Title: From Tendentious to Tendinitis
Author: Polly Bywater
Email address: Pollyabywater@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.

Happy Father's Day, Edoda, wherever you are.

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 that 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, and 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 20^th 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 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, and 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, and 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 was 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 that 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.

11 June 2002

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