JiM :: Contras and Squares

This time, Mulder was the last one back at his apartment. The others had already arrived before him. He was greeted by the sight of Krycek helping Scully to slip off her bullet-proof vest. She shook her hair and then shimmied her shoulders like a tortoise enjoying her first taste of freedom outside her shell. Skinner had his boot off and his jeans leg pulled up and was inspecting a shallow scratch along his calf. They all looked up when he came in and nodded; Scully smiled.

Their raid had been a success, like every other operation they'd planned and executed together in the last month. Krycek brought them information, Skinner had the tactics, Mulder and Scully determined objectives and strategy. They raided labs, stole resources, taped meetings and bugged board rooms, slowly building their stockpile of information and exposure. Their night-time teamwork was tight-lipped and precise.

Mulder, Scully and Skinner went about their daytime routines, unremarkable civil servants causing no particular comment. They did not ask what Krycek did with his days. None of them had ever spoken of that morning in Mulder's apartment when unforgivable truths had been dealt out, losing hands all around.

A ruthlessly practical camaraderie had grown between them. On an operation, there was never a question of trust or loyalty, no private pain was ever permitted to surface. They did not dance around the issues; in their narrow, shared night-time world, there were no issues. But there was a price to be paid for all of their restraint.

There were no victory dances.

There was only the fierce heat of sex to celebrate their dancing with Death, only the rush and push and howl and spit of being alive. Joy became throttled into need because sex was a much simpler crucible for all that smoldered between them.

At first, he and Krycek would wait for the others to leave before falling on each other like starving wolves. Then there came a night when it had been too close and they had barely made it into the empty apartment before Krycek had his prosthetic hand wrapped around Mulder's throat and the other down his jeans. When Scully and Skinner made it back, Mulder had already been too far gone to care about the open bedroom door. Alex was a hard, hot length in him and his entire universe had spun down to a bright point of flame.

Later, wandering naked through his living room, going to get a bottle of water, he'd seen the tangle of limbs on his couch. Scully was half-wrapped around Skinner, protecting his nakedness with her own. Skinner's arms cradled her carefully even in sleep. Mulder had stood and looked at them for long, cool minutes before going and getting a spare blanket to tuck around them. They had slept on, oblivious to his care, as did Krycek. In the morning, he had awakened alone in the apartment. They had none of them ever spoken of it. But now he left blankets and condoms under the couch.

Mulder went into the bathroom to get his first aid kit, which he brought to Skinner, who acknowledged it with a grunt. Mulder nodded back, then went into his bedroom to shuck his own vest and the sweat soaked t-shirt beneath it. He had learned early not to strip off his gear with the rest. Scully's narrowed eyes had traced the marks of Krycek's hands and teeth on his chest and he had felt her gaze run like acid down his skin. Her lip curled at such marks on Krycek's skin and Mulder couldn't take seeing either look in her eyes, so he retreated strategically.

He heard a whisper of sound behind him, the door being closed. He didn't even bother to turn. Krycek's hand was on his shoulder, gentle, warm and totally alien at this moment. Then he was being turned and Krycek's face was warm against his, nuzzling, caressing him, tender kisses skipping over his jaw and cheek. Mulder felt his head drop back, exposing his throat, felt Krycek begin to trail down it, felt the deep shimmers of wanting begin and he shoved Krycek away.

"No."

"What's wrong?" There was a kind of innocent bewilderment in the green eyes and Mulder was suddenly sickened.

Of course Krycek was confused—hadn't Mulder let him do everything he'd wanted? Hadn't that been Mulder moaning against the bricks in that alley two weeks ago? Mulder who had gone down on him in a parked car on a stakeout? Mulder who knew that an operation wasn't really finished until Krycek had left some trace on him, like a man refreshing a brand. Krycek's kisses burned on his skin long after the man himself had faded into the morning sun.

He has seen Scully's eyes lingering on him, afterwards, during the day. He has seen Skinner's gaze, too. They both think that Mulder is somehow the price they must all pay for Krycek's information and his undeniably professional skills. Sometimes, the weight of their eyes hurts too much and he can't look at them. Scully won't believe him when he tells her that it isn't blackmail, that he does not understand his need for Krycek. Skinner has never asked. They simply glare and the uneasy collaboration continues.

"Mulder?" Krycek asked softly and brushed the hair away from his eyes, fingers skimming Mulder's forehead like a whisper.

Too kind, too gentle, too much like the Krycek who had dried him off and put him to bed the first night this ominous partnership had been born. Mulder wanted to strike out at him, but Skinner and Scully were in the next room. To start a fight would only bring more witnesses to his disintegration. But he struggled anyway, and Krycek clamped his hands reflexively, pinning Mulder to the wall. He jammed a knee between Mulder's legs; the tight grip of Krycek's prosthetic was cutting off the blood to Mulder's right hand and he snarled as he thrashed. Krycek shoved him back again, chest hard and unyielding against Mulder's.

"Is this what you want, Mulder? What you need?" Krycek growled, then bit at the side of the throat he had been lavishing kisses on moments before.

Mulder's moan of protest only made Krycek switch sides and bite at the muscle on the other side of his neck. Mulder knew he'd have two matched bite-bruises to show the world tomorrow. He thought of the looks that Skinner and Scully would give him and he wanted Krycek to share it, wanted Krycek to feel the weight and constant raw scraping of their pity and guilt.

"They think I'm your whore," he spit into Krycek's open face, inches from his own.

Krycek just arched an eyebrow, then smiled a little bitterly. "Well, they've got that backwards."

He seemed tired suddenly, as if his words had cost him all of the desperate strength the night's success had left him. His grip on Mulder's wrists loosened and he took a small step back. Then he slowly dropped his head until his forehead rested on Mulder's shoulder. It was such a wounded gesture that Mulder couldn't do anything but bring his arms up to hold Krycek. One arm went around his back, the other rested on the nape of Krycek's neck, stroking lightly at the silky feathers of hair at the edge of his scalp.

"I don't think I can do this any more, Mulder," Krycek whispered. "I can't be what you want me to be."

Mulder thought for a while. Krycek felt that Mulder was using him…and paying him in what coin? His arms tightened unconsciously. He knew, he realized. Krycek, who took the blame Mulder gave him, who demanded from Mulder everything that Mulder had always wanted to give, who forced Mulder to do everything Mulder had always burned to do. Krycek, who wore him out again and again to the point where all Mulder had left were gentle touches, meaningless murmurs, thoughtless caresses.

He'd always known what Alex wanted from him. This, he thought, feeling Alex breathing shakily in his arms. This, he thought, brushing a kiss into the hair that still smelled of gasoline and sweat and the summer night.

"Ok, Alex," he whispered. "It's Ok, you don't have to do this any more. I get it."

Then he very gently stripped the damp shirt over Alex's head. He unbuttoned Alex's jeans and slid them down along with his briefs, then slipped off the boots and the jeans after them. Then he took Alex's hand and pulled him over to sit on the bed. His fingers were careful and methodical as they unfastened the prosthetic left arm and placed it beside the bed. Alex watched him, a bruised wonder in his eyes, as he pulled back the covers and motioned for Alex to lie down. Mulder slipped in beside him and pulled Alex over to lie on his chest. He felt the other man's sigh hum through him as the bed rippled beneath them.

"Mulder?" Alex asked.

"I get it now," Mulder said softly and ran his fingers down Alex's cheek.