This Night by Te July 1998 Disclaimers: Not mine, lawd, lawd, not mine. Spoilers: Nothing of note, though I do take the events of Terma into account. Ratings Note: R for poor language and some gnawing and pawing. Summary: Mulder goes looking for Alex, and is found by him. Author's Note: Another moment from my "A Love of Dead Things" universe. Takes place after the "Freeze" snippet, but before "The Idea of Forever," and "Time." It's not really necessary to read any of the other stories, but I'd sure be flattered if you did. Acknowledgments: Stop hiding, Sister Blue... Uberthanks go to my even-more-tireless-and-patient-than-usual Prime Beta Alicia. I'll find a way to make it up to you. Also to Dreamer for helping to translate Tespeak to the world and the title. Last, but not least, to Dawn Sharon, for stroking me to creativity, fearlessly daring to suggest that the first draft wasn't perfection, *and* coaxing me to take myself seriously. This Night by Te ****** It's just the night in my veins, Making me crawl in the dust again... --"Night In My Veins" by Pretenders ****** Mulder jittered and hummed in the anonymous rental. He didn't look out of place. Just another random man in the club's parking lot. Perhaps a little older, perhaps a little wealthier, but obviously there for only one reason. //Why am I doing this? //It's not like I'm accomplishing anything anywhere else... //Does it matter?// There had been a string of disappearances, though none so unusual as to require his presence in an official light. It was that sort of neighborhood, the men were in that profession, but Mulder had his //needs// suspicions. ****** Three weeks ago there had been a rooftop, ten days ago a taunting //glimpse// hint of presence outside his apartment. Four days ago, giddy with //nightmares... such a silly word for those... visions and wishes and why couldn't you hold me a little longer you bastard?// sleep deprivation and the unbelievable cruelty of a belief confirmed, he'd laughed quietly to himself, taped a jaunty little 'A' to his window, and fallen asleep. And awakened to a bemused smile, and a cool, dry palm on his brow. He'd said, "Krycek!" and meant to be harsh, but, of course, inevitably, it didn't come out like that. Mulder remembered the rooftop again, wondered if once your breath is stolen you ever got it back. And then ****** Back in the car, in the present, in real time, Mulder was shaking his head. He knew his own tendency to over- dramatize events, and it was far, far too easy to do so with the man- shaped //temptation// wickedness that was Alex. Alex. Alex. Too much like his heart, and not enough. And here he was, a //sleepless// mere 96 hours from that moment and he was so very tired, and he was waiting for a man. ****** "You... called?" A playfully ironic glance at the window. The apartment was dark, the greys of his existence made greyer, vaguer in the absence of even a puddle of lamplight. And yet, the //mockery// humor was clear. Jangle-creak-thump and Krycek was in the armchair across from him and Mulder was sitting up and how did that happen? He raised a hand to his burning forehead. He didn't think he was sick, but in the absence of that hand's chill... A glance and the bastard was checking his watch. No weapons in evidence. Smell of leather and complacency. His eyes narrowed. "What do you want, Mulder?" He wished he could only hear the ostentatious weariness, ignore the tinge of pleading. A little selective deafness and the rage could grow. The old, familiar dance, why-did- you where were-you smack and it would begin again. Mulder's nape tingled as he locked eyes with his guest. //Oh yes, and how did you pull me, literally single-handed, to the roof? //Maybe, this time, we can ask a question we don't already know the answer to?// Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but the words weren't there. ***** The green of the digital dashboard clock was luminous in the darkness of the car. Brightly, cheerfully useless. There was no reason to study it so intensely, but there he was. Mulder ran a hand along the dark blue plastic, tapped long fingers in rough time to the *real* clock in his head, then aimed for counterpoint. tap //And why were you outside my apartment *before* I called if you didn't want me, too?// tap tap If he were to be completely honest with himself, Mulder would acknowledge that he'd begun the hunt the moment Alex //left me cold and wanting// tap had left him on that rooftop. It was just one simple kiss, and then another, yet his mind kept returning to them again and again... Probably because he was making such an effort to avoid thinking about them. tap tap Of course, the alternatives weren't especially pleasant. He wondered if other people were ever actively worried that their bosses were, quite literally, out to get them. Brief smile in neon streaked gloom, but then he thought of Scully, who had made it quite clear that she was tired of patching up windmill slashes. tap tap-- "Damn." And the rhythm was lost. Really, it was long past time to muse on it, wallow, if necessary. The only way to get past //an obsession// a problem like this one was to worry it to... death. He *had* been over-dramatizing, painting the kiss in broad strokes of passion, //Wouldn't it have to be? Have we ever done anything that wasn't writ large? //Every betrayal, every punch, every needless touch...// the man himself carved and shaped in ***** alabaster and shadows. They seemed in constant battle on the younger man's face and he was fascinated. He realized he was staring, but he had to know... something about war and desire and what would win... But then the flesh around those burning eyes crinkled and folded... so deeply it made Mulder wince in sympathy. It was impossible to tell himself that he was faced with anything but a man with a soul, and that wasn't what he wanted. "What do you want from me, Mulder? Don't you know what I am?" "What are you talking about, Krycek? I don't want anything from you." And Krycek had simply stared, and it seemed, it did seem as though the younger man would just leave, walk away from whatever this was Mulder would not let himself name. But then, as though he had been dreaming, Alex was right there before him and holding his face... and smiling some more. Caress of fingertips and he felt as though he were burning, as if he were pure flame in the wake of the merciless chill. And slow tracery slow and brittle down his cheek and down his throat... //Yes I'll toss my head back just so and if you take this opportunity to taste me well then I was only trying to search your eyes--// ... and then he'd taken his hand away, and Mulder was burning again... Oh, it was even worse after the touch was gone. //Do I need to be broken, then, before you'll do this for me?// Again, he'd started to speak, but this time his mouth was claimed and it was just as //right// soothing as he remembered and oh, please, won't you touch me? And then, there was no denying this memory, he had raised his hands and tried to pull the other man closer, but it was like trying to move bedrock. //Am I allowed any dignity in this, at all?// He'd moaned, and tried to push Krycek away instead. That, too, failed, and the kiss just went on and on, implacable, inevitable. A tiny freedom, smooth lips, hard and silken, parted and the older man darted his tongue inside. An instant of pain, but it had seemed far more important to stay inside this chill, strangely dry place than soothe the hurt. He'd felt more than heard Krycek's growl, but suddenly he was pulled close and the force on his tongue and the cat rasp and then he was on the couch again. Dazed and staring and the younger man was no statue after all... He was panting and angry, color hi-- //*What* color?// And Mulder began to laugh, knots of tension he hadn't been aware of unraveling with each gust of mirth, leaving him a slack-limbed sprawl of flesh. "You did that on purpose." "Where's your follow-through, *Alex*?" A bundling of the flesh around that teasing mouth, even more disturbing that anything could disturb that perfect smooth mask, marble to milk and all he'd had to do was provoke the other man to anger. Again, it had appeared as though he were leaving, movement so fast as to seem hallucination, though there had been nothing of clarity this night. "What do I need to say to make you stay?" And the stutterrush of hinted movement froze in a flap of black leather at his door. "There's nothing you can say that would make me believe you want what I can give you, Mulder." "Then why won't you take what *you* want?" "How do you know I haven't already?" And he was ****** still alone in this car and the hour crept from time to give up to quarter past insanity and Mulder really had no guarantees that Alex would come this night, or that he'd allow Mulder to see him if he did. //What am I doing here?// Leg bouncing so long it seemed like stillness... until something bumped his shin. Mulder's heart gave a sickening lurch before he remembered the thermos of coffee he'd brought. Rip pour rip pour... another comforting mini-rhythm, perfect to distract him from the terribly monotonous turns of his own mind. Another packet of sugar and another until the dead //clothed// boys were properly faceless again. //They haven't been found, could be runaways... //But they're not.// ... and showers of white powder glittering redly in the glare from the club's sign didn't remind him of Alex at all. Warm and sweet and he could swear he felt the caffeine working already, but it was oddly unsatisfying. //Like everything else.// And his tongue had never stopped aching. click-chock And Alex was there with a gust of exhaust-tinged and deadly air, calm and perfect just to his right. Mulder poured the coffee back into the thermos, closed it tightly and glanced at the clock. Half-past decency and he reached to place a hand on the younger man's shoulder. Not even a flinch. Alex still wouldn't look at him. Mulder squeezed and longed for a hand to hold. Brief twitch of lips the color of frosted petals and he was being grasped, awkwardly. "You know I'm a killer." "You were always a killer." Dry husk of a chuckle. "But that was just my *job*..." Mulder let a finger trace the hard bulge of muscle along the thumb. "And now it's your vocation. Your life." The laughter was gone. "I'm not alive, Mulder." and then Alex was meeting his eyes, finally. "We... we might have had something, once. I used to dream... But if I took you the way you think you want me to, there'd be no going back. I can't--" "You'd hesitate to kill me?" A jerk, a moue of distaste. "Is that really what you want from me?" Too many questions, too many lies and Mulder could feel the other man prepare to leave. "Please, Alex--" "You should let me leave now, Mulder." Silent plea in a caress, answered with a gasp and dark, humorless laughter. A pause. "All right, there are only two other choices. I take you and I kill you, or I take you and we... we go on. Together.... At least until you've been trained. Christ, Mulder, why do you want this?" The older man wanted to put his head in his hands, wanted to hold himself and rock, *something*. However, he was irrationally positive that the only thing keeping Alex in the car was his own shaky hand gripping Alex's as //uselessly// tightly as he could. Near silence for a while in the car, only his own harsh breath to take some of the weight away. "Please, just tell me why." //He wants this... just needs a reason... //How can I give him a reason when I don't understand any of this? //Does it matter?// "Do you think you're the only one who wants answers? Maybe I can--" "Don't talk in maybes, Mulder. There's no maybe here." "I want you. I can't *not*... I want... I want it to be over. Isn't that enough?" //It is... please believe me...// Flare of pain as he was gripped far too tightly for a moment and then he was being spun, awkward tangle of elbows and knees, head slamming against the driver side window. Cool brush of skin against his jaw and he was ready, aching for it, but the lips only found his ear again. "Last chance... I... I can't--" The voice was hoarse, needful as his own dreams and //Wait, wait, did we ever decide what you would do to me? //Does it matter?// Mulder locked his arms around the other man and held on. "Do it, Alex..." And he did, sharp and deep and Mulder was moaning... yes, there it was, his breath was back for this and he cried out for the pain he was being torn open and apart by pulse Alex and with each lap each indecently hungry pull his soul was flowing snapshots flickering, shattering pulse so much slower now, easy with no choice left at all, good- bye good-bye and he was being gathered and held. It was blissful, this floating, this dance on the edge of //forever// nothing, a feather in a gale. The voice at his ear was slow and lovely, but had never lost its edge of hunger. He couldn't quite pick the sounds apart into words, found himself dimly mystified that he could hear anything at all. Mulder decided that it was nonsense, and let himself drift and fall, slowly, slowly, against that column before him. A hand was nudging and pulling at the back of his skull, arranging him just so. //Thank you, Alex... I... never thought you would but thank you...// And he wanted to whisper and he thought he might whisper but in the end he allowed himself rest, images continuing to blink and then fade... flashes of light, screams and kisses, red hair and dark hair and there was a hand in his hair too fast through the strands for him to decide whether it carded or weaved and he was pressed closer no no and-- "Drink, damn you, Mulder--" He wasn't going to do it, he'd squinted himself shut there was no way but when the first splash hit his lips it was a benediction. pulse //No...// And when next he was back to something like himself, he was locked to Alex's throat, seamless and his body was somehow, somehow, becoming a match for Alex's, and he could curse the gearshift and pulse the universe was dragging itself back with each iron rush and Mulder longed to weep at the intrusion but it was too good, sweet and thick and he was a part of this, equal and powerful in his own right and when the light t-shirt under his fingers dared keep him from the cool, smooth skin he'd long known lay just there he tore it off with ease, treasuring the laughter and the gasps in equal measure as //Mine// only his due. pulse And he was full, wired like cocaine and brandy, nuzzling and lapping, tingling, flashing like glitter rubbing himself against Alex for more of *this* and he'd never felt so //Alive?// and the bright, raspy chuckles beneath him were hollow against the boom of a million doors being shut. The universe had woken him to show him... what? Soft caress and he was being turned to gaze into Alex's eyes and there was something there that spoke of yes and want and forever... The shudders passed quickly; the need spiraled up and up, an ache so exquisite as to demand indulgence, so basic as to deride the concept of satiety. Fingers in his hair again... tugging. //I can allow this.// And he hoped the night would never end, because sometimes the taste of death is a lot like love. ******