Series: Part III of Mind, Body and Soul
Rated NC-17 for language and m/m sexual situations
Archive: Allslash, Archive X, TER/MA, All Things Rat, Den of Sin, Slashville. Anywhere else, please ask me first.

Web pages:,

Summary: Still the boy's POV. PartIII brings us to...well, if you read the first two chapters, you understand how the stories are tied in with their titles.
Disclaimer: The boys belong to CC, but answer me this. If you created something so stunningly beautiful, would you treat it *so* shabbily?
Props to Ori for righteous beta!
If you're so inclined, you can feed me at
by Aries

I can hear Scully's voice. Droning in my right ear while the plane's engines drone in my left...drilling me on improper procedure, mishandling of evidence, and a whole slew of other bullshit complaints that I'll have to hear all over again once we hit Skinner's office. Let's just all conveniently forget about the fact that I've just solved a case that no one else has been able to crack during a year and a half of intensive investigation...

Doesn't mean shit to me right now, anyway. My mind is otherwise occupied. I'm thinking about getting home and wondering if I'll find him there waiting for me.

I've been away for three days. He's been gone over two weeks, but he called me two days ago and said he was going to try to make it back before I did. I haven't heard from him since. He didn't *say* he'd call when he got there, so I guess I can't really expect that he would. I'm hoping, though, that he made it.

We've been sleeping together for over seven months now, and while we started out spending maybe two nights a week together, it wasn't long before those two nights turned into three and four, and now we're together as often as our schedules allow.

He tries very hard to be there when I come back from an out of state case. At first, I'd come in and find him naked and ready in my bed, we'd roll around together for a couple of hours, then order out for some food. Now, it's usually a hot, home cooked meal that's waiting for me. And I get hot Alex for dessert.

I'm liking this. Not only do I get to knock boots with the most amazingly sexy man I'll ever know, but I get good food...and intelligent conversation...and laughs. Yes, Alex Krycek has a sense of humor. And he's relaxed enough with me to let me see it.

I used to be more or less a solitary man, enjoying what little time I had to myself, *by* myself, but Alex changed that. I hate it when I'm home and he's away. Coming back to an empty apartment at the end of the day isn't what I want anymore. I need the comfort of knowing he's there. I want him near me as much as I can have him, and I *think* he feels the same, or else why would he still be with me?


I didn't think I was going to make it.

My flight got delayed, and I only just made it in. He should be here in about an hour, so I guess there's no time to really cook anything. Sorry, handsome, I guess it's take out today.

That's all right. Leaves us more time for other things.

It's been almost three weeks since I've seen him, and I'd be willing to bet that he's as ready as I am for a nice, long fuck. We've been together almost eight months, and I can definitely say that I'm no less enthusiastic about sex with him than I was that first night. If anything, my desire for him has only grown. I can't seem to get enough. The more of him I have, the more I want. When we're away from each other, the emptiness I feel is astounding. I never knew how *much* of a void there was in my life until he filled it.

And now, here I am. Practically a permanent fixture in his apartment and his life, and I've never been happier or more content.

Scares the hell out of me sometimes.

I've never thought of myself as one who was put here to be happy. I've always seen myself as a laborer...a drone born and bred to do the work that no one else wants to do...the dirty stuff that gets whispered about in dark, quiet corners. I never thought I was meant to have a life...and now that I've dared to start thinking about one, I'm afraid sometimes that someone will reach down and rip it away from me.

You're out of line, Alex. That life belonged to a decent, deserving member of polite society. You stole it. Now give it back and go steal us some national secrets or something...

I don't want to give it back. It's mine. *He's* mine. I keep him happy. I must, or he wouldn't smile the way he does when he sees me. He wouldn't still want me in his bed after all this time, and what's more, he wouldn't want me to *stay*.

And I *will* stay until he decides that it's time for me to go.

I think about that sometimes. I wonder what I'd do if one day he woke up, looked at me, and said that he didn't want me anymore. The pain that runs through me at those times is so intense I can't stand it. I try so hard to mask it, but sometimes he notices and asks me what's wrong. I always tell him that I'm fine, but he knows that something's up. He doesn't push, but he's worried. I can see it all over his face, just like he can see all over mine that I'm hurting.

I can't tell him how afraid I am. How would I explain it to him when I don't really understand it myself? There are so few things that actually scare me, but losing him is at the top of that extremely short list.

I didn't know it would be like this. I had no idea. I know I wanted him. I know I'd have done anything to have him, and I'll damn sure do anything to keep him, but why? All because he's a hell of a good lay? No. He's a *fantastic* lay, but that's not why I'd kill or die for him. There are things...feelings that I have, and I don't know what to do with them. I look at him sometimes, and I...this incredible warmth just floods my insides. We lie together at night, clinging to each other, exhausted and satisfied, and so much emotion bubbles up inside me. I keep it to myself for the most part...that fear thing again...I'm afraid of laying too much on him, too fast. Sometimes I get the feeling that I'm more to him than just a playmate, but I don't know...I don't know how he'd take all the affection I'm dying to drown him in. I guess I'll know when the time is right.

If it ever is.




Thank you, God.

I walked in, disappointed at first because it was quiet and I didn't smell anything cooking, so I thought he hadn't made it back after all. Then some movement from the direction of the bedroom caught my attention. I turned around, and he was leaning in the doorway, watching me. I walked over to him and put my arms around him. He sort of sagged against my chest and wrapped his arms around my neck.

I lifted his head from my shoulder so I could kiss him, and when we finally pulled back, we were both breathing a little heavier. I held his eyes, told him that I'd missed him, and I saw that look that I sometimes see at moments like this. His eyes drifted away from my face, and he opened his mouth, stuttering softly before he finally managed to tell me that he missed me too.

It's amazing how a man who can be so aggressive in so many other ways can be so incredibly shy when it comes to saying something as simple as 'I missed you'. I don't know what he thinks is going to happen when he says it. I can't imagine for the life of me that he thinks I'm just saying the words without actually meaning them. Maybe that's exactly what he thinks in that beautiful, screwed up brain of his. Maybe there's something I haven't done...some reason he hasn't gotten the message...

I pulled him back into my arms, and I felt his fingers tighten in the material of my jacket. I took it a bit further, telling him that I thought about him every minute of every day we were apart, and that I hated these long separations.

That *really* got him.

He never loosened his hold on me, but he lifted his head and stared at me with such anxiety in his eyes. I asked him if he didn't believe me, and his eyes left my face again. I could see him struggling with something, and as much as I wanted to know what it was, I thought maybe it would be best to let him tell me about it in his own time. Whenever that might be.

I wish he would talk to me about whatever it is that eats at him. So many times he seems to want to, but something always stops him. I want to ask him what it is he can't say to me, but I don't think he'll ever answer.

Sometimes I want to tie him to a chair, shine a light in his eyes, and force it all out of him. And sometimes I want to throw him down on the bed...floor, or whatever we happen to be closest to, and fuck it out of him. Usually, I just let it alone. I hug him. Kiss him, and do whatever I can do to show him that I really do care for him...

I cupped his face in the palms of my hands and lifted his head. I told him once more that I did miss him, and then I kissed him. And I didn't stop until I felt him relax and his tongue slide into my open mouth.

We stood locked together, kissing and caressing for what seemed like forever, and then he started pulling my jacket off. He tossed it over the back of the nearest chair and backed away, pulling me by my shirt, moving in the direction of the bedroom.


He hates being away from me. That's what he said. And his words went straight to my heart.

So soft. So genuine.

God, I wanted to respond. I wanted to tell him how much I hated it much I loved...loved to be with him. I should have, but the words just wouldn't come. So I spoke to him in a language I knew I wouldn't screw up.

I led him into his bedroom, sat him down on the edge of the bed, and went into the bathroom. I turned the shower on and returned, pulling my clothes off. I watched his eyes go from hazel to deep green and his breathing deepen as I peeled my jeans off, and my cock reached out for him.

I walked over to him and started undoing his tie, and his hands came up to my hips, sliding down over my thighs then back up. He told me I was beautiful, and my cock jumped. As close as it was to his face, he made no move to touch it. He just continued to run his hands over me as I unbuttoned his shirt.

When I finally had him naked from the waist up, he stood up and let me start on his pants. As I unbuckled his belt, he told me about how he'd lie alone on those nights that we were apart, thinking about all things he was going to do to me when he got me back into our bed.

Our bed.

He said *our* bed.

I wonder if he realizes how seriously he fucks me up when he says stuff like that. My mind starts racing in a million different directions, every thought anchored to the hope that I'm not reading far more into his words than I should be.

I willed my hands to stop shaking, and I finished getting his pants undone. I slipped my hands inside, working them past the waistband of his silk boxers, and cupped his ass.

Tight, runner's ass. Smooth, satiny skin, stretched over rock-hard muscles. I love to feel them working under my fingers, tightening and relaxing as he fucks me...

I held him still while I humped him slowly, listening to his soft groans. He said my name in that breathless, desperate way that he does when he needs me so badly that I know I've either got to slow things *way* down or give him what he wants right that minute.

Since the shower *was* running, and we'd both just come in off of long flights, I opted for turning it down to a simmer. To say that he was unhappy about that was understating the facts a bit, I think.

I slid his pants and underwear down his legs, grazing his cock with my tongue as I went, then slipped his clothes off and led him into the bathroom, growling and protesting all the way.

I stepped into the shower first, pulling him in after me, and he backed me into the wall under the water, pinning my hands on either side of my head. His mouth clamped down on mine, and he pressed into me, his body all wet and slick and hot. I swear I could've come right there, but the thought of teasing him just a bit more held me back.

I pushed away from the wall, breaking his grip on my wrists and spun him around so that it was now his back against the tiles, and I went to work.


I want to know how it is a man can be so close to exploding so many times and be pulled back just before he falls over the edge.

He drove me insane. His hands and his mouth were everywhere at once it seemed. I thought at least half a dozen times that my knees would give out, and I'd just sink to the floor in a puddle of hot semen.

I begged. I threatened...I made sounds I'd never heard or even realized I was capable of before hooking up with him. He ignored them all. Sadistic bastard.

Thing is, I couldn't get mad at him. Not really. I love it when he pushes me like that, and he knows it. He knows *me*. Inside and out.

Sexually, at least.

He kneeled in the tub in front of me and looked up. Drops of water clung to his eyelashes, making them look even darker and longer than usual, and my breath caught in my throat. I told him earlier that he was beautiful, and that was no lie. He's gorgeous. Without a doubt, the most striking man I've ever seen.

Those eyes were the first things I saw when he walked into the bullpen that day so many years ago. I remember looking up and having to compose myself as he introduced himself. Even in that cheap suit and bad hair style, he was fucking exquisite. His eyes were irresistible. They pulled me in...tempted and challenged me, and I knew I was in trouble. I knew I wanted him. Had to have him.

And now, I do.

He's mine, this beautiful man who had sunk to his knees in front of me, using those same magnetic eyes to seduce me as he did way back then. Only now, I wouldn't dream of resisting them. Or him.

I let my fingers slide into his hair, gently pulling his head forward, and I watched his eyes close as his mouth touched the head of my cock. I had to close my eyes as his lips parted and the head disappeared into them. Watching him is every bit as erotic as feeling him, and it was just too much for me.

I dropped my head back against the tiles and let myself feel every flutter of his tongue...every change in pressure...every tiny little scrape of his teeth. They vibrated through me like an electrical charge, and I started making those sounds again. I was so close that I was sure my next breath would be the one to open up the dam. He knew it too, I suppose, because very carefully, he pulled away, dropping a tiny kiss at the tip. He rose slowly, licking and kissing his way up my body. He fastened his mouth on a nipple and pulled, flicking his tongue over the tip, and I nearly lost my mind.


He was ready to blow. I had to get him out of the shower, and I had to do it quickly.

I let go of his nipple and gave him a soft kiss before I picked up the sponge and started to wash him. Wasn't an easy task; he wouldn't take his hands off of me, but finally I got the job done and quickly washed myself while his hands followed the sponge, lingering in all his favorite places. I managed to get us both rinsed off and semi-dry before he shoved me out of the bathroom and literally threw me down on the bed.

My breath left my lungs in a hard rush as he tackled me. He yanked the nightstand drawer open and pulled the lube out. I fully expected that he was going to put it on himself, but when he wrapped his hand around *my* cock, it took me a bit by surprise. He stroked the stuff on then rolled off of me and onto his back, tucking himself between me and the mattress. His eyes were a beautiful shade of grey as he lay there, looking up at me, and his mouth opened to speak.

"Make love to me, baby."

He kept *doing* this shit to me!

We've been together nearly eight months, and have never called each other by anything other than our names. And, all of a sudden, I'm 'baby'...and he wanted me to 'make love to him'. Jesus Christ, we've only ever fucked. I'd never made love to anyone, and truthfully, I wasn't sure I'd know how. But he pulled me down on top of him and kissed me so sweetly, and I just let my heart guide my body.

It was easy. So much easier than I expected, but I suppose there's not much that's hard about making love when you're *in* love.

I wrapped him in my arms and laid tender kisses all over his upper body as I slid into him, and I admitted it to myself. I actually said the words to myself.

I love him.

This is the reason for my strengthening need to take care of him...this is why I miss him so deeply when we're's the joy I feel whenever we were's the fear I have of losing him.

Oh, my God, I love him...

His back arched, and those sinfully delicious lips parted on a loud gasp as I filled him. His fingers clenched in my back, then his grip slackened, and his hands began to stroke over my skin as I slowly pumped in and out of him. I watched his head roll back and forth on the pillow, and I knew the impatience he felt. The sensation of him so tight and slick, surrounding was devastating. I couldn't hold back. There was no way...


I felt his control slipping. His smooth thrusts had started to become just a bit erratic, and those soft whimpering sounds he was making started getting louder.

I hugged him to me and took his hand, pushing it between us, and he automatically wrapped his fingers around my cock. He jerked me slowly at first, then picked up speed as he spun farther out of control. His moans became more and more distressed, and I petted his hair, trying to comfort him as I felt myself slipping over the edge.

I told him it was all right. I was right there with him, and everything was all right. I begged him to let go, not that I really needed to, and he did. He sobbed a number of barely intelligible words, shifting from English to Russian, then back again as he came long and hard inside me. One more pull on my cock, and I came with him, coating us both with warm semen. I assume it was me screaming because I'd heard his own cries die away just seconds before he collapsed on top of me and went completely still.

As I struggled to catch my breath, I brought a hand up to his head, letting my fingers sift through his hair, and I felt him drag some air into his lungs for the first time since we came. He tilted his head a bit then kissed the underside of my jaw and snuggled against my chest.

I love the sounds he makes afterward. It's the closest thing to purring I've ever heard. So content. So relaxing.

When I was finally coherent enough to string more than three words together, I asked him what it was he was saying when he came. He lifted his head, giving me a curious look, and I tried to recall how he said it.


I watched a look of anxiety wash the contentment from his face, and I asked him what was wrong. He shook his head and looked away, but I wasn't having that. I made him look at me, and I asked again what it was he said.

The anxiety turned to something that almost resembled fear, and he said the words again, so softly I almost didn't catch them.

Lyublyu tebya.

I thought a minute, then I looked up at him. I must have figured it out right, because his eyes closed and he turned away when I attempted translation.

I love you.


I couldn't look at him.

I'd fucked it all up, and I just couldn't bring myself to see what was in his eyes.

I should've lied, I could've...

No, I couldn't. I couldn't, and I never would lie to him. I'd just have to deal with whatever consequences my stupidity brought.

I forced myself to open my eyes when he grasped my chin and turned my face up to his. The warm amazement I found in his eyes took me so completely by surprise that I was left speechless. And the words he spoke to me delivered such a stunning blow that I'd become paralyzed as well.


I love you too, baby.

He stared for so long, not speaking or moving, that I'd begun to become concerned.

I shook him gently and called his name, and that seemed to jar him a bit. He blinked his eyes but still said nothing.

I didn't understand why it was so hard for him to believe that I loved him. When the revelation had finally come to *me* only minutes ago, it was a warm flow of emotion that just sort of made everything fall into place.

I wanted us to share this new discovery...I wanted to wallow with him in joy, but first, I supposed, I'd have to make him believe his own ears.


I heard it again. Saw his lips moving, and the sounds coincided with the words they were forming, but I never thought. I never dared imagine that he could ever...

Jesus, he said it again. And then he kissed me.

He loves me. Oh, *fuck*, he loves me!


Hallelujah. He finally got it.

And so did I.

*This* was what he'd been so troubled about. Whether he realized it at the time or not...

I laughed when he blinked down at me after I broke the kiss. It was like he'd been sleeping all that time, and he'd only just awakened. He threw himself into my arms and hugged me so tightly I thought he'd crush my bones to powder. He begged me to tell him again, and I did. Over and over between tender kisses, and this time he understood me perfectly.

I never would have dreamed it possible. Hating him always seemed like the only thing I could do. The only thing imaginable. Loving him turned out to be so much better.

We held each other the rest of the night, talking and kissing, and repeating over and over the three words I'd never in my life get tired of hearing. And then we made love once more and fell asleep sometime in the light of early morning.

It'd be crazy to think that we aren't going to be in for trouble. *Nobody* is going to take this well, and I *do* have every intention of telling those closest to me about us. I love him, and I will not hide him. I won't be ashamed of my happiness, and I won't apologize for it. I've spent too many years in hell to not want to shout my joy from the mountain tops.

Of course, Scully'll probably have two men in white coats and carrying nets waiting for me at the foot of the mountain...

I don't care. Let her think whatever she wants. She can accept it or not. They all can. It won't make any difference. Alex knows I'm not crazy. In so many ways he's just like me, and he understands.

We're no longer two restless and lonely men, looking for a place to belong and someone to belong to. He's mine, and I'm his, completely and for always.

Mind, body and soul.