Sun, 24 May 1998

Mulder/Krycek

Guiltless, by Palinurus            
<palinurus@geocities.com>

He could hear the phone ringing through the flimsy door. In his rush to
get inside in time, he fumbled with the keys, cursed, finally got the
door open. He whirled around to close it behind him, knowing it wouldn't
close if he didn't push it shut. In the middle of his turn, something
struck him between his shoulder blades with tremendous force, knocking
the wind out of him, bringing him down to the floor. A heavy weight
landed on top of him, and at the very same moment one of his wrists was
enclosed in a handcuff and pulled behind his back. By the time he
started to struggle, it already was too late. The arm was pushed up
until his wrist was between his shoulder blades, making him groan in
pain. He was immobilized, trying to arch his back to relieve the
pressure. His other arm was grabbed, twisted in the same way, and the
second cuff clicked in place. 

Through the answering machine, Scully said, "Mulder, are you there? Pick
up the phone, I have some new information about the Beale case."

The intruder let go of his arms with a satisfied grunt, then took hold
of one upper arm and turned him over. The familiar face made him gawk.
"Krycek... what the fuck..." His astonishment almost overshadowed his
rage. If there were anyone he would have bet his meager savings on never
seeing again, it would be Krycek. He couldn't decide if this was better
or worse than he had feared, and he was at a total loss for a rational
explanation of the sudden apparition.

Scully made an impatient sound and hung up the phone.

Krycek looked down at him, smiling in satisfaction at his easy victory.
"Hello Mulder. I'm glad to find you alive and well."

"Have you lost your mind, Krycek? What are you hoping to gain from this
idiocy?"

In a quiet voice, Krycek answered, "Don't worry, Mulder, I won't keep
you for long. It's just that... I missed you." It was true, although he
expected it would be a while before Mulder would believe that that was
the sole reason for his visit. Since the inevitable apotheosis of the
events set in motion years ago, he had missed his former partner a lot
more than he had expected. A lot more than he had thought possible.
Their relationship had been brief, and although there had been passion,
he wasn't sure that there had been love. But there had been a lot of
things that he had appreciated more than he realized. Until he'd lost
all of them. 

It was obvious that there was no way to reverse the chain of events. Too
much damage had been done, too much trust had been abused, too much hope
had been quashed. But he had devoted quite a bit of thought to possible
ways of relieving at least part of the ache. 

"I'll let you go in a little while. I just came here... for old times'
sake." He looked at Mulder's face, expecting and finding a sneer.

"Yeah, sure, screw me, betray me, then beat me and tie me up and we'll
have some beers and reminisce. Let's go over how it got to be like this.
Let's share memories and mementos." Mulder had aimed for smooth,
dripping sarcasm, but it came out sounding raw. He thought better of it
and shut up.

Krycek didn't miss the edge in Mulder's voice, but didn't dare interpret
it. He knew the dangers of wishful thinking while engaging potential
enemies. Better to reserve judgment and store this new information for
possible future use. For now, he had a few other cards to play. He knelt
next to the supine body. "Mulder. I'm not going to try to explain what
happened, or why it happened. It's too complicated and you won't believe
me anyway. But I've missed you a lot. And I'll prove it." He stretched
out his arm and touched Mulder's cheek, a gentle, experimental caress.
Mulder violently jerked his head away. Krycek sighed and added, "Whether
you'll give me a chance or not."

Mulder had been about to spit some curses at him, but that last remark
stopped him in his tracks. "What do you mean by that, you bastard?" 

"Mulder. We've had good times before, haven't we? I won't believe you
don't remember that. I want it back. Whatever part of it I can get. I
think you want it, too. In fact, I'm sure you do." Once again, he
reached out and touched the warm flesh of Mulder's cheek. This time,
Mulder lay still for a while, glaring up at Krycek. When the hand was
close enough to his mouth, he suddenly moved and tried to bite. 

Krycek's reflexes were good, and he escaped unbitten. He sighed warily
and said, "Well, I didn't think it would be easy. You've always had a
hard head. But as you know I don't give up quickly either." He started
to scramble to his feet. When he was at the most precarious stage,
Mulder rolled over on his side with lightning speed, curled up and aimed
a two-footed kick at Krycek, hitting him in the knee and bringing him
down with a cry of pain. 

"Jesus Mulder, why won't you at least hear me out!" Krycek shouted,
suddenly enraged in spite of his plan. He crawled out of reach of
Mulder's legs and sat leaning against the wall for a minute, nursing his
knee and staring wearily at his former partner. Then he got up and
limped into the bedroom. 

He knew the way from happier days; nothing had changed. He stopped in
his tracks and looked around, overcome by a melancholy that made his
limbs feel heavy. He felt like sitting on the bed for a minute to
recover. Or not. Wallowing in grief suddenly seemed like a better idea
than what he had in mind originally. But he heard Mulder making frantic
attempts to get up, and remembered he was in a hurry. He quickly grabbed
a tie from the rack and went back. 

Just in time to hurl himself on top of Mulder, who had managed to get to
his knees and was about to get to his feet. Krycek's weight sent him
sprawling again, and this time, with his hands cuffed behind him, he hit
his chin painfully on the floor. Mulder grunted as Krycek sat on his
legs and with amazing efficiently tied them together at the ankles
with... he glanced back, fuming to see that he was being tied with one
of his favorite ties, green silk with a cheerful orange paisley motif.

"Fuck you Krycek. Whatever you have in mind, you can forget about it
right this minute." His rage made it difficult to breathe. He had to
concentrate for a moment to avoid hyperventilating.

Krycek got up and smiled. "Don't be pathetic, Mulder. You're in a fine
position to bark. In a minute you'll start threatening me. Don't make me
laugh at you." He grabbed Mulder under the armpits and began hauling him
to the bedroom. It wasn't too difficult. He dumped Mulder
unceremoniously on the ground and pulled back the bedclothes. Lifting
the resisting body onto the bed was a bit tricky, but with some patience
he managed to do it without dropping Mulder to the floor. 

The headboard was exquisitely suited for tying extremities, as he knew
very well. He got up and grabbed some more ties. Since Mulder's hands
were cuffed behind his back, he would have to take off the cuffs in
order to tie him to the bed in a position that was halfway comfortable.
That was a complication he hadn't foreseen. He knotted a tie to each of
Mulder's wrists, then pushed his arms up between his shoulder blades
again. Mulder grunted, but Krycek knew better than to give him half a
chance. He held the arms in position with his knees while he dug up the
key for the handcuffs from his jeans pocket. 

As soon as Mulder felt the hold of the cuffs being released, he tried to
buck, but the pain in his arms and shoulders prevented any effective
movement. Krycek took one arm and rotated it back to its normal
position, then pulled it over Mulder's head and quickly tied it to the
headboard. The second arm was less dangerous, although Mulder now did
his best to dislodge him. He tied the second wrist close to the first,
so he could turn Mulder over. "Damn you Mulder, lie still for a second,
this won't help you and it's a fucking pain in the ass!" He sat on top
of his victim's legs again, holding him down with his weight, riding out
the frantic wriggling. On an impulse he threw himself face down onto
Mulder's back, holding himself in place with and arm and a leg on either
side of Mulder's thrashing body. 

The smell of sweat immediately made him dizzy. He could barely refrain
from rubbing himself against Mulder's back like a cat in heat. He lay,
inhaling the scent as deeply as he could, waiting. He was in no hurry.

When Mulder quieted down, Krycek got up to turn him on his back, then
sat back again on Mulder's thighs and took a minute to look. A long
minute. He looked with the enormous hunger that resulted from six months
of pent-up desire. He looked with abandon, not knowing when he would be
able to take in this sight again. "God, you're so beautiful," he
murmured absently, as if he was speaking to a dressmaker's dummy. He
didn't notice that he was still breathing deeply, as if he was breathing
fresh air for the first time in months. He looked, already nostalgic for
this moment.

He came out of his reverie to find Mulder staring back at him with
immense curiosity. With the wary fascination with which he would regard
an alien. 

Mulder had decided that his life didn't seem to be in immediate danger.
He didn't believe a word Krycek said, but his treatment so far had been
rather gentle, certainly a lot gentler than he would have treated Krycek
if the roles had been reversed. That was reassuring. The unremitting
hatred that had gradually become the predominant emotion associated with
Krycek was still there, but now he found himself grudgingly studying
this amazing creature with renewed interest. Krycek was a total enigma
to him, unpredictable, defying all attempts at classification and
explanation, an object of wonder. Once he had thought he had known
Krycek, but that had been a tragic mistake. What the hell was he up to
now? What was all that bullshit about missing him, and what was that
soft, almost sentimental gleam in his eyes? It was incomprehensible. It
was absurd.

Krycek's face broke into a grin. "I'm glad you haven't lost your
interest in me, Mulder, although I'm not sure it's the type of interest
I was hoping for. But that will change." He ran his hands over Mulder's
thighs. The wriggling immediately resumed, but died down more quickly
this time. Krycek's hand moved higher, over Mulder's narrow hips,
skimming the crotch, then converging on the flat plane of the stomach,
fingers spread wide to cover the largest possible area. He sighed again
without noticing. 

Mulder looked at the approaching hands with fascinated horror, a furrow
in his forehead forming  and deepening. At last, he said, in a voice
stunned into toneless softness, "Krycek. I'm beginning to think you
intend to rape me." This evoked another grin, very wide this time. 

"That's not the word I would have used, Mulder." His hands trailed over
Mulder's chest, untying the buttons of his shirt one by one. The stomach
was flexing erratically when his fingers touched it. Ticklish. He
decided to stay away from the jeans for now. He got up and rummaged
through the bedside drawer. The exact same bottle of lube was still
sitting there, three-quarters full.

Mulder had used the interval to frantically pull on the ties that bound
him to the bed, but they defied his efforts. "Mulder, don't wear
yourself out. I know how to tie a knot." Krycek wrestled Mulder down
again and resumed his position. With some effort, he turned Mulder back
on his stomach, then turned around, still straddling his legs, to fasten
a new tie to one of his ankles. Holding the tie taut, he got up and tied
it to the bed. Mulder fought hard now, but was at too much of a
disadvantage. Both men were sweating heavily when Krycek finally managed
to secure the knot. 

"Jesus, why can't you just lay back and enjoy it? You'll wear me out
before we get to the good part!" Krycek protested plaintively. He sat
next to Mulder on the bed and went on in a reasonable tone, "Look
Mulder. Some very unfortunate things have happened between you and me.
All right, they were mostly my fault, I won't deny that. But we had some
great times before things... went wrong. I miss that. I miss you. And I
think you miss me too, although in the circumstances, I can understand
that you won't shout that from the rooftops." He gently tugged at
Mulder's shirt to pull it out of his jeans. "You're even wearing my
favorite outfit. How considerate," he muttered, freeing the shirt from
below Mulder's chest, where it had gotten into a tangle during their
wrestling. He shoved it up over his back and shoulders, and bundled it
up around his wrists, where it wouldn't get in the way. 

"So here's what I came up with. Obviously, we can't be together anymore.
Not because I would object, as you know. But I know you could never
allow yourself to do that; your ego is too damned big. I can see that.
So I have thought of a way to make it easy for you." He slowly ran three
fingers down Mulder's spine, watching the muscles ripple in response. He
followed the trail of his fingers with his lips, listened to the muted
gasp that followed. 

"I'll do everything, Mulder. I'll take full responsibility. You won't
even have to say yes. In fact, you can say no all you want, it won't
bother me, and it certainly won't chase me away." Again he traveled the
same route, this time with his tongue, continuing until the waistband of
Mulder's jeans stopped him. "You can have the sex you want, without the
guilt. It's like the chocolate brownies in the ads, except this will be
the real thing. I'll do the whole guilt part for you. It will all be my
fault; you'll have nothing to do with it. Nothing you try will make any
difference. You can even go to the police station this afternoon and
report a rape. I won't blame you, and after all, it *is* a rape, of
sorts. Although I'm sure the sex is going to be great. But I'm sure I
don't have to tell you that."

Mulder's head was reeling. Krycek was clearly out of his mind, he had
lost touch with reality. No sane person would come up with such a
ridiculous plan, let alone actually believe in it enough to think that
it could succeed. 

But like most of Krycek's plans, it did have a touch of genius. His
crazy scheme certainly evoked an unsettlingly familiar echo in Mulder's
mind. He had missed the sex very much, to the extent that he had
sometimes thought that the loss of that incredible body, its physical
absence, hurt more than Krycek's betrayal. The sex had been riveting,
almost unreal in its intensity, for the short period it lasted. They had
loved each other explosively, violently, with an abandon that made him
think afterwards that they had both sensed that it would end very soon.
There was no way he could go back to that; it was innocence lost
forever. And he didn't believe he would ever find it back with anyone
else.

How often had he wished it back, with intense, guilty longing. Even six
months later, almost no night went by when he didn't think back to it.
He could grit his teeth and lay awake with a raging erection, sweating,
fending off the erotic images that assaulted him; or he could jack off
and lay awake as well, feeling disgusted with himself and with his
unrelenting obsession. He had dreamed about Krycek. He had frantically
designed scenarios that might account for everything and redeem Krycek,
or at least make his actions understandable, inevitable. Only one
scenario had stuck. In that one, Krycek would return, knock him
unconscious, handcuff him, and then... A rape fantasy, designed to
absolve him of guilt. It was pathetic. 

It almost made him laugh bitterly right then. It was as if some
malicious devil was playing with him, one that knew about his most
shameful wishes and twisted them into paradoxes before making them come
true. A devil that inserted little barbed thoughts into his head.
Thoughts so small that they were barely noticeable before he pushed them
out again, but present long enough to do their poisonous work. Like this
little thought: that if only he hadn't had those fantasies, it would
have been possible now to give in to Krycek's insane plan. That if it
had genuinely fallen out of thin air, he would have been able to tell
himself that he was only a victim of the other's wily mind. While now,
there was no way to plead innocent; he would be responsible, in spite of
the ties, the punches, the wrestling, because he had hoped for it, night
after night.

The little devil in his mind giggled wildly.

Krycek was his worst enemy. He was a dangerous man, a lying, murderous
bastard with no morals whatsoever. There was no way any involvement with
this monster could be justified. Mulder clenched his jaws and once again
tried to clear his head by shaking it violently.

He surfaced again when two strong hands lifted his hips slightly and
undid the button and the fly of his jeans. This was spinning out of
control too fast. Something had to be done, and quickly. "Krycek. Stop
that, right now." 

A chuckle was his reply. Protesting clearly wouldn't get him anywhere;
it would only result in ridicule. Fighting was even less of an option.
What was the sensible thing to do? He really couldn't figure it out. He
closed his eyes in total confusion and hoped for enlightenment. 

The little devil in his head, presumably of Consortium manufacture, was
whooping with mirth.

*

Krycek knelt over him, one leg on either side of him. A strong arm was
shoved under his middle, and Krycek lifted his hips, tugging at his
jeans and boxers with the other hand. This made the decision on what
constituted a sensible course of action much more urgent, but Mulder had
never found his brain so sluggish as it was now. His jeans and underwear
were pushed down round his ankles, and the cool air in the bedroom felt
incongruously pleasant on his bare ass. 

It was obvious that reporting a rape was not an option. He'd have to
shut up about this whole episode. Not that that bothered him
particularly, but it meant that this could never, ever be officially
declared a rape. So he would have to make doubly sure it was one at
least in his mind. 

Krycek's hands slowly climbed up along the insides of his legs, and the
warm glow of anticipation that started low in his gut didn't help
things. Krycek paused at his knees, then brought his tongue in on the
action, giving the soft skin at the back of Mulder's legs a lot of
languorous attention. 

The bastard knows his way around much too well. I can't just decide I'll
go along with this. It's absurd, it's crazy, it's not of this world.
He's lost his mind. 

The hands continued their ascent, and the swirling ball of warmth in
Mulder's abdomen grew larger. Krycek's mouth followed his hands, softly
biting the fold between his thigh and his buttock. Mulder slowly shook
his head from side to side, hoping for a coherent thought; but the
gesture only seemed to make things worse. He moaned, mostly in
confusion.

Krycek stretched out full-length beside him and whispered, "I know
exactly what you like, Mulder. I remember every square inch of you."
Stroking his back, ruffling his hair, running his warm tongue along the
hairline, breathing warm breaths into his ear. Tracing the bony ridges
there with his tongue. 

Why isn't my brain working?


Then a finger ran down the crack of his ass, and he shivered. Back up,
then down again, furtively touching his balls, as if by accident. The
electric warmth in his belly turned into searing heat, releasing a rush
of adrenaline. His erection moved slowly across the sheet, trying to
find a more comfortable position of its own accord. He squirmed, turned
his face away from Krycek's, tried to jump-start his brain into action
by shaking his head once again. There was nothing, just silence, static,
as if his brain had been taken off the air, the cables disconnected. 

Krycek sat up on his knees and looked some more, pensively trailing his
fingers along Mulder's ribs. His plan seemed to be working out
beautifully. He wanted to savor every moment of it, and concentrated on
not rushing; that could spoil a lot. He planted a series of slow kisses
in the small of the tantalizing muscular back in front of him, inhaling
the scent of Mulder's sweat. He licked a series of expanding concentric
circles around the lowest point, following the contours, noting the
surreptitious movements this evoked. The fact that Mulder tried to hide
them indicated that he still wasn't quite persuaded. Krycek's tongue
moved down, between the clenched buttocks, and the movements, though
still furtive, became much more obvious. 

Krycek got up from the bed and undid the tie that held Mulder's legs
together. Mulder seemed to take this as an opportunity to express his
official opinion, and tried to forcefully pull up his leg, forgetting
that it was still tangled in the jeans. Krycek re-fastened the tie above
the jeans, and then carefully untangled the leg and pulled on the tie,
forcing the leg to the other side of the bed and tying it there. Then he
quickly stripped and regarded his prisoner again. 

This new situation merited another long look, one that almost melted a
hole in his gut. Oh sweet Jesus, what an amazing view. All muscles stood
out sharply; a thin sheen of sweat, due to the most recent brief
wrestling match, accentuating their profile. "Oh God, Mulder, I've
missed you," he ground out, before diving between the spread legs.

Mulder arched violently, panic suddenly achieving what ordinary effort
couldn't do. "Krycek, let me go! Don't do this!" His desperation was
obvious. 

Krycek was slightly surprised at his intensity, but not really taken
aback. He sat up on his knees and said, "You know I can't do that,
Mulder. Not now. This is going to happen, no matter what you do. Just
relax and let yourself go." Realizing that slowing down a little might
help, he placed his hands on Mulder's buttocks, then leaned forward,
pushing his hands up over Mulder's back slowly.

Mulder was trembling. His body responded violently to anything Krycek
did. His mind, at least the normal, rational part of it, the part that
contained the anger, the part that would make it possible to get through
this untainted, still was nowhere to be found. There were only three
items in his head. One was a whiney, screeching voice that kept shouting
at him to do something, without specifying what. The second was the
howling laughter of the demon. The third and fastest-growing was his
arousal, his white-hot desire for whatever Krycek was going to do to
him, and his longing to give in to it.

Krycek's hands were caressing his back, massaging the taut muscles,
while his insidious tongue was lapping at Mulder's earlobe. Mulder was
panting. He was losing his fight, and it would cost him dearly later.
But right now it didn't seem of supreme importance anymore. More soft
moans rose from his throat, and just to spite himself, he let them go
unchecked.

Krycek felt the change, the surrender, and wanted to crow with delight.
He traced his way back down the now seemingly endless back, leaving a
very wet trail. He put his greedy fingers back on Mulder's buttocks and
spread them. It was a moment of almost religious significance, and it
made him stop for a second. Then he plunged in, licking his way up
slowly, then down again even more slowly. The strangled cry, followed by
loud moans from above made his stomach contract to the size of a
pinhead. He was almost too euphoric to think about what he was doing,
but he managed to keep part of his mind focused. He pushed his tongue
inside Mulder as far as it would go, determined to draw out as many
moans as he could before an acute lack of oxygen forced him to withdraw.
The familiar scent and taste revived the memories he had cherished,
summoned up again and again until they had wilted, lost their texture,
faded into pastel colors. "Oh God," he moaned into the tight flesh. 

Adrenaline drove his actions past sweetness into ferocity. He began to
distribute bite marks over the smooth cheeks, making Mulder squirm and
moan some more. "Much too white, Mulder. No-one's been taking care of
you," he panted, and resumed his biting. With one hand he reached for
the lube and poured a generous amount on the fingers of his right hand,
which he then pushed into the crack of Mulder's ass again. He tried not
to interrupt his biting, but the fine motor control required to do both
things well was now beyond him. He lifted his head and slowly, slowly
began to push a finger inside against Mulder's straining muscle. He
worked it around for a while, and deliberately protracted his
ministrations. He withdrew and added another finger, moving even more
slowly, making Mulder hiss in frustration.

Mulder's head was swimming. He tried not to push against Krycek's hand
too hard, tried to make himself lie still and await what was in store
for him, but it was too much. He silently cursed his bound arms and
legs. As in the old days, Krycek was taking advantage of the situation
by stretching out his ministrations. The fingers inside him were
twisting and turning, finding the exact right spot from long experience.
They made him gasp like a fish on dry land, made him grind his pelvis to
rub himself against them; then they vanished again like a wisp of mist.
Endless seconds later they returned and resumed. The cycle was repeated
until he was ready to beg. He gritted his teeth, commanding himself to
be quiet. 

Finally, Krycek sat up on his knees and again took a long look at the
body stretched out beneath him, now covered in sweat. He gave in to a
sudden urge to kiss the small of Mulder's back again. That resulted in
some very impatient noises. He gave up and stretched out full-length on
top of Mulder, gingerly, as if he was afraid to break something. He knew
he wasn't going to last much longer, and most of his body had barely
even touched that satin skin. He forced himself to lie very still,
trying to feel all parts of his body that touched Mulder's. It made him
feel slightly drunk. It also, inexplicably, made him feel like crying.
He hastily moved on, pushing his cock between Mulder's ass cheeks and
rubbing it suggestively. Mulder groaned as if he was in pain. Then he
said in a small, breathless voice: "Alex. Please. Fuck me."

"Patience, Mulder," Krycek whispered in his ear, just to be a pest one
last time. He stopped moving, gave himself another fraction of a second
to memorize the sensation of Mulder's skin against his, and then in one
powerful, fluid thrust buried himself almost to the hilt inside Mulder's
waiting rectum. He felt the muscles clench around him, and Mulder's
drawn-out, voiceless "Ahhh..." went straight to his balls. He sank his
teeth into his own bicep to bite back disaster.  

When he had pulled himself far enough back from the brink, he began to
thrust, slowly, carefully, trying to concentrate on Mulder's frantic
breathing. He was gasping; Krycek read arousal, strong but edged with
less desirable emotions. Mulder's head was hidden beneath his right arm,
in the posture of a swimmer breathing while making another stroke. It
didn't look like the most efficient way to breathe on land. Krycek
slowed, stopped, and leaned over to peer into Mulder's face over his
arm. In response, Mulder turned his head to the other side. 

Damn you, Mulder. You and your triple-twisted mind. 

He raised himself to his knees and put his lower arms around Mulder's
waist, lifting his ass up as high as the ties would allow, which was
just high enough to let him keep his balance on his knees. Then he
thrust forward hard. A muffled cry rose from beneath Mulder's left
armpit. Krycek thrust again, as hard as he could, setting a slow rhythm,
each thrust strong enough to force the air from Mulder's lungs.  After a
few seconds, he raised his head and whispered, "Oh, God...", his body
tensing in an attempt to push himself up and back against Krycek.
Grateful for the help, Krycek held on to Mulder's waist with one hand
and freed the other. He leaned against Mulder's drenched back,
exhausted, and stopped thrusting to catch his breath. Through clenched
teeth, Mulder gasped, "Don't stop... Jesus, Krycek, please..." 

Krycek reached around Mulder's hip, and found his cock with his free
hand. There wasn't any subtlety left in his touch, but none was needed.
He applied a little pressure and felt the resulting shock wave travel
through Mulder's body, converging in the muscles clenched around his
cock. Krycek almost collapsed and gritted his teeth. He quickly withdrew
his hand, panting, and put the arm back around Mulder's waist. Even so,
his muscles trembled, and he knew he couldn't keep this up for much
longer. He quickly increased the speed and force of his thrusts, driving
Mulder closer and closer to the edge, then finally over it. It was a
titanic struggle, the muscles in Mulder's back using all their strength
to draw the back into a tight convex arch. A few seconds of his
convulsive spasms were enough to wash Krycek away too, shouting out
loud, swept along in a landslide of release. His legs gave and he
collapsed forward, still hanging on to Mulder's waist. His thrusting
slowed, but was still strong; it was as if his brain stem had taken over
the motion, all higher faculties having been shut down. Finally he
stilled, gasping, and checked to see if Mulder was breathing. He was.
Krycek dropped his head on the pillow next to Mulder, and with slow
movements licked the drops of sweat from his face.

When he woke up again, he was cold. Mulder was asleep, but trembling. He
pondered for a while on ways to get them covered without getting up, but
couldn't think of any. Reluctantly, he rose to his knees and grabbed the
covers that were lying on the floor, then folded himself against Mulder.
Slowly warming up, he punched the pillow a bit to make a comfortable
place for his own head beside Mulder's. He never, ever wanted to leave
again, and the fact that there was no alternative was almost unbearable;
his mind skirted around it. He closed his eyes and let his free hand
wander over Mulder's ribs, ready to go to sleep again.

Mulder suddenly turned his head to face him. "You don't know shit about
guilt, Krycek. You have absolutely no idea. That's obvious from this
crazy enterprise." His voice was hoarse.

Krycek lifted his head, then dropped it into the pillow again. "A fool's
paradise, Mulder. And I plan to keep it that way."

" You might as well be from a different planet. Common decency is
outside your reach."

Krycek sighed. "It would appear that I know enough to get you to
cooperate. But maybe that doesn't require common decency."

Mulder screwed his eyes shut. He had wanted to piss Krycek off, to pick
a fight, to have a shouting match, so that that would be his most recent
memory of the man; but it was very hard to make him angry. He was immune
to insults; he dodged them, admitted their truth, or hurled them right
back, all without being affected. If anything, insults appeared to amuse
him.

"Mulder, why don't you shut up for a moment. After today, you won't see
me again for God knows how long, and you can hate me with a vengeance.
Right now I need to memorize you. I should have done that before." His
hand roamed wherever it could reach. He buried his head in Mulder's
armpit, sniffing, stroking. He could already feel a small hole in the
pit of his stomach opening up again. There was no way to fill it; it was
going to stay there, maybe forever, a vacuum, a hollow, aching
emptiness.

Mulder looked at him wonderingly. It was so difficult to reconcile this
man with the image of his treacherous former partner; much easier to
convince himself that there must have been a misunderstanding, a tragic
mix-up of two unrelated people. He wanted to kiss Krycek, to wrap his
arms around him, to tell him that everything would be all right in the
end. But it wouldn't be. It was ruined forever, and everything that
happened afterwards would only cause pain, confusion - and guilt. He
felt his throat constrict.

"Get out of here, Krycek. Leave me alone." 

Krycek looked up, staring into his eyes for a long moment, then shrugged
and got up. He dressed quickly and untied the knot on the tie that held
one of Mulder's wrists. "You can do the rest yourself," he said. He
turned to the door, then turned again for a last look. Mulder looked
back, thousands of words rushing, fighting, begging to be spoken; none
were suitable. He turned his head away and remained silent as Krycek
walked out of the bedroom and out of the apartment, softly closing the
door behind him.

End