Disclaimer: If anyone thinks Mulder and Krycek are my property, they are wrong.

Ratings: PG 13? m/m affection

Fandom: X-files

Pairing: M/K

Summary: Mulder is brooding

Thanks to my sister for beta-reading and to Deine Lakaien for their music


Too much time 
by Ratwoman
ratwoman02@yahoo.de

"I still ask myself
is this love
this hate I'm feeling
I was dead
would you weep?"
Traitors, by Deine Lakaien


Weekends were the horror. 

Weekends meant time. Plenty of time with nothing to do but thinking. 

Mulder did some of the paperwork that was left, but somewhen that was done, even though again 
and again his thoughts travelled off to green eyes. He went jogging, swimming, playing basket 
ball, but you can do sports and still think of other things.

Mulder tried it with watching films, porn, but he always started to imagine another man than the 
ones in the porn, huge green eyes, a face like a fallen angel, a body like a Greek God. Arms 
around Mulder's waist, lips at his neck. 

Mulder felt miserably for thinking about Alex in such an erotic way and tried to punish himself 
by reminding himself of all the things that Alex had done to him: gained his trust, seduced him, 
all the time reporting to Cancerman, traded Scully to a horrible fate, murdered his father, 
lured Mulder into a trap in Tunguska, infected him with the black cancer...

Right now, Krycek had probably gained himself a high position in whatever organisation he was 
working for. While Mulder was miserable, Krycek possibly was drinking champagne, eating caviar 
and laughing about Mulder's stupidity, about having trusted him. About trusting him again and 
again. 

Mulder trembled of hatred when he imagined a happy, powerful and wealthy Krycek midst of young 
men and women seeking his near to gain themselves power. Having all kinds of connections, 
pulling all strings. Maybe watching video-tapes of him and Mulder, mocking him.

But of course he had no clue whether Krycek was well off. As far as he knew, he could as well be 
dying in the ditch. Chased down by some of all those people he'd pissed off; those beautiful 
eyes wide in horror, his skin wet of sweat, his angelic face contorted to a mask of pain. 
Bleeding, suffering, begging for his life. Begging for a fast death.

No. Mulder could tell, that rat bastard would always find a way to survive. He had survived in 
Hong Kong selling government secrets, he had survived several of Cancerman's attempts on his 
life, he had survived being cut off an arm without anaesthetics. 

Krycek would find a way out of every trap, would do anything to survive, and if he had to sell 
secrets, to murder, to beg and steal. Maybe he even sold his body for money, or protection. 
Yeah, Krycek would do anything, even let powerful people use and exploit his body.

From all the images Mulder could conjure up on this lonely weekends, the worst were those of 
foreign hands on Krycek's skin, men riding him, receiving blowjobs from him, men using him in 
all the ways that Mulder couldn't.

Mulder was just glad when the weekends were over and he could distract himself with work.


***end***