Summary:  Set between *Sleepless* and *Duane Barry*, Mulder & Krycek
have a heart to heart in an enclosed space. 

Category/Rating:  Slash/NC-17 - Mulder/Krycek SPOILERS:  Sleepless,
Duane Barry, Ascension WARNING:  This contains m/m sexual content.  If
this offends you, please hit *delete*.

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PORTENT

by DBKate dbkate@yahoo.com
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"Open up, Mulder!"

Fox Mulder turned curiously toward the passenger window of his old
Ford. Through the heavy downpour that was pounding against the metal
roof and glass, he could have sworn he'd heard a yell.  He squinted
through the dark, saw nothing, shrugged and turned back to his watch
out the front window, a night of viewing the stars in the middle of an
open field.

"Mulder!"

There it was again.  Accompanied by a furious banging against the
window. Mulder turned on the indoor car light and saw the outline of
his partner, Alex Krycek, looking very wet.

And very pissed.

Mulder squinted again and rolled down the window a crack ."What are you
doing out in the rain, Krycek?"

Krycek's cheek twitched as he replied. "Looking for you, Mulder."

Mulder shrugged with a smile.  "Guess you found me.  Come in?"

"That would be nice." snapped Krycek, the furious, wet torrent making
him sputter and nearly blinding him.

Mulder grinned and popped open the lock on the car door.

"Where the hell have you been?"  gasped Krycek, as he entered the car
with a huff.  He was breathing hard and looking completely drenched,
with droplets rolling off his brow, down his cheeks, glistening and
dripping from his chin.

"Here." answered Mulder, casually.

"Doing what?"

"Looking."

"Looking at *what*?" asked Krycek furiously, shaking the water off of
his hands with short, disgusted motions.  It was a futile gesture, for
he was soaked through to the skin, and water was dripping everywhere,
from his hair down to the cuffs of his pants.

"Pons-Winnecke." replied Mulder, staring out the windshield, cracking a
sunflower seed between his teeth.

"Oh, Pons-Winnecke." echoed Krycek, irritably. He turned to his partner
furiously.  "Mulder, we have a *case*.  I've been scouring downtown
looking for Winslow for the past eight hours, while you've been sitting
here staring out your car window at....at..."

"Pons-Winnecke." repeated Mulder, tossing the shell into his ashtray.
"Comet. You just missed it.  It was pretty clear before it started
raining. It comes around every six years or so.  Nearly hit the earth
in 1921.  Came *that* close."

Mulder held out his thumb and forefinger toward Krycek, with less than
a centimeter of space between them. 

Krycek looked at him incredulously.  "Mulder, did you hear me?  We have
a case.  We have to find Winslow, remember? The guy who's murdering all
those nuns?  Remember him?"

"We don't have to find Winslow."

Krycek made a horrible, exasperated sound.  "What the hell are you
talking about? Of course we have to find him.  Why wouldn't we want
to?"

"Because Winslow didn't do it."

"What?"

"It was Merlot.  The matches, the circle of ash...it was him all along.
Winslow's incrimination was his doing. Think about it.  The scorched
habits...the blackened beads? I just spoke with local investigators and
they picked him up about three hours ago.  He confessed almost
immediately. I suppose as a Catholic he was used to confessing."

Krycek sighed deeply.  "Great.  And when did you plan on calling and
telling *me* this wonderful news?"

Mulder looked thoughtful.  "Probably tomorrow morning. Maybe during
lunch."

Krycek's shoulders slumped.  What the hell was the use? But I guess it
doesn't matter anyway, he thought grimly.

Doesn't matter at all.

Krycek glanced over at Mulder, his profile careless and sharp in the
dim car light.  He bit his lip and shifted uncomfortably in the now
damp car seat.

"So what's the big deal about a comet?" Krycek asked, with closed eyes,
tilting back against the headrest, and grimacing, as rainwater from his
hair rolled down the back of his shirt.

Mulder continued to stare out the window through the downpour.  "Comets
are more than hundred-mile-long balls of ice, Krycek.  They're
portents. Portents of kings, their births and deaths.  Portents of war,
famine, and blood." 

He hesitated. "Portents of betrayal."

Betrayal.  Krycek inhaled sharply and felt the sharp edge of guilt run
down his jaw. He looked at Mulder, and wondered if he knew.  Perhaps he
instinctively knew, what was to come.

For Krycek's betrayal would most certainly be like a comet striking.
Cataclysmic....

And inevitable.

But Mulder wasn't looking at him.  He was still staring at the stars,
dim, blurry points of light barely making it through the slick wash of
heavy rainfall sliding down the windshield.  Krycek turned away,
feeling truly cold and miserable now, his clothes sticking to his body
and remorse sticking in his throat.  He shivered and yanked off his tie
with an annoyed gesture. The cloth strip was uncomfortable in the best
of circumstances, now it became instrument of torture.

Mulder winced as a tiny spray of water slapped him when Krycek tossed
it aside.  He turned to him with a wry grin. "I have my bag with me.
You can have a change of clothes, if you want."  said Mulder, turning
and lifting a carry-all from the back seat with a grunt.  "But not the
Elvis shirt. Got that?"

"Got that." replied Krycek, pushing soaked hair away from his forehead.
He began to shiver in earnest.  He started to think about hypothermia
and pain of frostbite, where the cells of the body actually turn into
tiny bits of ice.

He thought about souls and how they, too, could turn into ice.

"No one gets the Elvis shirt.  Naked, freezing infants don't get the
Elvis shirt." continued Mulder, as he unzipped the bag.  "However, you
can have this lovely Hawaiian button-down. "

Krycek grimaced at the hideous cacophony of colors that were being
dangled in front of him.  "I'd rather not."

"Coward." sniffed Mulder, putting it back in and digging deeper into
the bag. "Here, the requisite black tee and green swim trunks.
However, you won't be anywhere near as fashionable as you could have
been."

"I just want to be dry." replied Krycek, grabbing the T-shirt and
shorts, stuffing them between the dashboard and windshield.  "I'll be
*fashionable* tomorrow."

"You're not going to have the shirt tomorrow."

"Precisely." replied Krycek, stripping off his suit jacket. It came off
with a struggle, the heavy, wet cloth sticking to his dress shirt. As
he shoved it aside, and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed
something unusual.

Mulder was watching him.

Krycek shook his head and reprimanded himself.  Wishful thinking, pal.
Wishful thinking. He continued to undress carelessly, trying to ignore
the aching shiver in his chest. Mulder, Mulder, why does every sign you
look at point you so hopelessly in the wrong direction, he thought with
an inward sigh.

And why do I care?

He peeled off the soaked, translucent undershirt and glanced once more
to his left.

And could hardly believe his eyes.

There was no mistaking it. Mulder was certainly watching him undress,
his face utterly serene, leaning back against the driver's car door and
staring with an unblinking gaze. Krycek felt himself grow warm, then
hot, flushed with embarrassment and then something else. He became
flustered, shaking slightly as the rain began to pound on the car roof.
The zipper on his pants stuck, the wet cloth becoming hopelessly
entangled in the metal teeth.  He struggled with it and it refused to
budge under the clumsy efforts of his cold fingers.

"Damn it." he cursed softly under his breath, as the cloth tore.

"Need help?" asked Mulder, and before Krycek could reply there were
strong fingers on the zipper, deftly tugging at the caught fabric and
pulling down the zipper at the same time.  It opened with a hasty zip
and Krycek felt himself being turned into Mulder's hands, his legs
being gently raised as Mulder, looking directly into his eyes, slid
them off.

Krycek was barely breathing now.  This was no longer wishful thinking.
For there he was...naked, splayed out across the seat, his body
shivering, no longer with cold, but with the heat of his own breaths
and two close bodies trapped in the small car.  Krycek began to
tremble, unable to speak.

"You're very wet." said Mulder, running the palm of his hand up
Krycek's stomach, his fingers combing through the smooth line of damp
hair.

Oh, God.

Krycek gasped, his eyes huge, and his body frozen in place, feeling as
though he'd been born like this, paralyzed from the neck down. Mulder
took no notice, but ran a careful hand down the top of Krycek's thigh.
He flicked at hairs and then began to rub, gently massaging the tense
muscle. He was absolutely intent on what he was doing, and didn't
appear to see the entire body beneath him tremble under his touch or
the cock in front of him, hard and flushed deep red against the pale
skin of Krycek's abdomen.

He shifted forward and began to rub both legs with his hands, with
short, deep movements.  The hands moved down between Krycek's legs, to
the inner thighs, and Krycek found his voice.  He groaned and his head
tossed back, hitting the glass behind him, but he felt nothing.
Nothing but Mulder's relentless hands torturing him.  He couldn't move,
he couldn't shift or turn, or even stand up to leave. He was laid out
and displayed, with two quiet hands opening him, turning him inside
out, and Mulder still didn't seem to notice.

"Does this bother you?" asked Mulder, now running his hands over the
cool, slim hips, kneading them slightly.

Krycek shook his head and lifted himself, as in offering. Come on
Mulder, he thought.  Come on, just do it.  Don't leave me here to drown
like this.  I was cold, I can still become warm. My soul can still be
saved.  Come on, Mulder. Just do it.

As if he'd heard him, Mulder lowered his lips to Krycek's cock.  He
pulled Krycek's hips up tightly, and ran his mouth gently over the top,
his tongue just flicking at the hot velvet and wet salt at the tip.
Krycek made a strangled sound and put his hands around the back of
Mulder's neck, urging him down.  Mulder ignored the pressure and
continued the small licks, only occasionally lapping with his whole
tongue.  He put his hand between Krycek's legs and carefully held him
there, two small, soft weights nestled in his palm.

The hands of the back of Mulder's neck gave up and Krycek began to
whimper...small pleading sounds, begging for release in any form.  He
squirmed against the car seat, desperately trying to initiate contact
in the now hot, confined space. 

Mulder smiled and slid up Krycek's body, the fabric of his clothing
scratching against Krycek's bare skin.  He met the mouth of the man
beneath him, gently scraping his teeth against Krycek's lips, not quite
kissing him, but not quite refusing either.

"Do you like this?" Mulder asked, leaning over and whispering in
Krycek's ear. He could feel Krycek nod against his shoulder, trembling
and breathing harshly, his hips, now bucking, refusing to stay still.

"Are you sure?"  Another nod.

"Good." said Mulder, with a quiet smile.  He put his hand under
Krycek's neck and with one swift motion, scooped him up toward him.  He
crushed his mouth to Krycek's and for a single, dizzying moment Krycek
honestly believed that he no longer had a need for air.

This must be a sign. I can be saved, thought Krycek.  If only...

But all thought stopped when Mulder's head bent and caught a nipple
between his teeth.  Krycek moaned loudly and ground his hips against
the fully-clothed body that pressed him deeply into the leather seat.
But Mulder ignored him and continued to slowly lick back down Krycek's
taut body, wet once more, but now with a slick sheen of sweat, the
rainwater gone, evaporated long ago.

Without warning, Mulder plunged his mouth onto Krycek's cock.

"Oh, Christ!" Krycek cried out, things beginning to swirl in the
darkness behind his shut eyes, his hips grinding against the mouth that
assaulted him. "Mulder, for God's sake..."

Mulder continued to suck, sharply, without any thought or delicacy, his
teeth scraping the underside of Krycek's cock, with one hand roughly
handling the sac between Krycek's legs, the other manipulating himself
with short, furious motions.  Soon there was nothing, but heat, sweat,
condensation, and Krycek's short cries, his head twisting against the
leather.  Disjointed thoughts tumbled through his mind.

So close...I can be...this is a sign.  Yes..it is, it must...

When Krycek came, he saw a bright light, shooting and then fading
slowly in the distance.  He heard Mulder's muffled groan and felt a
warm wetness splay onto his thigh. For a long moment Krycek lie still,
feeling nothing but the odd sensation of floating in a warm river,
without thought or care.  He was vaguely aware that Mulder's body had
slid up over his own, and he felt a pair of lips take his, this time
gently, with a soft hand pushing the hair from his forehead once more.

Krycek sighed into Mulder's shoulder and could almost see his smile.

"So Alex, maybe it was a portent." Mulder whispered in his ear, his
short laugh tickling Krycek's lobe.

"Maybe." replied Krycek, weakly.  He closed his eyes tightly and
embraced the man above him. Mulder kissed him once more and Krycek
suddenly saw an unwelcome vision.

A vision of a garden.

A kiss.

And a betrayal.

His eyes opened with a jerk.  And past Mulder's shoulder, outside of
the windshield he saw it.  The bright, endless line of the comet, huge
and furious, burning overhead as if daring him to ignore its portent.

And deny two fates.

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All comments welcome.

dbkate@yahoo.com