Snows III: Beasts
by Te
1/99

Disclaimers: They continue to not belong to me.

Spoilers: None.

Ratings Note: R for language, implied m/m interaction.

Summary: Mulder goes for a run. 

Author's Notes: Something about this winter has a hold 
on me. In chronological order:

"Snows"
"Snows II: Running"
"Snows III: Beasts"

This takes place the morning after "Running," or maybe 
the morning after that. I'd love it if you read all of my 
stories, but I think only the second is remotely necessary
for this one. 

Acknowledgments: To Alicia for fine audiencing in the 
face of MolassesFingers!Te, to Sister Blue for knowing 
when to blow off work, to Viridian for many helpful 
suggestions, and to Ladonna for fine beta. Also to Nonie
for eagle eyes...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Snows III: Beasts
by Te
Daddy793@aol.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The snowplow had been sitting outside Mulder's 
apartment building for at least half an hour.
 
The deep growl of the engine was tolerable, almost 
soothing. The slow, relentless "beep... beep... beep" was 
not. The warning lights flashing across his ceiling 
brought back uncomfortable memories of certain clubs
he'd frequented back in London. 

It was five-fourteen a.m., and Mulder was up for the 
day.

He stayed on the couch for another ten minutes, 
though. The memories might have been slightly 
uncomfortable, but they suited the pre-dawn darkness 
perfectly. Mulder had always been able to appreciate 
the confusion of winter, the way the sky provided no real
cues for gauging the time. 

There was a certain beauty to the ambiguity, a sense that,
despite the world's schedules, time really *was* an 
illusion the vast majority had agreed to believe in.
 
Aesthetics settled, Mulder dressed for his run -- an 
activity which involved nothing more complex than throwing 
sneakers over his socks and adding two more shirts -- 
kicked the morning paper into the house, and set off. 

He had to resist the urge to keep his eyes shut for the 
first few steps. It seemed almost *fated* that his hall 
would have disappeared for the forests of his dreams, and 
it was too early in the morning to face that sort of thing 
head on. 

Luckily, there was no one in the hall but the eleven year 
old from upstairs, patiently replacing today's newspapers
for Apartment 47 with those of the week before. It had 
been going on for months, and, considering the often 
altered states of 47's residents, it could very well go on 
forever.

"How long is forever, kid?"

"Fuck you."

Mulder nodded and took the stairs down, idly considering 
how "fuck you," might be tweaked to a properly zen-like 
answer. It was the sort of thing that made the morning 
stretches easy and fast.
 
In the lobby he greedily took several deep breaths of the 
last warm air he planned on encountering for at least half 
an hour. A few more stretching exercises and then Mulder 
was out the door, eyes catching once on the newly installed 
tower of post boxes in the center of the lobby. Flash of 
mellowed brass at the corner of his eye and then the street 
was his. 

As tends to happen, the snowplow  had since moved on to 
invade the dreams of other hapless Alexandria residents, 
leaving Mulder in that thick mockery of encroaching dawn. 
 
To his left, the ice-rocky piles of the plow's passage, 
crumbling remnants of walls never built. To his right there 
were doors opening. Too many doors. Neighbors deciding 
it was better to get ready early for work on a day like 
this, then. Mulder chose left, got on the cleared, salted 
street and took off.

The first pounding strides of feet to pavement were always 
jarring to him. The sound, the shocks -- they made running 
such a *committed* action. These first few moments were 
what woke him up in the morning, no matter what anyone 
said about rhythms and comfort level.

The jar is the alarm. The rest a simple lingering before 
preparing yourself for the day for real. The equivalent of 
wallowing in hazy images of Ian and the contents of the 
bottle on the cord around his throat and the way he'd taken 
you twice before letting you back out onto the dance 
floor....

And Mulder remembered those dances well. The motions 
were often silly and contrived, but under the lights, 
moving with the tide of young, attractive bodies ever 
closer to the mythical summoning.... Some destination to 
give the clubs reason to exist. 

In the end, though, he'd landed no place more mystical 
than the black-splashed wood of the bar, hand out for 
another pint. 

And memories like these, extended, nearly hallucinatory 
things, worked like nothing else to find Mulder his rhythm. 
His legs had grown youthful again, and the world flew past 
to either side of him. Snow-crumbles to the right, tall, 
straight complexes to the left... It gave a curious feeling 
of running along the edge of something major. A part of him 
was nearly positive that one false move either way would 
get him fried crispy by some hidden, booby-trapped 
borderline.

Mulder was willing to accept the theory that he ought to 
sleep more. He was also willing to accept the fact that the 
appearance of bleary-eyed commuters may have caused his 
mind to interpret "unsafe" in new and different ways. 
Mulder got back on the sidewalk, trying not to think about 
how all the frozen, wet, and cold would feel on his ass if 
he took a spill.  

But his legs were *singing* to him, a level of energy he'd 
come to think fanciful since he hadn't had it for so long. 
Mulder checked his watch -- plenty of time for this to be a 
10K morning. He smiled at the elderly, slightly hunched 
woman waiting for her dog to finish its business, and the 
one he received in return was of that shade of brilliance 
that curses you roundly for having smiled so rarely in the 
past.

The day was looking good, in all honesty, and the semi 
he was packing thanks to thoughts of Ian only added to 
the experience. A little discomfort, an ache to 
counterpoint the smooth, nearly oiled motion of his legs.
 
And all was well until a hand grabbed him by the back of 
the neck, yanked him into an alley, and slammed him -- 
chest first, thankfully -- into a brick wall. 
 
Mulder had just enough time to remember he only had 
his throwaway before he was spun around again. 

Alex. Of course.

"What the fuck do you want, Krycek?"

The other man's expression was only a dreamy smile, 
distressing contrast to the twist and flex of restrained 
muscle Mulder could still feel along the side of his neck.

"Krycek -- Fuck. Just give me what you have and make 
yourself scarce again. Maybe pick up some smoke balls. 
They'd add some dazzle to your tired performances."
 
"You're sounding pretty worn yourself, Mulder. How are 
you sleeping these days?"

No smirk in the rough tone, but only the barest hint of 
something that could be considered concern. The man 
seemed... calm... and it was disturbing. Mulder wanted a 
reaction. 

Mulder wanted to take this somewhere warm... The only 
responsible thing. Show himself, once and for all, that 
the only thing beneath that leather was flesh, and the 
only thing beneath the flesh was the banal cavern of the 
putatively soulless. 
 
"What do you have for me, Krycek? Nothing? Good, let me
go."

Mulder brought a hand up to pry Alex's own from his neck, 
and the contact was impossibly powerful. It *had* been a 
long time since they'd touched in any way. The last had 
been that damned kiss, while this... this subtle brush of 
his own chilled fingers against Alex's was rapidly 
distracting him. 

"Hold on, hold on, I *do* have something for you. Left 
inside pocket of the jacket. Thin manila packet. If you 
touch anything else in there, you'll regret it."

"Why the change in our spy games, Krycek?"

A genuine smile, if a brief one. "I felt like it today."

Mulder desperately wanted to be able to read anything in 
that cheer resembling mockery. If Alex would only say 
"didn't you *want* to see me more this way...?" Well, if 
he'd say that Mulder could do anything at all...
 
Mulder reached in and retrieved the envelope, fingers 
skittering close to the holster more by instinct than 
design. And then Alex's hand was off his throat, pushing 
him hard against the wall for a brief knock, and grabbing 
his wrist. Still under the jacket.

Warm there, solid heat. Mulder looked up just in time to 
see the anger drift to something... sweeter. 

//Ask me to touch you....//

"Mulder.... Look up."
 
Mulder's trapped hand clenched into a fist as he held the 
other man's stare, but Alex didn't let go. Just nodded 
smilingly toward the sky in a way that made Mulder want 
to check for large, cartoon-style X'es beneath his feet. He 
resisted the urge, though, and looked up.

It was snowing again. Lightly now. It would barely leave a 
dusting. Mulder shook his head and started to look back 
down. "What is this, Kry--'

But that was as far as he got. Alex was blinking a tiny 
snowflake out of his eyelashes, and, when he was done, he 
caught Mulder's eyes again and held them with his own.
Bright eyes, speaking of a mood that must have been 
nearly preternatural in its chipperness. 

It would've been enough to drag the encounter firmly back
into the surreal, but the snow in Alex's hair was bright 
dust in dark spikes, melting too slow. Alex was being 
graced with the most transient of gifts -- soft winter 
aging, and it only made him more beautiful. 

It didn't take long for Alex to follow the run of his 
thoughts, and the hand around Mulder's wrist loosened.
 
"Do you want to kiss me, Mulder?"

He found himself nodding and moving closer, nape and 
spine tingling, muscles in constant twitch beneath the 
surface. Mulder was waiting for something -- a harsh 
laugh, a gunshot, his own sanity -- to take this away from 
him. It had to. 

Instead, there was nothing stopping his progress but Alex's 
own mouth. Surprisingly soft, but his lips were cool. 
They'd been outside too long. And that was the last 
coherent thought for the moment as Alex opened his mouth 
beneath Mulder's and let him in.
 
Mulder was hungry for this kiss and it was given, Alex's 
mouth was his, a new home for his tongue, warm and wet 
and the taste was nothing like he'd imagined, but still 
wonderful. Acid with the other man's apprehension. And his
tongue was a careful predator, easing its way around 
Mulder's own, breaking the kiss so Alex could lick a flat 
line over one lip, then the other. 

And then Alex pulled back to look at Mulder, and the color 
had risen high in his cheeks. And Mulder realized that, at 
some point, he'd wrapped both arms around the other 
man.... He didn't want to let go. 
 
If he was tethered to Alex, then it was a connection he 
wanted badly, and he wanted to drag the man miles behind 
him. Or at least to his apartment. Because Alex was no 
statue, living flesh under his hands and he still wasn't 
letting go. 

Finally, Alex moved closer again, burying his face in 
Mulder's throat in a manner that birthed awareness. All of 
Mulder wanted to feel all of Alex, but he settled for 
curving his hand against the back of Alex's head and 
pulling him in tighter.

Making him moan against Mulder's quickly warming skin.
 
Alex's hand was steady at Mulder's waist, squeezing 
whenever his laps and suckling made Mulder cry out. 

Mulder let his head fall back against the wall, easing the 
lower half of his body a little closer to the heat he knew 
was waiting for him. The sky was crowded, blanked out with 
the storm clouds of a snow.

It was falling still, and Mulder wondered if Alex would 
make love to him here, in sight of nothing but their own 
chill grey shroud of morning.
 
But Alex was pulling off again, leaning in to kiss him 
once, just long enough for Mulder to realize how cold his 
own lips had become, before easing to a safe distance.

Mulder let his hands fall to his sides, resisting the 
painful need to wrap his arms around himself in 
acknowledgment of and comfort for the other man's absence.
 
"What now?"

"You have to go to work."

"And you?"

"I have to wait for you to come home from work."

"And then what, Alex?"

Alex just looked at him for a long moment, serious and 
measuring. Testing. "I want... so much."

The raw need in the other man's voice made him shiver. 
"There's nothing in this envelope, is there?"

Alex snickered briefly. "Menu for a Chinese restaurant..."

"Well, that's *useful*, I guess..."

"... in Oklahoma."

Mulder paused. "You grabbed me just to make sure I saw 
the snowfall?"
 
Wide smile. "Gotta keep you in touch with the important 
things, Mulder."

He was missing things here, and Mulder wasn't sure
whether he *really* wanted to know everything --

"I want to show you--" 

Alex cut himself off by diving back in to kiss him again, 
harsh and needful, sucking Mulder's tongue before pulling 
away again, breathless.

"I... I'll come back, Mulder. I promise." 

And with that, he walked down the alley and disappeared, 
leaving Mulder to pant against the wall and wonder where 
his latest train of thought had derailed to.
 
It didn't matter. 

Another few minutes to catch his breath and stretch again 
and Mulder returned to the pavement, easing back onto one 
of the shorter routes. Enjoying the ache Alex had left 
behind.

Begging himself silently to let it be just as good as it  
felt. 

The low ceiling of clouds made the world a prison, but it 
was dangerous in the best of all possible ways. And 
utterly irresistible.

~~~~
End.
~~~~