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If I Was

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If I Was

If I Was

by Skinner Box

From: "Skinner Box" <> Date: Saturday, February 23, 2002 8:23 PM If I Was
by Skinner Box
Email: Website: http://speedo.slashcity.com/forward.htm Rating: R
Pairing: Spender/Krycek
Spoilers: One Son
Disclaimer: The X-files and these characters belong to Chris Carter and Fox Broadcasting. I play with them out of love and for no profit. Note: Thank you to drovar and the fine folk of the Spenderfic list, to Wildy for incisive beta and title-related reassurance, and much gratitude to Speedo for giving me a home on the web. Archive: please ask first


If I Was
by Skinner Box

He wove through strata of smoke and sound, flickering candlelight and sinuous, vaguely Eastern music twining together, all backed by a thudding beat. Soundless, invisible, he worked his way toward the door of a private dining room. Quick and simple. A money job, but he'd cased the place thoroughly for days. Timothy McVeigh was arrested on a traffic violation. Moral of the story: little things count.

The low throaty moan of the recorded vocalist swelled though the speakers, covering the click as he opened the door. Covered the further sound of a silenced gun. Back of the head. Execution style. Neat. A warning from and to the target's various business associates.

A few couples were dancing as Alex worked his way out. Slowly, casually, through a service entrance into an alley, empty but for dumpsters full of restaurant detritus. He could hear the music, more than faintly, even here. The woman's voice echoed in his skull as he headed back to the room, ditching the gun down a convenient sewer grate on the way.

Back behind the triple locked door he hung up his dark suit, added the dress shirt with its decorative banded collar to the growing bag of laundry- time to move on soon. In his underwear, Alex took off his good prosthesis, wiped it down, checking for damage and wear. First things first. He wasn't surprised to hear Jeffrey Spender's voice from the bed.

"You're humming, Alex."

"Yeah," he admitted. "Heard it out tonight. Weird song." He sang a bar of the chorus, "'oh if I was, oh if I was your man.'"

"But it's a woman singing," he added.

"Joan Osborne, Alex." Spender sounded faintly bored. "It's been out a while."

"You're just cooler than I am, Jeff."

A snort of what might have been laughter came from the mound of covers as Alex stripped for a shower. God he was tired. The hot water sluiced away some of the lingering smoke-scent from his flesh, the sharp tang of the soap a pleasant enough counter to the staleness that clung to his body after a job like this one. He was getting used to Jeff showing up. Hell, he was beginning to think it was what got him through. Bad that. Very bad.

Not so bad that he resisted it, though. He toweled himself roughly, then padded naked to the bed, turning off lights as he went. He flopped down on top of the blankets, stifling a grunt, and just lay there a moment before crawling under.

"You're getting old, Sasha," Spender said. "One of these days you'll be joining me in retirement."

"Not yet," Alex said, but he could feel his body sagging back into the warmth as Jeff spooned around him. One long-fingered hand ghosted over his ribs, stroked down his chest. Jeff cupped his limp cock, more a friendly grope than anything with intent.

"I'm tired, Jeffrey."

"No shit, Krycek. Just chill." Spender's voice was a bare whisper in his ear. "A good night's sleep, a nice slow fuck in the morning, and you'll be right as rain."

Alex knew he was cracking. This was just one more sign of it. But he sighed a little as Jeffrey Spender kissed his ear. The ragged edges of the sucking chest wound that had killed the man tickled Alex's back a little as they settled into a comfortable cuddle. These were the nights when Alex slept.

The End


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