Rated NC 17, but only just. Let's err on the side of caution for
Beta by Frankie, who can spot those new paragraphs before they
are even born
and by Orithain who is also a sounding board, inspiration and
the comma police.
Disclaimer: They don't even come visit me any more.:(
Feedback. I need feedback..If I don't get feedback I'm likely
to sulk, and
when I sulk, I drink, morosely, and then I post huge incomprehensible
to all the lists I'm on..and I fart too...
Spoilers: Terma and vaguely Dreamland.
"Shaken and then Stirred"
by Dr. Ruthless
The evening was fun, but I'm glad to be opening the door into
my own space.
I really hate parties. Every year I say I'm not going to do this.
the needs of others suck me in, and every year I have at least
Tomorrow is going to be hangover day. Thank God it's Saturday
and I don't
have to get up early. It wasn't too bad as parties go, Scully
and dances really well. The dance on the tabletop was my particular
favorite! Nice underwear! Cute buns! She'll be feeling it tomorrow
Skinner now, he's an interesting guy. He was fascinating to watch
strength is amazing. Who would have thought he could balance Scully
that. He must have drunk a gallon of rye. He didn't show any effects
until he toppled like a felled cedar, to lie on his face at Scully's
Guess he's still there. I don't want to be around when he wakes
Funny, I don't usually have this kind of trouble getting my door
think my key has grown or something.
Finally! Home again! No messages! That's unusual, but it's nice
that I can
just chill out for once. Ouch! Smashed my knee on the coffee table.
I'm a little the worse for wear too. I should drink some water
to dilute the effects of the alcohol. What was in that punch anyway?
certainly boosted our Christmas party!
Hmmmm....there's something on the floor... an envelope. It looks
as if it's
been pushed under the door while I was out. Nothing on it, no
anything like that.
Holy shit! It's a photograph. It's my worst nightmare! Jeffrey
wearing leather and straps, bare-ass naked with a bunch of flowers
out of the great divide! Is this a Christmas card? Good grief!
whether he's sending these out to everyone? Oh for heaven's sake,
he's not interested in me playing his little games with him. Soft
even when hard is my watchword. I don't need violence to get off!
Back up there! I take that back. Amend it to "I don't usually
to get off." There's one exception, and I don't want to think
Dammit! I'm thinking about him now, and that means I'm toast.
It will take
me weeks to get him out of my mind again. There's only one man
wanted to batter 'til he was broken, then lick the stains from
Alex Krycek, he's sealed into my memory as my promise of heaven
knowledge of hell. He makes me want to smash him to pieces. He
makes me want
to force him up against the wall and lose myself in the blood
What does that say about my character? I don't know. I've given
up trying to
rationalize my feelings for Krycek. I just want to forget him.
There's nothing worth watching on the TV. You'd think that with
this close there would be cute cartoons or something. Do I want
to watch the
"World's Greatest Mysteries"? I do not! Fuck it, its
too much trouble to get
up. Leave it!
I wonder who's sending me photos of Spender, and why.
It's four am and the hangover has come home to roost. My head
No, it's someone at the door. Someone's pounding on my door at
four am and I
have a headache. Merry fucking Christmas!
Maybe they'll go away. No, I don't think they will. Damn!
I open the door, see who it is, and then close it again very quickly.
least I try to close it. He's got his foot in the door and my
are shot to hell. Too much whisky! I'm not the fine tuned fighting
usually am. Shit!
Alex Krycek, man with a mission, bursts through my door as if
right. He shoves me back out of his way, and he's in. Closing
the door he
leans on it and fixes me with a sardonic smile. OK, I'm drunk,
but I'm not
that drunk. I know he's not supposed to be here. I blink at him.
He looks the way I feel. His eyes are glitter bright and his skin
with colour. He looks tousled. He looks more than tousled he looks
He's got that telltale flush that comes from good sex. He smells
of it. I
can smell sex on him the way a shark scents blood. He's wearing
always wears jeans these days. These jeans have seen better days.
worn, frayed, one knee is going in holes and the other leg shows
patches and rusty stains on it. His leather jacket is open, showing
once-white shirt and a dark heather tweed vest with some dark
stains on it.
His knuckles are taped, and there's a cut on his cheek. His earring
in the light from my lamp, flashing and sparkling in sympathy
movements. His smile is wide on his mouth, teeth gleaming, tongue
through pinkly to wet his lips before retreating once more. Something
chest thuds painfully.
//How come he didn't just pick the lock and let himself in? He's
often enough before.//
"So you're knocking now, huh, Krycek? How come you didn't
just break in as
usual?" I'm not in the mood for this. He looks at me, a little
hurt, but I'm
not playing tonight.
"Awww, Mulder, I was being polite. I came here directly from
your Christmas present. You weren't in and I had to wait outside
Can I help it if I fell asleep for a while?" He pulls out
a flask and takes
a swig from it. Then he wipes off the top and offers it to me.
tells me its vodka. I take it reflexively and drink, before I
out of my mind. I hand it back.
"Krycek! Close the door on your way out!" I lurch to
the kitchen and grab a
glass of water, drinking it as I wander sluggishly back to my
is a silence.
"Mulder! I thought you'd be pleased to see me. Did you have
a good party?"
He's still there. I sigh. Why me? Why not Scully or Skinner? They're
to have bad heads too. Why do I always get the extra little piece
"What do you want, Krycek?" I'm very aware that this
guy is a loose cannon.
The last time he was here, he kissed me. I don't want to go there.
spent too much time thinking about it already.
The man saunters around the coffee table, placing each foot with
Watching him move, I think of tigers. He prowls. He's dangerous,
beautiful. I want him to leave. He doesn't leave, he fetches up
beside me on
the couch, sitting uninvited, sprawling back into the cushion
"What? What do you want from me Krycek? Why don't you go
bother someone who
gives a damn? I'm tired, I'm hungover, and the last thing in the
want to do is get into anything with you." I'm bringing the
with short jabs of my finger and it surprises me no end when he
finger I'm poking at him, holding it.
"I just came to wish you Merry Christmas, Mulder. What's
the matter, didn't
you like your present?" He raises an eyebrow and delicately
makes a gesture
with his head towards the coffee table on which sits the photograph
Spender. I'm sure my eyes bug out for a second, because he laughs
Releasing my finger, he picks up the photo and looks at it, shaking
"You've gotta wonder about a man who would give up that amount
for a thrill, haven't you?" He's smiling again, inviting
me to join the
conspiracy as he holds out the photo for my inspection. "Don't
you think he
looks kinda cute?"
"Krycek, I'm not in the mood for a slumber party. Thank you
for your efforts
in bringing Miss December to my attention, but he's really not
my type. Next
time you decide I'm going to host a sleepover, give me a call
and I'll buy
in some milk and cookies. Now will you just leave so I can get
here." I'm trying not to look at him, because he's close
to me, dangerously
close, and I can smell his musky smell. He's a slut. Everything
screams of perfidy. He'll use me and I don't want to be used by
such as him.
"Mulder, I always come back to you. I don't want to. I have
to. This morning
I woke up and realised that my life is shit! I'm going through
not doing what I want, not having what I need. I decided that
today was the
day I would go for it. I went out hunting tonight and found a
you. Now I'm here, and I'm going to make the most of it. I really
Mulder!" This speech, not surprisingly, succeeds in pulling
my eyes to his
face. His pupils are dilated and his breathing is ragged. His
slightly over careful, each word articulated as if it might somehow
into something else. His face is flushed, and as I look at him,
tide rises up from his collar to flood over his cheeks. He's blushing.
only that, he's drunk. "You don't know what it's like to
go through life
without anyone. You've got people who like you. You've got Scully.
got being on the run, and wanting you to keep me going. Well,
no more! I'm
going for what I want. I want you, Mulder."
"Krycek, You've been drinking. Why don't you go home? I'm
not kidding you. I
don't want you here." I'm uneasy. I want him gone. I'm too
fragile just now
to have some wild card come into my life and mess me about. I
anything left. No family, no life, no X-Files. I'm going to be
TV dinners on Christmas Day. I don't need this Lord of Misrule
His eyes have closed. During the brief moment between his speech
the bastard has fallen asleep. His lashes are curling onto his
stubble of a day old beard darkens his lip, cheek and chin giving
piratical appearance that is enhanced by the absurd earring. His
slightly open, and while I am watching he snores gently. I don't
know why it
touches me, but it does. He's not as clean as he could be, he
ancient sin, and I know he has no morals, no scruples. It seems
that I should have the Antichrist asleep on my couch on Christmas
Cursing myself out, I toss a blanket over him and stumble off
in search of
I hate my bed, but tonight I'm just too tired and too full of
booze to care.
I strip down to my underwear, fall into bed and crash.
My dreams are dark and bitter. This is nothing new, my dreams
dark and frequently bitter. I am chasing a giggling Spender down
lined with filing cabinets, screaming that he has my X-Files.
After me runs
a creature I can't see, but I know it wants my life from me. Spender
always ahead, and he's stripping off his clothes as he runs, tossing
back to me. Suddenly I crash into an invisible barrier. I can't
through it. The beast behind me puts hands on my shoulders, spinning
around, and I see that it's Krycek. I jolt awake, my heart pounding
violently, and I'm instantly aware that he's here in this room
with me. He's
lying beside me in an untidy heap, still clad in his denim and
arm is thrown across my chest and he has his face nuzzled into
He has taken off his boots. I should be grateful for that I suppose.
myself out of the bed, staggering off to the bathroom in search
from an achingly full bladder. What's happening to me. Is he real?
I feel as
if I'm being brainwashed. Maybe the aliens have got me and at
minute they're experimenting on me.
My morning erection taken care of, bladder empty, I grab water
fridge, and lurch back to my bedroom. Looking at him sleeping,
believe how young he looks. I can't understand how the things
that this man
has done don't show on his face. His profile is pure. Silky dark
fly above the widely spaced eyes, now covered by lids fringed
dark lashes. His nose tilts up at the end, and the long upper
lip leads into
a mouth that is molded with bowed upper and full lower lip. Soft
are, parted and helpless as he sleeps. His cheekbones cut through
planes of shadow. His chin is small and almost weak. This face
childlike. He is beautiful, and deadly, and in my bed.
I creep back under the covers, chewing aspirin and swigging from
of water as I go. The bed moves as I get myself in. That's the
about waterbeds, you can't be surreptitious in one, it just isn't
I'm beginning to think I've made a mistake when he snakes out
his arm and
pulls me close to him once more. I can't have him chasing me out
of my own
bed. I shake him.
"Krycek! Come on! It's time to go home. Party's over. Let's
move it shall
we?" Impossibly heavy lashes flicker once, and then open
to reveal cool
green doorways into hell. The arm around me tightens and those
expressive lips smile once, and move forward to fasten themselves
My chest is tight. I can't breathe. His lips are sliding over
mine, his head
turning as he burrows into my mouth, tongue plunging between my
lips as I
jerk my head in protest. He's kissing the soul from out of my
struggling to get out from under him as his kiss continues, paring
of my resolve away from my bones. As he continues to claim my
playing with my hair, my ear, my neck, I am aware again of what
I have known
for as long as he has been in my life. I want him, but his price
is too high
Finally, I get my hand between his chest and mine and I heave,
kiss and escaping from the torture of his warmth. I see myself
damned mirror overhead. My lips are swollen slightly, and I look
look as if I've made love and enjoyed it. Why me? Why does it
always have to
be me? I grit my teeth and spit out words at this rat-bastard
that thinks he
can fuck with my mind.
"Get out of this apartment, now! Get out of my life. Is there
need to explain to you about that?" He is smiling again.
He has a curious
smile on his face. It's not his usual sneer. I'm feeling very
and he brings his hand up to trace across my lips.
"Are you aware that you should be carrying a license for
those?" I'm totally
baffled. What's he babbling about? I look my question at him.
I've always wanted to do that. I've always wanted to kiss you
full on the
lips." Dammit, he swoops in fast and locks on again while
I lie gaping at
him. His mouth is soft and tender, and tastes surprisingly good
for a man
who probably spent last night drinking to excess, and who is still
the after effects of whatever sins he got up to. For a moment
I return his
kiss, it feels so good at last to have him invading my mouth,
his tongue, sending shivers through me that wake up my cock and
defying gravity. I can't think how many times I've jerked off
this very event. Now that it's happening to me I have to stop
it. I have to
get away quickly before he finds out that I want him as much as
he seems to
I need to put a stop to things before he finds out that I want
him so badly
I dream about him at nights, and masturbate to his face in my
mind. I fight
madly, and he breaks off the contact, but remains in front of
inches from my lips.
"Get off me and go! Get out now!" He doesn't move, he
just smiles. I pull
back my fist to punch him, and like a striking snake he has me
by the wrist,
imprisoning my hand. This seriously impairs my movement and prevents
gaining the purchase necessary to shove the bastard off me. I
frustration, and drive my forehead up to smack his chin. His lip
he drips bright blood on my chest, but still he smiles.
"Mulder, come on Mulder, its time for us to be together.
I love you,
Mulder." I feel like I'm the victim of some weird brainwashing
smiles patiently at me as I spit my venom. "I know you. I
know how you feel,
Mulder. I've watched you for as long as I've known you. I just
don't want to
wait any more."
"What do you mean, 'it's time?' Just go away Krycek, I don't
wanna deal with
you." I'm blowing him off when what he said just now suddenly
sinks home. He
loves me. Oh God. I trail to a stop and am back to gaping all
"Get off me Krycek, I think it's time we had a talk, you
Looking at him then, his eyes shining green magic in the half
drooling from his lower lip down his chin, hair standing in spikes,
if he's real. Nobody imagines something like this on Christmas
He pulls back from me, releasing my hand and sitting up on the
bed. I pull
myself up 'til I'm leaning on the headboard, and we look at each
"Krycek, you smell like a tomcat. You were obviously out
on the tiles last
night. What makes you think you can come in and play with my head
Why don't you just give it up? I've never heard of anyone who
behaving the way you do towards me. You killed my father, you
partner and me, you've caused me untold pain since I met you.
Now you say
you love me! What is that, Krycek?"
He shakes his head in that typically Krycek jerk of frustration,
in defiance like a little boy before the principal. His face closes
for a minute I think I've won and he will leave. He huddles into
and suddenly appears smaller, less intimidating than before. There's
pause, and the eyes that he raises to mine are lost, windows into
screaming for release from the fire.
"Mulder, we can't always choose what we want. I know there
are things I've
done. Sometimes I hate myself. That's the trouble. I'm good at
the things I hate. Help me out here." His voice dies away,
voice, always carrying with it the promise of intimacy. I can't
game with him. He holds all the cards. He enrages me, makes me
more surely than he ever betrayed me. I hate what I become when
my buttons. I don't want to think of myself as a brutal, out of
sadist. I look at the blood on his face and I know that I put
it there. I
owe him something for the blood I've spilled. I touch my finger
to the blood
and bring it to my lips, tasting the thick, salty fluid. He is
sleazy, he is
a self confessed turncoat and he is probably diseased. He is waiting
to speak as if I hold the power of life and death over him. I
realize that it's possible that I do.
"I can't afford you, Krycek. You are too expensive. You would
cost me my
self esteem." My words cut him. I watch him flinch and his
me. This is blackmail. He wants my soul from me and I know how
he's used his
own. "You seem to think that sex is the answer to everything,
but it isn't.
It isn't even part of the answer. If you hate who you are, sex
won't help. I
can't make you love yourself, Krycek. You have to do that. Hell,
even know where to tell you to start."
Again he pauses. He is shivering, and his eyes have clouded over.
how I want to take him in my arms and kiss away his fears as if
he were my
child. If I could only soothe away his night terrors I would,
monster under this bed is real, and it will devour us both if
I let it.
"Mulder, Fox, I need your help. I can still be someone you
could love. Help
me." I groan. What can I do? How could I ever change this
sorry set of
I think hard. How can I help him? Can I save him or will he drag
with him? My stomach does a flip, and I want to believe, oh how
I want to
believe. I take a deep breath.
"We're going to need to work on you, aren't we? You can't
just slide into my
life like this. You can't expect to climb straight into my bed.
the way real people do things."
He puts out his hand, taking hold of mine and bringing it into
His eyes glow. His hands are scratched and there's blood under
the nails. I
let him have my hand, and he rubs it against his cheek, closing
his eyes and
nestling into it as if he were a cat.
"What do you want me to do? I promise I'll try." He
gives a forced, sad
little smile and once again I feel a flip in my stomach. I have
begun to pay. I open my arms to him, and he falls toward me. His
pillows on my shoulder and I lean my cheek against his hair, feeling
feathery shortness like petals against my lips. Rocking him slightly,
my cheek against him, and say a prayer that we will survive this
"OK, Alex, I think the first thing we should do is get you
clean. You smell
like a tomcat. I don't know what you were doing last night but
you need a
shower." I know I'm inviting intimacy here. However, if I'm
going to get
into a counseling session with this sorry piece of humanity that
snuggling into my arms, I need to establish some kind of
non-confrontational, non-judgmental modus operandi. I'm not the
should be doing this for him. I can't even help myself. How can
I save him?
The man in my arms turns up his face to me, and once again I'm
his eyes. His smile is gentle and he looks tired. The look he
is giving me
is one of love, of trust. It makes me breathe in sharply and I
feel a slash
of desire that pierces me from the back of my neck down to my
cock. I can't
stop myself. Fool that I am, I bend my head down that couple of
inches and rest my lips on his. He sighs, opens his lips to me
and I feel
the blood sing in my ears as I slide my tongue into his mouth.
gently at first, our lips meet, slowly brushing to lock and hold
as I fall
into the kiss I've been fighting. He slides his tongue along mine.
permits me to explore the recesses of his mouth, and only after
spent delving into the moist depths of it does he put up his hand
face, stroking my cheek gently as he maintains that tender kiss.
My heard is
thudding, and I can see what he means. We were born to be together
How did we ever split apart? Kissing him is like a knife slicing
my heart and serving them up for him to eat. I press down on him,
intensify the pressure of my lips on his.
//More heart, take it all, damn you!//
His hand sneaks around my neck and suddenly I realise that it's
too late for
regrets, too late to do anything except hold on tight to him and
make it. I run my hands down his body, sliding them under the
to hold him close to me. He moans softly and I echo the sound
mouth. He is still using his tongue to caress mine, each movement
shivers down my back as I hold on. I don't know whether to be
afraid. Slowly, after a millenium, I pull back to look at him.
His skin is
flushed, his eyes are closed, the thick dark lashes curling sweetly
cheeks. His lips are parted and he shows just a glimpse of white
tongue curled like a leaf gleaming wetly. He is mine.
Green eyes open slowly, languorously. He gazes at me through his
thick lashes, smiles, and I am lost. How did I ever think I could
"Come on Krycek." My voice is thick with a need I don't
want to admit and I
cough to clear the sound of it. "We need to get you in the
uncoils himself and stands in one graceful movement. He begins
to shuck off
the clothes he is wearing, letting them fall on my floor like
skin. His shirt comes off revealing the flat slabs of muscle that
lie on his
back, over his shoulders and across his chest. I gaze in despair
ruined left arm. I can't believe it. How has this happened to
him? He was
perfect and now he is not.
"What happened, Krycek?" He looks at me with disbelief.
"Don't you know? You were there. You told them to" His
voice, always husky,
is quiet and flat. He truly believes this.
"No! I swear to God I didn't know. I would never expect someone
to pay a
price like that. Oh, God, Krycek! It was Tunguska, wasn't it?"
I cast my
head from side to side, as if merely looking for it will bring
me an answer.
He waits for me, patiently naked, gleaming white and beautiful
"It was Tunguska, Mulder. They chopped it off there, and
you left me to
them." I utter a cry of loss, or guilt, or misery. He was
perfect, and now
he is not. God help me, it feels as if it is my loss, not his.
I crawl from the bed to him. Holding him in my arms feels like
There's still a matter of his morals, his habits, his sex-life
but I know now I have to be the one. We're bound together and
it's too late
to break out now.
Getting to the shower is difficult, but not impossible. I know
that I want
him, but I'm not going to give in and take him unless it's on
my terms. I
know this fragile peace is going to need much nursing. It is like
match flame burning behind cupped hands. Without protection it
extinguish itself, leaving only a useless piece of char. If nurtured,
sheltered, and fed, it will grow to be a fire. It will warm the
rage out of control devouring everything in its path. I have no
knowing yet which we will become, but I need to go carefully.
This is not
something I'm used to. I am usually first to charge in and take
what I need.
I require practice now.
My arm around his shoulder, I lead him into the bathroom, pointing
soap and shampoo, the razor and the shaving foam. He starts the
running, and I delve into my cupboard to find him a couple of
towels. I want to watch him as he soaps and cleanses himself,
but I feel as
if I'm a moth beside a candle flame, so I leave the room and go
off to see
about feeding us both breakfast.
Foraging through my slender larder for the fixings, I come up
with bread for
toast, 2 eggs, orange juice in tiny amounts, and coffee. I have
no milk and
no tea. I know he drinks tea. I can't find any butter, so I throw
clothes, grab my jacket and run out of the apartment to search
On my return, I can hear him singing. He has a sweet, tuneful
voice, and I
listen to him as he joins in with the radio. He has found oldies
and the old Jefferson Airplane hit White Rabbit is playing. Grace
howling her heart out, and he's right along there with her, matching
note for note. He sings like someone who knows the pain of last
husky speaking voice translates to a deep, sensual growl when
he sings. He
should be famous. My belly flip-flops again when I think of the
Going back into the kitchen, I find him spooning coffee into the
I watch him deftly measuring and pouring. He is naked, prowling
unfamiliar kitchen, finding the utensils he needs, wearing his
skin like an
Armani. He is tall, with powerful legs, deep muscles on his back
tapering to small waist and flat stomach. His genitals are at
snuggling in their cloak of dark curls. He is pink and scrubbed,
shaven once again with damp hair that glistens in the light. He
and spies me watching him. A smile washes over the intent face,
bounds over to greet me, hand held out to take the paper sack
Delving through the contents, he purrs with delight as he produces
apple juice, butter and milk, muffins from the local bakery and
half a dozen
I'm mesmerized watching him make the toast, scramble eggs, peeling
separating oranges into segments and laying out plates and glasses
us to eat. He moves like a wild animal on the prowl, and his concentration
is complete. Finally, aware that he can cope better than me in
a kitchen, I
head to the bathroom to have my own shower.
Dressing in sweats and T-shirt, I look for something to cover
until I can do the laundry. I'm aware that I am slimmer than he
build is more that of a boxer than a runner, but I round up some
and a T-shirt that will not be too tight. I take them back to
where he has just finished spooning eggs onto the toast and extend
clothes to him. Again, his face lights up in a smile, and he lays
briefly against my face before taking the bundle from me and putting
As we sit down together at my table, I am amazed to find that
content. I have no knowledge of what the future will bring, but
today, I am
suddenly no longer alone. I laugh out loud.
"What?" He pauses, fork half way to his mouth, crumbs
on his lip like a
dusting of freckles.
"I'm just thinking how strange it is. Yesterday I was totally
now, all of a sudden I'm not." It feels so strange. I don't
know how to do
He rises from his chair, fork forgotten, moves around to where
and stoops to kiss my mouth hard, his teeth clunking against mine
hurries. I can feel him tremble, and I put my arms around him
to let him
know it's OK. The kiss is brief, and he pulls back, searching
my eyes, his
face haunted by memories of hurts endured.
"I love you." He speaks it as if it is the only truth
in a black world.
"Merry Christmas, Alex." I whisper to him then, and
his smile comes up like
sunlight over mountains. I am warm.