Bury the Dead Alive, by Glacis. Rated NC17, no infringement intended.
He was in hell.
That was the only possible explanation. No other explanation could cover
how he had somehow transported from a men's room in the
A corner of his mind knew that he was alive. He wouldn't hurt this badly
if he was dead. He was so hungry his stomach was tied in knots, and his throat
was parched from lack of water and screaming. Sometime during the night his
bladder had released, and he could barely stand his own stench. His watch was
broken, and he had no idea how long he had been there. The light never varied.
Nothing ever moved. There was no noise. No sound,
except the voices in his own mind.
They were getting louder. And they were drowning out the little corner of
his mind that knew he was alive.
Fox Mulder stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His
expression was completely blank, but his eyes were alive with emotions he
normally kept tightly contained. He slammed the handle down on the faucet and
nearly threw his toothbrush into the holder. This case, if he could classify it
as such, was bringing up a lot of dirty linen he usually hid in the more remote
parts of his psyche.
He made his way through the darkened apartment to throw himself moodily on the couch. Alex Krycek
had been his partner for a very short time, but it had been a busy period. He
had betrayed him, spied on him, given Scully to the bastards who would use her
as a guinea pig and do God only knew what to her. Even after the gig was up and
he knew that the little rat bastard worked for The Cancerman,
he had not been free of him. Krycek had poisoned his
water, beat up his boss, killed his partner's sister and murdered his father.
He should hate him. He did hate him. He had to hate him.
He threw his head back against the softness of the cushions and
remembered other things. The fire in Krycek's
eyes when he told him that he admired him. The
gentleness in his voice as he handed him coffee the morning after Scully's
disappearance. The way he had looked at him when he climbed out of the
Bureau pool and handed him a towel. His big, dark, puppy eyes
and his eager enthusiasm. It had all been a front. All
of it, a lie.
It was just a little harder to convince his body than his mind. The way
he had looked in those tight jeans and that leather jacket, thrown against that
bank of phones in the airport, played again in front of unseeing eyes. The way
it had felt to hold him down with his own body, so close, belly to belly, Krycek's thigh wrapped around his hip...
A heavy sigh escaped him as his right hand trailed slowly down his chest
to rest in his lap. As the images flowed past in the darkness behind his closed
eyelids, his fingers slipped under the waistband of his shorts and curled
around his cock, already hard, already beginning to leak from the force of his
thoughts. For just a short while, Krycek had managed
to slip under some of his iron defenses. He had almost believed. His hand moved
faster, harder, his palm pressing into the straining flesh, fingertips catching
the moisture from the head and spreading it over his heat, using it to speed
his strokes. His left hand joined his right, squeezing the sensitive head,
rubbing hard circles in counterpoint to the pulling of his right. In very
little time, his hips were thrusting off the worn cushions, jerking in time to
his harsh panting, and he threw his head back and cried aloud as he came, semen
splattering against the material of his waistband, a contained explosion. The
flashes of red and pure white behind his lids slowly faded away, and he dragged
his hands away from his now quiescent cock. He bit his lip and squeezed his
eyes as tightly closed as he could, ignoring the ache in his chest.
Yes. He had to hate him. There was no other alternative.
He was still alive, wasn't he? He'd always considered himself a strong
person, not a tough guy, no, not really, but strong. Had to
be. Didn't he?
She was sitting next to him, smiling at him, shaking her head.
"Go away! It wasn't my fault! I DIDN'T FIRE!"
Her smile didn't falter even as she faded from sight.
Damn him. Him and his fucking cigarettes. If he
hadn't been smoking in the stupid car Mulder never would have ever found out.
Not until it was too late. Not until no one else could save him. He knew all
his secrets. Used them. In the patchy darkness where
the silo lights didn't quite reach, where the shadows bent the light and the
fuzziness in his eyes made the shadows move, he saw him. Wreathed
in smoke. Pale, cold eyes, staring at him. Laughing at him. Knowing him. Playing him. Use a lie as close to the truth as possible,
and eventually it becomes indistinguishable from the truth.
He had never lied to Mulder. He simply hadn't told him the whole truth.
If he had, they would have killed the other man. And his work would have
been a failure. His life would have been a failure. They were the same, after
all, weren't they? Take care of Mulder.
He could hear his voice. Calling him Alex, in that gentle tone he so
seldom used, without the ever-present mockery, untainted by distrust, warm and
soothing as aged whiskey.
Then her voice joined the chorus. He had killed her, even if he hadn't
pulled the trigger, for hadn't that been his plan? Take Scully out of the
picture permanently? Leave the path free for ... what? Aged
whiskey and soft kindness. The smoke cleared for a moment, then returned
as thickly as ever. The high, thin tones of his superior, the
edge of distaste, the frigid clarity of a dead soul in a living body.
Overpowering the other voices until they receded, guilt and the lost hope of
love buried under hatred and death.
The voices rang in his mind, driving him to an escape he could not find.
Frantic to escape them, lost to his own hopelessness, he began to dig at the
loosened edge of a metal panel, clawing at the concrete crumbling under his
bleeding fingers.
He had been buried alive. Now he had company.
He hated him, but he needed him. And he knew where to find him. He just
had to do it quickly or there would be nothing left to find, and his most
promising hope of bringing the worst of the conspirators to justice would be
gone.
The preparations didn't take very long, but Mulder still chafed at the
delay. Frohicke had been his usual helpful self,
handing him a printout of the duty rotations of the special
forces personnel assigned to the silo in Black Crow,
One intense evening of planning later, Mulder was in a Cessna two seater heading northwest to
Flashes of memory returned. He couldn't tell if they were real or not. As
the hours passed, he couldn't tell if anything was real or not anymore. But a
few things felt like they could be.
Mulder's voice. It was here.
Screaming that Krycek was here, that he knew he was
here. The voice growing fainter. "You can't hide
the truth" he thought he heard faintly under the thunder of booted feet
and the sounds of his own retching. But the truth was hidden. Because of Him. The smoking bastard.
The one who brought him here. The
one who left him here. To die.
He knew he had. The small voice that told him he was alive hadn't spoken
to him in a long time, so he knew he must be dead. Too bad,
really. Mulder had tried to help him. As he had tried
to help Mulder. As he would have always tried to help
Mulder, even if it hadn't been his assignment.
In the dark, in the pain, two faces crystallized behind his eyelids. One his ally. One his enemy. One he
hated. One he loved.
He had never been one for regrets. He lived in the present, couldn't
afford not to, there were too many people trying to kill him to let his
attention wander. But he did have a few forlorn wishes. One,
that he had found some way to convince Fox Mulder that he really did
admire him, when he had had the chance. That, given a hint of encouragement, that admiration could have been a hell of a
lot more. He hurt for him. And two, that he hadn't been able to kill the Cancerman when he had the opportunity. Now he'd never be
able to do either.
Too bad he was dead.
Flat land and cows weren't much help with hiding. Mulder drove the rental
Honda as sedately as possible, trying his best to give the impression of a
tourist meandering the back roads of
Motion sensors had been placed every nine feet along the maze of
corridors, and audio sensors every fifteen. Langly
had tried to explain the workings of his grey box, but Mulder hadn't followed him
after the first few minutes of technobabble. He knew
when to turn it on, when to turn it off, and if it was working.
It was.
Following Byers' schematics, he took the direct route down the
maintenance catwalks until he got to the eighth level underground. Pausing to
catch his breath, he listened hard. There shouldn't be anyone here, but he
could swear he heard ... scratching? And singing? Someone was singing. And not
doing a very good job of it. It sounded like an old Sting tune, sung by someone
with a very bad cold and severe asthma.
Well. That answered one question. Krycek was
alive.
Completely out of it, from the sound of it, but
still breathing, even if barely. And
trying to escape.
Mulder eased around the final catwalk, moving a metal access panel and
pausing, crouched in the opening, for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he
couldn't hold back the gasp.
There it was. The UFO. Barnacles encrusted the
bottom of the massive, dark shape, but it was unmistakable. Eyes caught by the
sheer size of it, he straightened and stepped into the room, not hearing the
beeping of the motion detector alarm on his belt.
Alex Krycek paused in his digging and looked up
at the sound of footfalls in his personal hell. Who else had died now? Who was
joining him? He blinked, twice, trying to bring blurry eyes into focus, and
made out a tall, lanky figure moving toward the hulk of metal as if entranced.
Ah. Mulder. Obviously, the Cancerman's
thugs had killed him too, and he'd ended up here to keep the UFO company. Although this made perfect sense to him, his body
reacted instinctively when he saw the door to his prison fly open and a kevlar armored figure raise his rifle toward Mulder's unprotected back.
Mulder was distracted from his study of the alien craft by a scuffling
sound. He dropped his eyes and looked with horror at Krycek.
His eyes were wild, sunken into his face, and he was covered with oil and dirt.
His hands were torn and bleeding from where he had apparently been digging at
the concrete foundation with his fingers. And his lips were drawn back in a
feral snarl. Before he could make any move to calm him, the dark figure hurled
itself at him. He threw himself to the side and prepared to defend himself, but
Krycek went right past him.
Rolling over and staring at the now opened door of the chamber, Mulder
watched in open-mouthed shock as Krycek knocked an
assault rifle from the hands of a guard Mulder hadn't heard enter. In three
sharp movements, Krycek had disarmed him, ripped the
helmet from the soldier's head, and broken his neck. The guard died silently.
Mulder gulped and pushed himself to his feet, watching Krycek
turn, as ready as he could be to defend himself from the madman facing him. To
his complete surprise, Krycek didn't attack. Instead,
he stood, swaying slightly, with what looked like a smile on his cracked lips.
Mulder took a cautious step forward.
"You're safe now," the other man rasped out painfully, then the smile disappeared as his eyes rolled and he lost
consciousness. Mulder caught him before he hit the ground.
The stench was nearly overpowering, but Mulder bit down on his reflexive
gag and hefted Krycek's boneless form over his
shoulder. He shuddered briefly as he passed the guard's sprawled body. He
couldn't believe how fast Krycek had killed him. He
had less than ten minutes now to get out of here before the second guard came
around and the alarm was sounded. Settling his inert burden more securely over
his shoulder, he set out at a trot.
He'd take the elevator going back.
The drive had been a sedate if nervewrackingly
tense one. Less than fifteen minutes outside of Black Crow he had seen frantic
activity in the rear view mirror, but by then he had been at the turn off to
the maze of dirt roads surrounding
Mulder began to take a deep breath, and broke off almost immediately with
a grimace as he caught another strong whiff of Krycek.
The man needed bathing badly. From the look of him, food would be a really good
idea, too. He sighed and made his way to the passenger door, keeping a sharp
lookout for any prying eyes in the area. It looked as abandoned as he could
have hoped. Pouring Krycek out of the seat and over
his shoulder, he carried him inside and dumped him none too gently on the
carpet in front of the couch. Two more trips emptied the car of the luggage,
bags of food and supplies he had brought along.
He'd known that Krycek would be in bad shape,
if he was still alive, and had planned to hide for a day or two in the cabin,
both to allow the Consortium's manhunt to spread out a little and to give Krycek some time to regain his strength. He'd use the time
to try to work out a bargain with the other man. Information
in exchange for his life. If Krycek didn't
want to help him and Scully put the Cancerman away,
then he would throw the slimy little bastard to the wolves.
Krycek was beginning to
stir as Mulder finished putting the rest of the groceries in the pantry. He
slammed the cupboard door a little harder than necessary, wanting to alert his
disoriented 'guest' to his presence. After seeing what Krycek
had done to the guard, he certainly didn't want to startle him. Red rimmed dark
eyes, long lashes encrusted with dried oil and salt from his tears, stared
mutely at him. He couldn't read the expression they held through the fatigue.
He took a long breath and crouched quietly next to Krycek.
So far, so good. He hadn't tried to break his neck and
escape. That was a good sign.
"Hi," he began quietly. He tried to keep his voice as neutral
as possible, as nonthreatening as he could make it.
"You okay?" No response. Krycek continued
to stare up at him, for all the world like a wounded
animal who was too tired to chew his foot out of the trap. "You, uhm, you need a bath. Can you stand up?"
He pursed his lower lip and studied the body lying in front of him, trying
to determine the best way to go about getting him clean. A low moan interrupted
his train of thought. Startle hazel eyes flew up to clash with forest green,
and he found himself holding his breath. Something was not quite right here. Krycek was staring at him as if he had never seen him
before.
"Krycek? ... Alex?" He tried again, very gently. Krycek's
eyes closed and for a moment an expression of pain tightened his features. Then
he forced himself to his elbows and tried to lift himself up. He only got as
far as a half sitting position before Mulder leaned forward and wrapped a
strong arm around his waist.
"I've got you. Come on, now, into the shower with you." The
short walk from the living room to the bathroom took too long for Mulder, not
nearly long enough for Krycek. Finally, the two men
staggered into the small room. Mulder propped Krycek's
battered body on the toilet seat and balanced him with one hand as he flipped
the shower controls with the other.
"Can you manage it?" Blank dark eyes staring up at Mulder made
him seriously doubt it. He sighed again and leaned his charge up against the
wall, carefully balancing him so that he wouldn't slip onto the floor. As steam
began to fill the room, Mulder eyed the stall, then
studied Krycek. No help for it. He had to do it for
him. Stripping quickly and efficiently, he didn't notice the spark of interest
that flamed in Krycek's eyes, bringing life back into
his features for the first time since he had rescued him. Mulder knelt on the
floor in front of Krycek, wrestling with his boots
and cursing the dried oil practically gluing the leather to the skin.
Another small moan issued from deep in Krycek's
chest. Mulder ignored the sound and tossed the ruined footwear out the door.
Gritting his teeth against the smell and the feeling of the oil beneath his
hands, he reached up and rolled the soggy sweater off the other man, tossing it
into the hallway. He pulled and tugged until the filthy jeans and shorts
finally peeled away from the muscled thighs, and they joined the other
discards. Mulder ran his hands along Krycek's sides
until his palms rested under the smaller man's armpits, then hoisted him bodily
into the shower, grumbling steadily under his breath.
Krycek couldn't understand
what Mulder was saying, but he could feel the rumble of his voice through his
back as he leaned against the taller man's chest. He hadn't realized being dead
would be so much fun. He must have done something right along the way or he
never would have ended up in a steamy room with a naked Mulder holding him up,
gently running a soapy cloth over his skin, rubbing away the pain and the
weariness and the filth, making him clean and safe. As the strong fingers began
to run through his hair, kneading shampoo into his scalp, he rested his head
back against the curve of Mulder's bare shoulder.
Yes. He could stay here forever. Being dead had its benefits.
It took three complete cycles with the washcloth and nearly an entire bar
of soap before the skin under his fingers began to feel silky again, free of
the gritty oil and accumulated filth that had coated Krycek.
As the water began to cool, Mulder found himself running his hands in slow
circles over the wiry body leaning against him. Krycek
had lost weight. He could count his ribs, his collarbone felt almost fragile,
and the sharp edge of his pelvic bone seemed near to cutting through the tender
skin there. With a start, he realized that he was practically caressing the
younger man, standing under the running water, lost in thought.
"Lost, for sure," he muttered to himself. "Losing my
damned mind, is what I'm doing." Hurriedly, he
twisted the spigot off and wrapped a bath sheet around Krycek.
Grabbing another for himself, he quickly tied it around his waist and walked Krycek into the bedroom. Drying him haphazardly, he propped
him against the headboard and turned toward the door.
"Don't move. I'm just going to get some dinner." A light snore
was the only response. He stopped and glanced at the bed. Krycek
had slipped sideways to sprawl against the pillows, sound asleep. "It can
wait. You're no good to me until you get some rest." He changed direction
and made sure the windows were nailed shut from the outside, a precaution he
had pre-arranged with Frohicke. Crossing the room and
closing the door quietly behind him, he locked it and pocketed the key. He
wasn't taking any chances on Krycek deciding to leave
before he was ready.
He busied himself with the task of opening cans and warming up dinner. As
he was finishing up, he heard a slight noise from behind the bedroom door and
took a deep breath. Show time. He gathered up the soup
and hot chocolate he had laid on a tray and reached for his keys. Listening for
a moment before turning the lock, he slowly nudged the door open with his foot.
Krycek was sitting up in bed with a vague look on his
face, head turning slowly from side to side.
"Looking for something?" Mulder asked suspiciously as he
crossed the room and placed the tray on the bedside table.
"My, uhm, my
pants?" Krycek sounded far away, and not quite sure of himself.
"Burned 'em," Mulder lied.
"You're stuck here for now, so you might as well enjoy it." He
pointed at the food. "Eat up."
Krycek's eyes lit up at the
sight of the tray, and he reached unsteadily for the mug of soup. His fingers
trembled, and he nearly knocked it to the floor. Mulder sighed. "Here. Let
me help you or you're going to end up wearing more than you eat." Krycek subsided meekly, and Mulder cast him another
suspicious stare. He must really be wiped to be so submissive.
He settled himself along the edge of the mattress, his thigh resting
against the outside of Krycek's, and lifted the mug,
placing it carefully to the other man's mouth. Krycek
lifted one shaky hand to cover Mulder's and drank deeply,
closing his eyes in apparent bliss as the liquid ran down his throat. Mulder
found himself staring, caught by the sheer sensuality of his enjoyment. When Krycek's eyes drifted open, they locked with Mulder's, and neither broke the glance, until Mulder pulled
away suddenly, almost spilling the soup himself.
"I think you can handle it from here," he growled, and
retreated to the armchair at the side of the bed. Krycek
cradled the mug in both hands and continued to sip, his eyes following Mulder's every movement.
"Why did you come for me?" he asked quietly. Mulder's eyes narrowed as he considered the question.
"Because I need you," he answered honestly.
"I don't have the digital tape anymore. I ... for some reason I gave
it to the Cancerman." He grimaced in disgust at
his own actions, then shook his head slightly and continued. "So, what do
you need me for?"
"To testify." At Krycek's disbelieving stare, he bit his lip
and carried on. "We had Cardinale in custody.
They got to him. We'd keep you in personal protective custody and make sure you
made it to the trial in one piece."
"What could they do to me?" Mulder didn't believe his ears.
Surely that innocent tone and naive question hadn't come from Krycek. He ignored it, deciding the rogue agent was yanking
his chain.
"You're the key to bringing them down. That is the only reason why I
haven't killed you outright for murdering my father."
Calm dark eyes bore into his, and Mulder read utter sincerity in them.
"I didn't kill your father."
"Then who did?" he snarled, sorely tempted to shoot the lying
little bastard.
"He killed himself."
Mulder froze. For a moment the world contracted to the sound of his
heartbeat in his ears. Images played in front of his eyes, shimmering through
the drugs he had been on at the time, but details his trained eye had
catalogued unconsciously. The placement of the entry wound. The
expression on his face. The spilled pills. The angle of trajectory that the bullet would have had to take to
come from the bath tub. The angle of the exit wound. The
burns on his skin.
Fuck.
The little shit was telling the truth.
He swallowed, hard. "Why were you there, then?" His voice was
shakier than he would have liked. Krycek didn't seem
to notice.
"To protect you." He really seemed to believe it, too.
"From what?" Angry, incredulous words. "My
father?"
"Yes. Keep him from hurting you, with the truth." Krycek's voice was slow and dreamy, and he stared fixedly
at Mulder. "You keep looking for it. And it will only hurt you. Have to
keep you from being hurt. Have to protect you. Well, had to. Too
late now."
"Too late for what? What do you mean, protect me from the
truth?" Mulder was completely confused. Krycek
wasn't making any sense at all. He had been sent to hobble him, to block his
work, not help him.
"If you got too close they would kill you. I had to make sure they
didn't kill you. That was my assignment, keep you from the truth and keep you
alive. But I can't do that, can I? 'Cause I'm dead now, so I can't protect you
any more."
Mulder felt his jaw drop. Dead? He thought he
was dead? "Mm-hm. Alex?
You're not dead." Insane, yes, but not dead. He
kept the last thought to himself.
"Of course I am, Mulder. Otherwise why would you be here? Why would
you be caring for me? Feeding me? Cleaning me? Holding me?" The words grew
gradually softer until the last phrase was a bare whisper. Mulder found himself
leaning forward to hear as the tone fell, until he found himself almost
completely out of the chair, less than a foot from Krycek's
intent face. Sitting back abruptly, he scrabbled at his waistband until he
found his handcuffs. Taking the mug from Krycek's
relaxed grip, he placed it within reach on the table and firmly clipped Krycek's right wrist to the headboard.
"Sleep tight, Krycek. See you in the
morning." Maybe then you'll be back in the land of the living, he added
under his breath, and shut the door on those dark, somber eyes.
Bedding down on the sofa, Mulder stared into the darkness for a very long
time before sleep finally claimed him. Even when he did sleep, the images
wouldn't stop tormenting him. He saw his father, Krycek,
the Cancerman, Sam, Scully, Skinner,
even Melissa, calling out to him, taunting him, and pleading with him. So many losses. So many lies.
Krycek found himself
staring at the ceiling. Something wasn't quite right here. If he was dead, why
did his wrist hurt? And why did he feel so energized? Weren't ghosts supposed
to be transparent and droopy? Acting instinctively as his mind worked on the
puzzle, his left hand dug at the edge of the tray until he had worked a section
of wire loose from the decorative trim. Bending it and wiggling it in the lock,
he listened for the click. His patience was finally rewarded by the loosening
of the cuff around his wrist, and he slipped his hand free and sat up in the
bed, folding his arms around his knees and resting his chin on his fists. Well.
Looked like he might not be dead after all. Now, what
should he do about it?
His options were limited. The Cancerman had too
many resources, and he had lost his insurance when he lost control of the
digital tape. He had no money, no allies, and damned near omnipotent enemies.
He stared at the door. He could run, and they would find him, and he would be a
dead man. Or he could stay, help Mulder, and they would find him, and he would
be a dead man. Any way he looked at it, he was dead.
So he might as well enjoy it.
Carefully picking the other cuff lock, he
gathered up the handcuffs and padded, naked, to the door. The handle of the
spoon worked quite well as a lever to get the plate of the door handle pried
up, and extended inward, with a little judicious jiggling, flipped the lock
handily. Easing it open, he stepped lightly to the side of the sofa, and let
his eyes roam freely over his prey.
Mulder lay tangled in a sheet, deep in a nightmare, sweat beading his
forehead and cheeks, chewing on his full lower lip as he mumbled something
incoherent. His tee shirt was twisted from his contortions, and the material
rode up so that Krycek could see a light dusting of
hair and one dark pink nipple. He licked his lips and studied the possibilities
of the couch. As he watched, Mulder lifted his right arm and flung it over his
head, as if he was pushing something, or someone, away from him. That made it
simpler.
Quietly as a cat, Krycek slipped a cuff over
the relaxed wrist, then ran the chain through the oak
crossbar on the back side of the couch. Before Mulder could wake enough to
realize what was happening, Krycek grabbed his left
wrist and wrenched it upward, clasping the other cuff around it and squeezing
it shut. Mulder was well and truly caught.
He came fully awake with a low growl, lashing out with his feet and
trying to kick at Krycek. Alex stepped behind the arm
of the sofa, out of range, and pushed down firmly on Mulder's
chest. He then calmly yanked the sheet away from Mulder's
legs and began to tear it into uneven strips. Wide, frightened, angry eyes,
glinting with green highlights, glared impotently at him, upside-down to him in
his secure position. When Krycek made no further move
toward him, Mulder subsided, panting heavily.
"How the fuck did you get out?" he rasped.
"Carefully," Krycek grinned down at
him. "Hush now." He took one of the strips of linen and gagged
Mulder, taking care not to hurt him or restrict his breathing. Then, dodging
further frustrated kicks, he tied Mulder's ankles
loosely but firmly to the opposing crossbar. Mulder could spread his feet
almost eighteen inches apart, but couldn't turn, or kick, or escape. It would
do. Krycek stared down at his captive and took a deep
breath. Maybe being dead had its advantages. He could do whatever the hell he
wanted to. And he had wanted to do this for a very long time. Pushing the tee
shirt all the way up and over Mulder's head, he
bunched it around his wrists, cushioning them so that Mulder wouldn't hurt
himself on the hard wood of the sofa arm. Then he efficiently peeled his shorts
down his legs, leaving them gathered loosely around his feet. He stared at the
long, nude form of his erstwhile partner and felt his pulse pick up, and his
throat begin to dry. Mulder was beautiful.
He began by slowly running his hands up the length of Mulder's
legs, testing the long, lean muscles with his fingertips, lightly feathering
his fingertips over the tendons in his ankles, the curve of his calves, playing
in the hollows of his knees. Mulder was barely breathing now, staring at him in
fascinated horror. Krycek skimmed the bunched muscles
of his thighs, then dipped his caressing hands to the softness of his buttocks,
a touch he'd been hungry for since the first time he had seen Mulder in swim
trunks. The muscles tensed under his hands, the cheeks drawing in, trying to
escape his touch.
He smiled, and curved his arms around the slender waist, fingertips
meeting in the small of his back. Mulder was making small, distressed sounds
through the gag, and Krycek lowered his head to the
agent's stomach, kissing the soft skin lightly. He flicked his tongue out to
follow the scant trail of hair up the center of his chest, hands coming back
around to trace the line of his ribs. His wandering lips found the raised
softness of a nipple, and he paused to lap at it, nibbling lightly, then sucking the small nub of flesh until it had puckered
into a tiny pebble under his teeth. He laughed deep in his throat, listening to
the sounds from behind the gag mutate, soften, the muscles in Mulder's throat working to ease the sudden tension.
His hand rose to torment the other nipple as his mouth continued its
upward ascent, nipping lightly at the straining tendons at the sides of his
neck, kissing the hollow of his throat, laving it with his tongue. He could
feel Mulder's pulse, feel it accelerating, with fear
or arousal he didn't know, and at this point, didn't care. His erection was
getting insistent, pushing into Mulder's groin, and
he knew he'd have to pick up the pace. He had wanted this too long to take it
with the slow care he wanted to use, but they had all night. Mulder wasn't
going anywhere, and he sure as hell wasn't leaving.
He continued his journey, the kisses rougher now,
open mouthed, more teeth, a more frantic tongue. He pulled at Mulder's earlobe with his teeth, then
soothed the small hurt with a quick swipe of his tongue. His fingers had found Mulder's cock, which was responding of its own accord to
the sensual stimulation of Krycek's hands and mouth.
As he buried his face in the warm curve of Mulder's
neck, his right hand encircled Mulder's burgeoning
erection and began to stroke it firmly, pulling at the shaft, palming the head.
One knee slid between Mulder's legs and forced them
slightly apart, and his left hand insinuated itself between his thighs, cupping
his sac and rolling his balls lightly from side to side. He alternated
manipulating the sac with running a finger lightly over the perineum from sac
to anus, feeling the tender skin flinch involuntarily, enjoying the instinctive
way the balls crept up under his touch. Mulder quickly became erect under the
double assault, his hips arching off the soft cushions of the couch. A low
moaning was coming from him now, a mixture of denial and arousal and anger and
helplessness.
He was so close now. Dropping his other leg to the side of his captive's
hip, he laid his erection alongside Mulder's and
caught both straining cocks with his hands. Pushing the hard muscle of his
thigh rhythmically into the base of Mulder's cock, he
milked their cocks together, the slick flesh sliding, pressing against one
another, balls slapping against each other, building the pressure until his
hands were a blur over their flesh. Mulder was bucking underneath him now, as
desperate as he to reach climax, writhing under the hands driving him on, the
wet, hot cock rubbing hard against him. With a muffled scream Mulder began to
convulse, and the creamy liquid spraying over his hands was the final push Krycek needed to go over the edge. With a long moan his own
spasms joined Mulder's, and he ground his hips into
the other man's, wringing them both dry with his fists.
Krycek collapsed onto Mulder's trembling body, panting hard, his hoarse breathing
matching Mulder's own. For the first time he noticed
the tracks of tears running from the corners of Mulder's
eyes, disappearing into the ruffled hair at his temples. He leaned forward and
licked at the salty trails, ignoring Mulder's attempt
to back away. Smoothing the dark, sweat-soaked hair back from Mulder's forehead, he shifted on the couch until he could
lie comfortably, curled up against the agent's chest.
"I guess we need to talk."
A muffled grunt was his only response. Lifting his head to study the
gagged mouth, dazed eyes and overall incredulous expression, he allowed himself
a small smirk.
"Okay. I'll talk. You can listen." He began to trace idle
patterns in the soft skin under his hand, watching with interest as a trail of goosebumps followed his fingertips. "You never knew
it, but I was telling the truth. I really did -- do admire the way you work.
Not the work itself, but your methods. You're smart. Probably the smartest man
I've ever heard of. Definitely the smartest I've ever met. And you're
determined. And you're ... passionate." His voice lowered, eyes getting a
faraway look in them. "What I wouldn't have given to've
been able to change that passion's focus." He suddenly splayed his fingers
wide, spanning the pectoral muscles and pressing lightly. Mulder jerked
slightly, but stayed still, the harsh cadence of his breathing his only sound.
"You are so good at finding the truth, your precious truth, and you never
had a clue." He raised himself on the hand resting on Mulder's
chest and stared hard into uncomprehending green- flecked eyes. "You still
don't." Dipping his head, he ran the tip of his tongue over the full lower
lip edging the bottom of the makeshift gag. Drawing back to admire the sheen of
moisture now coating it, he smiled down at the other man. "I love
you."
Mulder bucked, complete denial in every quivering muscle as he tried to
knock Krycek off of him. Without missing a beat, his
tormentor backhanded him, effectively stunning him and forcing him to listen to
the rest of his words. "My assignment was to keep you alive and to keep
you in the dark. And I did a damned fine job at it, too. Y'know
why? Because I wanted you both alive and in the dark.
Not for their reasons ... for mine." He thrust one hand through the thick,
short hair at the back of Mulder's skull and clenched
his fist, pulling his head back and forcing the weakly struggling agent to face
him. "You were my hero at the Academy. When I got this chance I jumped at
it.
Another muffled sound, and a slight negative shake of his head, all Krycek's tight grip would allow.
"Oh, yeah, I did. But there wasn't a fucking thing I could do about
it. Once they get their claws in you ya might as well give it up, because you
never shake them loose. I tried. I didn't kill your father, like they wanted me
to. I held my fire when Cardinale killed Scully's
sister. I even held on to the digital tape instead of handing it over right
away. So they blew up the car I was sitting in." Mulder went completely
still, staring at Krycek, an inquiring look on his
face. "I figured it out from the way the others were acting, and the clock
on the dash. Got out right before it blew and started to run.
And you wanna know why they were going to kill
me?" A raised brow answered him, and he loosened his fingers, gently
combing through the hair, settling it back in place. "Not for fucking up,
not really. Not for losing my commitment, 'cause I never had any in the first
place. Not to them. But because I'd proven that my need to protect you was
stronger than my fear of them. Hell, even in
He drew a deep breath and slid his other hand up behind Mulder's neck. Slipping the knot that held the gag, he
dipped his head again and caught Mulder's mouth in an
open kiss, capturing his jaw with one hand and holding him still. Somewhat to
his surprise, Mulder didn't try to bite him. He didn't kiss him back, but he
did accept the invasion of Krycek's tongue.
Alex put his soul into the kiss, trying to prove himself with the heat in
his lips and hands and body. Only when he finally needed to gasp for air did he
draw back. Panting lightly, he stared at Mulder's
face, waiting for a response, any response. The one he got made him close his
eyes in frustration.
"You are out of your fucking mind."
Krycek took a deep breath
and glared at Mulder. Stubborn son of a bitch.
"First you're convinced that you're dead, then that you're some kind
of goddamned Galahad, and now you're in love with me?!" Mulder's voice had gradually gained strength until he was
practically screaming at the man draped on top of him. Krycek
winced, and sighed. He placed his fingers over Mulder's
mouth, and when the larger man tried to shake them off, he curved his free hand
around his throat. The agent heeded the implied warning and quieted down.
"I am dead, Mulder. However this works out, I'm dead. I help you,
they kill me. I run, they kill me. No way to go that they won't kill me."
His voice softened and he traced the full lips under his hand tenderly.
"So, yeah, I'm dead. May be time-delayed, but it's gonna
happen. As for the protection ... the Cancerman wants
you alive for some reason, and I haven't the faintest what it is. But I do too,
so it worked out. And yeah." He shifted slightly,
and thrust his hardening cock into Mulder's stomach,
enjoying the widening of his eyes, the expansion of his pupils, the instinctive movement of his pelvis as Mulder reacted to
his advance. "I am in love with you. And before I unlock those cuffs,
you're going to know it."
Cupping the other man's jaw with both hands, he kissed him again. Mulder
tried to keep his lips firm against the determined assault, but he was fighting
a losing battle. Krycek worked at his lips with his
tongue until, with a slight moan, Mulder gave up and accepted his entry. As he
deepened the kiss, his hands slipped from around Mulder's
neck, trailing fire down his chest, across his abdomen, to the thick curls at
the apex of his thighs and the hard flesh there. One hand held Mulder's cock steady, barely pumping, encouraging his
arousal, while the other hand concentrated on the head, teasing at the droplet
of fluid at the slit, spreading it around the crown with his fingertips. Krycek finally broke the kiss and gave that delicious
bottom lip one more affectionate suck before slithering slowly down Mulder's body to replace his hand with his mouth.
Mulder gasped aloud at the first contact of hot, wet mouth on his
erection. His hips thrust upward in spite of himself, and he closed his eyes at
the triumphant grin surrounding his flesh. Krycek
began to pump his shaft firmly, sucking on his cockhead
with alternating soft and strong rhythm, not so slowly driving Mulder out of
his mind. When he pulled back and stilled his hands on Mulder's
flesh the agent was unable to stifle a broken plea for him to continue. The
sudden dip of the mattress on each side of his hips caused his eyes to fly
open, and he stared as Krycek, his face flushed with
want, his mouth wet with a combination of saliva and semen, knelt above him.
The compactly muscled body hovering above him sent an arrow of pure lust
running from his dry throat straight to his groin, and his cock jumped,
bouncing lightly against Krycek's ass. He didn't have
long to wait.
Krycek reached behind him
and grasped his erection at the base, holding him still. Using his other hand
to spread his asscheeks, he very slowly placed the
head of Mulder's cock at the tight entrance to his
rectum. Mulder watched with his heart caught in his throat as Krycek took a deep, relaxing breath and pushed the head
into his anus, throwing his head back as the bulbous tip slipped through the
ring of muscle. He froze there, allowing his body to adapt to the invasion, and
giving Mulder a chance to get used to the new pressure on his sensitive cockhead. The silence in the room, broken until then only
by the combined harshness of their breath, was filled with a low, grumbling
moan as Krycek released the tensed muscles in his
thighs and sank fully, slowly, on Mulder's erection.
Coming to rest on his bent knees, Mulder buried to the hilt in his body, the
hot soft roundness of Mulder's sac against the
stretched skin at the base of his anus, his own balls pressed tightly into the
cradle of Mulder's pelvis, his cock twitching against
the warmth of Mulder's belly, Krycek
took another deep breath and very nearly came. This was a wet dream come to
life.
Bending over slowly, he brushed Mulder's open
mouth with his own, then straightened and began to rock with mind-numbing care
a mere two inches up before sinking down again, angling the entry so that the
tensile muscle rubbed insistently at his prostate with every stroke. Mulder's hands were clenching spasmodically in the manacles
that held him, his breathing coming in gasping sobs, sweat shimmering on his
skin. Krycek balanced himself with one hand on Mulder's thigh behind him, the other creating a matching
rhythm on his own rampant erection, in concert with his rocking movements. The
combination of Mulder's vulnerability, his own
control, and the incredible sensations radiating from impaling himself on Mulder's cock were too much, and he shuddered as he came,
grinding himself in a circular motion onto Mulder, pumping his cock hard and
splattering semen across Mulder's chest. The
entrapped agent felt the hot splashes on his skin and the strong squeezing on
his cock, deep in Krycek's body. He couldn't hold it
and climaxed himself, shouting hoarsely as he felt himself milked with each
contraction.
Krycek folded slowly over,
Mulder's softening cock slipping out of his ass with
a wet, soft sound. He curled his hands under Mulder's
armpits, curving his fingers into the strong shoulders, burying his face in the
scented curve of the larger man's collarbone. He sighed deeply.
"Yeah." It was a statement, but Krycek wasn't sure of
what. He waited silently, listening to the thumping heart under his cheek
slowly settling into a normal rhythm. His patience was eventually rewarded.
"I can't think of any other reason why you would do that to -- with
-- why you'd ... oh, hell."
He couldn't hold back the grin, although he managed to stifle the chuckle
threatening to break free. "So eloquent, Mulder."
He raised his head and saw the strangest expression on the strong-boned face.
It looked like a combination of satiation, confusion, understanding, lust, and
acceptance. Not the disgust he feared, or the hatred he was used to seeing. His
grin softened into a genuine smile.
Mulder twisted uncomfortably in his bonds. "My hands are dead, Krycek. You wanna unlock these
things?"
"Are you going to run away?" Krycek
asked seriously. Mulder stared back at him equally as seriously.
"No. Despite what's, uhm, happened
here," Alex watched with fascination as a deep blush spread from Mulder's chest along his throat and washed over his
cheekbones. "I still need you and you, well, you
haven't really got any better offers." I hate you, he thought with quiet
desperation. Don't I?
As Krycek opened his mouth to answer, the cumulation of months on the run, alien inhabitation,
imprisonment with no nourishment and body draining sex caught up with him and
he yawned hugely. Mulder looked taken aback for a moment, then
had to grin. "Hey, Alex, unlock me before you pass out." Krycek nodded, eyes falling closed, and scrabbled in Mulder's jeans pocket for the small ring. He fumbled with
the key and barely waited for the snick of unlocking metal before giving in to
his fatigue.
Mulder stared at the tousled head resting on his chest and shifted on the
couch, settling the smaller man's weight more comfortably against him. Bringing
his arms down and rubbing his wrists painfully, he found himself embracing Krycek. Shrugging internally over the bizarre circumstances
in which he found himself, he rested his arms around the warm back and nestled
his chin against the dark curls. His eyes closed as his own exhaustion overtook
him.
Krycek woke to a bright
shaft of sunlight peeking through the curtains, highlighting the peaceful
features of Fox Mulder. His former and, it seemed,
future partner looked completely relaxed for the first time since he had met
him. As he lay quietly in the loose embrace, he took a deep, cleansing breath
and realized for the first time in what felt like years that he felt truly
alive. Watching Mulder through his lashes, waiting for the other man to awaken,
he knew what his next step would be. Time to quit running.
Time to fight, and time to take sides. This man's side. A feral smile curved his lips as he thought
of his, and Mulder's, enemy. It was time for justice,
and time for vengeance.
Sometimes when they buried the dead alive, the dead don't stay buried.
end