A Boy and His Rat -- Part 8

by C. M. Decarnin


Mulder brushed between racks of mink coats in the cold storehouse. Light floated down from high windows, strange combinations of glare and neon softened by the grime-coated panes to a kind of moonlight.

He saw Krycek waiting behind a stack of crates, watching the front door. He could see the silhouetted right side clearly.

Krycek had his Glock in his hand.

Fury boiled up in him and without thinking of risk or accomplices he threw himself at Krycek's back fast enough to get him around the throat with one elbow and slash a numbing blow to his arm. The gun flew. He yanked and had Krycek in a body-lock against him, wrist and arm pretzeled behind his back. He could feel him panting with the fright and sudden exertion. He held him, keeping his chin forced up and his body arched, just about to say something biting when he noticed that the breathing was not getting slower. The breath came in deep sharp sips, caught and held, the exhale hard and tight-lunged. He saw Krycek's head slowly turning -- slowly falling back, fraction by fraction, onto his shoulder, as the face turned further toward him. He yanked his grip tighter and Krycek gave a little sighing cry, writhed, and turned his mouth to within an inch of Mulder's.

And Mulder could no more resist that than he could release the body shuddering against him. Krycek's breath smelled of wintergreen. And knowing that Krycek had sweetened his mouth for him gave Mulder a thrusting rush of power, and viciousness, like nothing he had ever felt before. Krycek was his. He could crush him to his knees, and that shadowed beauty would look up at him, worshipping.

Breathing into Krycek's breath, he brought his open mouth within millimeters of Krycek's lips.

Waiting till he felt the surge of an inaudible cry in the breath warming his mouth, finally he extended his tongue, still without closing the kiss, and licked inside Krycek's mouth. Krycek twisted, once, in his arms, and moaned. He put his tongue in and left it there, moving over the warm interior, breaking Krycek to his will.

Krycek undulated.

He turned his head away, writhing back into Mulder at every point he could reach, begging.

"Tell me," Mulder whispered.

Krycek said it with his body, Mulder had to brace hard not to be overborne, and finally bear down on a couple of pressure points to bring Alex back into close control. "You have to say it, Alex," he murmurred.

Krycek laid his head back against Mulder, turned it to him, and in surrender, between caught sobs of breath whispered, "Touch me."

"You mean like this?" Mulder let go of Krycek's wrist and slid his hand across the front of Krycek's leather jacket, and inside it. He pulled the jacket off the shoulder and let it hang between them, Krycek's arm caught in it. Then he slid his hand across Krycek's t-shirt. "Like this?" He brushed across both nipples.

Krycek's breath became inaudible.

Mulder's hand slid down on Krycek's belly. He hiked the shirt up. Waited.

He let his fingertips brush across just under Krycek's bellybutton. "Mulder!" Krycek gasped. Mulder flattened his fingers and slid them down the front of Krycek's jeans. "Oh god, oh god --"

Mulder tightened his arm slowly across Krycek's throat.

"Listen to me, Krycek.

"I even see you again with a gun in your hand, you're dead, you hear that?" He thought he saw a ghost-smile retrace the line of Krycek's lips. The cold muzzle of a SIG Saur nosed in against Krycek's bared waist, angled slightly down. The concept "gutshot" hovered unspoken, and Krycek swallowed. The gun slipped, tilted downward. "Oops," Mulder whispered.

"The safety's off, Krycek. Just keep still." Mulder tilted the gun outward, against the snap of the jeans, and fired.

Krycek convulsed into him, and cursed and struggled till he pressed the burning muzzle back onto his belly and he instantly stilled. "That's it," Mulder whispered. "Be still. Just be still now..."

He nudged the gun barrel into the zipper and it slowly parted. "You're a nice boy. You just have some bad habits. I think I can break you of those."

He licked just under Krycek's ear. "Now let's put the guns away and play nice." He reached back and holstered it. "I want you to think about something. I want you to think about the possibility that I just conceal insanity a little better than you do.

"There'll be a quiz," he added, and pushed Krycek's jeans down to his thighs.

On its way back up, his hand wrapped around Krycek's balls, his thumb around the rearing cock. "You're quite a handful, Alex. What are we going to do with you, huh?"

He kneed hard and Krycek went down, Mulder following, to his knees, where Mulder tightened his throat-hold to strangling. He whispered, "Krycek." He kissed Krycek's neck. "Tell me what you want."

And Krycek croaked, "Let me go."

Disappointed, Mulder let go of him, his arms reluctant, his hands trailing along the body that pulled away from him, and turned to face him. In the imitation moonlight Krycek knelt there before him, looking into his eyes. Then he took Mulder's hand, bent low, and kissed it.

He rose to his feet with a graceful movement, the black leather jacket finally falling to the ground. He toed his boots off, stepped out of his pants, and with one arm peeled the t-shirt up over his head and down off the prosthetic and was naked.

It took Mulder's breath away.

He was beautiful.

He turned and walked away and Mulder whispered, "Oh, my god."

Every move, every turn, every perspective revealed another grace, another beauty, another perfection. To watch him, Mulder thought, was to have a series of blessings ripple through you. He felt as if he were seeing some classical marble brought to life by the touch of the moonlight. Successive visions: his thighs, that ass, the back, my god that waist, the belly, shoulders, bowed head, that strong arm (and that piteously unreal one), his ankles and feet, long perfect legs, that ass -- Only after several stunned minutes did he register what Krycek was actually doing.

He was pulling mink coats out of their wrappers and spreading them in an overlapping shoal upon the floor.

He was making, Mulder suddenly realized with a shudder, a mink bed.

He stood up and walked over and put his arms all around and all over Krycek, one hand supporting that succulent derriere, the other arm roaming his back and shoulders, holding the back of his head as he trapped the warm surprised mouth and went into it like a lover. Krycek's tongue, soft, unresisting, yet giving the impression of maidenliness in its reticence, as if Krycek hadn't been kissed much before, and wasn't sure if he liked it. He remembered the movie cliche that whores don't kiss and wondered if it could be true. He had never met a whore other than professionally -- his profession, not hers -- and had had no call to try kissing one. Mulder loved to kiss and would have made a career of it if anyone would have paid him for it. With his personality he couldn't even find anyone to kiss him for free, and so had joined the FBI and now was kissing his first whore and deciding he could have made it his specialization. Teaching retired whores to kiss, so that they could go out and become useful members of society, and speaking of useful members -- Mulder shifted his leg between Krycek's thighs to see if there was anything noteworthy going on there, and Krycek tore his mouth free and absolutely silently stretched, vibrated his crotch against him, and came, head back, mouth open, and hand clutching Mulder's arm. So much for the foreplay part of the program. Krycek wheezed a couple of times as Mulder rubbed his hand across the tightened incurved ass at the very end, all he could do to participate, other than catch on to him as he staggered afterward. But Krycek had a peculiar strength in sex, Mulder had noticed, and stayed on his bare feet, steady enough to begin undressing Mulder. He saw Krycek shiver, and realized it was bloody cold for nudity in this fur storehouse, but Krycek had his suit coat off him, his tie unknotted and his shirt unbuttoned one-handed, and relentlessly tackled his trousers. He let himself be denuded, noting how his gun was just another piece of clothing to Alex, piled aside with his shoes.

When he was naked, Krycek rather shyly pulled him close, and offered his mouth again.

It was ridiculously touching, like a virgin awkwardly coming on to him. A virgin assassin...

He gently nibbled and licked the open lips before sealing his kiss to them again. He held Krycek's head in both hands, and slowly, carefully, patiently, introduced the idea of his tongue into Krycek's mouth, the tip around the inside of the lips, barely in, his teeth gnawing delicately at the inner tissue of the lower lip; drawing the lip in and sucking on it; breathing warm into Krycek's mouth as if resuscitating him, and again letting his tongue slip delicately between the open lips, and back, taking him a little deeper every time, then pressing his mouth on Krycek's, and slowly forcing it wide. Still gently but breathing hard and with a tighter grip and a cruel, masculine awareness of defloration, he pushed his full, thick tongue through the opening, felt Krycek jerk under him, and make a tiny sound. Mulder's tongue merged against Krycek's, which had retreated but was now trapped, wetly massaged, circled by the suddenly extruded point of Mulder's tongue, and then lifted and without warning sucked right into Mulder's mouth. Krycek made a little muted, cut-off cry and whipped his tongue back into his own mouth. Surprised, Mulder coaxed with little licks and sucks, and finally backed off him to murmur, "Come on, tongue-fuck me. I won't bite you." and saw by the look in his eyes that someone had, so hard, so badly, and maybe so repeatedly, that letting his tongue be held in Mulder's mouth would be an act of courage rather than eroticism for him.

Oh Krycek, Jesus.

No wonder you ended up a murdering lying scumbag. And in my arms.

You need someone to take care of you.

Of course you pick me.

Every time I see you I beat you bloody. Sexually I push you into all the places you don't want to go. And someday I'll probably arrest you or just shoot you outright, it amounts to the same thing.

The fact that you even look at me proves what kind of a history you've had. Loving me ipso facto proof of abuse.

And you turn me on so much because I know I can do it to you again, and again, and again...

He backed further. Krycek was a man, tough, filthy, but incredibly wounded.

And I want to open him one wound at a time, rub salt in, lick the blood and fuck the agonized new orifice. A match made in fucking heaven.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked softly.

And Krycek smiled. Without hesitation he pulled Mulder over to the bed of mink and pushed him gently down. Mulder sat --

Oh. Oh my god.

Without being told he stretched out on the cloud of mink and rolled on it. He heard Krycek laugh, but this ecstasy all over his skin at once was no laughing matter, like the few precious times he'd allowed himself to buy a massage, just to have someone touch him. He wriggled face down on it, but Krycek tugged him and he rolled back over. The silky fur felt just as heavenly that way, and Krycek's touch on his penis brought him promptly into the face-up- is-good faction.

Krycek laid out his penis up along his belly and was stroking it balls to tip now, over and over, a longer trip at each stroke because Mulder was erecting like crazy. Krycek bent and licked along the same route, and Mulder grabbed his head with both hands.

But Krycek shook him off, pulling away, and said, "No. Let me." And Mulder, with the steeliest resolve he had ever felt during sex, wedged his hands under his own butt and bit his lip. Krycek laughed softly, and bent again over the now fully turgid cock, licking the balls all over, eliciting instant whimpers, then washing his tongue lewdly across and across the long thick cock, progressing up to its nude tip and washing across in a sloppy touch that brought a long-drawn groan from Mulder and started his hips sliding in the mink.

"Baby. Baby," Krycek said against his cock, and stroked with his fingers where his mouth wasn't licking, driving Mulder crazy in seconds. "Shh, shh, baby --" Krycek's fingertips alone now and Mulder was about ready to shoot, the touch was so fine, and Krycek said, "Hm," and took his hand away, and Mulder found him looking down into his eyes. "Can you come twice?" he asked. "Cause I don't think this is, uh..."

"I can come as long as you've got holes to put it in," he promised crudely and, he was pretty sure, truthfully.

Krycek put his hand around the lower half of Mulder's cock and his mouth over the upper half, sucked, licked, squeezed and pulled simultaneously and Mulder's hands whipped out from under his butt and took control over rhythm and depth and speed around the wet channel formed of Krycek's lips and tongue. He rammed the bobbing head down so Krycek's teeth hit his own hand but the hard suck and furious tonguewashing never stopped and Mulder's teeth clenched and he threw his body up at Krycek trying to get into his throat, and came. He was surprised to feel Krycek letting the cum dribble out the corners of his mouth instead of swallowing it, but he didn't stop to commentate. He really didn't care what anyone did with his jizzum once they'd convinced his body to part with it, and Krycek's mouth was still sending him messages straight from God. He squirmed in the mink, let his arms drop and grabbed fur, let go and swung his arms through it like making a snow-angel, and the rush of mink and Krycek's tongue almost made him black out.

"Dear god," he gasped, "oh sweet, sweet Jesus."

Krycek laughed around his gooey cock and lifted off it. "Mulder! I thought you were Jewish."

"Not lately," Mulder panted, faintly surprised. "Somewhere back in the Dark Ages before tv maybe."

"They converted?" Krycek let go of Mulder's softened cock gently, and stroked down his thigh.

"Hell, I don't know. I was saving the genealogy thing for my golden years. You getting religion or something?"

Krycek kissed a hairless spot on Mulder's inner thigh, near the groin crease. "Definitely," he breathed. "Do you believe there's a God?"

Mulder looked down at him. "You do realize this is a damn strange moment to be having this conversation?" Krycek grinned. "Okay, no, I don't believe. Although I have hopes for a second coming.

"That's a hint," he added.

Krycek stretched, and stood up without touching his hand to the floor. Strong, Mulder thought. Such grace in it.

He pulled another coat out and laid it fur down across Mulder's torso, another across his legs, and Mulder suddenly realized how frigid his skin had grown. Krycek managed to drape another coat, fur side in, over his own shoulders. He stooped down for something in his pile of clothes and then stood over Mulder. "Spread your legs apart," he said.

Mulder's thighs clinched together. "Whoa, now --"

"I'm just going to lie down between them. To get my mouth in there."

Mulder still hesitated. "What do you have in your hand?"

Krycek showed him the small tube of lubricant. Mulder's eyes widened in alarm and he sat up. Krycek went to his knees immediately, cupped Mulder's jawline in his hand, and kissed his mouth. "Did you like that blow-job?" Mulder nodded. "Was it the best thing that ever happened to you in your entire life?" Mulder hesitated, his eyes flicking away. Krycek smiled, and murmurred into his lips, "This one will be."

Mulder's whole body still felt distrustful. Krycek flushed, angrily, and pulled back. "I'm not going to fuck you. I know you're a virgin for Christ's sake!"

It was Mulder's turn to redden and get mad. "How would you know?"

And that was so pathetic that Krycek just looked at him, and all his hurt anger melted away. He put his fingertips back to Mulder's cheek. "I know you're not for me, baby. I know." He smiled, even half-laughed. "If you ever give it up it should be to -- the Angel Gabriel, or -- or Mick Jagger or somebody. Not your pet rat." He added, "Lie down. It's okay. I can do it from here." He pushed gently on Mulder's chest, and after an instant's resistance Mulder let himself be laid down again. Krycek's hand slipped down between his thighs and rested there, moving only slightly, reassuring.

He felt Mulder's hand on his knee, and started moving his caress up toward mink-covered genitals.

Mulder said, "Mick Jagger?" And then, "How old are you?" Krycek pushed mink back and dropped his lips onto Mulder's testicles. "Don't answer that," Mulder said quickly, but Krycek sat up again. He let his fingers lightly rub across the sweet scrotum.

"We Russkies are pretty far behind the cutting edge, you know. "We all need someone we can dream on." When I was fourteen I thought that line was written for me. I wanted him in my bed so bad I could taste him." He closed his eyes in suddenly remembered pain of that time. Recruiters. Trainers. And -- special trainers. His dreaming of someone who would love him and hold him -- maybe, he thought now, the only thing that had kept him sane. He didn't want to think about that here, now --

Mulder's hand moved up onto his genitals and he jerked upright, lips parted. Oh thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you god -- He lifted the hand up and kissed it devoutly, again and again. "Later, baby, okay?" He laughed breathily. "Don't want me clenching my teeth at a crucial moment here." He kissed each fingertip, sucked the thumb wetly, and guided the hand up under mink to Mulder's nipple, which he touched, brushed, and brushed again before leaving Mulder's hand on it. He trailed his fingers down, through a faint tickle of hair, to Mulder's long, lengthened cock, and bent and put his mouth on it, kissing down its thickness onto the soft scrotum. The smell of it, a little funk and a little Muldervanilla, salt slightly wetted from his opened lips, pulled a moan of "God.. oh god" from his mouth, his damp breath heating the tender balls in their velvet bag. He let his tongue out to play on them, licking the tip into wrinkled places, running it under, flipping each jewel up and letting it fall, alternately, until he sensed Mulder gripping mink to either side. He took the whole sac into his mouth, closed his teeth gently on the connecting stem, making tiny biting touches there to define their captivity, and tugged them up against the nearly closed teeth. Mulder was wheezing and his body was tensed up, loins and thighs shaking finely. Krycek put his hand between the thighs, softly, testing. They parted to him, then closed on his hand. He stroked in circles there as his tongue slipped on each testicle in turn, sloppy wet, and then began a circular pushing there, too, each ball in turn pressed against the fence of teeth, then both at once with the whole softness of his tongue.

He heard Mulder say, "Krycek --" and the scents increased. He rubbed his nose across the base of Mulder's cock and sucked the testicles into the back of his mouth, and swallowed hard.

A hand clutched down on his head, and then flung away again. Mulder was whispering his name and the name of God indiscriminately. He slid his fingers up into Mulder's cleft, their touch as gentle as possible. Mulder trembled and moaned anxiously and he withdrew, stroking the backs of his fingers against the other inner thigh instead. He stuck his tongue down and pushed, licking up the perineum and underside of the scrotum in one strong stroke. He licked down again and on the third stroke Mulder's thighs winged wide for him, a hand pushed against his shoulder and Mulder gasped, "Do it -- oh -- do it --"

Krycek's hand shook as he ran it down to the inside of Mulder's knee, and slowly back, touching, owning it, so his presence would not seem bold there, and the other thigh, and again on both, before he carefully moved his knee onto the satin lining of the mink between Mulder's legs, and then the other knee, keeping his tongue fluttering just above where Mulder wanted it. He helped himself slide down, easing into position, folding the prosthetic under to help support him, a flash of how much easier it would be with two hands, and then he was there, his mouth releasing the balls, lips sliding off them lovingly, so he could move his tongue on down.

When he touched Mulder's anus Mulder went still as a statue. The weight of his chest resting on the prosthetic, he reached up his hand and quietly stroked Mulder's tense loin, making him flex there, and patted there, twice. He patted twice again and Mulder reached, and he took Mulder's hand and held it as his tongue slid up and down. He moved their joined hands against Mulder's cock and as he made his tongue stiff and pointed rubbed slowly along it, and when they reached the top, he forced his circling tongue into the hole. Mulder's knees had been rising inch by inch, urging his access, and as he pushed hard to fill him with tongue-muscle the thighs came closed and Mulder raised up his hips, shaking with the contraction of the muscles along the front of the thighs. Mulder's hand clenched his tightly but he made no sound as Krycek tongue-fucked in and out of the little, virgin, FBI-tight hole. He couldn't really get the thick part of his tongue in, but he knew it must feel like a lot to Mulder from the deathgrip on his reassuring hand.

He pulled his hand away, persuading Fox to relinquish it finger by finger, pulled out gently with his tongue, and used his hand and mouth to uncap the lube. He smeared it well over his fingers and used it to soothe over the contracting and flexing little hole, then boosted himself higher up Fox's body to where he could kiss that gigantenormous cock hello.

He rubbed his cheek along it but Fox cringed a little -- too much five-o'clock shadow even though he'd shaved late. He looked up and said softly, "Sorry." He propped himself and moved the prosthetic back outside Mulder's leg, hoping it wouldn't hurt Fox if he draped his weight across the hip there. He needed his hand free. Mink moved around him and he closed his eyes and writhed a little, exhaling. These were Fox Mulder's thighs he was lying between, that acted for all the world like they wanted to wrap around him and be ridden. Fox Mulder under him. How had Fox let him do this? It would be so easy, from here, to ride up just a foot higher and push through that throbbing sweet cherry, lubed and aching for it, deliver the surprise of Mulder's life through that tiny portal, thick hot revelation and a lot of that hard, hard truth in there --

Oh God, oh please God, help me to be good --

He laughed silently when he realized which left field that came out of -- Whatever had possessed them to give him Louisa May Alcott to learn his English from? The sadomasochistic boy-love in Little Men so glaring to him he'd hidden the book under his covers when his "parents" passed by, sweating guiltily.

He read it over and over.

And now here he was, Mulder a living temptation in his arms... no... never in his arms... but.. trusting him --

What would Aunt Jo do?

Jesus, Krycek, seek help.

There was only one shrink within reach.

"Mulder? Mulder, I'm kind of succumbing to your charms down here."


For illustration, Krycek slid his thumb over the slicked-up anus. "I could use like a, moral compass or something."

He felt Mulder reach out, and, very clearly, heard the snick of a safety pushed to "Off" on a 9mm.

"That help?" Mulder asked quietly.

Krycek was very silent. Finally he whispered, "It would almost be worth it..."

He felt Mulder's breath become anxious, and knew it meant Mulder wouldn't -- couldn't -- kill him.

No matter what he did.

Tenderly he laid his mouth onto the smooth skin of Mulder's cock.

Mulder said, "I can feel you smiling."

Krycek smiled wider. Then he wet his lower lip and dragged the inside of it up Mulder's cock in the trail of his wiggling tongue-point. Keeping the tongue pointed, he wrote his name down Mulder's cock. There was room for both first and last. He felt Mulder get it about halfway through, and catch his breath. Tattoo. Make it his property. Down the underside. Fancy Cyrillic, so it would look like just a design to most people. And wouldn't show at all except in salute, in the times when Mulder thought of him, when he had made himself the only one Mulder would think of and get a hard-on. And to that end...

He began ingesting Mulder's cock.

He played with the tip with his lips, then formed them into a wet bloom and guided the stiff rod through. Like a toothless python, he started swallowing. And swallowing. As he did, he eased his slick middle finger into Mulder's hole and felt him jerk, and tense, and heard a strangled cry, and felt hands on his head. Mulder pushed. The cock slid into his throat. Further. He wiggled his finger further inside Mulder. Mulder's hips tried to lift but Krycek had the one side pinned down with half his weight. Mulder's hands pushed hard, and Krycek let spit dribble down to try to slick up the remaining inches, and swallowed, making Mulder buck, and pushed his finger all the way in, making Mulder gyrate and slide his hips. The fingertip sought out and stroked the place where the prostate should be, and Mulder groaned and lifted. Krycek prodded the spot and Mulder heaved his left hip up, over, and capsized him into the mink, getting him under and viciously shoving the rest of his cock down him, starting to thrust. Krycek stabbed at the prostate and sent Mulder mad, his whole weight fucking Krycek's throat open, his rage surfacing in the totality of the domination his body exacted. He raised himself and plunged and fucked down into Krycek frantically, as the inescapable touch inside him dragged accesses of lust through his whole shaking body. "Krycek!" Krycek's fingertip pressed, rolled, and Mulder orgasmed violently, ecstasy novaed to the size of a galaxy and his universe shot down Alex's throat in pulses of expanding light. Sadism shook him. Krycek his meat, his punk, his fuck-toy, his. His. Krycek. Oh... god...


Oh... god...

He moaned as he felt Krycek's tongue make love to him, and Krycek's finger rub gently over his deliquescing pleasure, and then slowly and sweetly begin to pull out of him. "No... No... No..." It was too much, too much, his spine jerked him into an arch, and pulled "Ah -- Ah -- Ah -- Ah --" calls out of him, then hunched his hips down and slid his organ thoroughly through Krycek's wet gulping throat, shuddering and shaking at the sensation coruscating over every square millimeter. He arched back, flopped forward, snaked from side to side, weight on hands and groin only, exquisitenesses blasted him till his knees and elbows dropped into mink and something scraped the inside of his throat, he stretched, Krycek was struggling under him suddenly moaning on his cock, impossible, impossible, I can't, I can't TAKE can't -- nowhere -- no -- Krycek and pleasure overloaded him and screamed out of his throat as if he were being murdered.

After a collapsing paralysis he pushed feebly away, off Krycek and out of him. He felt Krycek clamber up along him and there was a hand on his shoulder. He pushed away, rolled, escaped the touch and the fur, and tumbled out onto the cold floor, wet and floppy, like something being born.

He lay there, curled in on himself, he didn't know how long. When he began to shiver, he felt Krycek's long, warm, bony male body lie down with him, pulling him open and against the hard heat, and pulling fur over them both. It was still, he realized after a long time, very hard and cold on the side against the floor.

He opened his eyes and sat up slowly. Beside him Alex's body turned over and opened like a flower, his hand reaching to rest on Mulder's thigh.

Mulder's eyes closed. He breathed, "What am I doing."

Krycek sat up to face him.

"It's called sex, Mulder." Then after a moment's silence he leaned in, and slid his arm around the bowed shoulders, and put his face against his, rubbing his cheek and nose contemplatively against him, smelling his skin. He rubbed his mouth against Mulder's cheekbone. "I don't know what to say to make it okay."

"You don't have to say anything."

"I'm supposed to be the expert."

Mulder looked into Krycek's eyes, the eyes that were called green in his file, though they looked blue-grey to Mulder. He finally said, "Someday I want to see what's behind that. See what you look like without that calculation going on, see how you look when you're not figuring the odds and checking the exits and judging the effect."

For a moment Krycek's expression slipped, toward confusion -- inadequacy. He looked down. "I think that's all there is. All there has been for a long time. If you go back any further there's just -- emptiness." He looked up and smiled dryly. "That ground's been trampled by a herd of shrinks, Mulder. Whatever tracks might have been there are long gone. This is all there is."

"No. It isn't." It was said with quiet certainty. "You're not a sociopath, you have human feelings, needs."

Krycek's mouth thinned. "From my experience, that's no great recommendation."

"You have empathy, sensitivity -- you make love like an angel."

Krycek smiled. "Was it the best?"

"The best I remember. But then I think I lost a few million brain cells there at the end, so don't take my word for it."

"Do you always scream like that?"

"I screamed?"

"You gave the word "banshee" new meaning."

Mulder felt happily embarrassed. Then the awareness came back again, of who he was with.

"Fox." The voice was soft. "I didn't kill your father." There was the sound of a dry breath. "But he was killed because of me. Because I was there. They were afraid of what he might tell me. Or what I might tell him. I don't know. I can't imagine anything he could have told me that I didn't already know. I was just there because I followed you. I wanted to know what he was going to tell you, if he was going to tell you the truth or another lie. I wasn't supposed to be there so they must have thought... I don't know. I came in through the window to listen. Your father came into the bathroom. When he saw me in the mirror and turned around... that's when they shot him."

"Maybe they were trying to stop him talking to me."

Krycek shook his head. "He could have talked to you any time since you started looking at the X-Files. Even over the phone. But the first time I make contact with him, he dies.

"From the first time they assigned me to you, I always felt there was something they weren't telling me. I knew your father was one of the original collaborators, but it was as if there was something else. Something that... protected him. And you. Later I realized. They want your genes, Fox. Even though they already have Samantha. I think that's the reason you're still alive. Think how ironic it is, that part of their own breeding program has turned on them, determined to expose them."

"Breeding program?" Mulder felt the chill of the storehouse on his spine.

Krycek held his eyes for a moment. "They've been choosing lines that they want to preserve, for a long time. Did you know the Smoker is Jeffrey Spender's father? They all have unacknowledged children like that. The Consortium men weren't accepted randomly. I think they're breeding for ruthlessness." He smiled humorlessly.

"Who is my father?" Mulder blurted, and held his breath, not really wanting Krycek to answer.

Krycek looked faintly surprised. "I assume William Mulder."

"My mother had an affair with Cancer Man," Mulder said, shivering.

"Impossible!" Krycek hissed. His hand clenched. "That snake could never have produced you!"

"But you don't know for sure."

Krycek shook his head. He looked angry.

"You can find out?"

Krycek didn't answer. Instead he stood up, and reached down his strong right hand to pull Mulder up. "We should get out of here."

Mulder put his clothes on, looking over at Krycek repeatedly, but looking away again from the awkward struggle of his one-handed dressing, much less simple than the undressing had been. And his jeans were now snapless, Mulder remembered guiltily. Someday he should try having sex with the man without frightening him half to death first.

"Give me a contact number," he said when Krycek was back in his leather jacket. He saw Krycek hesitate, looking at him. Then he came closer, put his mouth at Mulder's ear, and whispered a single digit, followed by a lick of his tongue along the ear ridges. Mulder clasped him, and gasped. With each number the tongue probed in a little deeper, till Mulder was trembling and arching.

"My god you're easy," Krycek murmurred. "You remember the number?"

Mulder nodded, speechless. He didn't think he would ever forget it.

"Don't leave a message, just a password. You pick one."

"Don't go." Mulder ground his crotch into Krycek's hip. "Let me fuck you."

"Something a little more neutral." He could hear the laugh in Krycek's voice. He enfolded Krycek's incredible body and slid up along it veeringly. "Jesus, Mulder." He brushed the amused mouth with his lips, and stuck his tongue all the way in. Krycek shuddered back -- then sucked hesitantly. Mulder felt him brace his feet and meet Mulder's humping assault with a very slight grind and a moan into his mouth, and Mulder came, panting and moaning for Krycek's unbelievable body, and his soul. He crushed him close until the last thrills and quivers expended themselves in him. There was not much juice, but enough, he hoped, to mark Krycek's jeans with his scent. He withdrew his tongue slowly. He held tightly to him, breathing hard. It was the closest he had felt to this man who was suddenly his lover, not wanting to let him go, not wanting him to leave, needing his body, his breath, his leather-and-sweat smell, and the smell under that, tantalizing, indefinable, his fingers on the back of Mulder's neck, moving gently, his hips undulating, easy, soothing as floating on lake waves, strong enough to hold him up when otherwise he might collapse into a heap of sexually satisfied gelatin. He held tighter and buried his face in Krycek's neck.

"Baby," Krycek whispered adoringly. "Baby."

Mulder would take that with him forever.

End of Part 8, A Boy and His Rat

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