Disclaimer: Not mine.
Ratings: R; Death story
This story is inspired by Broken Angel's story "Fallen".
Actually it is a kind of "Fallen"-
version from Mulder's POV, if you read this, it means that Broken Angel has allowed me to
post it. I recommend you to read "Fallen" first because of the context and because it is a very
Summary: A Mulder-vignette
Gone with the sin
"I adore the despair in your eyes
I worship your lips once red as wine
And I crave for your scent sending shivers down my spine
I just love the way you're running out of life."
Gone with the sin, by HIM
He still was so beautiful.
I almost stumbled over him, as he was lying in that dirty alleyway,
slowly bleeding out his
Then I recognised him. Alex Krycek. My enemy. The man I hated and loved.
I knew instinctively that he was dying, even before Scully
confirmed it. The recognition
didn't hit me like a flash; I had always known that it would end that way. Yet the thought
of letting him go hurt more than anything that had happened to me. More than anything he
had done to me.
I had always thought that he was beautiful, whether the day
we first met, when he was
wearing that awful suit and that terrible hairstyle, or in Hongkong, looking like something that
the cat dragged in, whether on our trip to Tunguska, his hair much too short, or in my
apartment, where he gave me information and a kiss, making me wonder whether I should
shoot him or fuck him. I did neither, of course.
He was never as beautiful as this night, pain and despair in
his eyes, blood staining his lips,
his stump vulnerable to my gaze, his side full of scars, the gore dark on his pale skin. It does
not even make sense to me, but all this seemed only to accent his beauty. Maybe it was
because it was our last moment that I worshipped every detail.
Scully could say that his last deed, giving me the disc with
all the information we needed to
crush down the Consortium was not more than an attempt to relieve his conscience, that the
password was my name only because of the irony. I know better. I saw the look in his eyes.
There was more than pain and fear.
I tasted his blood as he kissed me. It was so warm, his skin
cold as ice. He spoke to me in
Russian before he died. I have a good memory; I still knew the words when I looked them up
in a dictionary.
I don't think it would have changed anything if I had known
earlier that he loved me. It didn't
even surprise me; maybe I had always known it, subconsciously.
I cradled him in my arms, murmuring nonsense, kissing his forehead,
watching his features
relax, his breathing grow flatter, not even stopping when I was sure he was dead. I wished
that I could prolong the moment into eternity.
Scully frowned down at me, but didn't say a word. If she hadn't
been there, I would have
joined him in death.