X-Files M/K
Title: Dark Entries II
Author: Nicole S.
Rating: NC-17 for bad language, violence, bloodletting, and m/m sex.

Archive to Allslash, Archive X, TER/MA, All Things Rat, Den of Sin Series/Sequel: Second chapter in Dark Entries Series Webpages: ter_ma: www.squidge.org/terma/nicole/Nicole.htm Den of Sin: http://members.tripod.com/Nic-S

Oh please give me some feedback - oscar204@aol.com
Spoilers: All episodes up to and including Millennium from Season 7 are fair game.

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me, they belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox. Please don't sue me, textbooks are expensive, and I really don't have the money to spare.

Summary: Krycek's sinking deeper.
Comments: Thanks to Amy B, Aries and Orithain for super fine beta. Thanks also to LeFey for continuing support, and Tirinar for squeals and bribes.
Dark Entries II
by Nicole S. (1/2000)
Alex Krycek wasn't in the mood for this. He didn't want to be at this meeting with these men.

Blue smoke swirled through the dim light of the conference room and hung heavily in the air, even though there was only one person smoking. Alex shifted his weight onto his left leg; he wasn't allowed to sit. He wasn't allowed to join them in the comfy leather chairs around the large table. Sure, he was left a position and money, and he was supposed to have *some* sort of clout, but without his benefactor alive to challenge the other men, he basically had to hang out and wait to be asked to join them.

So he stood there, like a small child allowed to listen in on an adult conversation, taking everything in. At least they were talking about his favourite subject, Mulder.

They were discussing, yet again, Mulder's recent operation, and how it had been a success. Alex looked over at the smoking man; he still had a bandage around his head. He had hoped that he would die on the table, but alas, indestructible bugger that he was, he'd lived.

Alex looked nonchalantly at the video that they were watching of the operation; how the transformation had been completed, and now all they had to do was wait.

Wait for what?

He wasn't quite sure, since these men were even vaguer than the last bunch. He'd checked out their backgrounds, and found their weaknesses, should he have to use them in the future, but they held their cards close to their chests. Unlike the last group, who fought and bickered, and let their feelings be known, this group was content to allow the smoking man to lead them blindly into oblivion.

He looked at poor Mulder on the television screen, strapped down to the table, arms spread like some sort of sacrifice or offering. An uncomfortable twinge ran through Alex; he didn't like to see Mulder like that. He didn't belong to them; he didn't owe them for his father's mistakes. But he paid for those mistakes just the same.

Alex had been conveniently out of town when they had decided to incarcerate Mulder. It was strange that they had called Alex up out of the blue with a job, and when he'd gotten home, he'd found out that Mulder had been committed to a mental ward of all things. It was as if they'd known he was Alex's hobby; and wanted him out of the way just to spite him.

Alex would steal up there in the middle of the night and watch Mulder sleep in his little cell. Sometimes he would wake up screaming; sometimes he'd sit there without any expression on his face. Alex wanted to go in there and make him feel better, but knew that was impossible, so he never did. He got used to Mulder like that; it was like having him for a little pet.

With Mulder in the hospital, Alex knew where he was at all times, and that was good. Until they'd taken him for his operation. He'd shown up to see Mulder, having formed a plan to get him out of there, and possibly keep him for himself, but had found him gone. He'd gone to Skinner, to find out what had happened, and he'd told him Mulder was missing, but nothing more.

It had taken a few hours, but Alex had finally found out where Mulder had been, and what was about to happen, but he couldn't've done a thing about it, however. Not a fucking thing. He'd driven blindly for hours and hours, fueled by his rage, until his gas had run out. How could they do this to him? Mulder belonged to him! He'd ended up in the Carolina's and stayed there for a few days before going back to DC. He'd wanted to try and cool off before he ran into that conference room in New York and killed everyone. And while that would have satisfied him immensely, it would've started a chain of events that would have been catastrophic for everyone.

By the time a much calmer Alex Krycek had gotten back to DC, they had let Mulder go, and Alex had to be content to watch him from the apartment across the street. Mulder had stayed home for a week, mostly sleeping on the couch, eating and drinking a little. He had hoped Mulder would have one of his sessions with his porn collection, but he didn't. Alex assumed he was too tired.

Then he got a call to take care of a little problem for the smoking man. Hell hath no fury like the leader of a world-dominating consortium scorned. Fowley's death was but a small consolation for the pain they had all inflicted upon him in one way or another. He'd strangled her, wanting to feel the life drain from her body with every gasping breath.

So he sat there in that nearly empty apartment across the street from Mulder's, a collection of Mulder's things around him, wanting him, craving him. There was the tie, the one he vowed to give back but never did. There were the doodles on the yellow legal pad that he'd stolen and came on. There was a t- shirt, stolen from Mulder's gym bag while he'd played basketball.

When Mulder had been in the hospital, Alex had broken into Mulder's apartment a number of times. Mostly, he'd just sat there on the leather couch, or slept in his bed. He'd even taken a shower once, the thought of Mulder's soap running over his body making him hard, causing him to jerk off not once but twice. In the back of his mind, he knew that he wasn't thinking coherently, and he could've gotten caught, but the thrill had outweighed the rationality of it all.

He was digging himself deeper into a hole of obsession and fanaticism. If Mulder was a religion, he was the devout follower, spread prone on the ground, awaiting atonement from his God.

He started following Scully around for kicks after she got back from Africa. God, she'd gotten close to the truth. But Alex couldn't let her get *too* close. He killed Kritchgau without a thought, just killed him and torched his apartment. Alex hadn't even looked at the laptop yet; it was sitting in a box in a loft in Annapolis that he called home most of the time. The machine was almost an afterthought; either he or Scully would have custody of it, and it sure the hell wasn't going to be her.

Then Mulder had come home and gotten better, and Alex happily followed him around again, picking up his hustler to relieve him almost every night. He had had to give that up a few weeks ago, however, as he'd been needed for a mission in Kansas of all places.

Now he was back, had given his report on Kansas, and was awaiting scrutiny from the others. They looked at his report, looked at him, and after some deliberation and long silences, were generally pleased with what they saw. They gave him a pat on the head, and were now adjourning the meeting. Alex was relieved; he didn't want to have to see this new group of bastards for a long time. He left before they did, not wanting to talk to any of them longer than he had to. It was New Year's Eve, and he needed some relief.

He got into his car and drove back to DC, pulling up to the spot where his hustler usually stood a few hours later, but found he wasn't there. Alex came back again later, and still didn't find him in his place on the sidewalk. He drove around the block a few more times, and then down a side street where some of the more strung out young men had started hanging out. He recognized one of them as one of his regular's friends. Alex motioned to him, and he slowly strutted to the car then leaned inside the window, his tongue licking his lips seductively.

"You lookin'?"

Alex motioned to the sidewalk. "Where is he?"


"Your friend. The tall one?"

The hustler took a drag on his cigarette then flicked it aside. He let his smoky breath out inside Alex's car. "Aaaaah," he said, recognizing Alex. "You mean your boy? You like him a lot, dontcha?" He slithered into the open window further, rubbing his crotch up against the side of the car.

"Yeah, your friend. Where is he?"

"He ain't around anymore, honey. You wanna gi'me a try?"

Alex breathed through his nose; this was proving to be an annoying process. He calmly asked him again, "What do you mean he *ain't* around?"

"He's gone. Gone away. Some sugar daddy took him to LA. But I'll fix you up nice."


"Yeah, some movie guy. Well he *said* he was a movie guy, butcha know, I think he just said that so he'd go with him. I can getcha off better than that boy could; he don't have my technique. You'll see." The young man opened the door and motioned to get into the car, but Alex's glare stopped him. The young man stood back up on the sidewalk, and slammed the door with some fanfare. "What a bitch!"

Alex clenched his jaw and sped away from the young man. This was fucking great; he had been celibate for weeks, and now he'd just have to jerk off again!


He went to his surveillance space in the apartment across from Mulder's to watch him ring in the New Year. He knew Mulder didn't have any plans. Well, he suspected Mulder didn't have any plans; he never celebrated any other major holiday. He wondered if Mulder'd done anything for Christmas this year. Last year, Alex hadn't been around, but he'd thought of him.

Alex looked through the binoculars; the apartment was dark. He sighed; nothing was going his way tonight. He looked at his watch, 11:00. He turned around and booted up the laptop in the corner; maybe he could find out where Mulder was and follow him for a while. After about 20 minutes of searching, and a few phone calls, Alex discovered Mulder was in a hospital about half an hour away. He drove to the hospital, stomach all jittery, wondering just what Mulder was doing in the hospital. He hoped it wasn't anything major. He swore that if those bastards had done anything else to Mulder, he'd kill them all without a thought.

He parked the car and donned his latest disguise. Man, he hated these things, but Mulder would recognize him if he didn't wear it. This latest one was a moustache with a light blonde wig. He thought he looked like a porn star. He added a baseball cap onto his ensemble, put on a baggy, dark blue sweater, and was ready to go.

Excitement rang through the air in the hospital over the impending new year. There wasn't going to be any meltdown, no planes would fall out of the sky; everything would be normal; the Consortium had seen to that. The people had to be secure in knowing that everything was all right and normal so that when colonization began, no one would see it coming. No one would suspect a thing.

Dick Clark was on every television in the hospital; it was going to be midnight in a matter of minutes. Alex stole through the Emergency ward until he saw Scully, who was speaking to a man. She brought a small girl forward, and the man embraced the young girl, Scully looking on. Alex hung back in the bustle of nurses and hustle of doctors, as they worked on some accident victims.

Then Mulder came into the waiting room, his arm in a sling.

Alex's heart sped up; he hadn't seen him in so long. He wanted to rush over to him, embrace him, kiss him, fuck him. Instead, he stayed where he was, watching the scene unfold. The man and the little girl left, leaving Mulder and Scully alone. They looked up at the television as all around them, people shouted 'Happy New Year'. Alex breathed out. He wanted them out of there; he didn't like the vibe that was happening between them. Mulder looked at Scully, who was still watching the television. She turned to look at him. Then, to Alex's sheer horror, they leaned towards each other and kissed.

He could feel his knees go weak, and the breath leave his chest as he watched them. Time seemed to stop, and the horrible incident seemed to last forever. Then it ended. They both said something to each other and left the room, Mulder's good arm around her shoulders. Alex turned around as they brushed by him, his anger, rage and disappointment welling up inside him. He forced himself to stay where he was until they left, the strong fingers of his prosthesis pinching the tender skin between his thumb and forefinger to keep him calm.

He walked out to his car, almost getting hit by an ambulance. He didn't care; the world should have ended with that kiss. Something evil invaded him at that moment; all the rage of past things welled up inside him and needed to come out. He ripped the disguise off, flinging it in the back seat, disgust still coursing through his veins. He followed them home, grateful that no more kissing happened. Mulder dropped Scully off, then went home to his own apartment. Alex didn't know what he would have done if Mulder'd gone up to her apartment. He'd have had to kill them... among other things.

After Mulder went home, Alex drove around, anger nearly blinding him. He didn't know how long he drove, but he ended up at the strip again, hoping to see his young man. Hoping for someone, something. It was starting to snow, and the hustlers looked like they were going to retreat inside until it stopped. Alex pulled up in front of the young man he'd talked to before, and rolled the window down.

"I knew you'd be back." The hustler got into the car and closed the door.

Alex drove, not sure what he wanted, not sure if he wanted anything at all. He couldn't get the image of Mulder's lips meeting lips that weren't his out of his head. He couldn't see anything else but that. And the look they had given each other afterwards... it almost made him sick.

"You gonna tell me whatcha want or what?"

Alex looked over at the young man, his face wet with moisture from the snow. He wasn't that good looking, not as good looking as his regular one, but Alex couldn't be picky at this particular moment. He drove on and down the service road, until they were under the freeway, not answering the young man's questions.


When they parked, Alex held out a 20 to the young man, who took the bill and looked at it. Alex started to undo his jeans, when he found a large knife waving in front of his face.

"You gave Trent fifty, asshole."

Alex stopped undoing his jeans, and looked at the man beside him. This wasn't good.

"You give me twenty? You think you're too good for me? Well you ain't, motherfucker!" Suddenly, the knife moved and cut Alex along the jaw, then up to gash his forehead. Alex moved his hands up, but the knife sliced through the leather of his gloves easily. He tried to grab the young man's hand, but the knife came down, ripping through his jeans, and sending searing pain along his leg. Alex, now pissed off, swung at the kid, catching the knife in his left arm, where it stuck. The hustler looked at the knife funnily, but didn't have time to do any more damage, as Alex smashed his head against the window with his right elbow. The window broke, sending beads of glass onto the ground and inside the car.

Blood ran down the young hustler's face, dark in the diffused street light. Alex could feel blood trickling down his face as well from the cut above his left eye. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror, seeing blood flowing down his face, and dripping off his chin.

"Sonofabitch!" Alex screamed and punched the young man again out of frustration. This was definitely not his day. He removed the knife sticking out of the false left arm, flexing his fingers, noting that everything still worked. He sighed; he'd have to get that mended now.

Blinking the blood out of his eye, Alex got out of the car and went around to the trunk, where he got a roll of duct tape. He got back in the car and fished under the seat for the box of Kleenex. He managed to clean himself up pretty well, using small pieces of duct tape to hold together the wounds in his forehead and chin. He needed a stitch or two in his chin, but he could fix that once he got home.

His jeans were toast, ripped down the right leg, and the long scratch down his thigh was beginning to hurt. His right hand was cut pretty badly as well. After fixing himself up as well as he could, he duct taped the hustler's hands and ankles together to prevent anything else from happening. A smile crossed his face as he looked at the young man; he was going to have some fun after all.

The drive to Annapolis and the loft in the building Alex owned was uneventful. He was grateful all the police were downtown protecting the President, and not looking for people like him. He parked in the garage and slung the young man over his right shoulder. He wasn't that heavy. He then went to the elevator and up to the third floor.

Alex bought this building some time ago, knowing he had to have a personal place of his own to escape to once in awhile. The building was listed as commercial storage space, but the only thing Alex stored in here was his own secrets. He converted the third floor into a large loft with hardwood floors and simple furniture. It was a nice place to recover from the tribulations of the real world.

The elevator door opened, and Alex unceremoniously dumped the hustler on the wooden floor. He looked down at the unconscious man, wondering what he should do with him next. He pushed the couch and chair back against the wall, and rolled up the rug, leaving only a heavy wrought-iron coffee table in the middle of the loft. He stripped the young man of his clothes, and dragged him over to the coffee table, which he draped him over. The young man was then bound to the table, arms to one set of legs, knees to the other, legs spread wide. Alex smirked at the still passed out man, and went into the bathroom.

Once in the bathroom, Alex dug out his sterile suture kit and got to work, first removing the duct tape holding the wounds together. His forehead would be okay with some second skin applied, but his chin would definitely need three stitches. Alex carefully started the sutures, reminding himself of how to do it correctly. He thought about the man in the next room, and how surprised and shocked he'd been when the knife had been in his face. He was never scared, just amazed that this little hundred pound junkie hustler had the balls to pull a fucking knife on him. How dare this little fuck cut him like that, on the face no less! He finished the stitches, and got the second skin on his forehead, covering it with a piece of clear surgical tape. Then he stripped.

The cut on his hand wasn't deep; neither was the long scratch along his leg, thank God. The flesh coloured covering on his prosthetic arm was cut, but no one would see that except for him. And Mulder, whenever he got the chance to show him. He would get it fixed later.

He removed the limb, and placed it on the counter, then stepped into the shower. He was careful of his new stitches and the cut in his forehead, as he washed himself of the blood that covered him.

Alex sighed as the warm water washed over his body, doing nothing to relieve the tension in his muscles. He washed himself deliberately, caressing his cock and balls with his fingers. His mind went back to Mulder as it often did, but instead of imagining him in the shower with him on his knees, fucking his mouth, he saw him kissing Scully, cradling her jaw in his hand, his tongue sliding over her lips. He deepened the kiss, backing her up against the wall, his hands moving over her body...

"NO!" Alex yelled, punching the wall, sending a searing pain through his hand from the cut there already. No, no, no, no! Mulder was *his*, dammit, he should be kissing *him*.

"It should have been me. It should have fucking been me!" Alex rested his forehead on the tile of the shower enclosure and closed his eyes. "It should have been me," he moaned.

// But how was Mulder to know? It's not like I've said anything to him. I've just followed him around like some sort of... sick fucking freak. That's got to change. This is fucking ridiculous. I've got to tell Mulder how I feel about him, how I need him.//

// But what if he doesn't want you?//

Alex pushed that from his mind. He couldn't deal with that right now, he had some business to take care of.

He got out of the shower, toweled off, and replaced his prosthesis. He got dressed in a pair of clean jeans and black cotton sweater. Then he went back out into the living room. The young man was moaning softly to himself, waking from his concussion.

Alex started to harden, as he looked at the bound man, bloody and half- conscious. He made a fine looking piece of ass all spread out like that. His ass was round and fit, and his thighs were muscular. Alex ran his hand across the strong back. No wonder this skinny guy had been so strong; he was one taut muscle. Alex also noticed the fresh track marks on his arms. He hadn't been on drugs for long; the veins didn't show any blowouts, or signs of prolonged use. Plus, he was too fit and healthy to be much of a junkie. But that didn't matter. The fact was he was just some junkie whore, and he'd pay for what he had done to Alex.

He could feel his cock start to throb. He was starting to feel like he was in a dream, and he knew that he was going to that dangerous place in his mind. And when he did, people got hurt.

Alex went into the kitchen and filled a plastic cup with water. He brought it back to the living room and threw the water into the young man's face.

"Wake up," he snapped.

The hustler opened an eye and moaned. He licked the water from his lips and swallowed. That's when he realized that he couldn't move. A gasp left his lips as he tried to squirm in his bonds.

Alex dropped the plastic cup to the floor, then walked over and knelt in front of the bound man. He reached over and picked up the knife.

"You surprised me tonight, Mark." Alex noticed the young man's eyebrows rise. "I got your name from your wallet." The young man sneered at him, but remained silent. Alex continued, "I didn't think you'd have the balls to attack someone like me."

"Fuck you," Mark sputtered.

Alex's eyes narrowed. "You have no idea who you're fucking with, Mark."

He set the knife aside and brought down the zipper on his jeans, revealing his hard cock. "You know what's funny, I was going to pay you to suck my cock, but now I don't think I have to."

"Eat shit!"

"Do you deserve this, Mark? Do you deserve me?"

"You don't deserve *me*, you psycho piece of shit." Alex noticed Mark was getting scared, despite the bravado that was spewing from his mouth. "Let me loose you fucking freak! I'm going to kick your fucking ass!"

Alex ripped a piece of duct tape off the roll, and secured it over the man's mouth.

"That's *so* much better," Alex purred into his ear. "And you don't deserve me, you junkie whore. But you're gonna enjoy it."

He took off his jeans and sweater and threw them on the couch against the wall, wondering why he even bothered to get dressed in the first place. He then moved behind the young man and reached over to the collection of condoms and lube that he had found in his jeans' pocket.

"You know, I hate wearing these fucking things," Alex said as he rolled the condom on his cock. Then he rolled on another one, and slicked up his hardness. "But that's life, right; that's the way things are."

Alex shoved his cock half way in and groaned; the kid was tighter than he thought. He moved his hips around to loosen the passage slightly. The hustler whimpered through the duct tape. Alex breathed in as he dug himself deeper into the tight ass.

"Plus, if I rode you bareback, my dick would probably rot off, right, Mark?"

Alex pushed in all the way and smacked Mark's ass. "You're a fucking junkie whore, Mark. You're a fucking junkie whore who fucked with the wrong guy. And now you're gonna pay."

Alex moved his hips back and forth, moving his cock in and out of Mark's ass. "You fucking cut me, Mark. You cut my goddamn face." Alex pulled out most of the way and shoved in violently. Mark whimpered.

"You cut my fucking face, you fucking piece of shit. You goddamn whore. You fucking whore!" With every phrase, Alex dug deeper and shoved harder. Mark's hands were clenching and unclenching; he was also screaming into the duct tape.

"You think this fucking hurts? I had my goddamn arm cut off. This is nothing. I should cut your arm off, so you could see how it feels." Sweat was pouring off of Alex, and he could barely see. Rage and raw emotion boiled up and out of him with every stroke. Mark was crying now.

"Who's the tough guy now, huh? Who's tough now, you fucking bastard? Why'd you cut me like that? Why'd you treat me that way, huh? Why'd you fuck with me?"

Alex was on the brink, fucking Mark madly. He came with a groan, but kept moving in and out of the young man, his cock not deflating. This time, however, something inside him changed again, and he felt like he wasn't inside his body. He gritted his teeth, leaned forward and thrust harder. His voice came out in a feral whisper.

"You asshole. You fucking asshole." Alex continued to dig his cock into Mark's ass, his hands squeezing and bruising his buttocks. "Why? Why did you do that to me? You treated me like shit. You don't know me. You don't know the way I feel; I've got fucking feelings, you know."

Alex kept shoving his dick into the young man's ass; he was going to come again. Tears formed in his eyes and started running down his face. "You made fun of me, and ignored me, and fucked me up, and all I did was love you, Mulder; all I did was love you. Then you kissed Scully. You should have been kissing me. Why won't you let me love you? Why can't it be me?" He came with barely a moan.

Alex picked up the knife with his right hand and pulled Mark's head back by the hair with the left. He didn't see the expression of horror on his face, or hear the muffled screams behind the piece of silver tape covering Mark's mouth. He sliced open Mark's neck, blood spraying onto the shiny hardwood and gleaming in the pale light of the loft.

The orgasm was still sending shudders through Alex's body, as he watched the blood flow from the young man's neck. Alex breathed heavily, and sweat dripped off his brow. He knelt there for a few minutes, until the knife suddenly clattered to the floor. He pulled out quickly and backed away as fast as he could, realizing for the first time what just happened.

"Shit," he whispered.

He watched the thick, red liquid spread out and stain the floor.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck."

He moved away until his back was against the wall, chest heaving from his horrified gasps. He hated it when he did this, when he lost control, when he turned into that ugly monster he'd turned into time and time again.

He pulled his knees up to his chest and laid his head on them, breathing out slowly as he wrapped his good arm around his legs. He sat there for a long time, just breathing, until he started to shiver from the cold creeping in from under the blinds.

Slowly, he reached down and removed the condoms, flinging them aside. He hated himself. He hated this monster that killed and hurt people. The same monster that killed Bill Mulder, Diana Fowley, Kritchgau, the same one that had worked over that boy Dimitri...all those people all over the world he'd inflicted pain upon ... the monster came out of him, and he couldn't stop it.

He stood on wobbly legs and surveyed the situation. He could get rid of the body and clean the place no problem, and he doubted if anyone had seen him pick the young man up. But he killed this otherwise innocent, yet stupid man for no good reason. And the thing that scared Alex was that he felt no remorse.

He set about cleaning up the apartment, disposing of the body and bloody things in the incinerator. He couldn't do this anymore, he couldn't be this person anymore; it was too hard. He couldn't go on following Mulder around; it was stupid. This obsession had to end. He had to do something about it. He watched the garbage bags melt and burn through the thick window in the incinerator door. He'd just have to think of a way to do it.

The end