From: "bizzzichick" <bizzzichick@yahoo.com>
To: "Whispers" <XFilesNC17ff@yahoogroups.com>
Subject: [XFNC17ff] (NEW FIC)  Towel, NC-17, M/K
Date: Friday, January 25, 2002 4:30 AM

Title:  Towel

Author:  bizzzichick@yahoo.com  (Satina)

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

Rating:  NC-17

Keywords:  M/K, PWP

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

Summary:  Dom-Mulder, anyone?

Archive:  Anywhere but RatB-K.  But do let me know, please.  Oh, and you
have to leave the dedication on.  Dem's da breaks.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Thank you's go out to all of the readers who support me and inspire me to
keep on churning it out, sending me feedback when I do a good job of turning
them on.  This towel's for you.  Mmmwaaaa!

Spoilers:  Yeah, assume Krycek episodes will be mentioned.  In fact, assume
they'll be mentioned in just about any conversation you have with me, as
well.

Feedback:  Oh GOD yes.  I think we covered this.  Do you want me to beg?

DEDICATION:

This story is dedicated to Caribbean Industries, Limited, Incorporated in
November of 1967, the first company in all of Tobago and Trinidad to
undertake the weaving of towels.  What the hell did they dry off with in
1966, I wonder?  Maybe since it's so hot there, they just walked around
naked until they were dry.  I think we should send Mulder and Krycek to
Tobago, don't you?  Oh, but now they do have towels, so the fun's over, I
guess.

Well, anyway, originally, a ban was placed on the import of towels, thus
giving Caribbean Industries, Limited quite a vast and prosperous market.
Can you imagine?  All those recently showered people, and you being the only
towel-weaver around?  Those are what they call the salad days, baby.

But nothing lasts forever, and recently towels were taken off the list of
banned imports.  Now Caribbean Industries Limited must compete for towel
business with the rest of the world.  Maybe that results in a finer towel,
or maybe they cut corners and produce total shit.  I don't know.  I've never
seen one of their towels.  I do know, from my research, that recently,
Caribbean Industries, Limited has been forced to curtail their production of
low quality towels in the face of severe competition from China, Pakistan,
India, Korea and other far-eastern countries whose labor costs are much
lower than theirs.  They now concentrate on their niche of providing better
quality towels aimed primarily at the Hotel Industry.

Niche marketing is really all the rage.  I know quite a bit about grassroots
marketing, having done it for six years with great success.  Find a hole and
fill it, that's what I say.

Which brings us to the boys.

One has to wonder if perhaps Krycek used a towel produced by Caribbean
Industries, Limited while he was staying in Hong Kong.  Although, by the
looks of him, he probably hadn't been within spitting distance of a bath, or
for that matter a bed, for many, many days, poor thing.  I wonder if he
dried his luscious bottom with one of their towels after Marita got him out
of the Tunisian prison.  And if he did, we must wonder if he found it a
pleasant sensory experience, or if it chafed.  And while we're on the
subject, how does the little darling get his back dry?  He's only got the
one arm, you know.  I tried it the other day, and I couldn't do it.  Maybe
he lays the towel on the bed and then lies back on it naked, wriggling
around a bit.  Okay, maybe not, but it's fun to visualize, isn't it?  I hope
he at least has soft towels to struggle with.

I hate stiff ones.  Towels, that is.

I know that when when the towels don't get completely dry and David hangs
them over the shower rod to finish, often they are a bit crunchy and rather
unpleasant to use.  I tell David to go ahead and leave them in for another
cycle to make sure that they are dry, as well as to kill any germs remaining
after the wash (especially since, unlike me, David does not ever remember to
add bleach to the water) but he gets impatient and takes them out anyway,
and since he does all the laundry around here, I can't bitch.  I'd rather
have crunchy towels than do laundry, when it comes down to it.

I wonder how Shannon feels about it.  I don't yet know her towel
proclivities, not having spent much time with her at all.  I do know she
doesn't own very many.  Four is it, dear?  That's okay.  We're bringing lots
of towels with us when we move.  Damn we have a lot of towels.  We'll make
sure she never wants for towels again.  Although, I am sad to say, we do not
have any towels produced by Caribbean Industries, Limited.  Well, to my
knowledge.

We do, however, have a shitload of lovely plum and brilliant forest green
towels that don't go with a single other thing we own.  See, I wanted to
paint grape clusters and vines along the walls of our previous bathroom,
because it had that thick, Italian plaster-type look, due to the owner being
an expert in wall treatments.  I really like that look.  He experimented
with a different designer texture in every room of the house, which was the
only cool thing about the damned place.  I ended up hating the house so much
that we moved, and this bathroom, while larger and more useful, doesn't lend
itself well to the vineyard look.  Oh, and that goddamned warped mirror adds
at least fifteen pounds.  Talk about being gas-lighted.

They're nice towels, though.  Oh, and you should see the towels my mother in
law gave me for Christmas.  I think she's hinting that I should clean my
kitchen more than once a month.  I'd rather write smut, personally.  But
then, I'd rather write smut than do anything, really, besides maybe the
research for the smut.  Ahem.  But dear god...if I researched even half as
much I write, I'd never walk again.  But anyway, back to the towels.  Let me
tell you.  These are the most BUTT ugly towels I've ever seen.  Brown and
black windowpane plaid.  What the hell was she thinking?  Who would want
towels like that?  Well, maybe Mulder.  Sounds like his type of color
scheme, doesn't it?  Whatever.  I'm not hanging them on *my* refrigerator
handle, I can tell you.

I kind of always wanted to do a French country look in the kitchen, with
bright blue and lemon yellow.  I found this bowl of fake lemons in this
import catalog that inspired the scheme.  It's stunningly beautiful.  Huge,
absolutely clear glass bowl filled with the most realistic-looking lemons
I've ever seen.  I can just see that in the middle of my kitchen table, on
top of a bright blue and yellow and white plaid table cloth.  Not that I own
a table cloth.  Can you imagine using a cloth table covering with a three
and five-year-old?  I shudder to imagine.  They'd smash that bowl in a day,
too, for that matter.  My daughter would giggle her ass off, throwing the
expensive lemons.

You know, thinking about it, I could be wrong about not owning any towels
from Caribbean Industries, Limited, because I have been known to steal hotel
towels on occasion, and I think I have four in my possession now.  Perhaps
they were made by a small, determined company in Tobago, and perhaps not.  I
think the ones I have now are from the 'Ho in Vegas.  I wouldn't exactly
call them better quality towels.  I wouldn't call the 'Ho a better quality
hotel, either.  But those 24 ounce margaritas were kind of a kick in the
ass.  Helped loosen up those inhibitions.

Which brings us to Mulder.

It occurs to me that t's possible and even highly probable that Mulder, too,
has stolen towels from hotels and/or vacation-type destinations during his
many treks across the globe.  Perhaps he is fortunate enough to possess one
of the many fine towels produced by Caribbean Industries, Limited.  Does he
appreciate its close weave, or does his obsessive nature result in his
complete oblivion to the pleasures of a well-made towel?  Does he simply
take it for granted, expecting to be there for him when he needs it, paying
it little or no attention when it is not serving his needs?  Poor Mulder.
He really needs to reach out and grab pleasure when it's offered.

And here it begins.  ;-)

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I scrubbed at my wet hair vigorously with the towel as I came out of the
bathroom.

"Hands up."

"What the fuh-?"  I snapped my head up and met the barrel of a gun, two feet
in front of my face.  Burning green eyes stared over the top of it.  I
snatched the towel from my head and threw it in front of my crotch, holding
it bunched there in one hand.  My former partner snickered.

"Maybe you didn't hear me, Mulder.  I said, hands up."

He tilted his head down a little, looking at me through the dense curtain of
his eyelashes.  I narrowed my eyes, chewing the inside of my lower lip
thoughtfully.  Smug little bastard, looking at me with that predatory smirk.
I decided to play his game.  I shrugged and let the towel fall, lifting both
hands casually to the sides of my head, a bored expression on my face.  I
tried not to smirk as I saw him check me out with a quick downward flick of
his eyes..

I was partially erect and swelling fast.  Of course I'd made myself come in
the shower, but those quick, unsatisfying jerk- off sessions rarely did
anything more than make me want the real thing.  I don't know why I even
bothered, except it just seemed like the thing to do, especially since I'm
hard more than half the time.  Sometimes I just need a little breathing room
in my shorts.

Krycek stared at me, and I could tell his breathing was speeding up a
little.  I licked my lips slowly and put my hands behind my head with a
sigh.  I wondered if he was ever going to speak.

"So, Krycek, did you come for a reason besides checking out my package?"

It was wholly satisfying to see his mouth drop open for just a moment before
his little pink tongue made the circuit across his soft lower lip.  His
voice came out in a deliciously unsteady rasp.

"Yeah, I did.  Get some clothes on.  I need to talk to you."

I ran my tongue across the front of my upper teeth.  "So talk."

His eyes squinted, and I could tell he was uncomfortable with the fact that
I was making no move to follow his directive.  I could also tell he didn't
have the faintest idea what to do about it.  What was he gonna do?  Threaten
to shoot me if I didn't put clothes on?  Now I did smile, just slightly,
shifting my hips.

"If you have something to say, say it."

He just looked at me, tilting his head slightly, as if trying to figure me
out.  A rush of adrenaline at the power I seemed to have over him made my
cock lift a bit more, and we both looked down at it at the same time.  He
looked back up quickly.  I raised my eyes to his slowly.  I saw him swallow.
I licked slowly across my bottom lip and smiled.

"Talk, Alex.  Or maybe that's the problem.  Maybe you're *all* talk."  I saw
the gun waver slightly, and feeling my heart start to drum against my ribs,
I took a step forward.  Now the gun was about a foot in front of me, pointed
at the hollow of my throat.  He didn't step back.

"You're not a top at all, really, are you Alex?" I asked, low and careful.
"Oh I'm sure you play the part pretty well. Probably have to, to keep that
pretty ass of yours from getting reamed every night.  But underneath all
that hard talk you just want to be somebody's bitch."  I steadied my
breathing, feeling a flutter of fear, wondering if I'd gone over the line.

Alex's mouth opened, his tongue working his bottom lip furiously, back and
forth, back and forth.  I couldn't help but picture that lip as the head of
my cock, and surged to fully erect with a soft sigh.  Now I knew where the
line was.  I toed it.

"I saw it when we were partners.  All that adoration and puppy-dog pouting.
You just beg to be collared, Alex."  My voice was a low rumble now, breathy
with my efforts to control it.  "You'd make a really good pet, wouldn't you,
babe?  Kneeling at my feet, panting for the chance to suck my cock?"  I
stepped in again, and muzzle of the gun brushed across my throat to the side
of my neck.  I shivered with a slow blink.  The arm extending out from his
body was visibly shaking a little, and I let my eyes follow it right back up
to his face.  He really was panting.  Little shallow breaths blowing out
from between soft, pink lips, broken by the occasional tongue flick.

"If you beg me good enough, Alex, I'll let you suck it," I said, giving my
hips an arrogant little thrust forward.  I saw his body jerk back a little,
and the gun twitched against my neck. "Come on, pet.  You want it.  It wants
you.  Beg me, and it's yours."

His eyes flicked down again and his pretty lashes fluttered as his tongue
flicked once again at his bottom lip.  He looked at my chest and pressed his
lips together.

"P-please."

A wave of heat washed my body from face to cock.

"What?  What do you want, pet?"  I kept my voice low and soft, so as not to
scare him away.  I wanted this as badly as it appeared he did.  Probably
worse.  The gun shook against the skin of my throat.

"I...I want to suck it.  Please let me suck it."  I barely made the words
out in the ragged whisper, but my cock heard them and jumped upward, giving
its assent.  I turned my head slightly to the side and licked along the
barrel of the gun, which immediately started shaking.  Then I nodded.

He looked as if he might cry, pulling the gun away and starting to tuck it
into the back of his waistband.  My arm shot out and grabbed his.  We locked
eyes.

"Put it down."

He stared at me, panic gleaming in the whites of his eyes. My cock twitched
at the sight.

"Put it down, Alex, or the deal's off."

He blinked rapidly, his chest heaving, and bit his lip.  Then slowly,
slowly, he started to lower it to the floor.  I let go of his arm and put my
hand back behind my head as I heard the metal clunk softly against the wood.
Before he could do anything more, I kicked it away.  He reached for it,
almost instinctively, but made no move to retrieve it.

He was down on one knee now, hand splayed on the floor, in the perfect
position to propose marriage.  He stared at the floor and I stared at the
dark ebony silk of his hair.  I gave him time.  He had to show me how badly
he wanted this.

He surprised me by reaching out to my leg with trembling fingers, still
looking at the floor, and stroking away a bit of water still leftover from
my shower.  His touch was pure electricity and I swallowed and looked down
as my cock danced up, showing its appreciation.

"Tongue, pet.  Not fingers."

I heard his shuddering sigh as he got down on all fours.  He really did make
a beautiful pet.  I watched with shallow breaths as his head came nearer and
nearer to my leg, then twitched and grunted as I felt the wet heat of his
tongue begin lapping away the moisture.

Oh god, it was good.  I felt myself ooze precum at the thought of what it
would feel like to have that sweet, hot mouth on my cock.  I lowered my
hands from behind my head and reached down with one, stroking his hair,
petting him.

"Good," I breathed.  "That's good."

He whimpered and shivered, licking faster and using longer strokes.  I dug
my fingers into his hair, combing through it, turning his shivers into
shudders.

He slowly worked his way up my leg from ankle to mid-thigh, then to my
surprise, fell back to my feet and gave my other leg the same thorough
attention.

"Mmmm yes, pet.  Good."  My legs were trembling just slightly now and my
cockhead glistened, urgently demanding it receive proper due.  Alex licked
his way to the middle of my other thigh, raising his hands off the floor and
moving in slightly.  He lowered his head, looking up at me from under
lowered lids.  His eyes flicked to my erection, which reacted with a twitch,
and he looked back up at me quickly.

"M-may I?"

My knees nearly gave out at the submission in that voice.  So sweet.  He was
really getting into this, I could tell.  I looked in his eyes and took a
firm hold on his hair, lifting his face.  His stuttered breaths were cool on
my wet cockhead, and my own mouth dropped open on harsh, panting breaths as
I watched him extend his tongue slowly, his gorgeous eyes fluttering closed.

With a shuddering moan, his mouth enclosed the tip of my cock in wet fire.
I nearly held his face in place and just fucked down his throat, only
holding back because I was very anxious to see what that hungry tongue could
do, given the chance.  He grunted and swirled his tongue around the base of
the crown, taking me deeper and deeper.  His moans vibrated against my
flesh, causing my knees to shake, threatening to go out from under me.  I
placed my other hand on his head with my first and waited for him to work my
cock down his throat himself.

My head wanted to fall back, allowing the panting breaths to escape
unhindered, but I couldn't take my eyes off those long, dark lashes,
tickling against pale cheeks as soft pink lips wrapped around me and a hot,
talented tongue took its time driving me insane.

I've never seen anything so beautiful.  I actually whimpered a little,
overcome by the power of it.  Alex groaned again in response and began to
pull back.  I allowed him to suck his way to the tip and then he looked down
and I heard his gravelly hush of a voice.

"Can I...touch you?"

I wanted his hands on me so bad I nearly acquiesced right then, but I also
realized that he was testing me and would be disappointed if I failed to
live up to his expectations.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore my cock's insistence that I shut up and
let him get back to work.

"What's that, pet?  You want something?"

I heard him sigh.  "Please...let me touch you."

"Better."  I let him suffer another moment, suffering right along with him,
then as he raised his face to gauge my mood, I stroked my hands down the
sides of his head.

"Touch me, Alex."

His gasp sounded a little like a sob as he immediately fell forward, sliding
his hands up my thighs and hips, sucking me back into his mouth with a
series of hungry grunts.  One hand continued sliding up my abdomen until he
reached my nipple, and he scraped across it gently with his fingernail.  I
bucked hard into his mouth he never even gagged, just moving his head to
compensate perfectly for the sudden movement.  He continued to flick my
nipple with his nail as he worked his head up and down my shaft, sucking me
to the root, then drawing off almost completely before taking me all the way
down again.

I began to groan with each descent, crying out when his nails would spark
that connection between nipple and groin, and I gripped his hair more
tightly and couldn't help but thrust into his mouth, trying to stay in
control.

He groaned, high and needy, when I began to thrust, and I could tell he
liked it...that feeling of being used.  Knowing he was enjoying it ratcheted
my own response up several notches and I thrust harder, getting closer and
closer to the edge.  As I used his mouth more roughly, his groans got deeper
and longer, vibrating against my throbbing flesh.  Feeling my whole body
tense with the promise of it, I yanked his head in hard against me and came,
shooting deep into his throat with an animal yell.

As I felt myself empty into him, pulsing against the hot flesh of his mouth,
I felt him begin to struggle just a little. Recovering some self-control, I
haltingly pulled his face back, giving him space to breathe again.  He drew
long breaths through his nose, sucking gently, milking me of everything I
had to give him before pulling off, licking his lips and swallowing
breathlessly.

I was barely able to stand any longer, my knees threatening to buckle, and I
staggered back, turning slightly until I hit the wall, then leaning against
it, catching my breath.  As I left Alex where he kneeled, he looked up at me
with sad, scared eyes, still licking my semen from his lips.

I'm a very orally fixated individual.  I love to bite and lick and chew and
suck, and at the time all I could think about was how much I wanted to
orally experience every inch of the body genuflecting before me.  But how to
do it without breaking the tenuous thread that was binding us together as
Master and servant?

I closed my eyes until my breathing steadied, considering my options.  Then
I opened them and looked back at Alex who was on the floor where I left him,
head bowed, sitting back on his heels.

"Up."  I gestured with my hand for him to stand, and he immediately did,
rising to his feet with liquid grace.  I could see the hard ridge of his
arousal pressing against the black denim of his jeans, and it made my
half-deflated cock jump a bit against my thigh.

"Would you like to take your clothes off?"

He breathed hard and nodded.

"Slowly."

He blinked and then rolled one shoulder forward, shrugging slowly out of his
leather jacket.  He let it slide down his arm, rolling his head slightly to
the side, and I found myself sighing at his sensuous beauty.  He wasn't a
dog at all, but a cat, sleek and sinuous and only submissive when he wants
to be. When it serves him to be.  And it served him now, because I was going
to get him naked and make him beg again.  This time to come.

I smiled slowly as the jacket fell to the floor and he kneeled again, to
undo his boots.  He removed them soundlessly, shedding socks as well, then
stood again, dressed in a white T-shirt and black jeans.  Barefoot, chin
still glistening with my cum, hair still spiky where I pulled it.  My god.
I practically drooled at his beauty.  He must have seen it in my eyes,
because he smiled shyly, lowering his eyes then looking up at me from under
those lashes, knowing exactly the effect this had on people.

"You're beautiful."

I said it quietly, honestly, because it was only the truth, and his
flirtatiousness disappeared, being replaced with a deep breath and a look of
uncomfortable surprise.  He looked down and began pulling his shirt out of
his jeans with nervous little tugs, and I smiled again at his obvious
discomfort.  I liked him a little off-balance, vulnerable, uncertain.  It
contrasted perfectly with the smooth, confident, ruthless operator I knew
him to be otherwise.  The dichotomy made me weak with want.

With one fluid movement, he pulled his shirt up over his head and let it
drop to the floor, then he reached for the top button of his jeans, fingers
trembling.

"Do you want me to help you?"

He looked up, hands stilled, and swallowed.  He began breathing faster, and
his tongue stroked over his lips before they parted.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"  I prompted gently, eyebrows raised.

"Please," he said with a small smile.

I smiled back and stepped toward him.  His chest rose and fell faster and
faster as I came closer, and his hands were twitching at his sides.  He made
no move to touch me as I stepped in close, my chest brushing against his,
the smell of him thick and hot all around me.

I placed my hand on his flat, hard abdomen and it bucked beneath my touch as
he inhaled sharply.  I slowly slid my hand down, slipping it under his
waistband through the gap caused by his stomach's hard, nervous
contractions.  I worked beneath the band of his underwear, walking my
fingers down the hot skin slowly.  He made helpless little sounds, panting
hot against my face and when I touched his cock he cried out, thrusting
against my hand.

I gasped and breathed deeply, feeling my own excitement welling again at the
sharpness of his response.  He whimpered, his hips pressing forward, as I
began moving my hand up and down his confined shaft, pressing and squeezing.

I leaned and brushed my lips against his cheek and he jerked back,
whimpering again, before leaning into the touch, eyes fluttering closed.  I
continued rubbing him inside the tightness of his jeans as I stroked my lips
across his cheek and to his ear.  I breathed hot in the perfect shell of it
and he shuddered and bucked against my hand harder.

"Do you want to come?" I whispered.

"Yes!" he sobbed.

"Like this?" I asked.

He moaned and shook his head, unable to say no, but not wanting to say yes,
either.

"How do you want to come, Alex?" I said, low and breathy in his ear.  "Tell
me."

"F-fuck me," he gasped, panting.

I squeezed his cock.  "You want me to fuck you, Alex?"

He sobbed.  "Yes!"

I rubbed him hard.  "Tell me, Alex.  Tell me what you want."

He cried out, fists clenched hard at his sides, eyes squeezed tightly shut.
"I want you to fuck me!  Please, god, Mulder, please fuck me!"

With a deep sigh I pulled my hand out of his pants and began tugging at the
button.  I got it free, Alex's hands twitching at his sides, desperate to
help but knowing better.  I jerked his zipper open and grabbed jeans and
underwear together and yanked, pulling them down his thighs.  I felt the
satin of his cock brush against my arm and quickly slid my hand up the
length of it, wringing a groan from Alex's throat which turned to a sharp
gasp as my thumb circled the head, rubbing in the precum there.  Then I let
go and stepped back.

"Take 'em off."  Before I knew he'd heard me, his hands were sliding his
pants to the floor and he was stepping out of them smoothly, dropping them
to the side.  He stood before me completely naked now, hands clenching at
his sides, cock wet and jumping, jaw tensing.

"Against that wall."  I made a turning around motion with my finger and he
hurried to comply, pressing himself face first against the wall of my living
room, hands splayed out at his sides.

I took a minute to admire him, eyes traveling over his biceps, strong and
firm but not overdeveloped, and his back, gracefully muscled without looking
ropy.  But the best part came below that, a perfect, pale, round, firm ass
that begged to be worshipped.  I licked my lips, wanting to taste that soft
flesh, to suck and bite and leave marks.  But again, that wasn't my place
here tonight.

"Do you have anything?"

I saw him sag slightly against the wall.  "No."

I nodded.  Giving him another look, I turned and started to walk to the
kitchen, not bothering to tell him to stay there, knowing he would.  I came
back out and he turned his head, impatient and curious to see what I'd been
doing.  His eyebrows arched as he saw the cube of butter in my hand.

"Good enough for Brando."

He actually smiled at that and turned his face back to the wall, bracing,
shifting his feet slightly apart.

I stepped in close, holding the butter in my right hand, and palmed his ass
with my left.  He breathed hard, his muscles clenching under my hand.

"Fuck, this is nice, Alex," I said, sliding my hand over one cheek, then the
other, breathing hot against the back of his neck.  I slid my fingers under,
cupping a cheek, and squeezed hard, fighting against the muscles that tried
to harden.  I heard Alex moan as I increased the pressure, leaving bruises.
I'm not even sure why I was so violent, only that I *wanted* that ass so
badly.  I growled, leaning forward and licking up the back of his neck. He
shuddered, arching back against me and I bit down on the exposed flesh,
leaning in closer and thrusting myself against him.

He gasped, his neck going still against me.  I rewarded him, licking and
sucking at the abused flesh.  I passed the butter from one to the other
behind my back, unwilling to break the delicious contact between our bodies.
I worked the wrapper open and dug out a big scoop of the butter, letting the
rest fall to the floor.  I slowly brought my hand back to those soft cheeks.
When the butter touched his skin, he jerked, bumping himself against the
wall, driving a grunt from his throat.  I licked my way up the side of his
neck to his ear.

"You want this?"

"Yes."

I bit his earlobe and didn't move my hand.

"Please!  Yes, please, Mulder."

"Don't say my name," I growled in his ear, uncomfortable with the thought
that the real Mulder, the Mulder I knew, the Mulder *he* knew, would be
doing something like this.

He nodded quickly, breathing hard, and I pressed the butter between his
cheeks, smearing him liberally.  He moaned and pressed against me, moving
his hips slightly.  My cock was now fully erect and pressing against the
side of his ass and I groaned and rubbed against him, wanting so badly just
to shove in, not caring if he was ready or not.

But his submission gave me a responsibility, and it was so delicious I
wanted to reward it.  I slid one hand down his stomach again, wrapping it
firmly around his granite cock.  I began to squeeze and slide my hand up and
down, and felt him thrust slightly, fucking my fist.  I groaned and nuzzled
his hair, sliding my middle finger down the slick valley between his ass
cheeks, then pressing it firmly against the hot little opening there.

He jumped a little, grunting, then found his rhythm again, moving slightly
as I allowed him to fuck my hand in front while my finger pressed its way in
and began to fuck him from behind.  My finger slid in easily up the knuckle
and I stroked it in and out, spreading the butter inside generously and
warming him, opening him for me.  He was making helpless little sounds,
moaning and sighing as I licked up the side of his face, tasting his sweat
and cleaning it away to taste the sweet skin underneath.  On the next
outstroke, I added another finger, sliding it in easily, turning it, pulling
the muscle looser.  I added the third finger and pressed in deep, feeling
for the place that would make him completely mine.

"Nnahhhhh!" he cried out as I found it, throwing his head back and ceasing
his thrusts, not wanting to lose the position. I rubbed against it a few
more times, drowning in his whimpering moans, then slid my fingers out, my
hand shaking.

I grabbed myself roughly in my slick hand, sliding up and down a few times
quickly, spreading the grease.  I gripped myself at the base and pressed the
tip of my cock against his softened opening.

"Tell me what you want," I gasped, legs trembling with the need to shove
forward.

"Fuck me, Muh...Please fuck me.  Please!  Fuck me!  FUCK ME!"

As he yelled it the last time, I shoved forward hard, sliding tightly all
the way in, burying myself in him with a loud growl. He yelled as his body
slammed into the wall.  I moaned with the utter bliss of the hot, tight,
slick flesh gripping me relentlessly.  He started to move against me and I
slapped his ass hard, the smack loud in the quiet of the room.  He groaned
and stilled, spreading his legs a little wider, making himself totally
available for me.

I gripped his left hip with my hand and pulled back slowly, savoring the hot
squeeze of flesh, then I rammed back in, driving a grunt from Alex's throat,
as his cock, still encased in my fist, was shoved against the wall.  I held
it tightly, using the leverage of his other hip to pull back out and begin
getting into a rhythm, sliding out then slamming back in, both of us
grunting with each impact.  I tilted my pelvis, trying to angle myself to
hit his gland, and he yelled as I did, his breaths coming in gasping sobs as
I continued to thrust upward, pummeling it.  I was getting close, and
started jerking my hand up and down his shaft, trying to keep a rhythm but
finding it very difficult as I got closer and closer to losing it.

I panted desperately in his ear, hips pumping.

"Are you...ready to come, Alex?"

"NNNNyyyess..."  He groaned, his hips moving despite my earlier slap.

I slid my hand up and down his shaft, and pumped harder. "Whuh...what do you
want, pet?  Tell me what you want!"

"Puh-please...make me come, Mulder!" he said, disobeying my order not to use
my name.  And there was something about that, about hearing him make it more
between him and me than before, that sent a shockwave through my body and I
came, jerking him and pounding my release into his body, screaming in his
ear but unable to stop myself.  He threw his head back and yelled as I felt
him pulse in my hand, hot jets of cum shooting as his cock twitched and
pulsed in my hand, covering it, my wall, my floor, and his belly with semen.

I shuddered as the final jolts of my orgasm rocked my body, feeling him
shake and heave against me, his muscles squeezing almost painfully now.  I
let go of his still- hard, sticky cock and pulled out with a groan, pressing
myself back up against him as soon as I was out, holding him in an embrace
from behind.  He fell against the wall softly and I fell with him, pressing
him into the plaster.  I kissed the side of his jaw and his ear and he
turned his head, seeking me out with his lips.

I stopped, realizing that through all of this, from blow job to fuck, we had
never once kissed.  Somehow, kissing this man meant something completely
different from fucking him or having him suck me off.  As I continued to
kiss his neck, I considered whether or not I was prepared to take that step.
And did it mean to him what it did to me, or was kissing just his way of
ending a good fuck?  If I kissed him, would he even know what I was giving
him?  And did I want him to know?

There in my apartment, naked and sticky and pressed up against the wall, he
didn't seem like the same person I'd been partnered with two years ago.  The
person who'd stuck a knife in my back just when I'd started to trust him.
Here and now, he seemed sweet and sated and still so submissive, even after
the games were over.  I wanted so much to have this Alex forever, this Alex
that felt like he was mine.  This Alex that I felt more than safe with...the
Alex I felt happy with.  I wanted to keep him, not let him slip through my
hands and be replaced by the thief, the betrayer, the murderer he'd become.

I wanted to tell him that, so bad.  Tell this Alex not to go, to stay here
and make me feel like this forever.  But I couldn't say it, so I leaned back
away from him, pulling him gently away from the wall and turning him to face
me.

His lids were heavy, his mouth open and still breathing more heavily than
normal, his face flushed and sweaty, hair a complete mess.  My heart
squeezed to look at him.  I squinted and tried to say it all with my eyes,
penetrating that sleepy, dark gaze with everything I wanted to tell him.  I
saw his eyes widen, as if trying to take it all in, and a look of scared
surprise washed over his face.  That's when I kissed him.

My lips pressed against his and they were so soft and so sweet, sweeter than
I'd expected.  I licked my way between them, and swallowed his gasp as they
parted.  I plunged my tongue inside, claiming this Alex as my own, telling
this Alex that no matter what he might become in a few minutes, that he was
never going to be anyone else's, at least in my mind.

Mine, mine, mine, I thought as I stroked my hands up his back, my belly
sliding against the stickiness on his, touching every part of his mouth with
my tongue, making sensory memories for when this was over.  I moaned and
even sobbed a little under my breath, not wanting to break the kiss, knowing
that once I did, we'd have to go back to being ourselves and I'd lose this
moment, this Alex, this feeling.

Sighing softly, I kissed him one more time, and, eyes burning, I pulled
away.  I looked into those gorgeous, open, warm eyes one last time and
stroked my hand down his face, then stepped back, dropping my gaze to the
floor.

"I'm gonna get dressed," I mumbled without looking up. "The bathroom's in
there if you wanna clean yourself up."  I glanced at him once, not long
enough to see those eyes again, lest I tell him more than was safe, then
turned and walked into my bedroom.

I closed the door behind me, needing to get some space to think, and sat
down on my bed weakly.  I'd never had a sexual experience like that before,
with either the men or the women I'd known.  It made me sick to think that I
could never have that again, never get that gift of submission from him,
never get to do all the things I'd thought about doing but had been unable
to do for fear of breaking the spell.  I sighed deeply, then rose up off the
bed and went to my dresser, pulling out jeans, underwear and a T-shirt.  I
used some Kleenexes in a half-hearted attempt to get clean, intending to
take another shower after he...left.

I dressed slowly, my limbs still weak and trembling slightly in the
afterglow.  I went to the door and took a deep breath, preparing to face the
old Alex.  Krycek.  I wondered if he'd have the gun on me again.  I reached
down and turned the knob, pulling door open with a sigh.

"So, Krycek, what did you want to tell me?"

I stepped into the living room, looking all around.

He was gone.

Afraid for one insane moment that it had been a dream or even a
hallucination, I looked at the wall where we'd stood. My face relaxed into a
grin as I saw the messy smear, still wet on the plaster.  He was here.  This
happened.  We fucked.  And it was incredible.

I walked over and sat down on the couch, holding my head in my hands.  I
wondered what it was that had brought him over here, ready to risk so much.
I felt a little flutter of hope as I realized that whatever it was, he
hadn't accomplished it, so maybe......he'd be back.

I smiled and got up to get a towel and spray bottle.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Title:  Towel II:  Sweet Surrender

Author:  bizzzichick@yahoo.com  (Satina)

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

Rating:  R for language, sexual references

Keywords:  M/K, Angst!!!

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

Summary:  Submission can be more than sweet.  It can be
salvation.

Archive:  I used to give it all away to everyone, but after
getting burned, I'd appreciate it if you asked first.

Dedication:  To kacaso, who loved Towel so much it made
me speechless.  And boy howdy, let me tell you, that's a hard
thing to do.  She also does all the stunning graphics for my
site, and helps me archive and manage the MSKipperVille
mailing list.  And she has helped me know who my true friend are.
Kacaso, babe, you're da bomb.

Spoilers:  Yeah, assume Krycek episodes will be mentioned.

Feedback:  Dare I even ask?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Holy fucking shit.  What the hell was that?

I lean back against the brick wall of Mulder's building and
slam my head against it repeatedly.  I just sucked off Fox
Mulder and begged him to fuck me.  And he did.  And damn
it was good.  Then he went into the bedroom and I froze.  I
got scared.  This is so much different from what I'd expected.
I showed up, gun in hand, ready to have Mulder come at me,
and ready to let him win.  I always let him win, but this time, it
was gonna be for keeps.

But this...I could have wept.  I think I did, actually.  I brush
away the moisture from my lashes with the back of my hand,
cursing my one weakness in this life.

And I didn't even get to tell him what I came to tell him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!  It's really important!  I mean, of course it is
or I wouldn't have risked coming here.  No one's even
supposed to know I'm alive.  Except Spender, of course.  I
told that yellowed old prick myself.  And I let him know who
was holding all the cards.

I thought it was me.

I sigh and scowl and beat my head against the wall some
more, nails digging crescents into my palms.

See, I'm getting kind of desperate.  Not just for a good fuck,
either.  I'm running out of dark alleys to hide in, chips to call
in, stashes to raid.  I came here to propose something
completely fucking insane.

Partnership.

Yes, I killed Mulder's father.  Yes, I was there when
Cardinale killed Scully's sister.  And yes, of course I helped
stall Mulder when Duane Barry took Scully.

I'll admit it.  I'm a fucking rat.  But I've got something Mulder
wants.  Needs.  And if he gives me the chance, I'd like to be
*his* rat.

God, if he'll only let me back in, I'll do anything for him.
Anything.  Any fucking thing he wants.  Kill anybody, steal
anything, give him everything I have.

It's not just because I want him so bad my teeth ache.  It's
because he's the only one I've found that might just have a
chance in hell of beating them.  I've been looking.

That's what I've spent the last year doing, after they tried to
blow me up.  Sniffing around all the dark places, trying to
ferret out the players, trying to find someone to align myself
with, pledge myself to.  Sure, I'm a leader, but a good
Sergeant knows the value of the right General.

Despite his ignorance of the situation, Mulder's it, I think. The
others get distracted by money or power or greed, but Mulder
never, ever gets distracted.  I'm not sure death could stop
him.

That's the team I wanna play on from now on.

Okay, so now what?  I suppose that what happened up there
could be my way in, really.  I mean, I'm here to subjugate
myself to him.  To offer my services, whatever he requires.  I
just really never let myself hope that blow jobs and up-
against-the-wall fucks would be among those.

What the hell am I doing down here?  I smooth the hair down
over the back of my head, wincing slightly at the self-inflicted
bruising.  Like I don't get beat up enough.  Sometimes I can
be so stupid.

He fucking called me his pet!  Just thinking about it makes me
shiver.  I'll curl up at his feet and grovel for the rest of my life
just to hear him call me that again.  It makes me weak.  It
makes me tremble.  It makes me his.

Well, Mulder, I hope you want a pet rat.  You're my last
chance.

I smooth down my jacket, brushing my fingers through my
hair, wanting to look good for him.  I release a shuddering
sigh, remembering how he said I was beautiful.

No one's ever called me beautiful before.  Sexy, yeah, and
cute, and hot, and fine and...well, you get the idea.  I'm not
unaware that I'm physically attractive.  But there's something
about the word 'beautiful' that reaches further...strokes me
deep inside, making me want to arch and purr like a cat.  I
want so badly to be beautiful for him, to do whatever will
make him think that of me...say it again.

God, just the thought of hearing it again makes me want to
throw myself before him, giving him anything, everything, just
to be petted like that.

So.  How to do this?  He's still awake.  I can see the lights on
up there.  He's probably wondering what the hell I showed up
there for in the first place.  Hell, he might even be waiting for
me!  The thought makes my heart pound painfully in my
throat, threatening to cut off my breath.

I duck into his doorway and ride the elevator back up to his
floor, grateful for the late hour.  I hadn't expected to find
Mulder awake at two o'clock in the morning, but I guess he
was taking a shower to try and relax.  I know he doesn't sleep
well.  Maybe if he had a guard dog curled up on the floor next
to his bed, he'd feel safe enough to rest.

I silently approach his door, wondering if he locked it behind
me.  I'd left it unlocked after picking it.  I don't want to startle
him, or piss him off.  I don't think, after tonight, that he really
wants to kill me, but I know Mulder isn't someone you push.

It's time to face the truth, whatever that's gonna be.

I raise my hand to knock, stop, make a fist, then bring my
shaking knuckles against the wood with two short raps.  I
hear slight movement from inside and forget how to breathe.

The door swings open and I glance up at him from under my
lashes, because I know he finds that attractive.  The look on
his face is wary but pleased.  He steps back, silently bading
me to enter, and I duck my head and step past him, letting
out my breath.  I turn around to face him as he closes the
door, and I drop to my knees, head bowed, hands behind my
back.

I hear him gasp.  Pleasure?  Surprise?  Then I listen to him
breathe as I watch my own chest rise and fall.  Then I stop
breathing again as I hear him walk toward me and I see his
bare feet come into view, peeking out from under the hems of
his Levi's.  I can smell him now, and I swoon with it.  Cotton
and cum and fresh, clean Mulder.  Then his hand comes
down heavy and hot on my head, and I gasp, sagging
forward bonelessly.

"What are you doing?"  His voice is soft and curious.

"You're right," I rumble, clearing my throat.  "I do just want to
be someone's bitch.  Yours, Mulder."  I dare to lean my head
forward slightly, rubbing it against his leg with a sigh.

"I...I don't understand, Krycek.  What are you saying?"  He's
confused, but his hand doesn't leave my head, and I'm so
grateful for that I could kiss his feet.  If I thought he wanted
me to, I would, but I think it would freak him out.

"Mulder," I begin, leaning back, still looking at the floor.  "I
came here earlier tonight to...offer myself to you."

"You came here to be my sex slave?"  he asks incredulously.

I smile.  "No, actually, that was just a damned fine bonus."  I
swallow, hoping he won't be displeased with my attitude.

"Then what do you mean?"  He's getting a little impatient,
and I nearly sob as his hand raises up away from my head,
leaving it cold.

"I came here to see if you'd have me, Mulder.  I can help
you.  I can give you things.  I can do things for you that you
can't or won't do.  I'll be anything you want me to be.  And I'll
give you everything I have."

His breath leaves him in a rush, and he steps back.  I nearly
fall to the floor on my face and beg him to stay.

"Why...why should I trust you?" he asks, his voice strained.

"I'll give you the tape.  It's the only thing keeping me alive,
Mulder.  When they find out I gave it to you, they won't stop
until I'm dead.  But I'm tired, Mulder.  And I can't fight this
fight alone.  So my life is yours."  I reach into my waistband
and pull out my gun, keeping it low and sliding it forward
across the floor to his feet.  I see his beautiful hands for a
moment when he bends to pick it up.

"Get up."

I look up and he's gesturing with the gun for me to stand.  I
quickly rise to my feet, head down, hands still behind my
back.

"Why...why now?"  The skepticism is hard in his voice and I
know it will take everything I have to break through it.

"They tried to kill me," I start.

"Look at me."  His voice is low and soft.

I look up, and my stomach flips as I am absorbed in the
power of those eyes, so full of pain and distrust, but wanting
so much to believe.  The gun is held loosely at his side.

"They...they tried to kill me," I start again.  "Car bomb.  I
barely got away, but when I did, I had this with me."  I slowly
bring one hand around in front of me and unzip my jacket,
then reach into my inside front pocket and extract the small
plastic box.  I extend it to him, holding it on the palm of my
hand, arm shaking.  It's my life.  My only chance of survival.
And I'm handing it over.  If he takes it and then turns his back
on me, I hope he kills me.  I'd rather him than them.

My hand shakes visibly as he just stares at the tape, his eyes
narrowed.  Then he looks back up at me, in stunned
confusion.

"Is that what I think it is?"  My heart flips at how much careful
hope I can hear in his voice.

"It's the DAT."  I smile then, proud to have brought it back to
him.  Proud to be the one to make his eyes light up like that.
My hand isn't shaking quite so badly now.

He finally looks back down at my palm and reaches forward,
and now it's his hands that are shaking as he removes the
tape, holding it delicately in his long, strong fingers.  I lower
my hand and place it back behind my back.  He raises the
tape in front of his face and his eyes gleam as he turns it this
way and that in wonder.  He blinks and lowers the tape, then
his brow furrows as he looks back at me.

"I..I have no idea what to say to this."

"Don't say anything, Mulder," I reply, my voice low and quiet.
"Just take what I'm giving you."

"Um, why don't you sit down," he says uncomfortably, lifting
his chin toward the couch.  I nod and go over to the couch,
sinking down into it, body tense.  He follows me and lays the
tape on the table, then sits down at the other end of the
couch, rubbing his palms together nervously.

"All this because I called you 'pet'?" he says, trying to keep it
light.  And I want to tell him yes, so that he'll do it again.

"No," I say with a slight smile.  Then my face goes serious as
I take a deep breath and let it out.  "All this because I play on
the winning side, Mulder.  And with this, you have what it
takes to be that."

"But...without it, I don't, and you just gave it to me."  He looks
up at me sideways.

I sigh.  "I know I've been a total shit," I say, changing the
subject.  "And I know 'I'm sorry' doesn't make any difference
at all.  All I can say, Mulder, is that I'm willing to do anything if
you'll just give me one more chance."

He looks back down at his hands, palms pressed together
between his thighs.  Those fingers were inside me.  For a
minute that's all I can think of.

"How do I know that you won't find someone else you think is
on a winning side, and leave me again?"  He sounds so bitter
and sad.

"I...I don't know, Mulder.  I'll do anything," I say, growing
anxious.  "Just tell me...what can I do to prove myself?"  I'm
ready to do anything, kill the president, kidnap the 'emir,
whatever he wants.

He sighs deeply and the sound pains me.  "I don't know,
Krycek," he says defeatedly.  "I don't know if I can ever have
faith in you again."  He stares at his hands and I see the
sparkle of what might be tears.  My heart squeezes painfully
and I choke.  I stand quickly and step around the coffee table.

"I'm going to go."  I stop, waiting, thinking that maybe he'll
ask me to stay.  He doesn't.  He does look up at me, brows
drawn, eyes full of helpless pain.  It hurts me to look, so I turn
away.  "I'll be in touch."

"But..."

"Keep it.  I told you.  It's yours."  Maybe if I give him my life,
he'll find a way to accept what I'm offering.  "Good-bye,
Mulder."  I open the door and step out, closing it silently
behind me.

I left without my gun, and more importantly, without my tape. I
feel like a rabbit on opening day of hunting season.  I start
walking, mentally reviewing the best bridges in town to sleep
under.  I flip my jacket collar up against the cold.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Title:  Towel III:  Proof Undeniable

Author:  bizzzichick@yahoo.com  (Satina)

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

Rating:  PG

Keywords:  M/K, Angst!!!

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

Summary:  Mulder wants to trust, but he needs proof.

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 Down in the
Basement and Slashing Mulder.

Dedication:  To my MSKipperVille listsibs.  Without you, I don't think I'd
still be in the fandom.  Thanks.

Spoilers:  Expect almost a whole re-telling of the series, from Samantha's
disappearance to Paper Clip, as seen through Mulder's eyes.  If you haven't
seen eps up to that, you might be left scratching your head or pissed
because I spoiled things for you.  Heed this warning well.

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

I spend a very sleepless night staring at the small digital tape laying on
my coffee table.  I finger the gun laying on the couch with me.  Krycek's
gun.  Surrendered to me.  Along with all the proof I've ever wanted...except
the one bit of proof I need the most.

Proof that I can trust him.

I roll over, throwing my arm across my eyes, wanting to block out more than
the light coming through the window.  I'm tired of the aching need to have
faith in someone.  Someone besides Scully.

She's the only one who's never given me reason to distrust her.  She's
always, always there for me, even when I don't deserve it, even when it
hurts her to be there.  In a way, it hurts to have such blind devotion.  It
forces you to work harder to deserve it.

I mean, I'm not complaining, I'm just saying that it's also a bit of a
breather to be who you are with someone and know that if you fuck up and
hurt them, they kind of deserve it, so you don't have to add it to the
millstone of guilt you carry in your gut.

Except I think I might have fucked up.  And I know I sure as hell feel
guilty.

He left here without his gun.  I hope he carries a second one, like the one
I now strap to my ankle, ready to grab when someone knocks me on my ass.  Or
maybe a wicked blade, although you have to get too close for that to be any
real protection from the people we're dealing with.

We.  Oh god.  Did I just include him on my side of the equation?  Well, he
kinda did that when he gave me this tape. I mean, if it's legit, he's handed
me the keys to the kingdom, hasn't he?

God, I want to trust him.  And that's why I can't let myself. Because I know
how badly I want to, and that affects my judgement around him.  I have to be
colder and more cautious than usual, to compensate for this intense longing.
I'm so scared to trust him.  Scared he'll betray me.  And more than that,
scared he'll hurt me.  And even more than that, scared that one day he'll
just disappear.

I think I almost died when he turned out all to be smoke and mirrors.
Scully was already taken from me, the one person in the world who'd shown me
I could trust and not have it destroy me.  When I lost Krycek, I think
something in me just broke.

Maybe...maybe I can't love.  That scares me.  It makes me feel like some
freak of nature, like the boy born without a heart or something.  I can't
remember the last time I felt something that others would define as love.
Wait.  Yeah, I can.  Sam.

I remember a love so sure and so whole that I never doubted it or even
thought about it.  I just loved her.  And then she was gone.  And everyone
looked to me for answers.  I knew then, that whether or not it was my fault
as I believed for so long, that I was the one responsible for answering all
the questions.  It was why I was still alive.  Why I wasn't taken. And it
certainly was the only thing that made me feel...well, anything, really.

I didn't love my parents.  I mean, I didn't hate them, but what I felt for m
y father was scared respect, admiration, and a kind of awe that comes from
being close to something you can't understand.  I don't know if he loved me
or not.  I know I never felt that from him.  I didn't feel much of anything,
really.

After they took Sam, it seemed like he was uncomfortable with the very
thought of me.  I tried to disappear as much as possible.  I'd go days,
sometimes weeks without hearing him speak a word to me, harsh or otherwise.
It even made me miss the backhands I'd come to take for granted.

I wanted to love my mom.  I really tried.  And I think she loved me when I
was small.  She just seemed so...not there.  Like what I saw was a carefully
constructed mask, meant to placate the outside world.  I saw other kids'
moms use the same masks, but I also saw the masks come off when my friends
were alone with their moms.

My mom's mask never came down.

Then after Sam was taken away, she just cracked.  The mask shattered.  It
didn't come down.  It just couldn't hold up. And she was an unpredictable
fount of tears and rage, and it only calmed down when she drank or took her
pills.  I tried not to add to her worries.  We spoke every day, but I didn't
know if she realized we were.

I pulled away from my friends then, too, and immersed myself in my
schoolwork, finding solace in finding answers.  Luckily, I was intelligent
and could find fulfillment in accomplishing academic goals.  Something I was
good at.  Something I was actually praised for.  Something I got attention
for.  Attention. I think I needed that more than food.  And so I went to
Oxford, accomplishing and accomplishing and accomplishing, thinking that
someday that hole would feel like it had been filled.

I met Phoebe.  And that was *not* love.  It *was* attention. And flirtation,
and manipulation, and eventually, total emotional destruction.  She thought
so highly of herself that I was convinced that her attention was worth all
the pain.  She seemed to want me so badly, even when she was cutting me to
ribbons.  The sex was good, if terrifying.  She was the type of woman who
didn't really get turned on until after she'd made you use your safe-word.
After several harrowing months, I graduated and went into the Academy back
in the states, and I got away from her.

I thought that ridding the world of the most heinous human monsters would
fill the hole, since nothing else I'd tried had, so I accomplished and
accomplished and accomplished some more, until I was solving cases that some
veterans couldn't even stand to work on anymore.

But the hole continued to ache.

Then I met Diana.  And that wasn't love, either.  It was solace.  Sanctuary!
Sanctuary!  She made me feel like a human being.  She bored me stupid,
truthfully, but she seemed to really love *me* and for that, I was willing
to do anything.  She was so focused on building me up, believing in me,
making me feel like somebody.

Reminds me of Krycek.

But anyway, we found the X-files together, and she seemed to be able to
understand my instant obsession and endless fascination with them when no
one else could.  And she jumped in with me, standing side by side, holding
me up when I got tired, putting me to bed when I got exhausted, and
celebrating when a piece of the puzzle slid into place.  She started to talk
about marriage as if it were a given, and I figured, 'Why not?'  So I got
down and did the whole one- knee, grandma's ring thing and of course, she
said yes.

Life was pretty good for awhile, me immersed in the X-files and her being
okay with that, keeping the home fires burning and all that.  The sex
was...okay.  But sex wasn't really a safe haven for me anyway, after Phoebe.
I kind of separated the two in my mind, so that great sex equaled pain.
Things drifted along for a while, then she all of a sudden wanted to go on
some huge, foreign mission.  It hit me out of nowhere, but then, I was
oblivious to everything in my life except the X- files, so maybe the signs
were always there.

We parted on good terms, actually, and I was surprised at how little it
really hurt.  I went back to my files, becoming comfortable with being
alone, and thoroughly used to everyone else's scorn and lack of
understanding.

I think they got scared.  Like, "What the hell is that little freak doing
down in that basement?"  I got word that I was getting a partner.  I knew
she was a spy, someone to let the higher- ups know what kind of nonsense was
going on down there.  I checked her out before she got there and I was
already scared.  This woman had the ability to bring me down.  Not because
my investigations weren't legitimate.  I couldn't wait to show everyone they
were.  But because she was so brilliant that if she decided to sabotage me,
I was dead in the water.

Long story short, she blew my fucking mind.

Her integrity radiated from the first moment she walked in. She glowed with
it.  I was afraid to get too close.  I had to touch her to assure myself she
was real.  She trusted me quickly, and I trusted her right back.  And I knew
it was right. I just knew.

I think my opinion on humanity changed then.  It was like discovering a new
species, one that threw all the old theories into chaos.  It felt *so* good
to trust someone.  Better than I ever thought it would.  I should have known
that would lead to more pain.

Did I want her?  Well, she's beautiful and smart and talented and amazing,
and I certainly love her, so sure I wanted her. But it wasn't a strong
enough drive to actually act on it, and it always felt wrong, somehow, like
that wasn't the role she was supposed to play in my life.  I would fantasize
about her in the dark hours and feel so guilty that most of the pleasure was
overshadowed.

They took her away, reassigning her, and they took away the X-files.  It was
as if God himself was punishing me, having shown me what 'good' felt like
just so it would hurt more when it was taken away.

Then they gave me Krycek.

I was so determined to hate his fucking guts.  To keep myself safe by not
even giving him the most basic human respect. But he tried so hard.  He just
smiled and fluttered his eyelashes and relentlessly ran to catch up with me
as I continued to run away.  He told me things I wanted to hear so badly
that when I did, they immediately hurt because I knew they couldn't be true.
He said he believed in me.  Admired me.  Even wanted to prove the same
things I did.  He never doubted me.  Never.  I felt like I couldn't go wrong
with him. That whatever I did, he'd be there, smiling and batting his eyes,
handing me coffee.

So I fell for it.  I didn't let him know, of course, but I knew.  I knew I
started to think about him late at night, wanting to see just how much he
was ready to give me to prove his undying devotion.  He entered my
fantasies, and then he dominated them, and then he *was* them.  It felt
totally natural to want him sexually.  It felt right.

It wasn't the first time I'd had homosexual thoughts.  I've never lived on
one end of the continuum, really.  I sort of skate in the middle.  I don't
see what the big deal is. Attraction is biological, chemical, maybe even
spiritual, and certainly psychological.  Why stress over the fact that the
person you want has a certain set of genitalia?  And as much as my wanting
of Scully never seemed strong enough to be right, my growing desire for
Krycek threatened to redefine my universe once again.

I didn't dare act on it.  If I did, I was sure I would lose him.  Or he
would hurt me or betray me or disappear.  I didn't want to have him because
I knew it would hurt more when I lost him. And I knew I would, eventually.
I just didn't know how devastating the circumstances would be.

So Scully was abducted, and I had a new quest.  A new obsession, and a new
bleeding gash in my soul.  I couldn't see past my need to *find her* and
*save her*.  I was vaguely aware of Krycek, hovering next to me, helping me
eat, helping me sleep, reminding me to shower and change clothes, but my
world was narrowed to one rushing tunnel vision.

*Find her.*

So I almost didn't catch it when the signs of betrayal started appearing.
But, because I always expect it, I saw them.  And I felt a new, vital,
struggling part of myself just...give up and die.

I was afraid he would hurt me, and he did.  I was scared he would betray me,
and he did.  And I was terrified he would disappear suddenly...and he did.

The next few months I can truly say I don't remember.  I know I was on a
self-destructive bent, taking every opportunity to put myself in mortal
danger, and only feeling my heart beat when it was pounding in terror.  I
wanted to die, but didn't want to take the trouble to just do it myself.  It
seemed like more effort than I was worth.

Then she was returned...and with her came a little of my faith.  God gave
her back.  I don't really believe in God, mind you, but that's the general
idea.  The message was I wasn't so bad after all.  I did deserve to have
good in my life.

I know that seems selfish, given that she had just lived through a hell I
can't imagine in my worst nightmares, but I am used to being the only person
in my world, so I define everything by how it affects me.

So, just as I'm feeling my world come into balance, Krycek kills my father.
Yeah, we don't have any proof, but I know enough about my own instincts to
trust them here.  There's no doubt in my mind that he did it.  And the pain
is so deep, and so awful that at first I don't even know where it's all
coming from.  I think I have it figured out, now, actually.  It's not about
losing my father, although, with his death goes the possibility that someday
he'll accept me.  It's more...personal. It's still about Krycek, really.  I
mean, you don't just kill someone's dad unless you really don't give a fuck
about them, right?  So it's like confirmation of how incredibly stupid I was
to let him get to me, I guess.

I got to hit him.  It felt sooooo good.  I wanted so badly to kill him.  I
may have been high on the drugs he put in my water, but I remember the rush
I got, thinking I'd kill him and hopefully get rid of some of the pain that
he's caused.  Scully stopped me, of course, because I would have gone to
prison for killing not only Krycek, but my father.  She saved my life. I
wasn't sure whether to be grateful or not, even after she explained.  But
that's Scully.  She's my home base.  She keeps me sane and keeps me from
fucking up too badly.

So of course, she's the one I have to call.

"Mmmhello?"

"Scully, it's me.  I'm sorry to wake you."

"Mulder?"

"Yeah.  Listen, Scully, I need to talk to you.  I need to show you
something."

"Now?"  She sounds a little irritated and a lot sleepy.

"Well, yeah.  I think it's pretty important.  You'll see when I get there."

"You're coming over here?  Now?"  Definitely sleepy and definitely
irritated.

"Um, yeah, if that's okay."  Contrite.  That should work.

Deep, accepting sigh.  "Okay, Mulder.  I'll make some coffee."

My smile makes me feel a little crazy.  "Thanks, Scully.  See you soon."

It's funny how I didn't even consider opening these documents without her
there.  I think I know that what's inside is going to make my world tilt on
its axis, and I know that I'm going to need Scully to keep me from being
flung off.

I shift from foot to foot in front of her door, fingering the tape in the
pocket of my leather jacket until the friction heats the plastic.  She opens
the door wearing a fuzzy white bathrobe and slippers, her hair mussy, no
makeup.  She looks like an angel.  She is.  She's my guardian angel.

"Hi Scully."

"Hi Mulder."  She closes the door and plods into the kitchen, looking like
she needs to drink a few more cups of coffee before she'll really notice I'm
here.  I think what I'm about to show her will wake her up, though.  I
decide not to waste any time.  She sits down at her table, knowing I'll
follow without being invited, and I do, taking the chair across from her.
She pours me some coffee from her little French press and freshens her own
cup.  "Okay, Mulder.  What is it?"

I have a flair for the dramatic.  I can't help it.  I slide my hand out of
my pocket, tape in hand, and toss it casually on the table.

Her sleepy blue eyes open wide, her lips parting on a gasp. She reaches
forward and picks up the tape hesitantly, then looks up me, mouth still open
in shock.

"Is...is this...?"

"I dunno.  I think...maybe it is."

"My god," she sighs softly, looking back at the tape.  We both stare at it
for a minute.  "Have you looked at it?"

I bite my lip.  "No.  I...I wanted you here with me."  I don't have to tell
her why.  She gives me that sweet Scully smile and reaches across the table
for my hand.  I give it to her. Then she pulls back and stands up, and I
follow her wordlessly to her computer.

She sits down and I pull up a chair next to her, and I can tell her breath
is held with mine.  She boots up her computer, then inserts the disk,
tapping keys, using the codes neither one of us has ever forgotten.  And
they work.  Just like they did before.

"Oh my god..." she says again, the computer screen infusing her face with
otherworldly glow, making her look like she's lit from within.
"Mulder...this...I think these are the original files!"

I feel elation, fear, and guilt all hit me at once.  I breathe hard and
stare at the screen as she scrolls through the Navajo text.

"Where did you *get* this?"

I look down at my hands, then up into her wide, curious, amazed eyes.

"Krycek."  She looks excited.

"You found him?  Is he in custody?"

"Well, I didn't exactly find him..." I say, embarassed.  "He kind of came to
me.  And no, to my knowledge, he's not in custody."

"Came to you?  And what do you mean, to your knowledge? What did you do to
him, Mulder?"  She looks worried now and I imagine she thinks I've beaten
him senseless or even killed him.  I smile.  I decide not to tell her what I
*did* do to him.  Not yet, anyway.  One shock a night.

"I mean he left after he gave me this."

"Left."

"Yeah, left."

She nods, and I know it means she doesn't understand. "Mulder, what the hell
is going on here?"

I sigh deeply, closing my eyes.  When I open them, hers are focused on me,
brows arched.

"He showed up at my apartment.  He...he told me that Cancer Man tried to
kill him, and that he...well, he said he wants to come over to our side
now."  Scully's mouth dropped open again.

"And you said...?"

"I said I didn't know.  So he gave me the tape to prove his allegiance."  He
gave me his body, too, but that'll be our little secret for now.

"Wow."  Scully considers this for a minute and I can tell she doesn't know
what to think.  Welcome to my world, Scully.

"So...where is he now?  Why isn't he here?"

Ah.  Well, see....

"He left."

"You said that, Mulder.  Why did he leave?"

"Well, I told him I wasn't sure I could trust him, so he gave me his gun
and...left."

"He gave you his gun?"  There go the eyebrows again.

"Yeah, but he probably has another one..."  Uh oh.  The disapproving Scully
frown.  I really hate that one.

"That's not really the point, Mulder."

I look at her as if I don't understand.

"He gave you the MJ files, then he handed you his gun? Mulder, he basically
put his life in your hands!"

"He killed my father, Scully!"  I protest, sounding whiny even to myself.

"Well, first of all, we don't know that, Mulder, and second of all, he *was*
working for 'them', after all.  You can't expect him to be squeaky clean."

My mouth gets its turn to drop open as I hear Scully defending Alex Krycek.

"I'm sorry, Mulder.  I don't mean to minimize your father's death,"  She
puts her hand on my shoulder, but I'm not really listening, since that's so
not the point.  "But I'm sure he had to do a lot of things we aren't going
to like."

"But..." I say weakly.  "How do we know he isn't going to go to the Smoker
behind our backs, Scully?"

She frowns, chewing pensively on the inside of her cheek. "Why would he give
us this?  Unless it's a fake..."

Of course it is.  I feel my heart sink.

"I guess we need to get it checked out and see if it's the real thing.  If
it is, Mulder, he *can't* go back to them.  He just gave everything to you!
They'll kill him!  Everyone will be out to get him, just like they were out
to get us!  We'll be the only hope he has."

I feel how true that is, and my stomach does a sick turn.

"How can we verify this, Scully?"  I breathe deeply, trying to hide the
tremble in my voice.

"We'll have to go back to Albert Hosteen."

"Call him."

"Now, Mulder?  It's four o'clock in the morning!"

"One o'clock in Arizona.  Scully, if this tape is legitimate, then so is
Krycek.  And he's out there, in mortal danger, defenselesss."  I slip my
hand into my pocket and stroke it along steel, giving little thought to why
I chose to bring his gun instead of mine.

"Somehow, I don't see Alex Krycek as defenseless, but I suppose you're
right."  She calls up a database on her computer and picks up the phone.  I
try not to think about where Krycek might have gone after he left my
apartment. And I hope he keeps a second pistol strapped to his ankle.  If he
doesn't, he's going to from now on.

As soon as we find him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Title:  Towel IV:  Inception

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 and Krycek come to a new understanding.

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 to.

Dedication:  To Logan, who helped me through a very dark night.  Thanks for
your friendship.  :-)

Notes:  This story is a celebration of the reunion of a sweet little fuzzy
bunny and his adorable baby bear.  Guys, I didn't think I was gonna be able
to follow through with my plan, and I cannot tell you how happy I am that I
can.  :-)

Beta baby thanks goes to my sweet Shan.

Spoilers:  Anasazi, Blessing Way, Paper Clip

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

"I have seen this before."

Breathe, Mulder.  Breathe.  "What do you mean?"

"These are the same files you brought to me before, Fox."

I'm gonna pass out.  "You're sure."  Scully fixes me with a wide blue gaze.

"I cannot guarantee they have not been tampered with, but I can say that
everything here is identical to that which I decrypted before."

My eyes flutter closed, and I feel Scully's hand on my shoulder.  It feels
far away somehow, and there is a rushing in my ears, a wind blowing her
words away.

"I'm going to start printing, Albert.  We need to be extremely careful,
here.  I don't want to risk losing this information.  We need to put
security on this office, Mulder.  Mulder?"

I try to answer her.  I really do.  But I feel so heavy.  And the buzzing is
so loud.

"Mulder, I think you're...I think he's in shock, Albert," she says, and then
I feel warm as a heavy wool blanket is draped over my shoulders.  It starts
to ground me, to let my blood stop screaming in my ears.

"I'm sorry Scully.  What?"

"It's okay, Mulder.  I've already put the call in.  We're only working
through Skinner on this, and he's sending some people from outside the
bureau to secure this office while the information's printing.  Then maybe
we can get the Gunmen to come and see what they can do to make copies of
some of or all of it."

I nod, feeling like yes, that needs to happen, but there's something else...

"Alex!"  I jump up out of the chair and the blanket falls to the floor.
Scully rushes to my side, putting it back up.  I shrug it away.

"Mulder, calm down, we'll find him."

I look at her, finally hearing her voice, clear and soothing in my mind.
"Mulder, listen.  Someone needs to stay here with Albert until Skinner's
people get here.  I'll stay.  You...go find him."

My mind is suddenly clear as two words seem to resonate with haunting
familiarity.  Find him.  Find her.  Find him.  I nod and squeeze her
shoulder reassuringly, thanking her silently for being strong.  I try not to
run to the rental car parked out in the Arizona sun.

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

I lean up hard against the cement piling, pulling myself into as small a
figure as possible, conserving body heat.  There are some men down the beach
a little ways huddled around a fire, and though my body feels drawn like a
magnet to the warmth, my instincts tell me to keep the stone to my back.

Be careful, Mulder.  God, please.  Be careful.

He doesn't believe me, so he doesn't know what he's holding.  I just hope
that he gives me enough benefit of the doubt to treat it as if it is real
even if he thinks it might not be.

I start to really think about what I've done, putting that tape in his
hands.  Jesus.  I've made him a target.  A walking, oblivious,
almost-innocent target.

And then I walked away.

Fuck, fuck fuck!  I was so focused on his rejection of me that all I could
think of was how much I needed to get away from it.  I didn't consider that
I was leaving him unprotected.  My god, I didn't even stay where I could see
him, let alone watch his back!  Oh yeah, Mulder.  Take me in.  I'm really
useful.

I rock forward and get to my feet suddenly, the cold now making no more
impression on me than the ache in my limbs. I curl my hands into fists and
step out of the shadows.  I move quickly and purposefully, slinking my way
back to his apartment the same way I came.

Sometimes I can't even define what it is, but I get this feeling...just a
kind of breathlessness that lets me know there is danger near.  It saved me
from that car bomb.  I'm sure Mulder would love to pick it apart and analyze
it.  I'm just grateful for it, and I never, ever discount it.

Things are fine.  It feels okay.  I'm staring up at his window, and it's
black.  I'm surprised.  I would have thought he'd be up all night trying to
look at what's on that tape, encrypted or not.  My eyes narrow and my gut
clenches.  I reach around to the back of my waist and feel...nothing.  I
don't have my gun. I gave it to Mulder.

Okay, maybe it was a powerful gesture, but if you aren't even armed enough
to back him up, was it really worth it, you fucking moron?  I swear to God,
around this man I get stupid. All I have is my blade, a wickedly sharp
little four-incher I keep tucked into the custom sheath inside my boot.  I
slowly slide my hand down and slip the knife out, instantly reassured by its
smooth, steel weight in my hand.  It's not enough, of course, but it's
better than nothing, and I don't feel quite so useless anymore.

Why is it dark?  God, have they gotten him already?  What the fuck have I
done?  I skitter around, keeping to the shadows, and get into his building
my usual way, through an abandoned storage closet window down in the
basement.  I hurry up to his apartment, looking and *feeling* for signs of
wrong, but I don't find any.

His hall is empty and I make my way to his door, flattening my ear against
it and listening.  Nothing.  Not even a creak. Should I knock?  Should I
pick the lock again?  I squeeze my eyes shut, frowning, trying to make a
crucial decision. Finally, I decide that my sense of danger isn't going off,
so other than a dark window, I have no reason to suspect foul play, and
breaking into Mulder's apartment might really piss him off at this juncture
if he's in it trying to sleep.  I look around furtively and then raise my
twitching hand and knock.

Nothing.  No sound at all.  No creak, no rustle, no anything.  I rap again,
a little louder this time, and still there is no reply. My pick is out and
tumbling the lock before I have a chance to think about it, and then I'm in.

It's dark and quiet and it feels very empty.  I don't make a sound, checking
each room for signs of occupation and finding none.  The bathroom is last,
and it too is dark and silent.  I finally release a breath I've been holding
since the pick slid into the lock.  I have another decision to make.

Wait...or try to find him.

Why the *fuck* did I leave and let him out of my sight?  I'm so fucking
stupid and useless and worthless!  I vow it will *not* happen again and
don't let myself think anything except that I will get the chance to keep
that vow.  I sink down onto the floor, sitting crosslegged, unwilling to use
the furniture lest someone be watching through the windows.  I decide,
finally, that I can't risk exposure by going on a search for him, so my
option then is to wait.

And so I wait.

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

Fucking flight delays!  I don't make it back to D.C. until fourteen hours
later, and each of those hours twists my stomach a little tighter.  All I
can think is he's out there.  He's out there, and I've got to find him.  I'm
not sure why this compulsion to find him is *so* strong.  Yes, he gave me
the one culminating magnum opus of my existence and then walked out unarmed,
but all that proves is that this time he's not lying.  It doesn't mean next
time he won't.

But still...I have to find him.  It's all I can think about.  I don't let
myself wonder why any longer as the cab pulls up in front of my apartment.
Four A.M. and the streets are pretty much deserted.  I can't help but scan
the area, looking extra hard into the shadows, hoping one of them will
dislodge from the tree or the wall and step forward.  None do.  I suppose I
really should be worrying about whether I was followed or if my place is
safe, since I now have something the smoker would gleefully kill to
reacquire.  I make my way cautiously through the building to my door and
reach forward with my keys to unlock it.

And that's when I realize it's not locked.  My heart begins thudding wildly
in my chest.  I slip Alex's gun from my hip hostler, flipping the safety
off.  Very slowly, I turn the knob. With a crack, I slam the door open,
catching the backswing with my leg, swinging my gun in a wide arc, ready to
shoot anything that moves.  I'm stepping through the doorway, gun still up
and ready to fire, when he steps out of the shadows holding a glittering
little blade in a threatening battle stance.

"Alex."  It's a breath, and my gun arm drops, and then I realize I just made
an automatic assumption that Alex wasn't brandishing that knife at me.  I'll
examine that later.

"Mulder," Alex sighs.  In a move I can't even really track, he flips the
knife around, securing it up his sleeve like some amateur magician.  He's no
amateur, Mulder.  Don't be fooled by that old look of innocent wonder.

I flip the safety back on with a slightly trembling hand, not really knowing
what to say next now that we have identified one another as *not* the bad
guys.  He appears to have the same reluctance to speak.  He stares at me,
fingers twitching as his hands hang at his sides.

Just moments ago, all I could think about was finding this man, and now that
I have him, I don't know what to do with him.  I rake a hand back through my
hair, then turn around and retrieve the duffel bag I dropped when I decided
to storm my own apartment.

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

The sight of him is like water in the desert, and finally my throat opens
and I can breathe.

I secure the blade and watch as he turns and retrieves his bag from the
hall.  Shit, I should have done that.  Of course, he probably wouldn't have
liked the sudden movement it would have taken to beat him to it, given his
complete lack of trust in me.  I eye the bag, feeling restless, needing
something to do to prove I'm necessary.

"What are you doing here?"  His voice is quiet, void of inflection.

Good question.  What am I doing here?  Waiting for you, hoping you aren't
dead, kicking myself for letting you out of my sight.  I'm not sure what
answer I can even give that will make sense and not make him freak out.

"Are you here..."  He stops and starts again.  "Did you need somewhere to
stay?"

Hah!  He thinks I'm here for my own safety!  God, what a waste of effort
that would be.  No, Mulder.  I may be stupid but I know silk from a sow's
ear.

"It's okay, Alex.  You can stay here...for now," he says, carrying his
duffel bag into his bedroom and tossing it on the bed.  He comes back out,
and I notice the red in his eyes and the stubble on his cheeks.  He rubs his
hand through his hair and looks at me.  "I'm thirsty.  You want something?"

I have not eaten any of his food, not feeling it was my right to do so, so
all I've had are the protein bars I always carry with me.  It's been days
since I had a meal.

"Yeah," I croak out, my voice rusty from disuse.  "Please."  I duck my head
as I say it, the gesture well-trained and automatic.

Mulder nods and walks into the kitchen, flipping on the light and rummaging
in his fridge.  I stand and wait for him, and he comes back into the living
room and stops, an odd look on his face.

"You can sit down, Alex," he says, gesturing to his couch with a soda can.

Wordlessly I step around the coffee table and sink into the leather,
breathing slowly.  He eyes me a moment and then walks over and extends a can
to me, then comes around behind the table and sits next to me, settling in
with a deep sigh.  He takes a long drink of his soda, and I watch him for a
moment, and when he's done, I take a sip of mine.

"Um, I'm not sure what to say here, Alex," he says, his eyes glancing
sideways at me and then away again.  He sighs again and I'm at a loss.  "The
tape appears to be the real thing," he continues, stretching his neck.  I
hear a vertebra pop and my hands clutch, wanting to massage away his pains.
"So," he continues, taking another drink.  "What do we do now?"

"Whatever you want to, Mulder," I answer without hesitation, meaning it
every way I can.  He really does look over at me then, turning his head and
fixing me with that gaze of his.

"The tape is being decrypted," he says, not taking his eyes off me.  I can't
help but widen my eyes a bit at this, knowing how difficult I found it to
extract any usable information from it.  I feel justified in my choice of
masters at this proof of his superior abilities and can't help but smile
very faintly.  To my utter surprise, his lips move just slightly in an
answering smile.

"I...I guess we should get back out there, and then figure out what the hell
we're going to do next."  Mulder leans back into the couch, appearing to
relax as he drinks down another long swallow of soda.  I drink from my own
can without looking away.

He looks over at me again, and his brow furrows.  "Are you going to say
anything?"

My lips part immediately, brain trying to choose something I think he'd want
to hear.  "They think I have the tape, and that I will expose them if they
come near me."

He nods, pursing his lips.

"We're safe," I go on, heartened by his positive response, "until we do
something to call attention to ourselves."

He nods again and sighs quietly.  "We'll have to be really careful with
this, won't we?  This isn't information we can just put into use as soon as
we decrypt it, is it?"

I'm not used to my master asking my opinion, so it shakes my concentration
for a second, until I remind myself I am a source of information for him and
it's my job to answer.

"No, it isn't," I say quietly.  "There are secrets on that tape that could
change the very fabric of our civilization."

I watch his lips part as I reveal this, and I'm proud of being such a
valuable source of information for him, but also chagrined at being the
harbinger of something so frightening.

"We're going to need your help on this, aren't we," he says very quietly,
looking away and fiddling with his soda can.

"I'm yours," I say without hesitation, sitting up a little straighter, ready
to be of use.  I'm confused when his lips quirk up in a half smile as he
turns to look at me again.

Oh.  His eyes are darkening, his breaths quickening.  Yes, Mulder.  That,
too, is yours.  Always has been, even when I bowed to another master.  I
slide to the floor in a single, boneless movement, settling in on my knees
before him, head bowed, hands behind me.  It feels so good.  I sigh deeply.

"What are you doing?" He sounds confused.

I don't look up.  "I'm yours," I repeat, hoping he wants to hear it.

"Alex..."  A note of displeasure hovers in his voice.  I look up.

"Please, Muh...please.  I just want to be yours."  Fuck, I almost screwed up
and used his name, which he told me not to do when we're like this.  I'd
screwed it up before and was surprised when I didn't incur his wrath for it.
I swore not to mess that up again. I look back down at the floor, hoping I
haven't upset him by the partial utterance.

Then his hand comes down on my head, so warm and heavy, like poured honey,
and I sag forward, my body sighing.

"God, Alex," Mulder sighs.  "You're so beautiful like this."

The tears prick at my eyes.  Whatever I've done is good, because he's said
it again, and my world is right.  I lean forward more, daring to lay my
forehead against his knee.

"Please let me make you feel good."

The gasp I hear above me turns my cock to iron instantly. My body twitches
at his feet.

"Yes, Alex," he says, his low voice a silky rumble.  "Make me feel good."

I sigh and raise up on my knees, leaning forward, careful not to displace
his hands on my head as I move in toward his groin.  I can see that he is
also very hard beneath his suit pants, and I can't help but nuzzle against
it like a cat, breathing deeply of his scent.

God, it's so good.  So unbelievably right.  I've never enjoyed serving
anyone as much as I do him.  The very smell of him gets me hard.  Always
has.  I nudge his cock through the fabric of his pants and revel in his
sharp intake of breath.  I speak against the hard shaft, letting my words
vibrate against his flesh.  "May I use my hands?"

"Oh yes, Alex, yes," he answers in a breath, stroking his hand through my
hair.  I shudder against his legs.  "Touch me."

I groan and bring my hands around in front, working gently at the belt and
button on his pants.  I carefully unzip them, letting his erection push
through, still trapped behind a thin layer of cotton knit.  I put my mouth
against the cloth and moan, mouthing him as I work his pants down his hips.

"God, yes, Alex," he says breathlessly, and the sound makes my body flash
with heat even as I wait for something else.  I need to try harder, I
decide, and give more.

He lifts his hips to make it easier for me, and I slide his pants and
boxer-briefs down his thighs, revealing his gorgeous, strong, dusky-pink
erection.  It beckons me with a pearl of precum at the tip.  I feel the
drool begin to collect under my tongue and groan.  Then I stop, inhaling
quickly, realizing that I don't know if he wants to hear these sounds from
me or not. If I'm to earn what I need, I'm going to have to be more aware of
his preferences.

"What is it?" he breathes, stroking through my hair again. "What's wrong?"

I blink and look up at him, struggling to understand the question.

"I heard you, Alex.  You hesitated.  Are you okay?"

I close my eyes, letting a shudder work its way through my body at the
concern in his voice.  "I don't want to...to focus on my own needs," I
stammer, not knowing how to explain. "My need to...voice my pleasure," I
finish in a small voice.

"Jesus Christ, Alex, the sounds you make go straight to my cock," he
replies, and his words go straight to mine.  "Make the noises for God's
sake.  You have my permanent permission on that one, got it?"  He's smiling
gently at me now, and I grin back, happy to have made him happy.  Then I
lower my head and moan as I take him all the way down my throat in one hard,
wet lunge.

He cries out, his hips rising off the couch, shoving himself deeper.  I
groan my encouragement, moving my head up and down, pulling his hips a
little to give him the cue.  Fuck my throat, Mulder.  Make it yours.  Use me
and make it hurt. Please.

His grip on my hair tightens, both hands pulling hard, and I moan against
his flesh in my mouth, voicing my enjoyment, begging wordlessly.  As his
hips begin small, aborted thrusts, I groan loud and deep, signaling him that
yes, this is what I want.  This feels right.  It's good.

"Oh fuck," he gasps, and I'm disappointed that I still don't hear it, so I
work myself harder, tongue rubbing fiercely against him.  I stroke my hands
up under his shirt, remembering how he enjoyed my attentions there before.

To my surprise, I feel one of my hands being grabbed, as the grip on my hair
becomes one sided.  Mulder presses my hand into the leather at his side, our
fingers entwined.  I slide the other up his chest blindly, and when my nail
scrapes gently over his hard nipple, he thrusts up into my throat deeply.  I
sob, willing him to continue.  My nail scrapes, then my finger strokes, then
my nail scrapes again, and finally he's gripping my head and fucking my face
hard, his mouth open and emitting a series of cries that turn my body, all
but my dick, to liquid heat.  His hand squeezes mine, hot and sweaty at our
sides.

"Gonna...come....down your throat...Alex..."  I nearly come against his leg
then, but I hold myself back successfully.

Then I hear his low growl.

"Mine."

I sob and growl against his flesh and feel him begin to pulse and shoot his
cum.  I quickly draw back so that it doesn't all go down my throat untasted,
and as he continues to pulse and spurt, I suck and slurp and lick it all up,
memorizing his taste, humming as it takes over my senses.

He falls back against the cushions with a shuddering gasp, and I gently lave
away the last traces of his cum.  I lick and kiss his thighs, settling my
head there with a sigh.  The fingers of one hand stroke through my hair, and
I can't control the shivers that wrack my body.  I ignore the persistent,
throbbing ache in my dick.  He lets go of my hand, and I feel his palm
against my cheek.  He raises my face and I open my eyes.

"MMmmgood," he hums, smiling that heavy-lidded, well- sated smile at me.  I
sigh and smile back, trying to forget the small nagging hurt.

His smile fades.  "What is it, Alex?  You know I'm going to take care of
you, too."

Damn.  I'm usually very good at hiding my emotions, not letting them show on
my face, but I'm so completely undone by Mulder that I can't concentrate.
"I'm sorry," I murmur, trying to lower my head.

He holds it in place, frowning.  "For what?"

"I've...disappointed you," I answer, my throat constricting.

"What?  Oh, Alex, I can assure you that is not the case."  He smiles at me
reassuringly, but I can only stare, willing the tears not to well up.

"If I was better, you would...I would earn the...I would be your..." I can't
say it.  My eyes squeeze shut, my mouth pressing closed, frustrated.  I
don't deserve it.  It's not mine to ask.

"Oh, pet!"

My whole body falls forward, and the tears I've been holding back trickle
out from beneath my lashes.  I'm ashamed at my weakness and not a little bit
shocked.  I've never craved anyone's approval like this.  No master's ever
made me feel so...cherished.  It's a gift I never thought I'd get, and now
I'll do anything to keep it.

"Pet, pet, you're beautiful," he says, and it's almost too much, to hear it
all at once.  I might break down completely, and I don't want to do that,
not here, not in front of this man.

"I was tired, and you were so good, and I just...I wasn't thinking," he
says, stroking my hair as I nuzzle into his groin, hiding my tears, trying
desperately not to sob.  "Please...can we talk about this?"

I swallow back my tears, cursing myself for being so fucking weak, and raise
my face, flushed with shame at my childish display.  Mulder looks at me with
a look of wonder and confusion, and then his thumbs are gently wiping the
tracks of my tears from my cheeks.

"I won't forget again, pet," he says, his thumbs now moving very softly over
my lashes, brushing the wetness from them. I struggle not to close my eyes,
blinking.

"Between us, like this, you're my pet," he continues, his voice calm and
sure.  I want to weep at how it feels, to hear him say I'm his.

"But we're going to need everything you've got when we're working together,"
he continues, his eyes narrowing.  "I don't want you serving me.  I want you
at my side, not at my feet. So when we're working, you're Alex, okay?"  He
smiles and I feel my chest squeeze at hearing him casually use the word
'together'.  I close my eyes and nod, and then decide to take a risk.

"I...what should I call you?" I croak out, afraid of losing this precious
moment of surety.

His lips part, brows arching.  Then his eyes narrow as if he is considering
this very carefully.

"Alex," he begins, and I straighten a little, recognizing that we are
somewhere else now.  "I love it when you give this to me.  I think I need it
as much as I think you need to give it. And your gift is so pure and
complete that I feel safe..." He looks away for a moment, and I'm horrified
to see tears sparkling in his dark eyes.  I know I put them there.  Not all
of them, but some.  He blinks to clear them and looks back at me.  "I feel
safe in this place, Alex, and so I want you to call me a name which has
never made me feel safe.  Call me Fox."

I can't help the surprised gasp that leaves my lips.

"Fox needs this, Alex," he says softly.  "Needs his pet."

And then I understand.  I nod, feeling shame again, knowing that he will
never feel safe with Alex.  Pet can make some of the pain in his eyes fade,
if only for a short time.

"And when you need...this," he says softly, "you can call me Fox, but let no
one else hear you."

I smile again.  He seems to see inside my soul and understand everything so
completely.  "Okay."

"And when I need it, I'll call you pet, and no one else will ever hear that,
either."  His eyes are intense, and my smile fades, washed away by the
gravity of his vulnerability.

I nod.  "Yes."  We look at each other for a few more moments, sealing the
pact between us.  Then he pulls his hands from my face, placing them at his
sides.  He looks at me expectantly.  Oh.  He's asking me.

I have to smile again, and I raise myself up, unfolding into a standing
position, stretching my back, popping my knees and rolling my head,
loosening tight neck muscles.  "Do you have any food in this place, Mulder?"
Yes, I'm horny, but damn, I'm hungry.

Mulder grins up at me and works his underwear and pants back up his hips.
"Food being a subjective term,  I think I have some," he answers, zipping up
and pushing off the couch as I step back, getting out of his way.

Together we walk into the kitchen, and as he pulls multiple cartons of very
old leftover Chinese food out of the fridge, I wonder just how hungry I'd
have to be to eat it.  He turns around and finds me frowning at it.

"Yeah, guess it is pretty rank," he says, tossing it into the garbage can.
"I have soup," he says hopefully, reaching up in the cupboards.  My stomach
growls loudly, letting us both know that soup will do very nicely, thank
you.

"Can you please hand me another of those sodas?" I ask, gesturing to the
fridge, and he grabs one and hands it back. I drain it, finally giving in to
the thirst and hunger I've been working to sublimate for days.

This arrangement is...different.  I'm used to going from bottom to top, but
never with the same man.  It's usually a matter of who I'm with, not what
we're doing.  This is going to take some getting used to.  I like it,
though.  In fact, I love it.  I get to have Mulder both of the ways I need
him most.

He makes me soup, and I inhale it so quickly he makes me some more.  When
that's gone, and I'm pretty sure I'm gonna keep it down, we both yawn hugely
at the same time, our exhaustion catching up with us as the sun climbs the
morning sky.

I eye the couch, wondering where Mulder might keep an extra blanket.  I
raise my head to ask him and see him looking at me with a softness in his
eyes.

"Come to bed, pet."

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