Disclaimer: Mulder and Krycek don't belong to me, and these two guys don't even really resemble them all that much, so I think I'm safe. Fox, CC, and all that... They own em, I just play.

NC17 for m/m sex, bloodsport, and a self indulgent slash writer.

Story title and lyrics borrowed without permission from Melissa Etheridge.

Kind Reader,
This story is what grew from my short piece "Lullabye" that appears in X-Plicit Fantasies Three. I think of it as a suspended believability piece, because I don't see the canon characters ever going here. This is my take on one way I'd like to see things be for them, because I'm twisted that way. I hope you enjoy it, but even if you don't, please let me know what you think.

Precious Pain
By Zen&nancy

Standing in my bathroom, staring in the mirror, I'm wondering how I ever got to this point. The dagger is a friendly weight in my hand, a comforting weight, and I feel as though I really am losing myself to Krycek. A year ago, I'd be burying this dagger in his heart, and reveling in his death rattle. Now, here I am, making myself wait before going into my bedroom because I know that the longer he has to wait for it, the better it is for him.

I think we do this as much for the redemption/pound of flesh metaphor as we do for the physical kink/pleasure factors. The first time it happened, it was by accident. I'd meant to kill him, but missed by a long shot. We both stared at the gash on his remaining arm, and he pulled his shirt up and actually purred at me. He told me to cut him to pieces, slice by slice, and he sounded so fucking sexy, so turned on and wanting, that I forgot about killing him and started making shallow cuts across his chest and stomach as he moaned and begged for more. At that moment, I felt the polarity of our relationship shift. By the time he was a bloody mess, we had both come in our pants.

That was months ago. Now, Alex is naked, face down on my bed, and waiting for me to carve out my pound of flesh. The strange thing is, I don't see it like that anymore. A part of me still hates what he's done, but I don't hate him anymore. I own him. I know it, and he knows it, and I think he likes it this way. Who would have thought that Krycek wanted redemption, or that the only way he could deal with it would be to bleed for me. I'm not sure if he knows that he owns me, now, too. I think I'd do almost anything to keep him mine, short of hurting Scully. Whoah, don't think about her now, Mulder, don't go there.

Taking a deep breath, I try to get all the thoughts out of my head, and focus on what's about to happen. Looking at the dagger he gave me, I imagine his blood decorating the blade. Alex only had two scars on his back when I first saw it naked, spread out for me. Now it's a patchwork of pain, and I'm the artist. Pride wells up in my chest at this thought. I know I have an addictive nature; Alex Krycek and sunflower seeds are two shining examples, but I never thought that I could become addicted to blood. The first time I leaned down and tasted it, tasted his blood, the sensation spread straight from my taste buds to my groin. His is sweet and thick, like metallic chocolate. Licking my lips in anticipation, I head for the bedroom.

Laying naked on the bed, face down, I wait. He knows I need this time to lose myself, forget everything but the anticipation of the knife. I can't tell where my body ends and the bed begins anymore, I've been laying here motionless for so long they've blended together. I feel the air on my ass and the backs of my legs, but most of all on my back, where I'm aching for the touch. I hear Mulder's soft footsteps in the hall and my thigh muscle twitches involuntarily. My head is spinning by the time the bed shifts and he leans forward, making my breath catch in my throat. Oh god, finally, finally...

The magnificent bastard knows me too well; he's still waiting. Fucking do it already, Mulder! Fucking cut me you son of a bitch!!! I feel the cold blade tickle across my skin, barely touching me, teasing me. Goosebumps jump up from my skin, and I feel my cock twitch. It only distracts me from my back for a moment; this is one of the few times I can ignore my dick. I feel my skin pulling tight, pores closing in anticipation of the slice of the knife, the release of the pain. The feel of Mulder evening the score as he cuts me.

Yessss! My shoulder muscle flinches of it's own accord as the cold blade slices into me. Slowly, so slowly he drags the knife around the curve of my shoulder blade, outlining my body in a thin line of blood. Hot waves roll through my brain as I wait for the cool trickle of blood on my skin. I'm rushing now, my heart dancing with the pain. Precise, distinct pain that only a well sharpened knife can give, and God how I need it. On a deeper level, I feel the redemption that only Mulder can give to my tainted soul. I can hear Mulder's breathing, heavy and hot on my skin. I imagine it sinking into my pores as he spills my blood.

He sits back, no doubt admiring his work. Only a true sadist like Mulder can give a pain junkie like me what I need, because I give him what he needs; my submission, my flesh, my blood, and a piece of my soul. Of course, what we do here goes way beyond a simple sadist/masochist relationship. I give, and he takes, and in the simple act of taking, he's giving me more than I ever hoped for. The first time, in a crazed fit of desperation, I offered him my life, moments after he had clumsily tried to take it. He didn't kill me, only took what he needed. Amazingly, what he needed wasn't my death, but my submission, and my body's honest reaction that showed him how much I wanted him. At the first cut across my chest, I felt as though I was doing penance for my sins. Instead of submitting my will to God, I was submitting it to Mulder, asking him for forgiveness, for redemption. Now, now I just plain need him, like I've never needed anything or anyone before.

My back is just a dull burn now that the adrenaline has kicked in. I need more. I whimper; it's the closest to communication I can get. I'm too lost in my body, in what I'm feeling to be able to form words. Aahhh. I sigh as the next cut begins. I know I'm hard as a rock, but I can hardly even feel my dick. My head's spinning. My toes curl as I feel the knife go deeper this time, cut faster. I'm panting, floating on the pain and the sweet, sweet blood burning the split skin as it leaks from my back. I can smell it. Heavy copper scent filling the air, filling my head, and I can almost taste it in my mouth.

He leans down and hungrily licks up my blood. His tongue burns into the cuts, reviving the pain that was starting to fade. This is the most erotic thing anyone has ever done for me; cut me and drink my blood. Slice me open and swallow my life force, my essence. The first time he did it, he'd meant to kill me, but now, in this twisted ritual, Mulder gives me back my soul instead of taking my life. One more swipe of his tongue and I feel the point of the blade pushing into my skin again, this time below the shoulder, across the back of my ribs. I moan helplessly, no longer even feeling the bed under me. I hear my voice echo in the quiet of the room and it sounds far away.

He pulls my hips up, and I'm completely limp; a six foot, two hundred pound rag doll. I feel Mulder's well lubed dick line up against my ass, and he grabs my cock in his hand. At the same moment he thrusts into me, he sucks the blood from the last cut. He pumps me hard and fast, his dick and his hand claiming me, and then I'm coming and screaming and sobbing. The orgasm feels like it will never end and I can't stop convulsing in his tight hold around my waist. When I stop shaking he lets me go. I'm a puddle of skin and bones, barely conscious. He's wiping the cuts with peroxide, murmuring soothing, sweet words that I feel more than hear. I feel him pull me across his lap, still cooing, telling me I'm beautiful of all things. As Mulder's hand strokes my hair, I drift away, somewhere between sleep and coma, closer to bliss than I have ever come.

He's asleep, his weight across my legs is a comforting feeling. He's using my right thigh for a pillow, his face is turned toward me and he's glowing with perspiration and post coital bliss. His sinfully long eyelashes are spread across his cheeks, creating an illusion of innocence. I'm always amazed at the tenderness I feel for Alex during this time, when I'm holding him after I've cut him and fucked him unconscious. The words that spill out of my mouth scare me, but he never uses them against me, never throws them back in my face. I tell him that he's beautiful, that he's mine, how good he tastes, and how much I love him. I do. I love him almost as much as I used to hate him, and I think that this is the only way either one of us can deal with it.

The End

Everybody's got a hunger
No matter where they are
Everybody clings to their own fear
Everybody hides some scars

Oooh, precious pain
Empty and cold
It keeps me alive
I gave it my soul
So that I could survive
Keeping me safe in these chains
precious pain

Everybody's got a reason
To abandon their plans
How can I think of tomorrow
When my sorrow demands

Precious pain
Empty and cold
It keeps me alive
I gave it my soul
So that I could survive
Keeping me safe in these chains
precious pain

Lyrics borrowed without permission from Melissa Etheridge

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