From: Confianza Anadie Date: Mon, 13 Mar 2000 01:58:24 -0800 Subject: NEW: MulderGlassesTorture (1/1) TITLE: MulderGlassesTorture (1/1) AUTHOR: cheezstk RATING: PG-13 (R if you're squeamish) for graphic torture of innocent eyewear. Implied M/K slash UST, violence, and violent thoughts. CATEGORY: S A H SPOILERS: Sleepless, Duane Barry, Tunguska/Terma, The Red and the Black, implied for S6? KEYWORDS: Mulder/Krycek, slash UST, GlassesTorture SUMMARY: Krycek has a job to do at Mulder's apartment. He gets sidetracked, and performs heinous acts of violence on Mulder's glasses. FEEDBACK: I live for it. It will be cherished and loved and it will live in it's own little feedback shrine forever: cheezstk@base.com DISTRIBUTION: If you want this drabble, archive away. I'd appreciate an email, though. DISCLAIMER: They aren't mine *sigh*. 1013 and Fox would *never* portray the brutal victimization of MulderGlasses in this crass fashion. NOTES: Someone posted a message to ATXC saying they misread the title of a fanfic archive as "MulderGlasses Torture." Many thanks for the inspiration. Here is my humble first contribution to this exciting new sub-genre. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx MulderGlassesTorture by cheezstk cheezstk@base.com http://cheezstk.base.com Alex Krycek looked around carefully, and locked the door behind him. Silently, he moved through the darkness, peering into the kitchen, the bathroom, the unused bedroom. No, no one else was hiding in Mulder's apartment tonight. That was almost a surprise. With the kinds of enemies Mulder had, Krycek half expected to find someone else lying in wait for old Foxy boy. Mulder and Scully really needed to start paying some attention to security. It had been pitifully easy to break in. At least nobody else was surveilling the apartment, according to his sources. Satisfied that all was secure, Krycek moved quickly to the desk. After making sure the blinds were drawn and he wasn't visible from the street, he began sorting through the papers scattered across the messy work area. Where was it? Here! The printout he needed was playing coaster to a leaky old box of Chinese food. 'Mulder, you ass. Don't you realize what this is? That the information on this one sheet of paper...' Krycek shook his head in disgust. Mulder was slipping, that was all there was too it. Krycek folded the sheet of paper, and secured it inside his leather jacket. He replaced it with another; carefully spilling some of the leaky Chow Mein on the replacement printout. There, done. In, out, bam. Easy job. Just go and fetch the paper. No blood, no contact, no nothing. A guy could get used to working for his new employers. Although Mulder would be home any time now, Alex paused. No contact. No contact with Mulder. There would never be any contact with Mulder. He wanted contact with Mulder. He wanted to connect with Mulder. He wanted to be hard and fast and down and dirty with Mulder. The memory of a hard fist smashing against his face. Wrestling, struggling. Curses, hatred: "You killed my father, you son of a bitch!" A hard body pinned under his own. The oh so brief brush of stubbled cheek against his lips. Not exactly the stuff of romance novels, but he couldn't shake it. Mulder festered in his mind like heroin, like a disease. Like a virus. Watching Mulder from above. Mulder, trapped under chicken wire, screaming with the other test subjects. He knew the feel of the black oil, and it wasn't nice. In the way that being disemboweled with a dull knife isn't nice. But thoughts of Tunguska led to other thoughts, other torments... He shifted his prosthesis slightly, and tried to suppress the boiling rage that threatened to overcome him. 'Steady, Alexi. If you trash Mulder's apartment, you'll make some people very unhappy. People you *really* don't want unhappy with you right now.' A deep breath. Focus. Krycek's fiery green eyes focused on something shiny lying next to Mulder's computer. Glasses. Mulder's reading glasses. He remembered them. Remembered from way back, when Mulder thought he was just an innocent green agent, assigned to replace Scully. From the brief time before Mulder truly hated him. Mulder on the phone, probably plotting how to ditch his useless new partner, with those reading glasses perched on his stately nose. Krycek remembered thinking that Mulder looked very handsome in those glasses. Screw that. Mulder, in those glasses, had looked good enough to eat. He reached out with his good hand and picked up the discarded eyewear. There were teeth marks on the earpiece. Krycek could imagine Mulder's full lips pressed against the warm plastic, his sharp teeth gnawing on it. Those lips. Those lips that would never touch his own, that only curled in disdain every time Mulder laid eyes on him. A wave of anger and lust swept over him, and his hand clutched into a fist. *snap* Startled, Krycek realized that he had accidentally broken an earpiece. Snapped it right off, just above the hinge. He cursed under his breath in Russian. So much for not leaving a trace. Well, if he'd gone this far... He set the broken-off earpiece down on the desk, and turned the glasses back and forth, considering them. Such a delicate piece of equipment, really. So easy to break, like snapping the bones of a young bird. Mulder wore these. These rested against his face. These felt the touch of Mulder's lips. Experimentally, Krycek bent the remaining earpiece backwards. Further, further... it was amazing how far back it could bend. The hinge was severely overextended. The spindly earpiece was almost in a plane with the lenses. He imagined he could hear it creaking, just on the verge of breaking. Like a man stretched out on the Rack, his joints about to pop out of their sockets. Just a little more... *snap* Krycek's lips curled in a sneer as he regarded the ruined eyewear. That felt good. The elegant equipment that had graced Fox Mulder's face lie in ruined pieces in his hand. A small victory, to be sure, but hey, you take what you can get. Curiously, Krycek tapped one of the lenses. Well what do you know? Mr. Armani wears cheap plastic glasses. He withdrew a small object from his pocket. The razor-sharp blade of a switchblade knife snickered out with a small click. Bracing the lenses flat against the desk with his artificial hand, Krycek poised the blade above the left lens. His initials? Should he carve his name on this poor substitute for Mulder's eyes? No. He didn't want to mark them; he wanted to obliterate them. His wrist flexed with deadly purpose and began scraping the blade violently back and forth across the lens. Deep, long scratches appeared on the smooth surface. Faster, harder. Plastic dust stuck to the blade as the trained killer brutally marked Mulder's lenses with his switchblade. He pushed harder, and a high-pitched fingernails-on-the-blackboard sound emanated from the glasses. Startled out of his destructive trance, Krycek stopped and surveyed the damage. Both earpieces were snapped off above the hinge. Both lenses were scratched almost completely white, utterly beyond repair. The glasses were a useless mess of plastic and wire. Smiling, Krycek carried the desecrated reading glasses over to the couch, and carefully placed them in the spot he knew Mulder's head would lie tonight. Let his new employers think what they will. If they ever found out. Hell, a guy has to have *some* fun. He pictured Mulder discovering the lenses. Pursing his pretty lips in worry. Pondering the meaning of the broken glasses. 'Come on now, Alexi. You're a survivor. A ruthless killer. And ruthless killers don't giggle.' Quickly, Alex Krycek made for the door. Stifling his persistent giggles, he disappeared into the night. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx