by C. M. Decarnin
Mulder saved him. With real alarm he snapped out, "You're not going to puke are you?" and lifted half off him.
Mulder was Mulder. His little brother was long lost. He wasn't twelve, he was -- old as time. He wasn't where he started and he would never again be anyone's hero.
Killer, liar, superlative thief, triple-crossing whore, rat bastard. Mulder was familiar with his work.
He shook his head, and Mulder warily sank back down just enough to keep him there. Taking even this simple denial with a big shake of salt.
"Mulder did you know there's a kids' cartoon show on called "Roswell Conspiracies"?" Mulder just looked at him. "Swear to god." Strange what you learned about a culture when you had no life. A whole other set of parameters. "You've won, Mulder. You've won and they don't even know it yet. All their years of secrets are on at eight-thirty Sunday morning, and nobody believes a goddam word that comes out of their mouths anymore. When it happens you're not going to have to convince anybody. All you need is a key to the right doors."
"Which you just happen to have."
Krycek shook his head slightly. "I am the key. You must know that by now."
"You do keep turning up. Everyone either wants to own you or kill you. Or do they all just want to have your love-child?"
If you only knew. "I'm useful. Try me."
Bring me into the warm, Mulder. Everything I was is over with. Everything I am belongs to you.
"You think I can protect you?"
Krycek only laughed. "Mulder. Listen. I know I'm not what you want. I'm not... clean. Sane. Not anything like it.
"But what I am you can use. If you need something call me. You'll have it. You know what I am, what I can do. It's yours, Mulder." Two fingers came up along the side of Mulder's face, tracing the skin. "You think your pet hackers can get you in? You haven't seen anything. I was made for this, Mulder. I'm everything you need. Make me your dog. Whistle and I'll be there. Ask me for the moon and I'll bring it to you."
The changes going over Mulder's face were spectacular, like the blood and candy of a sunset. Krycek laughed.
"You think I've lost it."
"I think your luggage is on its way to Guadalajara, yeah, if you expect me to swallow any of this crap."
"I know." He said it almost soothingly. Then, with an absent, soft tone, "It's funny about my arm. The thing I miss... I think about it all the time... Not being able to hold anyone. I never had anyone to hold, you know? But still, it..." He shrugged. "Mulder. You try me. I'll always be there and I'll never leave you twisting in the wind like those pricks left us both."
"What, no free blowjob if I sign up now?"
Like you would. Like you'd trust me. But he let the foolish smile that slacked his lips shine in his eyes. "Any time, tovarish."
And felt a movement, a change of breath against him.
Mulder stood up and took a step back.
Without thinking, without letting himself even hesitate, Krycek levered himself away from the stovetop, and let himself fall heavily to his knees. Fox Mulder's crotch was an inch in front of his mouth.
"Oh god." It rushed aloud from his lips, more devout than any prayer of hope and gratitude he'd ever made. He turned his eyes upward, not to God but to see if Mulder really meant to grant him this. Mulder looked down at him and didn't move, and with no more pause Krycek laid his face on the cloth-covered sacred place. A moan started in his thigh muscles, concaved his spine, and came out his throat all silenced breath with an edge like pain. Before he could be denied he nuzzled into the beautifully warm shapes, pushing the cock aside and up, where it engorged under his mouth, through the thin fabric, then touching the balls with his open lips as his breath seeped, hot and damp, through the material. Mulder's weight shifted with a slow gyration, and Krycek's whole body jerked. He let his hand rise up to touch where it had never been permitted, smoothing the thigh, up, up, as his mouth moved back and forth across the underside of Mulder's cock, gentle, reverent, but not teasing, giving as much as he knew any man would want, withholding nothing, breath coming passionate in broken gasps at such treasure being given him. Hand met mouth and he cradled the genitals between them. The cock grew and shuddered, and Mulder's voice in a surprised moan came down over him like a touch. He slid his fingers up and grasped the zipper and carefully pulled it down, down, opening the way. He rubbed his cheek against the imprisoned mystery as his fingers slid in, up along the length there, feeling for the opening in the underwear; finding it; his fingertips touching flesh.
He had to stop at the tingling contact, the benediction of the moment. Allowed -- Of everyone on earth, he -- allowed to touch Fox Mulder.
He curled his fingers behind the shaft and gentled it out through the layers of cloth and into his waiting mouth.
Before the first taste could bring more than a little watering of his mouth to slick the way, Mulder's hands clamped his head and Mulder shoved the wholly unexpected huge length of his cock all the way down Krycek's throat.
The mean, vengeful need of it lit Krycek from toes to top like a Christmas tree, he tried to smooth choking and gasping into rhythmic swallows and slide his tongue in velvet strokes under the thrusting root, his fingers cherishing the full sac and scraping back onto the perineum -- Mulder came up onto his toes at that, then batted Krycek's hand away impatiently, hunkered, hauled his hard-on up out of Krycek's throat and rammed it straight back in again, surprising a strangled cry of pain out of him. The sound and the vibration along his cock tore the last inhibitions from Mulder. His panting changed to a grinding moan of obscenities as he drove his rock-hard length again and again through the tender blockades of Krycek's throat.
There was nothing left of the lavish, earthy yet learned fellatio Krycek had thought to present Mulder with, sure he would never have experienced anything remotely like it before. This lunging hurt, and he could do nothing more sophisticated than keep his teeth out of the way. Except... Krycek flattened his hand on Mulder's trouser seat and pulled inward with his next stroke.
Krycek was forced against the front of the stove, Mulder's voice became hard cries as he shot cum Krycek wouldn't get to taste down deep into his gullet. The strokes slowed... slowed... Abruptly Mulder let him go, to lean on the top of the stove, barely able to stand with the trembling weakness of release. Krycek heard his gasps for air, and two drops of sweat fell onto his upturned face. He waited. The invasive penis was shrinking, drawing itself up out of his mouth. He closed around it and sucked till it pulled completely away.
Mulder looked down at him with an utterly unreadable expression.
"Pack your stuff," he said.
End of Part Three