Ratings: XF M/K PWP. Slash, m/m, motss content. Woohoo!
Acknowledgments: Many thanks go to A.J., Chris, Cornelia, McLara, and Meinolf, who beta-read the original German version, undaunted even by my worst “anglicismes.” I am of course responsible for any and all remaining mistakes.
Disclaimer: Mulder and Krycek belong to Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox. I swear that I’ll send every penny I get for this right to L.A.
Krycek woke up the way he always did: snapping into consciousness all at once, but without opening his eyes until his other senses suggested that it was safe to advertise that he was awake. In this case they were informing him quite distinctly that someone else was in bed with him. The body that lay heavily against his own was still breathing deeply and regularly, though, so he opened his eyes and looked over.
It was a face he recognized, and that was something, at least. Krycek pressed his lips together resignedly and began trying to disentangle his legs as gently as possible. However, he succeeded only in pulling the warm weight farther on top of himself. That movement woke Mulder.
Mulder stared at Krycek for several seconds before his eyes focused and his mouth opened. “Shit, oh shit, oh fuck!”
“Boy, you got a pretty mouth,” Krycek said.
Mulder’s stare went a shade glassier again. “Fuck,” he said. He pulled his hand back from Krycek’s shoulder and ran it through his own hair. Then he switched to, “Oh, damn!”
“Are you through?” Krycek asked, not bothering to take the edge off his tone.
“No,” Mulder said. “Damn. Shit! How much did I drink yesterday?”
Krycek cast about in his memory and found an image of Mulder in the bar the night before, with those long fingers wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle. Under the dappling of the strobe light it had taken Krycek a minute to notice who was moving towards him, and by then it was too late to slip away. “Alexss,” Mulder had said, with a faint hiss over the sibilant that was not quite a slur.
“Well, it can’t have been that much,” Krycek said, “considering.”
Mulder groaned. That sound was enough to make Krycek’s fingers flex, even though he knew perfectly well that it arose from annoyance now rather than desire. The feel of Mulder’s hip sliding under his hand came back to Krycek vividly. This distraction kept him still while Mulder pulled away and rolled to the far side of the bed.
Once there, Mulder pressed a hand to his forehead and tried to think. “Look, Alex--” The name was awkward on his tongue and he tried again. “Krycek. We should... we should talk about this.” He made a sweeping gesture that among other things might have included the bed.
“You want to talk?” Krycek asked incredulously. Mulder knew exactly how soft those lips had been under his finger while he was whispering “Shh, I don’t want to argue with you,” to Krycek the night before.“No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”
“Neither do I.”
Krycek hadn’t said a single word the whole time he was driving Mulder’s car back to Hegal Place. He hadn’t even needed to look over at the man leaning back in the seat next to him to know that Mulder’s nerves were singing transgression just as loudly as his own. And he saw no need to start verbalizing now. I can’t believe I let Mulder fuck me in his own apartment, Krycek thought. If there’s one place in the world that’s a hundred and ten percent sure to be bugged-- “I have to get out of here,” he said aloud.
“Yeah,” Mulder said. How much time did he have before Scully was supposed to come pick him up? He looked at the clock: not much, but enough. “You want, uh, you want something to eat?” He blinked away a vision of his cock disappearing into Krycek’s mouth and was relieved when Krycek shook his head and sat up. That would save him from breaking bread with his father’s murderer, at least. Thank heaven for small mercies.
Krycek risked looking over at Mulder again before swinging his feet to the floor. If Mulder’s face had shown again that perfect seriousness with which he had held his apartment door open, Krycek might have pushed Mulder’s shoulders against the nearest flat surface and kissed him senseless all over again. But luckily Mulder’s eyes were dull now, his mouth twisted into a wry grin, and Krycek made it out of bed without any more serious delay than picking up the pillow that fell to the floor as he got up. He smirked when he recognized it as the one Mulder had pushed under his hips in an unexpected display of consideration. Krycek was still sore, of course, but that was just as well. Maybe it would slow him down enough next time to give him time to remember who was on the list of people who were just too complicated to be worth having sex with.
Mulder stayed where he was. He had slept deeply without dreaming and he should have been refreshed, but he still felt completely exhausted. He didn’t want to move so much as a finger.
His strength had left him so suddenly.
At first, when he had seen Krycek leaning carelessly against the bar, it felt like his heart had stopped beating. Then the adrenaline kicked in, making his hands shake and drawing his steps unerringly in Krycek’s direction. He could almost hear it running through his veins. It was that bright rushing, not the beer, that kept his gun in its holster, making him believe he could take Krycek on bare-handed. What a fucking idiot I am, Mulder thought. But that electricity had buoyed him up until it streamed out into Krycek’s warm flesh. After that Mulder barely had the strength to keep from collapsing onto Krycek’s back. It required a great effort just to roll to one side, and it felt like forever before he mustered the energy to stretch a feeble hand out to touch Krycek’s shoulder.
Krycek came back into the bedroom with his wet hair sleeked back and began getting dressed. His underwear and his jeans were close at hand on the floor at the foot of the bed, but he really had to hunt to find his T-shirt in a corner and his sweater in the hallway. His jacket and his boots were scattered around the living room. It was a good thing Mulder had had condoms in the bedroom, because at that particular moment Krycek’s legs wouldn’t have carried him all the way back out to the living room to get one from his jacket pocket.
Mulder laid his head back against one of the clean pillows, looking on as Krycek collected his clothes and trying to figure out how things had come to such a pass that he had to watch Krycek walking away from him and feel obligated to let him go. He closed his eyes again helplessly. By the time he had pulled himself together enough to get out of bed, he could hear Krycek pulling on his boots in the living room.
Krycek was two steps away from the door when he heard Mulder call out, “Alex! Wait!” The insistence in Mulder’s tone triggered a voice in Krycek’s head that cried “Alex, Alex, Alex,” and he could almost feel again Mulder’s hand urging him on until he gasped and came. When Krycek turned around, he was so bemused that all he could do at the sight of the gun in Mulder’s hand was freeze. He couldn’t even force his eyes to close over the mute accusation: How could you do this?
Then he saw that Mulder’s fingers were not wrapped around the trigger, but the barrel of the gun. That Mulder was holding the weapon out to him. His own gun, that he’d left lying on the bedside table. One glance showed him all he needed to read in Mulder’s eyes: How could you think I would do that?
After that, Krycek was careful neither to meet Mulder’s gaze nor to touch his fingers as he reached for the gun and tucked it into the back of his jeans. As he turned away, he caught a glimpse of Mulder’s shoulders slumping down out of the corner of his eye. He suppressed the impulse to turn around again and made his way as quickly as possible out the door.