Mulder asks him about it one night when they're both covered in cooling sweat and the beginning flush of deep tissue bruises. Neither of them are gentle men, especially with each other. It's an unexpected question. After all they are not friends or lovers, barely even co-workers when all is said and done. Krycek does not have a word for what they are, but he doesn't think he wants one either so it's okay.
He's just lounging, hand splayed across his bare abdomen, fingers tapping on his skin, lost for a moment thinking about the question. Mulder is only inches away but the man has a way of making any distance, no matter how small, as big as a universe if he wants to. The rule of thumb seems to be that Mulder can ignore you as much as he damn well wants, but no one can ignore him. The older man scowls and growls, mutters and rages like a child wanting attention.
It's something Alex has gotten used to. He's used to that more than the crying, the gentle keening in the night when Mulder is tormented by all his demons. They have names. Samantha and Scully, obviously, but there are more. There are so many more that Alex doesn't even think have names. Then there's the truth. Always the truth. So Alex doesn't stay over unless Mulder is having one of his insomnia nights, and they never go near the bedroom. It's all floors and couches for them. Alex doesn't mind. There's something dangerous about the idea of Fox Mulder's bedroom with its boxes and all its secrets.
Mulder's apparently on his last nerve, though. He kicks Alex in the side although it's hard to say whether he means it to be as forceful as it is or if he's just not being careful. All the rage in Mulder's body makes him mean when he's not watching over it, guarding it. Alex knows that Scully would never see this side, this beast rattling the cage, if she came back. Mulder would handle her like glass. The man doesn't worry about breaking Krycek, though, or maybe that's what he wants in the end.
Alex smiles and strokes his fingers over Mulder's foot, which make him yank it away. Mulder doesn't handle being touched very well once their tryst is over. "Just some girl," Alex says after a moment although she was anything but that. She was fair and blond, hair so pale that she looked like she barely had eyebrows at all, and she tasted like snow, sharp and clean and cold. He has given Mulder a lot of things, but he will not give him a thought of her even if she didn't mean all that much. Not in the larger scheme of things. She was a lovely moment, but that is all. One of the very few moments that Alex can hold as his own. He was fifteen, and she was beautiful.
"Figures," Mulder says and there's so many stars between them that Alex can hardly see the other man. "You should leave."
He expected that and rises slowly, smoothly, pulling into his clothes and leaving Mulder in his fox hole of takeout and porn. "Was yours Diana or Phoebe?" He smirks. "You talk so much when you dream. Not Dana surely." His reward is a black eye and a slammed door. Until tomorrow night.