Title: Snowbound

Author: Russianrat

Classification: K/CSM. Rated NC-17 for m/m interaction.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Alas, they belong to Chris Carter, 1013, and the Fox Network...for now <evil chuckle>.

Archive to All Things Rat, Archive X. Anywhere else with permission.

Spoilers: Paper Clip, Apocrypha, Terma, The End.

Feedback to russianrat1@hotmail.com

Author's note: this is a little snippet I came up with during a repeated viewing of the Fifth Season finale. I know it's a weird pairing, but I thought it was time someone wrote another Nicotine Naughty <g>. No beta readers were harmed in the making of this story, so all faults are mine alone.

Snowbound
(c) December 1998 by Russianrat

The old man's breath came in harsh gasps as he ran laboriously through heavy snow, his coattails flapping around him. Mentally, he blessed the shapeshifter for cleaning out his lungs not so long ago; otherwise, he would hardly have been able to run at all. Nevertheless, he heard his pursuer closing in on him rapidly.

A shot rang out in the frosty air. The man came to a stop, staring up at a figure in black silhouetted against the blue skies of Ontario. The assassin lifted his gun hand and quickly whipped off his hood.

It was Alex Krycek.

The Cigarette Smoking Man smiled, thinking to himself that this would be an appropriate ending after all.

"Take your shot, Alex!" he shouted, and turned away.

"Right there!" Krycek's voice was firm. The CSM halted and glanced up once more.

"I was sent to bring you back," stated Krycek. His green eyes bore into his enemy's. Time seemed to stretch out like liquid taffy while the smoker waited, uncertain now.

Then Krycek lowered the gun.

"But I'm not sure I want to," he said so quietly the CSM thought he'd misheard.

"What?"

In lieu of an answer, Krycek inclined his head in the direction of the cabin behind them. "Let's talk."

"If you're going to kill me, I'd just as soon die here."

"I'm not going to kill you. At least," Krycek's mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile, "not until after I've had a chance to hear your side of the story."

The CSM shrugged. At Krycek's gesture, he moved ahead of his former associate and they walked slowly back to the cabin in the woods. Krycek let the smoker enter first, barely glancing at the body of the other assassin, the one who'd been unfortunate enough to open the front door and get a shotgun blast to the chest for his daring.

When Krycek stepped across the threshold, he saw the CSM calming putting a kettle of fresh water on to boil.

"Tea?" he asked.

Krycek nodded briefly while scanning the interior of the room for possible traps. The CSM made a sound that might have been a snort.

"You have nothing to worry about, Alex."

"Oh, yeah?" Krycek finally sat down in a chair and eyed the other man warily.

"Yes. You're the one with the gun, remember?"

The smoker checked the water, then poured them both a cup of tea. Krycek took his and sipped the hot liquid before setting it down again.

"So." The CSM sat down on a double bed that had been pushed against one wall. He shook a cigarette from his ever-present pack of Morleys and lit up. "You wanted to talk."

"I just wanted to know why."

"I presume you're referring to that little incident with the car bomb."

Krycek's eyes narrowed angrily. "That 'little incident' nearly cost me my life, you bastard."

"Temper, Alex."

"Then there was that business with the missile silo. You did that too, didn't you? You meant for me to starve in there!"

The CSM shook his head, almost sadly. "I know you don't remember it, Alex, but I also let you out. Didn't you ever wonder why the door was locked one minute and open the next? You were unconscious, of course, but I made sure you were still alive before I left."

Krycek frowned. "Even if I believed that, I still want to know why. Cardinale was the screw-up, not me. Why didn't you go after him?"

"Ah, but we did. He's dead, you know."

"Hmph. I'm not surprised. Yet I'm alive."

"So you are. I've missed you, Alex. I suppose I kept hoping you'd return to the fold someday."

Slowly, the CSM set his cup down and stubbed out his cigarette. Equally slowly, he reached across the gap between them and laid one hand on Krycek's thigh.

"We had some good times, didn't we?"

Krycek pursed his lips as if thinking. His expression softened just a bit.

"Yes. I suppose we did." He covered the CSM's hand with his own. "Damn you."

"Of course." The smoker lifted his free hand and brought Krycek's mouth to meet his.

Krycek groaned deep in his throat. He embraced the other man, his lover, his enemy. He no longer knew which, or cared. All that mattered at the moment was the heavy throbbing of his cock.

The CSM smiled. He lifted Krycek's right hand and drew him over to the bed. He opened Krycek's coat and began to run his hands over his lover's arms, then stopped in shock and confusion. The CSM stared back into eyes that had suddenly gone cold.

"A mishap in Russia. I lost my arm to some overeager peasants." Krycek refused to elaborate further.

"I'm sorry." The smoker tried to touch the join of flesh and plastic, but Krycek pulled away angrily.

"Leave it," he growled.

The CSM nodded. He put his arms around Krycek's neck, careful to avoid contact with the prosthetic. They kissed, and after a moment, Krycek relaxed once more. He returned the CSM's advances with increasing fervor.

"Come back to me, Alex," the smoker murmured into the young man's ear. "I've really, really missed you."

"Mmmm," said Krycek in response. He licked the smoker's lower lip, savoring the bite of nicotine on his tongue. "Show me."

It was the smoker's turn to moan as Krycek pushed him down onto the bed. While the CSM watched from his prone position, Krycek toed off each boot and squirmed out of his black pants, letting them drop to the floor. He left his shirt on.

"Your turn," demanded Krycek in his dark, husky voice.

The CSM couldn't undress fast enough. Krycek noted the scar on his exposed chest silently. Then the smoker was naked, his cock already hard against his belly. He turned slightly and withdrew a couple of small packets from the bedside table.

Krycek chuckled. "Condoms and lube? Up here?"

The smoker shrugged. "You never know."

"Yeah." Krycek lay down on his right side, draping the artificial arm across his stomach, away from the smoker. He wiggled his ass invitingly. "Do me."

The CSM nearly came then and there. He held his breath for a moment to regain control, then carefully donned a rubber. He spread some of the lube onto his fingers and pressed one long, yellowed digit into the puckered ring of Krycek's asshole. Krycek gasped, pushing back onto the finger until it was swallowed whole.

"Yesss," he hissed. "Now."

The smoker couldn't wait. Bracing himself with his hands on Krycek's slim hips, he buried his cock inside the young man in one long, smooth thrust. Krycek shouted wordlessly. The pain was quickly replaced by pleasure as the CSM angled the next thrust across his prostate gland. Krycek gripped the sheets with his good hand and rode the cresting waves of excitement. To his great surprise, he felt the smoker's hand slip around his waist to grasp and stroke him avidly.

Krycek uttered a shrill cry that began deep in his chest and spilled out of him in tandem with ropy bursts of come. The CSM released Krycek's cock, dug his nails into the young man's hips and grunted his own release with a last deep push. Krycek spasmed once more, then lay panting within his lover's embrace.

Evening was falling. Krycek stirred.

"I'd better go." He rolled over and gazed deep into the CSM's eyes. "I suggest you find another place to live, and soon."

The smoker sat up and lit another cigarette.

"Where would I go, Alex? I like it here."

Krycek shrugged. "It's your funeral."

He pulled on his clothes one-handed, with practiced ease. Planting a kiss on the CSM's cheek, he rose from the bed and headed for the bathroom. A minute later, he emerged, smiling.

The CSM followed Krycek to the door. No words were exchanged. The smoker stood in the doorway, watching as Krycek headed up the hill, then he turned and went inside.

At the top of the rise, Krycek paused. He stared down at the cabin, his brow furrowed. As he watched, a blast of heat rocked him back on his heels. The tiny log structure seemed to sway, then flames engulfed it from one end to the other. In minutes, there was nothing to see but smoldering ash.

Krycek grinned wolfishly.

"Smoke on that, you son of a bitch."

Then he resumed his climb, a black phantom in a world of white.

The End