Title: 'Heated Moments' X/F M/K.
Rating: 'R'. It could be disturbing to those with delicate sensibilities.
Disclaimer: Not mine. CC & Co. Pity.
Archive: 'The Basement', 'TER/MA', 'Ratfic Library', 'All Things
'WWOMB' and 'Kingdom of Slash'. All others, please ask so I know where to
Special thanks go out to Karen-Leigh and Dr. Ruthless for some
audiencing. I know I said I wouldn't do it ... I lied.
'Heated Moments' by phyre
Krycek stood in the darkened room painfully aware that he had
of the situation, the muzzle of a gun held firmly against his right temple
brought that point home with alarming clarity. He tongue snaked out and
licked at the accumulated sweat above his upper lip. Oh yeah. I fucked up
good this time. He felt Mulder's breath, moist and warm and listened while
quietly whispered words tickled his ear, raising the fine golden hairs on
the back of his neck.
"Ever have the urge to lose control, Alex? To just chuck
it all away and let
someone else take the reins? Ever felt so helpless that you were forced to
go against the collective scream of a thousand thoughts in your head and
trust the one person you hated so wholly?"
"No." Krycek tried for the right amount of resolution
in his voice but fell
"And yet, that's exactly what you're doing right now."
"But I don't hate you, Mulder. We've ... for Christ's
sake Mulder; your cock
has been down my throat and up my ass. I certainly don't *hate* you. What's
this all about? Why the gun? You knew I was going to be here tonight. What
gives?" He hoped the anger and indignation in his voice hid the
"Don't confuse animal sex with anything that has emotion.
And you will,
Alex, you'll hate me. Before this night is over you'll wish me dead a
hundred times and swear some sort revenge against me," Mulder answered.
"The gun? Because I know you. I know you won't go down without a fight. It's
just my insurance against a dirty one, not that I don't enjoy mixing it up
you from time to time. However, tonight I have neither the time nor the
"Fuck you, Mulder!"
"Later, Alex. After you've had a chance to heal."
"What the hell does--"
The odor of chloroform was the last thing Krycek remembered
surrendering to an inky darkness.
"Alex? Alex can you hear me? Time to wake up, now."
Mulder's voice cut through the haze that clouded Krycek's mind,
over his frayed nerve endings and dragging him back from beneath the heavy
blanket of sleep. He awoke to find himself tied on Mulder's bed; naked from
the waist down, his legs splayed obscenely. He looked around briefly, then
up to Mulder's face and to an unknown man behind him. He shivered. Oh fuck
me, what's he up to? His heart started pounding wildly within the confines
of his chest. Struggling against his fear, he listened to Mulder's quiet
"You do know that I own you, right Alex? Always have,
always will. You can
leave me, you can lay with someone else but I'll always own you. Got that?
You're mine. And after tonight, anyone you fuck will know it. He may not
know it's *me* and he may not care, but he'll know you belong to someone."
"Jesus, Mulder. What ... what the hell are you doing?"
Using his eyes and a minute nod of his head, Mulder signaled
expressionless man to move.
Krycek's eyes darted from Mulder to the unknown man, the object
in his hand,
then back to Mulder. He smelled heat and a sudden realization dawned on him.
"Jesus no! Stop him, Mulder. Don't do this. Don't do it!"
Cries of pain filled the room. The barely there scent of burning
intoxicating, making Mulder's eyes shine as he held Krycek's head, cradling
it against his hip, his fingers running the length of straining tendons as
they stood out against the line of Krycek's throat. Watching the sweat
trickle down his captive's face, mingling with freshly shed tears, melding
their salty sweetness into some heady musky scent that he would remember
until he drew his last breath, Mulder smiled. Inhaling deeply, he savored
the scent of fear and waited for it to change into the scent of acceptance.
When it was over, after the cries of anger and pain had subsided,
looked at the marking. Just an angry blistered red smear on the inside of
Krycek's right thigh, but when it healed it would bear the initials 'FM'.
Looking into Krycek's eyes he whispered 'mine' and gently kissed
mouth, not altogether surprised at the force of the answering kiss.
~... and they danced like angels
cast out for being lovers...~