself from pacing
the floor like a maniac.  It felt like no time before
Krycek emerged.  Still damp.  Still very naked.  He
spotted Mulder right away and stopped, blinking.
Mulder swallowed, letting his eyes travel the
beautiful, long, pale body in front of him for a moment
and wanting to say to hell with telling him he could
wear clothes, but then he looked back at the other
man's face...saw the escalating uncertainty there, and
felt slightly chagrined.

"There're sweats on the bed."  Mulder tore his eyes
away and looked down at the floor, suddenly nervous,
his stomach turning with something other than hunger.
"Put 'em on."

He heard Krycek's quiet footsteps and waited for him to
dress.  He came back out moments later and Mulder
motioned that he wanted him to sit on the couch as
well.  Krycek hesitated, but then sat on the edge, like
Mulder, and rested his hands seemingly casually in his
lap.

Mulder sat back, pulling one leg up and resting his arm
along the back of the couch.  It felt better to face
him, to not cheat with sideways glances, but to give
him his full attention unguardedly, a silent statement
that this was really something.  He wasn't going to be
made to eat off the floor or stand naked for Mulder's
ocular pleasure.  This was nothing of the same and
everything that was different.

"Alex," Mulder started, feeling the strange name roll
off his tongue with a self-consciousness doubly thick
and obvious than while they were in bed.

Krycek turned his head.  His lips were parted, but he
didn't look relaxed.  He just waited for Mulder to
continue or to prompt *him* to speak.

Mulder swallowed around the lump of nervous energy
clotting his throat and spoke softly, forcing himself
to look into Krycek's shifting gaze.  "Did I hurt you?"

With what he guessed from Krycek's expression were
unexpected words, Krycek's eyes blinked up to his and
they stared at one another for a moment that seemed
more like an eon.  Then Krycek's lips turned up slowly
and he dropped his eyes.  He shook his head and looked
back up at Mulder, his eyes clearer now.  "No," was all
he said.

Mulder shifted slowly on the couch, almost afraid that
a quick movement would scare him away like a bird.
"Good," he murmured, feeling his heart pound and
feeling sure that Krycek would be able to see it if he
looked down.  He held his next thought for a moment,
fearing the lack of some kind of script or guidelines,
but pushing ahead anyway.  "Did they...hurt you?" he
asked pointedly, dropping his chin slightly.

It was Krycek's turn to swallow.  "You want to know if
they..."

"If they...*hurt* you."  Mulder's voice had gone
rougher, and he waited impatiently for whatever answer
the man next to him had to give, cursing his lack of
ability to just say it.

"You want to know if they raped me,"  Krycek stated
matter-of-factly, in that gravelly tone that Mulder
used to hate but now...

He took a breath, but before he could clarify or
affirm, Krycek spoke up again.

"*They* didn't."  He dropped his own chin, searching
Mulder's eyes now, trying to see, Mulder guessed, if he
was understanding who They were.  He was.  He closed
his eyes once in acknowledgement.  Krycek scooted back
into the couch a little farther and continued.  "But I
was...rented."  His voice held somehow a tinge both of
bitterness and amusement.  Mulder's stomach flipped
again and he wanted to close his eyes to hear the rest,
but felt like he owed Krycek that much...his open eyes.

Krycek went on.  "Twice I was sent out.  The
first...wasn't so bad."  He suddenly looked up at
Mulder with widened eyes, looking like maybe he thought
he'd over-stepped the bounds and was telling Mulder
more than he wanted to know and in too casual a tone
for a boy.

Mulder winced slightly.  "Go on, Alex."

"Well,"  he spoke again. "They were more
into...watching me.  It was kind of easy really, I just
thought of..."  He broke off once again, eyes darting
to Mulder's, full of worry that he was saying too much.
Mulder could have kicked him for not finishing, but
then chided himself for being overly curious about
something so disturbing that had happened to his once
worst enemy.

"And the second?"  Mulder asked, already knowing he
didn't really want to know.

"The second..."  Krycek started, face and body relaxing
a little once again.  He peeked up at Mulder underneath
long, thick lashes once and then continued talking to
the middle of the living room floor.  "They hurt me,"
he stated simply, and Mulder looked away, nodding once,
wanting at once for Krycek to spill all the details
just so the random, horrible images *he* was thinking
of would cease, but also dreading the continuation of
his story in case what had actually happened
was...Jesus, *worse*.  And God, Mulder had fucked his
ass like he was doing him a *favor*.  He felt sick.

"I should have known...guessed," he said to Krycek, not
looking at him.  "I shouldn't have...  I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"  Krycek whispered.

Mulder suddenly hated that he'd started this.  He
didn't want to talk anymore.  Didn't want to know what
he'd done.  Didn't want to feel bad.

"Mulder..."  Krycek began and stopped, probably at the
crest-fallen look Mulder was now wearing.  "May I...?"

Mulder nodded slowly.  Why not let Krycek talk for a
bit.  He certainly deserved some time to vent whatever
he'd been dutifully holding in all these many days.
What had he been?...kicked, punched, slapped,
humiliated, accused, chained up, abused in multiple
ways.  Oh and raped.

Krycek took a breath and Mulder waited for the
inevitable.

"You're not like any Master I've ever had," he said
cautiously.

Master.  Holy...  Krycek had called him...thought of
him as...  Mulder felt the shock of intense desire stir
up his insides.  Jesus.  He'd called him *Master*.
Mulder's head reeled and his body pulsed with the power
of it.  Had he felt this way all along?  Had he never
been rebellious, even silently?  Had he always been
ready to drop to his knees for Mulder?  When they were
partners...?

"Mulder?" Krycek asked tentatively and Mulder shook
himself out of the aroused stupor he'd been in,
blushing slightly and hoping Krycek couldn't read
minds.  He mulled over the actual statement.  Not like
any other Master.  Essentially, it told him nothing,
other than that he was different.  But better or worse
he did not know.  Krycek went on.

"You're...not what I expected."

Well, that was certainly better, Mulder thought sourly.
"What.  Did you expect," he intoned, suddenly almost
too worn out to talk.

Krycek chuffed an amazed and bemused laugh, nothing
like last night, and it made Mulder look up.  "Mulder,"
Krycek said in a halting whisper.  "I expected you to
kill me."

Mulder kept his face mostly impassive, trying to stop
his careening brain first before reacting to that
revelation.  He couldn't begin to comprehend all the
misassumptions he'd probably made about this man and
what had really been between them since the Brit had
made him his boy.  He had gotten so far as to wish he
had a beer in front of him.  Or two or six.  When
Krycek spoke once more and his next words floored
Mulder even more.

"But instead you were kind."

Mulder's eyes widened and the word was out of its own
accord.  "Kind?!"

Krycek's pretty perfect lips were graced with a small,
impish smile and he answered, "Well, first you hit me
some."

It was Mulder's turn to laugh humorlessly.  He could
*joke* about that?  Who the hell was he anyway, Mulder
found himself thinking, mouth now hanging open rather
mindlessly.  He closed it and swallowed.

"When you think you're gonna die," Krycek elaborated,
looking down at his hands now.  "A few punches and
being chained to a radiator aren't so bad."

Mulder stared at him.  "What did they *do* to you,
Krycek?" he asked in a strange, rather awed whisper
before he even knew what he was going to say.

Krycek looked back up at him again.  "They didn't
bandage my cuts."  Mulder dropped his eyes, unable to
look at the man across from him for some reason now.
"They didn't feed me scrambled eggs and coffee, or give
me the dignity of showering or taking a piss by
myself."

He paused and Mulder shook his head in disbelief.  He
couldn't reconcile what he was hearing.  Was he
actually saying he was grateful??

"They didn't go out late at night, out of their way, to
a pricey sex shop halfway across town to buy me a
beautiful steel collar so that my wrists wouldn't chafe
anymore," he finished, weighting the words with emotion
and meaning.  Mulder raised his eyes to Krycek's then.
The words echoed through his blood, filling his body,
and the guilt and feeling of excitement bubbling up
inside him warred within his tightening chest.  And he
wanted to do something in that moment that he hadn't
even considered doing up to that point.  He wanted to
kiss Krycek.

He actually felt his lips parting and his breath
trembling out of him in agonizing readiness for it when
the now loquacious Alex Krycek decided to keep talking.

"Shit, may I call you Mulder?" he asked suddenly, and
Mulder had to shake himself out of a fantasy where he
was taking Krycek into his arms and kissing him blind
for half an hour.

"Yes," he said shortly, flashing on the sex they'd just
had and how many times and how loudly he'd said,
whined, moaned, and shouted his name.  His cock
responded quite well to the memory and he swallowed,
looking down.  He realized that for this Krycek to call
him that anytime felt...beautiful.  He wanted to hear
his name in that voice all the damned time.  "Yeah," he
corrected, attempting a more casual, less I-was-about-
to-dramatically-kiss-you-in-the-heat-of-the-moment-
before-you-interrupted-me tone.  In his now more clear-
headed state, Mulder realized that in Krycek's list of
kindnesses and his other shorter list of cruelties, he
still had not mentioned the sex.  Mulder needed to know
in what category that fell.  It meant everything
suddenly.

"Kruh," he started and stopped himself.  How much
easier it was to know him as that.  To make him be that
just by naming him so.  "Alex," he corrected and
watched the other man swallow thickly.  "You said I
didn't hurt you."

Alex nodded, looking too deeply into Mulder's eyes for
it to be anything remotely comfortable.  Mulder opened
his mouth to say something but didn't know how to make
it sound like he wasn't either fishing for sexual
compliments or asking his boy's permission to fuck his
brains out again.

"The hard part has not been what you think, Mulder,"
Krycek said, saving him, and Mulder practically held
his breath.  "It wasn't pain or your rage at me...  It
was...not knowing if you were ever going to want...to
do that to me," he finished, suddenly sounding out of
breath and nervous.

Mulder's breath caught in his throat.  There was a
long, heavy silence when they seemed to not be able to
do anything but stare at one another.  Then Mulder
moved in and went to place his hand on Krycek's thigh.
There was a knock at the door and before Mulder could
do or say anything, Alex had jumped up off the couch
and was facing the door, his hand making a grab for the
invisible gun at his side.

"I ordered pizza,"  Mulder said quickly and urgently,
trying to calm the suddenly tightly strung man, the
hand that had been reaching for him now held out as if
to stop him if he decided to take the pizza boy out.
"Alex, it's okay," he added when the other man didn't
change his charged stance or relax in the slightest.

"What are you gonna do, take off your sweatpants and
strangle him?" Mulder asked sardonically, but with a
soft smile on his face to let Alex know the tease was
just that.

Alex looked at him, and for a long moment it wasn't
Alex.  It was Krycek, and he looked like he just
*might* do that.

Mulder reached out and touched the elbow of the arm
that was still frozen mid-reach for his gun.  "Alex.
It's okay."

Alex blinked and then relaxed with a sigh.  "Sorry," he
rasped and Mulder smiled.

"It's all right," he said.  And to make him feel
better, he answered the door with his Sig tucked
securely at his back.

.............

It was dark.  Both pizzas were gone.  All light had
faded from the room except for the flash of the
television.  Mulder and Alex sat on the couch as Mulder
flipped stations.  He'd recently showered and was
feeling and looking much cleaner, his hair still
slightly damp from the incredibly brief towel dry he'd
given it.

He was slightly ashamed now, but he'd been in a hurry
to come out and see if Alex was still there or if he'd
be gone.  With his hand on the doorknob he'd felt the
black tendrils of panic that had paralyzed him just
twenty-four hours before.

And then he'd made himself open it.  And he'd seen
Alex, almost exactly as he had left him, perched
lithely on the left side of the couch, finishing up the
last of the pepperoni/pineapple.  Mulder had sighed and
rejoined him, the awkward tension between them
lingering after their aborted conversation before the
pizza had arrived.

Mulder had not brought it up again.  Nor anything else
really.  They'd just been watching TV like they had
nothing better to do.

In a way it was nice.   To have Alex next to him,
eating, drinking, asking to be excused to use the
bathroom....  Someone to share his space with him, his
warmth and salty-sweet smell there to be enjoyed
silently, the spatters of meaningless conversation that
Mulder would initiate.  It felt good enough to outweigh
the unease hanging between them, a mute guest.

It felt good enough that Mulder didn't want to
interrupt it with questions about where they went from
here.  About the Brit and his proposal and the visit
they would receive in a couple weeks' time.  He wanted
to ignore it all.  Just for a few more hours at least.
He almost didn't want to interrupt the fragile calm
between them even by announcing that it was bedtime.
As good as it felt to have it confirmed from Alex's own
mouth that he wanted Mulder, Mulder still wasn't sure
how he was going to handle this next.  He didn't *want*
to order Alex into his bed.  He wanted something more.
Something they hadn't had yet.

He was about to just turn off the TV and go into the
bedroom and see if Alex happened to follow and leave it
at that when a sound startled him out of his worry.

It was a stifled giggle.  And it made Mulder forget
anything else.  He set the remote to the side and half-
watched the Southpark children doing something
appropriately inappropriate on the screen.  He didn't
have to wait long to hear it again.  This time a little
louder and a little harder to get under control.

Mulder turned slightly on the couch to look at Alex.
He was smiling behind his hand and his eyes flickered
with the images off the TV.  They flickered with
genuine amusement.  When had Mulder ever thought he'd
see anything genuine in this man?  He leaned his head
on his hand, unabashedly watching now, waiting for the
soft giggles to become the full throttled laugh he'd
experienced before.

And then there it was.  Filling the room, as Alex
tossed his head back and howled.  Mulder's eyes filled
inexplicably with tears and his too-fat bottom lip
trembled.  He got it under control just before a still-
laughing Alex turned to see him staring.

His laughter died down on one last chuckle as he took
in Mulder's appearance.  Mulder didn't speak.  As he
stared into Alex's eyes and the smile slowly faded from
his soft pink lips, Mulder scooted slowly in closer.
He reached out a hand and laid it against Alex's jaw.
Alex's eyes fluttered closed and when they opened, they
were hooded and his breathing was erratic.  Mulder
brushed his thumb over Alex's cheek, watching his lips
part before looking back up into his eyes...and moving
in closer.

Then he tilted his head...dropped his gaze once
more...and gently touched his lips to Alex's.  He held
the tender, chaste kiss for long moments, his heart
ready to explode from the excitement, his mind hardly
able to comprehend what his body was experiencing.  And
then the arousal mounted and he couldn't not moan and
part the lips under his, stroking his tongue into
Alex's mouth smoothly and tasting and taking and
groaning into his mouth and feeling Alex's tongue touch
tentatively to his.

Mulder wrapped his hand around the back of Alex's head
and tilted his own, kissing him more deeply, grunting
and devouring him.  It was beyond good.  Beyond
anything he could have hoped for if he'd allowed
himself to hope.

He broke the kiss, pulling away and licking his lips,
but he kept his lips close as he spoke the words that
now seemed so easy and right.

"Come to bed, boy."

He smiled against Alex's lips and the other man nodded
slightly, whimpering.  Mulder stood and pulled Alex up,
too.  He held his hand as he walked around the couch
and toward the doorway.  The TV flashed against their
skin as Mulder paused and looked back at Alex.  Then he
smiled, turned once more, and pulled him into the
bedroom behind him.

End

Author's end note:   There's a sequel planned, folks.
Hope you enjoyed it!  Thanks SO much for reading!
Feedback collared and chained lovingly to my radiator
at shannon@hegalplace.com!



### The End ###