From marita@geocities.com Mon Mar 17 00:56:24 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: The Hand We Were Dealt 1/11 (NC-17 slash) From: marita@geocities.com (Marita) Date: Mon, 17 Mar 1997 06:56:24 GMT -------- I did not write this. I am posting for the author. **************************************************************** Rated NC17: No minors allowed. Sexual content, explicit language. Slash. This is a sequel to "The Same Everywhere." (And thanks to those people who wrote me about that story; I hope you like this one. I had other things I was supposed to be writing, but Mulder and Alex refused to go home.) As usual, the characters belong to Ten Thirteen; everything else is (c) Jane Mortimer. This story was written for the sheer joy of creation and no other reason. Feedback may be sent to JaneMort@aol.com. The Hand We Were Dealt by Jane Mortimer Part 1 He had to stop. What was he going to do, keep retreating till he reached a wall? That would be embarrassing. Krycek pushed the door shut behind him. He kept moving in, and Mulder kept moving back. "You could offer me a chair, you know." "Have a chair," said Mulder, speaking automatically. "Somewhere else. The chairs in the National Gallery are very comfortable." Dammit, he'd fallen back far enough. He forced himself to stand still as Krycek moved into his personal space just enough to cause discomfort. It was unsettling. Not just the proximity, looking at that delicate face and seeing it totally differently now, remembering... He was =not= going to flush this time. Mulder took a few careful breaths and thought about snow and taxes. Krycek pulled off his gloves -- a nice leather pair, this time, and Mulder wondered if he'd bought them with the money the alien had given him from Mulder's account. "You're looking a little pale," Krycek commented. "Have you been getting out enough?" "Is there some reason you're here?" =And not the reason I keep picturing?= Krycek tossed the gloves onto the couch with the casual gesture of someone who expects to stay a while. "The alien left me something for you. You know," he said with beautifully false earnestness, "I think he was actually fond of us in his own way." Mulder waited. "I like to think so, anyway, considering how close we all were. I think my favorite episodes were the night and morning before the party broke up. You know, you fucking me, me fucking you -- " =Snow and taxes. Snow and taxes...= "I don't think about it much," Mulder said, managing quite successfully to sound as if he meant it. And really, he hadn't thought about it all that often. No more than two or three times an hour on days when he was particularly busy. "Really? I think about it a lot. My memories are a great comfort to me, Mulder." He was looking directly into Mulder's eyes as he said it, from less than two feet away, and Mulder ruthlessly forced himself to stand still and return the gaze coolly. "You said you had a reason for coming." =Coming.= Jesus, every innocent word he could think of was suddenly tainted. "That's right. Our alien friend left us both presents, for being such helpful native guides." That wicked smile, nastiness and delight in equal proportions. "As far as I can tell, I'm yours." The hell with this stand-your-ground crap. He'd step back further, but the sofa was behind him and that would only make the situation worse. =Breathe, Mulder, breathe.= "Yeah? What's =your= present?" Krycek leaned in, and Mulder closed his eyes before he realized he was doing it. But one hand tilted his head gently and the lips touched his ear. "Not... as... inherently... interesting," came the warm whisper. Mulder swallowed. "Aftershave?" he asked, hearing the tell- tale desperation in his tone. "Coffeemaker? Dipstick? I know, a list of the two or three people in America who don't want to kill you." He threw out the words like random shots, trying to think. For some reason the process was difficult. He was still holding the gun, but short of shooting Krycek -- and that didn't appear to be happening -- the damned thing didn't seem to be very useful. He could punch the man in the jaw, knee him in the groin... but while those actions might not be without appeal ordinarily, they seemed like a ridiculous over-reaction to this particular situation. He couldn't possibly hit someone because they were coming on to him; he'd feel like an idiot. Obviously what he needed to do was state his intentions. Firmly. "I want you to leave." Christ, that almost sounded like a plea. Pissed at himself, he added, "I =mean= it." There, that was somewhat better. "Sure, Mulder." Now Krycek was right up against him, the warmth of his body more than evident through two suits of clothes. He pulled up the front of Mulder's shirt roughly. "In a few minutes, if you still want me to." =Why you arrogant son of a -- = Hands moved up smoothly, along his chest, nipples, all the way to his shoulders. Krycek leaned forward, placed his mouth over a nipple, and sucked at it through the linen shirt. Before Mulder could react, he felt, beneath the linen, one long, glorious scratch of fingers from that nipple down to his waist, just the way Phoebe used to do it before she came. Twelve years disappeared in an instant and he groaned as his cock caught fire. He wished to god he =were= up against a wall; his knees were embarrassingly weak. He opened his eyes as he felt Krycek loosening his belt. His body, long trained to expect instant gratification after that last maneuver, refused to let him move. =I have to tell him to stop,= he thought. =No, you don't,= firmly replied whatever part of him that was in charge right now. =He might listen to you.= Krycek was glowing like a kid with a puppy on Christmas; in fact, he was humming under his breath as he pulled up the rest of Mulder's shirt. It took a minute for Mulder to place the tune. =We're gonna have fun, fun, fun, now that Daddy took the T-Bird away.= (The depth of Krycek's perverse nature had not hitherto been clear to him, but the juxtaposition of betrayal, seduction, and the Beach Boys was enough to make it crystal-sharp.) Krycek lifted Mulder's shirt and put his mouth against the other nipple, directly. He ran his tongue over it, then drew back with a satisfied sigh. "Jeez, Mulder, you and Cuervo Gold," he murmured. How were you supposed to take a remark like that? Krycek was unbuttoning his own shirt, still with that quiet, happy look, more appropriate to a choirboy at midnight Mass than an assassin who was apparently doing his best to seduce an innocent (well, comparatively) government agent. He hadn't taken off the jacket, though. Mulder had a soft spot for leather jackets; that's why he'd bought his own. But surely this was a level of detail the alien wouldn't have briefed Krycek on. Was it? =Face it, Mulder, for all you know, he's got the goddamned Fox Mulder Britannica stored in there now.= That was a scary thought. He hadn't fully grasped before how much scary thoughts turned him on. "All right, Mulder," Krycek breathed happily -- and a little frighteningly, too, when you looked at his eyes and knew who he was -- "everybody into the pool." And reached a hand around the back of Mulder's neck as though bracing him for a shock and covered Mulder's mouth with his own. Christ. He kissed the way the alien kissed, like the Allies taking Normandy Beach. Fighting back was not an option. He could feel his thoughts slowing down and sinking like hot air balloons. And maybe that pool metaphor had a point. When the kiss ended, at Krycek's option, Mulder's ears were ringing and he was breathing as though he'd just come up too fast from deep water. He could feel Krycek's lips moving over his throat and the base of his neck, and though Mulder was still determined on a course of denial, he was fairly certain the evening was totally out of control. His denial, in fact, was taking on more and more the flavor of a legal fiction, like the United Nations refusing to recognize some government it would rather not believe in. That buzzing in his ears didn't seem to be going away, and he rather doubted it would while Krycek was still holding him, skin against skin. But despite the fact that every part of his body was apparently voting against him, and even though he didn't seem capable of moving away, he did not return the embrace. Krycek's hands slid slowly down from his shoulders, over his arms, the fabric of his shirt, to his wrists; and Mulder remembered abruptly that he was still holding his weapon. Krycek's hand covered his, and moved to take the gun. Mulder's grip tightened. Krycek drew back slightly, watching him; the mocking expression was totally gone now, as was that light of scary happiness, and Mulder was unaware of how torn and miserable his own face looked. Krycek kept his hand where it was, but made no more effort to increase the pressure. Instead he leaned forward and kissed Mulder on the lips, this time gently and seriously, and followed it up by doing the same on his left cheek, his throat, and the base of his neck. Each kiss was freighted with the information that Mulder was some infinitely precious and fragile object. Then Krycek drew back again and, not taking his eyes from Mulder's face, tugged on the gun. Mulder become aware that he had released his grip, and Krycek was very carefully putting the safety on and laying it on the table. He took Mulder's hand, still looking unnaturally solemn, and pulled him toward the hall. "This way?" "Yes." At least the alien hadn't given him a schematic of the apartment, Mulder thought. =Unless he's just pretending he doesn't know.= Despite his present confusion, Mulder knew perfectly well that he'd just surrendered his weapon to Krycek, and that that fact would frighten him very much later on. Meanwhile he let himself be led toward the bedroom, at the image of which his thoughts seemed to pile up on a dead-end street, like a line of cars that had no clue where to go. All right. Barefoot and dreamlike. Down the hall and down the rabbit-hole, or the bedroom, as the case may be. It was darker in here, with only the strong glow of the streetlight coming through the blinds. You could still see everything in the room, still see Krycek's face and your own hand. The bed was covered with books, folders, and stray papers. Krycek tossed a swathe of them onto the floor while Mulder watched, too far into an unprecedented situation to know what to do. His brain seemed to have locked up. Throw Krycek out? No, and he hadn't been able to manage that in the relative safety of the living room, anyway. Cooperate? Not ready. Say something? What, in god's name? ="Being that I flow in grief, the smallest twine may lead me."= The benefits of an Oxford education -- you could always find a quote to describe how screwed up you were. He was flowing in =something,= and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what. The end result was this complete inability to act, since when he tried to think what action to take, there was only a huge, gaping hole with the wind blowing through. And it was all so unreal. Now Krycek was standing behind him, pulling the jacket from his shoulders, peeling it off his arms. Onto the floor, after the books. Krycek's arms circled Mulder's chest, undoing the empty holster. And Krycek's voice was a soothing murmur in his ear. "It's all right, Mulder, it's just sex. It doesn't mean anything. No one's ever going to know..." The tone brought back memories of how as a boy he'd watched a man on a horse farm soothe down a nervous mount. Mulder would have taken this as an insult, or just plain funny, except at the moment he sympathized with that horse. His shirt joined the pile. His belt was already loose; it slid off easily, his pants came down, and he sat on the bed, trying to figure out how he'd gotten into this situation. He kicked the pants away -- if he wasn't going to put them on, he wasn't going to leave them around his ankles -- and watched Krycek pull off his jeans and briefs and toss the leather jacket on top of them. He looked kind of good, Mulder thought, wearing nothing but an open shirt. Mulder replayed that thought, considering it as evidence, examining it the way he might look at the behavior of a murder suspect. Apparently he was going to have sex with Alex Krycek. He might as well face it. Through the static in his head, he tried to get hold of this fifth-dimensional concept. Why did things like this happen to him? He could chase after normal, sane, straight women for weeks and months, and they'd ignore him; where perverts of all sorts were drawn to him as though they were the vacuum cleaner and he was a dustball. Alien bodysnatchers, mysterious killers without a past, sadists with nice legs and upmarket accents. How did they find him? Was there some invisible sign outside his apartment that only they could read? What was the universal symbol for "For a good time, seduce and torture Fox Mulder"? Krycek joined him on the bed. Well, he was tired of being the seducee. The hell with it. It wasn't as though the balloon hadn't entirely cut loose from its moorings already. He took a deep breath and, feeling as though he were committing himself to a life of crime, he reached out, pulled Krycek's head forward, and kissed him. He could feel the chuckle deep in Krycek's chest. "Good for you, Mulder." "Shut up," he growled, and pushed the other man down on the mattress. Shirt open, eyes gleaming in the shadows, lips ever so faintly bruised, the thorn in Mulder's existence was looking remarkably vulnerable suddenly. He gazed at the riches beneath him and for a second he hesitated. "Why, Mulder," murmured the voice mockingly, "you're so forceful -- " So much for hesitation. He was on top of Krycek before he knew what he was doing. # =A miracle of rare device.= That was one of Alex's favorite poems. This was almost unbelievably good fortune. He'd been hoping he could coax Mulder into taking a more active role tonight, but he'd thought it would require a lot more time and effort. Mulder's lips and tongue were all over him; he seemed to have mistaken Alex for a popsicle. His skin was starting to tingle with a lovely erotic burn from all this attention. Then Mulder reached his right nipple, where he decided to linger a while. He tongued the nipple, then flicked it with his fingers; tongued and flicked. He was a very sick boy, but Alex approved of that. And his apparent oral fixation was greatly to the benefit of his bedpartners. Krycek had once seen Mulder spend fifteen minutes spitting sunflower seeds into a glass five feet away while watching a surveillance videotape; he was now prepared to look on the whole episode a lot more tolerantly. He ran a hand through Mulder's hair while Mulder continued to give him his complete attention. Though his mouth stayed where it was, his left hand traveled down, sliding over Alex's skin as it went, in the somehow satisfied way you might slide it over smooth silk or a woman's hair. =You fucking hedonist,= Alex thought, delighted at this side of his gorgeously neurotic ex-partner. =I'm so glad nobody told me to kill you.= Down, down... Mulder reached the groin area and hesitated half a second; then his fingers brushed Alex's cock, with a delicate, exploratory touch, as though he were dealing with an alien artifact. Alex felt a sizzle of burning wire go through him, following those fingers. He heard himself moan. Mulder wasn't letting up on that little trick with the nipples, either; well, he was an obsessive, anything worth doing was worth doing well. Probably his family would have shot him if he didn't bring home all A's. Alex shifted as the grip of the fingers changed. Ahh, good. Well, in fact, glorious, but that wasn't the long-term reason for pushing Mulder into the deep end. If they were going to work together, they needed to bleed off a little of that smoldering hostility Mulder still had to be nursing, and there was nothing like fucking somebody to put you in a good humor toward them. And if Mulder wasn't working up to exactly that, Alex was ready to turn in his fake passport and get a job in McDonald's. =That's right, Mulder. Treat it as if it were your own. Feel free... = It was amazing how confident that hand had gotten in the last couple of minutes. Well, probably the evidence of his success could speak for itself. "Turn over," Mulder said. His voice was hoarse. "I beg your pardon?" Damn, that was a little shakier than he'd planned. But maybe that was to the good. "You heard me." =Yes, *sir*,= Alex thought, grinning into the pillow as he turned. ...Not to mention, there would be no way Mulder would be able to convince himself tomorrow that he hadn't participated whole- heartedly in this little episode. He felt hands running smoothly up his arms, over his shoulders, the small of his back, his ass... Christ, the hands were so careful, so gentle, it felt as if Mulder were using them to look at his body for the first time. Alex's throat felt suddenly dry. He hadn't expected -- Then there was the touch of lips on his neck. A tongue tracing behind his ear. And then, nothing. A protesting sound came involuntarily to his throat and he twisted his neck around. Mulder was sitting up, one hand on Alex's ass, looking thoughtful. "What?" Alex asked. =Oh.= "I came prepared. In my jacket." Mulder got off the bed and retrieved the jacket from the floor. He felt around in the pockets. "Condoms," he said. "What were you expecting? I don't carry KY around our nation's capital in my pockets, for those sudden sexual emergencies." Mulder gave him a look that, even reading sideways, told him that nobody likes a smartass. =Coming from you, Mulder, that idea lacks a certain authority.= "If I'm too annoying," Alex said, "I can leave." "I'll kill you," Mulder responded immediately, and apparently without thinking, because he looked startled at having said it. This time Krycek kept his grin internal. Possession by an alien was nothing in return for this; he'd gotten access to Mulder's buttons at bargain prices. And pushing them was pure, uncut delight; like hang-gliding, like jumping a motorcycle over a parked car, like the moment when you knew you were finally going to hit somebody before they hit you. "I hope you have some lube," he said innocently. "It would be too bad if we had to forfeit the game on account of bad weather." Mulder gave him a harsh look, the kind of look he gave high- ranking people who told him UFOs were weather balloons and he should stay out of classified areas. He turned and strode toward the bathroom. =Thank you,= Alex thought toward the ceiling. =I don't know who or where the hell you are now, but we are definitely more than even.= From marita@geocities.com Mon Mar 17 00:59:27 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: The Hand We Were Dealt 2/11 (NC-17 slash) From: marita@geocities.com (Marita) Date: Mon, 17 Mar 1997 06:59:27 GMT -------- I did not write this. I am posting for the author. *********************************************************** Rated NC17: No minors allowed. Sexual content, explicit language. Slash. This is a sequel to "The Same Everywhere." As usual, the characters belong to Ten Thirteen; everything else is (c) Jane Mortimer. Feedback may be sent to JaneMort@aol.com. The Hand We Were Dealt By Jane Mortimer Part 2 He heard Mulder moving things around in the bathroom impatiently, the clink of bottles and the sound of a drawer opening and closing. A few seconds later he returned, carrying a tube of something. At this point Alex didn't care if it was toothpaste, as long as his delightfully corruptible lover got back to where he'd left off. Mulder sat down on the edge of the bed, and Alex heard a condom package rip open. There was some shifting around on the mattress, then a curse. "Fuck," Mulder said. Alex put down his head and smiled into the pillow. Then he lifted it and inquired calmly, "Mulder?" "Tore it. Wait a second. I'm getting another." God, he hadn't had this much fun in months. Maybe years. Apparently Fox Mulder was absolutely determined on this course of action: fucking Alex Krycek was his current project, and nothing was going to stand in the way. All that beautiful focus, centered on his ass. What he wouldn't give for videotape... Then a slippery finger entered him, and he let that thought dissolve. =Ah.= He felt his back arch the way it always did, as the wire of pleasure burned through him. From the grip of the hand on his buttocks, Mulder liked that response. =No problem, Mulder. Happy to respond. Do it again.= And Mulder did. Alex gulped, as the fire leaped to the sparks in his cock and balls. After a minute or two of exploration, he was thoroughly lubed and his breath was coming out in pants. The fingers withdrew. He felt the tip of Mulder's cock and closed his eyes. And waited. And waited some more. That tantalizing touch removed itself. Goddamn it, he was ready now! More than ready. No, this was no way to get into Fox Mulder's still-relatively- virginal head and pants. He let out his breath and made sure his voice showed no impatience. "Is anything wrong?" There was a pause. "I, um... I've never done this before." "You were there when our favorite Martian and I did it. Don't worry, Mulder, you're not going to hurt me." This was ironic, wasn't it? Mulder would have been glad to hurt him any number of times, but put it in a sexual context and all his reflexes went the other way. Mulder shifted on the bed. Alex felt hands rest briefly on his cheeks, felt Mulder positioning himself. And again, nothing. He twisted around and reconnoitered the territory in question. Mulder was still hard, but he was going to lose it if he kept worrying. Alex looked up into his face then, and met a shamefaced glance. =All right, Mulder. Let's see a little more of that *focus* you're so good at.= Alex pulled himself out from under him, knelt up, and placed his hands on either side of Mulder's face. He kissed him for a long time. When he drew back he could see that that beautiful otherworldly look had returned to Mulder's eyes. Alex lay back down and gave him what he knew was his most irritating smile -- and it was, he had been assured, =extremely= irritating. "Come on, Mulder. When's the last time you thought I was fragile? Was it the last time you thought I was an FBI agent?" He reached up and stroked the side of Mulder's head with terrible gentleness. "Put me in my place." Then rough hands were turning him over, and he was laughing. And, soon after, gasping. And sobbing. And gripping the sheets in his hands. =Points to both teams,= he thought, as his nervous system went into flatline, and he wondered how receptive Mulder would be feeling in the morning. Then he stopped thinking about it. # There was a soft touch at his throat. Mulder woke to find the room full of sunlight, and Alex Krycek's face about six inches from his own. =Jesus, you were out of your mind last night. What the hell were you *thinking?*= "What time is-- " Alex shut him up by kissing him. It was a brief touch of the lips, but there was something in his eyes that made Mulder swallow hard. "What time--" Another kiss, deeper. When Alex drew back, Mulder took a breath and said, "I only want to know what -- " This kiss made his head buzz. There was a finger on his lips when it ended, telling him not to talk. Krycek said, "I don't want to hear about the fucking clock, Mulder." Mulder was vaguely aware that sanity had been left behind some time ago, but that didn't mean he needed to be given orders from a liar and murderer. "Some of us have actual lawful employment -- " "Some of us don't. And we're on my schedule." =The hell we are.= Mulder was about to say something he hoped he'd regret, when Krycek rolled on top of him. He felt lips trace a route over his neck and teeth tug at his earlobe. A soft, soft voice spoke directly into his ear. "Let's get this straight, Mulder. If I hear you going for your watch one more time, I'm going to turn you over and fuck your brains out." There was a lengthy silence, during which Mulder became remarkably aware of Krycek's cock touching his. It was like having an electric heater strapped to his groin. "So," he said finally, "what time did you say it was?" He felt Alex's chuckle against his chest, and then suddenly they were in a tangle of bedcovers. "I might have known," Krycek said, "from your shocking aggressiveness last night -- " "=My= aggressive-- " "Mulder?" Scully's voice. "Are you all -- " The door swung open. They froze. Scully was standing on the threshold, all scrubbed and businesslike in her beige pantsuit, looking horrified. Mulder realized that Alex's head was under the covers. Thankgodthankgodthankgod. He grabbed a corner of the sheet and covered the arm that was sticking out. Scully was already backing away. "I'm sorry! God, I -- I'm so sorry. I didn't -- Mulder, I knocked, but there was no answer, and I thought -- " She shook her head, and the fact that the door was still open seemed to penetrate her embarrassment. She shut it hastily. "I'll be in the living room!" her voice called from the hall. Unlike Scully's, Mulder's daze had not yet passed. She was supposed to pick him up early this morning so they could drive to Baltimore. How could it have slipped his mind? =You know damn well how it slipped your mind,= he thought, and became aware that Alex's foot was sticking out of the bottom of the sheet. =Don't panic. Scully will think your girlfriend has big feet, and she'll be too polite to comment on it.= There was some kind of sound emerging from under the covers. Mulder lifted the sheet. Alex was lying on his back. Laughing hysterically. Hysterically enough that the heaves of merriment were those fairly silent ones that make the whole body shake, but even as he watched in horror, Mulder could hear them getting louder. "Stop it!" Mulder hissed in his ear. His order -- all right, plea -- had no effect whatsoever. Krycek continued to shake with gales of laughter. The humor of the situation was lost on Mulder, and if he hadn't left his gun in the living room last night, he'd have the barrel against the man's skull right now. It wasn't enough that his sex life was out of control, now he had to lie here and watch the rest of it disintegrate to the sound of, god help us, giggles. Were cold- blooded assassins supposed to giggle like this? Couldn't he even stay in character? "Alex, stop it. Dammit, stop. She's going to hear you." He might as well have been talking to himself. "Alex, please! Please stop." Mulder could face being shot at by spree killers with equanimity, but in a situation as dire as this he was not above begging. He could just picture explaining it all to his dauntingly sane partner: "Scully, I've been sleeping with a dangerous killer. All right, a dangerous =male= killer. But I wouldn't want you to draw any conclusions from this fact as to my sexual preferences, or my state of mind." Oh, definitely, she would accept that. And then he could add, "By the way, Scully, I may not have mentioned =which= dangerous killer this is..." Mulder clapped a hand over Krycek's mouth. "=Please.=" The laughter continued exploding beneath his hand. "Alex? Come on, stop. I'll owe you one." He rolled over on top of Krycek, keeping his hand in place, and dropped kisses on his chest and neck. "Please. Please. Please." Then he looked down into his face. "See? You've got me where you want me. If I were you, I'd take advantage of the fact." The laughter had been draining away with each kiss, and now it was totally gone. He could feel the other's cock pressing into him. Mulder had noticed before that Krycek's humor and sexual impulses seemed to run on entirely different circuits; you could trigger one or the other, but not both at the same time. The voice came soft and thoughtful, sending a shiver down his spine: "You'd owe me one, would you?" "Yeah." Mulder caught his breath. Krycek's eyes were only a few inches away from his; they'd darkened, and there was a kind of intimate, appraising gleam there that made Mulder want to drop right down into those eyes and suggest that this offer should perhaps be taken advantage of here and now. He pulled himself together and added quickly, "If you stay in here and don't let her see or hear you." A second later his own words sunk in, and he rolled back onto the mattress as though avoiding a live grenade. Scully was in the next room, for godsake! What was he thinking? Jesus. Apparently close physical contact with Alex Krycek could burn right through your higher brain centers. =Just say no.= God, that really had been a dumb ad campaign, hadn't it, he thought savagely as he pulled on his jeans. He crossed the room as he did so, imagining the wheels in Dana Scully's head turning at lightspeed every second he kept her waiting. He reached for the doorknob. "Mulder." "What?" He turned. "I think you want to zip up." Mulder looked down and felt himself flush. "Oh. Yeah." He zipped, turned back to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it. =Pronouns,= he told himself, as he walked through. =*Her.* She, she, she. Got to remember that... = # "Mulder, I'm really sorry." She stood up as soon as she saw him, clearly still a little distressed. "I know I have no right to barge into your bedroom like that, but you didn't answer the door, and you didn't seem to hear me, and I couldn't help thinking, you know, maybe he's lying unconscious on the floor or something, and -- " "Scully, it's all right." He thanked god that she seemed more embarrassed than he was. "No harm done. I'm sorry I wasn't ready. I... lost track of the time." She didn't respond to that; he supposed his distraction had been pretty obvious. After a second she said, "Did I upset your friend?" "No," (she, she, she) "she took it in stride." Another silence, during which Mulder had time to reflect that Scully had never seen (1) him with a woman, or (2) any other human being invited into this apartment with him; and that this unnatural occurrence seemed to cry out to be explained to a close friend. Although she was too polite to ask. "It's, um, someone I met in North Dakota. Her name's Mary Ann." =Mary Ann. That was an innocent name. You could not imagine anything bad of a Mary Ann. Now all he needed was Gilligan and the Skipper...= "That North Dakota thing? I guess it wasn't a total disappointment after all, then." "No," he said, feeling as though he were running uphill. Lying to Scully took an enormous amount of energy from him; it was several whole octaves harder than lying to people in general, who after all were only there to present him with obstacles. "She was a... waitress, at the local restaurant." Scully nodded, her face totally nonjudgmental. She specialized in that. For a second a complete profile swam into Mulder's mind out of whole cloth: Age 30, one child, applying to grad school as soon as the kid was older, living with her mother in the same town to save on expenses, child's name was Erin, three years old. He could picture her house, a run-down Victorian. Sometimes Mulder's mind made him nervous. =It's only sex. Everybody lies about sex.= "I, er, suppose I'd better get dressed." It occurred to him that if Alex strolled out now, his life with Scully wouldn't be worth a plugged nickel. He hoped to god that Krycek was every bit as manipulative as he seemed to be, and that he'd enjoy Mulder owing him a favor too much to inflict the hit-and-run. "Mulder, would you like me to wait out in the car?" =Yes.= "Uh, would you? I know it's really rude, but Mary Ann's kind of shy, and I should talk to her before we go -- " "No problem, I don't mind. Please tell her I'm sorry." Scully paused, and then picked up a sheet of paper from the couch. She handed it to him. "This was stuck to your door." A menu from Gold Mountain Szechuan. Shit, the kid with the Chinese food had shown up after all; probably at one of those moments when Mulder had been several fathoms under water. Krycek might have mentioned it, damn him. Mulder was going to have a lot of apologizing to do today, it seemed. He saw Scully out and returned to the bedroom. "She's gone," he said. "But you can't leave till after we do; she's out in the car." Jesus, he couldn't believe this, he was fucking =conspiring= with Alex Krycek to keep Scully in the dark. Nor did the irony of the situation seemed to have escaped his visitor, who was lounging on the bed, looking amused. "Anything to oblige, Mulder. I'll check out what's in your refrigerator and run through a few videotapes before I go." Mulder controlled the impulse to glare, which he knew would only amuse Krycek further. Mulder hated the idea of leaving the man in his personal territory, but logically, there was nothing he could do about it. Besides, people seemed to make free of his apartment all the time; the locks were practically a formality. Krycek could probably walk in and out whenever he pleased anyway. "Try =Jolly Rogering II=," he said coolly. "You'll be impressed by the cimematography." "If it makes you happy, Mulder," Krycek offered, looking him straight in the eyes, "it makes me happy." =Shit.= Mulder stubbed a toe as he tried to pull on his good trousers, and had to hobble into the bathroom. # From marita@geocities.com Mon Mar 17 01:00:16 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: The Hand We Were Dealt 3/11 (NC-17 slash) From: marita@geocities.com (Marita) Date: Mon, 17 Mar 1997 07:00:16 GMT -------- Rated NC17: No minors allowed. Sexual content, explicit language. Slash. This is a sequel to "The Same Everywhere." As usual, the characters belong to Ten Thirteen; everything else is (c) Jane Mortimer. Feedback may be sent to JaneMort@aol.com. The Hand We Were Dealt by Jane Mortimer Part 3 He turned the rental car off the beltway and made his way toward the center of town, running his tires through the puddles from last night's rain with childlike enjoyment. Alex had never seduced an FBI agent before. It certainly gave a cheery, upbeat mood to one's entire day; he could recommend it to others. When he'd shown up on Mulder's doorstep last evening, he'd wanted to see if he could get that body again -- the challenge was irresistible -- and he'd wanted the simple comfort of the body itself. Having attained his goals, he was ready now to examine his own motives and see why he thought there was something more needed here. Yes, Mulder might be helpful if this little project turned out to be more complex than it seemed. But that wasn't where the sense of something lacking was coming from. Not that the =sex= was lacking; the sex was stellar, and Alex was in no position to carp at his rare good fortune. Life had been a little colder and harsher than usual, of late, and he was perfectly happy to pick up a paranormal investigator or two where he could find them. As for Mulder himself, he was like a thoroughbred horse or some kind of champion racing hound -- lean and graceful and if you put that mechanical rabbit out in front of him, he'd run around the track forever and ever, until that champion heart gave out and he dropped down dead. It was idiotic, but there was something noble about it, too. And a good part of what had made last night so erotic was the fact that, unlike nearly everybody else Krycek had to deal with, Mulder's responses were right out there in the open, in a kind of glass case about a foot in front of his body. You said or did something to him, and you could see the whole thought process of how he took it in, dealt with it intellectually, liked it or hated it... My god. He grinned. =I'm attracted to Mulder for his mind.= =You pervert,= he told himself. Well, but this didn't change anything, did it? He'd always found the man intriguing. If only he weren't hellishly annoying, as well. Alex remembered how sweet it had been when the alien had used Mulder's body to offer him oral sex -- clever of it, to confront him at once with what he'd most like to see. Every irritation, every threat Mulder had ever made to him had simply faded into the background like distant radio static. =Now there was a worthy goal.= Mulder had been charmingly forward about fucking him last night, but they'd never gotten around to the other. Which was a pity, because in Alex's view, there was so much more control you could exercise from the front. And he'd dearly like to be able to look up and see that brutally open face respond to -- No, that would ruin it. Mulder as a lover was generous and malleable; if you sucked him off once or twice, he'd be bound to decide that etiquette alone required him to return the favor -- no matter how distasteful he found the idea. And then it wouldn't count. You didn't win at Solitaire unless all the cards came out, and you wouldn't win with Mulder unless it were his own idea. Alex wanted him to do it out of passion. He wanted him to get down on his knees and offer to do this for the person who'd executed his father and kept him from saving his best friend, for no other reason than that he wanted to give that person sexual pleasure. =Not asking a lot, are we?= He turned the car into the office garage he'd been directed to, off K Street. Mulder Solitaire. It would be difficult, but not impossible. Look at the evidence: Mulder required Scully's approval, he'd made that clear often enough. He'd started out suspecting her, and ended up emotionally dependent on her. He could definitely be gotten to; but then, how much of a surprise was that? =You know, maybe you're just looking for an excuse to stay in Washington.= He found a spot near the exit, switched off the engine, and took a breath in the abrupt silence. =Business mode,= he told himself; and all these personal and tantalizing thoughts rolled into their cupboards obediently and shut their doors. # Mulder didn't have a business mode; he could focus even more intensely than Krycek on a particular task at hand, but he didn't choose his states of mind. They chose him. =You let him take away your gun. What the hell is wrong with you?= He gazed out the window at the hills lining the highway, a row of identical white suburban houses just visible beyond the crest. Yeah, well, any one of those houses could be harboring a serial killer, child molester, or just a teenager who read too much =Soldier of Fortune= and was waiting to blossom into something requiring weaponry. The world was full of things that were screwed up on the inside. "You're pretty quiet today, Mulder." Scully glanced over at him from the driver's seat. He shrugged. "Tired, I guess." "You usually only get like this when you're working on a case." "We don't know if we have a case yet. I don't think this thing in Baltimore is going to pan out." "No 'paranormal bouquet'? Well, that's my point, Mulder. We don't have a case, and here you are, preoccupied. I might almost think you were worried about your personal life." "But since we both know I don't have one -- " "Tell me the truth, did I mess things up with your girlfriend? I can't tell you how embarrassed I am -- " "Scully, you've apologized four times. It was just a mix-up. Really, it was kind of funny, when you think about it." =Or some people, if they were really annoying, might see it that way.= She looked a little disbelieving, but didn't pursue it. Thank god. =What the hell is wrong with you?= It was those oddly tender kisses, just before he took the gun. They stood out from the rest of the evening like a beacon, which was strange when you thought about it. They'd barely been erotic at all -- well, no, that was going too far; but they'd been something else too, something too much like water in the desert, something that triggered the "want to believe" mechanism. Which could be a problem, if Krycek was going to hang around Washington for any length of time. And very likely he would, now that Mulder thought about it; he probably hadn't traveled here for one night of somewhat explosive sex with the person who periodically tried to kill him. (Although he doubtless found that amusing as well. Krycek's sense of humor should be put before a firing squad.) Had Mulder ever known a time when Krycek didn't have a second agenda? =As a matter of fact, no.= It was like stepping down onto a staircase that wasn't there. What was he doing in Washington? And was Mulder supposed to be a sidebar, or part of the main action? "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "Are you just going to sit there like a lump all the way to the Baltimore PD?" "Probably." She made a disgusted sound and he felt the car lurch as she turned onto the fast lane. # It was a tired, shabby little office, but it did have a second door; Alex was not the only person to take note of these things when renting a place. The man behind the desk was about forty, dark-haired and dark-eyed, plump and balding, wearing a nondescript suit. He looked up when Krycek entered, then stood and took a couple of steps toward the other door. A second later Krycek had him against the wall in an arm lock. "Hello, Anthony," he said. "Don't call me that." He was shorter than Krycek, and obviously outclassed when it came to physical force, but he didn't seem to take it personally. You would think, in fact, that he was greeted this way every day. "Would you like to sit down?" Alex released him. The man said, "Can I go to the bathroom first?" "Would you like me to come with you?" "Never mind." He took the seat behind the desk. "The moment passed." Alex took the other chair. He glanced around the office pointedly. The man gave him a sour look. "So I don't spend a lot on rent. Budget cuts -- I've been outsourced. A lot of people use me now." "A lot of people always did." The phone on the desk rang. Anthony picked it up. "Corporate Services." He listened. "No, that's no problem, we can get you tickets for any show. Five in the center row? Well, five is a little... no, we can do it. You want tonight or tomorrow?" He scratched something down on a piece of paper. His desk was littered with tiny pieces of paper. "You want champagne sent to the client's hotel room? Well, we do do it normally... no, no problem. Thank =you=, sir." He hung up and took a breath. "Where were we?" "I came to ask a favor." A wary look came into Anthony's eyes. Being shoved against a wall had not disconcerted him, but this was evidently cause for worry. "Gee, Anthony, relax. I just want some information." Anthony waited, still cautious. "I was wondering what you hear from the smoke-filled back room." "In regard to... ?" "Me." Anthony swallowed. "Alex, you know, I'm not really in the loop anymore..." "The loop does not exist that you are not in," said Krycek, regarding him calmly. There was a brief silence. Then Anthony burst out, "Why the hell did you come back? I never thought you were stupid." "Is it that bad?" "If you consider getting whacked bad, yeah, I would say it's that bad." The phone rang. Anthony picked it up. "Corporate Services. Yes, we book cruises. Any line. Do you have a preference, or do you want us to arrange it?" He grabbed another scrap of paper and scribbled at race-car speed. "Aegean? I can send you brochures from the top two lines, if you'd like to examine them yourself. Not at all. Thank you, ma'am." He hung up. Alex said, "Are you ever going to get a computer?" "I don't believe in computers. When information is efficient, anybody can get it." Alex grinned. "I missed you, Anthony." "Yeah, I'm sure." He eyed Krycek appraisingly for a second, then said, "Why don't you let me book you a cruise? Caribbean, five days, six nights, several international ports of call. Let me do this for you, Alex. You look stressed." "I'm sure I would not be stressed at all by the time the cruise was over. But thank you for the thought." He rose. "One last thing. If anybody follows me, or takes a shot at me, or makes me nervous in any way, I'm going to assume you told them I was here, and I'm going to kill you." Anthony gave him a look that was both hurt and protesting. "That's not fair, Alex. They're bound to notice you're here sooner or later." "We can both hope it's later," said Alex, with a friendly smile. He moved toward the door, remaining aware of where Anthony's hands were as he did. Anthony's eyes stayed on him. His phone rang. "Corporate Services. Yes, we provide long-range and short- range weapons on a temporary basis..." # "Hey, Mulder. Heading home?" Krycek emerged from the shadow of a building as Mulder crossed the sidewalk. It was nearly eight o'clock. Mulder wore his usual raincoat against the February wind, while Krycek wore the omnipresent black leather jacket, the texture of which Mulder was now intimately familiar with. "Eventually." He kept walking. Alex fell in beside him. Mulder said, "I have somewhere to go." He glanced over at Krycek, irritated. Krycek looked good in the play of light and shadow from the streetlamps -- they illuminated his profile, making his skin glow, darkening his eyes and hair by contrast. Krycek, damn him, had started looking good everywhere, and Mulder experienced a recurrence of the desire to hit him. "Where to? Or is it classified?" Mulder sighed. "I am going to Gold Mountain Szechuan to apologize for stiffing them on the chicken cashew they sent to my apartment last night. If I don't, they're never going to take my calls again." "Mulder, your voice sounds almost accusing. I know you think I'm responsible for the world's ills, but I don't see how you can blame your delivery problems on me." It was maddening. There was no possible way he =could= blame Krycek, either, without coming out and admitting he'd been on some other, sexually-induced plane last night. He walked on, trying to ignore the man. When they reached Gold Mountain, Alex accompanied him inside. Mulder continued to ignore him, but it was like ignoring a six-foot white rabbit at your side; Mulder half expected everybody else in the restaurant to be staring at Krycek the way he was trying not to. He put on his best apologetic-Mulder look and threaded his way through the tables till he reached the cash register where Mr. Chang sat. The Gold Mountain had the finest Chinese food within a fifty- block radius and, like him, they kept long hours. He was addicted to their product, and he liked that when he was in the middle of a project he didn't have to stop and think about where to call if he didn't want pizza. He would be willing to go to great lengths to stay on their good side. There was one problem, though. "Mr. Chang?" he said. "I'm sorry about last night-- " Mr. Chang let loose a flood of Chinese -- the specifics were a mystery, but the displeasure was evident. "Mr. Chang -- wait a minute -- let me explain -- " Mr. Chang ran Gold Mountain with his wife, his son, and his two grown daughters; and while, granted, they spoke more English than Mulder spoke Chinese, unfortunately that wasn't saying much. Usually it didn't matter -- the Changs spoke arithmetic, food, and street address, which was enough to give everyone what they needed; but it was hard to beg forgiveness in any of these. Chang's eldest daughter approached, carrying a tray. She turned to Mulder. "He say he is tired of people not home when they call us. He say, 'no more.' He say you go now." Mr. Chang emphasized this by making a sweeping-out gesture with his hands. This was not going well, Mulder thought. Just then Krycek stepped up and addressed Mr. Chang. In Spanish. Mulder stared at him. Chang paused, then answered him back. Also in Spanish. It was a little surreal. Unfortunately, Mulder didn't speak Spanish either -- linguistics had never been his strong point. But Krycek was using that friendly, deferential tone ("Mulder, some of us believed in what you were doing") and whatever he was saying, it seemed to be coming out pretty fluently. He gestured toward Mulder then, and the ironic amusement was clear. Chang glanced at Mulder and started to laugh; a friendly laughter, though, almost affectionate. Mulder had no idea what was happening to his reputation. When they were finished, Mulder cautiously pushed a twenty toward Mr. Chang to cover last night's delivery. It was waved away with a grin, and a brief stream of Chinese. "The same to you," Mulder said warily, "I think." He glanced toward Krycek. "Gracias," Krycek was saying. =Finally,= Mulder thought, =a word I understand.= They seemed to be dismissed. Mulder turned and started out, Krycek following. Mulder opened the door, then stopped on the threshold and faced him. "=What= did you tell them?" "Don't worry about it, Mulder. They =like= you." Once he was through Mulder tried to slam the door, but it had one of those pneumatic closures and he only ended up straining a finger. Krycek remained attached to him as he strode down the street, and Mulder decided to return to his "ignore" policy. If governments could do it, he could do it. Ten seconds later, he stopped again. "Why =Spanish=?" he demanded. "You will note, Mulder, that Spanish food appears on the menu too. And a lot of Chinese immigrants go to South America before they move to the United States." "They do," said Mulder. "Yes, they do. And you will note that the sign on the outside was painted over a somewhat older sign, which reads 'Monte Oro,' which is the Spanish version of a Chinese immigrant nickname for the US, which is..." "Gold Mountain," said Mulder, looking over his shoulder at the building's facade. "I never noticed." "You tend to notice things within a narrow field, Mulder." He didn't answer that one. After a moment, Krycek said, "Besides, it's not as though I could talk to them in Chinese." Mulder was about to make some disparaging crack about that, when Alex added reasonably, "I only know a little Mandarin, and they speak Cantonese." Mulder shut his eyes for a second. "You speak Mandarin." "No, I told you, I only know a little. I took it in school." =What the hell was your major, Krycek?= "Any particular reason you chose that?" He shrugged. "I just thought it might be useful. You know, four billion people on the planet speaking it, and all. And as you must be aware, Mulder, it's important to be useful to others if you want to lead a decent life." He paused. "Or even lead a life." "Is that Krycek Philosophy 101?" Alex didn't answer. He scanned the street: Mulder's car was parked at the end of the block. Then he looked up and down and gestured toward an opening between two of the buildings not far from them. "Come on. I want to talk to you about something where nobody's likely to hear." Mulder gazed at him suspiciously. Krycek made an impatient sound. "It'll only take a minute," he said. When Mulder still didn't move, Alex added, "For godsake. You're a grown man, you're armed, you're fully dressed -- " "Okay, okay!" Mulder glanced around quickly to see who might have heard that, then followed Krycek into the alley. From marita@geocities.com Mon Mar 17 01:01:02 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: The Hand We Were Dealt 4/11 (NC-17 slash) From: marita@geocities.com (Marita) Date: Mon, 17 Mar 1997 07:01:02 GMT -------- Rated NC17: No minors allowed. Sexual content, explicit language. Slash. This is a sequel to "The Same Everywhere." As usual, the characters belong to Ten Thirteen; everything else is (c) Jane Mortimer. Feedback may be sent to JaneMort@aol.com. The Hand We Were Dealt by Jane Mortimer Part 4 There was nothing here but a dumpster, some brick walls, and what illumination from the streetlight penetrated the entrance. Mulder walked to within three feet of Krycek, and stopped. "All right, I'm here." Was there a faint smile on Alex's face? Hard to tell in the dim light. "I want to present a problem for Mulder's Brain." Mulder had never claimed that he could resist curiosity. "You already present a problem, but go ahead." "Three addresses." And Krycek named three places in the greater Washington area; one in Gaithersburg, one in Chevy Chase, and one in downtown DC. "They mean anything to you?" "Should they?" "One's a dry cleaner. One's a school. The third's a warehouse. What do they have in common?" "Will I get a prize for this?" "I take it that means you don't know." Mulder was a little annoyed by that, because in fact he didn't know. "Where did you get them?" "How about this? A basement suite in an office building -- near FBI headquarters, now that I think of it. Any link?" "No," he said, frowning. =School, warehouse, dry cleaner...= "Good, I see the brain is engaged. You keep thinking about it, Mulder, and I'll pass you more locations as I get the details." Mulder brought his focus back on Krycek. "Why should I -- " He stopped. Alex had gotten a lot closer suddenly. He put his hands on either side of Mulder's face. "You know, clandestine meetings become you," he said softly. Mulder's throat went dry. Was he going to -- He was. He did. When Krycek took his mouth away, Mulder staggered back a step. =I'm going to reach some advanced zen level of kissing by the time this is over.= He was breathing hard. =I suppose it'll be more popular at parties than those card tricks I learned in seventh grade.= "You could give a signal or something before you do that," Mulder said, pleased at the control he'd forced into his voice. "Open your coat," Alex suggested in his softest tone, a tone Mulder's cock knew well enough that it was already straining toward it. "No." ...Fucking Way, he made plain. "Come on, Mulder. Haven't you ever done it outside a nice, clean room? You don't know what getting fucked against bricks, in the dark, can do for you. I'd be happy to show you. And I promise you'll like it." He had to get away from here. He had to get away from here because if Alex kept talking in that tone of voice he was going to lose it; he was going to lose it, and it was going to happen soon. "I told you no." Panic made him sound serious. At least, Krycek accepted it as serious, or seemed to. He stroked Mulder's face once. "No problem, Mulder. Your choice entirely." He turned and walked toward the street. Mulder took a minute to catch his breath, then followed. When he got out onto the sidewalk, Krycek was gone. That was a narrow escape. He'd been about =this= close to getting fucked in an alley. Why did he feel so disappointed? # Another week passed. Nobody was waiting for him when he got off work, no shadows detached themselves from buildings and formed into a figure in a leather jacket, no one unusual called his office. Perhaps Alex had gone on to destroy somebody else's peace of mind, or maybe one of the legion of people he'd offended had finally managed to shoot him. =Think of how many problems that would solve.= Mulder started to relax a little during that dangerous daily walk from the car to his apartment, and even managed to stop tensing when the phone rang. So one day, when he was expecting a call from Ballistics, it took him a moment to regroup. "Mulder." "Meet me in Pulaski Park." He paused, as his brain dealt with this. Then: "When?" "Now would be good." Krycek hung up. Mulder looked at the phone in his hand. "Mulder?" He glanced up; Scully was watching him with a frown. "Is anything wrong?" "No, um... I was thinking of something else. I have to go pick up my dry cleaning, they're closing the store early today. Be back in half an hour." Wow, that had leapt into and out of his mind so perfectly. He'd hate to think it was getting easier to lie to Scully. Because then he'd start thinking he deserved to be having painful affairs with conscienceless perverts who killed members of his close family. And Mulder already had enough self- image problems. Pulaski Park was only fifteen minutes away. It wasn't a big place; only a couple of blocks wide, with a fountain, some swings, and a scattering of bare winter trees. It was cold today, and the sky was gray with the possibility of snow. Mulder crossed the street. Krycek was sitting at one of the cement chess tables. He was still in the leather jacket (surprise), but his hands were red and raw. He was rubbing them together as Mulder approached. "What happened to your gloves?" Now, that was a stupid way to greet one of your worst enemies, even if you =were= sleeping with him. Krycek looked down at his hands blankly, as though he'd forgotten they were a problem. "Oh. I left them someplace I couldn't go back to." He stood up. "Let's stroll. It's harder to keep a directional mike on somebody when they're moving." One of the pluses in dealing with Krycek was that you didn't have to be the person who always said these things and got funny looks. They walked down the gravel pathway. Neither of them spoke; there were only footsteps crunching on the pebbles and the muffled sound of the wind, which periodically cut right through Mulder's overcoat. He became aware that a leather jacket couldn't possibly be enough protection on a day like this. "I've been busy," Alex said finally. Mulder could believe it. He glanced sideways at Krycek's face; it was worn and tired, sharp lines etched under his eyes. You would think it would detract from the sexual aura Mulder was starting to regularly perceive around him, but unfortunately (and most unfairly) it did not. Mulder never looked like that when =he= was tired. Alex looked like an angel who'd spent the last century in some European capital of decadence, drinking absinthe and sleeping with minor poets. "Are you going to tell me what you've been busy doing?" That familiar twist of grin, but this time Mulder had the feeling Krycek was directing the mockery at himself. "Yeah, I think I am. I don't seem to be making a lot of headway on this on my own." Mulder waited. They reached the end of the park and started following the circle of path back again. "You remember I said the alien left me a present." He nodded. "You didn't tell me what it was." "Yeah, well, =it= didn't tell me what it was, either. It left me some information, without any explanation of what I was supposed to do with it." Mulder damped down the faint stirrings of excitement ruthlessly. "What information?" he asked, unable to entirely keep the eagerness out of his voice. Alex sighed. "It gave me a list of locations. Street addresses, all in the greater Washington area. It fucking burned them right into my memory -- I could reel them off now. I'll probably be able to reel them off on my goddamned deathbed, but did it stop to tell me what they meant?" "The locations you gave me... " "Yeah. There are more. I've been checking out as many as I can personally, trying to see if there's =something= they have in common, something I'm supposed to know, or figure out. Maybe it thought the purpose would be obvious, I don't know." Alex shrugged. "For a creature that had such a superior attitude toward our thought processes, you'd think it would have bothered to spell the damn thing out." "Do you have any theories?" "Do you? You've got the first four addresses." =Not really.= "You first." Krycek shrugged. "The alien told you that it wanted to get to know you before it decided on your present, right?" Mulder looked away. He generally tried not to think about how much Krycek had been aware of while he was the host. "So?" "So it wanted to tailor-make our little gifts. Give us what it thought we wanted or needed. Very sweet, when you think about it." His face was definitely getting hot. Alex continued, "So I thought about what I needed most. And what I chiefly need, is for people to not try to kill me when I'm in the United States." "I'm not trying -- " "I don't mean you, Mulder, I mean our friend with the nicotine problem. Cancerman, you called him, didn't you?" "How did you hear about that, anyway?" Alex grinned. "He's heard about it too, and it pisses him no end. Not that he'd let you know, of course. Have you ever called him that to his face?" "No." "Next time I think you should work it into the conversation, if at all possible." For a moment Krycek wore that happy glow again, that innocently joyful look that made you either want to disrobe or strap on a bulletproof vest. "Anyway, Cancerman considers me =his= little problem, so I mainly only have to be careful when I'm on his territory; which is definitely Washington, less definitely the whole mid-Atlantic Seaboard, and with cause for worry in the rest of the lower forty-eight. You can see how this would limit my scope, Mulder. I can't spend my life in Hong Kong." Mulder was noncommittally silent. "There's a lot of action in the US," Alex said, "and I'd be totally cut out of it. Not to mention I'd miss the television." Christ. Krycek could even manage to be obnoxious when he was discussing his own life and death. "I mean, I thought about Europe, but there is absolutely =nothing= going on there right now -- " "All right, so you want Cancerman to lay off you. You think this 'present' has something to do with that?" "It's a logical hypothesis. It's my most serious need." His most serious need was for a keeper with a semi-automatic weapon. Mulder said, "Maybe a being from another star doesn't consider your street address a matter of pressing concern." Krycek was silent. He tucked his hands under his arms as he walked, glanced around at the stark trees and leaden sky. When he spoke, his voice was different. "Mulder, if I can't operate effectively in the United States, I'm not useful. And if you want to live, you have to be useful to people." Mulder was given pause for a second. Alex dropped those words as though they were undeniable religious doctrine. As though Mulder had requested, for some bizarre reason of his own, to have the overwhelmingly obvious pointed out to him. He put his mind back to the problem. "You think these locations have to do with some kind of black operation? Something you could use for leverage?" Alex shrugged. It was getting colder; his breath came out in little puffs. "Will you help me find out?" Mulder thought about it, listening to their footsteps crunching onward in calm synchronicity. Finally he said, "I..." and stopped. "What is it?" Mulder said, slowly, "If we... if we =do= uncover some operation of his, I'm going to want to stop it. Or expose it." =Idiot. Why did you *tell* him?= Krycek merely nodded. "As opposed to letting it roll on its merry way as the price for my safety. I figured. Let's worry about that when we come to it." For no good reason, Mulder found himself saying, "Have you been getting enough sleep?" "Not exactly. I don't have a hotel room anymore." Mulder stared at him. Alex grinned and gave another shrug. "My financial sources are a little irregular at this time." Then he said, "Do we have a deal? A shared operation?" "I... maybe we do. I'm not entirely sure I believe anything you tell me." "Very wise. But... for the time being, and until everything goes to hell...?" "Yeah." He couldn't believe he was saying this. Mutually taking on the people who'd screwed with his life was a far more intimate thing to do than mere sex. "We have a deal." He looked at Krycek. "How much money do you need?" "A few hundred would be a good start. I'll want more later." He said it without hesitation, and Mulder was about to go along with it, when he stopped short. Was blindly bankrolling whatever Alex Krycek was doing in the capital really a good idea? But the only other possibility that presented itself was... No. Well, maybe. "Do you want to stay at my place?" "You cheapskate, Mulder," said Alex, grinning. "I'd be happy to stay at your place." "You can have the bed. I'm used to the sofa." =Don't make me spell it out any more than that, you son of a bitch.= "Whatever," said Alex, with absolutely nothing in his tone you could object to. "Fine," said Mulder, his mind whirling. How had he managed to do this? And why couldn't he think of something else to do? Or say? "I'd better get back to the office." Maybe he should get a spare key made; he couldn't always be there to let Alex in. On the other hand, people bypassed his locks regularly. "Do you want a key?" Alex looked at him the way you look at somebody who's forgotten their thorazine. "Well, Mulder, it would be nice." # The whole thought of having Krycek in his apartment was bizarre. Bizarre but riveting; he couldn't stop thinking about it for the rest of the afternoon. It was like having a pet leopard on a chain at home -- you didn't know which was more attractive, the sheer grace and beauty or the satisfaction of getting through the danger one more day. =It kills other people, but so far it just sleeps with me.= You would have to be a very sick person to find that thought arousing. The apartment was dark when he got home. He fed the fish, booted up the computer, and got a glass of water. The doorbell rang. It was Krycek, carrying a small knapsack that couldn't contain a lot more than a few changes of underwear and one or two personal items. "Hey, Mulder." He dropped the knapsack into a corner, then turned and smiled. "Better give me the key before we forget." Mulder handed it to him. This was surreal. "Any food in the house?" "No. I was going to call out later." He felt as though he were watching the scene on videotape. Krycek wandered into the bedroom (well, of course he would know where it was) and wandered out again minus the jacket. Mulder was still standing there. "Mulder?" Krycek walked slowly over to him, but made no attempt to close the last foot of distance. "I think we should both understand that you're not going to be on the couch tonight." "I know," Mulder heard himself saying calmly. # "I don't understand why he wanted to kill you, anyway. Does he try to blow up all his employees? Isn't it a little hard on morale?" Mulder was sitting on the floor in the bedroom, knees pulled up, leaning against the wall. Krycek smiled faintly from his perch on the bed. "We never discussed it, but I kind of suspect he may have figured out that I left those cigarette butts in the car deliberately." Mulder stared at him. The smile became a grin. Apparently almost getting blown up was worth the joke. "When he first lit up, he told me to clean out the ashtray after he left." Mulder's eyes were wide. "Why didn't you?" Krycek took a deep breath and let it out. "He made it clear that my entry-level position was going to stay entry-level. As long as I was your partner, I was going to be an errand boy. I decided that I had to either detach myself from his organization entirely, or get in deeper." "So if you were being sought by the FBI, they'd have to take you in. And use you for things that were closer to the action." "And I figured you were unlikely to tell him how you found out about me. Considering how rarely you two converse." =God.= Alex patted the mattress next to him. Mulder got up and came over. "Between the polygraph appointment and the cigarette stubs, you couldn't possibly attribute my absence to anything but guilt. It ensured that I could have no legal occupation in DC, maybe in the country, after that; you guys would be on my tail. So they had to bring me further into the secret side of the organization. For the sake of that morale thing, you know. "Besides," said Alex, burying his face in Mulder's neck, "the man was a fucking annoyance." "So was I." "But you were more interesting to watch." =Jesus Christ.= A few minutes later, he said, "Remember that favor you owe me? Hold on a sec." He got up, left the room, and came back carrying something. Mulder froze. "I thought you'd want to use that favor for something valuable. Something work-related." "Don't be silly," said Krycek, "I can appeal to your rational side for that." He sat down on the bed and touched Mulder's shoulder. "Come on, Mulder, you'll like it. I've done this from the other side, and I like it." Mulder eyed the cuffs warily. "You know, our tastes might not be -- " "It's just a game." Yeah, Krycek had been telling him from the beginning that all this was just a game, just sex, no big deal. So why did he have the feeling the deep end of the pool was a lot more bottomless than it looked from the outside? Krycek sat beside him. "You've never done any of this stuff before." "As a matter of fact, I have," said Mulder, controlling an impulse to say, "Did too, did too!" as though he were in a schoolyard. "Really." "Really." Of course, that was a few years ago, and they'd only tried it out of some vague desire to walk on the wild side, and they'd both giggled too much to actually get the cuffs on. But he was damned if he was going to admit that now. "Were you the cuff-er or the cuff-ee?" Since the whole event had been a fiasco, he didn't qualify as either. "Do we have to go through my past? Are you going to tell me about your adventures, too?" "Well, you never know. The night is young." Krycek ran the side of the cuff down his arm. The metal made him shiver. "We don't have to do it if you don't feel up to it." That didn't even qualify as manipulation; it was right out there in the open. Pick up the glove, Mulder, or are you too nervous? No, he didn't trust him. On the other hand, considering everything else he'd let Krycek do, this was practically a formality. Krycek had had his gun in his hand, and hadn't done anything with it. He could have damaged Mulder's relationship with Scully by letting her know the extent of his psychological problems (sleeping with Alex Krycek being ample proof in itself). But he hadn't done that, either. He didn't trust Krycek in life -- but maybe he trusted him in bed? No, he wasn't even sure of that. But the evidence did point to one thing... and as he considered it, he was aware that Krycek was running that cold metal over his upper arm and down his chest, too quickly for the cold to register as pain, but slow enough for it to make him tingle with the faint shock. The evidence said that following Krycek into this maze was likely to result in one scary, dangerous, very very tempting round of mind-blowing sex. Whatever happened, this wasn't going to be something by-the-numbers. Already he was breathing hard, and he hadn't even agreed to anything. "All right," he said. He was already certifiable, after all. It was just a question of degree. "You're sure." For answer he held out his wrists. He watched as the cuffs clicked shut on his left arm, then his right, and as they were pulled back to the headboard. "Your hands are going to be a little near the radiator. Is it likely to get hot?" "No. I have it turned off. This apartment gets overheated in the winter." "Good. I'd hate to do anything to you that I hadn't planned on doing." From marita@geocities.com Mon Mar 17 01:01:40 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: The Hand We Were Dealt 5/11 (NC-17 slash) From: marita@geocities.com (Marita) Date: Mon, 17 Mar 1997 07:01:40 GMT -------- Rated NC17: No minors allowed. Sexual content, explicit language. Slash. This is a sequel to "The Same Everywhere." As usual, the characters belong to Ten Thirteen; everything else is (c) Jane Mortimer. Feedback may be sent to JaneMort@aol.com. The Hand We Were Dealt by Jane Mortimer Part 5 There was a note in his voice when he said that that acted on Mulder the same way the cuff had, running over his skin. He took a second to make sure his voice was casual, and said, "So what happens now?" Krycek sat back, regarding his new acquisition. "Well, we could do any number of things," he said lightly. "We could pretend that you're the British captive and I'm the Roman general, or that you're the spy my stormtroopers found hiding in the basement, and we need to interrogate you." The funny thing was, both those scenarios felt perfectly safe. And a little disappointing. Krycek leaned in and stroked the side of his face. "But let's just say that you're Fox Mulder and I'm Alex Krycek, and you're mine for the night." =Casual. Cool and casual.= "Just for the night?" "I don't expect to keep my possessions very long." "Do you break them, or lose them? Or sell them?" "All of the above. I'll try to exercise due care with you, but I can't promise anything." He leaned over and kissed Mulder on the mouth, nipping the lower lip as he pulled back. Enough to cause pain. "Hey!" "It's all right." He placed another kiss there, a tender one. When he drew back there was a tiny drop of red in the corner of his mouth. "I just want to make sure we understand each other, or I'll unlock the cuffs and drop the whole thing. As long as we're going through with this, it's all the way. I'm in charge, I can do what I want with you, and you'll do what I tell you." He laid it all out like a challenge. Like a challenge, Mulder thought, that only an idiot would accept, and the fact that his cock found the danger level more interesting than anything it had encountered in a long time ought to be irrelevant. If he was this turned on already, god knew what was coming. Krycek said, "I want your word first, before we start." Well, he wouldn't be the first person to do something really stupid for good sex. "I agree," he said. "I'll do whatever you tell me... in bed," he qualified, remembering suddenly that deals with the devil need to be spelled out. An amused smile. "Yes, Fox, in bed." Mulder opened his mouth to tell him not to call him Fox, then shut it again. He'd just agreed that he wouldn't be calling the shots tonight. "I think you've got the idea," Krycek murmured, and kissed him again. When Mulder came up for air, he realized that he'd been twisting in the cuffs. "This could get uncomfortable," he said, hearing his voice come out soft and aroused. "Guess you'd better not try to resist, then," Krycek remarked with a grin. "It's not the resist-- " began Mulder, and stopped. He really didn't feel like spelling out the fact that he lost control over his physical responses when Krycek was around. Perhaps it was obvious, but it really didn't need to be said out loud. =You would think,= Mulder's mind told him belatedly, =that drawing blood would be a good sign that you shouldn't do this.= =Yeah, where were you two minutes ago?= He lost that thought in another kiss. Then Alex was moving down, continuing the game with Mulder's neck, where the skin was still warm and sensitive from a few minutes ago. He opened Mulder's shirt, kissed his chest, toyed with a nipple, and Mulder felt the edges of a nice haze starting. "You let somebody do this to you?" he asked. "Uh-huh." Alex was working his way down the side of Mulder's body, undressing him as he went. "Why not? It feels good." Mulder swallowed. It did feel good. It was just that it also felt, he didn't know, felt like... "And it straightens out your head. Helps you get your ducks," Alex said, somewhere in the region of Mulder's navel, "in a row." "I wouldn't count on it in my case," Mulder muttered. "We could spend our lives trying to get =my= ducks in a row." Alex's chuckle was a pleasant vibration on his stomach. "We've all noticed," he said. He rolled off the bed long enough to finish pulling Mulder's pants off, then he was back at his post, sliding his hands over Mulder's skin everywhere his kisses went, pressing in his thumbs, stroking, licking, as though he were coating Mulder with an invisible layer of oil and didn't want to miss a spot. God. Mulder swallowed and lay back against the pillows. His body rarely got this much general attention; Krycek was even extending the favor to his arms, his breath warm on Mulder's face as he did so. It was like being gradually covered by some warm, tingly, second skin. He could feel his body temperature starting to rise. "So tell me," said Alex, conversationally, "is this better for you because I'm doing it?" Mulder had never thought he'd appreciate this much time spent on zones he'd previously considered non-erogenous. Maybe it was the cuffs; they encouraged a certain fatalism of outlook. There was nothing he could do about the evening, anyway, so he might as well let it happen. "You mean because you think you're so damned good at this?" "No," said Alex, pausing to nip gently at a tempting area of flesh below the breastbone. He looked up and met Mulder's eyes. "I mean because you've twice stuck a gun in my face and threatened to kill me. Because you can't be sure what I'll do next." Mulder's heart started to pound. He forced himself to sound cool. "Is scaring me part of tonight's program?" "Am I scaring you? Am I saying this just to give you a more interesting ride? Can you be absolutely sure? You know what I've done in the past. And let's bear in mind that your gun is only twelve feet away." Mulder forced himself to breathe. "Imagine the irony of the situation," Krycek said, running a finger gently around his left ear. "I realize not everybody has my sense of humor, but I'd like to think you'd appreciate it, Mulder. Especially after what you've tried to do to me. I come back into your life, seduce you, have a little fun with your mind. And body," he added, kissing his shoulder. "Then I lock you in cuffs, fuck you, and put a bullet in your head. Imagine the reaction when they find you. Your own gun, too. Now that I think of it, I should really stop at the pay phone on the corner when I leave and call the Washington Post photographer." =Jesus.= "Not that they could use the more interesting shots, but at least they'd be on record. And they could probably run something cropped down to just your face and arms." He put his mouth over Mulder's and kissed him for a long time. Pleasure, fear, and a numb unreality mingled as Mulder found himself kissing back. Then Krycek pulled away and said, softly, "Can you be sure I won't? Can you be absolutely sure?" "You fucker," Mulder said. No, he wasn't absolutely sure. And he'd never known before what a danger junkie he was. His cock was burning up, and it hadn't even been touched. He could picture it with clarity: Krycek, sated, getting up, pulling the gun from the holster on the chair, and applying the cold metal to Mulder's lips. ="Come on, Mulder, open up. You promised to do what you were told."= He'd say it in the same electrically aroused voice he was saying everything else. He was fully capable of it. But it was unlikely, Mulder reminded himself, it was extremely unlikely. Alex wasn't that angry with him (was he?) and so far he'd only performed his various acts of violence in the line of duty. So far as Mulder knew. "Well," said Krycek, "there's plenty of time to figure it out." And he went back to work on Mulder's skin, which was beginning to tingle and burn under this fear, arousal, and constant physical attention, taking on a life of its own. It was pleasure and discomfort merging into he didn't know what, and Mulder found himself shifting uneasily in the cuffs. He was fairly certain Krycek was just playing with him. Fairly certain. As his skin warmed and his temperature increased, he could feel the ache rising through his entire body, blossoming at his groin. Why didn't Krycek move a little further south, if he wanted to fuck him? (=Because he wants to fuck *with* you, Mulder. Haven't we established this?=) "If you're going to kill me," Mulder said, "you could at least deal with my hard-on first." "One thing at a time, Fox." "Its time has come, Alex." Alex smiled. He ran a hand through Mulder's hair in a parody of comfort. "I don't mind taking the trouble, Mulder. I'm in no hurry." =You fucking sadist, how can you not be in a hurry? Did you bathe for an hour in ice water before you came over?= Alex bent down and sucked powerfully at a nipple, and Mulder felt his back arch and chest rise beneath the sensation. Alex was obviously going to kill him, and he didn't need a gun. Then, while Mulder's mind was still falling back to earth from that one, Krycek moved further on top of him, touching every point of his body that he could -- except the one that most needed it -- and administered one of those blitzkrieg kisses he'd learned to inflict. When it was over, Mulder figured, through the haze, that his current IQ had to have dropped below 70. And for the first time that evening, Krycek actually touched his cock; a brief, deliberate rub with his thigh as he shifted on the bed. Mulder's groan came right out of his soul, before he realized he was doing it. "Oh, god. Stop fooling with me, goddamn it." "I don't think you're ready yet, =Fox.=" "You know... fucking well... that I'm ready." Krycek was running the back of his hand over Mulder's chest, nipple to nipple. "Oh, god. God. Just do me, all right? I can't stand this." "Are you calling off the game?" The hand on his chest was still. Mulder took a couple of breaths and let that idea soak in. He'd forgotten they were playing. Did he really want to stop? "What happens if I say yes?" "I unlock the cuffs. And leave." =You shit, Krycek.= He could at least jack off, then, but... "No, I'm not calling it off." "I guess you can stand it after all, then." Mulder didn't answer that one, but Krycek pulled himself up till his face was only a few inches from Mulder's. "I said, I guess you can stand it." "Yeah," said Mulder. "I can stand it." =Just... do whatever you're going to do, before I have a heart attack.= "Of course," Krycek murmured, "that was your last chance to ensure I don't kill you." "You're not going to kill me. You like torturing me too much." Krycek grinned. "Well. We cannot hide the things we love." He pulled himself off the bed and stepped away. "Hey!" Mulder protested. =If you're going to torture me, you can at least maintain physical contact while doing it.= "Relax, Mulder, I'll be right back." And he =was= back, a second later, with something gleaming in his hand. He climbed back on the bed, and Mulder felt him unlocking the cuffs. "What's the idea?" he asked, astonished to hear the resentment in his tone. But if Krycek wasn't going to take care of this little physical problem he'd caused, Mulder was going to be the one getting the gun. "Natural biological law intervenes," said Alex, as though speaking to a schoolchild. "I have to turn you over." "Oh. Right." "Otherwise, you know, I have no access to your charming ass." "I get the picture." "I'm so glad. Now get up and turn over." Mulder did. "No, stay on your knees," Alex instructed him, over his shoulder. "Here. And you can leave your hands down." Mulder heard a condom package ripping open. "You're not going to use the cuffs any more?" Shit, that came out disappointed. Alex laughed. "I don't need them, do I? If you're a man of your word." His breath was warm on Mulder's neck. "If you don't need them, why did you use them?" "To put you," he said, kissing the neck where it curved into shoulder, "in the right frame of mind." And he continued the kisses, down Mulder's spine. "Is frame of mind important for this?" Mulder asked, hearing the words emerge slowly, as though from molasses. "Oh, it's absolutely imperative." That buzz was starting again. Krycek was kneeling up now, his arms enclosing Mulder at the waist. His voice murmured in Mulder's ear: "You can lean back if you want to. That's not an order, it's optional." "Optional," Mulder muttered into the haze. "Power steering. I'm starting to feel like a new car." "Well, not quite new," the soft voice answered, as one hand slid down to Mulder's ass, "but we'll continue tuning it up under the hood, and who knows?" Then the hand was removed, the voice whispered something unintelligible into his neck, and a second later a slippery finger returned. "More like a ... beautiful... gold... hood ornament." The words and tone would have been enough to do him in, but together with the sensations the finger was creating, it was too much. He moaned and bucked. Krycek held him still. "Come on, not yet." "Yes, yet. I'm dying, here." "We both agreed you could stand it." "One of us was out of his mind." He felt his hands straying down toward his cock. True, Krycek hadn't told him to touch it, but then he hadn't told him =not= to touch it, had he? Maybe if he moved very slowly, he wouldn't have to get a ruling from the referee on this one... "Forget it, Mulder, it's off-limits. Put your hands on mine so I know where they are." Mulder put his hands on the hand at his waist, feeling sheepish and a little desperate. The voice at his neck said, "Do try to remember that it's my cock for the night. And my gorgeous ass..." The palm of Krycek's hand moved over the curve of Mulder's ass as though it were a valued piece of some private art collection. Mulder groaned. Jesus, he could see it, Krycek in his leather jacket with Van Goghs in his basement. It was impossible to figure out what the hell he -- Then he felt the head of Krycek's cock. "Thank god." He gasped as it entered. "Have faith, Mulder," said the voice, amused. And then Alex moved inside him, sending a streak of flame through him, head to foot, ass to cock. It was like being on a cross of fire. He'd never been this ready in his life. He braced himself and waited. And waited. Until it dawned on him that Alex was playing with him again. =How could he do that?= Was this all part of Your Handy Alien Guide To Sex, or was he an alien himself? Mulder bit down, with enormous effort, on the groan of protest that rose inside him. "What about having faith?" "Well, Mulder? Where is it?" Another streak of fire ran through him. He was beginning to see why the word "fire" went so neatly with the word "weapon." And then another, and another. =Finally.= He felt the rhythm start to build. Then... =No... he couldn't possibly... not again... = "Dammit, Krycek, stop doing that. You're going to kill me." He got control of his gasps as the rhythm slowed. There was a kiss against the side of his neck, a kiss with a faint nip in it, and he could taste the affectionate mockery. "You don't seem to be able to hold onto the concept that you're not running the show." "Look... fine, but look, what do you want me to do? Beg?" "Begging is always nice, but I'd rather it were your own idea." "My own idea? What difference would that ma-- " The back of his neck was kissed quite thoroughly, and Krycek's hands moved up to cover his nipples, and he lost track of what they'd been talking about. "Mulder. When your doctor gives you a prescription, do you ignore the instructions?" "I don't know. ...No, of course not. Stop asking me to think." Alex laughed. "Yeah, maybe the Socratic method is a little much for you right now. I'm trying to make a point." Mulder grunted. "The point is, you can't tell me what to do. You can ask, you can beg, you can discuss the weather, but you're not here to tell me what to do. Not till the game is over." Mulder was silent. Alex shook him gently. "Am I getting through?" "Yeah. Sorry about that. I'll try." So if he wasn't supposed to tell Krycek what to do, and if he wasn't supposed to take any physical initiative, what =was= he supposed to do? Another bright stroke of pleasure and torment. =Absolutely nothing.= Wasn't that the point of the cuffs? He still felt the afterspark of that last invasion on his nerve endings, and replayed it, considering. Had that been so bad? The sensations were... well, they were sensation. Why shouldn't he like the taste? Especially when... It happened again, and he moaned, his fingers gripping Alex's. =Just ride with it, don't even try to direct it. When has Alex not come through sexually? You know he's planning to see that you lose your mind somewhere along the way. He may deceive and murder, but he's going to make you come. He has to; he wouldn't be able to feel so damn superior if he didn't.= The hand that had been on his ass moved around to the front, but not, even now, to give him any relief; he felt the light, teasing touch of fingers tracing over his balls and actually heard himself whimper. =Go with it, go with it. Relax.= ...And it was easy. All he had to do was shut down the centers of judgment and volition, and they'd only ever given him pain anyway. It was wonderful. It was like turning off a light. Let somebody else bear the weight for a while. He was conscious of an intense feeling of gratitude The change must have showed in his muscles and the tilt of his body, because he heard Krycek whisper, "That's it, that's fine, you're getting there." He wasn't sure where he was getting, but it was a place where all those questions about truth and guilt and his memories of the past were completely irrelevant. His world zeroed down to a tight focus, and everything not on this bed right now moved outside his field of vision. Electric pleasure illuminated his whole body from Alex's cock and fingers; diamond hard pleasure built in his own cock. Somewhere beyond the sensations, random thoughts swam up; thoughts entirely free of any emotional baggage, and he didn't try to restrict or organize them. This was really a strange place to be, but he liked it. He remembered their encounter in the Hong Kong airport, knowing he was in control of the situation, that he could do whatever he wanted and Krycek would have to take it. He'd liked that, he'd liked it a lot, so how could he like the opposite? It didn't make any sense. He let himself lean back against Krycek; well, Alex had said he could, and why not let him take on more of the effort, so that Mulder could be free to soak in this river of sensation. "I just thought of something," he said, without troubling to censor himself at all. "Fox, I could almost resent this coherence. What did you think of?" "I can ask them to run those addresses through the computer at the Bureau, see if the names bring anything up." There was the briefest pause in the rhythm. "You'd do that for me?" "I'd do anything for you," he said, eyes closed. At the moment, he meant it, and saying it pushed him right up near the top. He was going to come in a minute, whether his cock got any attention or not. "God," said Alex hoarsely, his arms tightening, "you have a natural gift." "I'm going to come in a minute," Mulder remarked, his voice distant. "Damn right you are," muttered Krycek, and Mulder felt a hand circle his cock. His body temperature shot up about ten degrees. "And it's going to be a major event. Brace your arms against the wall." Mulder did, leaning on his palms, and felt another hand join the first. He had a sense like ozone in a field, a sense of thunder gathering, about to strike. =Oh, god.= Krycek pumped him, hard. And the thunder burst, smacking into him like a wave. And like a wave, it seemed to pull him off his feet and bury him dizzily under its force, leaving him tumbling with no direction, no control, no anything, except waiting until it was finished with him. =Well,= he finally thought, when he could think a little, =Krycek had said it would be a major event. And he'd promised to do what he was told.= # From marita@geocities.com Mon Mar 17 01:02:20 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: The Hand We Were Dealt 6/11 (NC-17 slash) From: marita@geocities.com (Marita) Date: Mon, 17 Mar 1997 07:02:20 GMT -------- Rated NC17: No minors allowed. Sexual content, explicit language. Slash. This is a sequel to "The Same Everywhere." As usual, the characters belong to Ten Thirteen; everything else is (c) Jane Mortimer. Feedback may be sent to JaneMort@aol.com. The Hand We Were Dealt by Jane Mortimer Part 6 He dropped onto the mattress and lay there for a while staring at the ceiling. He'd fallen back into reality about ten seconds after orgasm, like a plane coming through the cloud layer; but Jesus. That had been one hell of a ride. Mulder was still wrong-side-to on the bed, his feet toward the headboard, and Alex was moving around behind him on the mattress, getting his clothes. Alex paused, leaned over and, upside down, kissed Mulder on the forehead. "They have no idea what they've got down in the basement, do they? Are you going to get dressed, or are you going to make me call out for dinner?" "=I= can't do it," Mulder said, amazed that anyone expected anything of him. "I'm dead." Alex scooped up a shirt and dropped it on his chest. "In the world of Alex Krycek, death is no excuse." He got up and began to dress. Mulder rolled over onto his stomach and watched the process, still marveling at the last half hour. But this little tidbit was intriguing, too. "What =is= an excuse, in Krycekland?" Alex buttoned his jeans and smiled sideways toward Mulder. "There are explanations," he said, as though it were a quote, and one that he'd never liked. "There =are= no excuses." The smile had a nasty, ironic twist. =Cynicism, thy name is Krycek. Vanity, too,= he added, as Alex slipped his comb into his back pocket. # They decided in the end that Alex, who had a lot of nervous energy just then, would go fetch dinner from the Gold Mountain himself, while Mulder, who had no remaining energy in his body at all, would lie on the bed like so much silly putty till he came back. It seemed a fair division at the time. This was a rare and fascinating after-effect, for Mulder; he went through life running and swimming and reading himself into exhaustion, and even then, watching tapes in the hope they'd get his brain to shut up. And here he was feeling... what was it? Lassitude... languorous... those rhythmy L-words that suggested silk pillows and pools of scented water. =Amazing,= he thought, as he savored it. =And it won't even show up on a random drug test.= # They ate the Chinese sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Mulder used chopsticks. Krycek used a fork. He saw Mulder looking at him as he tossed his pair of chopsticks into the wastebasket, and said, tapping the fork against the carton, "This was a breakthrough in engineering when it was developed." "So you ritually throw away your chopsticks at this time, to honor that unknown person who developed it." "Very good, Mulder. You've got the point." Mulder noticed, however, that Krycek tended to eat quickly and efficiently, and not as though he enjoyed it; more as if he expected to be interrupted at any time. =Well, I suppose a life on the run doesn't encourage lingering over meals.= And forks were nothing if not speedy. Funny the habits people picked up, even when they left whole chunks of their life behind. Mulder's gaze wandered, not for the first time, to the handcuffs on the floor. It was hard to stop thinking about it. "That thing we just did." =Whatever it was.= "It wasn't what I expected." Krycek raised an eyebrow. "You didn't like it? I'm crushed." All was right with the world; Krycek's habitual mockery was returning. "I think," said Mulder, with dignity, "that we are both aware I liked it." =Although I would like to know why.= Being on the inside had been several orders of magnitude different from reading about a little B&D; it was like thinking you knew a language until you tried to speak to the natives, and they laughed at you. And remembering certain episodes in North Dakota, he suspected Krycek had had time to give this a lot more thought than Mulder had. Certainly Alex seemed to take it all in stride. (Still, what did that mean? Alex's view of the world seemed to take any amount of sex and violence, separately or together, as perfectly normal. Mulder tried to imagine him as, say, an average sixteen-year-old suburban kid; the picture disintegrated immediately.) "How do you feel now?" Alex asked, rooting around in his carton for the last of the fried rice. "I don't know. Like water," he said suddenly, knowing it made no sense. "Yeah, it really clears you out. Like a good sneeze." "Like a good sn--" He looked at Krycek and laughed. Oh, the hell with it. Obviously Krycekland was on another entire continent. He'd have to send envoys over the ocean to open diplomatic relations before they could even begin to understand each other. When Mulder was finished with his carton, Alex took it, with his own, into the kitchen and disposed of them. He didn't ask about it, he just did it, as though it were natural. =Like somebody who prefers the components of his life tucked neatly away at all times. Like somebody who never leaves loose ends.= =Dammit, Mulder, stop analyzing everything the man does. Maybe he just doesn't want to step into a carton of sweet and sour pork on the way to the bathroom.= =In which case, why didn't he bug me to clean up?= =I told you to *stop,* didn't I?= Mulder's Brain had apparently switched on again. Well, it had been too good to last. Alex came back and took his place on the bed. He glanced at Mulder. "You still willing to get me that computer run? I won't hold you to it," he said, "you were in an alternate state of consciousness." =For which you give yourself full credit, you arrogant bastard,= Mulder thought, amused. He rested his arm on the pillows, behind Krycek's shoulders. Alex seemed to hesitate a moment, then relaxed into it like a cat on a warm windowsill. "No, it's a good idea," Mulder said. "I didn't think of it before because mainframe time gets charged back by department. But I'm pretty sure I know a case number I can hide it in." "Well," said Alex -- was there a faint hint of surprise? -- "Thanks." They relaxed in an unexpectedly companionable silence. After a minute, Alex said, "How soon do you think you can run it through?" Mulder started to laugh. "It's a reasonable question, Mulder." "Uh-huh." He spoke with irritated precision. "I am a marked man staying in the prime territory of the person who marked him. It is reasonable to want to estimate how long I need to put myself in danger." "Was I arguing?" Krycek sighed. After a minute, Mulder said, "How many locations are on the list?" "Sixty-three." Mulder controlled an impulse to whistle. But he couldn't help saying, "=Sixty-three=? ...Were you planning on staying through the summer?" "I didn't =make= the list, Mulder, I'm just using it. But, thank you for depressing me." He felt a brief flash of guilt. He supposed he =wasn't= being helpful, when you thought about it. "Well, I guess Scully and I could check out a few in person. Since there's no possible way one individual could get to them in a reasonable amount of time." A brief silence from Krycek. Then: "Thank you," he said. For the first time Mulder had the sense that Krycek had been thrown ever so slightly off-balance. But why? Manipulative bastard that he was, he must have been expecting the offer. =Sixty-three.= =That= could really nail Krycek down in Washington for a while. "I don't suppose the alien gave you any kind of hint as to what this meant." "No, he didn't give me a hint. For godsake, Mulder, if he'd given me a hint, I -- " Alex cut himself off, and a voice in Mulder's head filled in, =I wouldn't need *you.*= Well, that was no surprise, either. Would he be getting all this great sex if he didn't have access to FBI resources? Even though Krycek so clearly enjoyed fucking with him, in more ways than one -- =Christ, Alex, isn't torturing me mentally enough for you?= For a second he meant it, and actually felt hurt. Alex sighed. He removed Mulder's hand from his shoulder, placed it in his lap, and ran his own hands over it. Then he turned over, half kneeling, and applied a gentle kiss to the very middle of Mulder's chest. He left his head there and spoke, muffled: "I know I'm annoying, Mulder. I'm supposed to be annoying. But this is, as they say, not an appropriate situation." It was probably the nearest the universe would ever get to a sincere apology from Alex Krycek, and Mulder valued it accordingly. He put his hand on Alex's hair. "Never mind. I guess we can figure out what this present is sometime before your next birthday." Or maybe not. "When is your birthday, anyway?" "In October, I think." Alex had settled in in his catlike way; he looked very comfortable now, his right ear and cheek pressed into Mulder's sternum, one hand resting below the nipple. "You think? Don't you know?" He felt Alex shrug. "Didn't anyone ever tell you when your birthday was?" "Of course they =told= me, Mulder, I just don't recall right now." A faintly irritated cat, in fact. "How can you forget -- Well, what does it say on your passport?" An exasperated sigh. "If you're going to believe what's on passports, you have more problems than either of us knew about." The fingers below his nipple had dug in, and Mulder was glad Alex didn't actually have claws. Mulder wondered if it would be wise to pursue this, but he knew =nothing= about Krycek, and he wanted to know, and when had he ever stopped pursuing anything? "Does this mean you just don't remember your childhood, or --" "Jesus, Mulder. It's October, all right? It's definitely October. Pick a fucking date and I'll run with it." That soft head had been removed from his chest, and he regretted it. "Look, I didn't mean -- " Krycek gave him a look of precise coldness. "In fact, pick any year that sounds plausible, and I'll swear to that, too. I'm extremely flexible. Trust me." =How can I, when you're telling me not to?= Words were only getting him into trouble, so he looked back at those cold green eyes, lifted Alex's hand, and softly kissed the front of his wrist. Then he leaned over and kissed his lips. When he drew back, he saw the eyes were no longer cold. Instead they were wary, and he wasn't sure he liked that better. He felt a smile come to his lips and, inspired, said, "Want to do the thing with the cuffs again?" Alex stared for a second, then burst into laughter. He shook his head disbelievingly and settled back down into Mulder's arm. "God," he said, still chuckling. "You fucking perv, Mulder." "Look who's calling names -- my number one bad influence. You are what Daniel Defoe would call 'a hardened jade.'" "Yeah, well, I've read Defoe. And I'd have to agree with you." Mulder's leopard being in a good humor again, he leaned back against the wall and enjoyed the warmth of the body pressed against his. It =was= like having some beautiful, lethal creature of another species there. And because he couldn't help it, he considered the situation. Somehow he had a strong feeling young Alex had =not= gotten a birthday cake. =I knew that PhD would come in handy,= he thought. And on the heels of that, =Shit.= He was used to his brain administering these doses of self-mockery, but when they started to come in Krycek's voice, you had to know you were living dangerously. # The car was parked on a side-street in Alexandria. Mulder walked over, opened the passenger-side door, and slid in. "Hey, Scully, I brought you coffee." "Coffee does not make up for skipping lunch, Mulder." Mulder tried to look innocent, apologetic, and casual at the same time. =I may have overshot,= he told himself when he saw her reply expression. "I have been to six different places since eight AM. Two residences, four businesses. I have purchased comic books, asked strangers about schools in the neighborhood, listened to the prices of pre-Columbian art, and struck up conversations with fellow customers on every conceivable subject. I have two offers for a date this Saturday night, but I have no indication whatsoever of any suspicious activity." "I have the sense you're trying to tell me this is a negative." "All this, may I remind you, when I was supposed to be writing a report on the Thomas Cady case. Which is due on Skinner's desk tomorrow by nine-thirty." "I really appreciate your help, Scully." "Sincerity won't help you, Mulder. I've been staring at this dry cleaner since three o'clock. The couple who runs it is very nice, by the way. I can recite the poster on their wall that explains why they can't take responsibility for buttons." Mulder began to suspect that perhaps he shouldn't give Scully those extra locations he'd been planning on bringing up. She faced him. "I usually don't object to participating in your strange adventures, Mulder, but can you tell me that you have any idea what it is we're supposed to be looking for?" He looked sheepish. "Come on, you know my source didn't say." "And with nothing whatever to back it up, you still think this is worth pursuing?" "The source is extremely reliable." =I cannot believe I just said that. And with such apparent sincerity.= "This isn't one of your UFO-related friends, is it?" "The greater Washington area usually isn't a big center for UFO activity, Scully. If we don't count the presidential motorcade." "Then... " She paused and looked uncomfortable. "Mulder, I respect your keeping your sources private, but it would help if I had =some= idea of where this was coming from." He felt the seconds stretching out. His mind was absolutely blank. It had never occurred to him to have a cover story ready for her; he didn't associate cover stories with Scully. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked -- " "No, no. It's a reasonable question. It's, um, sort of an underground source." "Underground...? You mean like a Sixties radical? A disillusioned terrorist? An organized crime witness?" "Uh, not exactly. It's..." Oh, god, he was going to have to say =something.= "He's a political aide. He'd lose his job if he could be identified." "We're not Woodward and Bernstein, Mulder." She stopped and frowned. "How does this make him underground?" He smiled. "Well, we do meet a lot in basement parking garages." She rolled her eyes, but appeared willing to accept this as his habitual pain-in-the-ass way of expressing himself. "All right, if you think he knows what he's talking about, I guess we can keep this going for a little while." She shrugged. "Now if only =we= knew what he was talking about." =She believed him.= Well, of course she believed him, he'd said that very well, and any initial hesitation would be appropriate on his part. =Shoot me now.= "What I don't understand," she said, "is how you could have committed us to checking out this many locations in so short a time. We'll never have it done by this evening. How do you let your sources talk you into these things?" =Well, I don't know if I can pinpoint it, Scully, but I believe I made that promise when Alex Krycek put me in cuffs and fucked me till I lost touch with reality.= "Mulder, your face is turning a little red." "It's the heat in the car." "Sorry," she said, and reached over to the dashboard to turn it down. He flashed back for a second to the previous night. Kneeling on the bed, the sheets in a tangle, Alex's arms around his waist; the universe casting off in a new direction. "You know, I wasn't going to say anything, but you seem very distracted lately." "You think so?" he said, forcing himself to turn, focus on her, and say it casually. "Is it this Mary Ann?" He frowned. "Who?" #