Candy
by Te
Daddy793@aol.com

Summary: Pretty Pretty Dawn Pares asked me about hard 
candy.

There was a scent of ginger in the air. Strong.

Mulder focused on it as he pulled himself out of the 
nowhere place.  Gradually, other sensations became clear. 
The nap of cheap carpeting  under his cheek, the odd 
positioning of his limbs. A stretch, a painful  thumping 
from two ends. He was in a small space and... where was  
that ginger coming from?

"Welcome back to the world of the living, Mulder..."

//Oh... fuck...//

"Krrrck..." 

Mulder added cottonmouth to his litany of complaints. 

A low chuckle, much smoother than he'd

//dreamed of...//

expected. The lack of a true husk was rather disappointing, 
but... 

"You sound like you need a little something Mulder..."

The voice was getting closer, he tried to move, but 
whatever had  happened... it was awkward. It seemed as 
though his body was  reluctant to repeat the earlier 
punishment.

Mulder opened his eyes to blackness, looked around wildly. 
There  was no sign of Krycek.

"Wha--"

He sucked in a gasp at the touch of curiously gentle 
fingers on his  throat, looked down to see a pale hand that 
was far, far too fuzzy  around the edges.

//Drugs?//

"Take it easy, Mulder. They dumped you here an hour ago, or 
so."

"Where--" The older man started coughing, felt an odd sort 
of  impotent rage at his inability to speak.

The fingers were stroking lightly, pressed in seeming 
disapproval at  his attempt to talk. 

"Shh, Mulder. It'll be a while before you're sober again. 
In the meantime, this might help your throat."

"Wha--"

Another chuckle...

"Stubborn little..."

... but it and the words were against his mouth and a 
thickly confident tongue was sliding between his lips. 
Ginger and salt and the hand left his throat to travel over 
his cheek and up into his hair. He became aware that he was 
sweating, damp in his own clothes, hot against the cool 
fingers massaging his scalp. And there was his body, 
feeling himself  again, feeling the blind twist toward the 
heat he knew had to be *there*...

Breathless groan he thought was his own until a different 
sort of  ardness was deposited on his tongue. Bright sting, 
harmless as the sun of his childhood, and sugar. Candy.

Krycek broke the kiss with an oddly possessive twist to the 
hank of  hair he was gripping, pulled away.

Mulder restrained himself from protest and began to work on 
the candy, trying to get something like his voice back. He 
could sense the other  man settling himself at his side. It 
seemed irrelevant to question the  kiss. They were here, 
alone, in the dark, being victimized by cheap  carpeting 
and shadowy men.... It was something that had to be done. 
He wondered what other help he could convince Krycek he 
needed.