Love, Dark and Thorough

      Comments Off on Love, Dark and Thorough

Rating: R for m/m adult relationships…Summary: The concrete made a cold final bed for Mulder’s former lover… Slash…

Date: March 2003

Title: Love, Dark and Thorough
Author: Shelba

Archive: Ephemeral, Spooky’s. Others: I’d be honored,
but would appreciate knowing where it goes. Please leave my email address and name with it.
Category: Vignette.
Keywords: Slash, Mulder/Krycek, MSR
Spoilers: Cancer arc, “The Red and the Black”, “Requiem,” “Existence,” and that whole William thing.
Character Death: consistent with the show.
Disclaimers: The characters were conceived by CC, but they outgrew him. Now, they belong to themselves. D.H. Lawrence’s poetry belongs to us all. No infringement intended.
Feedback: Adored at
Rating: R for m/m adult relationships.

For Logan.

Thanks to the talented and generous Circe Invidiosa who has made a lovely home for my fic at

YOURS is the shame and sorrow
But the disgrace is mine;
Your love was dark and thorough
D.H. Lawrence — Last Words to Miriam

Washington, DC,
Hoover Building Parking Garage

The concrete made a cold final bed for Mulder’s former lover. Or more correctly, for what — not who — had once been an old lover, before a horrid transformation had robbed Alex Krycek of his humanity, and Mulder of another piece of his past; another person whom he had loved.

Mulder knew, as soon as he looked into the beautiful empty eyes, that somewhere along the line, Alex had been lost to the machinations of the Cigarette Smoking Man. The replicant’s likeness to Krycek was nearly perfect, but those dark eyes had held no trace of his spirit. The creature had looked and sounded like Krycek, but Mulder knew, as surely as he’d ever known anything, Alex was gone.

Mulder didn’t know when it had happened, but the lack of a phone call or late night visit after his own resurrection suggested that Alex had been gone for a while. Possibly, even as Mulder lay writhing in fear and pain aboard the Ship, Alex had fallen prey to the virus that had nearly taken Mulder’s own humanity. And how was it that he, himself, had escaped the transformation? Mulder’s mind shied away from the question of whether Scully had helped him to truly escape that fate, or merely postponed it.

He wondered if Walter Skinner had known what they faced? He’d been puzzled when Alex offered Skinner: “a thousand lives” for Mulder’s death. Was Krycek’s doppelganger offering Skinner some kind of Super Soldier immortality? What exactly was he offering in exchange for Mulder’s blood? And how many customers had he offered it to?

So damn many questions, so few answers.

He wondered where the Alex-thing was now. A mere bullet wouldn’t keep a Super Soldier down. Until he had seen the red blood welling up from the wound, he had almost dared to hope that this thing had been a clone, and not Krycek at all. Then he shuddered at the thought of what Alex would have gone through in a cloning lab.

He remembered the soft skin, the smooth body, the eyes that had burned into his as they pounded into one another. They had started out hating one another, even as they shared a grudging understanding. Sometimes, the only one who understands you, is another who travels the same dark path, who shares the same pain.

Then came a time when they had needed one another, a time when what they had, could have been so much more than it was. Hate is not necessarily the opposite of love. Sometimes, it is love turned inside out.

Mulder thought back to a time years ago, when he and Alex had fought and loved; a time before he had admitted to another love, and made his choice. He thought back to the time before he made a commitment to Scully; to their future, their hope for a child; before he went to Oregon.


Six years earlier
The Hornet’s Nest
Arlington, VA

Music was playing loudly enough to peel paint. Smoke swirled around the dark haired man at the bar as he twirled the empty glass on the scuffed surface.

He reached out and tapped the bartender’s shoulder. “Another.”

The red-haired woman whisked the dirty glass away and placed another tall glass of vodka in front of him. She picked up the bills laying in front of him, but he waved away the change she offered. Shrugging, she dropped the extra bills in the tip jar.

She watched the long line of his throat as he swallowed, and frowned. “You’ve been at it a while; sure you don’t want to dilute that stuff with something?”

“Nyet.” He took another long drink, enjoying the bite of the alcohol as it slid down his throat.

“You know, you were speaking English when you came in.” She eyed the already half empty glass, and nodded. “Yeah, I think I’m cutting you off after this one, pal.”

Well damn, he wondered, who the hell did she think she was? He’d been drinking vodka since he was a kid. Five (or was it six?) glasses was nothing. Alex glanced at the door. He’d just go somewhere else. This barkeep could go fuck herself. His retort died on his lips and he turned to stare.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. Flecks of snow swirled into the room, dusting the floor, and nearby patrons cringed at the bite of the wind. Damn. Standing in the doorway was Fox Mulder.

The last time he’d seen Mulder, he’d delivered a warning, urging him to take up arms in a battle between heaven and earth. He could only hope Mulder was listening. When he left Fox’s apartment that night, he was afraid that he’d never see him again. And so, he’d kissed him, leaving the stunned agent staring after him. He wasn’t sure if it had been the message, or the tenderness that had surprised Mulder the most. Fox Mulder was not a man who expected tenderness from anyone but Dana Scully, and certainly didn’t expect it from his sometimes rival, sometimes lover.

Usually, what he and Mulder shared was more about anger, power, and exorcising their demons, than about tenderness. But not always. Sometimes, there was comfort and caring, not simply catharsis. He’d even felt there was some genuine affection from Fox, a feeling he craved more than he ought.

He absently rubbed his abdomen, scratching at the itching scars there. He’d been punished for that visit. What the fuck had he been thinking? He should have realized that he hadn’t found all the bugs in Mulder’s apartment. At least his visit had been considered a minor transgression and not an outright betrayal. He shuddered. That could have landed him in the labs, instead of under a thug’s fists.

What the hell was Mulder doing here? Maybe he’d had more to drink than he thought. Mulder couldn’t be here. He rubbed his eyes. Maybe he was drunk. He didn’t *feel* drunk, though. He’d only had five drinks, hadn’t he?

He blinked.

Nope. Mulder was still standing there, sweeping the room with his chameleon eyes. His hair was ruffled, his cheeks flushed from the wind. Ice crystals sparkled in his hair and lashes and his leather jacket glistened with melting snow. Damn, the man looked good. Mulder unzipped his jacket and stomped snow from his boots. The faded denim of his jeans clung to his legs and his knees were wet.

Krycek’s cock twitched. What the hell had Mulder been doing to get his knees wet? He thought of the last time he’d seen Mulder on his knees, and his cock leaped to attention and throbbed against his fly, seeking egress.

He imagined Mulder kneeling in the snow, pressing some strange man against a wall. He felt a frisson of jealousy, even as he had a rush of voyeuristic delight at the idea of watching Mulder getting some other man off. He thought about watching Mulder’s full lips wrapping around the stranger’s cock, that mobile mouth sucking. He thought about watching the stubbled cheeks hollowing as Mulder teased and pulled, driving this hypothetical man to ecstasy as only a motivated, orally fixated, lover could.

He knew the cold air against the stranger’s bare skin wouldn’t even be noticed – Mulder could generate enough heat to melt ice. Krycek snickered. Well, at least most ice. That little partner of Mulder’s hadn’t melted yet.

He wanted to go to Mulder, to ask him how the hell he’d found him, and what the hell he wanted with him. He wanted to go to him, to pull him out of the wind and the cold and drag him through the smoky bar and fuck him against the bathroom wall.

He wanted to feel those long fingers, that thick cock, pressing into him. He wanted to drive himself into that tight ass and hear Mulder gasp and cry out his need. He wanted him. God, the first time — Mulder had been a backdoor virgin–and Alex thought he’d die from the pleasure.

Krycek wanted him again; oh how he wanted.

He watched Mulder hungrily. He’d missed the long lean body, the hot mouth, but he realized he had also missed just looking at Mulder’s changeable eyes, watching him move, hearing that mocha voice.

It’s funny how you don’t realize how much you crave something, until you haven’t had a taste of it for a while. But that’s how addictions work. You don’t know you’re hooked, until it’s too late.

Taking one last drink he turned around to place the empty glass on the bar, wondering if he should approach Mulder or just slip out the back.

When he glanced back at the door, he was disappointed. Mulder was gone. He was surprised that Mulder hadn’t seen him when he’d first entered. Mulder could generally find anyone he wanted to. He wondered if the Spooky Sense was offline, and if so, what had crashed it. Then, he considered that perhaps Mulder *had* spotted him and had ducked outside to wait for him.

He cursed himself for losing track of Mulder so quickly, then his disappointment morphed into alarm. Was Mulder here as ‘Fox’, or as ‘Special Agent’? It wasn’t like Mulder to leave without acknowledging Krycek in some way.

After all, he might lust after that Foxy ass, but Alex wasn’t sure how smart it would be to deal with the man when he wasn’t operating at a hundred percent, and he didn’t know what Mulder was after.

So. Out the back it would be.

Carefully Alex made his way across the sidewalk. The wind had swept the snow away from the icy surface, and piled it up around the wheels of his van. Ice coated the windshield. He looked around for a vehicle with clear windows to boost, but no luck. Every car on the street was just as bad. Damn. The windshields all looked like they were made of diamonds. It would take at least five minutes of scraping, before he could get moving. So much for just slipping into the van and getting the hell out of Dodge.

He reached inside for his scraper, and gasped as a strong arm dragged him up into the cab of the van, back between the seats and up against a wall of Mulder. Mulder’s eyes were green and shiny as glass. Krycek had seen this look a few times before; when the agent was fevered, when he was hurting. Before he could wonder what was going on, Mulder slammed him against the wall of the van, and snarled, “She’s sick, damn you. The other women are dead. *All* of them!” He gripped Alex by the throat. “She’s running out of time, you bastard.” He squeezed, and white teeth flashed in a feral smile. “*You* did this.”

Alex wondered if this was how a snake felt when gripped by a mongoose. He could feel the bite of Mulder’s nails on the thin skin of his throat, and his lungs burned. He couldn’t get enough air around that iron grip to plead innocence, but he knew that even if he could, Mulder wouldn’t believe him.

After all, he was right.

It had been his suggestion to get rid of Scully. At the time he told his masters that she was “too helpful” to Mulder. Bullshit. That was a handy excuse. It didn’t matter how helpful and supportive she was, Krycek knew his real reason. He could see Mulder and Scully’s bond growing. Mulder, who had never needed anyone else, had acknowledged his need for Scully. Yes, it was simple jealousy. Krycek didn’t like to share. He wanted him; he thought he would always want him.

Krycek would never know if it was simply Mulder’s common decency, or something in Alex’s eyes that made Mulder relax his choke hold. Air rushed back into his lungs and his breath came in short gasps. Mulder moved his hand up to hold his chin, pinning him in place.

He looked at Mulder’s mouth and slowly ran his tongue over his lips, then raised his eyes to hold Mulder’s. The transformation from anger to hunger was amazing to watch. Mulder’s pupils dilated even more; gold flecks emerged, brown tones swirled up and softened the brittle green.

Krycek tilted his head back to expose his throat, and watched Mulder from behind a fringe of dark lashes. He waited, and willed the other man to take his offering.

With a growl, Mulder buried his face in Alex’s neck, bit down hard, then pulled his lips to his own. Alex reached under Mulder’s coat, pressed his hand against the hard length of him, and groaned.

Mulder slapped his hand away and held it against the door of the van. “Did I tell you, you could touch me?” he snarled. Mulder resumed his assault on Alex’s throat, and licked salt from the bony notch at his collarbone.

Krycek wasn’t surprised that their encounter played out this way. Krycek knew Mulder and Scully were not lovers — not in the traditional sense — but nothing shook Mulder more than a threat to her. He’d seen Mulder’s frantic fear before; had been on the receiving end of the rage it generated; had caused it more than once.

Mulder was skating on a thin edge of control. No, there would be no tenderness, no love shared. Only pounding lust, heat and grinding need. But, for tonight, it would be enough.

Hoover Building Parking Garage

The acrid smell of gunpowder burned Mulder’s throat but there were no tears to wash the grit from his eyes as he turned away. Mulder could barely look at the body. He blinked, wishing he could cry to release the lump in his throat.

He wished he could have spared Alex this. All of this.

He wondered, when a Super Soldier was created, how much of the original person was trapped inside? When destroyed, did it release the soul? Krycek had played each side against the other. He was ruthless and could be cruel. He could be thoughtful, could be kind.

At times, his motives were opaque, but he had always been his own man. On more than one occasion Alex had warned Mulder of danger; had even saved his life. Mulder hadn’t been around to even *try* to save Alex. Mulder had thought that being in love with two people was hard. Losing one of them was harder than he could ever have imagined. He knew he couldn’t bear to lose Scully and his child, too.

He was sick with worry, stunned at Skinner’s actions. Mulder wondered, could he free Alex from this bondage, when they next met?

He knew this wouldn’t be the last he saw of Krycek, though how he knew this, he wasn’t sure. All he was certain of, was that he felt numb and frightened. His footfalls sounded as hollow to him, as he felt, as he stumbled away from the killing ground.

All he could do was to continue. He would do whatever it took, to make it safe for Scully. He didn’t know what to think of Skinner as Executioner. He had to make certain that Skinner was still “one of the good guys,” that he could be trusted. Too much depended upon it.

Mulder wanted to find The Smoker. In the past, he knew his desire would have been to avenge Alex. But Mulder had had enough of death. Now, he wanted the answers; he wanted to take Krycek’s body back from the Super Soldier holding it captive. He vowed to honor his memory, to someday, burn him free.


Author’s notes:

Thanks to Sallie for beta, to Carol for support, beta and time line assistance.

Logan, I *tried* to write a nice M/K smut biscuit, I really did. But I think my poor neglected, schizoid pair of Muses is annoyed that I’ve been working on RL things and not writing. I wanted to write something steamy, and more in line with Second Grace. The Muses demanded Angst. They would not be denied.

Happy birthday, baby!

Last Words to Miriam
by D.H. Lawrence

Yours is the shame and sorrow,
But the disgrace is mine;
Your love was dark and thorough,
Mine was the love of the sun for a flower
He creates with his shine.

I was diligent to explore you,
Blossom you stalk by stalk,
Till my fire of creation bore you
Shrivelling down in the final dour
Anguish — then I suffered a balk.

I knew your pain, and it broke
My fine, craftsman’s nerve;
Your body quailed at my stroke,
And my courage failed to give you the last
Fine torture you did deserve.

You are shapely, you are adorned,
But opaque and dull in the flesh,
Who, had I but pierced with the thorned
Fire-threshing anguish, were fused and cast
In a lovely illumined mesh.

Like a painted window: the best
Suffering burnt through your flesh,
Undrossed it and left it blest
With a quivering sweet wisdom of grace: but now
Who shall take you afresh?

Now who will burn you free
From your body’s terrors and dross,
Since the fire has failed in me?
What man will stoop in your flesh to plough
The shrieking cross?

A mute, nearly beautiful thing
Is your face, that fills me with shame
As I see it hardening,
Warping the perfect image of God,
And darkening my eternal fame.