From: "bizzzichick" <bizzzichick@yahoo.com>
To: "Whispers" <XFilesNC17ff@yahoogroups.com>
Subject: [XFNC17ff] New FIC:  Stoli, M/K, R  by Satina (not David)
Date: Thursday, February 14, 2002 4:27 PM

Happy Valentine's Day!

~~^~~@

Title:  Stoli

Author:  bizzzichick@yahoo.com  (Satina)

Website:  http://www.angelfire.com/scifi/xtasy

Rating:  R for sexual situations

Keywords:  M/K

Disclaimer:  Hey, the rule around here is, if you put it down
and someone else picks it up, it's theirs.  MINE.

Summary:  Mulder makes assumptions.

Archive:  I used to give it all away to everyone, but after
getting burned, I'd appreciate it if you asked first.  Yes in
advance to any list it's posted on.

Dedication:  David and Shannon, thank you for your love. Will
you be my valentines?

Spoilers:  The Red and The Black and Apocrypha,
specifically.  All other Krycek eps are to be assumed.

Feedback:  It keeps me going on the bad days and makes
me loopy on the good ones.  And it keeps the fic-fountain
flowing.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It's a wonder I didn't submerge the manilla envelope in water
the minute it was dropped on my desk.  It's probably a sign of
my depression that I didn't.  Instead, I turned it over in my
hands a few times, sighed at the lack of a return address,
then decided I'd open it at home.  Scully had gotten so tired
of my little personal tangents, and I figured this was going to
be one of them.  So I decided to do her the courtesy of
leaving my new red herring for unveiling in my apartment
rather than the office.

I'm a very curious person and not really good at delayed
gratification, either, so it was hard not to think about the small
package in my coat pocket as I went through the rest of my
day.  When I got home, I didn't even get a drink before
getting settled in on my couch to open it.

I felt like a kid on Christmas morning.  Except I'm Jewish.  I
tore the envelope open, my heart beating fast.  It might have
been fear.  I mean, I really didn't know if it was something I
needed to be afraid of.  It could have been.  But I think it's
just that whole 'unknown' thing.  I can't get enough.

Truthfully, I was relieved to feel something for a change, if
only fear.  I was tired of walking through my days asleep.  It's
as if my mind had decided to just quit taking a stand.  First I
believed in aliens, and nobody else did, and Scully made me
feel like I was crazy, then I didn't believe in aliens and Scully
did and she made me feel like I was crazy.  Then I met an
alien.  Sort of. Although I can't remember it.  So now I think
my fevered brain just wants to not give a shit for a while.  I
hope it's just for a while, because I don't like this lack of
passion.

I gently slid the envelope's contents out into my palm.  It fit
there nicely.  It was about the size of two packs of cigarettes
and heavier.  And it was wrapped in a deep red wrapping
paper.  Again, no card, no indication as to who it might be
from.  I stared at it stupidly for a minute before remembering
that it was Valentine's Day.  My heart sped up just a little bit
more.  I didn't let myself believe it was going to be something
innocuous, but I couldn't stop myself from hoping it...just a
little.

If it wasn't, I wouldn't have been upset or anything.  Like I
said, I'd had a hard time feeling anything for several weeks.  I
was kind of surprised at my little flicker of hope, actually.  I
wanted it to be a valentine first, an x-file second.  Maybe I
was realizing that the kind of passion I was missing wasn't
the kind to be found in the back of a filing cabinet.

Either way, I'd drawn the moment out as long as I could, so
started tugging away the wrapping to unveil my gift.

My eyes narrowed as I caught sight of the label.
"Stolichnaya" it said.  "Imported from Russia"  "Russian
Vodka" and finally, clearing things up quite a bit more,
"Finest Swiss liqueur chocolate with Stolichnaya vodka syrup
centre"

Yum.

And as you can imagine, one person came immediately to
mind. I mean, how many Russians are in my life?  And of
those, how many have a ridiculous addiction to expensive
chocolate?

Alex Krycek was sending me a valentine.

Damn.

I turned the small, gold-leafed, heavy box over and over in
my hands, letting all my thoughts and feelings just kind of
wash through me, giving them only part-attention.  Then
when I felt like they were through, I went back and pulled
each one out to examine it.

I was surprised to find that the very first feeling, rather than
the knee-jerk hatred and anger I'm used to, was a kind of
melancholy.  I entertained visions of a young, bright, glowing
Alex Krycek licking fine Swiss chocolate from the corners of
his mouth with his little pink tongue.  I never let him see the
smiles that inspired.  He'd told me that there was nothing like
Swiss chocolate.  He wouldn't even look twice at a Hershey
bar, but many a stakeout was spent with smell of the good
stuff wafting around in the Taurus.

Everything else he'd told me might have been a lie, but there
was no doubt that he had a major jones for good chocolate.

Where had the anger gone?  Well, I could guess.  It wasn't
just some freaky, unexplained disappearance.  What it really
felt like was that the hate and the anger just didn't have
enough steam behind them to keep going.  Like someone
had thrown a wet blanket over them, bringing them to their
slow, hissing demise.  Someone.  Like maybe Krycek.

He dropped in on me several weeks ago and gave me the
location of a real, live alien.  He kissed me and gave me his
gun.  It was enough to put me on my ass if I hadn't already
been there.  After he left me there, a trace of his saliva still
cooling on my cheek, I just felt the weirdest leaching out of all
of my old feelings.  I didn't hate him anymore.  I couldn't. And
that really worried me.  I even hated myself a little for being
naive enough to quit hating him.

He disappeared, so I didn't get the chance to tell him how his
tip had panned out.  Not that I really knew, myself, since
they'd wiped that memory from my mind.  But since that
night, I'd been growing increasingly angry with myself.
Because I was wanting to trust him again in spite of myself.

I just wanted throw myself up against a wall and throttle
myself, screaming, "You stupid idiot!  What does someone
have to do before you give it up?  He's never going to be
worthy of your trust!  Or anything else!  So knock it the fuck
off!"  But schizophrenia was never one of my gifts, so I
couldn't allow myself the fun of my delusion.  I could only feel
the warring factions in my head yelling at one another and
shaking their fists in the air.  And no, multiple personality
disorder isn't one of my gifts, either.  I just have a very vivid
imagination.

So I sat there, turning the chocolate over and over in my
hand, and one of the factions began smiling smugly at the
other one.  Was this a piece of evidence to support a case
I've been wanting to build?  And if so, isn't that funny?  I'd
hoped it was a valentine rather than a new mystery to solve,
and here it turns out to be both.

Of course the other faction was telling me to look for tiny
puncture holes in the box, whispering that the chocolate
might be doctored above and beyond the Stoli.  But as I held
the red and white and gold box up to the light, I realized that
faction two was acting even more insane than the other one,
so I put the box back down in my lap.

It's all about the vulnerability, faction one exclaimed.  He
showed it even showing up at your place!  He certainly
showed it when he kissed you, then he showed it again when
he handed you his gun.  And now, he's showing more...in
fact, if you think about it, he's showing it *all* by giving you a
gift that says so many things at once.  It says he's thinking
about you.  It says he wants more than just a sometimes
working relationship with you.  It says he wants you to know
it's him.  Russian vodka chocolates.  How much more Alex
Krycek can a gift get?  And then finally, it says one more
thing.  Something you really never thought you'd hear him
say.

Alex Krycek wants you to be his valentine.

I found my throat closing up at the thought.  My traitorous,
naive, 'I wanna believe' heart was pounding, my breaths
coming in shuddering pants.  With a cold, stark fear, I
realized my eyes were welling with tears.

I wanted so badly to just...believe.

And then, my heart swelled again when I realized that for the
first time in a long time...since that night, really...I was feeling
something passionately.  But it wasn't anger, and it wasn't
hate, and it wasn't really even a fascination with the
unknown.  I passionately wanted to believe that Alex
Krycek...God, could I even say it to myself?  I wanted to
believe that Alex Krycek...loved me.

Did I love him?  God, I wanted to.  I had wanted to for so, so
long.  That second faction of mine had won for a very long
time, though, sneering at the other one, calling up all the
evidence to support the fact that Krycek was about as
unlovable as any human could be.  I had gotten very close to
letting faction one win way back in the beginning, before the
real evidence had amassed, when only my paranoia was
arming the other side.  He hadn't known that, of course.  My
walls are high.  And thick.  And solid.  But when he wasn't
looking, I'd peer at him over the top of them and wish I had
the courage to take down some bricks.

It hurt so much when I was right.  Right not to let myself trust
him.  Right not to let myself love him.  Right not to let myself
want to be loved by him.  Sometimes I just really, really, really
want to be wrong.

I looked at the box in my hands, blinking away the unbidden,
unexpected tears blurring my vision.  Maybe I am wrong, I
thought.  Or right, depending on how you look at it and which
faction you're talking to.  Maybe I can stop hating myself for
wanting him to love me.  For wanting to let myself love him.

I was so fucking tired that I really didn't care anymore
whether he was gonna spit on me and turn his back or not.
His exit already hurt deep down in a permanent way.  It
couldn't possibly get any worse.  In fact, in reality, a clean cut
would probably get rid of a lot of the arguing in my head.
Faction two could claim victory and lay waste to faction one
once and for all, thus letting me get on with my life.

I made a decision and stood.

I had a phone number.  A number I'd never known whether
to use or not.  But I could never really stand to let myself get
rid of it, either, so I'd tucked it into the back of my wallet
under some old department store receipts and let its
presence slip my mind.

Only it hadn't.  I picked up my phone and watched my fingers
tremble as I punched in the numbers slowly and carefully.  It
took some convincing, and I'm sure the person on the other
end of the line probably wondered at the sound of my voice.
I'm usually kind of an ass on the phone, demanding and
impatient, eager to shake the truth out of the next imbecile
that steps out in front of me.  Tonight I imagine that my
uncharacteristic quiet had done me no favors in convincing
the person answering the phone that I was who I said I was.
But finally, finally, the man left and after a pause, the call was
received.

"Agent Mulder?"

"Yes, it's me."

"This is highly irregular."   The cultured British voice belied
worry and even some irritation.

"I know, sir.  I need something from you.  You offered me a
deal once."

There was silence on the other end of the line.  What
seemed like a million years ago, this man had offered me
Krycek in exchange for information.  I had given him some
information, but had quickly realized he didn't have Krycek to
give.  I'd been bitterly disappointed then, and I hoped that I
was deducing correctly now.  Krycek had said he was sent by
men who knew that resistance was in our grasp.  This man
seemed the best candidate.  I waited.

"What do you have to offer me in exchange, Agent Mulder?"

That was the hard part.  Everything I knew, I knew they knew
already.  But there was one thing that I guessed that maybe,
*maybe* he wanted to see.  After all, he's the one who'd
thrown us together again after all that time.

"Partnership."

"Excuse me?"

I smiled at the unguarded surprise.  "I've come to some
decisions, sir.  You probably think I'm a conceited imbecile,
the way I've ignored or even rebuffed your attempts to pull
me in and give me access.  Well, I'm tired of rebuffing.  I'm
ready to deal."

There was quiet on the line for a minute, and I was actually
grateful, because that meant he was taking me seriously.
Finally, he spoke.

"If indeed you are offering your partership to our
little...faction,"  I grinned at the unintentionally perfect word.
"Then you and I want the exact same thing, Agent Mulder."

"You want Krycek and me to work together."  God, my heart
was in my throat as I even said the words.  I couldn't breathe.

"I think that would be the smartest course of action to take at
this time, yes," he replied.

I swallowed and took several deep breaths, trying
unsuccessfully to steady my voice.  It came out hoarse and
wavering.  "Tell me how I can find him.  Please."

Silence again.  I thought for a moment and continued.  "I
think it's best he doesn't know I'm coming, sir.  He's liable to
run.  He doesn't trust me, and he won't believe you when you
tell him I've decided to partner with him."

"I think you're right about that," said the man firmly.  "He has
reason to be concerned, Agent Mulder.  The first time we
offered you Mr. Krycek, it was so that you could kill him in
revenge for the death of your father."

His voice was so calm and assured.  And he was right, of
course, which only made it more irritating and humbling.
"Yes, I know," I said quietly.  "A lot of things have changed
since then."

"Have they."  He didn't ask it as a question.  "What
assurance do I have that you aren't going to use the
information I give you to take out our very best operative?
He's absolutely essential to the resistance, and his loss would
be fatally crippling."

I felt myself become light-headed, knowing the veracity of his
words and hating myself for never having been open enough
to hear them before.  Ironically, I was the one being forced to
prove my trustworthiness, having nothing adequate to the
task.  Krycek had always had more than that when he'd
come to me, and look at how he'd been received.

"I don't know what to say, sir.  I don't want to hurt him.  I lo--"
I stopped, horrified, practically choking as I tried to figure out
how faction one had gotten total control over my speech
center.  I recovered quickly.  "I won't hurt him," I said weakly.

"I believe you, Agent Mulder," the gentleman replied slowly.

He'd heard my slip, I'm sure.  I could hear the amusement in
his voice.  I decided that maybe faction one had had the right
idea and had maybe saved us a lot of time.  Me, I mean.
Saved me a lot of time.

He gave me the address and told me that Krycek was there
now but scheduled to leave the country in two days.  If I was
going to make my approach, I'd better be quick.  I planned to
be.

I thanked him and hung up, then went into my bedroom to
change.

.............................

I stood outside the door of his apartment fingering the small,
solid box in my pocket.  I still hadn't opened it to taste the gift
within.  I thought we should share it.  At first, I wondered if
maybe I was being incredibly stupid, just knocking on his door
and expecting not to get shot.  But then I stopped listening to
faction two and relied on the rational arguments of faction
one, and admitted to myself that Krycek had never once, in
all the time I'd known him, made any direct attempt to hurt
me.  I readied myself for the gun I knew would be shoved in
my face and knocked.

I saw the light dim behind the peep hole and made a note to
myself to suggest he get a camera for his new place instead,
because you make yourself rather vulnerable when you block
the light, letting the visitor know you're inside.  On the tails of
that, I realized he'd seen me and the door wasn't open yet.  I
resisted the urge to speak or knock again, giving him his
space.

The door flew open quickly and I stared down the barrel of a
gun.

"Mulder."

"Hey, Krycek."  I watched his lashes flutter as he blinked
rapidly, then watched the lines by his eyes deepen as he
squinted, trying to size up the situation.  Krycek didn't have
laugh lines.  His were all worry lines.  I couldn't take my gaze
away, tracing over and over the lines on his face, feeling my
throat open, my heart beating freely though wildly beneath
my ribs.  With a start, I realized he was very uncomfortable
with my blatant appraisal.

"Can I come in?"

He blinked again.  It made him look so...vulnerable.  And it
called attention to his eyes, which, notwithstanding his hard,
graceful body, really are his best feature.  Well, that and his
voice.  That gets me instantly hard.  Especially when it says
my name.  So you can imagine what his nervous greeting
had done to me already.  I tried to let him see some of that.
The need behind my eyes.  I poured it out for him with a deep
sigh.  He stepped back, waving me in with his gun, eyes
narrow with suspicion.

I walked in past him, letting myself really breathe him in for
the first time in a long, long time.  Not fighting my body's
reaction, the way I just wanted to inhale and close my eyes,
awash in his scent.  I'd fought so many things for so long.
What a waste of energy.  No more.

He didn't take the gun off me as he turned his body and used
his false hand to close the door quickly.  His gunarm didn't
even tremble, and I evied him that control, because my own
body was a panting, humming, sweaty wreck already.
Ignoring the gun completely because I knew it didn't factor
into our equation at all, I stepped in closer to him, holding my
hands out slightly to show my harmlessness.  He jerked back,
blinking again.

"You don't need that," I said softly, giving the barrel a
glance.  "I'm not here to hurt you."  He started to open his
mouth to speak, and as much as I looked forward to hearing
his voice, I didn't want to listen to his refusal to trust, or his
fear, or even his anger.  I wanted to talk, instead.  I stepped
in closer, and his face twisted into a scared frown as I backed
him slowly up against his own front door.  I smiled at how
useless the weapon between us really was, but allowed that it
probably made him feel safer.

"Krycek," I said and felt stupid.  "Alex,"  I amended.  His
eyes went wide at that, the whites glowing like a panicked
animal's.  I stepped in closer, and he was forced to either
lower the gun or press it into my chest.  He chose to lower it.
His hand was trembling just slightly, now.  I sighed with relief.

"I'm here because I lost an argument with myself.  Or won
one, depending on your take on the situation."  He stared at
me.  I made my voice soft, my eyes softer, and continued.
"I've wanted to trust you for so long, Alex," I went on.  "And
I've accumulated so much evidence over the years that I
couldn't."  His face fell a bit at that, and I was stunned to
realize he was letting me see his emotions play over his face.
He could have shut me out so easily.  He's better at it than I
am, and I'm damned good.  But he was letting me see the
unhappiness there as he looked down at my chest, now
unable to meet my eyes.

"I've wanted to believe," I said, cringing at the overused
phrase but knowing it was a perfect fit.  "In so many things.
And one of the things that I just haven't been able to stop
trying to believe in is you."  He swallowed hard and still said
nothing, and I watched the tiny beads of sweat form on his
brow.  I wanted to reach up and stroke away the hair on his
brow, but I knew he'd never be able to allow that.  Not yet. So
I went on.

"I wanted to believe in more than just your trustworthiness,
Alex," I said, breathing steadily, trying to keep the tremble
out of my voice.  I actually visualized the small box of
chocolate in my pocket, the overwhelming evidence he'd
courageously given me, and it gave me enough strength to
say what I said next.

"In fact, I think there was something I wanted to believe even
*more* than I wanted to believe you were trustworthy," I
said, stalling the words that were lodged in my throat and
stealing my breath.  He was breathing hard now, making little
attempt to hide it, his lips parted in perpetual shock as I
poured this all out to him, not letting him speak.  The gun
hung limply in his hand at his side, and I could tell he was
using the door for support, leaning in against it slightly.
Leaning away from me.  It hurt, but it made it easier on me to
say what came next.  I wanted to draw him to me.

"I wanted to believe that you liked me, Alex," I hedged,
studying his eyes, cheating by basing my next words on his
reaction.  To my utter shock, he blinked again, and this time
there was a faint sparkle there.  A wet sparkle.  He bit his lip,
holding back his own words.  I was grateful even though I
wanted him to be able to tell me, because I still had one more
thing to say.  Well, possibly two, again, depending on the
outcome of the first.

"More than that," I said, stepping in so close that our chests
touched on each inhalation.  "I wanted to believe...that you
could love me, Alex."  I stumbled over the word as if it were a
road with a whole group of boulders blocking it, and blinked
my own burning away.

Just as I was going to speak again, I watched a fat tear break
loose from the confinement of those long, dark lashes and
roll down Alex's cheek.  I didn't even think about it, I just lifted
my hand, brushing his cheek with my thumb, stunned by how
he didn't flinch away this time.  I saw the tiny tear's track
become a swollen, wet river as I leaned in and pressed my
lips against his with a sigh.

He immediately gasped a shaky sob into my mouth, and I
swallowed it, pulling him closer, wrapping my left arm around
his neck and shoulders to pull his face in hard against mine.  I
slid my right arm around his waist to pull his lower body into
the same tight proximity.

As our crotches bumped up together, we both gasped into
the kiss and it deepened, both of us grunting and whimpering
our need into one another's mouths and greedily swallowing
down the emotions of the other.  I felt his arm come up
around me, still hesitant even after I'd taken the first step and
kissed him, and it hurt me to know that even now, he was
afraid to trust me.  I pulled my mouth away, gasping, feeling
his heart thudding against mine.

"I didn't want to let myself love you, Alex," I said, and I
realized it sounded like a sob.  I was so undone by the
rawness that I cried harder, quickly hiding my face in his
neck, shaking against him as I felt myself break.

"Shhhhhh...." he said shakily, the first sound I'd heard from
him aside from the grunts and whimpers, since he'd greeted
me with my name on his lips.  "Oh God,
Mulder...Mulder...Mulder...Jesus..."  He brought his hand up
and stroked it through my hair over and over, and it felt so
good I just shivered and melted into him, holding him so
tightly I wondered if he could breathe okay.  He began
placing soft kisses on my hair, humming and stroking his
hand through it, and I felt the tears begin to subside.

"Mulder...Mulder...I can't believe you're here...that you're
saying these things..."

"I know, " I croaked.  "You don't have any reason to believe
me."  I raised my head from his shoulder, ashamed at the big
wet spot I'd left on the fabric of his black dress shirt.

"I do, though," he said softly, bringing his hand from my hair
to my face, resting his palm against my cheek.  "Because
you're the most honest man I've ever met.  The *only*
honest man I've ever met.  I trust you, Mulder.  If you say it, I
know it to be true."

I felt weak at his blind faith in me, but closed my eyes in relief
and gratitude.  I felt his thumb brush gently over my lashes.  I
opened my eyes and lost my ability to breathe.  He was
staring at me with such intensity that it literally paralyzed me
like a strong magnet holding me in place.  I actually startled a
bit when he spoke again.

"I never believed that you'd want my love, Mulder," he said,
his eyes filling with tears again.  I used my own thumb to
brush them away as they fell, and his eyes closed when I
touched him.  "But you always had it," he finished, his voice
a low rasp.  "It was always yours."

My lips parted on a soft gasp.  "Alex," I breathed.  "I do love
you.  I know it, now.  That's why it hurt so much.  I wasn't
angry, the way I should have been.  I was hurt.  So deeply
hurt."  He looked away, but I pulled his face back to mine.
"I'm not saying this to hurt you, Alex.  I just want you to know
the truth.  The truth is my love for you, and how badly I
wanted you to love me back."  We looked into each other's
eyes, and like a mutual decision, our lips came together
again, this time more gently but firmly, as if our mouths were
sealing a pact between us.  We kissed, our lips and tongues
getting to know one another intimately for a long, long time.
When it felt like the signing of the peace treaty was complete,
the kiss broke softly and I smiled.  I felt weightless as he
smiled back, the first time I'd ever, *ever* seen that sweet,
open, giving expression on his beautiful face.

"Do you have a bed in this place?" I asked, my voice hoarse
with tears and low with need.  The brilliant smile in front of me
got bigger, and the eyes got much darker as he nodded.
"Let's move these negotiations to a more secure location," I
said, brushing my lips against his as I spoke.  I stepped back
to give him room to move, and he caught my hand with his as
he passed.  I turned and walked hand in hand with him to the
bedroom, and I knew the passion was back in my life.

..........................................

"Mulder?  Mulder?  If you're there, pick up." Scully's voice
echoed through the empty apartment.  "I decided I should tell
you something.  I hope you're not mad.  I just...wanted to do
something fun for Valentine's Day.  I thought maybe I could
bring you out of that funk you were in...it was stupid...I
thought maybe you'd think you had a secret admirer or
something and that would cheer you up.  I know, dumb.  But
that's why I sent you those chocolates.  I'm sorry I didn't tell
you when you got them at work.  I really wanted to put a little
excitement in your life, but then I felt bad about keeping
something from you, so here I am, ruining the game, feeling
like a fool.  Well, anyway, happy Valentine's Day, Mulder,
and I hope you're not angry at me.  I'll see you in the office
tomorrow."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Happy Valentine's Day, everybody.  Hope yours is as good
as Stolichnaya Russian vodka-filled chocolates.  Mmmmm.

bizzzichick@yahoo.com

Title:  Stoli 2:  Suh-weet

Author:  bizzzichick@yahoo.com  (Satina)

Website:  http://www.angelfire.com/scifi/xtasy

Rating:  NC-17

Keywords:  M/K

Disclaimer:  Hey, the rule around here is, if you put it down
and someone else picks it up, it's theirs.  MINE.

Summary:  Mulder gets his truth.

Archive:  I used to give it all away to everyone, but after
getting burned, I'd appreciate it if you asked first.  Yes in
advance to any list it's posted on.

Notes:  Sequel to Stoli.

Spoilers:  Mmmffff!  Uh, no.

Feedback:  It keeps me going on the bad days and makes
me loopy on the good ones.  And it keeps the fic-fountain
flowing.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

How the hell did we get here?  In my bedroom, in the dark,
breathing with each other and wondering how to do this.  I
hear him swallow.  It sounds painful.  I don't want him to hurt
anymore.

I have to let go of his hand to bring my palm up to his face,
and the brief moment I'm out of contact feels cold.  As my
skin touches his, I'm warmed again.  He sighs against me
and his breath shudders with the remnants of his tears.

He's taken such a big, huge risk coming here and telling me
all this.  And...kissing me.  God, he kissed me.  Just thinking
about it makes my eyes burn again, and I haven't cried in
years.  And I'm touching him.  Like I've never been able to.
Like I have only in my fantasies.  I'd say my dreams, but all I
ever remember are the nightmares, and I don't get to touch
him in those.

It hurts to touch him.  Oh, but in a very, very good way.  In a
way that feels like my whole body is going to fly apart with the
power of it.

And now we're going to make love?  I hope I survive it.

"Mulder..."

"Shhh...no more words, Alex.  Just...touch me.  Please."

The words are murmured against my palm and my body
shudders on impact.  I slide my hand around the back of his
head, sinking my fingers into his warm, soft hair, and pull his
face in toward mine.

Our mouths come together with a quiet grunt, and we're
consuming each other again.  The invisible wall separating us
from one another is gone, our bodies saying all the things our
minds can't quite grasp just yet.  I moan into his mouth
desperately, pulling him close with my hand in his hair, lifting
my false arm and wrapping it around him, cursing the lack of
touch, but grateful that it brings his body in closer.  He
whimpers and seals himself to me from mouth to thighs, and I
let out a sudden, sharp groan as his cock collides with mine.

His arms come up around me now, and they're pulling and
grabbing and kneading like he can't get enough of me, and
my whole body just wants to lay itself at his mercy.  God, I'm
so yours, Mulder.  This body has never existed for such a
noble reason.

I'm pulling on him now, leading him backward, our lips still
mashed up against one another, tongues still fighting for
dominance.  I feel the bed against the backs of my knees and
freefall onto it, pulling him down on top of me.  We both grunt
as the air is forced from our lungs and then he's...oh God,
he's moving on top of me, thrusting so desperately that if he
doesn't stop I'm going to come.

"N-no..."

"Yes, Alex, please..."  And he starts scratching at my shirt,
unbuttoning some of the buttons, removing some of them
completely.  Oh God he won't stop the writhing, pressing,
grinding and I'm so fucking close...

"Muh...gon...come..."

I'm stunned I can get that much out, and he stops, pressed
hard against me, and I thank *God* he heard me.
"Don't...don't move..."  I gasp, and he doesn't, just straddling
me with the two halves of my shirt in his hands, panting and
staring down into my eyes.  Don't look at me like that, Mulder.
It's as powerful as a stroke down my cock.  I close my eyes to
shut it out and grit my teeth, forcing the orgasm to subside
through sheer will.  I bite the inside of my bottom lip to give
me something else to focus on and finally feel I can rejoin the
world again.

I open my eyes and reach up with my hand, shakily pushing
his black turtleneck up his long, lean body, unveiling more
skin, which quickly takes away more of my new control.  His
eyes flutter closed, and he arches with a moan, and I lose
even more.  Jesus Christ, I need this man to be *IN* me
now.

"Mulder, please..."  I struggle to rip the shirt off over his head
and he takes his hands from my chest and helps, and finally
it's slung across the room.  He sinks down on me and
captures my mouth again, and my shirt is open now so it's
*flesh* I feel, and it's so hot and it's so good that it's not
good, and I growl and work my hand between our bodies,
tugging roughly at the button on his jeans, trying to get
through to him.

He gets it, and suddenly he's off me and tearing his clothes
off, raking his jeans down his thighs and kicking them away
along with his underwear, toeing off his shoes and socks so
fast it's got to be hurting his feet, and I'm stunned, lying on
my back on the bed with my legs over the edge, watching
Mulder very quickly become very naked.

I've seen this look in his eyes before...it seems both familiar
and unfamiliar.  It's the intensity I've seen at each of our
meetings, and for a moment my fear blooms along with my
arousal, just like always, and I even jerk back a little as his
hands grab for me, wrestling my jeans and underwear down
my thighs.  He yanks at the buckles on my boots so hard it
brings a smile to my lips.  This is Mulder on the rampage, and
I'm his prey.  God, it's good.

Suddenly a cool draft blows over me and I realize I'm naked
except for my open shirt, which covers both arms.  Will he
leave it on, thus avoiding the sight of the mechanical arm that
can't feel him?  I don't care.  I really, really don't.  I just want
him to want me, and anything I have to do to make that
happen is okay by me.

He's standing over me, panting and sweating and very erect.
He licks his lips, and my cock jumps.  His eyes flick down to it
and darken, then come back up to mine.

"Jesus, God, Alex..."

I can only nod, feeling something very similar.  Then I see his
eyes fall to my chest and trace the crisscross straps to where
they disappear under the cotton shirt.  My heart stops in my
throat, and I try to say something, I don't know what, but
nothing comes out anyway, and I lie there, frozen.

"It doesn't matter," he breathes, leaning forward to slide his
fingers over the straps softly.  "Wait, it does matter, but not
that way.  I just want you, Alex.  I want all of you.  Now."

I close my eyes, thinking he couldn't have said a more right
thing if I'd scripted it for him.  I roll to one side and then the
other, and he pulls the shirt down off my arms.  I watch his
eyes carefully for that sad pity I see so often, but all I can
really make out is a curiosity, and I smile again because
that's so Mulder.  No doubt he'll want to know about the
structure and function later.  He starts to work at the straps,
but I put my hand on his and stop him.

"No, I...I need it..."  I want to be able to support myself so
that my other hand can be totally free to touch him.  He nods
briefly as if he could really care less and then falls on me
again.

This time our bodies, our cocks, are naked and hot, and I
groan, the pleasure almost a pain as he presses against me
and seals his mouth to mine.  He kisses like he wants to
swallow me whole, sucking and licking and making these
hungry little grunting noises, each one sending a jolt through
my groin.

I lift myself on my elbows, real and fake, and begin trying to
scoot myself back onto the bed, and he starts helping me,
pushing me back with his body.  But each push is a thrust,
and I'm groaning hard, losing my ability to control my own
muscles' functions.  I wrench my mouth away from his and
work myself onto the bed, and he climbs on top of me
immediately, not letting me escape him for even a moment.
Before I can protest, his mouth is on mine again, sucking any
resistance right out with my breath.

I spread my legs wide and his body slides down between
them, and I feel one arm lifting one of my legs, the other
frantically working its way between our bodies.  It bypasses
my cock impatiently, finding my asshole and pushing against
it, grunting with each attempt to enter.  I want him in there as
badly as he seems to want to get in, and we're both impatient
with the prep work.  I'm reaching to the side, to the table by
the bed where I know there is some lube, but I can't reach it,
and his finger is in me now, fucking me frantically and taking
away my ability to think.  Just when I decide I don't care if I
reach the damned table or not, he rises up off me suddenly
and lunges to the side, yanking the drawer open, nearly
pulling it completely out of the table, and he scoops up the
bottle and uses his teeth to pry open the lid.

I watch him, wide-eyed and I'll admit, just a little worried at
the way he seems to be completely out of control.  He gets
the spout open with his teeth and squirts too much into his
hand, rubbing it with the other one, flinging the bottle to the
side and falling on me again.  His wet, slippery hand reaches
between my ass cheeks, spreading the glide everywhere as
his fingers seek out my opening again.

I cry out with pleasure and just a little pain as he rams fingers
inside me, two, maybe three, I can't tell, and he slows a little,
obviously somewhat contrite, at the same time slicking up his
hard, twitching cock with his other hand, a sight I have to
close my eyes against so I don't come as his fingers work in
and out of me.

I'm about to tell him to quit playing around and just fucking do
it, when he pulls his fingers out and grabs himself around the
base of his dick.  I hold my breath, my whole body shaking,
knowing this is it, Fox Mulder's finally going to fuck me.

He lifts my leg again, smearing lube all over my thigh with his
slippery hand, and I raise my other leg so that he won't have
to let go of his cock.  I don't want anything to keep him from
hitting his mark on the first try.

He leans down over me and I grab my leg with my arm,
realizing he's holding the leg I can't, wondering if it's on
purpose.  He stares into my eyes, and I feel the hot, blunt
end of his cock press against my hole and I can't think
anymore.  I make an embarassingly needy sound entreating
him to enter me, and with long, low grunt...he does.

OHHHHHhhhh  GoOOoooodd yes.  The generous lubricating
he's done has allowed him to slide all the way in to the root
and he's *in* me, he's actually *in* me and it feels so good I
don't have words.  We're both shaking as he gives me a
minute to adjust, then he steadies himself with his arms on
either side of my body and begins to fuck.

"Nnngod Alex..."

I feel his moan work all the way through my body, starting at
my ass.  He quickly gets into a punishing rhythm, slamming
into me, shaking my small bed and driving it against the wall.
All I can do is hold myself open for him and exist under him,
feeling him pound me into the mattress, practically swooning
with the perfect ecstasy of his complete possession.

I hope he can feel how much I'm his.  How much this body
exists *only* for his pleasure.  How in this moment, nothing
else matters, not the resistance, not the old hurts, not the
past, nothing.  All I care about is the hot, full, in and out of
him as he takes me.

"Yes, God, Mulder!  Take it!  Take it!  Take it!"

I realize I'm speaking aloud, and I'm going to shut up when I
feel the effect it has on him as he clenches his teeth, his face
red and sweaty, and doubles his efforts, driving the breath
from me with every thrust, growling each time our bodies
slam together.

I'm gonna come so hard.  I hope the top of my head doesn't
blow off.

I don't even know his hand is moving until I feel it wrap firmly
around my cock, and he jerks hard twice and I'm *there*,
throwing my head back into the pillow, crying and sobbing,
wanting to say his name but unable to form the words with
the limited resources he's left me to breathe with.  As my
body shakes its way through my orgasm, I'm more aware of
just how hard he's driving into me, and with the
ultrasensitivity that comes after climax, it's starting to hurt.
But I give him the acceptance of the pain like I gave him the
acceptance of the pleasure, watching his ethereally gorgeous
face as he finally loses control.

He doesn't make a sound, just opening his mouth in a
soundless scream, his whole body rigidly jerking and
shuddering as he empties himself into me.  Then he gasps
and falls forward, catching himself just enough with his arms
not to knock the breath out of my lungs as he collapses in a
hot, sweaty heap on top of me.  I quickly move my legs apart
to let him fall between them, then work them down around his
thighs with him still sunk deep inside me.  I put my arm
around his trembling body and feel our hearts pounding
against one another as our bodies slide together, exhausted.

He's heavy, but I adjust my own breaths so that my chest
rises as he exhales, and it's really not bad at all.  I stroke my
hand up and twine my fingers in his sweaty hair, feeling him
breathe against my neck where his face is pressed against it.

"Mm."  I feel him grunt against me and shift slightly, and I
loosen my arms a little to allow him to get more comfortable.
With a quiet groan, he slides out of me, and I gasp at the loss
of his presence and the slight discomfort of his passage.  He
slides to the side, and I move my prosthetic arm out of the
way so he can lie there.  He places a clumsy kiss on my chin
as his face passes, and I smile as he nuzzles back in on my
other side, one hand snaking in under my neck, the other
resting lightly on my thigh, keeping my dick from getting
completely out of the game.

I close my eyes and inhale, smelling Mulder's hair and sweat
and cum mingled with mine, and no scent has ever brought
me so much satisfaction.  We lay there entwined, our
breathing gradually steadying, the sweat and cum cooling on
our bodies.  The silence starts to feel uncomfortable, and I
wonder if we should talk or just try to go to sleep and deal
with it all in the morning.

"Alex?"

I should have known Mulder would be one for talking.

"Hmm?"

"Is it okay if I stay here tonight?"

Sometimes the brilliant Fox Mulder can be such a dunce.

"Jesus, Mulder.  It pisses me off that you'd even ask."

He nuzzles in against me again with a sigh, and my anger
drains away quickly.  I'm just feeling the world drift away
when I hear him speak again.

"Alex?"

"Yes?"

"I need to...um...where's your bathroom?"

I chuckle and it shakes his body, half-draped over mine.  "In
the living room, right off the kitchen.  It's the only other door
besides the front one.  The way you're dressed, you don't
want to get 'em mixed up."

He laughs against my neck, sending shivers down my body,
then peels himself slowly away, groaning.  He crawls across
me and off the bed and slowly plods naked to my bedroom
door and through it.  I lie there, eyes drifting open and closed,
waiting until he returns so I can clean up and finally go to
sleep.  I hear his voice again.

"Alex?"

I smile.  He's never called me by my first name, and now it
seems he just can't stop.  I'm not complaining.

"Yeah?"

"I need to use your phone."

"By the couch."

"Thanks."

I smile again.  I can't help it.  Mulder just thanked me for
letting him use my phone.  Do not, under any circumstances,
wake me from this dream if you value your existence.

...............................................

Mulder stands naked next to the small end table, phone
pressed to his ear.  As he checks his messages, he goes still.
His lips part, his eyes stare into the dark, and his heart
pounds.  Then he blinks, closes his mouth, swallows, puts
down the phone, and reaches for his jacket.

"Hey Alex, want some chocolate?"

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