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Incubus

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Incubus
by Cody Nelson


It was a small scraping noise, muffled through the bedroom wall, as though a careless thigh had bumped a table. Mulder came instantly awake, snatching his gun off the nightstand and sliding out of bed in one smooth motion. No time to get dressed, no time to worry about it. Naked, holding his gun ready before him, he crept out of the bedroom.
Pale, slatted street light filtered in through the blinds, just enough for him to find his way slowly through the living room. The aquarium burbled softly in the corner. There was no other sound, no sign of intruders. But the hair on the back of Mulder's neck stood up, and a drop of sweat trickled down his chest. He kept his gun held straight out in front of his body.
He stepped past the end of the couch—
There was a whoosh, and a shadow dashed in front of him, and something hit his wrists, sending the gun crashing into the floor and skittering across the room. Mulder launched himself at the shadow, grabbed leather and hard muscle, and landed on the floor with a thud, atop a gasping, squirming body. A body with wide, desperate eyes, short dark hair, heaving chest, long sinewy legs. A body Mulder knew with the intimacy of long-nurtured hate.
Krycek.
Hissing through his teeth in fury, Mulder grabbed for an arm, and came up with an empty sleeve. Tunguska. One-armed men with machetes. The images flashed through his mind, sharp and shocking. Krycek's arm severed from his body. Punishment and horrible pain.
It was only the briefest hesitation, but it was long enough for Krycek's only hand to snake between their bodies and close tightly around Mulder's balls.
Mulder squawked, and pulled away in reflex, which was exactly the wrong thing to do. Pain sliced through him as the hand held him hard, refusing to let him go. Tears started in his eyes. Gasping, Mulder stopped short, crouching across Krycek's body on his hands and knees, while Krycek's long-fingered hand curled around his testes firmly.
"God damn you, Krycek—"
"Easy, Mulder. I'm not trying to hurt you."
True enough—now that Mulder had stopped struggling, the fingers holding him immobile were relaxed, even gentle, and the pain of the initial jolt was subsiding. Not that that made it any more bearable, to be on his hands and knees in his own floor, naked, with his enemy holding him helpless, the hot flesh of his enemy's hand pressing against his most private parts. Every muscle in his body tensed against the violation.
"What do you want?" he muttered through gritted teeth.
"I want the report on the limb regeneration project."
Of course. The file had shown up in his email two days ago. However Krycek had found out about the project, it would certainly be of vital interest to him in his present condition. But the report was, as usual, more tantalizing hint than real information.
"It won't help you."
"I'll decide that."
He could feel the heat rising from Krycek's body. The tang of leather and male musk drifted in the air. Jade eyes glowed in the pale light, like some wild creature, dangerous and beautiful, trapped in the house by mistake. Krycek's leather jacket creaked softly as his chest rose and fell, one empty sleeve outflung, one leather-clad arm lying between their bodies, hand holding him firmly. Denim thighs stroked the insides of Mulder's knees. Despite himself, the touch warmed, excited, aroused....
"Let me go, and we'll talk about it." Mulder's voice was choked and desperate. His treacherous cock rose, swelled, scraping across Krycek's jeans as it came erect, lifting to rub against the inside of Krycek's wrist. Mulder's heart thudded in shame.
"Don't be a fool, Mulder. I'm not letting you go." A slight tug emphasized his determination.
Mulder's balls tightened suddenly, and the unstoppable tide erupted within him. With a tortured groan, he fell forward onto Krycek's chest, wracked with unwanted orgasm, harsh and hot, hips thrusting spasmodically into Krycek's groin, semen spurting onto his enemy.

Mulder lay still for a moment, breath coming in reluctant gasps, eyes squeezed tightly shut. The liquid warmth in his belly was an agonizing shame. Slowly, he pulled his trembling knees beneath him, and pushed himself away from Krycek's body. The grip on his now-empty balls never wavered.
Krycek made a small, disgruntled noise. "Jeez, Mulder, you got it all over me."
Mulder's fists tightened in helpless fury. "Let go of me!"
Incredibly, Krycek began to laugh: a soft, throaty chuckle that vibrated through his chest and all the way to his hand on Mulder's balls. "No way, Mulder. You had your fun—now I want that report."
And then Mulder laughed, too; a short, unhappy laugh tinged with hysteria, almost painful. "You're going to have to let me get up."
"Help me. I'm not letting go until I get that report."

It was awkward, but he managed to pull Krycek upright, and they struggled to their feet together, all the while Krycek continued to hold Mulder by the balls. Exhausted and ruined, Mulder wanted only to give Krycek the report and get him out of there. Let him take the printouts—Mulder still had the disk files. Let him get caught up in the middle of it—his former employers would deal with him more efficiently and ruthlessly than Mulder ever could. Or let him figure out a way to steal a new arm from them, more power to him. Mulder wanted only to be free of him, free of the touch that still burned, still twisted in his guts, still defeated him more thoroughly than he'd ever been defeated.
They walked carefully to the desk together, where Mulder folded the papers and stuffed them into the pockets of Krycek's leather jacket for him, since his one hand was still busy keeping Mulder under control. Then again to Mulder's door, where they stood for a moment, staring into each other's eyes.
Krycek seemed to want to say something. But finally, he just shrugged, and his hand slipped away, and then he was out the door and gone.

Mulder stood naked in his living room, with the touch of Alex Krycek's hand tingling on his balls, staring at the door. Fear, pain, adrenaline, he told himself. Does strange things to the body. It doesn't mean anything. Krycek's green eyes lingered in his vision. The touch of long, strong, sensitive fingers seemed imprinted forever on his testicles. Finally, he went back into the bedroom, and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt. He didn't ever want to be naked again. Taking a blanket from the bed, he went back into the living room and lay down on the couch. Shivering under the blanket, he stared at the ceiling.
He knew he would lie awake for a long, long time.


Rated NC17 for explicit m/m sex.
Mulder has a late-night visit from an old enemy. Sometime after "Tunguska"/"Terma."
X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting. No infringement is intended.
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