From: Brighid Date: Sat, 27 Nov 1999 09:36:31 -0800 Subject: Newish: Urine Rated R "/" Title: Urine Author: Brighid (earthstone@wickedmail.com) Spoilers: None. Rating: R Category: V Keywords: Longing Summary: Mulder and Krycek and Elvis in the bathroom Warning: Hmmm. Slashy content, but I don't much do *explicit* Archive: Gossamer, yes; otherwise keep my name & let me know. Constructive feedback greatly appreciated. Disclaimer: All things X-files belong to Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox. This is not for profit, but for love. Author's Notes: I posted this to Xapen awhile ago, then life zoomed away from me and it never came here. This is for Mona. Urine written by Brighid (cuz just saying by Brighid opens up too many scary bad jokes!) Fox Mulder was having a shithole of a day. He'd been carjacked, knocked unconscious, drugged, questioned, physically violated and locked into a cell where the previous inhabitant had obviously had incontinence problems. And now, now he had been rescued by Alex *FUCKING* Krycek, who had knocked him out, drugged him and chained him to the U-bend of a gas station's bathroom sink in the middle of podunk *nowhere*, so he still had the scent of piss burning his nostrils. He was pretty goddamned sure his mama had *never* told him there'd be days like these. "You can't fucking leave me here!" He cringed as soon as he said it, because a.) it sounded whiney, and that was something Scully kept asking him to work on and b.) it caused Alex to get this really wicked, really wolfish grin on his face. "What's the matter, Mulder? Afraid the locals will gang up on you and cut off your arm?" There was a dark lacing of irony intermingled with genuine amusement. "You know as well as I do that I can't take you into town. You're under so much surveillance C-SPAN has an hour devoted to you, nightly. I take you into town, I'm made and then I'm dead. Nor can I leave you under your own recognizance, because you'll probably get a wild hair up your ass and try to follow me or capture me or some other stupid-assed thing. Then I'd have to kill you, and it kinda makes my whole good deed thing this evening pointless. And I've had enough pointless evenings, thanks to you, Mulder." Krycek crouched, and Mulder was wrong, he wasn't wolfish at all, he was pure coyote, all lean and hungry and feral. "Do you know how boring it is, watching you jack-off to cable or internet or middle-aged housewives trying to pay off their bad credit? Lots of pointless evenings, Mulder." Mulder tried to swallow, but his throat was a solid knot of apprehension. He told himself, swore to himself that it was apprehension. The gleam in Krycek's eyes argued otherwise, but Mulder chose to ignore it. "Did you enjoy watching, Krycek? You like that sort of thing?" he said, and even as he said it, his brain went 'oh shit' and his body went 'oh yes' because Krycek leaned into him, leaned in so close that his laughter scalded Mulder's cheeks. "When it's worth watching, Mulder. Lonely, pushing-forty, deluded martyrs are rarely worth watching." He smiled, and his mouth was far too full of teeth and far too close for Mulder's comfort. "But yeah, sometimes, I remembered you from when we were partners. And I enjoyed watching." He licked a broad, wet swathe up the side of Mulder's sweating face. "Sort of like still loving Elvis, even after the fried peanut-butter sandwiches and the tacky jump-suits. Somewhere, in there, he was still the King." Krycek's scent filled Mulder, overrode the corrosive stench of thirty years worth of urine, and it made Mulder just a little crazy. His breath came in short, sharp pants, and he wanted something, longed for something strange and nameless. It had hovered between them, had been there when he had looked up from his desk to see the geeky kid hovering over him with a casefile, was still there in the darkened cavern of his living room, when Krycek had kissed him sweetly on the cheek. He had a flash of a different world, one without the layers of lies and treacheries, one where he could push up and take the younger man's mouth, where he could taste his body without staining himself, his ideals, in the process. He saw a queer shadow pass through Krycek's eyes, as though his own regret were echoed in the other man, and when Krycek lowered his head a second time, his mouth was sweet and gentle and innocent. It was everything Krycek and Mulder had given up, years and years ago. When at last Krycek pulled away, Mulder gasped at the loss, ached with it. Krycek's good hand came up, stroked Mulder's face with an echo of the tenderness that had been in the kiss. "You know, there are a lot of people who believe that Elvis is still out there, somewhere. That the King is still alive." He stood, dropped a cell phone and a bottle of water into Mulder's lap. "I want to believe, Mulder," he said softly. "You can't just fucking leave me here!" Mulder said again, but it was half-hearted at best. "Yes I can," said Krycek. "It's what we do to each other, Mulder." It was almost half an hour before Mulder called Scully, and when he did, he was still crying so hard she could barely understand him. )0( END