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Good Luck To You, My Friend

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Krycek had ambushed Mulder in his apartment. Now, Mulder was sprawled on the floor at gunpoint. Krycek told him about a planned alien colonization, about a war being waged for control of Earth. Mulder was no longer sure he believed these kinds of fantastical tales. The source made them all the more suspect.

“Krycek, you're a murderer, a liar and a coward,” Mulder said. “Just because you stick a gun in my chest, I'm supposed to believe you're my friend?”

Krycek half-smiled, his expression pained. “Get up,” he said.

Mulder sat up slowly, keeping his gaze on the gun in his face. Krycek gave him a little bit more breathing room, but he was still crouching close.

“I was sent by a man,” Krycek said. “A man who knows – as I do – that resistance is in our grasp, and in yours. The mass incinerations were strikes by an alien rebellion to upset plans for occupation.” Though he was listening, Mulder couldn’t help letting his eyes flick briefly to the triangle of chest exposed by the open button on Krycek’s Henley shirt. “Now, one of these rebels is being held captive. And if he dies, so does the resistance.”

Mulder stared into Krycek’s face, uncertain, as always, whether to believe anything that came out of his mouth. Krycek’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he examined Mulder’s expression. Mulder wondered what he was looking for. Confirmation that Mulder had bought what he was selling?

Maybe not, because Krycek leaned in suddenly and kissed Mulder on the cheek. Mulder stayed frozen, unsure of how to react. But desire flooded him at Krycek’s smell, at Krycek’s lips on his skin. As Krycek started to pull away, Mulder’s hand shot out and gripped the back of his neck. It seemed to Mulder that his hand did it of its own volition. Krycek tensed and Mulder could see the gun move in his peripheral vision, but he pressed his lips to Krycek’s anyway, feeling reckless and hot with need.

Krycek moaned and kissed him back desperately. So much for ‘don’t touch me again,’ Mulder thought, remembering the other man’s words to him in the gulag last year. Krycek fell to his knees and put the gun down – behind himself, where Mulder couldn’t easily reach it. No matter; if Krycek was planning to shoot him, he would have done it already.

Mulder got up on his knees, pulled Krycek’s hair to jerk his head back, shoved his tongue into Krycek’s mouth. Krycek gave a needy whine. Mulder set to work on Krycek’s jeans.

“There isn’t time,” Krycek said, panting. “What I told you – ”

“There’s enough time for this,” Mulder muttered. Krycek evidently agreed, because he’d started fumbling with Mulder’s fly.

“You used to be better at that,” Mulder said. Krycek’s lips curled.

“I used to have two hands,” he said. Mulder’s stomach twisted with sympathy, just as it had when he’d seen the prosthesis earlier.

“What happened?” he couldn’t help but ask. Krycek gave a short, bitter laugh.

“Hacked off by people trying to save me from the black oil,” he replied. Mulder’s eyes widened. “Don’t worry about it. I still took you down.” He got Mulder’s pants undone. Mulder batted Krycek’s hand away and shoved his own pants and boxers down, then Krycek’s.

“Lie back,” Krycek said, but Mulder shook his head, trying not to let his regret show. It had been years since Krycek blew him, but he hadn’t forgotten how skilled Krycek was.

“You said no time,” Mulder reminded him. He kissed Krycek again, feeling drawn like a magnet to the other man’s body. Half of him hated it, and half of him felt like he should stop trying to fight this every time, already. He pressed his cock against Krycek’s and curled his hand around them both. Krycek was gasping against Mulder’s lips, hips working as Mulder stroked them fast and rough. Mulder let his head fall against Krycek’s neck. Krycek’s good arm rose to clutch at Mulder’s back, his head bent till his forehead rested on Mulder’s shoulder.

“I thought you didn’t want this anymore,” Mulder heard himself saying. He hadn’t intended to voice the thought.

“I never said that,” Krycek replied. Mulder bit down hard on his neck, and Krycek gave a hoarse cry, spilling over Mulder’s hand. Mulder was right behind him. He remained silent, but his breath came in shuddering gasps.

After staying still for a few seconds in this near-embrace, Krycek pulled away, deftly redressing himself. Mulder sat back and zipped up his pants, too. He watched Krycek, surprised at his speed and dexterity.

“I’m used to doing it on me by now,” Krycek said, when he caught Mulder’s gaze. He picked up the gun; Mulder instinctively drew back a little, but Krycek only clicked the safety on and tossed it into Mulder’s lap as he rose to his feet.

He didn’t run, but kept looking at Mulder, giving Mulder more than enough time to shoot if he wanted to. Mulder’s finger went to the trigger of the gun automatically, but he wasn’t sure if he was actually considering shooting Krycek.

He wasn’t really sure if he could.

Krycek said something in Russian, his eyes lingering on Mulder’s for a beat too long, and then he turned and left the apartment.

Mulder sat where he was for a moment, then sighed and got to his feet. He went to the couch and sat down, not bothering to turn on a light. He tried to make sense of what had just happened. Of what always seemed to happen, with Krycek. Were they fated to meet, again and again? It seemed to happen too many times to be accidental. And his self-control flew out the window whenever Krycek was around. Mulder was repelled by so much of what he knew Krycek was, yet he was drawn to him, like the proverbial moth to the flame. He wondered if Krycek felt that way too. If, since the initial seduction, Krycek had tried to stop having sex with him, and yet found himself unable.

He wondered if he would ever be certain of anything about Alex.