Disclaimer: Chris Carter, Fox, 1013 Productions and big-wigs in general own Fox Mulder and Alex Krycek. We make no money from this, no harm intended.

Fandom/pairing: X-Files Krycek/Mulder

Rated NC17 for m/m sex and violence. S/m tones and general twistedness.

Warnings: Um, tiny bit of song lyrics and first person POV, lots of hitting and general nastiness, but it is a love story of a sort.

Story title and song lyrics borrowed without permission from Beautiful South, Heaton/Rotheray, and Go! Discs Music LTD.

Something That You Said

By Zen&nancy

"You're such a slut, Krycek." Mulder grunts as he slams into me.

He's right, I am a slut. I'm a slut for his massive dick pounding into me. We're in his apartment and he's got me bent over his kitchen table with my jeans around my ankles. It's been happening like this for a couple of months now. It all started about two weeks after I gave him the tip about Wiekamp Air Force Base, and that kiss.

I broke in as usual; thinking Mulder would still be at work. I was sure that his apartment was empty. Maybe a little too sure, because I didn't really pay attention to whether there was any noise coming from inside; I was positive he wasn't home.

Of course I was wrong. That will teach me to get overly confident.

When I walked through the door he was lying on his couch, watching one of his pornos. I think it's quite a testament to my lock picking skills that he didn't hear me till I came through the door. Either that, or Mulder gets way too engrossed in those movies. The shock and outrage on his face were perfect. I've never seen anyone manage to look so indignant with their boxers around their knees and a very  impressive hard on. It was a vision to behold. He was naked and furious, and the sight of him made me break into a sweat. My heart beat doubled and my mouth went dry. I was totally distracted.

Which is why he was able to get to his gun on the coffee table before I could pull mine out of my jacket. I was too busy ogling Mulder in all his glory. He stepped out of his boxers without missing a step as he charged me. I've never seen Mulder be graceful before. He's always bumping into things and dropping things. That was the last thing that ran through my brain before I felt the floor hit my back. He was screaming at me, totally out of control as he shoved his gun into my mouth.

Now, under normal circumstances, Mulder never would have been able to get the better of me. This, however, was far from normal. I had a naked, erect Mulder lying on top of me. I didn't even take him seriously when he shoved his gun in my mouth. My hormones had taken over and all it did was make me harder. Yeah, I know, I'm sick and twisted, but I don't let it bother me. Finally something Mulder screamed at me penetrated the fog of lust that had filled my brain.

"This time, you don't walk away. Breathe your last breath, you fucking rat bastard!"

He released the safety, and shifted his weight on top of me. I looked him in the eye, thinking if I had to die, at least Mulder would be my killer. I really believed he was going to do it, and in a way, I wanted him to. I was tired and broken, doubting the odds of humans surviving for very much longer. I tried to communicate this to him, letting down all my walls as I stared into his non-color eyes. I felt like I was watching a movie, like it wasn't really happening, so it was okay to just give up like this.

Mulder froze when his thigh came in contact with my erection. I mean he even stopped breathing. I was panting around the barrel of his gun and when I realized he might not kill me, I rocked my hips against him. In the blink of an eye the gun was removed and replaced with his tongue. He chipped one of my teeth as he pulled the barrel out of my mouth. I lay there; all my muscles turned to jello by the combination of Mulder's kiss and the rush of relief at having cheated death again. He kissed me like he was raping me, but there was desperation in the strange, strangled noises he made. Technically, no matter what Mulder did to me, it wouldn't be rape. I'd consent to anything he wanted to do to me. Hell, a couple of seconds ago I was going to let him kill me without a fight.

"Fucking piece of shit." He pulled his mouth from mine just long enough to spit the words at me, then his mouth was covering mine, sucking my tongue into his mouth and down his throat.

It went on like that for about five more minutes while we were humping and grinding, grunting and moaning into each other's mouths. He called me the most creative things I've ever heard, but I can't remember one of them now. Now all I remember is how he felt pinning me down, making me his.

After I spent one day with him, I knew I had to feel his passion. He only let it come out in anger, or in the pursuit of his precious truth, but I wanted it for my own. I didn't care if I had to settle for the hatred and the rage, but I never gave  up wanting the lust that lay low, under the surface. There it, and it was all mine. All that violent, intense, sexual, angry Mulder passion was being let loose on me, and I didn't care what came next.

The closer we got to orgasm, the more violent his thrusts got. Then he ripped his mouth away from me, sat back on his knees, slapped me across the face... and came. More come than I've ever seen hit me in the face, on my chest, even my hair. All I needed to get me off was the sight of Mulder with his head thrown back, every muscle tense and hard, yelling my name. My first name, over and over until he collapsed on top of me. I had my own come squishing around in my jeans, and I didn't care.  All of his passion was focused on me, and I had caused that explosive orgasm that left him a boneless heap on top of me.

I remember being scared shitless, but not caring, as I slowly brought my arms up, daring to hold him. I think that I wanted him to know that it was okay if he had to hit me to let himself want me. He let me hold him for a moment or two. Then he stood up, put on his boxers, and picked up the gun. I'd forgotten about the gun. No one throws me off balance like Mulder, and this was his best effort yet, but I still should have remembered the gun.

"Get out." He had the Sig pointed at my head. My only comfort was watching his hands and knees shake.

I got up and left. I didn't know if I'd live to get out the front door, but I was pretty sure. I made it back to my hotel room before I remembered why I'd gone to Mulder's apartment in the first place. I was going to give him the location of a facility where they were growing hybrids. I figured an email was going to have to do. Going back to his apartment then would probably have been suicide.

He never replied, but four days later I heard that he and Scully had tried to expose them. It was only a week after that when I found a message in my Yahoo! account. All it said was, "My place. 11:00 p.m. tomorrow night." Of course I went. I wanted as much of Mulder as he would give me, and I still do. It was worth the risk of him killing me.

Each time I go to him, it's almost the same. He hits me as soon as he lets me in. I think I'm the perfect masochist to Mulder's sadist. There are no games, no safewords, no nicely played out "scenes", it's all real; the passion, the hatred, and even the twisted bits of love we have between us. I know I'm fucked up, you couldn't have lived my life and not be fucked in the head. I like it when he hits me. Whenever I find myself trying to analyze it, start dissecting myself to figure out why I like it, I stop myself. I'm sure some psychiatrist would say it's because I feel I deserve it, or it's because of my childhood, or some nice, neat piece of psycho-babble that would identify my problem. Only, I don't think of Mulder and my twisted relationship with him as a problem; I think of it as a gift.

So, as I'm bent over his kitchen table and he's calling me a slut and telling me what a bitch I am, that I'm his bitch, there is no other place in the world that I would rather be. This is the balance we've found between the roles fate has made us play out in the past, and our emotions for each other. I couldn't expect him to ever admit that he loves me, even a little bit. I killed the man's father, and even worse in Mulder's eyes, I betrayed his trust. I know this sounds insane, and it is, but I loved him through all of it. Not the sweet hearts and flowers kind of love that the rest of the world identifies with the word; I have never wanted that with anyone. My love for Mulder is obsessive and intense. It's a painful hunger, a fascination with the man that goes to the extreme. Everything about us is dysfunctional.

Another smack on the side of my thigh sends heat through my body. I don't think I'd know what to do if he was ever gentle with me. I think it would kill me. Then I'd find myself thinking about what Mulder would think just before I killed someone. This way, I know what he thinks, and I know I'll still end up with his dick in my ass, his words in my ears, and the imprint of his hands on me. I know he's close, because he's chanting my name now. This is the best part, when he's slamming into me so hard I think he's going to split me half, and he yells louder the closer he gets. This is when I know I own him as much as he owns me. In my world, that is true love.

The End

feedback? houseofslack@hos.slashcity.com

A hate tattoo on my brain and a love one on my heart

I'd love to hate you, like I love you

and just tear your dreams apart

I said close your eyes and imagine that I'm nice

Cupid's arrow looking more like Cupid's poison dart

Because some things that I do make you go blue

And something that you said made me go red