Disclaimer: If anyone thinks Mulder and Krycek are my property, they are wrong.
Ratings: PG 13? m/m affection
Summary: Mulder is brooding
Thanks to my sister for beta-reading and to Deine Lakaien for their music
Too much time
"I still ask myself
is this love
this hate I'm feeling
I was dead
would you weep?"
Traitors, by Deine Lakaien
Weekends were the horror.
Weekends meant time. Plenty of time with nothing to do but thinking.
Mulder did some of the paperwork that was left, but somewhen that was done, even though again and again his thoughts travelled off to green eyes. He went jogging, swimming, playing basket ball, but you can do sports and still think of other things.
Mulder tried it with watching films, porn, but he always started to imagine another man than the ones in the porn, huge green eyes, a face like a fallen angel, a body like a Greek God. Arms around Mulder's waist, lips at his neck.
Mulder felt miserably for thinking about Alex in such an erotic way and tried to punish himself by reminding himself of all the things that Alex had done to him: gained his trust, seduced him, all the time reporting to Cancerman, traded Scully to a horrible fate, murdered his father, lured Mulder into a trap in Tunguska, infected him with the black cancer...
Right now, Krycek had probably gained himself a high position in whatever organisation he was working for. While Mulder was miserable, Krycek possibly was drinking champagne, eating caviar and laughing about Mulder's stupidity, about having trusted him. About trusting him again and again.
Mulder trembled of hatred when he imagined a happy, powerful and wealthy Krycek midst of young men and women seeking his near to gain themselves power. Having all kinds of connections, pulling all strings. Maybe watching video-tapes of him and Mulder, mocking him.
But of course he had no clue whether Krycek was well off. As far as he knew, he could as well be dying in the ditch. Chased down by some of all those people he'd pissed off; those beautiful eyes wide in horror, his skin wet of sweat, his angelic face contorted to a mask of pain. Bleeding, suffering, begging for his life. Begging for a fast death.
No. Mulder could tell, that rat bastard would always find a way to survive. He had survived in Hong Kong selling government secrets, he had survived several of Cancerman's attempts on his life, he had survived being cut off an arm without anaesthetics.
Krycek would find a way out of every trap, would do anything to survive, and if he had to sell secrets, to murder, to beg and steal. Maybe he even sold his body for money, or protection. Yeah, Krycek would do anything, even let powerful people use and exploit his body.
From all the images Mulder could conjure up on this lonely weekends, the worst were those of foreign hands on Krycek's skin, men riding him, receiving blowjobs from him, men using him in all the ways that Mulder couldn't.
Mulder was just glad when the weekends were over and he could distract himself with work.