From: "Shannon" To: "MenageATrois" ; "MSKipper" ; "RATales" ; "whispers list" ; "xff-atxc" ; Subject: [XFNC17ff] FIC: No Sound For Screaming NC-17, M/K, M/Sc 1/2 Date: Monday, April 08, 2002 9:25 PM No Sound For Screaming by Shannon Kizzia (shannon@hegalplace.com) Website: http://hegalplace.com./ Rating: NC-17 Keywords: M/K slash, M/Sc implied, Mulder POV Series: This is the third in a series which begins with "Trust, Fear, Regret, and Aftershave" and continues in "Lost and Found." I know Krycek will get his turn again in a fourth. We'll just have to wait and see beyond that. Category: SRA Spoilers: Anasazi, Never Again, Redux II Summary: Even though my body is wanting to strain toward his, to take over, to take him, reclaim him. We'd be loving each other with something between us. Something only I know about. Archive: Sure, but tell me where! Date of First Posting: 4/8/02 Disclaimer: Alex Krycek, Fox Mulder, and Dana Scully do not belong to me. They belong to 1013 and Chris Carter and, most especially, to Nicholas Lea, David Duchovny, and Gillian Anderson. I thank them so very much. Notes: Angst anyone? Make-up sex? I hope this lives up to whatever expectations anyone may have for it. You should accept that even though this comes way after Tunguska/Terma, Alex still has his arm. I just hate taking it away. Dedication: This one's for the MSKipperville list for their enthusiastic and loving support of these characters. And as always, to my Satina and David. You make my life sweeter. No Sound For Screaming by Shannon Kizzia It doesn't seem right that I haven't touched him in five weeks and I'm still sitting here breathing on this bench feeling the emptiness stretch me to tears again. I should be fucking dead. I think if it weren't for Scully I would be. I lean forward and press my face into my hands. They are cold like a statue's. I forgot my gloves. Scully would have made sure I had them. Alex would hold these frozen hands of mine in his until the blood was back in them. I can't believe my blood hasn't stopped moving through my body in protest of not having him. I have finally stopped moving. Stopped looking. I've looked for three days with about an hour of sleep each night. In my car. Scully's been calling my cell. I can't answer it. If I do, I know I'll run back to her, to the cradle of her body. Her invitation has rung in my ears over the past few horrible nights. I can lose myself and him in her if I want. I can warm my heart in the depths of those loving eyes and I can warm my cock in the sweet, tight heat of her. I've never known anything so sweet, actually. I love her softness. It is so not...him. I love Scully. It's a love I never question. I almost wish I didn't know how good it is to fuck her now. It makes staying away that much...shittier. I breathe between my fingers. My toes are numb in my boots. I hear a car drive by behind me and lift my head, jerking around, hoping against hope to see his black Jaguar. My beautiful Alex in that fucking hot car. I'd gotten to where I didn't even care anymore where he'd gotten the money to buy it. He assured me he had it before...my father. My father who would sometimes beat me for not knowing where his own car keys were. My father and the ubiquitous bottle of Scotch. I hated him and loved him both. Like I hated and loved Alex. Until he gave up the life for me and I finally let myself truly love him. But it's not his car. It's not my lover sunk low behind the wheel in his leather, going way too fucking fast. Him in that car turns me on so much that often when he and I would go out, I wouldn't be able to wait to get him home, making him pull over so I could suck his cock. Goddamned past tense. I shake with my sadness. It's still fresh, even over a month later. That fucking coward. All I did was love him. "Fuck!" I growl to no one. Well, I'm on a park bench next to a half-frozen pond. I guess I could be disturbing the hibernating frogs. I wipe at my tears angrily and sit with my back, tired and weary, against the uncomfortable wood of the bench. My neck and back are killing me. My whole spine feels fused together. I need Alex to work the tension away. He's got such strong hands, my Alex. My weak-willed lover with the strong, killer hands. I've hated him again the past few days. I went past missing him into just plain wanting to kill him. Back at the beginning again. But not really, I guess, because how can I kill a man who's coaxed my body to orgasm by lovingly petting my prostate with his nimble fingers while whispering to me how gorgeous I am...how much he aches to fuck me just so he can hear me say his name? Even now when I *want* to hate him, the love wins out. Even when he's cut me to the bone and rejected me. I can never go back. My heart can't. I wish I could be angry with him. It was such a relief to feel the anger after all these weeks of pure pain. But it, too, is fading. As much as I would like to shake him, to yell into his face, to make him feel worse than scum...like I feel...I know I couldn't. God help me, if he were to show up right now, no one could stop me from making fast, hard love to him right here on this park bench. It is with a quavering smile on my face that I feel his arms come around me from behind and his mouth find my neck. "What are you smiling about, huh?" he mumbles low and smooth. Tears fly into my eyes and all I want is to turn around and bury myself in him. Not even sexually. I just want to be as close as possible. I half don't believe this is really happening. I don't turn. I stay. Frozen. "Just remembering a joke someone told me once," I answer and my voice trembles with emotion. His mouth opens on my cold skin and he places a slow, wet-hot kiss on my neck. "Tell me." "Well..." I start, my tears falling. His arms squeeze around me tighter. So fucking tight. Like he'll never let go. "There's this guy who's kidnapped by a tribe of Indians..." "And he tells the horse, 'I said posse you idiot,'" he finishes and I feel his teeth as he smiles against me. I turn my face into his cheek and shake with my sobs, finally allowing my arms to come up, my hands to wrap possessively around his biceps. "Damn you," I whisper and his smile fades. His right hand comes up to hold my head to him. "Please..." he mutters into my hair now. "Forgive me, Mulder, please." We are shaking against each other. "You asshole, you don't have to even fucking ask," I tell him. And then I turn and pull him to me by the collar of his soft, leather jacket and press my mouth to his. He opens his lips guilelessly and I push my tongue in, finding his. I curl my hands around his neck, threading in his hair. He moans and I feel it in my throat. My hands are warm. **** He's making that sound I love that is somewhere between growling and mewling. I've got his cock in my mouth and my hand is creeping up under his shirt toward his nipple. I tease it with my thumb and take him down my throat. We're in the car. Told you I couldn't resist him in it. "Oooohohogod..." he's almost sobbing, pushing on the back of my head. I find this really romantic. His hand gently but conspicuously forcing me onto him, his own head thrashing back and forth on the head rest, eyes squeezed closed. I suck harder than I probably should now, but I know that's what he likes. It's what brings him off best. He shoots strong and hot into my mouth, and I drink his cum and grunt around his pulsing shaft, so hungry I am for his taste. I've missed it so. "Muhh...Jesus..." He holds his breath for a moment, giving me the last of it, and then he exhales loudly in the small, cramped space of his car and his fingers relax in my hair. I clean him with my tired tongue and put him back in his jeans, carefully zipping them closed before I sit up in my seat, still facing him. He turns his head to me, opens wet, jade eyes, lashes stuck together in coal spikes. He reaches out his hand and touches my lips with the tip of one finger. He chuffs out an awe-struck laugh. "You're incredible," he whispers. "If so, then why did you leave?" I say it quietly, non-threatening. He swallows and thumbs the corner of my mouth. "Not everything is about you, Mulder." I close my eyes on his words. He can't know what he just said to me. I see Scully, a lone red rose petal in front of me, stranded. Remember all too well the distance we couldn't cross, eons more than the literal three feet of *my* desk between us. I guess I haven't learned a damned thing. "Hey," he says. "Open your eyes and look at me." I do and he leans in close. "I left because of me. I came back because of you. Jesus, I take it back, Mulder. It *is* all about you. It always has been." Then he whispers, "Everything good is you." I narrow the space between our lips and whisper against his. "I loved you, dammit." "I know," he says over the tears that are forming and transforming his voice. "I hope to God you still do." "How can you..." I start, feeling anger spark, but he pushes his mouth onto mine desperately and I whimper into his mouth as we kiss. We kiss like we fight: passionate, stabbing, stroking, battling. We kiss like we fuck: dominating, resisting, over-powering, submitting...joining. I break from him, panting, but hold his head with my hand, our foreheads touching. "Don't. Do it. Again." "Kiss you?" he breathes. I exhale sharply, exasperated. I *need* for him to get this. "I know," he murmurs apologetically and pets my jaw lightly with his fingers. "I know. I'm sorry. Mulder, I promise you I won't." "Say you love me." "God, you know I love you." "Show me..." I whisper. He doesn't hesitate, tilting his head to fit his face in my neck, moaning as he opens his mouth to suck there, reaching sure hands to my belt, unbuckling quickly. I lay my hands over his to stop him. "Not here. Take me home, Alex." He's breathing harshly against my neck and I almost think he's going to stay there all night, but then he laughs that low, sultry laugh that I always feel in my cock and leans back to look into my eyes. "That sounds so fucking good," he says, smiling. It's infectious. I smile into his glistening eyes. "Don't slow us down by getting a ticket, punk," I warn him. But he turns his eyes to the road with a wicked crook to his lips, puts the car in gear, and peels out away from the curb. **** He's kissing me. Open mouthed, wet kisses, all quick and with barely contained enthusiasm. They land on my jaw, my mouth, my neck, ear. Each with its own accompanying sound of desperation and lust. I lean back against the door and let him mouth me. My hooded eyes follow the movements of his head as he kisses from one side of my neck to the other. He wants two things: to please me and to devour me. He'd be crushed if what pleased me was for him to stop. The reiteration of his love is a stunningly beautiful thing. It's humbling. To be worshiped so. But I have to stop him. Even though my body is wanting to strain toward his, to take over, to take him, reclaim him. We'd be loving each other with something between us. Something only I know about. Something that could turn his sweet, questing mouth sour and turn us back into something less than lovers. She told me to make him understand. I have to try. "Alex..." "Mmmphhh..." "Alex..." "What?" He's still kissing me, unbuttoning my shirt under my open jacket, licking at the hollow of my throat. I take his head with both hands and hold it to look into his eyes. "I need to talk to you before we do this." "No. You don't, Mulder." And he's on me again, biting my lower lip and holding it between his teeth, looking at me with that coy, I-wouldn't-kill-a-fly-but-I-could-fuck-your-brains-out-if-you'd-like look that he knows makes me want to throw him on the floor and ride his ass til he's too well fucked to look that smug anymore. His teeth sink in a bit more and his hand cups me gently, squeezing, testing. I kiss his teeth away and lean my head back. I glance down at his hand on my crotch and back up into his eyes. "It's not that I don't want you." "Then what's this about?" he asks, tilting his head at me. It's anything but innocent. It actually reminds me of days when we didn't have what we have now, days when the tension between us was of the who's going to pull their gun first variety. I decide it's best not to play any games. "It's about Scully." He just stands there. Looking at me. Not moving away. His eyes shift back and forth between mine. He's not even letting go of my dick. Suddenly, I wish his hand were elsewhere when I tell him this. "Don't you want to stop now?" I ask. His eyes drop back down to my mouth and he tightens his grip on me slightly. He shakes his head no. "No? You just want to get undressed and rub up against each other naked while I talk about my partner?" He flashes me a crooked smile. "Could be interesting. But no. Mulder, I think I know what it is you want to talk about and I don't care. It can wait until we're done." He unbuttons and unzips my fly. Before he can reach in and touch me, I grab his hand and pull it away gently but firmly. "It can't, Alex." We look at each other and then finally he nods, tracing slightly callused fingers along my temple and cheek. I squeeze his other hand. "I slept with her." Maybe I'll get bonus points for being succinct. I hold my breath and watch his eyes, looking for storm clouds, looking for the light to go out. His hand threads into the hair at the base of my neck and he sighs. "Because you didn't love me anymore?" "No!" I can't let him think that even for a second. "Alex, no. It...wasn't like that." I can feel my throat constricting. I am much more emotional about this than he is, or more than he's showing me at least. "Do you want to be with her instead of me?" I swallow and shake my head. The rattling noise from the refrigerator stops and it's too quiet. I'm afraid he'll hear my heart pounding. He just nods again and his fingers lightly stroke my neck. I shiver and he smiles. "Then it's okay." My lips part as though I'm about to speak. I even hear my tongue come away from the roof of my mouth. But nothing comes out. He leans in and places supple lips against mine. I watch his eyes close trustingly. We kiss languidly. His tongue in my mouth, confident against mine. I feel my erection surge back to life from where it had faded against my thigh. I just can't believe. He can't not care. I try to speak into his mouth. "Mmmnn." "MmmMmm," he says back with finality and I know the subject is closed for discussion and we're to make love now. He's nothing if not stubborn. It's like kissing a mirror at times. His kiss becomes somewhat forceful, his tongue jabbing back almost to my throat in a rhythm that is primal and without artifice. Alex is so truthful about wanting me. There are no games with him. It's almost like he's making up for all the times he's had to fuck with my head and my life for Them. For the 'good' of the project. He is now bare of anything resembling deceit. His body is honest with mine. He wants to fuck. He'll pout if we don't. I respect the message and this new and beautiful man who's delivering it. He strips my jacket and shirt from me in one, fluid stroke of my arms, and they land at my feet. He drops to his knees to untie my boots and take them off. He rises up slightly and sinks his hands beneath the waistband of my jeans, inside my boxers, on my ass. I pet his soft, dark hair, marveling at the simplicity of his acceptance. He spares my buttocks three greedy squeezes, grunting softly, eyes shut in something that looks like both ecstasy and concentration. He leans in close to my stomach, just the tip of his pert nose and his parted lips brushing against my skin. He whispers, "Fucking gorgeous." He then skims my pants and underwear down my legs and off before standing back up in front of me. He takes my mouth in another rough kiss as he begins ripping his own clothes off. I help with his jacket and shirt as he works on the pants. When he bends down to take off his boots, I'm left panting, chest heaving. But then he's back, mouth on mine, and we're both pushing at his jeans and he's kicking them away and we're naked together and hot, cocks ready, bumping, both dripping. "Mmmfloor," he manages, and we sink down together onto our knees. I hold him tight to me and can't help thrusting my hips slowly, making us grind together. I feel an orgasm tingling in my fingers and palms of my hands like a pleasant itch. It aches in my thighs and burns sweet in my shaft. When he groans down my throat I almost lose it. He ends the kiss and presses a hand to my ass, keeping the contact but stilling the motion. "Not 'til I've had you," he rasps and I think I could come from that alone. His voice. I look deep into the jewel-green shine of his eyes and nod. It's not often he tops me, but when he wants to, it's more than a want; it's a need, and my submission is demanded in silence, in the way he waits for me to give myself over. I think I know why he needs this now. I think it's the least I can do. And it's not like the very thought of it doesn't have my balls almost unbearably tight and my dick so sensitive he could have me coming with too hard a look. He moves to the side, continuing to look at me. I take the hint and lean forward, planting my hands on the floor in front of me. How many times have I made him do this for me? It's thrilling for me when he decides I need to give him this. For whatever reason. I'll never tell him how much I like him to do this. That would take the fun out of it for him I think. But I love it. I love how he feels up my ass. I love that I can feel how much he loves me when he does it. Even if he'd like to make it purely sexual, he can't. I feel it with every thrust. He gets behind me, trailing fingers across the flesh of my ass. I wait, staring at my floor, the evening sun slanting through the window, lighting the wafting dust. He inserts his thumb into my hole, pushing all the way in. I clench around it involuntarily. It's so good. It's been a long time, so I'm tight. I'm glad I am. I like it to hurt a little. His thumb starts a slow fuck and I hum my approval. He likes when he can make me make noise. I like it, too. I hang my head and undulate against him. He mumbles something in Russian, his breathing more ragged now. "I love you, too," I say. He laughs, continuing to thumb my ass. "I said, I bet your ass tastes like butterscotch." And we're chuckling together as we prepare to make love. His laughter dies down into seductive humming. He withdraws his thumb and I feel the head of his dick rubbing against me. He's been leaking precum for a while and he gets my opening nicely moist with it. He knows I don't like to use lube if I can help it. "Ready, Mulder?" "Yeah." It's not exactly romantic, I guess, but I'm ready to cry with how much I love him, so that has to count for something. I listen to him inhale sharply as the head pops inside. I lift my ass to him, relaxing and allowing his girth to penetrate me. There's more Russian whispered quickly on his exhale as he slides steadily the rest of the way into me. Alex is a generous lover and he doesn't wait to wrap his fingers around my own hard-on. He pulls almost all the way out of me, pulling his hand from root to tip, and then pushes back inside as he strokes back up my length. It's beyond perfect. I cry out loudly into the silent room. He does it again and we both do. He works his fist around me in concert with his hard, steady thrusts into my ass. I begin to bow and arch my back in turn, fucking his hand and allowing him the deepest penetration. I must look ridiculous. Like a bronco bucking under water. But I couldn't care less. I'm going to come my fucking head off in a second. We get faster and faster, a little at a time, until we're slapping together, grunting in unison. He's sliding into me easily and the burn is so good I can't help but drop my upper body weight down toward the floor, opening up for him, going passive suddenly, and that does it for us both. He explodes inside me, yelling, "Mulder! Fucking...Mulder...God!", and I come all over his hand and my floor. My eyes roll back in my head as I release. "I love you," he pants. "I bet your ass tastes like butterscotch," I answer. He ruffles my hair. I can feel him smiling behind me. Then he pulls out and I groan at the pain and the loss. But he pulls me up and around to face him and we kiss. It's hard to kiss while you're smiling. **** I wake in the middle of the night and look at the clock. It's 3:19 and there's a dog barking somewhere. My lover's leg is thrown over mine. I look over in the dark and listen to his even breathing. My Alex is back. It's almost like I dreamed those weeks without him. Or like he was just at the store and now he's home. There's just the one thing to convince me of the passage of time: my time with Scully. I think about calling her to let her know I'm okay...Alex and I are okay. But for once I'm not going to be a selfish prick and wake her up. I reach over to brush away some hair from his head, but think better of it, remembering how lightly he still sleeps. He said it was okay. That I slept with her. My brow creases wondering if *I'm* okay with it. I flash on lifting her leg over mine, how slick she was and the delicate noise it made when I entered her. And then, I see her in that hospital bed. Dying. I see me. Losing her. I feel a heavy hurt all through my body now, just like I did then. Like I have no lungs, my blood no oxygen, my brain no thought, my eyes no tears, only salt, dry and stinging. Only an open mouth with no sound for screaming. I consider waking Alex up now to make love once more. I need to feel the vitality of our love. Of cock and tongue and the smell of semen and the taste of his murmured I-love-you's against my lips. He's so beautiful and my body has missed his. But it's not often he sleeps this well and I don't have the heart to disturb him. Not to mention I'm a guilty son of a bitch. My unshed tears burn my eyes and nose, so I close my eyes and try not to think that my relationship with either one of them is fragile. I pretend there is nothing that can break us. I tell myself it will all be all right. I lie in the dark and listen to the silence the dog has left behind. I lie in wait. End Feedback cherished at lmelao@earthlink.net or shannon@hegalplace.com!