A Boy and His Rat
by C.M. Decarnin
Mulder came into his living room carrying Thai takeout in one hand and a bag of videos in the other, and found another package waiting on his coffee table.
He stopped and looked around, divesting his hands of junk and getting one on his gun. But when the packages turned up like this no one was ever there. He checked every cranny and the lock -- which was pristine -- anyway. Not that he wanted to find Krycek in his closet, he thought as he hung up his suit and pulled on old jeans and a t-shirt. But the packages gave him chills.
"I feel so violated," he said in a high voice. Then palpated the thing for wires and incised it cautiously along one side.
A couple of diskettes and something in a red plastic tube.
He slid the diskettes into his spare computer. The one with nothing stored on it and no virus scanner. Scans had a way of leaving Krycek's diskettes rinsed bare. As he read he said, "God damn it!" and almost smote his forehead. Krycek's diskettes also had a way of making him feel he must have been blind not to've seen what Krycek had found.
Maybe he really is smarter than me.
There's the kind of thought nightmares are made of...
He took his tom kha kai into the kitchen and fished the soapweed -- as he thought of the floating dead clover-like leaves of cilantro -- out of the soup, flicking them off the spoon into the sink, found the woody hunk of galangal and dropped it in the garbage, and poured half into a bowl, on a plate next to half the Mongolian beef and rice, and stuck all the rest in the refrigerator for tomorrow night. Two dinners for the hassle of one.
Back on the couch, he didn't actually eat the skinny little red Thai peppers, but you didn't have to. Their essence brushfired his palate, and he was sure any alien parasites he might have picked up were about to die screaming.
He ate and thought about the mother of all X-Files.
He and Krycek were putting it together, proofs that could not be refuted -- he hoped. The Lone Gunmen poised to put it out there, once he had it all. Hadn't told them any of it, though, hadn't even told Scully.
"I can't protect her, Mulder. I've only got two hands." Then Krycek had laughed at himself, a single breath. "Not even that."
And without even a struggle Mulder acquiesced. It was just too dangerous, too distracting and frankly too sick to pull Scully into this mesalliance. He could see himself explaining why the man who'd stood over her sister's dead body was now supposed to be their pal. She had suffered so much more than Mulder already, he couldn't paint another target on her back.
He could also see himself explaining the hard-on he got when he thought of Krycek as more than a disembodied delivery service. He hadn't explained that one even to himself yet.
Something about seeing a man so totally, starry-eyedly get his cookies just because you kind of kissed him. Something about the feel of hot throat squeezed around a cock so long when it extended that you'd never really been able to approach unrestrained sex with a woman. Something about -- he swallowed -- admit it -- that amputated arm shrouded in its empty black leather sleeve.
And way more than something about all of that, all the things that made up Alex fucking traitor Krycek, down on his knees to you --
He slithered down off the couch, one hand already on the erection poked up out of his pants, the other joining it as soon as he was flat on the floor. Most guys, he'd heard, could do this one-handed...
His cellphone rang.
He knocked it off the end-table and scrambled for it.
"Mulder," he answered, trying to breathe shallow.
"Don't stop," said a breathy voice. His heart thudded, then beat like a gong in his hard-on. "You look so good. So good. Laid out with your t-shirt hiked up and that little hollow in your belly, where your hand goes under your waistband --" He jerked his hand out. "Oh! No baby, no, go on, do it for me, you look beautiful, touch it, touch it for me baby touch it --"
He looked wildly at the window, and heard a laugh, all breath, on the cell phone. "Yeah baby yeah, I've got you in my sights." And in a more reasonable murmur, "You know you want to, put your hand on it, let me do you too." The voice crooned, "Touch me, baby --" like a part of a song, and "Please... it's hard isn't it, under there, rubbing against your jeans, pretend its me, I want to, I want to hold it baby, I want to -- kiss it I want to lick it take it suck it let me let me -- Put your hand on it --!"
What he meant to say was, "Get off my line you sick fuck." What came out was, "I need both hands free."
There was a stark silence, and then the sound of a shuddering gasp.
"Put it on the speaker." Another very shaky long breath. "You're bug-free, baby, the exterminator came by today." The sound of swallowing. "Nobody out here but just us chickens." If Krycek said it, Mulder believed it. God help him. He clicked the phone onto "Speaker", put it down on the floor near his ear, and slowly, slowly, lay back. "Oh yeah. Oh yeah oh God baby. God -- Now touch it for me..." The voice had gone soft as eiderdown. "Yessss --" A hard sob. A whimper. "Oh, yes, baby, yes --" and as he barely got his hand back under his waistband he heard the unmistakable gasps and sobs of breath of Krycek creaming in ecstasy.
That made twice now he'd heard that sound, after only a touch, or less. So. Krycek's a premie...
Damn, I would be too if I had to high-tail as much as he does.
He gave a little laugh and heard Krycek laugh back like a little kid.
A really little kid. Jesus. Then, "Now you. Stroke up -- just on the underside. Lightly. Go down again. Slower... now up --"
"Bossy little fuck, aren't you?"
"Just the underside and slow. Pretend it's my tongue."
"Told you. Now I want to lick you all over. My tongue is the wettest and hottest thing you'll ever feel on your sweet cock. Show me how you do it. Show me --"
I've lost my mind. This will all be on Skinner's VCR tomorrow -- part of some truly arcane plot --
He unfastened his jeans. They had a button fly from the time he'd grabbed out of the wrong pile at The Gap. He unbuttoned slow.
The breathing sounded fascinated.
He parted the denim to either side. With a wriggle he pushed down the Euro-style briefs and let his cock free.
"Thank you," the phone breathed.
He grabbed around the knob with one fist and the shaft with the other.
"Oh thank you, thank you yes God --" the phone said. "Do it. Do it to yourself. Right under your fist I can see that set of stones you got on you and I'm licking the phone at the bottom, like -- yeah! Feel me! I'm taking them in my mouth, baby, I'm sucking them while you do yourself, I'm pushing them against the roof of my mouth with my tongue, I'm sliding my tongue back and forth in rhythm with you baby -- rhythm with you baby, rhythm with you, sucking sucking sucking sucking sliding baby, sliding baby, pushing sucking sliding I'm sliding my hand up over your knuckles I'm taking your cock in my mouth gonna make you come in my mouth it's hot as hell, wet as your dreams, push in, sucking you in all the way, push it in fuck my filthy mouth -- wrapping my arms around you --"
He came instantly and extravagantly, all over himself as he wrenched his hands off his cock and grabbed the cell and ground it hard into his spurting organ, crying out and rutting up off the carpet maddenedly, grabbing his cock and the phone together and rolling over onto his stomach and trying to fuck Krycek hard deep forever through the phone, again and again and again until he finally collapsed, exhausted, but still squirming, humping, whining low like that midnight train...
...that must have run over him, with its many, many cars...
He groaned and rolled off whatever had its teeth in his crotch.
Oh shit! Had he passed out for hours, or only laid there a minute comatose? The phone --
He tugged it out from under his briefs and fumbled it up along his body till he got it near his ear.
"Hi baby." The voice was all tremor.
"Hi," he said gently. Why gently...? Oh.
That line about the arms.
"That was..." The breath had to catch up. "You --" There were four breaths just by themselves. "I'm going to give you something." Two breaths. "I'm hard again." Deep breath. "But I'm not going to come. I'm going to keep it hard for you. All night. And all day tomorrow baby. So when you're in your gray little office doing what they tell you, you can think of me any time and know I hurt for you baby. Will you think of me tomorrow?"
"Count on it," Mulder croaked.
"Good..." The phone clicked off and went to a dialtone.
"Superfreak," Mulder whispered. The word floated up to the ceiling, followed by:
End of Part 6