Note:  This story contains fairly graphic m/m sex and m/f sex, so if either of
those things bother you, I suggest reading something else.  "Anna Karenina" is
a wonderful book.

Pretty As You Are by Sosoprano

Summary:		Memory still burns many years later.
Rating:		NC-17
Classification:	SRA
Keywords:		M/K slash, Mulder/Scully, it's all just one 
                  big party
Archiving:	      Gossamer is fine, anywhere else, all 
                  you have to do is ask.
Email:		Sosoprano@aol.com
Disclaimer:	      The characters in this story do not belong 
                  to me, but to CC, 1013 and Fox.  No 
                  infringement is intended.
Spoilers:	      Pretty much every Krycek episode from 5th 
                  season back.


Can I buy you a drink?

Waiter, a gin and tonic for him and another shot of Stoli 
for me.

You know, you're a pretty boy.  Pretty, like he was, all 
changeable eyes and long lashes, lower lip pouting.  
Provocative.  Something about the way you push your hand 
through your brown hair, it's him all over again.

I was pretty once.  Yeah, I've aged, hardened and softened 
in all the wrong places, but I know I'm not horrible to 
look at these days.  I still have my hair and I'd like to 
think the salt and pepper makes me striking.  When I walked 
in here tonight a few eyes raked over me and seemed to like 
what they saw.

I was young then, but not inexperienced.  I played the part 
of his tagging puppy partner, but a part of me stood off to 
the side, watching.  I was his new spy, taking her place 
when she proved to be too sympathetic, too close to him.

He was in mourning for her; I could tell that right away.  
Big mournful eyes stared off into the distance when he 
thought I wasn't watching.  But I was always watching . . . 

There was a job to be done and I knew it, but it didn't 
stop my growing desire.  It was always there, from the 
moment he turned around to look at me for the first time, 
his new partner hesitantly standing there in a cheap suit 
and too much hair pomade.

I bided my time, but not for very long. Patience has never 
been one of my virtues and when it comes to my desire, I 
can never wait.  For him I had no patience at all.

We were in the car on the way back from the warehouse and 
the strange case of Augustus Cole when I decided to make my 
move.   I drove through the teeming New York streets and he 
stared out the grimy window of our rental, cracking seeds 
between his sharp teeth.  Ah, if only I were a sunflower 
seed, between those lips.

Now, urged my libido.

I parked in the hotel garage and cut the ignition and 
turned to stare at him, his eyes hooded by something 
unnamable.  My mouth watered.

I moved and found him, expecting to be pushed away, to be 
punched and cursed, or at least questioned.  Instead I met 
the wet, salty heat of his mouth, my hands reaching up to 
tangle in his short, spiky hair.  Lip to lip, tongue to 
tongue.  I was shocked at how easy it was.  Looking back, I 
guess he was as lonely as I was.  His hunger was as sharp 
as mine.

In silence we rode up the elevator to our rooms and without 
discussion he followed me into my own.

I was his first man.  He didn't need to tell me, I could 
see it in the way his hands shook as they unknotted my tie 
and the expression of wonder and shame that crossed his 
face as I unzipped his pants and yanked them off his hips, 
taking his boxers with them.

It had been a long time for me, far too long.  On the bed I 
pushed him down, still kissing him, unwilling to do without 
his salty taste, his tongue, the tiny nips of his teeth, 
for even one second.

I've been with women before, more than you'd ever guess to 
look at me.  A woman's body is a beautiful sight, but give 
me the bone and sinew of a man, the hard planes and angles 
of a man's muscles and skin.  The low scent of a man 
aroused.  Mulder's back rippled under my questing fingers 
as I watched him transformed by his desire.

Under my body he flailed, not pushing me away but urging me 
on.  "Do you want this?" I whispered in his ear.

Against the white of the pillow, he nodded. 

My fingers circled the hard points of his nipples.  I shook 
my head.  "No, Mulder, tell me."

Mulder grimaced.  "I don't know if I can trust you."

And you shouldn't, I thought.  I bit his sweat-slickened 
shoulder and watched his eyes clamp shut.  "Tell me," I 
repeated.  "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

His hard cock chafing against my thigh was my answer, but 
still needed to hear the words from his mouth.  Mulder's 
eyes opened, darker than ever, shadowed with arousal and 
anger.

It killed him to need me like that.

Mulder's voice came out a thick growl, honey dripping on 
charcoal.  "I want you, I want you to fuck me."

His desperate words traveled straight to my already 
painfully hard cock and I growled back, teeth bared, lips 
wet with his saliva.  Hurriedly, I struggled off my own 
suit pants and moved back over his body on the bed.

Mulder looked down at me and then up again.  No going back 
now, Agent Mulder, I thought and held my breath.

And wonder of all wonders, he took that pouting lower lip 
of his between his teeth and reached for me with his warm, 
rough hand.  "That's my boy," I muttered as he began to 
stroke my cock with short, hard movements.  This must be 
how he touches himself, I realized.

With my last gasp of rationality I pulled away from his 
hand and crept down his body, admiring the slender muscled 
flesh, the light down of hair on his chest, the indrawn 
pucker of his bellybutton, the dark triangle of pubic hair 
and-oh God- his cock.  It was long and slender like the 
rest of him, proudly standing upright and veritably 
throbbing just inches from my waiting mouth.

I smiled.  This was far, far better than I ever could have 
dreamed.  My partner, my mark, lying under me, erect and 
ready for me, it was too damn much.

I could only hope our bosses hadn't seen to having my room 
bugged.  If so, the impotent old farts were about to hear 
the show of their lives.

It was just about too much fun to lick at him, to feel his 
silky flesh running between my lips, my tongue tasting the 
bitter salt of his precome.  My hand stroked his firm balls 
while the other squeezed him at the base.  Yes, young man, 
I had two hands back then and I knew how to use them.

Mulder started mumbling, "Oh yeah, like that, just like 
that," as I swirled my tongue over his head, tracing the 
ridges with precision.  My own cock was beyond steel, 
heading towards titanium as I knelt between his thighs and 
paid homage to him with my mouth.  With moans and groans 
coming faster and faster he thrust himself roughly into my 
mouth, his hand grabbing me by the neck and guiding his 
shaft further and further down my throat.

"Fuck!" he shouted and I felt the pulsating waves against 
my tongue before my mouth was flooded with the rush of his 
semen.  His hands released my neck and I let him slip out 
of my mouth.  Crawling up the bed I saw him, panting, his 
hands covering his eyes.

"Are you okay?" I whispered.  This was the moment of truth.

He nodded and pulled my head to him and kissed me, his 
tongue thrusting in frenzy.  I'll never forget the way he 
smelled that night- his sweat, my sweat, shampoo and come.  
If they bottled that smell it'd be the biggest selling 
scent in the Castro and Provincetown.

And then Mulder's mouth twitched into a lupine grimace as 
his hand found my still-hard cock and squeezed.  "Still 
want to fuck me?"

I nearly came right there.  I'll say this, Mulder was a 
quick learner.  "We don't have to," I gasped.  "I don't 
want to hurt you."

He shook his head and squeezed harder.  "No.  Fuck me."

With that, I flew into action, just in case he changed his 
mind.  "On your knees," I growled like a drill sergeant.   
It took a minute to find the condoms and Astroglide (what 
can I say, I like to be prepared) on my overnight bag and 
get myself suited up.  When I looked back at him, Mulder 
was kneeling, his back to me.

I ran my fingertips over his firm ass.  "Nice," I murmured, 
smearing the cold goop on my fingers.  "Now bend over."

"I feel like I'm in a prison movie right now."

"You shouldn't have dropped the soap, Mulder," I snorted, 
but he bent over for me all the same.  With unusual 
patience for me, I slowly worked one coated finger into his 
asshole.  He gulped as I ran it in and out of his tightness 
while lightly biting his ass.  Another finger and he was 
writhing against me and starting to swear under his breath.

"Do you like that?"

I took his inarticulate grunt for a yes.  That and he was 
getting hard again.

I couldn't wait a minute more.  "I'm going to go slow," I 
rasped between pants.  "I don't want this to hurt you too 
much."

His fist banged against the pillow.  Carefully, I 
positioned myself and worked the head of my cock in and he 
bucked against me.  Mulder made a soft sound, an inrushing 
of breath.

"More?" I asked.

"Yes, more."

I pushed a little way further into his slick tightness.  It 
had been years since I had been with a man that tight and I 
nearly burst into tears from the amazing pleasure of it.  
My hands pressing at his hips, I slid all the way in and he 
howled. 

 "Does it hurt?"

"Krycek-shit-it hurts-feels good."

I pulled out and pushed back in.  God.

Covering his back with mine, I began to move more quickly, 
drowning in his depths, my mouth latching on to the salt of 
his neck.  Somehow, with the last brain cells I had, I 
managed to find his cock with my right hand and began to 
stroke him as I continued to drive myself into him.

His head hung low and I heard him continue to make those 
soft noises.

And then everything went white before my eyes.

//Bozhe moi, bozhe moi, moya dusha, moi lyubov', iop' 
menya, gospodi, chustvuyesh sebya prekrasno, boyus', shto 
tebya lyublyu, moya dusha . . .//

When I returned to the land of the living, I pulled out of 
him, my limbs vibrating like mad.  He let out his breath 
and turned to look at me, eyes wide and unreadable.  I 
stood and threw the condom in the garbage.  When I turned 
around again, I saw Mulder, walking to the bathroom.

I lay back down on the messy bed and waited for him to 
return, dreaming of the fun we could still have that night.

He was in there a long time.

When Mulder walked back out of the bathroom, his expression 
was blank.  "Come back to bed?" I purred, feeling as happy 
as a well-fed tabby.

He found his boxers and pulled them on, ridiculous things 
with dancing cats on them.  "I'm sorry," he said, "but 
tonight can't happen again.  It was a mistake."

My entire body turned to stone, stiff and tensed.  I 
couldn't find my breath for a minute.

I shut my eyes and let out a sharp sigh.  "Is that what you 
choose to call it?"

His voice was apologetic.  "We're partners, Krycek, it's 
wrong."  Through my closed lids I heard him pull on the 
rest of his clothes and walk out of the room.

I had done a lot of shitty things in my life, but I had 
never been made to feel like such a whore.

End 1/2

From: Sosoprano <sosoprano@aol.com>
Pretty As You Are by Sosoprano (2/2)


In the morning he knocked on the door, two coffees in hand.  
"We have a flight to catch," he said.  There were dark 
circles under his eyes, but not as dark as my own.

Like two highly professional federal agents who knew their 
boundaries, we took off for the airport and talked about 
the Knicks and the weather.

A couple of days passed and we pretended all was well and 
just darn fine in the Mulder-Krycek partnership, writing 
our little reports and squinting over slides.  He spent a 
lot of time crouching over his cell phone, talking to her 
in Quantico, and I pretended not to listen, pretended not 
to plot her gory death.  We tried not to look too hard at 
one another.

Then, late one night, as I sprawled on my couch, staring 
glassily at an old rerun of Mary Tyler Moore, there was a 
knock at my door.  Now, given the line of work I was in 
those days, late night visits rarely brought good tidings.  
I grabbed my gun off the coffee table and looked through 
the peephole.  Well, well, what do you know?

Mulder walked inside like he owned the joint and stared 
right at me, his eyes gray as slate.  "Can I tell you I'm 
sorry?"

I smirked.  "No, but you can show me . . ."

That night I taught him to fuck me the way I'd fucked him 
up in New York.  Yes, he was a natural.  A crying shame he 
had wasted thirty-odd years with the ladies.

In the morning, he got up early and mentioned needing to go 
to the pool to do his laps.  I made a crack about him in a 
tiny racing suit and rolled over.  Two hours later, Duane 
Barry entered our lives and it all blew into a million 
fragments.

Overnight I went from being his partner and sort of-lover 
to his enemy.

I betrayed him.  I betrayed her.  I did what I had to do.

Yes, I know that's not an excuse, but what other choice did 
I have?

I abandoned my career, my position of respectability to 
live in the shadows.

It wouldn't have worked anyhow, I rationalized at times, 
long lonely nights in some tacky motel under an assumed 
name.

The night I shot his father, I knew I'd never be able to be 
with him again.  Just followed my orders.

Yes, I know it's not an excuse.

One strange night, I went as far as to kiss his cheek.  It 
sustained me for a long time but also carried the bitter 
memory that he made no move to reciprocate.  Instead, he 
looked at me in stunned disbelief.

And I carried on, doing my dirty little errands, living my 
helter-skelter life, and merely attempting to make do.  
Making do was my specialty when I was young.

Along the way I lost my left arm and a lot of my faith in 
what was good, but fuck, I never lost my desire for that 
man.

And then, one day I was in Chicago, doing some business, 
when I caught wind that Mulder and Scully were also in town 
on a case.  I tried my best to ignore that news, to do what 
I needed to do and get the hell out of town, but something 
in me started formulating a plan.

I would have him again; I'd make him want me again the way 
I wanted him.

With a minimum of detective work, I found out where they 
were staying, a motel on the outskirts of Evanston, and I 
managed to book the room next to him, with an all too-
convenient connecting door.

Like the agent I once was, I was on a stakeout that night.  
I sat in the front seat of my rented Maxima, drinking 
coffee and waiting for Mulder and Scully to return from 
dinner.  Around 10:00 p.m. they did, just as I was 
finishing my second cup from the thermos at my feet.  
Standing in front of Mulder's door, they appeared to be 
engaged in some vigorous debate.  She stood with her face 
turned up to his, and from 50 yards away I could still see 
the intensity she wore on her small face, the way her jaw 
was set and her eyes blazing with something fierce.  I was 
glad I had never been on the losing end of an argument with 
Dana Scully.

Mulder was, for his part, simply standing there and 
listening, occasionally brushing back his newly shorn hair 
with his hand.  My heart lurched a little at the sight of 
his hair that short, as cropped as the nights we had been 
together so long ago.

Finally, Scully ended her tirade and they both seemed to be 
laughing a little.  He went into his room and she in hers.  
I sat back in my seat, slugging down more coffee for lack 
of better things to do and listening to the synthetic 
clatter of pop music.  Her lights went out first, about 
twenty minutes after she went inside.  "Come on, Mulder," I 
muttered to myself, gripping the steering wheel between my 
gloved fingers.  Forty minutes after Scully, his lights 
went dark behind the draperies.

Like a cat poised to attack a helpless rodent, I moved out 
of the car and into my room.  For some psychotic reason, 
this motel connected the rooms on this side through the 
bathrooms.  In my own bathroom I brushed my teeth and 
scanned myself in the mirror over the cracked and stained 
sink.  Ah, what a handsome bastard I was.

Snapping off the overhead light, I opened the connecting 
door that I had earlier jimmied.  Mulder's bathroom was 
dark and empty, I noted with relief.  I patted the pocket 
of my leather jacket, stuffed with condoms and lube and a 
pair of handcuffs, the tools of my trade.  My gun, too, but 
I didn't anticipate having to use it.

I was as ready as I ever would be.

Hey Mulder, you ever make it with a one-armed Russian thug?

Grinning, I quietly twisted open the door to his room, 
visions of sugarplums dancing in my head.

His room was dark.  Dark and at first quiet, but then I 
heard the rustling of sheets and a giggle.

A giggle?  Shit, he wasn't alone.  My face pressed against 
the door, my breath caught in my throat.  Another giggle.  
Motherfucker, who was the bimbo he'd managed to sneak in?

Then the woman spoke.  "Mmm, yeah, do that again . . ." The 
blood in my veins turned to candle wax and hardened.  He 
had his partner in his bed.  Scully was the bimbo.

I wanted to march right in and strangle the bitch.  Which 
bitch, I wasn't sure.

My eyes more adjusted to the dark now, I nudged the door 
open another inch or two.  I could just barely make out the 
shapes of their bodies in the bed off to the right.

Scully's voice tightened.  "Oh, like that, like that, don't 
stop."  I heard the sound of her thrashing around on the 
mattress and I pictured Mulder, bent between her white 
legs, licking her pussy as she squirmed beneath him.  
Automatically my hand found the zipper of my jeans and my 
cock sprung free.

In the dark, Mulder chuckled.  "Do you like that?  Do you 
want more?"

As if it weren't bad enough that he was bedding Scully, now 
he was stealing my material.

I stood at the door, smothering my harsh breathing, my 
fingers wrapped around my cock as I listened to Dana Scully 
moan in answer.  There goes your frigid image, honey, I 
frantically thought.  Yeah, she was about as frigid as 
Houston in August.  I swear, I could smell her arousal 
across the room, and the unmistakable tang of Mulder's 
sweat.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," she keened and I imagined him 
grinding his hard cock against the sheets as he ate her.  
Then she was quiet again, the only sound her rapid 
breathing.  My hand moved faster and faster up and down my 
painfully hard shaft.

This is so fucking twisted, I thought.  But then again, I 
wasn't exactly living a normal life those days.

Scully spoke again.  "Come up here and kiss me, Mulder."  
The bed creaked as he moved up to her and I heard the wet 
sounds of their kissing.

"You're so beautiful when you're satisfied," he said, with 
a laughing tone. Sweat broke out on my forehead, picturing 
his flushed face pressed to my sweaty chest, his wet lips 
trailing lines down my stomach.

"I want to see you satisfied," she said.  The bedsprings 
squeaked again and I pictured him moving into her, her legs 
wrapping around his smooth back.  Tears sprung into my eyes 
as I heard them groaning in unison, the bedspring concert 
taking on a rhythmic note.

"God, you feel so good," he gasped and I remembered when he 
had said the same thing to me as he thrust into me on my 
bed.

"Harder," Scully muttered.  I began to worry the bed was 
going to break.  I wished I could flip on the lights to 
fully see them, to expose them and myself, but instead I 
listened to them panting and moaning, the slap of their wet 
flesh against one another, as I touched myself and tried 
not to come, not just yet.

The evening wasn't working out as I'd planned.

Scully began crying out again.  God, she was a loud little 
thing.  Mulder joined her, the low throaty moans reminding 
me of the texture of his skin under my tongue, the taste of 
his come in my mouth, squeezing his buttocks with my 
fingers so long ago when I had two hands and he was my 
lover.

Biting my lip, I came into my cupped palm just as Mulder 
did.  Simultaneous orgasm, how sweet.

The room was silent for a long moment until I heard their 
bodies separate.  His voice was silky with pleasure.  "That 
was fantastic," he said.

"The night is still young," she said and they laughed 
together.

I backed out of the bathroom into my own and carefully shut 
the door with my head.  Grabbing a wad of toilet paper, I 
cleaned myself up, not bothering to turn the light back on.  
I didn't want to see my reflection in the mirror.

Frankly, I don't remember whether or not I ever slept that 
night.  All I remember is lying on the bed as the sun 
started peeking in the room, MTV blasting away and deciding 
that I might as well get up and go for more coffee.  

I pulled on my jacket and headed out the door, to go to the 
Starbucks across the street.  Halfway across the parking 
lot, I saw Scully walking towards me, carrying two cups of 
coffee and a bakery bag.  My jaw tightened into hard knots 
at the sight of her.

She spotted me and her face blanched, but she kept walking 
until she was standing right in front of me.  The wind was 
blowing her red hair every which way.

"Alex Krycek, what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Nice mouth you got on you, Scully."

She lifted her chin.  "Here to shoot someone else today?"

I shrugged.  "Nah, not today.  I heard this was a fine 
motel for a good night's sleep.  However, didn't sleep much 
with the racket coming from next door."

A flush spread across her fine skin.  "Doing a little 
spying for your friends?"

"Personal business," I said and grinned.  She shot me a 
murderous glare. 

"Well," she said, "I hope you enjoyed listening as much as 
you enjoyed your little adventures with Mulder, back in the 
day . . ."

I couldn't think of anything to say.  The bitch had 
outsmarted me.

Patting my arm, Scully smiled sweetly.  "Don't worry, 
Krycek, it's all about sex with Mulder and me, too."

"He's a slut," I muttered between clenched teeth.

She nodded.  "That he is, but he's *my* slut now.  And 
don't you forget it."  Scully stood up straighter.  "Now, 
if you'll excuse me, I have a man waiting in bed for me and 
I don't want the coffee to get cold."

I turned my head and watched her stride off to Mulder's 
room, her heels clacking on the pavement.  My hand reached 
for the gun in my pocket; I had a clear shot as she walked 
away.

Fuck.

I just couldn't do it.

I walked to my car and got inside.

Again, I thought about shooting her.

I thought about killing him.

I even considered chewing on a bullet myself.

I thought about exposing them to my bosses, if they already 
didn't know.

Instead, I got out of the car, got my things together and 
checked out of the motel.

Along the way, I found a few that reminded me of him, in 
ways both painful and not.

He's faded some, and one day he won't be there at all in my 
mind.  I both look forward to and dread that day.

So that's my little story, kid.  Not a nice tale, but there 
you have it.

Oh, you even taste like him.

Come over here and let me show you how it's done.


END

My most groveling thanks to Alanna for being kind enough to 
beta read and tell me what sucked large boulders.  And 
extra-special bowing and scraping goes to Te for her 
insightful editorial comments.  Can I just tell you how 
scary it was to send my first slash effort to her?  Like I 
told her, it's like handing a tape to Mozart and saying, 
"Hey, want to listen to my new tune?  It's kind of catchy."  
But she was a goddess of helpfulness and technical advice.

Feedback is most appreciated and you can send it to 
Sosoprano@aol.com.  I'll even tell you what the Russian bits 
mean.

Next up- boys in swimsuits!