Series: Part II of Mind, Body and Soul
Rated NC-17 for language and m/m sexual situations

Web pages: http://www.squidge.org/terma/aries/aries.htm,

Summary: Still in the POV mode. Part II here deals with what happens when Krycek pushes Mulder just a bit too far, and they finally act on their repressed desires.

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, they're CC's. No money being made, no infringement intended, blah, blah, blah...

Props to Ori for damn fine beta!
Feedback? You bet! You can find me at MMCUSN@aol.com
by Aries

Here I am again.



And completely unsatisfied.

Oh, God, I've got to stop this.

Every damn night for how many months now? It's amazing I haven't gone blind or grown hair in my palms or *something*.

I don't know why, I don't...sure, I jerk off, but not *this* often.

I can't bring myself to stop. Maybe if I could get him out of my mind...

I've been thinking about him constantly since that night three months ago. Haven't seen or heard from his since, but he won't leave my mind.

Dammit, leave me alone, *please*. I can't do this. I can't keep thinking about this, I can't. I mean, what the hell does it say about me? What kind of man am I, lusting after someone like him? How can I put aside everything I know about him and think about nothing but those laser-green eyes, that perfect mouth, those...goddamn beautiful eyelashes that pull me in with every sweep...

Hey, the body has a will of its own. It's a separate entity, ignoring the wishes and good sense of the mind. Just because my body hums in his presence...God, at the very thought of him, it doesn't mean that my mind necessarily agrees.

So, it's my body that's in control. Like it is right now. Wonderful.

I've always been known as a man who lived in his mind...cerebral, if just a bit nutty, and I don't see so much of that right now. All I can see is a man in the most basic sense. Sexual. Wanting. Body aching every night for something so out of reach, so utterly unattainable, that the only thing left to do is relieve the physical tension and pray it's enough to allow me to sleep.

The *physical* tension.

Sounds like an implication of something more.

No. It's just the body's need for release. Nothing else. I can't let it be anything else.

But how can I stop it?


Another restless night.

Just me and a handful of Astroglide.

They're getting longer, the nights. So long that I'm beginning to see them turn into day.

And the images, these sick fantasies of mine...they're getting more vivid. More intense.

More fucking painful.

I can't keep this up.

*This* obviously not being my dick. It refuses to lie down, and it absolutely *will not* shut up. It keeps demanding...*begging* for him.

//Please, Alex, *please*? Just once. I promise I won't ask anymore after that...//


Once would *never* be enough. I know that as sure as I know that once would never happen in the *first* place.

I have to put an end to this once and for all, and the only way I can think to do it...the only way I can erase all doubts...all possibilities from my mind is to face him. I gotta see the hatred in those amazing eyes and hear the venom falling from that fucking beautiful mouth, and then, maybe...

Please. Been there, done that.

A good ass-whipping...

Oh, yeah, sure, that'll work. What's the first thing I do when I come back to my room, bloody and bruised? Strip and stand in front of the mirror, taking inventory of all the little gifts he gave me. And then I jerk off, remembering what it felt like to have his hands on me.

There's only thing that would truly end this. And maybe if I make him mad enough...maybe if I make it easy for him, he'll make it all go away...


God, somebody tell me why it is I'm not dead.

I came home after a long, rotten day at work, wanting nothing more than a hot shower and a cold beer, and I got neither of those things. What I *did* get was the shock of my life, and then a near-stroke. I walked into my bedroom, unknotting my tie, and almost jumped out of my skin.

There he sat...on my windowsill...dim moonlight reflecting in his eyes and throwing shadows across most of the rest of his face. Arrogant little tilt to his head.

I froze, not speaking...not breathing. Common sense told me to turn a light on, but for some reason my hands wouldn't cooperate.

He shifted a little, and I could see his face just a bit better. He looked as though he might have been smiling, but there was something in his eyes I couldn't quite put my finger on. He said hello to me, and my knees just about buckled. There's something in the way he says my name. Now, everybody calls me Mulder, but somehow he makes it seem like such a personal thing.

I got my shit together, drew myself up with all the righteous indignation I could muster, and asked him what the hell he was doing in my apartment...in my *bedroom*.

He gave me one of those careless shrugs that make me want to blacken his eye, and he said that there was something I needed to know.

I asked him if a phone call wouldn't have done just as well, and he smiled at me and asked if I wouldn't miss him if he didn't pop in on me from time to time. My immediate answer was no, of course, and he just gave me this curious look.

I asked him again what he wanted, and he gave me some useful but not especially earth shattering information.

And then he just sat there. Looking at me.

I stared at him for a minute, trying to read him, then told him if that was all he had for me, he could leave.

But he stayed, and his expression changed to something even more perplexing than it had been.

I looked away, unable, for whatever ridiculous reason I told myself, to keep my eyes on his. My gaze happened to fall on the bed, and I noticed that it was rumpled like someone had been sleeping in it. Wasn't me; I spend most nights on the couch.

I looked back up at him and asked if he'd been lying on my bed. He told me he'd been there a while waiting for me to get home, and he got a little sleepy, so he took a nap.

I told myself it was the damned gall he had to fall asleep in *my* bed and then admit it that made me close the distance between us and snatch him away from the window. I blamed that fucking insolent little grin of his when I slammed him up against the wall. I held the warm, pristine green of his eyes responsible when I knocked him onto the bed with a hard backhand.

He lay there, looking up at me, wincing with the pain of the blow...blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, but he refused to fight back, and that made me more angry. I stalked over to the bed and kneeled on it, pulling him up by the collar of his jacket. I pulled my weapon out and held it under his jaw, and he did nothing. He *said* nothing. He just stared up at me without an ounce of fear in his eyes.

My hand started to tremble at what I *did* see. He was challenging me to do it. And behind that challenge there was the same look I'd seen earlier.

Heat. Like, lust.

I let him go as though touching him had burned my hands, and I secured my weapon. Slapped him again and told him that he wasn't worth the bullet. He lay there, sprawled on my bed, eyes closed, head turned to one side, panting like he'd just sprinted for two miles. The cut I'd given him with the first blow had opened wider with the second, and the blood flowed more freely now, running down along his jaw to his chin.

I beat down the urge to touch my tongue to the corner of his mouth and spat out some inane statement about him bleeding on my bed, then I ordered him to get up and get the hell out of my apartment. And there was that look I'd always wanted to see. That wounded, dejected expression.

A few seconds passed, and he sat up, wiping the blood from his chin with the back of his hand. He wouldn't look at me as he got to his feet and started to move away.

All at once, I panicked. This wasn't what I wanted. I couldn't let him go, but what the hell was I going to do to make him stay?


I fucked up.

When he had the gun on me, I should have said something to insure that he'd pull the trigger. Something about killing his father, maybe, but I said nothing. I just sat there daring him with my eyes. It wasn't enough.

Well, at least I thought that at the time.

After he refused to shoot me, I lay where he let me drop, descending back into the hell that would be mine for the rest of my worthless life, and then he told me to get up and get the hell out. I didn't know what else to do, and, figuring that I deserved what I got for being inefficient enough not to make sure that he finished the job, I got up.

I couldn't look at him. What would be the point of torturing myself further? I started toward the door, and a hand around my wrist stopped me short.

I think I stopped breathing completely for the time it took him to complete his walk to my side. I kept my eyes to the floor, but I couldn't stop the fucking tremors that passed through me as he lifted my hand and licked some of the blood away.

I made a sound. I know I must have whimpered or something, because he froze. Like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He brought his hand up under my chin and tipped my head up, then he moved in and licked the blood from my jaw. The room started to spin, and for a minute I thought I'd passed out because I felt myself falling. But instead of hitting the floor, I hit the bed. And so did he.

Before I could get my brain to function well enough to process what the hell was happening, he was on top of me. And he was kissing me. And I was kissing him back...with all the passion that had been welling up in me for the last few years.

I surprised him again with that kiss. He pulled back and stared at me for God knows how long. I didn't wait around this time, hoping that my eyes would tell him all he needed to know. I stated it flat out. I told him that I wanted him. That I needed him, and I even went so far as to tell him how many years that need had spanned, and then I waited to see what he would do once the shock wore off.

What he finally did was very nearly the death of me.

He didn't say anything. I think he was too overwhelmed to make a sound, but he kissed me. Not hard and desperate like the first kiss. This one was soft. I couldn't believe how soft. He pulled back, cocked his head to a different angle, and kissed me again. And then I felt his hands pushing my jacket away from my shoulders. I don't remember helping him get it off, but I must have. I was way too busy trying to comprehend the fact that his tongue was now in my mouth, stroking so gently over mine. I didn't know what the hell to do except hold onto him and let him take me wherever he wanted to go.

It's not like I was inexperienced. God, far from it, but with him, it was...I don't know...surreal, I guess I could say. I'd never felt like that before in my life, and though nothing had really happened yet, I knew that from that point on, I was all done. I'd never in my life want anyone else.


Jesus, how could a man's mouth be so sweet?

I didn't want to stop kissing him. The taste...the feel of him was intoxicating, and I never wanted to stop. I managed to get his jacket off, returned my concentration temporarily to his mouth, then my hands started to wander. I could feel the way his muscles tightened and relaxed under my fingers, and I needed to feel his skin. I needed to see how close the real thing came to what I had imagined.

I pulled his t-shirt out of his jeans and slid one hand underneath. I was surprised to see how accurate I had been.

Satiny smooth, almost hairless chest. Muscular...so warm. My hand passed over his pounding heart then came back to rest there for a minute. Our eyes met, and I pushed the shirt up and over his head, then pressed my lips to the place where my hand had been. I felt him twitch and suppress a moan, and I continued on, kissing and licking until he couldn't hold it back. He made this sound that was something of a cross between a groan and a whimper, and my already rock hard cock swelled a little bit more.

I had him. Alex Krycek...here in my bedroom, half- naked...making the most amazing noises...for *me*.

I dragged my tongue across one of his nipples, and he started to squirm. I looked up and remember seeing his hands. They were clutching the pillow under his head so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. I reached up and made him let go, then draped his arms around my neck. He sort of froze for a minute but recovered when I kissed him again and asked him to touch me.


God, he wanted me to touch him. Who was I to say no?

I slid my fingers through his hair, amazed at the softness of it...thinking that if something as simple as this could make my dick throb, what the hell would I do if he actually fucked me?

As I moved down to his shirt and started undoing the buttons, I was telling myself I couldn't think that far ahead. But that's where this was going, wasn't it? I mean, it'd be pretty insane to think that we were going to undress each other, do a little light petting and then go our separate ways, though some part of me was scared to death that that was exactly what was going to happen.

I watched him watching me, and the look in his eyes was sheer lust. No anger, no hatred. No disgust. He wanted me. Christ, thank you, he wanted me.

I got his shirt undone, and he helped me take it off. He didn't wait for me to go for his undershirt; he pulled that off right after his shirt hit the floor.

His skin was so hot...or maybe that was me, but it felt so goddamn good when he relaxed on top of me and laid his head on my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around him, and my hands started to move, rubbing his back. I turned my head and buried my face in his hair, learning the smell of his shampoo, and then I started to kiss him...the back of his head...his neck...his shoulder.

I felt his mouth on me too, working its way to my throat then back up to my mouth. He kissed me once then pulled back and brushed his fingers over the cut at the corner of my mouth. He didn't say anything, but his eyes were full of apology. At least that's the way I saw it.

He moved his fingers away and kissed the wound, and I just about fell apart. I don't know why, but that one simple little action really did me in. My eyes started to burn, and I had to keep blinking to clear them.

To make sure that he didn't keep his attention focused on my face, I slipped a hand between us and unbuttoned his pants while I nipped at his throat.

He was all for that. He lifted himself up a bit, giving me better access. Once I got the zipper down, I brushed my fingertips over the bulge that had seemed to swell even more in its loose, silk enclosure. He pressed his face into the side of my neck and clamped his mouth on the skin there, sucking gently as I continued to stroke him through his underwear.

I wanted to finish undressing him. I wanted so much to see him naked and beautiful...to touch him and kiss him everywhere, but I kept thinking that any minute I was going to do something to jar him back to reality, and he would push me away. If he did that, his very next move had better have been for his gun, because I don't think I would have wanted to live if he had rejected me then...

I could feel the apprehension in him, and I knew that if we were going to take this all the way, it would have to be up to me.

I lifted myself away from him and kneeled between his legs. I heard the breath catch in his throat as I pushed my pants and underwear down to my knees. I didn't move for a few seconds after that, I just knelt there, letting him look at me...loving that hungry gleam in his eyes. I sat back and pulled everything off, and when I came back to him, I was completely naked.

And that's the way I wanted *him*.

After winning an age-long wrestling match with the button on his jeans, I discovered that it wasn't the only one.

Button flys. Wonderful.

I groaned, made some remark about burning the damn things after I finally got them off of him, and he smiled. Not the usual smug, sarcastic smirk I was used to seeing, but a genuine, unguarded, beautiful smile that left me speechless.

The moment seemed to put him more at ease, and he assisted me in getting the rest of his clothing off. After I flung the jeans across the room, I turned and looked down at him. He was as gorgeous as I knew he would be. Graceful and taut, not a single inch of him wasted. Efficient, solid muscle sheathed in luxurious, soft skin...

I started at his chest, running my hands lightly over every contour, watching each sinewy ripple, and listening attentively to the minute changes in his breathing patterns as I moved lower. I avoided his cock, which by the way was one of those things that wet dreams are made of, and caressed his legs, paying special attention to his inner thighs, which I learned quickly were wonderfully sensitive. By the time I made it back up to his cock, he was wrecked.

Shit, he's beautiful when he's desperate and begging for attention.

I let my fingertips just barely graze the underside of his cock, and a drop of semen appeared at the tip immediately. I bent to lick it away which, looking back, might not have been such a good idea for either of us. I loved the velvety feel of him on my tongue...had to have more, and that one, brief touch wasn't going to get it for him, either. So, I opened my mouth and slowly took in every last inch of him.


Jesus Christ, he swallowed me whole, and I was sure that the world was coming to an end. It had to be; why else would my wildest fantasies be coming true...

Everything at that point just went out of focus and turned sort of a dull, reddish-black, and I didn't give a damn if I was ever able to see again. All I wanted was to stay forever in that soft, hot mouth.

But the coiling in the pit of my stomach told me that wasn't happening any time soon.

Something I must have done...some sound I must have made clued him in too, and he pulled away.

I still can't believe it. No one in the world has ever made me beg like that, but he did. I needed him more than I have or ever will need anything in my life. I tossed every bit of pride I had out the window and pleaded for him to fuck me.

Thankfully, he took pity on me and pulled his nightstand drawer open. He rummaged around for a while, and I was just getting ready to tell him to forget the lube when he pulled a small tube out. He made some crack about it probably being all dried up, then unscrewed the cap.

There did turn out to be some useable bit in there, and just as he was about to squeeze it out into his hand, he stopped. Gave me a little smile, then took my hand...


I squeezed what little lube I could get out into his hand, then straddled his waist and waited. He reached out slowly and took my cock in his palm. His fingers closed around it, and I had all I could do to remain kneeling. My legs were shaking almost as much as his hand, but I managed to stay upright until he finished. I stretched out then, lying on top of him, his legs bent on either side of my hips. I kept my eyes on his and with one hand, worked my cock into him. I had to stop at least six times before I made it all the way inside. Either he was too close to the edge, or I was, or we *both* were. When I was finally in him as far as I could go, I relaxed on top of him...as much as I could, and we lay quietly together. He knew like I did that if I had continued to move, it would have been over inside of twenty seconds.


So, there I was. In Fox Mulder's bed. Naked under afore mentioned man with his cock as far up my ass as it could go. Somebody please name one thing I'd ever done in my life that was good enough to deserve that.

I hugged him to me as he lay there, gently kissing every inch of skin I could reach without jostling us around too much. Neither of us was in very stable condition at that point, and it wouldn't take much more than a sneeze to set us both off.

A few minutes later, he lifted his head from my shoulder, took a deep breath, and asked me if I was all right. I nodded...he kissed me, then he started to move.

I wish I could accurately describe the sensation of being fucked by the most beautiful man to ever walk the face of the earth. It's like nothing else I've ever felt in my life. Every tiny movement vibrated in me like a four point zero earthquake, and I was fully aware of each brush of his skin against mine. Every time he withdrew, the loss of his presence inside me left me with such an agonizing sense of emptiness, I could hardly stand it for the few seconds it took him to return.

When I felt his hand slip between us and close around my cock, my head started to spin. I wanted to come with him in the worst way, but the idea of having to leave that heaven filled me with a sadness like I've never felt. But he started to stroke me in time to his thrusts, and emotion took a back seat to raw need.


I pushed harder into him, my hand moving at the same speed over his cock, and although I wished that it could have gone on forever, our bodies were telling me no. Alex bucked against me, begging me to fuck him harder, and I obliged without argument. I gathered what little strength I had left in reserve and gave him everything I had. It must have been enough, because in a matter of seconds he was screaming like an animal, clawing and convulsing, and I felt the rush of hot fluid over my hand. I came then, too, in pretty much the same way that he did. The windows were closed, but I'll bet a week's pay that people out on the street, four floors below, heard us loud and clear.

The world went black, and all I could do was feel. I felt every last bit of energy drain out of me. I felt his skin against mine, soft and slick, and I felt his heart thudding as hard as mine had been. I don't remember anything after that. I guess I passed out for a while because the next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes and the faint light of dawn was filtering in through the blinds.

I focused on waking up, and I realized that I wasn't lying where I had fallen asleep. I was now actually on the bed, lying on my stomach. I hadn't looked up yet, but I could feel him there next to me. I looked up and was surprised to find that his eyes were open. He watched me with a wariness that I hadn't seen since the night before, and when I said nothing to him, he lowered his eyes and slid out of bed.


I didn't even get two steps from the bed when he asked me where I was going. I shrugged and told him that I was leaving, and he asked me why.

I had no answer. I guess I just thought that I should.

He stared at me for a while then lowered his eyes and watched his hand draw the sheet down. He looked back up at me and waited.

He wanted me to stay, and I don't think it ever would have occurred to me to refuse him. I moved slowly back to the bed, checking with him once more before I slid in beside him.

His expression hadn't changed. He lay there still waiting, and as soon as my head hit the pillow, he was there, pressed against me, hand sweeping over my chest. He told me that in case I was wondering, as far as he was concerned, what we did was no mistake. It was not a case of temporary insanity, and he had no regrets. What's more, he said that it was the most incredible sexual experience of his life, and he hoped that it wouldn't be a one shot deal.

Before I could really think about it, the words were out of my mouth. I asked him how he could hate me so much yet want me in his bed, and his answer was simple. He'd wanted me for years, and with all that had happened between us, he hated himself and me for it. Violence had become his answer...the way he denied his desire for me, and last night it all came crashing down on him. He got this overwhelming feeling that if he didn't act on his desires right then, he might never have the chance again.

I asked him what made him even think I'd be receptive to a thing like that, and he smiled. Reminded me what field he was trained in and that trying to figure out what made me tick had been a side project of his for years. He admitted that he didn't have me figured out completely, but there were a couple of things he was fairly sure about, and my lust for him was one of them.

I couldn't have denied it even if I'd wanted to. Not after last night.

He asked me why I never fought back on those occasions when he attacked me, and I gave him a faintly smug grin and asked him if he hadn't come to any of his own conclusions about that.

As a matter of fact, he had.

He told me that he thought I had come to think of the violence as a substitute for what I really needed from him...that I'd derived some degree of pleasure and satisfaction from it. That said, he also concluded that his failure to initiate *any* kind of physical contact during the course of our last few meetings had frustrated me and possibly got me thinking about it more than I ever had.

He brushed his fingers across my mouth and asked me if he was right.

All I could do was nod.

He went quiet for a minute then asked me why I would have let him kill me last night.

I asked him if he could please tell *me* since he was on such a roll.

He lay there, saying nothing for a long while, then shook his head. He said he guessed it was one of those things about me that he just couldn't figure.

Yeah. Me either.


Things got a little awkward, and a heavy silence fell between us.

He was obviously disappointed with my answer, and I started wondering what it was he expected me to tell him. I had already told him not more than a few minutes before that I hadn't been able to figure him out completely.

I suppose I could have just asked him to tell me what it was he wanted me to say, but I got the distinct feeling that he wouldn't have told me even if he knew. Damn, but I hated seeing that injured look in his beautiful eyes. I wrapped my arms around him and rolled him on top of me, then I kissed him and asked him to fuck me.

He just stared down at me, a little hesitant at first, but the emphatic stiffening of his cock against my thigh told me that he was coming around to my way of thinking very quickly. Just to help things along, I slid both hands down over his ass...God, he's got a nice ass...and pulled him more tightly to me. I rocked against him so he could feel how hard I was already, and I saw the light slowly returning to his eyes.


It was my turn. My chance to show him...to make him want only me. It was my opportunity to prove to him that I could give him everything he'd ever need.

I shoved all the baggage aside and did just that.

I went after him with everything I had, and inside of five minutes I had him whimpering my name and clinging to me like he was drowning.


He was like a summer thunderstorm that just wouldn't let up. Seductively fierce and hypnotic in his brilliance, he pulled me into the center of that crackling energy and refused to let go.

Not a single inch of me went untouched, and I found myself shuddering uncontrollably as his hands and his mouth drove me closer and closer to the edge of total meltdown. By the time I felt him lift my hips and drive his cock into me, I was very nearly hysterical with need.

Even through the deluge of blinding lust, a tiny little voice in the back of my head was telling me that I was toast. That from here on out, it would be Alex or nothing for me. If the thought was supposed to scare me, it didn't. I'd known for a very long time now, even *without* having had the benefit of fucking him, that it was Alex or nothing.

How many different ways are there to fuck a man? I mean, when it really comes right down to it, aside from varying speed and strength, the actual method is pretty cut and dried...I thought...

Maybe it was just me. Maybe I was so overjoyed to finally have this man inside of me that my mind endowed him with all sorts of magical, mystical powers. I don't know. What I *do* know is that he tore me down. He shredded me to tiny bits, and when he was finished with me, I couldn't move. I couldn't speak, I couldn't see, I couldn't hear...I don't know how I kept breathing. Everything just went black, and it seemed like weeks before the feeling began to return to my extremities.

When I was finally able to open my eyes and focus, I realized that he was now lying beside me, and that he was asleep. I watched him, amazed at how the demon who had so completely possessed me earlier could look so positively angelic when he was at rest. I wondered how he could be such a stone-cold, manipulative bastard on the outside, and so sweet and unsure and outrageously seductive on the inside.

A disturbing, even frightening puzzle for most people, but as Scully would so smugly point out to me, I'm not most people.

I'd figure it out, I told myself as I dropped a soft kiss on one heavily-fringed eyelid. I'd figure it *all* out.

Now, I had the time.