DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Krycek belong to each other,at least for the duration of this story, and to Chris over there at 1013on a permanent basis, but unfortunately, not to me.
SUMMARY: A M/K first time set within the "I Don't Remember How It Happened"universe.
Okay, friends, I slaved for weeks over this one, so you'd better like it.;) I know, I keep whining about how hard, um, difficult I find it to writeM/K. This is a "prequel" to "I Don't Remember" and narratesthe first time with Krycek that Mulder tells Walter about in that story.
This will be archived at my fic page by the incomparable Mona Ramsey (http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/8298/fiction.html)and may be archived at Archive-X/. Anywhere else, please ask, I am unlikelyto say no.
I Can't Believe I'm Doing This
by Merri-Todd Webster
I can't believe I'm doing this. I should be home trying to sleep, or ifI can't sleep, like Cole, I should be doing something about the X-Files,working on my own time, calling my contacts, trying to get them to re-openthe division. I'm so sick of this surveillance work, listening to third-ratecriminal wanna-bes chew the fat on tape, I could go postal. If all elsefails, I'm going to try to go back to profiling, maybe for a while.
But instead of doing what I should be doing, at least trying to sleep, maybecall Scully and see how she's doing, I'm going out with Alex Krycek. Goingout for a beer, that is.
He asked me before we left the office if I wanted to go out for a drinkor a bite to eat. I said no, but after I'd been home a few hours, done everythingI could do to distract myself, and realized I was even tenser than usual,I called him back to ask if the offer was still good.
So I'm walking with Alex Krycek across the parking lot of a bar out on theroad somewhere, between greater metropolitan areas. It's a surprisinglychilly night, the sky over head so clear and black that it hurts, like anoonday sky in summer, and I'm shivering a little in my t-shirt and jeans.Alex is walking just ahead of me, dressed in a good-looking black leatherjacket. He's not shivering. He's... prowling. I can hardly believe thisis the same stiff, geeky, by-the-book guy I've been partnered with sincethe Cole case. He must have washed his hair because there's no gel in sight;it sticks up in spikes in a feline sort of way, looking soft and pettable.And in the jacket, with jeans that fit him right, he looks less skinny,less breakable than he does in those godawful suits he wears, like somebody'skid brother always tagging along on a date. He looks damn good.
But I am not going to go there. I do not need to notice how fucking goodAlex Krycek looks. I have enough problems right now without the ones thatcome with fucking your partner. Especially if your partner is a guy.
Krycek has stopped and is looking at me kind of oddly, with his head cocked.After a moment he slips out of his jacket and hangs it around my shoulders,as if I'm his little brother. I start to say something, but he shakes hishead. "Never mind, Mulder. You're wearing a t-shirt. I'm wearing along-sleeved thermal." He resumes walking toward the low, dark buildingacross the lot, and it takes me a second to get myself together and followhim. The thermal shirt clings to Krycek's shoulders and back, and the smellof him clings to the inside of the jacket.
The bar is as dim inside as it was on the outside, dim and smoky and smelly.Someone at the other end of the room is playing something vaguely jazzyon a piano, and everywhere I look, I see men. Just men. All between twenty-fiveand forty-five, all smugly well-groomed, all obsessively good-looking. Thesmells of half a dozen different colognes, all worn in large quantities,hit me at once, and I have to fight my gag reflex. Guess what, we're ina gay bar.
We wind up in a booth near the piano with a beer in front of each of us.Krycek is watching me through those disgustingly gorgeous eyelashes, thekind of lashes women hope to get out of a tube of mascara but can't. AmI going to freak out? Is Mulder secretly, despite the X-files, a straightarrow frightened of anything "queer"? It's not like I haven'tbeen in a gay bar before. If I can just survive the cologne competition,I'll be okay. I suck on my beer and coolly watch Krycek watching me. What'syour game, Alex?
"How long have you been with the Bureau, Mulder?"
I make a face into the suds. "Is that your idea of small talk, Krycek?Why don't you just look up my file?"
He smiles disarmingly. "Point taken. So why'd you say yes to my offer?After a few hours?"
I shrug, blowing at the foam on the beer. "Bored. Lonely. Nothing todo. Why'd you ask me?"
The smile is even more charming, now. "Why do you think?"
I crane my neck and look around the room ostentatiously. "Well, eitheryou're trying to freak me out, or you think I'm attractive and you're hopingfor something."
Krycek does a spit take with the beer and wipes his mouth on his sleeve.I can't help noticing how those full lips are glistening with moisture.
"Okay, okay, you've got me." He sets the beer down on the darkwood table. "I did bring you here because I'm... interested. And notjust in your fine mind and your brilliant career." Those big greeneyes are twinkling wickedly. "And I thought that maybe, if you *didn't*freak out, I'd have a chance with you. So do I?"
Nice to talk with someone who cuts through all the crap. How do I returnthe favor?
"I know what kind of vibes I give off, Krycek," I say finally.
"Alex," in a soft voice. I'm not quite ready to go there.
"But just because you've been watching my ass doesn't mean I've beenwatching yours."
Right away he slithers to his feet and gets out of the booth with a littletwist. "Sorry, Mulder. Guess I misread the signs. Should have paidmore attention to whose ass you were watching."
I get him by the arm. "Wait. Put your back down, okay. I said I wantedto go out and have a beer." I let go of his arm and point at his glass."So let's have a beer. What's your hurry?"
Slowly, Krycek sits down again. The way he twists his hips to get into thebooth is even more obvious this time, but I don't think it's a come-on.I think I'm just seeing some of the Krycek you don't get to see when he'son duty. He hides it well, this side of him--confident, graceful, blatantlysexy. It doesn't seem out of place in this bar.
I drink some more beer and he does the same. He drinks about half the glassbefore he looks up at me again.
"I know I'm not Scully, Mulder, but I am your partner right now. I'dlike that to be more than just an assignment." His voice is quiet,almost as if he's talking just to himself. "I didn't ask you out justso I could get into your pants for a quick one--though I wouldn't say no."He flashes that seductive smile that I've seen for the first time tonight."I'd like to be--shit, this sounds so juvenile." He shoves thebeer away and slouches against the back of the booth. "I hope therecan be something more than just work between us. Friendship, maybe."
I look at him for a long time, feeling the first warming inside me. Thatkid-brother look he has is back, but it's not cute or pathetic. It's sad,and I know sadness. Sadness is one of my two or three closest friends.
So it makes me drop my guard, a little. I can remember when I was his age,when I was a new agent, when I wanted nothing more than to be the most fiendishlybrilliant profiler the Bureau had ever seen and put away more serial killersthan everybody else combined, back when people talked about my brains andmy dedication in admiring tones and predicted promotions and my being theyoungest this and the youngest that.... Back before I discovered the X-files.
"Maybe," I say, and down the rest of my beer. "Drink up,I'll buy us another."
It's maybe two hours later. Definitely more than two beers later. My throatis sore from yelling at Krycek over the music, which got louder and louderthe whole time we were there. My eyes are stinging from the cigarette smoke,I know my clothes are gonna stink. I have this hazy, fuzzy memory of watchingKrycek get up and dance, by himself, to some godawful disco song, DonnaSummer or Rod Stewart, dance like a cross between a cobra and a Kabuki actor.I think people actually cleared out of his way to watch. I must be makingthat one up.
I'm sure he could have gone home with half a dozen other guys, but somehowwe're back in his car and he's driving very slowly, very cautiously. "Weshould have called a cab," I mutter.
"We'll be fine."
I raise my head and stare out the windshield. The car goes smoothly andsteadily into the night, other cars zipping by a lot faster. Is he as drunkas I am? I haven't been drunk in decades. Well, not really, but it feelsthat way, and this is a good beer drunk, raw, a little silly, and comparativelycheap. I just hope I don't spew onto the floor of his nice clean car.
That's my building. I fumble obsessively for my keys. Krycek gets out ofthe car, comes around, opens my door, and holds out his hand to me. "Why,thank you," I say in Scully-like tones, "you're a true gentleman."Then I spoil my impersonation of a lady with a truly wet and raucous belch.Krycek snorts.
"Come on, Mulder, lemme help you upstairs."
I'm leaning on him pretty hard as we go in the front door of the buildingand up on the elevator. Good thing tomorrow is Saturday. No, wait, tomorrow'sFriday. I think. What time is it now?
"Is this it, Mulder?"
I squint at the numbers on the door. Forty-two. "Yup, this is me."
Krycek takes the keys out of my hand and opens the door for me. I fall through,nearly fall flat on my face, but he grabs my arm.
"Easy as falling off a log." For some reason this strikes me asextremely funny, and I start laughing helplessly. Yeah, beer is a sillydrunk.
"Which way is the bedroom?"
Giggling and snorting, I point toward door number one, door number two,door number three. "Over there. But I usually sleep on the couch."
Krycek steers me toward door number three. "Over There" is runningthrough my head, so I start singing, but I don't know all the words. AbruptlyI realize I'm on my back on the bed, probably fell there, and my partneris stripping me. Scully? No, not Scully.
"Hey, man, I can undress myself."
"I don't think you can, Mulder."
"You're just trying to take advantage of me."
He gives me a disgusted look. "I don't seduce drunks. Christ, if I'dknown beer would hit you like this, I'd've suggested we go someplace forcoffee."
I can't remember the last time I slept in the bed. Too much trouble, usually.But Krycek has gotten everything off but my shorts and is lifting my legsup so that I pivot on my ass. My head falls short of the pillow, so I squirmup onto it.
He leaves the room and shuts the door all the way, throwing the bedroominto darkness. I sink into the darkness like it's quicksand and then there'snothing else.
I don't know how long I was out. It was more unconsciousness than sleep.Before I'm even completely awake, I'm on my feet and running to the bathroom,gagging. The beers and my dinner and maybe my lunch proceed into the toilet.
I jump when a wet washcloth appears in front of my face. Still crouchedover the bowl, I look up the hand and the arm holding the washcloth to AlexKrycek's face.
"I'm sorry, Mulder. Making you sick to your stomach wasn't on my agenda."
I take the cloth and wipe my face. "'S all right. I'm gonna--I'm gonnatake a shower."
The cool shower helps a lot. Getting the smell of beer and smoke and vomitoff my skin and out of my hair. When I come out of the bathroom, towel wrappedaround me, Krycek is sprawled on the couch, watching cable news. I'm surprisedto find him still here.
"I made some coffee," he says casually. "And ate a couplePop Tarts." A grin flits over his mouth quick as a bird. "Haven'thad those in years."
"Help yourself." The coffee pot and two mugs, one half-full, oneempty, are on the coffee table, with a little pot of cream. Where'd he findthe creamer? I didn't even know I owned it. I fill the empty mug and drinkit black. It's even better than the shower.
I sit down on the edge of the couch beside him. He glances at me and givesme a friendly half-smile, then looks back at the news. Some old guy is droningon about Whitewater, but Krycek looks really absorbed. "Don't you havecable at home?" I ask.
"What?" He glances at me, at the tv, gives me an irritated look."I took you out. I got you drunk. I got you home and in bed beforeyou passed out. I just thought I should make sure you were all right."
"How long was I out?"
"Not quite an hour and a half." Krycek pours himself another cupof coffee. As he leans forward, closer to me, I notice the reek of smokeand beer on his hair and clothes, and my stomach lurches. But I also noticethe shape of his mouth and the thickness of his eyelashes as he sips thecoffee. I come to a decision.
"Why don't you take a shower, too?"
He eyes me over the rim of the cup. "If you feel like staying,"I add.
I'm totally unprepared for the kiss. He darts forward, presses his lipslightly to my cheek, then slides them over so that they brush across mylips and wind up not quite on the opposite cheek. In spite of the stinkof the bar on him, or maybe because of it, my cock jumps under the damptowel, and I almost drop my coffee cup. My cock does more than jump whenKrycek pulls back and gives me that slow, seductive smile.
"Okay, I will."
He gets up and slithers away into the bathroom. My eyes are glued to hisass as he walks away, and I'm sure he knows it. Wants it. I've known sinceI was fifteen that I'm attracted to men as well as women, but I've neverbeen *this* attracted to a man. And I've never had sex with a man, not countingthe occasional circle jerk as a teenager. Too busy, I guess. I haven't hadsex with that many women, considering the opportunities.
Well, I'm not a teenager any more. I'm a man in his thirties who's sittingup in the middle of the night, listening to the shower run and seriouslyconsidering having sex with another man for the first time. Alex Krycek.A few months ago I resented him, almost hated him. I didn't want this greenhorngeek in my life, I wanted Scully, and the X-Files, I wanted my old lifeback. And now... now I want to have sex with him. How did this happen? Whyis it happening?
I sit there and ruminate over the taste of the coffee until Krycek comesback into the living room. This guy doesn't waste any time--he's stark naked,his hair wet and spikier than ever, and he's half hard already. He walksright up to me, confident as a hunting cat, kneels in front of me, and kissesme again.
Oh, this is good. This is very good. He's very good at this, and he's seducingme with those lips and that tongue and that hand on my cheek as surely asif I were a sixteen-year-old virgin girl. His tongue slides in and out,in and out, suggesting and requesting, and his hand slides gradually downfrom my cheek to my shoulder, then to my chest; his fingers brush over mynipples, which immediately wake up and say hello, and then the hand descendsslowly, inevitably to my stomach, to the knot of my towel.
My hands have gotten into his hair, I'm holding his head like it's a cupI'm drinking from, and I'm drinking him, tasting him, greedy for this firstreal taste of another man. Not for the first time, I wonder why most peoplethink it matters, why someone's partner has to be one sex or the other,why most men would never do what I'm doing. He tastes so good, he must havebrushed his teeth or used my mouthwash because his mouth is clean and tasteslike mint, not beer, and he kisses so well, better than most women I'vekissed. He's chewing gently on my lower lip--he's not the first person todo that--and then his hand slides into my towel and closes around my cock.
I tear my mouth away and fall back against the couch as Alex strokes me,up and down. Now I'm thinking of him as Alex. My chest is heaving like thefirst time I did a real morning run. I pry my lids up and see him grinningat me, sweet and confident.
"It's easy, Mulder," he says cheerfully. "I've got the sameequipment you do, and I know exactly what to do."
"Can we do it in the bed?" I ask weakly.
"You want me to carry you?"
I lean forward and grab his arm to help myself up. "No, I can walk."
I'm about to turn around when he pushes me, sharply, and I fall forwardonto the bed with Alex on top of me. All the breath flies out of me, andwhen it comes back, the first thing I notice is the heat of his cock nestledbetween the cheeks of my ass. All his weight is on me, his hands are runningup and down my arms, and his tongue is worrying behind my ear and alongmy hairline. In spite of how heavy he is, I feel like I'm on fire.
He twists away and pulls me over with one hand on my shoulder. Part of mymind is surprised at how strong he is, surprised to be with someone whocan manhandle me. //Of course he can--he's a man,// the joker in my headquips back. Now I'm lying on his chest, looking down into eyes the colorof a lime-flavored snowball, eyes that look like they see my surprise andfind it amusing.
"Sorry. I forgot you're a beginner. You *are* a beginner, aren't you,Mulder?" I nod once, thanking God he didn't use the word "virgin"."Then just relax, let me handle this. Just let me know what you like--ordon't like."
Nodding again, I center myself on the bed and take a good deep breath. Alexdrapes himself over me like a cat on a couch potato, twines his fingersinto my hair, and starts kissing me again. We kiss and kiss until we'remaking disgusting yet erotic squelching noises with our lips, yet he's inno hurry to move on. And neither am I. I hardly notice it, at first, whenhis hand starts wandering down the front of me again. It's like I've gottenused to his touch, as if it were my own fingers brushing under my jaw, tracingmy collarbone, gently squeezing my nipples.
I pay more attention when Alex finally drags his mouth away--literally,drags his lips down over my chin, throat, chest and fastens them on my leftnipple, while his hand curves around my cock. There's absolutely no hesitationin the way he takes hold of me, pumps up and down, runs his thumb over thehead, then kneads me with rippling motions of his fingers like a cat atits mother's teat or a pianist playing scales. There's no hesitation inmy responses, either; I'm hard, I'm leaking, and I'm pushing up earnestlyinto his hand, cupping his head again and getting my fingers wet in hishair. I can smell him now, *him*, not bar stink, not my soap and my mouthwash,but Alex, skin and hair and breath and crotch, and it goes through me likea knife, Mulder, you lunatic, Mulder, this is a *man* sucking on your nipplesand playing with your cock, God, what an adventure.
"You like this?" Alex asks me, in the tone of someone who knowswhat answer he's going to get. "You like feeling my hand on your cock?Like what I'm doing to your nipples?"
"What do you think?" I gasp.
"I think you're a slut, Mulder," he says conversationally. Hesits up and teases the inside of my thigh with his nails, still keepinga good grip on my cock. "I think you've been dying to have sex witha man, and you didn't even know it. Probably too distracted by Scully."
Something cold slashes across my stomach when he mentions Scully. I almostshove his hands away. "Leave her out of this," I say hoarsely."This is between you and me."
"Okay, Mulder. Just you and me."
He slides over on top of me and kisses me again, wiggling his hips so Ican feel our cocks rubbing together, trapped between our bellies. He looks--andfeels--as good, naked, as I'd imagined when I first saw him, earlier, incasual clothes--sleek, lean but muscular, not quite as hairy as I am. Iwrap my arms around him, squeeze his buttocks, sweep my palms up and downhis back.
"How do I feel, Mulder? How does it feel to be touching a man?"
He nibbles on my earlobe, runs his tongue around the rim. "You wantme to blow you, Mulder? Can I suck your cock?"
Possessed by some demon from Oxford, I answer, "I don't know--*can*you?" He gets the joke and proceeds to show me just how well he *can*.
I have never had a woman suck me that I didn't feel it was kind of a concessionon her part, something she had to do to be fair but didn't really enjoy.I don't get that impression from Alex. No, I get the impression that I'mhis favorite flavor of ice cream. He licks, slurps, swirls, and nibbles,making a lot of noise while he's at it--how does he know I like noisy sex?I almost lose it when he sucks it all into his mouth like a big hot lollipop.Jesus! I didn't think real people could do that. With my eyes closed, Ihave no idea that my partner is a man; with my eyes open, it's that muchmore fun, the kick of doing something out of the ordinary. I'd rather beKinky Mulder than Spooky Mulder, even though kink's not that unusual inthe FBI.
When I'm gasping and thrashing and most of my groin area is wet from hismouth, Alex sits up. He gives me the world's most evil grin. "How'reyou doin', Mulder?"
"Fuck you," I manage.
"Sure, if you want," he replies amiably. I blink a few times.
"You'd let me fuck you?"
Alex makes a face. "No, Mulder, you're frigid, you're boring, I'm gonnaleave right now. Yes, I'll let you fuck me. I've done it before. You wannatry it?"
I think about this for a minute or so. It takes me another minute to getup the nerve to tell him what I really want.
"Actually, I'd rather you fuck me."
Something softens in his face, heats up, but I can't tell what emotion isbehind the change in his expression. It could be tenderness or contemptor something else. "Okay, Mulder. Relax. I'll be good to you. And I'llstop if you need me to."
He gets off the bed, saying, "Be right back." I try to relax but,fuck, I was damned close to coming when he stopped touching me. All I canthink about is what I'm about to do, and nothing about that is relaxing.When he comes back with lube and condoms, I guess he must have had themin his jacket. I've got lube for hand jobs, but I can't even remember ifI've got any condoms around.
Alex climbs onto the bed again and sits down beside me. "Turn over,Mulder." I do, and he starts touching me again, lightly, half-arousingand half-soothing. His hand runs down my back, from my neck to my ass, leavinga river of something, heat, liquid, in its wake, runs back up again, upand down, and at last comes to rest around the curve of my ass. I feel wiredlike the highest string of an electric guitar, and at the same time I feellike I'm dissolving, soaking into the bedsheets like hot oil. The firsttouch between my buttocks is so easy I hardly notice it; his finger runsdown the cleft, just like his hand ran down my back. Still, I jump a littlewhen he sinks into the cleft and touches my asshole.
"Easy...." Alex sits up, and out of the corner of my eye I cansee him open the lube and dip his fingers in it. The next touch is cooland slick, but I'm ready for it. I pay very close attention to what he'sdoing and how it feels, and try to remember to breathe evenly. His fingercircles round and round the opening and sinks just a fraction with eachcircle until the tip of the finger is in me. Very gently, he moves the fingertipin and out.
"How's that, Mulder?"
"Fine," I mumble, and wince at the echo of Scully. There is noScully here tonight. There is no Scully at all, or else I can't do this.I'll think about that later.
More lube, warmer, and the finger slips in deeper. He keeps going a littlefurther, checking with me, then adding more lube and going further still.His voice is so patient; he doesn't even sound aroused. But he wants toput his cock up my ass. And I want to let him.
Deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper. Being opened. Being filled. Beingthe one who gets to lie still and take it, who has to be asked, "Areyou okay?" I refused when Phoebe wanted to try this. She sang the praisesof prostate stimulation, but I wasn't letting her anywhere near my ass.And now Alex has his finger in all the way up to the knuckle, and when hebends it slightly, everything goes black and I shudder all over.
"You okay?" He runs his fingers through my hair.
"Yeah, I think. Damn, that was good. And I didn't even come. Almost."
I sound asleep, or drugged. I think maybe Alex is a drug, and after onetaste, I'll be hooked. But at the moment, I don't care. I only want moreof what he has to give me. The forbidden fruit.
Soft moist lips on the back of my neck, a husky whisper. "You're doinggreat, Mulder." Slowly, very slowly, the finger withdraws, and a littlenoise comes out of my throat--disappointment? Then the finger comes back,dripping lube, and this time it's two fingers, and as patiently as before,he works them in.
I'm sweating and squirming and practically whimpering as Alex Krycek's slimstrong fingers fill up my ass, stretch me open, as his lips wander overmy neck, ear, and cheek, as he whispers things I can't quite make out, butthey turn me on anyway. He moves to kneel over me, and the wet head of hiscock touches my thigh. With what's left of my ability to think, I thinkabout how it will feel to take that cock up my ass, and I groan helplessly,wanting it and dreading it, feeling like there's this membrane I have totear through, this huge wall I have to break through, in order to get tosomething, but I don't even know what that something is, I only know I needit. My eyelids are squeezed so tightly shut that it hurts.
"Easy, Mulder." A soft pat on my shoulder and those fingers allthe way in my ass, moving but not thrusting. "You roll over so yourback is toward me. We can lie on our sides."
I manage a shaky, "Okay," and do as he asks. His fingers stayinside me, guiding me, until I've turned; then he carefully pulls out again.I really am whimpering, biting my lip to keep from saying "pleasepleaseplease".
"Hang on. Got to put on the condom." I wait, biting my lip, wait,wait, until I feel his chest against my back, those tortuous kisses on myneck again. Alex inches closer, and I angle backward, canting my hips towardhim to make it easier for him to get in. The head of his cock nudges myasshole.
"Right--there. Hang on, Mulder." He grips my shoulder and I feelit happening: I'm taking another man's cock up my ass. It's so damned *easy*.I can't believe how easily Alex's cock slides into me, how good it feelsto be opened that much more, how hungry I am to feel this, to let him doit. I am *ready*, my body is ready, I want this, need it. The last littledrops of fear in me sizzle away like water on a griddle in the heat that'sbetween us as his pubic hair tickles my butt and his hand curls around myflagging erection.
The tip of his tongue flicks my ear. "Jesus, Mulder, you are so tight,but that was easy, wasn't it?" Alex is gasping, almost laughing, andso am I. This is *fun*.
"We have to get to work in a few hours, Alex, so are you gonna fuckme, or not?"
He laughs loudly, right against my ear. "Oh, I'm gonna fuck you, Mulder.I'm gonna fuck you so good!"
He starts moving against me, not hard, not fast, but it feels so intenseI want to pass out. Until I get used to it, and then I want more. I startpushing back against him, rocking my hips, and Alex gives me a little more,a little more speed, and then a little more force. I wish I could see hisface; his breath hits my back in little puffs, and he's saying somethingunder his breath, words, maybe, not just grunts and groans, but not in English,I think, but who knows, how can I think right now? His slippery hand slidesup and down my cock, which is as hard now as before he entered me, and hiscock pounds harder and faster into me, and it's just so good, I hear myselfmaking these noises, crying out, loud as a woman, and Alex's voice is gettinglouder, too, spitting out curses and prayers, oh, God, and then his *teeth*clamp into the muscle of my shoulder, close to where it joins my neck, andI'm out of body, gushing out of me, screaming, with Alex right behind me,right behind me groaning into my flesh and coming inside me, oh, God....
When I can think again, when I can see again, I notice that it's startingto get light outside. Were we out that late? Then I notice that I feel alittle sore. But it's okay. What's not okay is Alex Krycek snoring on myback while his cock is still inside me.
Actually, it *is* okay. He makes a pretty cute snoring noise, so quiet andlight you'd think it was a child sleeping. His fingers are still restingagainst the base of my stomach, wet with cooled semen. I stretch a littleand shake myself. "Hey, Alex."
"Alex, come on. No, you already did that--"
I feel him jerk behind me. "Oh, sorry, Mulder." He yawns. "Iwas falling asleep."
"Just hold still."
It hurts some as he pulls out of me, but it's not too bad. He staggers offto the bathroom, running his dry fingers through his hair. While he's inthere, I touch my asshole, curious; I do feel a little sore, and still openand relaxed, which feels weird, but it's not too bad, and it's light enoughnow to see that there isn't any blood. I had thought there might be.
Alex comes back and tosses a wet washcloth and a small towel in my direction,then falls on the bed and starts snoring again while I clean myself up.I should be feeling the same way--like most men, I usually want to passout after a good come--but for some reason, I don't. I feel like I wantto get out of bed and take on the world.
I roll over and look at the man dozing beside me. In the thin morning light,he looks so young, almost fragile--the skinny geek in the oversize suit.No--an Alex Krycek I haven't glimpsed before. A lonely child sleeping inmy bed, content for the moment because he got something he really wanted.For once. Hair every which way, lips parted and twitching slightly as hesnores, eyelids fluttering. I'm surprised he doesn't open those beautifuleyes and see me watching him. I'm even more surprised at the tendernessI feel for this man, this intruder into my life. He's given me somethingI didn't even know I wanted, and nothing can take that gift away. I leavehim snoring in the bed while I take a shower.
When I come back, Alex is staring out the bedroom window, already dressed.He starts when I come up behind him and put my hand on his shoulder.
"You want a shower? Some coffee?"
He shakes his head. "No, I've gotta get going. Gotta go home and puton the suit." He flashes me a grin, but something feels wrong. He'snot meeting my eyes. His face looks hard in the strengthening grey light.I rub his shoulder, tentatively.
"Are you... regretting this, Alex?"
He does meet my eyes, now. "No, Mulder. Never. No matter what."He leans up and kisses me, a soft, brief kiss that seems to match all thetenderness I was feeling for him a little while ago. It's the tendernessfor another man that feels strange, not what we did together, the way thebodies fit. I've never felt this way about another man, or felt it fromanother man, and it scares me, but I'm not giving it up, no matter whereit leads.
"I'll just let myself out," he says. I give him another kiss,nod, and start thinking about the caseload ahead of me.
It's not until I come back from work that I notice he left the leather jacketat my place. Tired, grungy, bored and frustrated all over again after anotherpointless day of tape surveillance, I pick it up off the coffee table andsuddenly give in to the urge to bury my face in it, inhaling the scent ofleather and the scent of Alex. Alex.... It's a really good-looking jacket,brown leather, not too fancy. I shed my jacket and my tie and pull it on,putting my arms into the sleeves, which I didn't do last night. Curious,I go check myself out in the mirror on the bedroom closet door. With myshirt unbuttoned at the throat, hands shoved in the pockets, it not onlyfits me, it flatters me. Good clothes have always been one of my weaknesses.
I check through the pockets to see if there's anything I should give backto him. Without really thinking about it, I've decided I'm only going togive it back when he asks for it. I don't find anything except a piece ofcloth.
Spread out in my hands, it turns out to be a piece of black silk, real silk,not an imitation. Too small for a tie, too sheer and expensive for a handkerchief.Not large enough for a woman to wear over her head. Black. Twisted up, it'sopaque enough that I can't see through it.
I lower the silk from my eyes and look at my reflection in the mirror. Myeyes look twice as large as before and shiny, glazed. The silk was largeenough to tie around my head easily, opaque enough to act as a blindfold.I lick my lips and then tie the silk around my head again, this time acrossmy mouth, like a gag. It's large enough to do that, also.
I stand there a long time, tired, part of my brain telling me I need towash, I need to eat, I need to watch my "Lost in Space" rerun.But I don't walk away from the mirror until I've twined the silk aroundmy throat, tight enough to hurt, tight enough to start to constrict my breathing.My eyes are moss-green in the mirror, and the erection the pressure givesme hurts. Then I put the piece of silk on the bureau and hang Alex's jacketin the closet.