NEW: FROM TENDENTIOUS TO TENDINITIS M/K

[Polly Bywater]

Title: From Tendentious to Tendinitis
Author: Polly Bywater
Email address: Pollya...@yahoo.com
Fandom: X-Files
Pairings: Mulder/Krycek
Warnings: This story contains descriptions of intimate relations
between MEN. If these things bother you *DON'T READ IT*
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: Any/all Krycek eps.
Archive: Sure, fine, whatever. Just tell me.
Disclaimer: The characters of Mulder and Krycek belong to Chris
Carter, 1013 Productions and the Fox Network. No money is being made.
Summary: A PWP. Humor, angst, schmoop. Alex finds out Mulder's
dictionary isn't missing the entry he thought it was, after all.
Notes: The snippet of Cherokee is spelled phonetically so you can all
learn how to say it, LOL! Since I can't bear to deprive Fox of the
opportunity to fully appreciate Alex's eyes, I'm ignoring that
color-blindness thingy. I'd also like to add, in case anybody thinks
I'm a heartless bitch, that my dad lost his leg when he was 12 and the
attitude I lend Alex on that subject is a lot like my dad's was.

From Tendentious to Tendinitis

It had occurred to me a few weeks ago to look in a dictionary to see
what entries flanked all the possible permutations of the word
'tender'. You might wonder why I was interested. I'm not sure I can
explain it. I'd just dragged myself back to my little apartment after
being punched by Fox Mulder -not for the first time, I might add- when
I had this stupid stray thought that 'tender' wasn't in Fox Mulder's
dictionary. Which made me wonder what else was on that page.

I'm not ordinarily stupid. I'm a college-educated rat, I know how to
use a dictionary, and I can certainly appreciate the irony in the
notion that *I* was complaining about Fox Mulder's lack of tenderness.

Fox Mulder makes me stupid, or to be accurate, I'm stupid for Fox
Mulder. Lust stupid, hope stupid, love stupid, fear stupid.
Everything but fuck stupid. I hadn't had that pleasure and I thought
that was probably just as well. I've long suspected that fucking Fox
Mulder would fry my last functional synapses anyway.

The last entry before 'tender', by the way, is the word 'tendentious',
and if you ever happen to look it up, I can assure you, there should
be a picture of a certain federal agent right beside it.

Tendentious: adjective. 1. Troublemaking; rebellious: as in a
spoiled, tendentious child. 2. Characterized by a deliberate tendency
or aim, especially advancing a definite point of view.

That's what I'm talking about. Whichever meaning you pick, you can
see Mulder, can't you? Maybe it's me. I see him in everything, after
all, which puts my picture over in the P's. Pinheaded. Pitiful. Or
maybe, pathological works better.

Mulder would have probably picked 'pusillanimous', given how many
times I've stood there –lain there- and let him hit me. He'd be
surprised. It takes far more strength of will for me to *keep* from
killing him, but I still managed to protect him. Even from me, up to
a certain invisible line that he happened to cross the next time I saw
him.

I'm still not sure what made this occasion different from all our
other lovely meetings. It started out the same. I followed him to
one of his covert meetings in yet another abandoned warehouse. It's
always warehouses, alleys, or parking garages with him. You'd think
he'd learn. Anyway, I watched from the shadows while his informant
distracted him, dispatched the shooter that I found hiding in the
shadows with me, then took out the informant when that dumb fuck had
the nerve to pull a gun on my Mulder.

Of course, you probably think you can guess how the following
conversation went, don't you?

"What the fuck are you doing here, Krycek?" He says, sounding
offended as always that I'd had the nerve to save his life *again*.
There's nothing like Mulder's hostility to remind me to get a grip on
myself, especially when I just wanted to blubber all over him out of
relief. I holstered my weapon and sighed. Let the games begin.

"Oh, I was just in the neighborhood, foxy Fox. Lucky you," I replied
with my best sneer, which is apparently pretty damn good since Mulder
always seems to want to wipe it off my face with his fists.

This time was no different, and he swung at me, but I evidently
miscalculated how upset I was. That, or I was still too pumped on the
adrenaline rush of whacking his would-be killers. I couldn't control
myself quickly enough to stand there and let him hit me. Before I
could stop my automatic reaction I'd pivoted away from his blow,
blocked his second attempt with my prosthetic arm, and dropped him
with a right to the jaw. A nicely executed series of maneuvers, if I
say so myself, but I felt terrible the minute his ass hit the floor.

That's when the conversation really started to get strange. I went to
my knees beside him, watching him shake his head and work his jaw back
and forth.

"Jesus Christ, Mulder, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do that," I said
like a dumb ass, instantly appalled to find myself apologizing without
any input from my brain.

He stared at me for a minute, and he had this peculiar, speculative
expression on his face, the one I hadn't seen since my days as his
erstwhile partner. The look that said he was picking through the
evidence and was about to come out with some piercingly accurate
observation.

If I'd had any sense I would have gotten up at that point and run, but
instead I sat there and waited to see what was going to fall out of
that pretty mouth of his.

"Krycek, you could kick my ass anytime you wanted, couldn't you?"

"Well, yeah, Mulder. I *am* a trained assassin, you know."

Probably not the brightest thing to admit to a federal agent, but
there ya go. The synapses were frying already. I got to my feet and
offered him a hand up, which he ignored, as usual. I don't know why I
bother. He managed to stand up just fine without my help, still
inspecting me curiously.

"Why don't you then? Why do you always let me win?"

He sounded a little mad, but he also sounded like he really wanted to
know, and since Mulder so seldom took the time to actually *ask* me a
question –as opposed to hurling insults and accusations- I gave him an
honest answer. I can do honest... contrary to popular belief.

"You've lost enough because of me and this shit we're involved in. I
wanted to make you feel better." A bit *too* honest there, Alexei.

He gave me this cockeyed look, chewing on his bottom lip, and I felt
the blood leave the head on my shoulders for a more southern location.
Every time I see him do that, I want to beg him to let *me* do it. I
could spend a happy hour biting that lip. And licking it. And
sucking on it. And seeing it wrapped around my- oh, you get the idea.
I'd definitely need more than an hour, come to think on it.

"You think it makes me feel better to beat you up," he eventually
concluded, and I couldn't figure out his tone of voice. It was
unhappy and irritated and weirdly hopeful, all at the same time. Of
course, if I'd had some functional brain cells left it might have
helped. The ones that weren't sizzling were hypoxic from lack of
blood flow.

"Well, yeah, Mulder," I repeated articulately, thinking it *must* make
him feel better to hit me since he was always so anxious to do it.
Why put himself through that otherwise? I mean, do you know how sore
it makes your fingers to slug people in the teeth? It's no picnic
from either side, I can tell you.

"Why do you want me to feel better? What do you get out of it?" He
wanted to know next.

By this point, a tiny robot was lurching around in my mind, waving its
arms and shouting "Danger! Danger!". It was almost enough to distract
me from how uncomfortable my cock was getting, trapped as it was in my
too-tight jeans. One of these days I'm going to try that baggy
gangsta style of dress. I could carry it off, I think, and it would
certainly give me some room for expansion... which reminded me that
Mulder was waiting for a coherent answer.

"Uh, satisfaction?" No, wait. Bad implication, there. Try again.

"It makes *me* feel better." Shit, that was even worse, Alexei!

"It's no skin off my nose." I announced with a nice air of bravado
before I completely realized what I was saying. As soon as the words
came out of my mouth I got tickled, which made me giggle. Yes, Alex
Krycek, ratbastard assassin, giggles.

"Well, maybe it takes *some* of the skin off my nose," I corrected
myself, still giggling helplessly, and incredibly enough, Mulder
seemed to find my giggling not just bizarre, but infectious. He
started giggling too. Very charming on him, I must say. My cock
sincerely agreed, which made it unanimous.

It occurred to me that we were standing near a couple of corpses that
could have co-conspirators looking for them at any moment, but I just
hated to leave him. We hadn't shared a laugh in years, and I had
missed it. I missed *him* every time he was out of my sight, for that
matter, which was a notion that sobered me up pretty quick.

"Look, Mulder, you need to get out of here and so do I. I'll try not
to hit you back next time, okay?" I turned around to walk off and
damn me if he didn't grab my arm. My *left* arm, and damn that, too.

"Alex, wait."

Bozhe moi! Stop the presses! I either needed an audiologist or the
little men in white suits, because I couldn't have heard what I
thought I just heard.

"What did you call me?" I shook his hand off and whirled around, with
my head tilted so far over to the side I must have looked like the RCA
dog.

"Alex. It's your name, isn't it?" Mulder asked with a significant
degree of asperity... another good dictionary word for him, asperity.
I narrowed my eyes and glared at him in an effort not to laugh. He's
so cute when he's impatient, but you didn't hear that from me.

"Since you asked, I prefer Alexei," I informed him grandly and tried
to walk away again. This time he grabbed the right arm, the *right*
arm, and feeling his hand holding me –instead of his fist knocking me
away- just melted a big old crater into my chest where my heart used
to be.

"What do you want, Mulder?"

"I'd like to know if we could find something else besides me hitting
you that would make us both feel better... Alexei."

Oh. Did he just-? Nooo. Couldn't be.

I've since wondered what my face looked like after he dropped that
little bombshell, because he was suddenly holding me by *both* arms
like he thought I was about to fall down. That Fox Mulder can be a
really perceptive guy sometimes, 'cause that's how I felt.

"What? Are you sure you didn't hit me? I can't be conscious. Maybe
you *should* hit me." I was babbling and I knew it, but hell, I was
in shock.

"You hit *me* this time, remember? And you *are* conscious...
barely," he said with what sounded like a smile in his voice. I
couldn't see it, because my eyes were shut. "Why do you think I
should hit you?"

"I, uh, you know, Mulder, that almost sounded like a come on, and I'll
admit, my imagination might have run away with me there for a minute,
and I think if you knew what I was thinking you *would want* to hit
me, so maybe you should get it over with because I *really* deserve
it." Did I mention I was babbling?

"Okay. Brace yourself."

So I did. And I truly thought he was going to punch my lights out,
and I didn't want to see it coming so I kept my eyes closed. Imagine
my surprise when, instead of five fingers of death, or fists of fury,
-and don't ask me why I was thinking of low budget martial arts movie
titles except that inside I was *STILL* babbling- I felt the warm
press of his mouth against mine.

Fox Mulder's mouth.

God. It was heaven and hell and the end of the world, all at the same
time... like that last gut-wrenching second as I jump out of a plane
and pray the chute opens... like hearing a bullet zing past my ear and
knowing that 'they' missed again. Like seeing the sunshine outside
that fucking silo in North Dakota, and the first sip of water on my
dehydrated tongue. It was every extreme moment I'd ever had all
wrapped up into one, and I was frozen. I literally could not move.

"Open your mouth," he ordered, so close I could feel his breath on me.

He smelled so sweet. I wanted to taste him. I would like to be able
to say I parted my lips automatically, took command of the kiss and
swept him away with my passion.

The truth is, I responded to his voice like an obedient pet, instantly
comprehending on some cellular level that I'd do whatever he told me,
anytime, anywhere, and if anybody was being swept away it was me. The
hell of it was, it didn't matter. He slid his tongue into my mouth
and fed on me, and it was like the dawn of creation must have been
when everything was new and perfect. It's how I felt for one amazing
minute. New and perfect.

And, oh, yeah, it was erotic as hell and my cock felt like granite in
my jeans, but the physical sensation was somehow secondary to the
emotional impact of having his mouth on mine. I know. I couldn't
believe it either.

Mulder broke the kiss, and the only reason I knew he hadn't gone far
was because he was still holding me up, grip strong on my shoulders.

"Alexei, can't you open your eyes?"

His voice was so damned gentle, as if he was afraid of scaring *me*.
I rolled up the shutters and once again, I wonder now what he saw in
my face then, given what he said next. At the time, I was too busy
looking at him. So beautiful, with his mouth pink and swollen and
those hazel eyes glittering in wild shades of gold and green and blue.
Whatever he saw, his eyes went wide and bright. Wet bright.

"You love me."

It wasn't a question. I suddenly remembered I could use my tongue for
something else besides sucking on his, not that it meant I was any
more articulate. Guess what my brilliant reply was?

"Well, yeah, Mulder," for the third time, in the kind of tone that
said it should have been self-evident to him. You know, the Duh!
tone. Waaay too honest, because the implication there was 'why didn't
you see it sooner?' Of course, being the perceptive investigator that
he is, Mulder jumped right on it.

"How long have you been in love with me?"

Sanity started trickling in with that question, or maybe it was what
was left of my survival instincts, which had certainly let me down in
the last half-hour. I forced myself to step away from his hands, and
it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, believe it or
not. Harder than watching him climb out of that fucking tram. Harder
than planting those damned Morley butts in my car and blowing my own
cover, knowing what he'd believe when he found them. Harder than
puking up that oilien or watching Mulder struggle under that chicken
wire in Tunguska, even though I *knew* that was for his own good.

In fact, speaking of Tunguska, backing away from Fox Mulder at that
particular moment was just about as hard as regaining consciousness
and looking at the place where my arm used to be. That's what it was
like, losing a body part.

There was just no way I was going to admit that the first time I'd
seen him, he'd done something to me I've never been able to explain.
It had felt like that instant in cracking a safe when all the tumblers
lined up and the door snicked open... only in this case it had been
some secret place inside me left exposed and undefended, one that I
hadn't even known was there.

I wouldn't have called it love, not then. At the time I thought love
was a myth found in fairy tales and romance novels. Hearts and
flowers and happily ever after bullshit. I didn't realize love could
become a visceral thing, marrow-deep and as essential as oxygen. A
reason to live.

So I didn't know how to answer him, but I did know I wasn't going to
blithely announce that I'd loved him since the first moment I laid
eyes on him. How could he accept that? Was I supposed to say I loved
him even when I betrayed him? When I shot his father? When I went
with Cardinale to Scully's place, and ended up stepping over her dying
sister's body?

On the other hand, Old Yeller loved his master before he went rabid,
didn't he? Uh, not that I have a self-image problem or anything.

"This is not the place to have this discussion," I said in the
harshest tone I could manage, and I turned to walk away, *again*.

"Stop, Alex- Alexei."

Shit. Don't you know, I stopped in my tracks.

I could literally feel Mulder's eyes on my back, and I wondered if he
had any idea how excruciatingly difficult it was for me to stand there
like that, unable to see what he was doing, utterly dependent on his
good behavior. Turning my back on Fox Mulder wasn't something I liked
doing, and I could count how many times it had happened on the fingers
of my one hand. I'd done it at his apartment a few weeks ago, after
giving him that tip about Wiekamp Air Force base. Prior to that, I
hadn't done it since the oilien got me at the Hong Kong airport. A
lot of the details about that time in my life are permanently lost,
but I do remember bits and pieces, and one of the things I remember is
blowing by him in that corridor.

Now I'd tried it three times today with no success, and it was
starting to look like it would take alien intervention to get me away
from Mulder.

"Look, Mulder, I've got stuff to do. I've got to ditch this gun, for
one thing... and I *liked* this gun."

Yeah, I was trying to remind him of just who he was dealing with. Fat
lot of good it did me.

"Where?" He says.

"I guess I could just pitch it into the Potomac somewhere-"

"No, damn it, Alex! You're being deliberately obtuse! Where can we
have 'this discussion'?"

Oh, lord, you gotta love a man who can use a phrase like 'deliberately
obtuse' and make it sound like everyday English. I gave some thought
to what he was asking while I was trying to process my shock that he
even *would*.

His apartment was automatically out- with all the surveillance his
place was constantly under, we might as well walk arm-in-arm into
Consortium headquarters with targets painted on our chests. Neither
of us could afford to be seen with the other in public, so that
eliminated bars and restaurants. We could go to a motel or I could
offer the use of my modest little home, but I wasn't wild about either
of those ideas for a number of reasons. I *liked* my current hideout,
much as I'd liked my gun, and if I took Mulder there I'd have to move
out tomorrow. As for a motel room, the truth is, I didn't
particularly want to be alone with him. Well, I *did* but I *didn't*.

Alone with Fox Mulder in a place with a bed. A Fox Mulder who wasn't
trying to beat me. A Fox Mulder who kissed me. A Fox Mulder who
wanted to know how long I'd been in love with him. A Fox Mulder who
knowing that, could hurt me worse than he'd ever hurt me before, and
who couldn't possibly benefit from being anywhere near me.

My survival instincts were screaming, my libido was screaming back,
and my conscience and my heart –yes, Alex Krycek, ratbastard assassin,
has a conscience and a heart, too- were busily arguing their own
positions. It sounded like a fucking U.N. meeting inside my head and
I wanted nothing more than to just walk away from this whole damned
mess.

"We need to talk about this, Alexei."

While I was staring at the floor listening to the debate, he'd managed
to get right in front of me. I looked up into those beautiful,
serious eyes and knew I was going down.

"No. No, we don't."

That was the 'save Alex at all costs' delegation, which had always
been the strongest voice in my head prior to today, and it was still
fighting a valiant, rear guard effort. Unfortunately, it didn't have
the deciding vote anymore.

"Yes, we *do*," the holder of the deciding vote said. Just call him
Secretary General Mulder.

I let out this huge, exasperated sigh, already thinking about what a
major pain in the ass it was going to be to pack up all my shit and
put it in storage while I looked for a new apartment. I'd been at my
current one for about three months, which for me was practically a
long-term lease. I'd finally gotten it fixed up the way I wanted it,
and I was damned tired of moving around all the time from one scummy
room to the next.

Oh well. C'est l'histoire de ma vie.

"Fine. Whatever. Come on," I invited about as graciously as I could
manage just then, and treated myself to blowing by him again on my way
out of the warehouse. I took the side entrance, same way I'd come in.

"Where'd you leave your car, Mulder?" Said over my shoulder as I
scoped out the alley, just in case the dead guys had friends. I
didn't see anybody; what's more, I didn't *sense* them, always a more
reliable indicator for me. Assuming Mulder's proximity hadn't fouled
that up too, which was possible, given that he was currently breathing
down the back of my neck. Literally. You'd think he was worried I
was going to ditch him.

Like I said, Mulder's a perceptive guy.

"It's two blocks west of here in front of a bar."

I managed to contain the shiver that ran down my spine from having his
voice so near my ear, converting it to irritation because my car was
three blocks east.

Figures.

Now I had another choice to make, and I needed to think about it, and
that was becoming harder-

and I *do* mean *harder*

-by the second.

I didn't want Mulder to take his car to my place, on the theory that
his car was probably as heavily bugged as his apartment.

God, my nuts ached.

On the other hand, if I took him in my car-

if I took him, oh sweet Jesus

-he'd be stuck there without a way to leave, and with my luck, he'd
call Scully to come pick him up or something.

My erection felt like it was causing permanent vascular damage.

Unless I took Mulder *back* to his car after our little 'discussion',
and chances were I wouldn't be in any condition to do that after he
killed me for daring to love him. So it shouldn't matter who he
called to pick him up, anyway. This would be so much easier if- if-

if he'd just fuck me already

-if I knew what in the hell he wanted to say to me, and kiss or no
kiss, I'd already decided it couldn't be good-

but god *damn* that *kiss*, better than *good*, better than *best*

-because, after all, I *am* Alex Krycek, and 'good' isn't something
that happens to me very often.

But it would be *so* fucking *good* if it did. Happen. With Mulder
and me. In a bed. Or the couch. Hell, the floor would do.

It occurred to me that I wasn't thinking too clearly. I think I
mentioned why. If he didn't stop breathing on me I was going to push
him up against the nearest wall and-

Wait a minute. The last working synapses fired. Mulder and I could
talk in my car, after which I could drop him off at *his* car, and I
wouldn't have to take him to my home at all. Problem solved. Course,
that meant I'd be switching cars tomorrow, but that was no big deal.
I did that pretty routinely.

"My car's this way," I announced and stalked off without waiting to
see if he'd follow or not. I really wanted to stay ahead of him
because it was starting to feel like my dick was going to
independently poke its way out of my jeans. This was a reaction I
wasn't ready to 'discuss'. I mean, it's one thing to have an assassin
declare his love for you, and another thing to get hit with the fact
that said assassin wants to trip you, beat you to the floor, and fuck
the life right out of you.

Uh, not literally, of course.

I stuck to the shadows and let the cool night air wash over me, Mulder
hard on my heels but never quite managing to walk beside me,
especially since I kept making abrupt turns into alleys and back
streets. It took about thirty minutes to walk those three blocks,
thanks to my twists and turns. By the time we got to my car, I'd been
able to relax some. I was still aroused but it wasn't at that
mind-numbing stage where it was all I could think about.

True to my usual form, I checked the car out thoroughly before
unlocking the doors and motioning Mulder into the passenger seat of my
four-door black Beemer. There's ten thousand yuppiemobiles just like
it on the streets of DC every fucking day.

I got in, looked at the clock –habit- and folded my arms, both flesh
and plastic. I didn't let myself look at Mulder.

"Okay, Mulder. Talk."

I could feel his eyes on my face.

"For someone who just admitted that he loves me, you're trying awfully
hard to act like you don't give a damn, Alexei."

Christ, don't remind me.

"Look, Mulder. Just get it over with, okay?"

"Get what over with?"

I had to give him credit, he sounded genuinely confused. It pissed me
off.

"Laugh at me. Tell me how insane I am. Tell me how there's no chance
in hell you'll ever feel anything for me but hatred and disgust. Tell
me I'm a scum-sucking immoral murdering traitor. You know, the usual.
Just hurry it up, would you? I really want to go home."

"Deflectors on full," he muttered and ran one hand over his hair. I
kept my gaze pointed resolutely forward and pretended not to hear him.
Hey, I've seen Star Trek. I knew what he meant, and he was right.
No way was I going to make anything easy for him, least of all myself.
I still maintain I'd sunk my pride far enough already.

"Alex, why do you think I kissed you back there?"

I hadn't allowed myself to wonder *why*. I guess I was too stunned.
Since he asked, I turned over a few possible motives. The most likely
being, it was all a huge mindfuck on his part. Payback for the kiss
I'd planted on his cheek a few weeks ago during a perfect seizure of
weak stupidity. Pity for the pathetic gimp, which by the way, I don't
happen to believe I am, but maybe he does. Who the hell knows?

"Who the hell knows?"

"I know."

"Well, that makes one of us, then," I commented sourly, and heard
sirens in the distance.

Very aware I was still carrying the gun I'd used to whack those guys
in the warehouse, I started my car and pulled smoothly away from the
curb. Three blocks wasn't enough distance to continue idly sitting
here. We weren't that far from the Potomac, actually, and I headed
over towards the parkway without any comment from my passenger.

The blessed silence continued during the forty minutes it took me to
gain some space and find a place to pull off. Even at this hour there
were still a few joggers and bicyclists around, and I didn't think two
guys in a parked car would attract too much attention. There was
enough light from the street for me to see what he was doing, but not
so much that I felt over-exposed, so I keyed off the engine and waited
to see what he was going to say next.

"Are you really going to throw your gun into the river?" Mulder asked
curiously.

"Like I'd show you the spot if I was," I said with a snort, and it was
Mulder's turn to sigh.

"Look, Alex, I know I have no right to ask you this, but can't you
trust me a little bit? The last thing I want to do is get you in
trouble for saving my life... and by the way, thank you."

Whoa. That was something I couldn't *ever* remember hearing from him.

"You're welcome," I replied after a minute, startled into politeness.

"Do you do that a lot?" He asked next. His voice sounded subdued,
kind of wry and sad at the same time.

I finally allowed myself to look at him, and his expression matched
his voice. It tore my guts out, like it always did every time I saw
him. I would have had my right arm cut off if I thought it would put
a smile in his beautiful eyes, and I wished I could think of something
to say that would make him happy. I doubted the truth was going to do
that, but the truth was all I had to offer him, and given what I'd
already confessed this was pretty minor shit.

"Depends on your definition of 'a lot', I suppose. I keep my ear to
the ground where you're concerned."

"Why?"

Funny, I thought he'd already figured that part out.

I took a deep breath, smelled the Mulderscent mingling with the odor
of upholstery and my leather jacket, and thought 'well, Alexei, he
wanted to 'discuss' this. Let the chips fall where they may'. It
made me grin inside. I know some people think that's a poker term,
but I spent some of my adolescence in Chicago, which at one time was
the cattle capital of the nation. When I think of chips falling it's
not poker chips I see in my mind. What I do see is probably a better
metaphor for my life.

"Aside from the fact that I love you, your safety is important to the
resistance, Mulder."

His eyes went wide, and I wondered what surprised him more; me
actually saying *the words* or the fact that the resistance was
concerned for his life? Or was it the open admission that the
resistance exists? Or that *I* was involved with it? I suppose I'd
managed to say a lot with that one little sentence.

"So, what? You slay all my dragons, now? Fight my battles, kill all
my enemies?" Mulder's tone was a bit sarcastic, but that was okay.
That I could live with.

"I wish," I muttered grimly, thinking of one particular smoking dragon
I'd like the privilege of slaying. I'd been told in no uncertain
terms it wasn't the right time, and with the fate of the world hanging
in the balance, I just had to live with that, too. Story of my life,
living with crap I couldn't change. Yet.

"I would if I could, Mulder," I told him, and couldn't resist the urge
to smirk. "Might be too big a job for a one-armed assassin, though."

"How can you joke about that?"

Damn, he looked miserable all of a sudden, guilt and regret written
all over his face. A couple of years ago, I might have wallowed in
his guilty feelings and accepted them as my due, but since then I'd
discovered some things about this love business. It didn't make me
any happier to see him *UN*happy, and I honestly didn't blame him any
more for the loss of my arm. I had my own stupidity to thank for it.
I should've suspected something when I found myself among all those
one-armed peasants. I'd ignored the warning voice in my head and gone
to sleep beside a warm fire, and we all know what happened next.
Well, guess what. It wasn't the end of the world. Yeah, it was bad,
but it could have been worse. I could have had my eyes put out, or
sewn shut, or my dick cut off- now that would have been a *real*
tragedy.

I snickered at that thought.

"Hell, Mulder, it was just my arm, I've got another. It wasn't your
fault."

"I- I feel responsible," he admitted, and I shook my head.

"Well, don't."

"It's not that easy, Alex- Alexei."

"Alex is okay, Mulder. It's preferable to Krycek. And I know it's
not easy for you, because I know how you like to do the sackcloth and
ashes thing. I'm just saying, you don't have to feel guilty about my
arm. Sure, it was a terrible loss and it took me a while to adjust to
it, but I'm a realist, and the reality is, you weren't the one holding
the knife, so get over yourself."

"Psychotherapy, Alex Krycek style, huh?"

"The doctor is in. Gimme a nickel." I held my palm out without
thinking, and unbelievably, he stuck his own hand in mine and twined
our fingers together. I felt it go straight to my cock, a whole-body
experience; feeling my jaw drop in shock at the same time.

"Can I owe you? I think it's going to take more than one session," he
said in what sounded to me like an openly seductive voice. It
shivered along my spine and shot a bolt of lightning through my groin,
making me gasp. I managed somehow to shut my mouth and it was his
turn to smirk as he turned our hands over, studied our joined fingers,
then started talking.

"You know, the historical roots of psychology stem from a time when
philosophers speculated about the origins of human thought and
behavior. Some philosophers believed that human thought and action
are innate and preformed. Plato, for example, argued that ideals are
inborn because ideals represent perfection and therefore could not be
derived from an individual's imperfect experiences. Other
philosophers, such as John Locke, believed there is no thought and
action that does not have its basis in experience. This philosophical
disagreement is the origin of the 'nature versus nurture' controversy,
which Immanuel Kant resolved by declaring that the form of thought and
action is provided by nature, while the content is provided by
nurture."

He began rubbing his thumb over my palm while he was treating me to
this soliloquy, which he delivered in this low, husky, monotone. It
made me shake, fine tremors wracking me in an occasional burst from
head to toe, unraveling me.

"In 1890, the philosopher and psychologist William James, brother of
novelist Henry James and the founder of the psychology department at
Harvard University, published a book called 'Principles of Psychology'
which is still considered to be a classic in the field. In it, he
stated that human thought and action are first and foremost adaptive.
Their function is to ensure survival of the individual and of the
species. After World War One, however, John B. Watson argued that the
study of 'thought' was nonscientific and had no place in modern
psychology, which should be limited to the study of behavior. It was
Watson's belief that all behavior is learned."

Mulder untwined our hands so he could stroke me with the pads of his
fingers, trailing them with agonizing slowness from my fingertips,
across my palm, and over the ball of my thumb to my inner wrist. I
was openly trembling, making a conscious effort not to drool or moan,
and it was killing me. *He* was killing me, and he wasn't finished
yet.

"Behaviorism became the major thrust of American psychology through
the first half of the 20th century, when noted psychologists such as
Clark L. Hull of Yale declared that human thought is an inference from
behavior. The work of Ivan Pavlov also contributed to turning
American psychology towards behaviorism. Pavlov was a Russian
physiologist and surgeon who discovered what he called the conditioned
reflex."

Oh, god. I had his fucking conditioned reflexes right here. His
fingertips were sliding under the cuff of my sleeve, so damned hot on
my skin it felt like he should be leaving little puffs of smoke
behind. I couldn't look at his face any more, staring at the hypnotic
movements of his fingers, sweeping back and forth across my hand,
wrist and lower forearm.

He has such pretty hands. Aristocratic bones, long well formed
fingers, nice clean nails. I've always wanted them on me, and I don't
mean balled up in fists, swinging punches. I've had enough of that.
I want to feel his fingers in my mouth. I want to suck on them like I
want to suck his cock, running my tongue all around, tasting him. I
want his hands at my chest, pinching my nipples. I want to feel him
wrap one of those fists around my dick to pump me, and I want his long
fingers inside me, opening me for his use. I want him like I've never
wanted anything before and will never want anything again.

Just him. Fox Mulder.

I was as hard as I had ever been in my life, and I was becoming
increasingly convinced that if he didn't stop I was going to come in
my jeans from the sound of his voice, this simple touch, and the
images he was summoning forth in my mind.

"M- Mulder," I managed to stammer, and he turned in his seat to face
me, reaching over with his right hand to trace the rim of my ear with
one finger, so lightly I could almost pretend I was imagining it as it
traveled down to my jawline and under my chin.

"You've probably heard of Pavlov, haven't you, Alexei? He observed
that when he paired a neutral stimulus such as a buzzer with a natural
stimulus such as food, he could eventually obtain the same reflexive
reaction to the neutral stimulus that would ordinarily only be present
toward the natural stimulus... you know... salivating."

"Shit!"

I yanked my hand out from under his, grabbed him by the back of the
head and dragged him to me, not giving a cold damn about the center
console, comfort, or common sense. My sole objective was to shut him
up by the most expedient way possible, and never let it be said that
Alex Krycek isn't an expert at expediency and achieving objectives.

I plastered my mouth over his, ran my tongue over that full lower lip
a few times, nibbled on it then stuck my tongue down his throat.
Kissing as a form of life support, and fucking god he tasted good. I
noticed everything I'd been too shocked to notice when he kissed me;
the faint salt traces of those damned sunflower seeds, a hint of
coffee, and the underlying sweetness that was pure Mulder. Beyond his
flavor was the way his tongue wrapped around mine and sucked me in,
that wet silk muscle teasing and clinging and stroking
enthusiastically. I could imagine how it would feel on my cock and
felt my balls drawing up at the thought, readying to shoot. I was
past caring.

I was vaguely aware of Mulder's hair under my fingers, so cool and
thick and soft to touch... aware in that same distant fashion that he
had his hands on my face and he wasn't pushing me away, he was pulling
me towards him. Slanting our lips in an effort to get even closer.
He moaned into my mouth and the vibrations made my cock throb until I
was moments away from screaming my orgasm. About two seconds before
it would have been too late, Mulder broke the kiss and took this deep,
shuddering breath. I was like 'oh yeah, oxygen is good' and gasped
for my own air while Mulder held our foreheads together and panted on
me.

"God..." pant pant "Alex..." pant pant "If I had known..." pant pant
"That you found the history..." pant pant "of psychology so arousing
I..." deep shaky breath "would have tried that sooner."

"Mmm," I replied coherently, kiss-stupid and completely oblivious to
the implications in that statement. I was too busy trying to gather
my scattered marbles while my heart rate was falling out of the triple
digits. "I, uh, don't... don't think it was... the subject matter,
Mulder."

He smiled. I could feel it, and I moved back far enough to see it
lighting his eyes. Man, I felt like the fucking king of the world. I
put that smile there. I made Mulder smile. I smiled back at him and
heard his breath catch in his throat.

"You're beautiful, Alexei," he whispered, his eyes bright even in the
dim light, color high in his face, mouth all swollen and reddened and
hair falling over his forehead.

It took me a minute to process what he'd said, I was so busy looking
at him, then I couldn't believe what I'd heard. Was he nuts? I know
I'm a good-looking bastard, don't get me wrong, but 'beautiful'?
That's a word that should be reserved for a profundity like him, not a
hard-used specimen like me.

"You need your eyes checked, Mulder."

"No. I mean it, Alex. You are beautiful."

That damned hand was on me again, and I was spellbound as he ran his
fingers over my head, expounding on his latest insane theory.

"Your hair feels like silk. It looks black in this light, but I
remember how it used to catch the sun and show these little flashes of
red. I'm so glad you're not still wearing that stupid-ass haircut,
because I really like being able to wrap it around my fingers."

His hand went to the top of my forehead, smoothing back a stray hank
of hair. I swallowed, trying to ease what was suddenly a very dry
throat as he went on.

"You have a widow's peak... did you know that widow's peaks were once
believed to foretell early widowhood?"

I shook my head dumbly, speech quite beyond me, and Mulder's fingers
smoothed over my eyebrows, one at a time, then lingered at the area in
between them.

"Every time I see this little wrinkle, I just want to run my tongue
over it... it looks so perfect over your nose... such a charming nose,
Alexei. I'd call it pretty but now that I know you can kick my ass,
I'd better not, I guess."

"I- I really am sorry I hit you," I blurted out somehow through the
fog he was casting, and he petted my cheek and shushed me. *Shushed*
me!

"I know. You already apologized, remember? I know you didn't mean
to. It's okay," he soothed in the kind of voice I'd imagined Nicholas
Evans was talking about when he wrote 'The Horse Whisperer', and it
was all I could do not to jerk my head away like one of those
half-wild horses.

Christ almighty, he was scaring me to death... not of *him* but of
*myself*. Did he even have a clue what he was doing to me? I was
torn between the urge to yank him out of this car and fuck him over
the hood, and the lingering fear that this was just some kind of game.
I couldn't make my mind track long enough to figure him out, much
less how I was supposed to react. What did he want from me? If it
had been anybody else I would have considered myself seduced, found a
bed, and fucked it out of my system... but this wasn't anybody else,
it was *Fox Mulder*. I was *never* going to get him out of my system,
and he couldn't possibly be serious. Could he?

He started brushing his thumb over my lips, that voice curling around
my brain like hashish smoke and twice as intoxicating.

"I can't decide which is my favorite feature, your mouth or your eyes.
Your mouth is perfect, Alex... it fits mine so well. I had no idea
it was going to feel so-"

He stopped in mid-sentence, I assume because I had sucked that thumb
into my mouth and was happily bathing it with my tongue. My mind was
gone, it was all over, and all cognitive abilities had left the
building. The dick was in charge now, and like the saying goes, a
hard dick has no conscience. I didn't care what his motives were. I
didn't care if it was just a con. I didn't care whether he really
wanted me; he was getting me, and too damn bad if he hadn't been
serious.

I shoved him against his seat and reached over him, grabbing the latch
that released the backrest, and I was over the console and straddling
his thighs before it went horizontal. I can move fast when I have to.

"Alex, wait-"

Nope, no more waiting.

I shut him up the same way I had last time, swooping down onto his
mouth like a raptor hunting rabbit, prosthetic arm across his chest
while my hand went to the front of his pants. He made some sound that
I swallowed whole, fucking my tongue between his plush satin lips. I
was addicted to his mouth. I'd always known I would be, a feemer from
the first taste.

I'd like to think that if he'd actually fought me, I would have been
able to stop. I'll never know, because he didn't. He had one hand on
the back of my head, holding me *to* him, while the other was busily
pulling my shirt free of my jeans. I got his pants undone –an
activity I'm used to doing one-handed- and we both hit bare flesh at
about the same time. I moaned when I felt his hand run up my flank,
and he moaned when I fished his hefty erection out of his boxers.
God, he felt- like magic. Big. Hot. Incredibly tender baby fine
skin stretched taut over unbelievable hardness, twitching in my palm
like a live thing, weeping at the tip. Cock tears of need, for *me*.

I jacked him slow- once, twice, three times, and the hand at the back
of my head tangled in my hair and dragged my mouth off his even while
he was arching beneath me in an agony of want.

"Fuck! Stop, Alex, I'm gonna come!"

I had already made up my mind; this was one time I wasn't stopping
because he told me to. I shifted off to his right side just a little,
moving my prosthetic to support me, and watched what I was doing to
him. I left my hand right where it was, although I did loosen my grip
to tease my fingertips gently up to the head of his rigid length and
back down to the base. He was shaking and doing that panting thing
again. So pretty.

I put my mouth next to his ear to see if I could do a little
whispering of my own.

"Oh, fuck, yeah. I want to see that, baby. I want to watch you come
for me. I want to see your face, hear you scream, taste your come. I
fucking want you, Fox," and I tightened my fist around him and pumped.

Jesus, it was beautiful. He thrust into my hand and screamed, all
right. Screamed *my name*, hips jerking and mouth open and head
rolled back to bare that gorgeous throat. I felt the heat of his
release pour over my hand, smelled it, and it happened. Pure sensory
overload. It arced from him to me in an unbroken circuit as my
overtaxed balls finally gave up their load in spasms of rapture. I
shuddered against him and growled like an animal, coming in my jeans
hands-free, and it was the best motherfucking orgasm I'd ever had.

I dropped my head beside his on the back of the car seat, gulping air,
and he turned to stare at me with this shell-shocked expression, his
chest heaving. Our faces were about three inches apart. I gazed into
his eyes, very deliberately brought my wet hand to my mouth, and
licked his come off my fingers, offering him a taste with one lifted
eyebrow.

The man must be a natural born slut –and I mean that in the nicest
possible way- because he didn't just lick my hand, he grabbed my wrist
and stuck my fingers in his mouth, swirling his tongue until I was
gasping for breath. I couldn't believe he was arousing me again
within a minute after climax. A little voice in the back of my head
pointed out what a terribly bad impact this could have on my continued
safety and sanity, but the rest of my body was still singing and
drowned it out.

Mulder pulled my fingers out of his mouth and leaned forward to kiss
me. Sweetly. Too soon he drew back and looked me in the eyes,
dipping his hand under the waistband of my jeans. He trailed his
fingers through the come on my belly and duplicated my actions, first
tasting it himself then offering it to me.

My come on Fox Mulder's fingers. Fucking amazing. Of course I licked
him clean.

"Alex, I'm begging you. Find us a bed. I understand why you might
not want to go to my place and that's fine. I'll settle for a Motel 6
or something. I want more of you. I want to fuck."

God, oh, god. My eyeballs wanted to roll back in my head. Whatever
was motivating him, I could hardly complain that his desire for me
wasn't genuine. I had to bite my tongue against the wish to promise
him he could have whatever he wanted from me for the rest of my
natural life, and damn me if my cock didn't start to wake up and
wonder what the hell was going on.

I cleared my throat, swallowed, took in a lungfull of oxygen, cleared
my throat again, and finally nodded.

"Okay, Mulder. We'll go to my place." I untangled myself and climbed
back over the console, no doubt with a lot less grace than I had
exhibited going the other direction. Mulder tucked himself back in
his pants and straightened his clothes before he put the back of the
seat up, and I took the opportunity to adjust the way my jeans were
sticking to me. I had started the car and pulled out onto the parkway
heading south before he spoke again.

"What happened to 'Fox'?"

"What?" Sure seemed like I was saying that a lot to him, although I
had the sneaking suspicion I'd been saying it to myself even more.

"You called me Fox before."

I did? Oh, yeah, I remember now. I'm surprised he was paying
attention. Fucking eidetic memory, does he remember *everything*?

"Uh, heat of the moment, I guess. Sorry."

"No, I liked it... Alexei."

Oh. He *liked* it. Good lord. I punched up my speed, careful not to
let it get past five over the limit. Didn't need a speeding ticket.

"Okay, then... Fox. I like it myself, as a matter of fact." Man, I
was just a fountain of truth tonight.

"Really?"

Was it just me or had the quality of our conversation dropped to a
tenth grade level? Actually, considering that we're men, and we'd
just had orgasms, that was probably about right. I tried not to
snicker, but I had to flash him a smile.

"Really and truly, Mul- uh, Fox."

He looked at me sideways for a minute, then started laughing, and I
couldn't resist the opportunity to laugh with him. In a lot of ways,
for me, the laughter was more seductive than physical intimacy. A
good laugh was much more rare. I was overwhelmed with the thought
that I'd had both with this man, whom for so long I'd considered an
unattainable dream. It was all too intense to absorb.

I tried to remember all the good reasons I'd had earlier for not
wanting to take him to my apartment, but they'd apparently been blown
to bits in the earlier explosion and I couldn't think of a one, now.
So I exited the parkway at Washington Boulevard and hit I-395 on
autopilot, enjoying the comfortable silence that had fallen between
us.

He gave me a suspicious glare as we passed Alexandria, and I smirked
at him.

"Don't worry, Fox, I didn't move into your neighborhood and lower your
property values... as if..."

"Fuck you, Krycek," he said, but he was laughing again, and I wondered
if it was possible to die from an overdose of happiness. I could have
cried with gratitude. If he went back to hating me tomorrow, at least
I'd have the memories of this one strange, wonderful night.

He looked a little surprised when I hopped on the Springfield parkway
and headed east. It didn't take long for us to get to little
Franconia. I liked Franconia. It was only about ten miles from
Alexandria as the crow flies, so I could stand out on my postage-stamp
balcony at dawn and look northeast, imagining Mulder starting his day.

I didn't dare let myself hope that I might see that first-hand in the
morning.

We pulled into my apartment complex and I drove around to the rear,
hitting the automatic garage door opener and parking. Mulder didn't
say anything as we got out, but I could see him looking around, taking
it all in. It was a newer complex, designed condo-style. The
individual garages had interior doors that opened into each
apartment's laundry area, which in turn led into the kitchen. The
entire place was small, with the living area on the ground floor and
two bedrooms upstairs, but I'd certainly lived in worse places, and as
I mentioned, the master bedroom had a balcony attached that had sold
me on the place.

I checked the tell-tales I always left on the interior door before I
unlocked it, then led Mulder inside.

"Mi casa es su casa," I remarked a bit sarcastically as I reset the
security system and stalked into the kitchen, switching on the
overhead light. Now that we were here, I was getting nervous again,
and starting to remember why this was a bad idea. Maybe I *should*
have just taken him to a motel. We'd probably passed twenty of them
on the way here.

I didn't have time to think any more second thoughts before Mulder
grabbed my shoulder and spun me around, backing me up against the
refrigerator door.

"You know what I'm learning about you, Alexei?" He asked, pressing
that long body into mine, one arm around my waist and the other along
my upper back so he could grab the nape of my neck. He was right in
my face, and he looked a little pissed off, which made my guts knot up
with apprehension.

I froze, certain I really had screwed up big time by bringing him
here. Certain I was about to die, after all. Like before, I couldn't
bear to see it coming so I squeezed my eyes shut. I'm such a fucking
coward around him.

He let out an exasperated sigh, and the hand that had been squeezing
the back of my neck started rubbing it gently, instead.

"I'm learning that the only way to keep you from worrying is to keep
kissing it out of you," he murmured into my mouth, a scant second
before he covered it with his own.

Christ, every time we kissed it felt different. This time he teased
me, laving his tongue over my lips, rubbing our mouths together and
biting me gently, dipping inside to tongue the edge of my teeth and
tickle my gums. He kept this up until I was moaning helplessly, body
limp all over except for my cock, which he shoved against his with one
hand on my ass.

He drew his head back, keeping me off the floor by pinning my body
between himself and the refrigerator, and waited until I pried my
eyelids open to speak.

"Alex, I'm not laughing at you. I don't think you're insane. I have
a lot of feelings towards you, but hatred and disgust aren't among
them. I don't still think you're a scum-sucking immoral murdering
traitor, and even though I don't understand why you've done some of
the things you've done, I do understand that you did what you thought
you had to."

He looked me straight in the eyes, and I couldn't have turned my gaze
away if the apartment had suddenly burst into flames.

"I know you're suspicious of what must look like a real one-eighty on
my part. I don't blame you. I could tell you that I've always been
attracted to you- *always* wanted you- but you don't have any reasons
to believe me. I've never given you any. I could apologize- I *do*
apologize, for all the times I've hit you and cursed you, but you
don't have any reasons to accept that, either."

"Except for one," I whispered hoarsely, cursing *myself* when I felt
my eyes tear up. He fucks me up so bad. He always has, and I've
given up trying to figure out how or why he gets to me like he does.
Why *him*? No one else on this earth has the power over me that he
has.

"I do love you, Fox. I've tried so hard not to, but I don't know how
to stop. I- I don't have a choice. I have to accept whatever you
give me."

"My god, Alex."

He drew my head down to rest on his shoulder, and I felt him kiss my
hair. We stood there like that, him holding me, until I finally dared
to wrap my right arm around his waist and squeeze him back, which he
apparently took as a cue to move things along.

"I'd like... really like... to take a shower with you and go to bed,
where I'd *really* like you to fuck me blind."

I shivered.

"Jeez, Mulder, you're such a sweet talker, how could I resist? I
wonder, though, what makes you think I won't fuck you blind in the
shower?" I asked him, an uncontrollable smile crossing my face. I
could hear an answering smile in his voice when he answered.

"No, no, *I'm* going to fuck *you* blind in the shower... uh, unless
you don't want to bottom to me."

"I'll take you any way I can get you. I like it both ways, but I
haven't bottomed in-" shit, I had to think for a minute, "-close to
five years, I guess." Probably not since the first time I'd seen him,
although I wasn't going to admit that out loud. Let him do the math,
if he had a mind to.

"Well, that makes us even, then. It's been almost that long since I
had sex at all," he grumbled good-naturedly, and my smile faltered a
little. Was that why he was so hot for me?

I swear I didn't do anything; didn't move a muscle, didn't make a
sound, but he moved his head back and peered into my eyes.

"You're doing it again," he concluded and kissed me, deep and hard and
just a bit roughly. Had *me* panting by the time he separated our
lips.

"Alex, can't you believe that I'm here because I want to be with
*you*? I could go to a club and pick up a warm body if that's all I
was looking for."

Of course, he was right.

I *was* willing to believe he wanted me physically, given what had
already happened between us. He'd worked pretty hard at seducing me,
actually, in his own unique Mulder style, and part of me thought I
should just be grateful and go with it.

There was another part of me, however, that wanted to know where he
saw this going and whether or not it was a one-night stand and was he
even *going* to stay all night. It was the same part that had noted
the fact that he'd talked of his *wanting* me, but not of his
*feelings*, while I had thrown my heart down at his feet.

Maybe I wasn't as big a coward as I'd thought, or maybe I was even
more stupid than I'd suspected.

"Shower's upstairs," I said, pushing him off me and holding out my
hand with a wry smile. "Come on, I'll give you the grand tour on the
way. This is the kitchen," I added facetiously.

"Really," he commented with mock surprise, putting his hand in mine
and following me into the living/dining area. I switched off the
kitchen light and switched on the tiny chandelier over the dining
table so he could see the living room.

I liked my living room, and I'd indulged myself on the furnishings.
The sofa and armchair were upholstered in light tan butter-soft
leather, the bookcases, coffee and end tables were blonde maple, and
since the carpet was navy –not my choice- I'd painted the walls pale
blue, the trim cream, and hung blue sheers under the ecru drapes. It
was as bright and airy as I could make it, and in the mornings, when
the sun shone through the sheers, it was like living in the sky. I
wouldn't tell Mulder this, but I hated the way his apartment always
seemed so dingy and dark. It made me feel claustrophobic every time I
was there.

"Darling, who's your decorator?" He asked in this positively swishy
voice, and I elbowed him, startling a grunt out of him.

"*I* am, so watch it," I growled, then smirked to let him know I was
kidding. I really did want his opinion, though.

"You? It's really nice," he said, pausing to inspect a large seascape
on one wall, an original oil painting by an unsung local artist.

"Yeah, well, try not to sound so shocked. I don't live like a rat all
the time," I pointed out with a faint grin.

He grimaced a little then shot me a rueful smile, releasing my hand to
wander over towards my bookshelves. I could see him reading the
titles and cataloging new information, so I was expecting it when he
looked at me uncertainly.

"I don't know you at all, do I." He motioned at the books, none of
which were in mint condition. They ranged over a variety of subjects
in several languages. "You're obviously more well read than I am.
How many languages do you speak, anyway?"

"Speak, or speak well?" I asked, then shook my head. It was such a
habit to dodge his questions with more questions. "English, French,
Spanish, and Russian, of course. Some German, some Cantonese, some
Japanese, some Arabic, and about fifteen words of Cherokee. As for
reading, it's a cheap habit and it's easy to get a fix."

"Fifteen words of Cherokee? How did you- can I hear some of it?"

He looked like a little kid, eyes shining. It was so cute.

"Oh see yo, Fox. Toe he joo nee he? Gah gay you ee."

"What did you say?"

"I said hello, how are you, I love you."

"Why the hell would you learn how to say 'I love you' in Cherokee?"
He asked, frowning at me in a way I would have described as jealous
from anybody else. I couldn't imagine Fox Mulder being jealous of me,
though.

I held out my hand. When he took it, I led him up the stairs,
explaining as we went along.

"My first lover was a boy named Eddie Sixkiller. His grandfather
Charlie was a full blood Cherokee. Charlie caught Eddie and me out in
his barn one day, messing around-"

Mulder groaned sympathetically, and I smiled at him, pausing in the
hall at the top of the stairs.

"Yeah, I thought we were doomed, too. But Charlie sat us down and
explained that before the white man contaminated their cultures, many
tribes believed that gays were 'two-spirit' people, containing both
male and female spirits. They were admired and respected members of
their societies. That old man did more for my self-esteem than I can
explain. Even after I got older and ran into some real homophobic
bigots, I never forgot what he said."

"My father *was* one of those 'homophobic bigots'," Mulder admitted
softly, meeting my eyes easily, to my relief. "It took me a long time
to accept myself, thanks to his influence."

"I was lucky to meet someone who gave me an alternative point of
view," I agreed, and left it at that. I was never going to be
comfortable talking about Mulder's so-called father, because I was
never going to regret taking that old bastard out. I just hope Mulder
never asks about my feelings on the subject.

I opened the bedroom door, turned the lights on low courtesy of a
dimmer switch, then waved Mulder inside. I was curious to see how he
was going to react. I'd really taken a minimalist approach in this
room. White walls, white curtains, white furniture, white bed linens
on the king-sized bed. The only color to be found was in that navy
carpet and a few navy throw pillows scattered at the headboard and on
an oversized wicker rocker that sat in the corner. It shouldn't take
a psychologist to understand my need for something *clean* in my life,
and my bedroom was my refuge from all the shit I so often had to wade
through.

I let go of Mulder's hand, ignoring his speculative expression, and
slid out of my jacket, hanging it in the closet out of habit. I
wouldn't say I'm a neat freak, but I like order. I started to pull my
belt off, but Mulder's light touch on my arm stopped me.

"Your home really says a lot about you, Alexei."

"Yeah, I know. I should have taken you to a motel," I told him
frankly, feeling tense, overexposed and angry all of a sudden. Being
with Mulder was exhausting, producing more mood swings in a few short
hours than I could remember having since adolescence. It left me
feeling like I had about that much self-control, as well.

"It's not easy, is it?"

"What?" I demanded, not for the first time today.

"Opening yourself up to me, letting me close. Is it because it's me
or is it you?"

"Both. I've never brought anyone to my home. Never. It's been my
sanctuary, the only place I can be who I *am* without having to hide
behind some mask. Now here you are, and as much as I want you I can't
just fuck you and have done with it. I wish I could, but you matter
too much. I know I should just be grateful for what you've offered,
but I keep asking myself what the hell do you really want from me?
You haven't opened *yourself* up *at all*, Mulder, and I hate not
knowing what you're thinking. And, yeah, I'm mad at myself for
bringing you here, because it will never be the same. You'll still be
here after you're gone, I'll probably end up having to move, and this
whole thing just pisses me off."

I threw myself into the rocker, planted my elbows on my knees and put
my head in my hands, as always, absently noting the difference in
temperatures between my prosthetic hand and my flesh one. Why, oh
why, did I tell him all that? I'd probably given more away in that
little tirade than I'd revealed with my living conditions, not to
mention ruining the opportunity for anything else to happen between
us. I'd thrown myself into this true confessions thing with the same
energy I brought to sowing mayhem among the collaborators, and it was
wearing me down and fucking with my judgement.

He sank to his knees in front of me, taking both my wrists and pulling
my hands away, so I had to hold my head up and look at him. He was
giving me one of those serious, level stares, the kind that sliced
right into my chest and cut out my heart.

"I'm sorry. You're right. I guess I thought showing you I want you
would be enough, but if our situations were reversed, and I thought
all you wanted from me was sex, I'd be upset, too. I'm glad you feel
that way, Alex, because that's *not* all I want from you."

"Then what *do* you want?" I asked tiredly. I didn't even have the
energy to whine, tempting though it was. All in all, it had been a
hell of a night, and it wasn't over yet.

"Let me explain something first, okay?" His voice was gentle, like it
had been in the warehouse when he'd asked me to open my eyes. He wore
an expression that matched his tone, unguarded and pleading, and
seeing it reminded me that Mulder usually hid behind masks as often as
I did.

I nodded, and he settled himself cross-legged on the floor at my feet,
turning a little so he could lean the side of his head on my knee. I
reached out and stroked that silky golden-brown hair. He sighed and
wrapped an arm around my calf.

"This feels nice," he said quietly. "I wasn't exactly honest with you
earlier, Alex, when I said I'd always wanted you. It was more than
that, even then, after the Cole case. I- I was in love with you. It
happened so fast. I needed you in my life, but I couldn't tell you,
because I didn't trust you."

"You were right not to trust me, Fox," I managed to get out past the
lump in my throat, fighting back the urge to scream at the huge
injustice that had been done to both our lives, as much by my own
actions as by those of the Consortium. Things might have been so
different if I'd known... but no, I couldn't afford to think that way
or I'd lose my mind. What was done was done, but hearing Mulder say
those words, in the past tense, was an agony beyond anything I'd ever
known.

"Maybe. And maybe it would have changed everything. We'll never
know. When I found out you were a Consortium spy it-" His voice
cracked, and he couldn't continue. I was glad he wasn't looking at
me, because the tears were rolling out of my eyes.

He took a deep breath and started again.

"It nearly killed me. I hated you for that, for so long. Found
reason after reason to go on hating you, good reasons, I thought, but
hate was never *all* I felt. Every time I saw you I'd feel it again,
the pain *and* the love, and I'd get so angry with both of us and hate
you even more. I'd hit you, hoping you'd hit me back and beat the
love out of me, so all I would feel would be the hate. But you never
did, and after our little confrontations I'd look at my hands and
wish... and wish I could... just hold you."

Oh, shit, he was crying now, and I wanted to die. The sob that ripped
its way out of my throat sounded like somebody had gut shot me, and
that's how I felt. Mulder crawled up into my lap, sitting astride my
thighs in a reversal of the positions we'd had in the car. We put our
arms around each other and held on tight while we both cried like
babies. I have to say one thing for Mulder and myself, when we lower
those metaphorical shields we don't do it halfway.

It took a few minutes, but we gradually managed to gain control of
ourselves, and I realized I was rocking us back and forth in a slow,
soothing rhythm. Under other circumstances, it might have been
erotic, but there were too many other emotions to deal with first.

"Finish it, Fox," I begged unevenly, knowing he had more to say. He
kept his face buried in the side of my neck as he spoke. His usual
eloquence was missing, and what he said came out sounding more like a
verbalized stream of consciousness, but I followed every word.

"When you gave me the tip about the rebel alien, what you did- when
you kissed me then turned your back on me and walked away... it... I
knew you were as hurt as I was by the way things were between us. I
*knew* you had regrets. It got even harder for me to keep hating you.
I'd have these dreams... Then tonight, you *did* hit me, and you
were so damned sorry... and suddenly, it was like you had knocked all
the *hate* out instead, because I couldn't feel it any more. And when
you said you wanted me to feel better... and we were laughing, I just
knew what I really needed from you. I need you to love me, Alex,
because I still love you."

He raised his head to meet my gaze. His face was wet and blotchy,
eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed, runny nose all pink; but he was- he
*is* the most beautiful sight I've ever been blessed to see. My heart
felt so full my chest literally ached, and some long-dead corner of my
soul was lighting mental candles and singing hosannas to a deity I'd
stopped believing in years before. I wiped his face dry with my hand
and ignored the fresh tears that were drenching mine, giving him a
shaky smile.

"Say it again, please. Just once, and I'll never ask again."

"I still love you, Alex. I love you. I can't stop. I think I'll
love you until I die, and I'll say it every day for the rest of my
life if you'll let me."

"If I'll *let* you- oh *god*, Fox!"

There we were, crying again, kissing through the tears. Just like the
first time, just like every time, it was different and perfect and
new. It was tender and loving and tasted like salt and hope; a
sweetness I'll never do enough to deserve, not even if I bring down
the whole fucking Consortium and save the world... and I'll do it, for
him. Just watch me.

We kissed for what seemed like a long time. Inevitably, it stopped
being about healing and transmuted into passion, and we almost tipped
the damned rocker over before we came to our senses. Mulder scrambled
to his feet and yanked me up by my right hand, then we were trying to
get each other's clothes off. Being smart guys, we started with shoes
and socks and holsters. I'd managed to separate him from his suit
jacket and I was aiming for his shirt buttons when he paused with my
tee shirt rucked up to my armpits.

I looked to see what had distracted him, and realized he was running
his fingers along the anchoring strap of my prosthesis, his face a
little sad.

"If it's going to bother you, I can keep my shirt on," I told him as
casually as I could manage over the cold knot in my gut, and he glared
at me exasperatedly.

"It bothers me, but not the way you mean. It's the thought of how
much pain you must have gone through. I wish I'd done things
differently and never dragged you to Tunguska."

"I don't, Fox. It was worth my arm to get you vaccinated against the
black oil... now if they'd cut off my left nut we might have had a
problem."

His jaw dropped. I couldn't help it, I started laughing. I love him
so much, and I loved him even more when he started laughing with me.

"You're determined not to let me feel guilty about this, aren't you?"

"Hey, babe, if you're going to be involved with me, you've got plenty
of things to feel sorry for yourself about, but this isn't one of
them, comprenez-vous?"

"Oui, oui," he replied, smiling as he pulled my shirt over my head and
down my arms. I let him look, and it didn't take him long to work out
how to unfasten the straps and remove the prosthesis, which he set
down carefully on the dresser. His fingers went to the upper end of
the thin silk stump sock I wore underneath, and he gave me an
inquiring glance. "May I?"

"Depends. Is 'oui' all the French you know?"

Truth is, I was nervous. I'm used to the way my stump looks, but that
hadn't happened overnight, and god knows, I didn't want to repulse
Mulder. He saw right through my fear. I suspect since things have
changed so radically between us, I'll never be able to hide behind a
mask with him again. The only thing that makes that tolerable is the
fact that it works both ways.

He turned me to face the dresser mirror, moved behind me, put his
mouth to my ear, and did that whispering thing again.

"I'm going to have to learn some more. I think I'll learn how to say
'fuck me' in every language you know, Alexei, just so I can scream it
at you when you're sucking my cock. Would you like that? I'm looking
forward to watching you suck me, you know. I want to see those pretty
lips wrapped around me and feel you drinking my come."

Tingles went down my spine that tightened my nipples and broke me out
in a sweat while he carefully rolled the sock off. I didn't even
notice, too lost in his hypnotic words, and he fucking well knew it.

"I want you so much, Alex. I want to sink into you so deep we'll
never feel like individuals again. I want to ride you in that rocking
chair, so I can see everything I do reflect in your eyes. You're so
beautiful like this, flushed and sweaty. I bet your cock is rock
hard, isn't it?"

Oh, yeah, it certainly was. The way Fox Mulder affects me is just
unbelievable. He'd barely touched me and he'd talked me halfway to
coming already. I was trembling, hardly able to stand, while he was
running his fingers over the bare end of my stump and I couldn't have
cared less, especially when his hands petted over my deltoids and down
to my chest. He brushed over my erect nipples and my head fell back
to land on his shoulder, which he took as an invitation to begin
marking my neck. He gnawed gently at first, then as I groaned and
shuddered against him, he fastened his teeth on me and sucked hard,
rubbing his own stony erection against my ass at the same time. I
felt like I was being branded.

"Fox, *please*!"

"What, baby, what do you want?" He murmured into my ear after lazily
breaking his suction. He weakened me with that endearment and I was
almost mindless when his fingers started pinching my nubs, just like
in my fantasies. "Look in the mirror, Alexei. Look at us."

"Oh my fucking god."

We looked... *hot* reflected together like we were. Mulder for all
intents and purposes was still fully dressed, while I was bare from
the waist up. His face bore a fine sheen of sweat, and he was as
flushed as I was, making our skin practically glow in the dim light of
the bedroom. Both of us were so aroused our eyes looked black, and as
I saw his mark of possession and watched his hands move over my chest
I let out a throaty growl.

I spun around and dropped to my knees, opening his pants and dragging
them with his boxers to his knees, giving him no time to protest.

"If you plan to ever wear that damned shirt again, you'd better get it
out of my way," and that was the only warning he got before I
swallowed him whole.

I was vaguely aware of him yelling some curse as he fumbled to
unbutton his shirt partway, eventually stripping it over his head with
his undershirt and flinging them aside. I didn't pay much attention,
being too enraptured with exploring the tastes and textures of his
cock. It felt every bit as good in my mouth as it had in my hand
earlier, still bearing traces of his earlier orgasm. I licked those
away with relish while my hand explored his balls, weighing and
rolling them gently, loving the intimate smell and feel of him.

It's a personal thing, I guess, but I don't ordinarily like the
sensation of having a pair of hands holding my head while I'm using my
mouth on a man. Giving head is something of a power trip, and being
directed like that blurs the lines and lessens the experience... at
least, that's how I always used to feel about it. I could tell right
away it was going to be different with Mulder. Just like everything
else. I should have known.

When his hands came to rest lightly on either side of my face and he
arched ever so carefully towards me, I heard his low moan and was
filled with the sudden urge to have him use me hard. I wanted him
that way, wanted to feel him lose control and fuck my mouth. I can't
explain, except that I knew I needed it somehow. So I slurped my way
to the swollen head of his cock, lapped up the savory pre-cum waiting
there and pulled off, glancing up to find him watching me with
heavy-lidded eyes, his lips parted and wet from his tongue. He was
incredibly sexy like that, and I made myself a little resolution to
put that look on his face as often as humanly possible.

"Fox."

He didn't answer right away, staring at me like he was the one
hypnotized.

"Fox."

"Yeah, baby." He was so hoarse.

"I want you to fuck my mouth. Hold my head and do it hard."

"Jesus, Alex!" This time it was *his* eyeballs that wanted to roll up
in his head, and I felt his groan go all the way through his body.

"I don't... I don't want to hurt you," he managed to rasp.

"You won't hurt me. I need this from you." Actually, as big as he
was he very well *could* hurt me if I wasn't really into it. I didn't
think that was going to be a problem. "Please."

"But I wanted..."

"Later, I promise. We've got all night. We'll fuck each other nice
and slow next time, but right now I want you to come down my throat."

"Oh, god. Anything. Whatever you want, but I don't think I can-"

He waved at his feet with a dazed expression that would be comical if
I didn't know what he meant. I didn't intend for him to be able to
stand up by the time I was done, anyway.

"I know. Come on, sweet Fox, come lie down."

He stepped out of his pants and let me lead him to the bed, where I
urged him down against the pillows and turned him on his right side,
facing me. So damned gorgeous, lying there like that, all those long
muscles rippling, cock hard and red and reaching for me. I wanted him
back in my mouth so badly I was drooling.

I finally got to remove my sticky jeans, wincing as I lost some skin
and a few hairs in the process. Shit, what a relief. My poor
compressed dick was virtually jumping for joy, and it took me moment
to realize Mulder was watching me through slitted eyes. His breath
whistled out of his lungs when I was nude at last.

"Alex, you're... fucking perfect."

He was absolutely serious; I could hear it in his voice. I smiled,
because it was plain that he really must love me if he thought *that*.

I crawled onto the bed and laid down facing him, leaving my hand free
to stroke his face, which I did. There were whole territories of Fox
Mulder I hadn't had the chance to explore yet, and I wanted to indulge
myself just a bit.

"You make me feel perfect, Fox. Do you know that?"

I slid my fingers over his head and learned the contours of his skull,
delighting in the simple contrast between the warmth of his scalp and
the cool ends of his hair. He stared at me intently, and I had to
kiss him, tempted beyond reason by his pretty mouth.

I didn't linger long. As much as I love having his tongue between my
lips, I wanted something else there. I slid slowly towards the foot
of the bed, enjoying his satiny skin, petting that sleek torso,
pausing to suckle a nipple and tease his navel along the way. Mulder
responded so acutely to everything I did, gasps and whimpers and
occasionally even whispering my name. He kept his hands on me the
entire time, cupping my cheek, trailing his fingers across my throat
or combing them through my hair. I found it powerfully erotic, all
the more so because he was being so tender and loving. It was such a
dramatic contrast to what I wanted next.

Bypassing his weeping erection for the time being, I urged him to bend
his left knee so I could reach between his thighs and use my hand to
massage over his lean, muscular butt, nuzzling and licking his balls.

"You've got a great ass, Fox," I mumbled, earning myself a strangled
groan. His hands tightened in my hair, and I knew he was almost past
the point of waiting, which was just where I wanted him. I ran my
tongue up his cock to the head and grabbed myself a handful of that
wonderful ass, relaxed my throat, wet my lips and went down on him.

"Alex, god!"

Yeah, I felt like a god when he bucked hard into my mouth, an action I
encouraged with my hand on his butt. He slid down the back of my
throat like he was meant to be there, and I flattened my tongue and
rubbed it over the underside of his cock on the outstroke.

We settled quickly into a hard, fast rhythm, and it was everything my
inchoate longings had craved; Mulder's hands tangled in my hair,
firmly holding my head while he roughly fucked my mouth. It satisfied
my mind and my heart even while it wound up my body, and the sounds he
was making threatened to tip me over the edge.

His movements became erratic, and I felt his cock swell even larger,
heard him cry out... he pushed forward and stiffened, and it was a
purely sublime experience for me, feeling it happen for him. *Making*
it happen.

His climax boiled up from his balls, pulsing through his cock as I
worked him with my lips and my tongue. I drew it out as much as
possible for him while I swallowed his offering, dimly hearing his
ecstatic wail. Mulder tasted so good, like sunshine and oceans and
life. I felt like I'd performed a miracle as he subsided, gasping for
breath as his erection slowly softened.

How I kept from coming is a mystery. I was so fucking close I could
barely catch my own breath, shaking with arousal.

"Alexei... Jesus, baby... please. Get back up here... I need to
hold you."

His voice was a low rasp that just went all over me. I managed to
lever myself towards the head of the bed without rubbing against him;
if I had, it would have been all over. It wasn't going to take much,
anyway.

"Lie down on your back," Mulder ordered, apparently recognizing my
precarious state. I did as directed, sighing as I put myself in his
control. He raised up on his right elbow, put his left arm over my
chest, then leaned in and kissed me, that mouth so hot and soft on
mine I had to moan.

"That was incredible. Thank you," he lifted his head and murmured,
fueling another wave of trembling on my part.

"Fox, I can't- I'm-"

"I know, baby. Let me do it for you, this time. You're so unselfish.
Let me pleasure you."

"Oh, god damn." My hips thrust into the air as I reacted to hearing
those words from Fox Mulder's lips, and he seized the base of my cock
and squeezed, stalling my involuntary, inevitable reaction. I felt it
like a muffled explosion in my groin, then it leveled a bit; leaving
me strung tighter than a drawn bow.

"Fox!"

"I can't believe the way you respond to my voice. It's the sexiest
thing I've ever seen... is it... *is* it me, Alex?"

I could hear the uncertainty in Mulder's tone even through my own
desperation, and I caught his chin in my fingers and made him look at
my face while I forced myself to be halfway coherent. Witnessing that
doubt in his eyes hurt me, and did more than his hand to dampen my
need. I had to make sure he knew- make sure he *understood* this.

"You, Fox. *Only* you. Nobody else has *ever* had... this effect on
me. Wanted you so long... feels like forever. *Love* you... need you
so much. You- you *own* me, Fox."

His eyes closed for a moment, and when he opened them, they were shiny
with tears, clear and bright.

"You mean that."

"God, yes."

Those lush lips covered mine once more as he kissed me deeply enough
to taste himself on the back of my tongue, and I couldn't have told
you my own name by the time he slid his mouth to my ear and bit my
earlobe.

"I like that idea. Me owning you... you owning me..."

"Shit!"

He did it again, hand tightening on my dick barely in time, and I was
practically sobbing, completely unstrung.

"*Please*, Fox! I- I need- need to-"

I cried out when he abruptly scooted down and took me in his mouth.
It was exquisite torture, feeling him lick and suck at my cockhead
while the pressure from his fingers kept my orgasm at bay. My heart
threatened to shred itself when he lifted his head and told me how
good I tasted, then he slid one wet finger inside my ass, located my
prostate, pumped my dick instead of choking it, and sucked hard.

A bomb detonated inside my balls. The shockwave thundered through my
body, reached the limits of my skin, imploded, then blasted out into
Mulder's mouth, accompanied, Mulder later informed me, by the kind of
screaming that makes the neighbors call the police and report a
murder. I didn't hear it myself, being deaf as well as blind to
everything but the mind-shattering power of my climax. It was over
within moments but lasted for an eternity.

When I became aware of my surroundings, I was crying, *again*, Mulder
was holding me, and we were both shivering.

I wrapped my arm around him and hugged back as tightly as I could,
kissing whatever part of him I could reach without having to move too
much; his hair, his ear, his cheek, that nose, the corner of his
mouth.

"God, I love you," I finally managed to gasp out. He pulled the edge
of the comforter over us then wiped my face, kissed me back, and
smiled at me.

"I believe you," he said, beautiful eyes warm and shining. "I feel
like I've had a religious experience."

"As long as you don't feel like it's an X-File," I replied, still
rather breathless, and Mulder actually giggled. I felt it all over
me.

"It's definitely supernatural," he pointed out to my answering smile.

"Yeah," I agreed, letting him cuddle me. I've never been a cuddler,
but I was enjoying every second of this. Unfortunately, I was getting
so sleepy I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. Here I was,
warm, sated, wrapped in the arms of a man I loved more than my own
life. It was incredible.

"Alex... you're tired, huh."

"M'sorry, Fox."

"No, it's okay... so am I." He sounded surprised, and I wanted to
snicker, but I didn't have the energy. "What do you- I mean, do you
want me to-"

"Stay with me," I whispered, tucking my head under his chin and
inhaling his scent. I'd lost the eyelid battle and was hanging there
on the ragged edge of consciousness; that place where the truth falls
into your mind and out of your mouth. "Don't leave me. Don't ever
leave me."

I was only vaguely aware of his arms tightening around me as he
whispered into my hair, the last thing I heard.

"I won't. I can't. I love you."

Guess Mulder's dictionary had all the words I needed, after all.

End
11 June 2002