From: bizzzichick To: Whispers Subject: [XFNC17ff] NEW FIC: Cauterized, NC-17, M/K (1/2) Date: Monday, October 29, 2001 12:24 AM Title: Cauterized Authors: c_orangy@hotmail.com (Orangy) and bizzzichick@yahoo.com (Satina) Website: http://www.angelfire.com/scifi/xtasy Rating: NC-17 Keywords: M/K, Muldertorture, Angst Disclaimer: We aren't trying to make money, we just want the strokes, folks. Summary: Krycek returns from Tunguska a changed man and now he wants his revenge on Mulder. Note: Krycek written by Orangy, Mulder written by Satina Archive: Sure...share the love. Just tell us where so we can visit. Spoilers: Tunguska and Terma Feedback: PLEASE please please! It contributes to our delinquency. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Good, the little fuck isn't home yet. Enough time to set a few things up. After I let myself into his apartment, I re-engage the worthless lock on his door and step into the darkness. I don't need a light, I've been here countless times; on errands for the cancer stick, orders from the consortium, and for personal reasons. I used to come here to sleep when I knew he was out of town chasing down aliens or technologically advanced cockroaches. His couch and I are on a first name basis, even if he and I are not. I pick up the bag I'd put on the floor, and move to the bedroom door. I know it's the bedroom not because I have seen it before, but because I have a schematic of his apartment, and this is listed as the bedroom. Hell, I don't even know if *he* has seen this room before. I flip my hand around so that the straps of the duffel bag are twisted around my wrist and I can grip the doorknob and turn it. I am not sure what I expected; huge bed, mirrored ceiling, disco ball...but what I find is rather mundane...boring even. A bed - made but dusty-looking, with a dent on the one side, like he sits there to put on his socks in the morning. Well, the fuck's gonna see his bedroom tonight. As much as he can see of it while he's on his knees face down with my cock up his ass, and that's only if I don't blow in his mouth. Fuck it. I'll do both. I have all night. And Mulder sure as fuck isn't going anywhere once I get a hold of him. Time to set up. I put the duffel on the dusty bed and unzip it. Taking out the contents one piece at a time and carefully arranging them on the bed, I consider changing the sheets. I wonder what it would feel like to sneeze in the middle of a violent fuck. And to be honest, I know he's gonna put up a hell of a fight. I would. Well, his nose will be in the bed, not mine. I didn't come here to do housekeeping. No, I came here to hurt an FBI son of a bitch. Speaking of, I wonder where Dudley fucking Do Right is. I left him about an hour ago in the basement of the Hoover. Not that he saw me, but I've been watching him since I got back to the States. Oh, yeah. Watching and waiting. Planning on how best to take the motherfucker down. Cancer stick says he's important, can't kill him. But he didn't say anything about maiming him. And his brain is already fucked up, so what's a little psychological torture between friends. After arranging all my toys to my liking on the bed, I wander into the living room and sit down on the couch. My left wrist is aching; I go to rub it and realize anew that it is not there. It's really amazing how often I can forget that. Anger, unforgiving black fucking anger, rises up from my stomach, tasting just as rancid as bile, and I nearly choke on it. I break out into a sweat trying to control it, my remaining hand fisted and shaking slightly. I hit my thigh hard, gritting my teeth at the pain and try to focus on it, anything to get rid of the black rage that's hanging right in front of my eyes. .............................................. God I'm tired. That kind of tired where I can't even remember how I got home and I'm just fucking grateful that my automatic driving took me here instead of the Jersey turnpike. That happened once. Man did that suck. I swing my body out of the car and it's already planning how it's going to collapse onto my couch and melt into the smelly leather. My steps are weighted with the anticipation of it. My hand lays heavy on the doorknob as I swing the door open. And it pulls me headlong into the room, propelling me across the floor to land in a heap on the other side of my small living room. The slack of my body actually softens the impact of hitting the hardwood floor and I pull myself to my hands and knees quickly, blinking my grainy, exhausted eyes in the half-darkness, assessing the situation. "That's a good position for you," growls the darkness. I still can't see anything but a dark shape behind the door. But I know that voice. It's that same low, straight-from-the-gut snarl that made me shiver as I pressed my arm across his throat in the gulag. "Krycek." That came out a lot less venomous than I would have thought. Hey, like I said, I'm tired. I start to rise to my feet but he's across the room supernaturally fast and I feel a boot heel come down hard in the middle of my back, driving me to the floor. The pain is sharp and hot and I'm paralyzed for a moment, my face twisted, eyes helplessly closed against the spreading agony. "You can fucking stay on your knees, Mulder. In fact," he continues, bending over to ram my face into the wood, "Eat the fucking floor, asshole." In the nick of time I turn my head to the side so that my sizable nose isn't rammed into the dusty hardwood. Instead, my ear is grinding into it and I wish I'd swept it this...month. "What do you want, Krycek?" I ask, my mouth distorted with the force of his hand pressing against it from the side. He gives me one last shove then removes his hand, and I think maybe he's a bit unbalanced for a moment, then he takes all his weight in his rock-hard thigh muscles and stabilizes in a crouch beside me. He wipes a gloved hand across his mouth and I stare up at him. I make no effort to get up. He has the advantage for now. "What do I *want*, Fox?" He sneers. I know he's using my first name just to bug me and I decide not to let him know I know. He looks terrible, now that I can get a look at him. The low light of evening plays over features that are twisted in a snarl of barely controlled rage, and his eyes... God, his eyes are pure murder. "What do I fucking WANT!?" he screams, leaning in close, and I feel the spittle hit my cheek. I force myself to breathe as evenly as possible as I *feel* the heat coming off his body. He's crazed. This is not a side of Krycek I've seen. He's usually in cold control, manipulating and scheming even as he's wiping the blood from his nose. He's inches away now and I smell his sweat. It's panic-sweat. Again, another sign that this Krycek is a dangerous, feral animal. I need to tread lightly. I find myself slipping into profiler mode, using that part of my mind that slides away my exhaustion to reveal only the calm, rational de-escalation techniques I've learned. "Yes, Alex," I say softly. Maybe if he hears his first name it will bring him back to some semblance of human. "What do you want from me? Tell me." "Don't try that fucking head-shrink shit on me, you motherfucker!" he shouts in my face. "You're mine tonight." Uh oh. That does *not* sound good. My heart is racing now where it's pressed against the floor, but I keep my expression calm, my tone soothing. "Listen, Alex, just tell me what you want. I can't give it to you unless I know what it is." God, I feel so fucking vulnerable saying it, but I have to give him no reason to feel his power is being questioned. He has to become complacent in his domination and see me as a cooperative victim. "Oh you'll give it to me, Foxy," he sneers. I watch as his eyes trail over my back and linger on my ass, then come back up to meet my eyes which I try to calm as his gaze falls on my face again. "You'll give me every fucking thing I feel like taking. Like I said, you're mine tonight." He's just staring into my eyes now, and that leering smile makes my stomach do sick flips. I can almost see the rape happening behind those dilated pupils. Okay. He's got me where he wants me. He has sexual interest and possibly intent, gauging from his once-over of my ass. Best to play along at least until I'm in a better position to get the upper hand. "I never knew you wanted me, Alex." I try to keep my eyes wide and focused on him, even though I want nothing so much as to shut them against that incredibly intense glare. Then I'm grateful that I was able to maintain eye contact, because I see his control falter for just a moment. He blinks. Then the animal is back. "I just want to make you fucking pay," he snarls, low and hissing. He throws his left shoulder forward in an unusual gesture and it's then that I realize he has not used his left arm to either abuse or restrain me this whole time. I feel the puzzlement crease my features. I stare at his arm in the darkness. It's just hanging there at a stiff angle, resting on his bent thigh as he squats beside me. There's something very wrong with it. "Your...arm..." The curiosity in my voice is blanketed with intentional concern as I let the question fade between us. Now I'm sure that's pain I see flash across his eyes as he blinks rapidly, his mouth a thin line as his jaw clenches. He makes no move to either answer me or shut me up, so I continue. "What happened to it? What's wrong with it?" "It's still in fucking Tunguska is what's wrong with it," he answers, getting to his feet quickly but carefully, and stepping back from me a few paces. Oh. God. The knife. The villager with the one-armed son. I think I'm going to throw up. My mouth is gaping as I struggle to breathe, swallowing back the old panic I'd felt as the behemoth had advanced on me, huge machete blade glinting in the moonlight. "God...they got to you," I gasp. I'm staring up at him from the floor, slowly raising myself up on my forearms as I examine the new shape of the man before me. I'm now more shocked and sickened than angry or scared. He doesn't say anything, just breathes hard, staring down at me. I see his eyes flick to my two strong, intact arms as they raise me off the floor and I understand the anger and jealousy crackling in the dark depths of his eyes as they come back to settle on mine. "They...they almost got me, too," I say, trying to create a sort of bond between us. There was a bond in Tunguska, before he betrayed me. I felt it. I actually found myself relaxing into it. Maybe even liking it. Hopefully it wasn't all bullshit. I'm banking my life on that as I bring my knees up underneath me and sink back on my heels, kneeling at his feet, fingers splayed wide on the floor on either side of me. I lick my lips, and I see his eyes riveted on my tongue's progress and remember that he wants me sexually, at least to some degree. Maybe I can use that to my advantage. Maybe if I convince him that I want him too... ........................................... The fucker. He's analyzing me, trying to find my weakness. It's right here, I want to scream, all the while beating him to death with my prosthesis. He's kneeling in front of me. It's like he wants me to shove my cock into his mouth, almost as if he's begging for it, licking his lips and pouting that way. I chance a look at his package and sure enough, he's interested. Goddammit. I wanted to take this, not have it offered. I reach for my gun and get the satisfaction of seeing him wince as I bring it to bear on his temple. "That's right Foxy, I'll take what I want...and right now, I want you to suck me." Oh, the uncertainty in his eyes, the moment of truth. Will he submit or fight? I want him to fight. I want to bloody his lips before he pulls me into his mouth. I want him to remember the taste of blood and cum. I want those two things to be forever linked in his memory. I see the war raging in his eyes, and it's almost sweet enough...almost. I rear back and hit his temple with my gun, not hard enough to knock him out, just enough to put the fear of Krycek into him. He groans and crumples to the floor. I have to squat to haul him back up to his knees. I keep the gun in my hand and grasp his collar with the tips of my fingers and pull him upright, and then back off and put the gun back at his rapidly bruising temple. He looks at me with a little fear in his eyes this time. Yes. It's sweet, but not nearly enough. ................................................... Jesus! The pain is taking away my control...all my rationalizing is just slipping into the blanket of shooting stars I see swim over my eyes. I'm not bleeding...I can't feel blood on my face...but my eyes are difficult to focus. The cold gun barrel presses against just the right tender spot and a new agony explodes. I feel tears of pain try to squeeze from beneath shut lids. Yes, I'm really scared now. And I know I have no power. Except for the power of submission. "Alex..." I swallow, and fresh pain from the slight movement glances through my head. "I'm sorry. I'll do it. You don't have to hurt me to get me to...suck you." I feel a swelling in my crotch as I say the words and it shocks me. Am I tricking myself into believing my own lie...that I want him, too? That thought frightens me, but it could come in useful. After all, I can't fake arousal. I lick my lips again and open my eyes, blinking against the pain at my temple. "I want to." He's staring daggers into me with a self-satisfied smile just playing at the corners of his mouth. God, I want to punch him so bad! But self-preservation wins out and I reach up with trembling fingers and start unfastening his jeans. He bucks slightly against me. My cock jumps. I can feel his hard length straining at the zipper underneath my fingers. He's like a rock under there. He wants this very badly. Maybe I can use that to my advantage. ................................................. He's undoing my jeans, and he's nervous. Oh yeah, this feels good. I could come just watching his hands shake as he has to touch me. I know he wants to punch me. That's his preferred form of communication with me, but the fucker isn't so smug when the tables turn. I always thought he would just shit if I ever actually fought back. Well, Foxy, how's your underwear now? Ohhh, he's pulling down my zipper and I don't have underwear on. Oh god, that tortured moment right before my dick springs free of my pants, I can see the apprehension and fear...and just a bit of want in his eyes. He looks up at me, and licks his lips again. Does he even know he's doing that? Now his attention is focused on my dick. I push the gun a little bit further into his bruise and say, "Suck it." ................................................. I gasp. It's big, my mind qualms. Bigger than I thought. Hoped? Jesus. His smell fills my nostrils as I lean in, the pain of the gun barrel like a switch that drives me forward. He's circumcised. I'm glad. Seems cleaner and...simpler. And, if I had to be truthful, his cock is quite...beautiful. Beautiful?? God, I must be a sick freak. Still, I've seen a few in my time, and this is a nice cock. A little worship isn't going to be that hard after all. I inhale deeply, letting my eyes close for a moment, and open my lips. I press a soft, open-mouthed, firm kiss on the head of his dick and he grunts and jerks forward, seeking to push into my mouth. Quickly, I review my options. Let him brutally fuck my mouth and come, which would require little participation on my part other than keeping my teeth out of the way...or stay in control of the situation by making it really good. Somehow, both options seem very attractive as I feel him nudge roughly at my partially open lips and I taste the tang of his precum on my tongue. I pull away just barely. "I can make it good," I breathe, letting the warm air bathe the head of his cock as I speak, looking up at him with dizzy promises in my eyes. "If you let me..." ....................................................... Oh my god, he's looking at me and there's something like...love in his eyes. He wants to make it good for me. I thought it would be pretty good to fuck those beautiful lips. Just the sight of my cock laid out right on his lips makes me weak and I need to rethink this whole thing. Goddammit! I wanted to make this brutal. I wanted him to bleed. I wanted him to cry. I wanted to reduce him to nothing. But it's not working that way. He wants me too. And that makes me want him even more. I wanted to take, and leave a broken man, but he is breaking me. I want a response out of him. I want him to make it good. I clear my throat and ask, "How?" ........................................................ "Let me show you," I half-whisper, extending my tongue and swirling it around the purply-red tip of his cock. I'm panting now, and I wonder a bit at my own immediately eager dick as it twitches in my pants. I softly place my left hand on his hip for support and wrap my right around his shaft, giving it a firm squeeze. He moans and I feel it in my crotch. I use the leverage of my grip to guide his cock into my mouth, licking across the bottom of the shaft as I take him deeper and deeper, then slide him all the way back out, releasing him with another kiss. God he tastes good. Silky and hard and hot. I moan through my nose as I take him in deeper this time, feeling my drool ease the way and slurping at his delicious length hungrily, beginning to bob my head. I'm amazed that he's not fucking my face. I can tell he wants to. He wants to very, very badly. He does have a rather good grip on my hair with his hand, even while keeping hold of the gun, and he is helping the entry of his flesh with some shallow thrusting, but never in a way that does anything but make my own cock jump and drool in my pants as I suck and lick him. He starts to grunt with each thrust, and I know he needs more. I make my lips into a seal around his flesh, covering my teeth and mouthing him tightly. I begin to fuck him with my face, flicking my tongue against the sensitive flesh as it bobs in and out of my lips. His grunts and his moans go higher...I'm doing it right. Still moving my mouth on his dick, I carefully release his shaft with my hand and move it back, rolling his balls carefully in my fingers. He jolts against me, driving himself deep into my throat and I gag and fight to breathe. A few more thrusts like that and he actually pulls back, letting me draw some air and swallow before pushing back in. He wouldn't have had to do that. He could have just continued fucking my throat. He was close...I know he was. I strengthen my resolve and relax my throat as I slip my fingers more deeply between his legs, pressing up on his perineum with my pinky finger as my index seeks an even more sensitive area. ...................................................... Make it good, he said. Jesus, it's never been this good. A willing warm mouth and I'm no longer pushing my gun into his face. No, now it's my dick I am pressing into his mouth and my hand is in his hair, the gun trapped between my hand and his head. I'm trying not to push too deep. I want this to last forever. Oh, his hand on my balls, oh god, going back to my ass. I have to thrust; I'm so close to coming. I grit my teeth and ride out the waves that are rolling over me. His mouth opens even more and he sucks me down all the way to my balls. My eyes snap open and I see him looking at me even as he gags on my cock. I feel his finger stroking over the crinkly flesh of my anus, and I lose every ounce of control I ever had and slam my cock as deep into his mouth as it'll go. I'm coming with such force it seems to rip me out of my skin and hurtle me down his sucking throat. I slide down to the floor right between his legs, my head resting on his shoulder for a scant second, and I can feel him moving. I jerk away from him, but his hand is on my wrist, the other hand is furiously trying to undo his trousers. He looks at me in a pleading way and pulls my wrist toward his hard bulge. All I can do is stare at him as he humps his crotch against my hand and gun. His eyes never leave mine as he licks his lips and moans. He is still fumbling with his belt buckle. I slowly raise the gun back up to his head and whisper, "Stop." It takes him a second to register what I say. I can see the exact second when he understands. His eyes never leave mine but his hands stop moving and there is a gleam in his eye. I think it's tears. I am strangely calm and now I know what I want. The first thing I want is for him to get out of his clothes. His eyes still haven't left mine. I motion with the gun for him to stand up. I wonder what he sees in my eyes that won't let him look away. When he's standing, and I am too, I tell him to take off his clothes. My voice is low and shaky. He seems to consider for a second, and as I start to raise my arm, his badly shaking hands reach up to loosen his tie and unbutton his collar. .................................................... I swallow back the taste of Krycek's semen and struggle with the buttons of my shirt, my hands slippery with sweat and smelling of musk. He just stands there, gun raised, taking deep, shaking breaths. His pants are still down around his ankles. That should appear ridiculous, but it only seems dangerous and promising right now. Of course. I realize as I'm pulling my shirt down my damp, twitching arms that he can't keep the gun trained on me *and* pull up his pants. I should feel smug. I don't. I just feel...subdued. And really fucking horny. I'm moving my hips to bring friction between my boxer-briefs and my cock as I let the shirt fall to the floor. I feel like a slut but I can't remember being this aroused. Maybe it's the danger...maybe it's the company. No, don't go there. That way lies madness. I reach for my belt and my fingers slide on the buckle, struggling to yank it open. I feel one of the belt loops rip as I pull the damned thing free and it leaves my body with a light 'snap.' Out of the corner of my lowered eyes, I see Krycek flinch just slightly. I take hold of the zipper on my slacks and raise my eyes to meet his. I see him swallow hard and his chest begins to heave. He's going to hyperventilate, I swear it. He wants this that bad. And all I wanna do now is give it to him. Any way he wants it. My gaze penetrates him and I don't take my eyes off him as I start to push my pants and underwear down my hips, and my dick springs up as it's freed. I lick my lips and taste him as I swallow. He blinks slowly in response. I watch his cock lengthen and rise up against his thigh again. I'm consumed by his mindless, dangerous desire for me. I want him more than I've wanted anyone, ever. I don't give a fuck why anymore. I push my pants and underwear off in one long move and step out of them, stopping to quickly untie and shed my shoes and then socks. I straighten up, clothes at my feet, and my cock jumps against my belly, smearing it with precum as I regain my balance. I stand before him naked, hands fisted at my sides. I let him see it all. The lust, the confusion, the submission...and the painful, dangerous need. I need him. I fucking need to have him. Now. ..................................................... I want to kiss him. I want to taste my cum in his mouth. He's taking for goddamned ever with his clothes, and I'm having a hard time breathing. When all his clothes are finally in a pile at his feet, he stands there looking right into my eyes and waits for me to speak. I step in closer and lower my gun to his dick. I use the barrel to outline the contours of it. His right arm reaches out and settles on my left shoulder and I tense for just a second. And then he moans and starts to thrust his dick against my gun. I hear him grate out a harsh moan and then he whispers, "Oh god, Alex...I want to fuck you." He's grinding himself into my gun and hand and whispering to me, "Will you let me fuck you?" I don't think I can stand any more. I pull the gun away from his cock and wrap my arm around his hip to drag him forward into my body. Our cocks collide and I realize that I am hard again, and then everything flies out the window as he kisses me. Wet heat presses into my mouth and it carries the saltiness of my cum and just a ghost of cinnamon. I let the gun drop into his pile of clothes and start to feel his back, clutching at muscles. I can feel him double his assault on my mouth as his hands run up my back under my jacket and he pulls me tighter into his embrace. I run my hand down to his ass and clutch his cheek and pull it hard. I swallow a moan and bring my hand up to our mouths. I push my hand in between our lips and suck on my own finger. He tongue-fights me for it, and I let him suck it into his mouth. I push down on his tongue and sink my finger into his mouth as far as I can. I slide it out with a small pop and run it around his lips, making them glisten. And then I attack his mouth with everything I have, my hand sliding down to rest in the crack of his ass. ......................................................... I shiver as I feel the cool wet of his finger settle in between my ass cheeks. I raise myself on my toes, seeking more contact...lower contact. I wanna fuck him, feel him, eat him, have him...I want to be inside him and have him inside me and I grunt helplessly, devouring his mouth while I try to strip him. It's hard because his hand is still tightly pressing against my ass. I try to pull the jacket down the other arm and feel the artificiality of that limb. It sobers me up for a moment, and I realize I want to make this gentle; the unveiling of this altered man. "Wanna undress you..." I say against his lips. His reply is a grunt as he pushes his tongue deeply into my momentarily stilled mouth. I sink back into the kiss for a moment, letting him control it completely and getting dizzy with my own surrender. Our cocks are sliding together and I'm close to coming. Have to pull back. Wanna fuck him too badly to blow it. I jerk my hips back from his and he nearly falls on me at the loss of support. I catch him with my arms and kiss him once more, quickly, before holding him away from me to look into his face. Swollen, wet, kiss-bruised lips, parted on shallow, ragged breaths. Eyes so dark as to be black, but I know they're green. His hair has grown...and it looks better now. Especially sweaty and sticking to his forehead in little spiky strands. I just wanna lick him. I hear myself moan. I'm amazed. I realize he's dropped the gun. And he's making no move to take back the control I've wrested from him. I could hurt him. I could knee him in his vulnerable groin and throw him to the floor. Grab the gun, put it to his head...and what? Make him suck me? Nah. I'd rather fuck him. Maybe later. I push down on the jacket, working it down over his shoulders, which he shrugs for me to ease its passage. I have to grab the cuff on his fake wrist and tug it to get the clinging leather over the inflexible false hand. He lets me, and the vulnerability it shows makes me squint. Tears? I'm sure it's just a side-effect of my overwhelming sexual need. I place my hand carefully on his shoulder, feeling tentatively for the juncture of plastic and flesh. I look into his eyes and he closes them, his face a mask of tension and pain. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I hold him where his prosthesis meets his arm and pull on the jacket to dislodge it from his body. Finally, the sleeve slides down and off and I wrap my arms around him to transfer the jacket to my other hand and pull it off his right arm. He's wearing a long-sleeved black dress shirt. This won't be easy...for either of us. He's still, eyes shut tight, body rigid. "I won't hurt you," I whisper, leaning in to his ear. I hear him gasp lightly and he tilts his head just barely, leaning into my touch. I take him in my arms and just hold him, and the crying begins. .............................................................. God, I haven't cried since, well, I don't remember. He's holding me and rubbing my back and I want to die. I could die here, in his arms. I feel safe. He won't let anyone hurt me. Had he been there in the forest, he would have fought with his life to save my arm. Hell, he could have left me in the gulag, but he chose to save me too. Well, the Mulder version of save was stealing a truck that had no brakes and then crashing it, but he tried. I'm the one who ran from him. He wanted to keep me with him. All the bitterness and blackness that was in me for the last months is slowly leaking out of my eyes and I cling to the only thing in this world that wants me. .............................................................. I just hold him and let him shake and sob against me, stroking his back and murmuring in his ear. His arm is so tight around me it hurts and cuts off my air somewhat but I just lean into him and pet him. "Shhhh...I know. Alex, it's okay. You're safe here." Wow...is that true? As I stand here in my dark apartment, naked, rocking Alex Krycek as he weeps, I realize it is. I don't want to hurt him. Ever again. Fuck me. This certainly changes things. "Alex... Alex..." I struggle to get his attention; to lift his wet face where it's pressed into my shoulder. I pull back and move my hands up to take his face in them. I have to use the strength in my arms to pull him away from me as he fights to keep his face hidden. I don't allow him to hide. I force his face in front of mine and wait for him to stop struggling. "Open your eyes, Alex." I lean forward and kiss the tracks of his tears where they've cut through the sweat on his face. Salt on salt. I kiss his closed eyelids. "Please?" He struggles to open them, his mouth trembling with his silent tears. He's so beautiful in his misery. He's so open and soft and sad and tragic and...gorgeous. How can I hold against him the things he's done to me, when I can stand here with my two good hands on either side of his face and he is maimed forever because I took him with me? "I want to love you." God! What the fuck? I meant to say 'make love to'...not 'love'. Freudian slip?! Jesus Christ, what now? ............................................................... Something changed just now. He can't believe he just said that. He wants to love me...but he can't. How could he, with all the shit that has happened between us? I cast my eyes down again and try with all my might to control the tears. With effort, I move my hand back to my side and clench my fist. I step away and desperately wonder how to get my pants up and keep some amount of dignity. I turn so that my right side is facing him and bend over to get my jeans and pull them up. Have you ever tried to button jeans with one hand? It's hard to do, but at least it takes all of my concentration and I don't have to see whatever look he is throwing me. What the FUCK was I thinking?? I wasn't thinking...that's the problem. I just poured my fucking heart onto his chest and...what, what did I expect? To be forgiven? No, just accepted I guess. I can feel my heart shriveling up as I walk over to his bedroom door. I had better grab the duffel bag and leave. "I'm sorry," I say to the door. "I shouldn't have come here. I'll get my things and leave." I walk into the room and look at the bed. All my little implements laid out, shiny and ready. I was going to take a body part with me tonight when I left. I was going to cut off his ring finger and keep it as a trophy. God, I am a sick son of a bitch. I feel bile rising in my throat and have to throw the stuff into the bag quick before I puke on it. And then I hear him in the doorway, and I see my gun in his hand. .............................................................. He's...leaving?? And I'm...letting him. Well, yeah! It's either that or...keep feeling what I'm feeling and start acting on it. He's all grace as he pulls up his pants and I marvel at the way he compensates for the lack of weight on one side. He's a survivor. He may be without a limb, but Alex isn't beaten. Or maybe he is. He certainly looks it, as he walks to my bedroom door and I hear his apology. Shouldn't have come here? No, you definitely shouldn't have. This was definitely *not* supposed to happen. I'm still frozen, listening to my heart pound. Watching him enter my bedroom and sink into the shadows, head down. I stare at the place he stood. Look down at my pile of clothes. Strangely, I don't feel like getting dressed. Then I see a glint of steel, and bend to retrieve his gun. What...did he forget it? Not bloody likely. Is this his way of offering me his heart on a platter? Was the suicidal gesture conscious or unconscious on his part? I turn the weapon over in my hand, feeling its weight and contained power. Power to end a life...or just change one forever. I take a deep breath and the spell breaks. I walk to my bedroom door and stop just inside, his gun in my hand, pointed casually in his direction. "You forgot something." He turns, and I see him shoving things into a duffel bag on my bed. What the fuck? Those are...blades. Knives and a...bone saw?? Jesus Christ. This is what he came for. To extract his pound of flesh. Literally. My grip on the gun tightens, and I zero it in on him tightly, focused now. "That..." I indicate the bag on the bed, half-full of deadly instruments, and swallow painfully. "...is what you came for tonight?" He's not saying anything now. He's frozen, half-turned, a wicked little blade still in his hand. His shoulders sag. I guess he doesn't really have to answer that. It's obvious. My cock's been limp since the sight of that glittering metal spread out on my bed, and now I really do feel naked. Exposed. Vulnerable. "Were you going to cut off my dick, Krycek?" I don't even want to hear the answer, but something inside me that hates me makes me ask. "No." His voice is barely audible, a low, whispering growl. "Just your finger." I let my breath out in a shocked gasp. It's one thing to see the instruments of your torture and make things up in your own head...it's another to have someone flat out tell you they came here to cut off your finger. I'm feeling sick. The gravity of his voice leaves no question that he was serious. Then I consider. A finger. Just a finger in exchange for a whole arm. That's all he was going to take...even in the darkest depths of his rage and insanity. That same sick part of me that made me ask the first question makes me ask another. "Is that all?" Now *he* looks sick. And pale. And very, very confused. "You lost an arm, Alex," I say, reverting to his first name again. "You came here for revenge, and all you were going to take was a finger?" I see him considering, blinking through the shock and puzzlement, struggling to come up with an answer. "I just..." His voice is cracked and nearly inaudible. He clears his throat and straightens up, turning to face me completely, blade held loosely at his side. "I guess I just wanted something I could take with me." His eyes stay trained on mine and I don't look away either. "So. Let me get this straight," I say, tightening my grip on the gun perfunctorily. "Your plan was to break in here, beat me up, rape me, and then cut off a finger as a memento of the evening. Is that right?" His eyes flutter closed for just a moment. He's ashamed. Well he fucking well should be. I wait. "That about covers it," he grates. I see his grip on the knife handle tighten and my body tenses, ready for a fight. "So what happened, Alex?" His eyes open and he looks at me, and there is undeniable pain behind those eyes as he answers. "You...you wanted me." I let my breath out carefully. I wanted him. Did I? Fuck yeah, I really did. "Or at least," he says, biting his lip in a painfully lost gesture. "You faked it really well." I swallow. We stare at each other for a minute or two, and I see his eyes *beg* me to tell him that's not how it was. That's *not* how it was, of course. I wanted him so bad I couldn't even see straight. Worse than I've ever wanted anyone in my life. But do I want to tell him that? I look at his left arm, hanging heavy at his side, and decide that yeah, I do. I smile, gently. "Pretty tough to fake a raging hard-on, Alex." My smile fades. "I did want you. I...I *do* want you." Green eyes squint with skepticism for a moment, then widen with realization. Yeah, that's right. I said I wanted you. I said I still do. Now what do we do? I let my grip loosen and lower my arm slowly, flipping the safety on as Alex's gun comes to rest along my bare thigh. His eyes follow it, then come back up to my face, narrowing in disbelief. "I told you. I don't want to hurt you. Ever again. I meant that, too." I lean to the side and place the gun on the dresser. He just watches, hand clenching the hilt of the knife at his side. I step forward and reach for his hand. Shocked, he lets me take it. I pull him over to the dresser. He staggers but doesn't fight me. My hand is wrapped around his, the knife held by both of us now. I lay my left hand on the dresser, fingers splayed. I raise Alex's right hand in mine, and he jerks and fights as I bring it closer to the one laid out on the dresser. "Take it, Alex. I don't want this," I look pointedly at his fake left arm, "...to keep getting between us. If I give you this, will you let me love you?" ............................................................... _________________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Get your free @yahoo.com address at http://mail.yahoo.com ------------------------ Yahoo! Groups Sponsor ---------------------~--> Get your FREE credit report with a FREE CreditCheck Monitoring Service trial http://us.click.yahoo.com/Gi0tnD/bQ8CAA/ySSFAA/QsMolB/TM ---------------------------------------------------------------------~-> Visit the site that began it all!! NC-17 fanfic all day and all night! http://whispersofx.crosswinds.net/ Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/