May 2004
X-Files M/K
Rated NC-17 for m/m sexual situations and language
The numbers on the cable box changed to one fifty-three, and Mulder groaned as he shifted position on the sofa for the umpteenth time.
He’d spent all day doing anything that didn’t require any large amount of sitting, but his mind couldn’t let go of the things he did and didn’t remember about Saturday night. And he couldn’t stop thinking about the mysterious note he’d found on his dining room table.
How did it get there? Who the hell wrote it?
He closed his eyes and tried to sleep so that he wouldn’t look like the walking dead tomorrow and get hit by the barrage of questions that Scully was sure to ask. Ten minutes later, his eyes opened again. Cursing softly, he reached for the remote and turned the TV on. For sound he supposed, since he didn’t watch whatever the hell was on. His gaze fell on the slip of paper he’d dropped on the coffee table. He picked it up and stared at it as if sheer will could get it to reveal the identity of the person who’d left it.
"Son of a bitch," he whispered. "You must want something. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of breaking in here to leave this."
He thought a minute.
But no one had broken in. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. Nothing was actually broken or disturbed. It was like someone had just put a key in the lock and...
He sat up, wincing at the pain.
Maybe that’s exactly what someone did.
"How did I get home?" he finally asked himself. I was so blitzed, I can’t remember anything that happened after that fifth drink. I couldn’t have driven myself.
He got up and checked his wallet. Everything was there. License, money, credit cards...
He looked for his keys. All six were there.
It appeared that his unknown benefactor hadn’t rolled him before leaving.
Scowling, he went back to the sofa and lay back, tapping the paper against his forehead.
So...a friend?
In that place? Come on.
He looked at the handwriting again.
Nothing. No clues, no...
He sat up again quickly and grimaced as he pushed himself to his feet.
Stalking to the desk, he yanked the bottom drawer open and dug through it. Pulling a folder from the bottom, he shook out a single piece of paper. He set it down next to the other and compared the handwriting.
"No."
He looked harder.
‘I saw what you did last night’...............’Things are looking up’
"No."
He pressed both fists into his eyes.
"Ah, shit!"
He whirled around and looked wildly from side to side.
"Are you listening to me? Can you see me, you miserable fucker? You’ve been following me, haven’t you? Haven’t you? What do you want? What game are you playing now?"
The ringing phone startled him into silence. Slowly, he walked toward his desk and lifted the receiver to his ear. He said nothing. He didn’t have to. He knew who it was on the other end.
"I’m not playing any games with you."
"No? What do you call that note? What about the surveillance shit you’ve obviously got hooked up somewhere in this apartment?"
"I’m just keeping an eye on you, Mulder. You should be happy that I am."
Mulder laughed bitterly. "Oh, really? And why’s that?"
"How much do you remember about the other night?"
Silence met his question.
"My guess is not very much. True?"
Again, nothing.
"Do you know what they were getting ready to do to you?"
More silence.
"You want me to tell you?"
"Pay attention," Mulder grated. "I’m ignoring you."
"You can hang up at any time."
"...What the fuck do you know?"
"If I’m watching you, someone else might be too. Sure you want to talk about this on the phone?"
"What? Would you rather meet for drinks?"
"You’ve had enough alcohol for one weekend. I’ll be there soon. I’ll do a sweep to make sure we don’t have any other company."
Before Mulder could say anything, the line went dead. He dropped the phone back into the cradle and began to pace.
"What am I doing? What the hell am I doing?"
Less than fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Mulder stomped to the front of the apartment and threw the door open.
"You look like shit."
"Fuck you, Krycek. Say what you came to say, and get the fuck out of my sight."
Krycek shook his head, a humorless smile tilting his lips. Mulder followed him around while he swept the apartment.
"Wow. Nothing."
"What about yours?"
Krycek tossed him a look and advanced into the living room, where he dropped into the chair facing the sofa.
"What the hell were you doing in that place, Mulder?"
"I’m the one asking the questions," Mulder spat, standing in front of the seated man. "What the hell were you doing following me?"
"Like I said on the phone, you’re lucky I did." Krycek’s eyes glittered in the spare light. "You’ve never gone any place like that before. Why’d you do it this time?"
"I wanted a drink," Mulder huffed. "Is it a crime to want a drink?"
"There are plenty of places to get a drink. Why there?"
"You sound just like..."
"Like who?"
"Somebody I met."
"There? At the club? Was it one of your playmates?"
Mulder said nothing.
"So, are you always that kinky, Mulder, or just when you get that lousy, stinking drunk?"
Mulder closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "What’d I do?" he asked softly.
"Maybe you ought to sit down."
"Jesus."
Mulder dropped onto the sofa and waited.
"Those two assholes you were with...they got you drunk."
"That much I know."
"When you were pretty well toasted, they picked you up, sandwiched you between them and started dancing." Krycek’s jaw tightened. "They were all over you."
"If you knew I was drunk, why didn’t you step in then?" Mulder asked.
"Because part of me wanted to see how far you’d let it go," Krycek hissed, making no effort to hide his ire. "Pretty soon, a few more guys joined in. They passed you around like a bottle of Boone’s Farm, and you just let them.
"I couldn’t see for a little while after that because they were all around you. Next thing I knew, you were half naked and being collared and shackled, and some goon in a mask had picked up a belt. He held it in front of your face, and you started licking it." A muscle in Krycek’s jaw twitched. "One of the original two fuckers took hold of the leash and pulled your head back, and the one with the belt walked around behind you and let loose on you. By the time I made it through the mob, some of them were undoing their pants and practically drooling. I heard one of them say how much he loved sticking his dick in a fresh, pink ass. The one he was talking to said you had a mouth made to suck cock, and that was all I heard before I reached you. You were..." Krycek lowered his head and clasped his hands together, trying to maintain his cool. "Whimpering and squirming." He lifted his head. "Like a bitch in heat."
Mulder flinched and said nothing.
"I should have left you there, but I..."
"But you what?" Mulder asked the floor.
Krycek gave no answer.
"What...how’d you get me out?"
"I went in ranting and raving and made it look like we were a couple. Most of them backed off, but I did have a little trouble with the other one of the first pair."
"The real big one?"
Krycek nodded.
"What’d you do?"
"Taught him a little respect. His buddies scraped him up off the floor while I got you loose and got you the hell out of there. You were out of it. I practically had to carry you to your car. I drove you home, dumped you on the couch, and I left."
Mulder sat quietly for a moment then spoke.
"But not before you wrote that note. Why?"
"...Couldn’t let you think you’d gotten away with it scot-free."
"Why not? What’s in it for you?"
Krycek shook his head. "Not much. Just wanted you to know that I knew."
"What do you plan to do with the information?"
"You think this is about blackmail?"
"Isn’t it?"
"Not hardly. It’s about you being someone I never dreamed you were."
"You sound disappointed, Krycek."
Krycek thought a minute. "I wouldn’t say disappointed. Surprised. Shocked. Pissed."
"What’re you pissed about?" Mulder asked.
"Pissed that I didn’t know this about you, I suppose. Pissed that...you would be that fucking easy for..."
Mulder stared. "For what?"
"For total strangers."
"So it’d be okay for me to be easy for people I know."
No response.
"I don’t know if the Gunmen would survive it."
"Where’d this come from?"
"Where’d what come from?"
"This...side...of you." Mulder got and paced a bit before stopping in front of Krycek’s chair.
"You don’t know everything about me, Krycek, clearly. And what the fuck do you care? I...I...I don’t understand why you give a rat’s ass what I do in my off time. Would you care to explain it to me?"
Krycek rose slowly to his feet and faced the other man.
Mulder’s pulse raced as they stared at each other, and he told himself over and over again that this was not a good thing to do. But like on the night that had started all this, something else was in control. And he had no desire to fight it.
"I think I know."
Krycek waited.
Mulder moved closer. They were only inches apart now, and he could feel Mulder’s warm breath fanning his mouth. Everything in him screamed for him to drag Mulder into his bedroom and show him how it was supposed to be done.
Show him.
His tongue inched out and licked at his lower lip before disappearing back inside.
Look at him. He wants it so fucking bad. Show him.
Mulder watched, stunned as the predatory gleam in Krycek’s eyes faded, and he backed off a step and then another.
"This conversation is over. I’m going home." He turned and, leaving Mulder gaping, started toward the door. "If you can’t sleep, why don’t you head on down to that club? You might be able to make last call."
Krycek opened the door and stepped through it. With a badly shaking hand, he softly shut the door and walked away.
END
