DISCLAIMER - Everything X-Files belongs to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen, Fox etc. etc. and no infringement is intended. The story, such as it is, is copyright Karen Colohan April 2001.

Author's note - This story isn't set at any particular point in time, but this Alex has two functional arms.


                                          BY KAREN COLOHAN

I have always found it fascinating, the way that, when one sense is restricted, the others compensate, becoming heightened. It's a facet of human physiology that can have many uses, bringing pleasure, pain or fear. Sometimes the effects are more mundane, like now. It's dark, very dark, here in this manicured oasis set in the middle of our urban desert. Nevertheless, I'm perfectly aware of the rows of cherry trees that surround me, neat and regimented. Their scent betrays them, even at night. The pink and white of their blossoms may be faded to grey, but the smell is as vivid as ever, carried to me on the cool breeze.

I, on the other hand, pass unnoticed - a skill I developed a long time ago. I'm just another piece of the darkness as I wait in the shadows - wait for you to come to me. I know you will come; you always do. You can never resist this temptation... any more than I can.

There's a pattern, a rhythm to it now - you could almost call it a ritual. We deny the pull of it for weeks, maybe even months at a time, but eventually one or the other of us will succumb. Usually it's me - strange as it may seem you're the one constant in my life and I need to touch something known and certain every once in a while - but not this time. You fell first on this occasion. I don't know the whys and wherefores, but by our usual, circuitous routes you made sure I knew. So here I am...

This wouldn't have been my choice of venue. It seems too open and exposed for all that it's deserted. I'm more of a dark alleys and shadowed doorways kind of guy, but I'll try anything once... I tried you, didn't I? And I've been crawling back for more ever since. I know it's a weakness, maybe one day it'll prove to be a fatal flaw, but you've become as necessary to my existence as I am to yours.

Another of my senses goes on alert as I catch the faint metallic sound of the park gate being opened. I know of no reason why anyone but you would be here at this precise hour, but it pays to be careful. I flatten myself against the trunk of one of the cherry trees, my eyes searching for your approach.

I'm not disappointed. There you are, dressed for stealth yourself tonight in dark jeans and a short jacket. The clothes cling and accentuate your body in a way those damned suits never could. I take a moment to appreciate the way the muscles in your thighs move under the tight denim as you come unerringly towards me. Even though I'm hiding I could never be invisible to you.

You join me in the shadows and take your time looking me up and down. I wonder what you really see when you look at me like that. Just the dark hair, green eyes, black leather and denim that make up the surface of Alex Krycek, or do you see anything more? Is there anything but the shell left any more? Whatever it is you see, there's a hunger for it growing in your eyes and I'm sure there's an answering fire in my own. I turn until the tree trunk is at my back and you move with me. Your heat brands me from shoulder to hip as you lean in close.

An ironic smile twists your lips as you raise one of your hands. I can't entirely control my instinctive flinch - I still remember when our encounters consisted of nothing more than you trying to beat the shit out of me. This time, though, your intent isn't to strike me and your hand moves to touch my hair. It's an unexpected piece of gentleness, more intimacy than I'm accustomed to. I'm breathless and aching just from the simple brush of your fingertips.

"How sweet," you whisper, "you wore flowers in your hair just for me."

The words don't make sense until your fingers ruffle my hair again and a scattering of scented cherry blossoms fall onto the shoulders of my jacket. Their sweetness mingles with the clean, male scent rising from your warm skin.

"What can I say?" I respond in kind. "I like to accessorise."

"And what is the well-dressed rat bastard wearing this season? Isn't leather a little passe?" he asks.

His hands are on my shoulders now, gliding over the smooth, supple leather, then burrowing inside. I let him remove the gun and the two more obviously located knives. I don't feel threatened; it's all part of the pattern we've established. He isn't foolish enough to think I don't have other, better concealed weapons, but it allows him to feel in control of the situation. And I like nothing better than to have Fox Mulder in control of my body - within reason. So, this way we're both winners.

With the preliminaries out of the way he crowds in close. One long, muscular leg insinuates its way between my own as he presses me back into the roughness of the tree behind me. The hard thigh rubs firmly against the heavy bulge at my crotch. I'm naked under the denim and the cold metal of the zipper drags over exquisitely sensitive skin as he thrusts against me.

His hands find my own, lacing our fingers together tightly. He forces my arms up above my head and uses his weight to hold me still. All the time he keeps rubbing himself against me, inflaming me. I know it's affecting him too because I can feel the hard ridge of his cock sliding along my hip as he moves. All I can do is respond, groaning, my body flexing as I try to push back and increase the wonderful, maddening friction. With my hands pinned I can't touch him and I want to - need to - but he won't let me go.

His face is close to mine, his lips parted slightly as his own breathing becomes harsher. I know he just wants to make me come. That way he can claim that I'm indebted to him, that I should show my gratitude - and I always do. I'd do it anyway, but this way he can convince himself it's because I owe him, not because he wants it.

Keeping both my hands in place with just one of his own, he drops the other to my waistband. His fingers are awkward; he's more caught up in this than he'd care to admit and fine tremors are shuddering through him, but eventually he manages to unfasten the button and slide the zipper down.

It's something of a relief for me to be free of the constricting fabric, even if the night air is cold on my skin. My cock is still hot and aching, though, and it's a shock when his hand strokes over it briefly. I barely have time to let out a low moan of pleasure before his hand moves upward again, shoving my T-shirt out of the way to bare my chest and stomach.

The rough friction of his denim-clad thigh as it presses and rubs against my naked cock and balls is a delightful torment. His free hand is roaming over my chest, rudely pinching my nipples until they're hard peaks. I wish he'd bend down and take them in his mouth. With just a little imagination I can feel the sharp scrape of his teeth being soothed by cool saliva... All at once I'm so close I can almost taste it.

Having Fox Mulder suck on my nipples might be just another fantasy, but the touch of his hand on me is real enough. It swoops down again, engulfing my cock in tight heat. He fists me roughly and in seconds I'm lost. My back arches as pleasure sizzles down my spine. I freeze as my cock empties itself over his hand and my belly in long, wracking spurts. I feel as if I'm on fire as his eyes lock with mine, renewing his claim on my soul.

Gasping and moaning, I have to do something. In the end I settle for stretching my neck out so I can latch onto his mouth with my own. It's against our unspoken rules - after all, I'm nothing but a whore and whores don't kiss - but right now I can't bring myself to care. I just need to taste those pouting lips, and so I do. The kiss is ferocious - teeth and tongues clashing. I realise he's bitten me when I feel the sudden sting and taste blood in my mouth. I won't relinquish those wonderful lips, though. I just keep on kissing him, even though he's trying to push me away.

Eventually he succeeds and wrenches away from me altogether. There's blood - my blood - on his lips and he's scowling furiously. He raises a hand to his mouth, dabbing at it, trying to wipe it clean. What he seems to have forgotten is that those fingers he's dragging across his lips were wrapped around my cock when I came and are still coated in my semen. I can tell the precise moment that he realise it and I can't prevent the smug smile which curves my own lips. Fox Mulder has the taste of my come in his mouth for the first time...

He's lost for words - angry and aroused.

I keep right on grinning at him. "There's plenty more where that came from," I offer, posing artfully.

His gaze slides down to my lax cock and the sticky residue of semen on my stomach before he can stop himself. "Fuck you, Krycek!" he spits at me when he catches himself.

"If you want to," I reply glibly, but inside I'm holding my breath, hoping...

I'm to be disappointed, though. I've crossed the line - that invisible boundary we've set for ourselves. Actually, we've both done that tonight. Crossed the line and had a taste of something new... I've tasted Fox Mulder's mouth for the first time and he's tasted me. Despite any protestations to the contrary I know we both liked it.

But it seems I've pushed him too far - at least for the time being. At this point in the proceedings I'd usually be on my knees with Mulder's cock rammed down my throat, but not tonight. He's backing away and I know our assignation is over. Ignoring the sticky mess on my skin I pull my T- shirt down and tuck it back into my jeans, carefully zipping them up.

"Nothing else to say to me, Fox?" I ask sweetly. "It's not every day I offer to let you fuck me."

"Stay the hell away from me, Krycek!" he warns. He's clearly about ready to bolt.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" I grin, showing my teeth. "Just who invited whom to this little party," I remind him.

He snarls angrily, like a caged animal, but he has no answer to that. Instead he fishes my weapons out of his jacket and throws them on the grass at my feet. "Next time I see you, I'll kill you," he threatens.

I simply laugh. We both know it's an empty threat. The game doesn't work like that. Our relationship is inexplicable, complex, but it contains one overriding truth. We need each other. Whether we like it or not.

I bend down to retrieve my weapons. When I stand up again he is gone. I'm still smiling, even though tonight didn't go according to our usual plan. I can still see the expression on Mulder's face when he tasted me on his fingers - shock and arousal. It was priceless. And I'd be willing to bet he's heading home right now so that he can lie on that old couch of his and jerk off with the taste of me still in his mouth. It's a pleasant thought to take away with me.

I leave the park with a jaunty spring in my step. I'm already looking forward to our next meeting. And there will be a next meeting; it's just a question of when and where.

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