Disclaimer: Chris Carter's, not mine -- if they were, I'd treat them better. This was written as a gift. To make money off a gift would be tacky. Rated NC-17. *** Game, Set, Match *** "Finished." Dropping both the copy and the original disc into his desk, Special Agent Fox Mulder leaned back in his chair, stretched, then, holding the position, swiveled around until he faced the man-shaped shadow on the couch. If he was expecting a response, he didn't get one. "Hey?" The shadow shifted, a white triangle of shirt bisected by the ubiquitous Washington power tie appeared then disappeared as movement pulled the suit jacket across the wearer's broad shoulders. Monitor and aquarium combined didn't throw quite enough light for Mulder to see his visitor's face but there could be no mistaking the soft sigh accompanying the movement. *Son of a bitch. He's asleep.* Two totally opposite thoughts followed fast behind that revelation. *So the rat bastard thinks I'm safe enough to sleep in front of does he?* Followed by: *So the rat bastard thinks I'm safe enough to sleep in front of does he?* Sure, they sounded the same but they were motivated by two entirely different emotions. The first involved piqued pride -- *How dare you think so little of me, you son of a bitch! I'd shoot you in a minute if you weren't providing information I can use.* -- and was centered on his forehead, right where his brows had drawn down to knit into an angry vee over the bridge of his nose. The second wrapped tight, constricting bands around his chest. Bands made up of words like trust and intimacy and friendship and... ...and... *No.* For Alex Krycek, a man who'd turned self preservation into high art, to be able to just drift off to sleep in front of him implied a number of things Mulder wasn't entirely certain he wanted to deal with. Wasn't entirely certain? He shook his head, eyes never leaving the other man. He was *completely* certain. Warm and fuzzy feelings had no place in the truce he shared with Krycek. Anything between them had to be tough enough to stand up to the heavy tread of expediency. *I ought to wake him up and get him out of here.* All things considered, it was what any sane man would do. Any sane man would never have invited him in in the first place. # Up until the moment he'd opened the door and seen Alex Krycek standing in the hall wearing a dark gray suit, a white on white shirt, and a tie thinly striped with exactly the same jade green as his eyes, Mulder had thought the phrase, "his jaw dropped" was just that, a phrase, a handy piece of writing used to designate surprise. Except that his jaw *had* dropped. The jade eyes glittered, the bright intelligence behind them well aware of the response provoked. "Hi. I was in the neighborhood and I thought I'd drop by." Mulder shut his mouth, teeth connecting with an audible click. And then, because leaving this man, this at the very least double agent, this assassin, standing in the hall in front of his apartment where anyone could see him was the greater of two evils, he stepped aside and waved him in. As the door closed, he slammed his visitor up against it. They hadn't played *this* game in a while. "Are you out of your mind?" he growled the question into Krycek's ear, forearm hard against his throat holding the upper body, left hip to right hip holding the lower. "This is my apartment! I *live* here!" "I know." So serious. His breath smelled of mint, toothpaste probably, and the faint scent of a familiar aftershave rose from his skin. He shifted position slightly and Mulder stepped back, too conscious of a fist forming, suddenly not wanting the game to go that far. Then the other man smiled provocatively. *Yeah, I knew you wouldn't,* the smile said. It took two to play. So he hit him. A solid right hook. Nothing like the one Skinner had thrown so many, many betrayals ago, but hard enough to knock the air out of him and drive him gasping to his knees. "Oh sure, I risk my ass to bring you something you really need to see..." Krycek looked up, sucking air through perfect white teeth. "...and this is the welcome I get?" How did he keep those teeth? After everything he'd been through? Mulder wrestled his mind back on track but all he could think of to say was, "I live here." "I *know*." Definite amusement in the green eyes. His breathing beginning to even out, he sat back on his heels, prosthetic hand falling into his lap, right hand, real hand dipping into the left side of his suit. *Fuck, he's got a gun!* The thought had barely formed when Mulder realized how inane it was. Of course Krycek had a gun. He probably had three or four of them. And a knife, and a garrote, and a set of brass knuckles... ...and a computer disc? *Can you kill someone with a computer disc?* If it could be done, Mulder was willing to bet that this was the man who could do it. Still on his knees, Krycek held up the disc. "Make a copy now. Give it to someone you trust as soon as possible. This is not information you want to lose. Oh wait, I forgot." Graceful in spite of the missing arm, he stood. "You don't trust anyone." The disc was warm. "I trust..." He hadn't intended to pause. "Dana?" "Scully." Mulder corrected automatically. He didn't like the implied familiarity. He didn't like the thought that the two halves of his life might touch. His partner and his... he didn't think there was a word for what he and Krycek had become. "Why are you dressed like that?" he asked, turning toward the computer. "I'm skulking in plain sight. There's a million suits in this city. Who's going to notice one more?" "You're lucky I recognized you without the leather jacket. You look like..." And then he remembered that the man Alex Krycek had shown up looking like was also, or had also been, Alex Krycek and his voice trailed off. He heard a soft laugh as the other man dropped down onto the couch. "It's like riding a bicycle. You never forget." # And now Krycek was asleep. How tired would he have to be actually fall asleep in so dubious a sanctuary? How dubious a sanctuary? Mulder sat back, ran his hands through his hair, and leaned forward again. He'd barely laid his palm on a worsted knee when he found himself knocked flat on his back. A second after he hit the floor, there was a warm weight on his chest and gun barrel pressing into his temple. When he'd blinked away the fireworks ignited by the back of his head impacting with parquet, it was his turn to smile. New game. Or possibly round two of the old one. "I was just going to ask if you wanted to lie down." "Lie down?" "Yeah. Horizontal. Kind of like this, only less painful." Green eyes blinked, uncomprehending but the gun never wavered. Mulder sighed, all at once strangely unwilling to indulge in the verbal fencing that made up most of their conversations. "Alex, how long has it been since you slept?" "I just..." "Dozed off. I mean really slept." A pause. A shrug. "Yesterday. Maybe the day before. Why?" "It's twelve oh six now, if you sleep until five, five-thirty you can leave unseen sharing the streets with all the other early suits." Green eyes blinked again. "That almost makes..." "Sense? Thank you." "You *want* me to sleep here?" Surprise and, maybe, something else. "Not here precisely." He moved just enough to remind Krycek that they were still on the floor and he was, in fact, pinned. "In the bedroom. In the bed." # "You have a bed?" ... "You have a *water* bed?" "It's a long story. Get some sleep. I'll wake you at five." "What about..." "You need to sleep. I'll be out on the couch." If Krycek had pushed, or demanded, or told him to stay -- but they weren't playing *that* game. Not this time. And it would never have occurred to him to ask. # At four fifty Mulder was back in the bedroom. It was surprisingly intimate watching Krycek sleep, here, in his bed. He hadn't undressed, only taken off his shoes and his suit jacket and loosened his tie. Over four uninterrupted hours had smoothed out a few worry lines and softened the curve of his cheek. His head was thrown back, the angle of his jaw giving way to the long line of his throat to a hint of collar bone inside the open collar of his shirt. He looked ten years younger. In the dim light it was possible to believe that both arms were flesh. His hair was shorter but he looked like the young agent who'd walked up to Mulder's desk offering his hand, holding a file on an unexplained and unexplainable death. Back before the lies, and the betrayals, and the truce, and the games they had to play to make the whole thing work. The gods didn't give second chances. Did they? Barely realizing he'd made a decision, Mulder padded over to the edge of the bed, bare feet soundless against the floor. Then he hesitated. *If he wakes up, there's no point in even making the attempt.* He sat down, slowly, carefully his hip tucked into the narrow angle of the other man's waist. The mattress rocked gently. The sleeping man sighed, but he didn't wake. *What am I doing? Warm and fuzzy feelings have no place... This is insane.* But he leaned forward anyway, filled his lungs with air warmed by Krycek's body, and wet his lips. They'd never kissed. They'd fucked and sucked and played a dozen games that shifted power from one to the other but they'd never kissed. Mulder kept the pressure light at first, expecting to feel a weapon of some kind dig into his side. But what he felt was a softening, a welcoming, a parting. Encouraged, he leaned into it, flicked his tongue between open lips, felt more than heard a quiet moan and what had been a tentative warmth became molten heat. A hand cupped the back of his head, strong fingers digging through his hair and into his scalp and he couldn't pull away even if he wanted to. Not a problem. At that moment, he'd have fought, he'd have killed to stay right where he was; feasting on Alex Krycek's incredible mouth, kissing him the way he should have kissed him years ago. If he had, if he'd just once given in to the need that had filled all the spaces between them, would it have made a difference? Would it have been enough? Impossible to say. But right here and right now it was changing the world. It had to be. Nothing could be so hot and not reforge everything around it. He grabbed a handful of cotton, dragged dress shirt free of pants then slid his hand beneath it. As much as he wanted to feel skin on skin the shirt couldn't come off. The illusion had to be maintained if they were going to remake the past. His fingers danced up taunt stomach muscles feeling them shiver under his touch, danced over sternum and pecs and finally found a nipple. He stroked his thumb across it, felt it pebble. As he rolled it between thumb and forefinger, Krycek gasped into his mouth. There might have been words in the gasp, a name, maybe his name, but his blood thrummed so loudly between his ears Mulder couldn't be sure. He brought his other hand around and, still rolling the first, pinched the second nipple through the cloth. Krycek's fingers left the back of his head and clutched at his shoulder, wrapping themselves in T-shirt fabric, trying to tear it away. Because he had no hope of success it was a strangely vulnerable motion and it drew Mulder's head back, broke the seal between their mouths. Breathing heavily, his touch gentling, he studied the other man's face. His cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen, his eyes... those incredible eyes were wide open and locked on Mulder's. Wide open. Exposed. There was nothing there but Alex Krycek. Then they closed, long lashes falling like fringed shadows. His head fell back again, exposing his throat. His lips parted and he released a breath he must have been holding in one long, quavering sigh. It wasn't surrender, it was acceptance. *Let it happen.* Did he understand? Did it matter? Mulder dropped tiny sucking kisses along the other man's jaw, nuzzled into the warm hollow below the ear then licked his way down the throat to the open shirt collar and the loosened tie. The stubble rasped against his tongue like a cat's kiss in reverse. His hands still beneath the fabric, he bent his head and sucked hard at first the right nipple then the left. Small wet circles of cloth went translucent and the vision of Krycek exposed, through the shirt, was so incredibly erotic that he had to close his own eyes to keep himself from coming then and there. An impatient movement, the almost petulant push of a hip against his, dropped his mouth down to the flat expanse of belly. As his fingers worked on unfastening belt and fly, he lapped at the navel as though it was a tiny cup that held the essence of the other man. Krycek arced his back and growled something that might have been either profanity or prayer. Finally undone, the pants could go. And the socks. And the briefs -- although Mulder paused a moment to lick the satin cock head that peered out from beneath the upper elastic before dragging them down and throwing them behind him. Below the waist there was no need to mask what the years had done. Below the waist, Krycek was still... *Perfect.* It was the only single word that applied. Given a few more words and Mulder would have been tempted to commit poetry. But, given only one word, it had to be *perfect*. The combination of naked below the waist with shirt and tie above added to the wanton attraction. Skimming out of T-shirt and sweat pants, he knelt between Krycek's feet, the waterbed giving under his weight. As the wave motion settled, he grabbed an ankle in each hand, bending the legs up then letting them fall open, giving him access to the soft skin on the inner thighs. He started on the inside of the right knee, kissing and biting his way up to the musky heat at the edge of the scrotum then he moved back and treated the left leg the same way. Taut muscles trembled under his mouth and a husky voice moaned, "Are you trying to kill me?" "If you can still talk..." He grasped Krycek's cock around the base and drew his tongue slowly up the sensitive underside then across the head, lapping up the pre-cum. "...I must be losing my touch." Krycek's reply got lost in his sudden gasp as Mulder applied himself to the feast. Paying close attention to what evoked the best response, he settled in to enjoy himself, sucking and chewing and licking, one hand working the soft heated-velvet sac, the other creating new erogenous zones as it roamed. Lying between the other man's legs, his erection pressed into the cradling pressure of the waterbed, he took his own pleasure from the pleasure he created. Previously, when they'd been together, he'd concentrated only on what he was getting out it, of what needs of his own were being fulfilled. But this, this was color instead of black and white, it was a full orchestra instead of a penny whistle, it was... Beating a metaphor to death. *Let it go*, he told himself, re-applying a recently acquired bit of information to evoke a distinctly fulfilling whimper. There was no before. There was only now. When Krycek's hips began to rise in a familiar rhythm and his breathing shorten to an almost desperate gulping for air, he stopped playing around and slid his lips down the lubricant of pre-cum and his own saliva until he could swallow the blunt, blind cock-head pounded down into his throat. Frantic fingers wound into his hair, alternately tried to push him away and pull him closer. Weight on his elbow, Mulder reached and wrapped his own hand around Krycek's wrist, the feel of the crushed shirt cuff both unexpected and erotic. The younger man twisted in the restraint but accepted it, making no attempt to break free. Mulder lifted his head enough to gain more control. There was a subtle difference between being fucked in the mouth and fucking someone with your mouth and he exploited it to the full during the very little bit of time he had remaining before slender hips drove upward hard enough to lift him off the bed and bring tears to his eyes. He swallowed what he could... Salty, yeasty, warm -- it made him think of the hot pretzels that the vendors sold to tourists down on the Mall. He'd always loved those pretzels. Now he knew why. ...and let the rest dribble out the corners of his mouth to run in warm lines over his hand. He thought he heard his name in the jagged breathing and it was almost enough to send him over the edge. Folding himself up onto his knees, tops of his thighs pressed into the smooth muscles along the back's of Krycek's legs, he closed his lips around the base of the cock in his mouth and applied hard suction all the way up the length until only the head remained enclosed. Then not even that. This time it was definitely his name although he had barely time to notice before he was jerked forward by the wrist still held. He could have let go, regained his balance. He didn't. The impact of their bodies would have knocked the breath out of him had Krycek's mouth not been so molded to his that it had no where to go. There were teeth and tongues and frantic sounds that could have come from either of them. Mulder could barely tell where one of them ended and the other began. Then the legs under him spread further and he couldn't stop from bucking down into the warm invitation provided. Nor could there be any mistaking the invitation. Somehow, he managed to free his mouth and find enough self to ask, "Alex, are you sure?" It was the question he would have asked that junior agent. Considering all that had gone between them since... Jade eyes locked onto his. Searching for ridicule? For sarcasm? For danger? But he'd find only Fox Mulder who was returning the gift he'd been given earlier. No masks. No games. The eyes widened and the body beneath him stilled. It only lasted for a moment. It might have been surprise. It might have been... Gone. Too quickly to positively identify. *Could you pick it out of a line-up?* He hadn't been able to stop the silent, sardonic comment from showing on his face but the other man seemed to find it reassuring. Strong legs wrapped around him and pulled him impossibly closer. "Alex..." The name became a groaned protest as the friction of damp, wiry curls almost finished him. "Yes." "Yes... what?" He was *not* going to come dry humping like some frustrated teenager. Not that it was exactly dry. And he wasn't so much humping as being humped and... Strong teeth closed on the edge of his ear. "Yes. I'm sure. Do you have..." "Yes." He braced himself on the bed with one hand and pushed back enough to reach the bedside table with the other, the small pain of Krycek's teeth pulling free going straight to his cock. The condom went on so fast he knew he was going to lose pubic hair when it came off and his hands weren't the only ones applying the lube. "Stop it!" "Helping." "No, you're not." He'd never wanted to be inside another person so badly in his entire life but he held back, working one slick finger slowly into the hot hidden places of Alex Krycek and then another. And then three, in and out. And then he got distracted by the sight of the other man writhing on his hand, cock thickening again, muscles flexing under smooth golden skin glistening with sweat, head thrown back. Even the shirt and tie, both now wrinkled and sweat stained added to the allure. Fascinated by the reactions he was provoking he almost forgot his own need. Almost. Withdrawing shaking fingers he used them to guide himself in. As the heat and the friction closed around the head of his cock, he hesitated... "Mulder, *please*..." ...and was lost, plunging the rest of the way with a hoarse cry echoed by the man beneath him on the bed. His hips were moving without his conscious control, slamming harder and harder, as he desperately attached his mouth to any part of Krycek he could, sometimes skin sometimes cloth, sucking and biting until a hand grabbed his head and dragged it upward. As the world exploded into fire and ice together, he screamed his orgasm into Alex Krycek's mouth. # The sound of the shower woke him. As far as he could remember, they'd fallen asleep curled satiated around each other so Alex must have pulled the blanket over him when he left. Mulder stretched and smiled. Years of game playing had taught him that fucking Alex Krycek ranked right up there with finding unarguable alien DNA evidence. Who'd have thought that making love to him would be so much better. *Making love to him...* The world stopped. Unaware, a driver, stuck in the morning traffic streaming by outside, hit the horn. Then the shower stopped and the world started up again. *He has to shave. I've got time.* To do what? Fix breakfast? What were the morning rituals after... ...after... *Making love to a man who no longer existed. If he ever had.* Alex Krycek was a cold blooded killer and a traitorous rat bastard and young Agent Krycek was a figment of his imagination. It would take more than sex to erase the past. *Who'd have thought that making love to him would be so much better. Not, to with. Son of a...* Mulder got up and dragged on his track pants fully aware they were a worn and pathetic shield even as he did it. But a shield he was glad of when Krycek came out of the bathroom naked to the waist. "I used your razor and I need to borrow a shirt and tie. You destroyed mine." It took Mulder a moment to place the tone then he realized Krycek was acting as if this were the aftermath of one of their games. The points have been scored, time to move on. Frowning, thinking, he gestured toward the drawer where his clean shirts, still in their laundry wrapping, waited. He forbore pointing out they'd be a little tight across the chest since they were the only shirts available. He watched as Krycek slid one sleeve up over the prosthetic arm, shrugged it over the other then began to do up the buttons. He was a lot more apt at it than Mulder'd assumed he'd be but then he'd had a lot of practice working one handed. The tie, on the other hand... "Here. Let me." He didn't want the help, but if he wanted it knotted he clearly didn't have a choice. There could be no ignoring the loss of the arm in the cold light of day. No going back. Mulder slid the knot up, folded the collar down, and stepped away as Krycek swung awkwardly into the suit jacket. He had a gun holstered in the small of his back -- *Were we lying on that?* Mulder wondered. He didn't remember removing it. -- and both the sleeves and hem of his jacket seemed to carry interesting weight. "You want something to eat?" "Thanks, no." Krycek's lip curled as he walked to the door. "You have a tub of moldy rice and seventeen packets of plum sauce in your fridge." He been up longer than Mulder'd thought. Long enough to wander around. Long enough to do anything. *And I slept right through it.* And strangely, it didn't bother him. *If we weren't lying on that gun -- and we weren't -- he disarmed himself before he got into my bed. After falling asleep in my living room.* "Alex..." He paused, hand on the door knob. When he turned, his eyes were hard, chips of green from the heart of an iceberg. He didn't even pretend not to understand. "Nothing's changed, Mulder. You're still a paranoid, asocial white knight with a chip on your shoulder the size of Nebraska and I'm still..." The pause had the sound of nouns studied and discarded. "... what I am." Mulder nodded. They couldn't erase the past. "Nothing's changed," Krycek repeated and the silent *Has it?* was so loud that Mulder had to smile. No, they couldn't go back so they'd just have to go forward. Still smiling, he moved closer. Three seconds into the kiss he thought, *I'm not dead. That's *got* to be good.* Four seconds; he felt the body in his arms start to tremble. Five seconds; Krycek's lips parted under his. Six seconds; the world stopped for the second time that morning. Krycek tasted like toothpaste. Mulder didn't even want to think about what his mouth tasted like, which was a good thing since cognitive ability seemed to have deserted him. *Nothing could be so hot and not reforge everything around it.* When they finally pulled apart the iceberg had melted. "Mulder..." "Come back to bed." "I can't." Fingers traveled over bare skin as though trying to learn Mulder's torso by Braille. "It's too dangerous." Mulder traced the curve of an ear with the tip of his tongue and murmured, "I'll be gentle." "Christ, you think highly of yourself." Stepping back, breaking the contact, a grinning Krycek held up a warning hand. "Mulder, no. In case you've forgotten, half the world is still trying to kill me." "I'm not." "That's not what I thought at five this morning." "So it seems I have reason to think highly of myself." It was the sort of pointless exchange, free of subtext and shadows, that friends had. That lovers had. Mulder saw Krycek realize it, saw a flash of that same emotion he hadn't been able to identify earlier, then the masks went up. "I have to go." "I know." Mulder reached past him and opened the door, not even caring if early rising neighbors saw him standing half naked in the doorway saying goodbye to a beautiful man through puffy, post-coital lips. "Call me." A dark brow rose. "Clichés, Mulder?" "I'm serious." Seconds built up between them, Mulder fighting the urge, the need, to make his position plain. Then Krycek grinned, nodded once, and was gone. Mulder leaned against the door for a moment after he closed it, listening to the part of his brain trained in subjective analysis announce that he'd just been had. That Alex Krycek had known the effect "young Agent Krycek" would have on him. That the vulnerability and the apparent trust had been nothing more than bait designed to get him to lower his defenses. That the incredible sex and everything it implied had been nothing more than an emotional mindfuck of the first order designed to let a lying rat bastard deep into his life so that the final betrayal could be all the more devastating. He actually considered it for a moment because, after all, Alex had been right; he *was* still a paranoid, asocial white knight -- although asocial was perhaps a little harsh. He considered it and then he told the analytical part of his brain to go fuck itself. This morning, no longer distracted by the beautiful body writhing under his hands, he'd been able to identify that flash of emotion. Hope. If anyone understood starting over it was Alex Krycek. There'd be new games with new rules. From now on, they'd both win.