Title: Ghosts and Liars
Category: M/K PWP
Disclaimers: Not Mine
Notes: This is my first fan fiction/M/K, so don't beat me up.
Ghosts and Liars
Despite his Oxford education, Mulder hadn't been one of the buggery boys. He'd been aware, of course, that the experimentation went on. Had been propositioned several times by some rather interesting classmates. But the intrigue of crossing the thin gay line hadn't been sufficient to sway him from his New England conservatism. Not that he hadn't done his share of recreational drugs, of radical reading, of sleeping with dangerous women. But that line, that one line, had held firm.
In time, the temptation had fled. Of course, in time, most every kind of temptation had fled, as more and more of his mind, his being, had been focused so firmly on ghosts and liars. On dead ends, on pain.
It had taken a traitor, a murderer, a coward, to bring it all back. One kiss, and that ancient wonder had come back full force, as if it had simply been lying in wait, growing day by day in some deep, dark corner. And now it was here, shadowing his days, looming in his nights.
It wouldn't have been so terrible if his curiosity was about men in general. But no. Because his life seemed to be defined by the word perverse, his focus, his whole concentration, was on the one man. The man he hated beyond reason. The man who'd done more to kill his soul than anyone, with the possible exception of the smoker.
It was late. No, early. Close to four-fifteen, and he didn't want to go back to sleep. His dreams, all his dreams of late, had been worse than his old nightmares. All of them were themed, consistent, in color. And all of them were of him fucking Alex Krycek. Except for the ones where Alex Krycek fucked him.
It was an obsession. Of course, he knew that. His degree was good for something, wasn't it? He was obsessed with something he couldn't have. Would never have. Shouldn't want. His subconscious was jerking him off, that's all. A giant cosmic joke, one he'd written in some dark alley of his twisted brain.
All he had to do was figure out how to stop it. He couldn't talk about it with anyone. Jesus, he could just imagine Scully's reaction if he even hinted that he'd been having sexual thoughts about... well, that wasn't going to happen. There wasn't a twelve-step program for this sort of thing. Not one that he'd attend, anyway.
But perhaps there was something he could do. Replace one fantasy for another. Go out to one of the many gay bars in DC and find a guy. Someone not Alex. Someone blond, maybe. Short. Bookish. Someone from England, perhaps, who would take him back to the good old days when he'd been so well-versed in sublimation. Someone, anyone, who would wipe the slate clean. Let him get some sleep.
For now, though, he couldn't take the chance that his dreams would lead to yet another nocturnal emission. He'd run. That helped. Work helped, too, although he was starting to worry Scully. He'd never been much of a sleeper, but this was bad even for him. He looked like hell, even he could see that. But tonight was Friday. He could do this thing. He could replace the nightmare. Hell, he'd probably freak right out when it came to actually doing something with a guy.
He climbed into his sweats, trying to recall every single thing he could about the flukeman. It helped.
Another Friday night with no one to kill, nothing to do. He could catch a movie, but there wasn't anything interesting out. He could leave the city for awhile, maybe out to the beach. Naw. He'd go back to his old standby, the one activity that always satisfied. It was a quiet hobby, one he didn't share with many, although there had been a few over the years. But it was his, and he liked it.
He gathered his few supplies. A chilled flask of Stoli. His binoculars and his magic earphones, the ones that caught the slap of hand to flesh that sent his heart racing like a teenager in love.
He laughed, fully aware of the perversity of his preoccupation, and not caring in the least. There weren't a lot of giggles in his line of work, so he took his pleasures where he could. And Mulder, man he was everything entertaining in the world, all wrapped up in one delicious package. Neurotic, brilliant, witty, so fucking sexy it made Krycek believe in God. Not really, but close. Real close. And as long as Mulder wasn't hitting him, there was no one more fun to hang out with. Yeah, so sometimes the situations weren't all laughs. He glanced at the plastic wonder that pretended to be his arm.
Fuck it. It was still fun to watch him. Fridays were movie night. Although Krycek himself wasn't an aficionado of Mulder's het brand of porn, his focus was never on the screen, so it didn't matter. No one jerked off like Mulder. If it was an Olympic event, the man would have a chest full of golds. It was a wonder to behold.
In the nick of time, he remembered to bring a new box of wetnaps with him. As he headed for his car de jour, he found himself humming.
It looked like a regular bar from the outside, nothing fancy. But he'd watched it for over an hour, and he'd not seen any women enter. Lots of men. Mostly young, mostly good looking, but no one who'd made him get out of the car. Yet. It could still happen. There had to be someone inside who would appeal. Right? Lots of men, all of them looking for something uncomplicated and nameless. It was a bar pickup, nothing more. Sex. With a man. He could deal. There was every chance all this...crap was just his need to step over the line. Once he did, he'd stop thinking about Krycek, and he could go back to his so-called life.
Before he could change his mind, he got out of his Taurus, locked it up, and headed for the door. He quelled the urge to comb his hair. He had his ID in his pocket. Worse came to worse, he could always claim he was here on a case. But he hoped it wouldn't come to that.
Inside, the lights were dim, the music loud, and the men were a hell of a lot buffer than him. Everyone in spitting distance turned his way. Most turned back, but some gazes lingered. Nothing subtle going on here. He suddenly understood why women didn't like to walk by construction sights. Please, God, he wasn't blushing. Blushing would be bad.
He headed for a relatively empty space by the long bar. As he walked, he felt the stares. Jesus, it was never like this in the bars he frequented. Mostly, those folks wanted to be invisible. He wanted to be that right now.
"What can I get you?" The bartender wore a silk shirt and a knowing grin.
"Am I that obvious?"
"Don't worry about it. Everybody has a first time."
Mulder sighed. "Nothing. Thanks anyway." He stepped back, ready to cry Uncle. This wasn't going to work. Not even close.
"Where you going?"
He heard the voice behind him, very close. He turned, his hand moving to his holster. The man behind him was his height. Dark. His eyes were brown, his hair just past his collar. There was something restrained about him, something that made Mulder keep his hand right where it was. "I made a mistake," he said. "Wrong kind of bar."
The stranger smiled. Even white teeth. "I don't think so," he said.
He shook his head. "Let me buy you a drink. If you still want to leave after, okay."
"It's okay if I want to leave right now."
"True. But then, how will you ever know?"
"If this really is the wrong kind of bar?"
He was right. How would he know if he chickened out in the first five minutes. "Okay. One drink."
The man's grin widened before he turned to the bar. "I'll have a Stoli on the rocks." He glanced at Mulder.
The bartender winked at him, then went to get the drinks. He was back too quickly, and then Mulder was following a strange man to a booth in the back. His gaze moved down along the wide shoulders to the tapered waist. He paused at his ass. It was tight, encased in worn jeans. He wondered what it would feel like to have his dick up there.
Nothing. No interest as far as he could tell. But maybe he was just nervous. There was certainly nothing wrong with this one. He was good looking in a rough kind of way. Like he did hard physical labor.
They sat, and Mulder took his drink. He swallowed half of it and suppressed a cough.
Mike held up his glass. "So what brings you into the danger zone, Mulder?"
"What brings anyone here?"
"Most of the guys in here know they're queer. But I don't think you're convinced."
"I told you I was in the wrong bar."
Mike shook his head. "If you had walked into the wrong bar, you'd have been gone in five seconds. You sure as hell wouldn't be sitting here with me."
"Okay, so I'm curious."
"Curious about you or us queers?"
Mulder took another drink. "All of it."
"Been thinking about it for awhile."
"Not all that long."
He shook his head. "Nope."
"What brought on this sudden interest?"
Mulder rubbed his hands on his jeans. This really was a mistake.
"So it's someone in particular."
"Look, I appreciate the drink, but-"
Mike laughed. "Why not see what he thinks about it?"
It was Mulder's turn to laugh. "Not a chance in hell."
"He's...a lot of things."
"Finish your drink, Mulder. Don't worry. I won't bite. Although God knows, I'd like to."
Mike finished his drink. "Go on, get out of here before you get into real trouble."
Mulder stood, stuck out his hand. Mike's shake was firm, his touch uneventful. Nothing. No desire, no interest, not even a twitch. So much for his grand plan. "Thanks."
"It would have been my pleasure."
Mulder headed out of the bar, barely noticing the looks this time. Not even caring. It hadn't worked. Having mindless sex with a man wasn't going to ease his obsession, which pretty much sucked. Maybe a woman. It was worth a shot.
He headed back to his car, thinking about the women he knew. Scully didn't count. Although he found her achingly beautiful, there's no way he was going to get into that territory with her. It was a lock that he'd screw that up, and it wasn't worth it. But there were other women at work. Lisa in payroll was pretty hot. So was Candace in the lab. Maybe bringing this into work wasn't such a good idea. Another bar. A stranger. That was smarter.
He unlocked his car and got in. Pulled his seat belt across his lap, and started the engine. Then he felt the cold press of a gun against his neck.
His gaze jerked to the rear view mirror. "What the fuck?"
Every part of his body stiffened. Every part. "What are you doing here, Krycek?"
"I was just out for the evening. You know. Bar hopping."
"This isn't a bar."
"Yeah, but see, I saw this old friend come out of one of my regular haunts, and it got me to thinking."
Regular haunts? Okay, so he'd already guessed that Krycek was gay, but that he'd picked out the one bar in DC where the bastard hung out? He knew he was spooky, but this was one step too far.
"Put the car in drive and press the accelerator."
"Because I have a gun to your head, idiot."
"You gonna shoot me because I had a drink?"
Krycek laughed. "Maybe."
Against his better judgment, he eased into the lane, not sure where he was supposed to drive.
He got to the corner, the gun never wavering an inch from the base of his neck. "Where?" he asked, although he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"Where are we going, Krycek?"
"Somewhere we can talk."
"I said where?"
"All right, Mulder, let's make it easy. We'll go to your place."
Of course. Was there ever any doubt? It's where Krycek liked to fuck him. Fuck with him. Jesus. He'd been a goddamn limp noodle in that bar, and all Krycek had to do was threaten his life and he was hard as stone. He needed help. A fucking team of psychiatrists.
It took almost half an hour to get back to his place, and Krycek never moved. His hand didn't shake, his breathing never quickened. He just sat there, as if they were on a joy ride. No words were exchanged. The only dialogue was the one in Mulder's head. The one trying to convince him that this had nothing to do with sex.
They got out of the car, and Krycek stood too close as they made their way to his apartment. He couldn't see the gun, but he knew it was there, aimed with precision. He also knew that Krycek smelled faintly of alcohol and spearmint.
"You wanna do the honors?" Mulder asked as they reached his door.
"Very amusing. Open it."
He did, although it probably took him longer than it would have if Krycek had simply jimmied the lock.
Once inside, Krycek kicked the door shut. The gun came out of his pocket and pointed at Mulder's stomach. "Take a seat," he said, his voice low and smoky.
"Gee, thanks," he said, not moving an inch. "Can I watch TV if I'm good?"
"You don't have the right kind of tapes."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Krycek smiled. Even white teeth. Mulder's chest tightened.
"What were you doing there, Mulder?"
"Working on a case."
"Why'd you ask if you already knew the answer?"
Krycek stepped toward him. It was all Mulder could do to keep his position, to not back away. The closer he got, the harder it became to breathe. Surely he would stop before-
He didn't. The gun touched his stomach first, and then the rest of Krycek's lower body pressed against him. His hips, his legs. His erection. As stony and hard as Mulder's own.
"That's some case you got there, Mulder." Krycek moved just enough to emphasize the point.
Mulder bit back a gasp. This was not good. Not good at all. Way too close to his dreams. His nightmares.
"So what happened? Didn't find anyone kinky enough for you? You should have come to me, Mulder. I could have pointed you in the right direction."
Mulder opened his eyes. He hadn't even realized he'd closed them. But now he stared directly into the gaze of a man he despised. Who'd had the fucking audacity to kiss him when he was down. Kiss him on the goddamn cheek. And what he saw there was everything he didn't want. Everything he'd obsessed about for far too long.
"Oh, hell," he whispered, just before he moved that last inch..
His lips. Hard. Mulder's lips. Oh, shit.
He'd expected fists. Instead, Fire. His lips parted and were instantly breached by the hot wet tongue of the only man he wanted. Mulder's cock, hard, thick, pressed against him, But it was the kiss that loosened his hand, that dropped the gun. That changed everything. And then there was nothing he could do but kiss back. Taste the forbidden heat of Mulder's mouth, the mouth of his dreams, and they were dueling, struggling, fighting like they always fought only this time, he didn't hold back a thing, just gave it to Mulder with all the rage and pain and heat and need that had been there forever.
His arm wrapped around Mulder's waist, pulled him tight, and his hip thrust forward bucking against the hardness in his jeans, and Mulder made this sound that took him right to the edge because it was so pure and real and it was fucking Mulder in his mouth. Mulder's teeth found his lower lip and bit down. Hard enough to make him moan. He pulled back, ready to see anger, to see hate.
"Fuck," Mulder said, as if he'd just realized where he was, what he was doing.
"Yeah, Mulder." Christ, he couldn't even hide his disappointment. "It's me."
"I know. I know exactly who you are."
"Fuck you, Mulder. " Krycek stepped away, pulling back into himself. Into what was real.
But Mulder's hand gripped his wrist. Tight. "Yes," he said. Just like that. "Yes."
Not daring to breathe, Krycek looked into the eyes of the man holding him still.
"Fuck me, Alex.."
He couldn't believe he'd said it. But he was so tired. Tired of the dreams. Of waking up each morning knowing he'd lost the fight. That Krycek had him in the ghost world. Was it so bad to want to stop it?
Krycek blinked at him, his head tilted slightly to the right. He probably thought it was a trick. A trap. The only thing Mulder could think to do was show him. His hands went to his shirt, and he pulled it in one move over his head. Let it drop to the floor. Then he started with his jeans, and his fingers shook as he unbuttoned them, knowing that he was stepping off the high board into the deep end. He was going to do this. With a man. No.
He didn't want any man. He wanted this man. Who'd betrayed him. Who'd lied to him. Who'd crossed him. Whom he couldn't shake, couldn't kill, couldn't erase. This was his only choice. The only way.
He shoved his pants down, his shorts along with them, kicked them off, and his shoes and socks followed. And there it was. He'd never felt more naked. He wasn't sure where the gun was, but it couldn't be far. His cock was so hard it painted his belly. It was difficult to breathe. To not close his eyes.
And then, oh Christ, Krycek's hand went to his own shirt. He undid the buttons with a strange grace. Mulder stared as his shirt disappeared. His gaze traced the lines of the other man's chest. The urge strong to touch the hard planes, the muscles. He took in the straps of the prosthesis, but the chest itself was too intriguing to ignore. He was glad there was no hair in the way. Small, tight nipples. Nothing at all like a woman's.
Then his gaze moved down as Krycek shoved his black jeans down. The line of dark hair pointed to the thicker bush and there was his cock, and he'd never let himself look at a cock like this. It was always quick glances in the showers, at the head. And the cocks were never hard, glistening, red with blood and oozing from need.
He'd never wanted anything so much in his life. So why wasn't he moving? Reaching?
Finally, it was Krycek who stepped up to the plate. His hand on Mulder's chest. And then his lips.
It was nothing like his dreams. Not close. The dreams were stingy, vacant. He'd never imagined skin could be this soft, and yet encase something so hard. There wasn't this smell, this ozone smell of lust. And in his dreams, Krycek's cock felt like his own, but the truth was that it didn't. It was different. Other. Krycek's.
His hand moved up and down the thick length and he felt his own dick twitch. Krycek's hand stilled his.
Mulder nodded, turned. Felt Krycek's breath on his neck, heard his bare feet slap the hardwood floor. And his own heartbeat.
Once they were in the bedroom, Mulder's courage faltered. He slowed, stared at the pillows. Knowing that this was the last step. Did he really want this? It was Alex Krycek.
The man touched him on the small of his back. "We can stop this, Mulder. Right now. No harm, no foul."
Mulder closed his eyes. The last thing on earth he expected was for this man to show consideration. Not five minutes ago he had a gun pointed at him. And now he was willing to call it all off?
Mulder turned. Leaned forward. And fell.
The arms that went around him held him up, the one real flesh and blood, the other hard and cold, but they were both strong. And his lips... his lips were soft.
"Fuck me, Alex," he whispered again.
Then they were laying down, and he felt Alex's body next to his. Half on top of his, and it felt hard, big, strong. Nothing like a woman. And so fucking right.
He wanted to do everything to the long, lean man beneath him. Kiss him, swallow him, fuck him, invade him. He'd never dreamed, never dared to, that he could be this close. Mulder wanted the Truth. Well, here it was. In the hard, leaking cock. In the curve of his ass. In the hiss of breath between clenched teeth.
He wanted to be gentle, but he wasn't sure he could. His body fought to take, to steal what could be snatched away any second. But Goddamnit, he couldn't. It was Mulder.
So he used his mouth and his tongue. Licking down the pale expanse of neck to the hollow just above his chest. Tasting the warm silk of Mulder's skin. He rubbed his cock on the other man's thigh, but had to stop because when his brain registered who he was touching, he couldn't stop the tightening of his balls.
Shit, he could come just by opening his eyes.
So he closed them, and moved his lips to the agent's chest. He found a nipple by Braille, and captured the hard nub between his teeth. Mulder gasped, but he didn't' bite. He sucked the flesh into his mouth then held the tip while he flicked his tongue.
The elegant body writhed beneath him, and the sounds, oh fuck, the sounds.
He wasn't going to last, and he'd promised Mulder. He tore his mouth away. "Lube, Mulder."
"Lube. Condom. You have them?"
Mulder blinked. "Yeah, the drawer." He nodded to the bedside.
Krycek was up and back before the man had a chance to recover his senses. He had what he needed to make it good, to teach Mulder all his secrets.
His lips went back to the tantalizing body, lower now, kissing the gently curved stomach, so soft, sweet. His chin hit something hard and damp.
And he couldn't take it for one more second. His hand wrapped around the base of Mulder's cock, and his mouth engulfed the mushroom head.
Mulder arched off the bed with a wild moan, and Krycek felt his fingers pulling his hair. It hurt. He didn't give a damn. Not with Mulder's cock halfway down his throat. Not with the taste of the man filling his mouth; salty, perfect, bitter as life.
With the last of his remaining strength, he uncapped the lube, squeezed out too much on Mulder's hip. Then he dipped his fingers in the goo, wishing he had a second hand to warm it.
He reached down, bracing himself on his prosthetic. Touched the crease of Mulder's ass. Felt his tremors. Moved gently between the muscled cheeks until he found his small opening.
Mulder moaned again, relaxing himself after a final shudder. Krycek swirled his tongue around the crown of Mulder's cock as his finger entered the tight heat. He had to lift his hips so his own cock wouldn't touch anything. This had to last, at least until Mulder's needs were met.
Mulder gripped the sheet with both hands as he felt Alex's finger slip inside him. It wasn't painful, surprisingly. But it did feel...weird. The intimacy was as profound as the sensation, the knowledge that Alex Krycek's finger was up his ass as stimulating as it was unnerving.
He nodded, focusing on the stimulating part, letting the rest go. He wanted this. His cock certainly approved. It was his mind that was making this difficult, and for once, for one godammed night, he wanted his head to shut the hell up. This was it, the only way to end it. To purge the ache.
He looked down, meeting the concerned gaze of the man between his legs. "Yes," he said, as he pushed himself down on the impaling finger.
Krycek smiled. "Anything you say, Mulder."
His head hit the pillow again, his eyes closing. "Talk to me," he said, as he felt the finger move.
"About what?" came the smoky reply
"Anything. Just...talk." He couldn't admit what Krycek's voice did to him. That when he heard that velvet on leather, everything in his head stilled.
Krycek's finger retreated, and Mulder looked down again. His enemy, his nemesis, his wet dream, shook his head as he entered Mulder's ass again, this time thicker. Two fingers.
"You're so fucked up," Krycek said, although his smile seemed to indicate he didn't mind.
"Tell me something I don't know," Mulder said, moving his hips slowly.
"I've wanted to fuck you since the day we met."
Mulder blinked. He wasn't sure what to do with that. "But you knew."
"That I was going to fuck you over?"
The expected rage didn't come. He was too busy squeezing his ass as Krycek's fingers pumped and scissored. "Yeah."
"Doesn't mean I didn't want you." He retreated once more. Sat on his knees, pulled Mulder forward, lifting his hips, spreading his legs. "Always wanted you," he whispered, that fucking voice sandpaper and silk.
Mulder moaned as he felt the blunt tip of Krycek's cock between his cheeks. He calmed himself with a deep breath, relaxing his muscles.
"Good boy," Alex said, as he pushed forward.
It burned, but not much, and then Krycek stilled, waiting, it seemed for the pain to dissipate. Only when Mulder nodded did the thick intrusion continue. Slowly, slowly, his world expanded as his ass was filled.
"Oh, Christ," Krycek whispered.
Mulder opened his eyes again. Krycek's head was thrown back exposing his throat, his Adam's apple sliding, his tendons strained and bulging. His chest glistened in the hint of moonlight and it was clear he was holding back.
But Mulder didn't want patience. He pushed down on the impaling cock. Down until his whole universe was right there, between his legs. "What part of fuck me don't you understand?" he said, his voice no more than a gasp.
Krycek's groan went right through him as he felt hands, one warm, one cold, still his hips. Then there was no more thought. Nothing but the cock in his ass, pounding, filling, unbelievably intense and exactly, exactly what he needed.
Mulder released his grip on the sheet. He wanted to touch, to feel more of the power of the man. A killer, a demon, all there inside him. He struggled to keep his eyes open, to watch as Alex Krycek impaled him, demolished everything he'd known.
And then Krycek met his gaze, and the intensity there overshadowed everything else. They were stranger's eyes, filled with lust and need and a connection that forced its way past Mulder's last defense.
It was the look that took him over the edge. His body tightened into the rictus of orgasm and he arched off the bed, screaming.
But it was his own name he heard, a high keen, as the world contracted to the size of a bed.
When he could breathe again, Krycek's head was on his chest, his breath harsh and his body trembling. A warm hand brushed his hip. The cock inside him slipped slowly away. Leaving him empty.
Krycek struggled to come back to his body. Christ, he couldn't...
He inhaled deeply, smelling Mulder's sweat, the tang of his come. He moved his head down and licked a pearly drop of Mulder's semen from the man's stomach , then he moaned, knowing that Mulder wasn't the only one who'd just been fucked.
Mulder's hand moved slowly up from the bed to the top of the dark head. He petted idly, aware of the silken strands between his fingers, as the truth settled into his bones. He'd caught his ghost, his phantom. He'd told himself it would end with this. That once he'd tasted his obsession the craving would vanish.
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