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Little Cat Feet
By Scribe

Little Cat Feet
by Carl Sandburg

The fog comes in
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over the harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on,
back to crossroads

He almost turned around. Almost. But the tip seemed so promising... Surely it was worth a little risk.

Mulder crept along, his speedometer barely quivering over zero, peering through the windshield. It was almost like having a bale of cotton wool pressed against the glass. The radio said that this was the worst fog to hit the area for the last twenty years. Fox could believe that easily. He'd certainly never seen anything even remotely like it.

The radio was also advising anyone who didnít absolutely have to not to drive. In fact, they were recommending staying indoors, period. The disc jockey had used a patently fake Boris Karloff voice. "Nothing toxic in this, but the poor visibility makes any form of travel hazardous, and it's perfect weather for lurking, dear people."

"No shit." Mulder muttered. He cut the wipers up from slow to fast, but it didn't make much difference. The rubber blades sliced away a film of water with each stroke, and the glass was blurred again before they could make a return pass.

He should be close by now. That was, unless he'd missed a turn in this mess. He didn't think he had. Twice he'd stopped in the middle of the road *yeah, dangerous, but fuck. With this pea soup no one would have seen my tail lights no matter what* and gotten out to go check street signs. The beam of his high powered flashlight barely penetrated the few inches needed when he stood right below the signs.

*Why the hell do informants have to choose places like this to meet? Why docks and warehouses and parking garages? What ever happened to diners? Didn't informers used to meet cops in diners? I could do with a cup of coffee right now.*

His right front tire bumped up on a curb, and Mulder swung back into the street, cursing under his breath. *Better ease over some more. Someone may be parked on the side, waiting out the fog. Instead of driving in it, like me. Like an idiot.*

Thank God it was blacktop. If it had been cement, he never would have been able to see the center line. As it was, it was a faintly luminous strip, reflecting the diffused beam of his headlights. He hugged it, trying not to go over into the oncoming lane.

Fox noted that he was gripping the steering wheel so tight that his hands ached. His knuckles were bunched and white with strain. *My fucking blood pressure is probably off the scale right about now. Damn, I don't like not being able to see...*

He leaned forward till his chest was pressed against the steering wheel, his nose only inches from the windshield. It occurred to him that if someone came barreling out of the fog and rear ended him, he'd make a swan dive through the glass.

Finally there seemed to be a break in the curbing to his right. He once again stopped the car, offering up a prayer against fast driving idiots, and got out to check his location. It was the entrance to the dockside parking lot. Hallelujah!

Mulder pulled in carefully, and parked almost immediately. He wasn't going to chance either running into a parked car, or driving off into the water. Much as he hated the idea of walking through this fog, he'd just have to hoof it down to the dock.

Fox climbed out of his car, and immediately his clothes were clinging to him. It was like he'd been sprayed with a fine mist. The fog was so thick it was only a fraction of a percent away from rain. He pulled on his trench coat in a vain attempt at some dryness. He had to leave it open so he could reach his gun, just in case.

Fox had left his headlights on as he got prepared, and now he shut them off. Visibility went from a few yards to approximately a foot. He tried cutting on his flashlight, but after a moment he tossed it back into the car. It did absolutely no good. He'd be better off with his hands free.

It was surreal. The mist that floated around him was white and wispy. A little farther away it thickened abruptly to a dense gray mass, looking almost solid.

*Well, I know which direction the docks are in, because I was pointing that way when I parked. I think. And I can hear the water lapping. Okay. Slowly now.*

Mulder advanced cautiously. He'd only gone a few steps when he turned back to look at his car. He couldnít see it. He had no doubt it was there, but someone might as well have drawn a gray velvet curtain between him and the vehicle.

He paused for a moment, listening. God, it was quiet. Up ahead he could hear the faint slap of water against piers, but that was it. No engines, no radios blasting, no gun shots. None of the noises you'd expect this close to an urban area.

"The fog crept in on little cat feet..." he muttered. Who wrote that? Frost? Whitman? No, Sandburg. Carl Sandburg. Yeah, that was a good analogy. Or was it a metaphor? And why was he worrying about English terms now? *Cause I'll grab at anything to keep my mind off how creepy this is.*

He didn't even hear the cries of the sea birds who eternally circled this area. Even they must have been grounded. This was confirmed when he walked past a number of sea gulls huddled on the moist surface of the lot. They regarded him with calm, beady eyes, not even bothering to stroll away.

*Why am I here? I could be home on the couch, eating take out Chinese and watching porn. I still haven't seen 'Forest Hump' or 'Good Will Cunting'.* He sighed gustily, and answered himself. *I'm here because the email that ended up in my mailbox said they had information that could affect an investigation. And they knew things.* The email had contained certain details about Mulder's life that he had been fairly sure no one knew, not even his parents or his partner, Scully. The fact that The Lone Gunmen hadn't been able to trace the source of the email was another argument for it's authenticity.

Mulder started forward again, resisting the urge to stretch his arms out in front to feel his way along. He advanced a step at a time, not wanting to risk falling down a flight of stairs, or off into the harbor.

"It sits looking over the harbor and city on silent haunches," he continued. *I didn't know I knew that. Yeah, I memorized it in high school. We had to have five poems by heart, and this one was short and easy. And kinda cool.*

He'd made it out onto the docks, and walked along the water's edge. Vast ships loomed to his left, vaster warehouses to his right. Now, where was his contact? 'I'll find YOU' the note had said. He did't like that, but he didn't have much choice in the matter. He paused near a dark gap between two buildings. He only knew it was there because a security lamp on one of the structures cast a muted, underwater type glow that managed to penetrate almost to the ground.

Then he heard it. It was a footfall, he was certain of that. But the acoustics were distorted by the fog, and he was disoriented by the swirling mists. He couldn't tell where it came from, or how far away it was. It came again, and he turned nervously, trying to pinpoint it, to no avail.

"Hello?" *Fuck, that's stupid. I HATE it when people say 'Hello' trying to get someone's attention.* "I'm here. Show yourself." *Huh. For all I know, he could be TRYING to show himself. He could be right behind me...*

A hand fell on his shoulder, and cold steel nudged the back of his neck. A soft, hissing voice said, "Take your gun out very carefully and pass it back."

Mulder obeyed, removing his gun with the tips of his fingers and passing it back over his shoulder. It was taken. He heard the clip ejected, and then it was handed back to him, empty. "Put it away."

Mulder reholstered the gun, and said, as calmly as possible, "You don't need the gun."

"Maybe not, but they're so much fun."

He frowned. "Alex?"

"Well, you finally hit bingo, Mulder, but it took a lot of numbers, didn't it? Step back into my office." A hand gripped Mulder's collar, turning him, and he wad guided back into the alley.

*Oh, I don't like this one little bit.* The alley was littered with junk, and Mulder stumbled, would have fallen if Krycek didn't haul him back up. They went deeper into the cave like space, till the entrance was only a distant, hazy glow.

Fox was shoved up against a humidity sweating metal wall, then turned. The gun muzzle came to rest under his chin this time.

He could barely see Krycek, even as close as he was. All he could really make out was the pale blur of his face, and the odd, almost luminous green of his eyes. Oh, and his smile. It gleamed.

"Fancy meeting you here."

"Cut the bull shit, Krycek. It's too nasty to waste time out here. Spill what it was you brought me her to tell me."

"Fox, Fox, Fox." His voice was chiding. "No hello? No how have you been? I'm hurt."

"Fuck you."

The smile broadened. "You had that chance. Passed it up, as I recall."

"Why am I here?"

"What did I want to tell you, and why are you here. Those are two separate questions, Fox. I'll answer both, if you ask me nicely."

Fox scowled. Grudgingly he put a veneer of politeness in his voice. "Would you care to give me the information you hinted at in your message?"

"Oh, that's much better. I'd be delighted. That senator you've been looking at? He was more involved in his mistresses' death than he'd like to let on. If you check a little cabin up around Lake Trevor, you'll find enough evidence to hang him. It's in his sister's name."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"That's a third question. I don't owe you an answer for it, but I'm feeling expansive tonight. Because he's a naughty boy who won't follow orders, that's why."

"All right."

"Now, do you want the answer to the second question?"

"Why I'm here? Yeah, might as well."

"You're here because I want you here." He stepped close, and his hand darted toward Mulder's crotch. Fox squeezed his eyes shut, braced for intense pain. He was sure Krycek was going to punch him in the balls. Instead the hand settled lightly on his fly, and stroked. "You're here because I want you. Here."

Shocked, Mulder opened his eyes. The gun was still tucked under his chin. Krycek was studying him closely. The fog drifted behind him, and around them both, obscuring everything else. It was as if they were floating in a void.

"You're kidding me, right?"

Krycek rubbed firmly. "Does it feel like I'm kidding?"

No, it felt damn serious. It felt...It felt...good.

"Get your hands off me." Even Fox recognized the lack of conviction in his tone.

"No." Alex continued rubbing and squeezing. Mulder started to get hard. Krycek felt the thickening, and purred. "Oh, so you are happy to see me. I'm so glad."

"I'm not gay."

"You just keep telling yourself that, if it makes it any easier for you. But I'll tell you a secret, Fox." He leaned against the FBI agent, and Mulder could feel his hard on pressing into his thigh. "A stiff cock doesn't care whose mouth it slides into."

The gun was withdrawn, and Alex pushed it up under his leather jacket, tucking it in his waistband at the small of his back. He could get to it easily, but it would be difficult for Mulder to snatch it.

Krycek reached between them, and Fox heard the rasp of a zipper being lowered, then another. Krycek's hand slipped inside his fly, big and warm, and worked his dick out into the moist, chill air.

*If I clip him under the chin, I might be able to knock him down long enough to run. But he could draw down on me. His aim wouldn't be too good in this fog, but even if he just fires randomly, there's a chance...And I could run straight off the pier in this mess...*

The thoughts skittering across his mind stopped abruptly as Krycek's hot, hard cock slid against Mulder's erection. Suddenly his mind went blank, except for the urgent desire for more of that delicious friction.

Alex seemed to read his mind, because he undulated his hips, thrusting against Fox in a slow, rocking motion. "Nothing to get angsty about, Mulder. Just a little frottage. God, I love that word. The French really have a way with language, don't you think?"

"You're crazy."

"I suppose you're right, from a purely clinical standpoint. But what's more sane than doing what gives you pleasure?" He pushed more strongly, humping against Fox. Fox's head fell back against the slick wall, and he whimpered. "Oh, and I am enjoying this. But I want a little more."

He took a half step back, and Fox almost whimpered again at the loss of contact. Alex murmured, "God, this ground is scummy. I hope you appreciate this, Fox. I'm probably going to have to burn these jeans." He sank to his knees, gripped Mulder's hips, and took his cock into his mouth.

Fox gasped as he was enveloped in what felt like heated wet satin. Alex was talented at this, and he took Mulder's entire length in one long gulp. Mulder felt Krycek's warm breath ruffle his pubic hair, his chin bump his balls. He scrabbled frantically at the wall behind him, nails screeching on metal.

Alex bobbed up and down. Occasionally on the backstroke he would pull entirely free of Mulder's prick, lashing the swollen, weeping head with his tongue before swallowing it again. Soon Mulder was trying to shove himself even deeper into the oral embrace, but Krycek was keeping him pinned. He groaned in frustration.

Krycek relented. He let go with one hand, reaching down to begin masturbating himself, and his grip on the other hip gentled into a caress. Fox buried his hands in Krycek's dark hair, holding him so he could fuck his mouth more strongly. Alex didn't protest or try to pull away. He just sucked harder, his hand moving more quickly.

Alex gave a groan, muffled by the flesh in his mouth, and thick white semen spurted from his cock, coating his hand. Mulder was close now. The sight almost brought him over the edge. What finally did it was when Alex jerked Mulder's pants and boxers down, reached back, and roughly plunged a cream coated finger up his ass, pumping hard. Fox stiffened at the jolt of pleasure/pain, and came in Alex's mouth, screaming his pleasure. It was oddly muffled, the impassive fog seeming to absorb it.

Now Fox was grateful for the warehouse at his back, leaning against it heavily as his knees shook. Alex turned his head and spat, then got to his feet. Once again he pressed against a trembling Mulder. He fitted his mouth to Mulder's, sliding his tongue past unresisting lips, and Mulder tasted himself. After a moment or two of wet, thorough exploration, Alex pulled away and whispered, "You have a nice, full bodied flavor, Mulder." His hand slid down over Mulder's ass, spreading a film of cooling spunk. "Next time, I'll fuck you. You'll like that."

"Next time?"

Alex stepped back, zipping himself up. "Next time, Mulder." He grinned. "...looking over the harbor and city on silent haunches, and then moves on." He was backing away from Mulder. The fog swirled in, obscuring him. The next time he spoke, he sounded far away, but he hadn't really had time to move that far, had he? "...back to crossroads."

Mulder stayed like that for a moment more, then pulled up his pants and refastened them with shaking fingers. He wiped his face, unable to tell if the beads of moisture were from the fog, or sweat.

Just when he thought he had a handle on Alex Krycek...Just when he thought that he might know how his mind worked, what made him tick...

"Back to crossroads." Fox breathed, and began to make his way back to his car.

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