TITLE: Str8 One
NAME: Mik
E-MAIL: mik_dok@yahoo.com
CATEGORY: M/K
RATING: NC-17. M/K. This story contains slash i.e. m/m sex. So, if you don't like that type of thing - STOP NOW! Forewarned is forearmed. Proceed with caution. Of course if you have four arms you can throw caution to the wind.
SUMMARY: The case in California that Chris didn't tell you about.
ARCHIVE: Only with my permission.
FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist .
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: This is right after 3.
KEYWORDS: story slash angst Mulder Krycek NC-17
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Alex Krycek, and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. I'd rather say that they really are mine, but I've been advised to deny everything. But when I become king ...

Author's notes: Another birthday present for a bunny lovin' bear.

If you like this, there's more at http://www.squidge.org/3wstop If you didn't like it, come see me, anyway. Pet the dog.

Str8 One
by Mik

"No."

I paused at the bathroom door, frowning. Alex Krycek was sitting at the foot of the bed, shaking his head.

"No?" I glanced over my shoulder in the mirror to see what he saw. "What's wrong?"

"Who dressed you, your mother?" He stood and came up to circle me in an almost predatory manner. "And was your mother a costume designer for a porn film?"

I scowled at him. "Didn't you ever get beat up for speaking ill of someone's mother? And wouldn't a costume designer in a porn film be as superfluous as a condom dispenser in a convent?"

It was a direct hit. I had always suspected he had spent time in Catholic schools. "Oooh, going right for the jugular, are we?" He gave me another circle. "Anyway, it's not right."

I admit I didn't like the look, but I wasn't sure what to do about it. "What's wrong?" I repeated.

"What's right?"

I gave him a dark and warning glower. "Cut the comedy. You're supposed to be helping. If all you can manage is wisecracks, you can get your ass back to DC and leave me alone."

He put up a hand in surrender. "Let's just say Dickeys isn't a look you want to foster, Mulder." He pulled open a drawer in the bureau and started rummaging.

"Hey!"

He tossed things at me. "Go with what you know, Mulder."

I sighed loudly. "If I was going with what I know, I wouldn't be doing a stakeout in a bar called Bois Town."

He snickered. "Jeans and a tee shirt. Trust me."

I went back into the bathroom which was really too small to allow someone my size to move, much less change clothes, but I just didn't feel comfortable changing in front of my new partner, especially given the nature of this assignment. I didn't like this assignment, but I knew I was being punished for going off on a witch-hunt one too many times. No one was listening to me when I said this time I was hunting vampires. It didn't matter. I could have been hunting wabbits for all they cared. I was in deep shit. And I was paying for it.

I stepped back out into the room and executed a little circle. "Well?"

He nodded in approval. "Better." He moved around me, brushing an imaginary hair from the shoulder of my tee shirt. His fingers dipped under the neckband and pulled up the delicate gold chain there. His fingers slid over the cross. "Nice touch."

I put my hand over his and tugged the cross free. "Leave it alone," I said coldly, tucking it back under my shirt.

It took him a moment. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Then he backed away. "Now ... I've done a quick reconnoiter and the place is pretty simple. Bar to the left, booths to the right, dance floor in the middle, head in the back. According to all the witnesses, the last time any of these guys was seen was on their way back to the can. So that would be the best place to watch."

"I am NOT hanging around in the bathroom of a gay bar!" I said emphatically, dropping to one knee so I could strap my secondary weapon into the ankle holster.

"Oh, we are proud," Krycek mocked. "I guess you've forgotten what it's like to be a newbie and get every scut assignment out there ..." A note of bitterness crept into his voice. "... every shithole stakeout and keyhole surveillance."

"Wow, you got the word `hole' into one sentence twice, Krycek," I remarked. "Could it be Freudian?"

"You're the one who noticed it," he shot back. "You tell me."

I smiled in spite of myself. He was an annoying little shit ... overeager, untrustworthy and dressed like a poorly paid mall cop. Not to mention that haircut! But he was quick, and wise in a discomfiting, street-smart way. I guess if I had to take this assignment, I could do worse for a partner. Krycek actually looked as if he would fit in around a gay bar. I straightened. "Okay, so, I walk in and stroll to the back and hang out --"

"Whoa, whoa!" He was holding his hands up in protest. "Do you want to get made in the first five minutes? You go in, take a seat at the bar, order a beer. Don't sit hunched up, watching the glass to see what's happening behind you. Turn around ... check out the meat. Act like you're enjoying the music." He let his body rock a little as if dancing. "Let someone buy you a drink. Let someone ask you to dance. THEN you can stroll to the back and hang out."

"I'm not going to dance!" I slid my fingers through my hair.

"Sure you are. With me." He tapped his chest. "I'll already be there. I'll buy you a drink and ask you to dance. We can appear to hit it off and head to the back to ..." he did that annoying quotations in the air thing with his fingers "... get to know one another."

I was making a face at the gesture when something caught my attention. "Wait a minute. Why can't I buy you a drink?"

He chuckled indulgently. "Mulder, you've been a Special Agent so long, you've forgotten what it's like to be undercover. You've forgotten the joys of role-playing. Leave that to me. You just nod and keep your eyes open."

"Well, okay," I agreed grudgingly. "But if they start playing YMCA, I'm out of there."

Krycek rolled those unnaturally green eyes at me. "Come out of the dark ages. They don't dance to that anymore. Not since Major League Baseball started using it." He reached for his jacket, a black leather piece that looked a lot more expensive than any four of his suits. "Now ... we need a name for you ... in case someone asks."

I reached for my own denim jacket. "Lance?" I sneered. "Brick? Stone?"

"Fox?"

Ouch! "Fucker."

He laughed. "Jon."

"What?"

"Jon. It's a good name. Not too gay. Could go either way." He laughed again. "Jon."

"And you?"

He shrugged. "What's wrong with Alex?"

I pretended to give it thought before I nodded. "Yeah, I can see that going both ways."

He surprised me with an odd look, slightly warm. "Could you?"

*******************************************

At nine o'clock, I paid the cabbie and stepped out into the unexpected sultriness of a night in Los Angeles. I was glad Krycek had talked me out of the polyester pants for so many reasons. I was much more comfortable in my own jeans and a plain white tee shirt. Well, comfortable is a relative word. I was walking into a gay bar.

I was surprised. I'm not sure what I was expecting. But the cool air felt good ... the music wasn't unbearably loud and no one pounced on me as I paid my cover charge and wormed my way through the crowd at the edge of the dance floor. The was a stool near the end of the bar and I slid up next to a guy I might have met on the commuter coming out of DC on any given weeknight. He gave me an assessing look and then turned his attention back to the woman on his right. But ... she wasn't a woman.

Barely suppressing a shudder, I gave my order to a pleasant looking woman behind the bar ... and I gave her a good long look. She was definitely a female; long brown hair curled too carelessly to be anything but real and hips meant for childbearing. She had me sized up in a second and tipped me a wink as she took my money. A moment or two later, a long neck sat in front of me. I took a sip, sent my eyes upward to the mirror over the bar, in force of habit, recalled his admonition and swiveled around on my seat to look out into the room.

The dance floor was crowded. Lots of couples, mostly male, but a few that could have been male and female, undulated to music I had never heard. I wondered briefly if there was some underground top forty. `All gay, all the time'. But I didn't see Krycek.

I felt a body sidle up to my side as I sat there, feet caught in the rungs of the stool, my elbows back on the bar behind me. "Hi, Daddy," a soft voice cooed.

I jerked a glance right. He was blond, blue eyed, and looked about fourteen. I swear he still had acne, which had been artfully but obviously covered with makeup. He was smiling at me with raw expectation. "I ... I beg your pardon?" I stammered.

He slid his fingers up my thigh. "Nice package, Daddy."

I pulled my leg away from his touch. "What do you think you're doing? Looking for a spanking?" His eyes glowed in such a way that I had a feeling I'd just answered the sixty four million dollar question. "Look, kid, I am not your daddy. Go play."

The simper was replaced by a scowl. "Well, if you're not selling, you shouldn't be advertising." He whirled, blond hair flying and disappeared into the crowd.

"Advertising?" I muttered to myself. "What the hell am I advertising?"

"You're sweet, aren't you?" asked a dark, deep voice.

I jerked to the left. And found myself eye to cleavage with a very tall redhead. But I had a suspicion about this one. Before I could say a word, long red nails raked through my hair. "Very sweet," she/he told me.

I caught a thick wrist and held firm. "Look, Lola ... when I want a woman ... I want a woman." I let go roughly. "Okay?"

Lola gave me a look that made it clear if he caught me in a back alley, he'd beat the shit out of me, just on principle. But the low voice said, "You don't know what you're missing."

"Yeah, and I'll keep it that way, thank you." I drained my bottle and groped to put it on the bar behind me. I was startled when I felt another one pressed into my hand. I looked over my shoulder and the genuine female smiled and nodded out into the dance floor. A blessedly familiar figure was snaking his way through the writhing mass of dancers.

He didn't stop until he was right up on me, planted between my parted knees, his hands resting on the bar on either side of me. He leaned up and whispered in my ear. "You're a natural, `Jon'. You've got the twinks and the trannies hot and bothered. Wanna' dance with me, or are you holding out for a leather bear?"

I would have hit him, but too many people in that place might have enjoyed it. So I inclined my head so that my lips just brushed the shell of his ear. "You're an asshole, and when this is over, I'm going to beat you to a pulp. Okay?"

He answered with an almost glittering smile. It actually cut off my breath. "Come on, `Jon'. Dance with me."

I swallowed tightly. I could just see myself out there making a fool of us both trying to do the Macarena or some other horrendous thing, but just as we stepped onto the dance floor the mood of the music changed. Suddenly, it was an old Carol King standard. And Krycek was pulling me into his arms. "Krycek ... I can't ..." I swallowed again. "I can't dance."

He had one hand around me to rest on my hip, the other grasping my hand to his chest. His hips were in tight to guide mine. He nuzzled up to my neck. "Just relax and follow me."

I was surprised. The familiar music and the feeling of his body moving to it made it easy for me to relax and dance with him. I let my free hand drape loosely at his waist, and listened to him sing along softly to So Far Away. For a few moments, reality was suspended, and all that was left was the taste of cold beer and the feel of another body's warmth.

The song ended, and I started to pull away, flushed with guilty pleasure. But he held fast. Another song ... a pure, unadulterated love song. Feels Like Heaven. He held me close, we moved in and out among more than a dozen other couples, he sang ... and I sang back. I don't know what the hell I thought I was doing, but I was having fun. He was starting to add some moves that weren't standard slow dance shuffle from high school, a little dip, a little sway, falling back in my arms just a bit, so that his upper torso was bent back, but his crotch was grinding up against mine. Then sailing back into a tight embrace. I had never danced like this before. With anyone.

Another song ... Vanessa Williams. Krycek stepped away from me and turned, backing up against me, and pulling my arms around his waist. His swaying hips guided me. He led me in a slow circle, dipping and rocking, and singing along. It was a beautiful song. I'd never listened to the words before. Sometimes the very thing you're looking for is the one thing you can't see. Haunting.

At the last line, Krycek turned in my arms, and I really thought he was going to kiss me. Right there. But he only moved his mouth against mine. "Let's make our move." He caught my hand and pulled me toward the edge of the dance floor.

I was disappointed on at least two counts. I was having fun and wanted to keep dancing. And I did NOT want to go back to that bathroom and see who knows what going on between who knows who.

The head was cleaner than I expected. And it wasn't too busy. The blond adolescent was backed against a marbleized tile wall, pretending to giggle at some older guy in a badly fitting suit. But he wasn't so involved that he didn't send me a smug look when I came in. Another couple was actively engaged in tonsil tag under the window. It felt weird watching two men kiss. Not bad ... just ... weird.

Krycek looked around, and guided us toward the middle stall.

Suddenly the latch was thrown and there we were, wedged in, face to face. "Now what?" I whispered.

He shrugged and slid his arms around me to move in closer. "You want me to do you, or you want to do me?"

I didn't pull him away. But I put my hands on his arms to keep him from getting any closer. "No one's doing anyone in here," I assured him, speaking low in his ear.

I swear he shivered. "We can't just stand here, it will be suspicious." His hands went to his waist. "Come on. You can be butch, `Jon', and top me." He dropped his jeans down to mid thigh and he looked back over his shoulder at me. A twinkle came to his eyes and his grin. "Just be gentle, you brute." He turned and put his hands on the top of the dividing wall.

I stood there, stunned to stone. He wasn't wearing shorts. There was my partner's bare ass being waved at me in the middle stall of a public toilet. I dry swallowed, my hands hovering helplessly over his back. "I ... uh ... uh ..."

The wall behind me began to shudder. I could hear high soft cooing, and I realized that the kid had found a Daddy. I leaned over Krycek's bowed back, trying to avoid contact. "I don't ..."

"Just drop your jeans and ... oh, hell." He turned, tugging his own pants up but not fastening them. In a minute he was on his knees, pulling my jeans open and tugging them down. He frowned when he found that my more intimate anatomy was not cooperating. Evidently it didn't know what to do, either. He surprised me by slipping fingers up under the shaft and stroking with fingertips from balls to tip.

I let out a groan that was in no way feigned. He chuckled and rocked forward and back, his breath hot and wet against my skin. To anyone observing outside that stall, I was getting a brilliant blow job. And that was the idea that got me hard. Within a couple of minutes, Alex Krycek didn't have much room to maneuver without bumping into hot, hard flesh. I was ashamed of myself; I was forgetting why I was there, and what I was supposed to accomplish. I was getting hard for my partner. For another man. But, when he took the head of my penis into his mouth, and smiled up at me around it, I no longer cared. I braced my hands over the edge of the stall and began to work with him.

Blood was rushing away from my head, but even so, I could hear it. The back door slamming, and a voice raised in protest. I looked down at him and he looked up at me, letting my cock slip out of his mouth into shockingly cold air. But we both moved, scrambling.

In another moment, both still tucking and zipping, we were running out the back door. Just in time to see the van spin around the corner, and out of sight. "Damn it!" I said with feeling.

Krycek nodded, wordlessly.

I had to give him a second look. His lips were red and swollen. Holy shit! Those lips had been wrapped around my cock! I felt myself blush. "I'd better call in," I mumbled. "See you later."

*******************************************

I was slumped in a wooden chair, staring at photos and hating myself. The little blond had washed in on the morning tide. Black and blue. Distinct ligatures at the throat and wrists. The kid had struggled, a lot, before he had been tipped out into the Pacific to become shark shit.

The door to the interrogation room opened and Krycek nudged his way in, bearing two cups of Starbucks. His suit lived down to his usual standards, but the coffee was good. He set one in front of me, twisted the photos around and winced. "What a damn, fucking shame."

"Yes," I growled. "And we could have stopped it."

He blinked at me, impatiently. "How? What could we have done different?"

"We could have stopped it."

"You're just pissed at yourself because ..." he broke off and popped the lid of his coffee to empty a packet of sugar.

I knew what he meant. He was referring to the other reason I was hating myself. Last night was the first night since she was taken that I hadn't thought about her. I was out having a good time ... dancing, for God's sake ... and who knows what was happening to her. "What did they get from witnesses?"

Krycek smirked. "That he was chatting up some hottie at the bar right before he disappeared."

I blushed. I could feel it. "Fuck you," I said distinctly.

He bent over to gather notes together. "Maybe next time," he breathed softly.

I felt myself going rigid in more ways than one. I wish I could say that I went back to my hotel room after making my initial report, and slept the sleep of the just. Or jerked off to porn. Or mourned for Scully. No. I went home and thought about the fact that I'd had my cock in another man's mouth.

The mouth in question was working a plastic stir stick with annoying enthusiasm, while hooded green eyes flicked over the four files spread over the table. Two days ago, we'd been looking through three of them. Now we could add Sean Seals to the pile. His parents were on their way out from Ohio, to claim his remains. He would have been nineteen on the thirtieth.

I reached up and snatched the stir stick from his mouth. "Anyone ever tell you that's a very annoying habit?"

He shrugged and grinned. "Only everyone. That's why I do it. Tell me, Doc ... this oral fixation of mine ... what do you think it means?"

I stood up and growled, "It means you're going to get the shit kicked out of you first chance I get."

He laughed. But the laughter faded. "Poor kid."

"Yeah."

"It wasn't your fault, Mulder."

"The hell it wasn't. I --"

"You were there doing what the job called for."

My face was absolutely on fire. "It didn't call for that," I countered in a hiss.

He looked as if he might add a smart retort, but he could still see the photos of Sean Seals. So he frowned. "We'll try again tonight."

I stared at him. "How can we? We've been made."

"No one saw us," Krycek said. "Trust me. No one saw a thing. That's why this bastard's been so lucky so far." He put his hand on my shoulder. "Only, now ... it's personal."

"Oh, please ... I will kill you if you start quoting Clint Eastwood movies."

"Was that Clint Eastwood?" he asked, surprised. "I thought it was Jackie Chan."

I reached for my suit coat. "I've got to get out of here. I need to think." I reached for the coffee and took a healthy gulp. "Thanks."

"Hey." He twisted around. "Want company?"

He reminded me of an eager little puppy, tail wagging madly at the prospect of walkies. "No." I shut the door in his face.

I walked down the stairs, thinking that I should be getting into this unsub's head better. But I couldn't. I had no idea what his motivation was. Cheap thrills? Pedophilia? Rage against his own father? I stalled on the stairs. I turned around and went back up the steps. Krycek was still sitting on the edge of the table. He looked surprised when I burst back into the room. I pulled the files back to me and looked at them again. I pulled photos from each and spread them on the table. "What have they got in common?"

He looked them over. Two blondes, a boy with dark brown hair. An African American. He shook his head. "They're dead?"

I pointed. "Look, here. And ..." I reached for another photo. "Here. And here."

"And here." He pressed a fingertip to the mole on my cheek.

I twisted away from his touch. "I'm a little too old for this guy."

"Sean didn't have one," Krycek pointed out.

"Yes, he did. He had it covered with makeup." I grabbed a magnifying glass and handed it to him. "I saw it, though."

Krycek gave the photo a quick look. "Okay, the guy's got a Marilyn Monroe fetish?"

"No, but I'll bet he's got a mole." I looked at the photos. "And I'll bet his father abused the shit out of him."

"So he takes it out on these kids?"

"No, I think he's trying to understand why his father did it, or maybe, trying to be more like Daddy." Daddy. Sean called me Daddy.

Krycek winced. "That's pretty thin, Mulder."

I nodded. "But it's what we have."

"So we're looking for a guy with a mole?" Krycek was looking pained. "What about the guy that was with Sean in the can? Did he have a mole?"

I shook my head. "I never saw his face. I didn't hear him, either. All I could hear was Sean calling him Daddy." I stopped. "When he talked to me, he told me I was advertising. What did he mean?"

Krycek laughed helplessly. "Oh, honey ... it was the way you were sitting, arms back, chest out, legs spread ... you were saying `check me out, I've got it all'."

I stared, horrified. "I was?"

He stopped laughing. He just nodded.

"Oh. I didn't mean it. I was just ... sitting. You know, being comfortable."

He shrugged. "You're the psychologist. Make of it what you will." He put the photos away carefully. "So, what are we going to do now?"

I sighed heavily. "We're going to go dancing."

I swear he looked pleased.

- END One -