Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the grey twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.
— Theodore Roosevelt, Speech to the Hamilton Club, April 10, 1899
The Grey Twilight
by Sandy K Herrold
Now I know when it changed. When I stopped dreaming of trying to kill the gray-lunged bastard, and started fantasizing of somehow having Mulder. When I stopped trying to find a way out, and started upholstering the hell I was in.
But at the time, it seemed harmless. A sticky-sheeted story to put myself to sleep at night. A dark dream barely remembered upon waking.
Then an idly wicked game — Where would I find a place? How would I deal with Scully? How would I plant the tip? — to pass the time during late-night watches.
One day I realized I had every piece planned, start to finish. More, I realized that every detail was... completely possible, even easy. Suddenly, it wasn't a game. If I wanted to, I would no longer have to wonder how he'd respond to this, or what he'd say to that.
I could know.
### The tip for the warehouse was crucial. It had to be too good for Mulder to ignore, but not quite good enough for him to be willing to tell Scully and let her laugh at him if nothing panned out.
Next, Scully had to be incommunicado. Initially, my fantasies took me fairly far afield, but I finally remembered 'Keep it Simple, Stupid.' My first plan for arranging to have Scully's cellphone battery drained didn't work, but I had a backup plan: two, actually.
Then all I'd had to do was make sure I got there first.
I watched the door open, and breathed deep. Mulder. I was painfully aware of my pulse racing. His very presence was potent, like a dark slow-acting drug I had finally admitted my addiction to.
He sauntered in. I remembered that walk — Mulder's singular mixture of caution and arrogance. My face flushed as I realized, That won't last. Mulder's hand rested on his pistol nervously, but he left it in his holster.
"Mulder," I called, mildly. My acting ability astounds even me, sometimes.
Mulder spun around and started to draw, but I'd spent my life being ready for this. "Put it down, Mulder. Now."
I've been told more than once that the combination of my youth and good looks made it hard to take me seriously, but with a department-issue Sig Sauer pointed at him, Mulder wasn't having that problem.
Mulder pointed his gun at the cement floor, but refused to let it go. "What do you want?"
I fired without hesitation. The putt of the silencer, the crack of the bullet on the cement at Mulder's feet, and his jump seemed to happen in unison.
Mulder dropped his gun with a clatter. The only hard part was remembering not to laugh.
"Kick it aside, Mulder. We're going to do this differently this time. I want you to bribe the information out of me, not beat it out."
He was as reliable as ever. "What information, Krycek?"
I braced myself, gripping the pistol tightly; this was going to be the tricky part. "Where Scully's been taken."
"Scully...? Damn you!" Mulder started to rush me, but I aimed the gun higher, and said, "If I have to fire again, it'll be your leg, not the floor."
"Damn you, I'll find her myself."
"Hmm, well, I didn't say I was letting you leave, either. I know they'll be calling your apartment, but," I sighed dramatically, enjoying myself, "you won't be there. And you can't exactly start an FBI manhunt if you're stuck here in this warehouse. Hmm, you're really fucked this time, Fox."
Ooh, this was fun. I wasn't sure I'd ever seen Mulder so pissed off, and that was saying something. "When you ratted on me to Skinner, you pissed me off, Mulder. And now that the consortium doesn't need me anymore, I've had a lot more spare time. I've learned to make my own fun, and pay off my own debts."
I savored the situation for a minute — god, he was pretty — then said, "Get out your cellphone. Slowly." He watched me carefully, but so far, he was playing it straight. As it were, I thought with a snicker.
"Dial Scully at the office," I ordered.
He obeyed. "There's no answer."
Duh. "Now her cell..."
Double duh.
I was ready to spend a little more time on the garden path, but Mulder suddenly said, "Let's just skip the rest of the script, OK? I've got things to do this afternoon."
Script? Mulder couldn't know how true that was.
"What's she worth to you, Mulder? What wouldn't you do to get her back unharmed?" Oh GOD this was fun. I felt I was riding the biggest rollercoaster in the world. "And think how good it's going to feel to just show up there with a bunch of your little fibbie friends and spring her before there's even a ransom demand."
"What do you want, Krycek? Spit it out."
"You."
### I was in no hurry; I just stood and watched the entertainment. Mulder was beautiful: first gaping in shock, and then reddening in anger. "What?"
"You, Mulder, it's always been you." I managed to get a little "Springtime in Paris" in my voice.
"Spare me."
A fugitive beam of light fought its way through the tiny windows and shone on his face. I could count his eyelashes; tell the green from the brown in the hazel of his eyes. Part of me just wanted to grab him and do him; another part needed to cross t's and dot i's, to do everything according to the script — everything I'd ever dreamed of doing to him. After all, it wasn't like I was going to get a second chance.
"I know you're not used to straightforward explanations, but here it is. I know where Scully has been taken. If you bend over and take it like a man, I'll tell you. If not, we'll take a time out while I call a friend to come and baby-sit you long enough so they can do whatever they need to do to Scully."
I waved the gun again suggestively: the scenario wasn't all that believable, so I didn't want him to have a lot of time to think about it. Well, that and I didn't want to shoot him if I didn't have to; it was going to be a lot more fun for me if he could support his own weight. And maybe some of mine as well.
"You want what?"
"You heard me. What's it gonna be, boy? Yes, or...no?" Somehow, I didn't figure Mulder as a big Meatloaf fan.
"I can't trust you."
"Duh." This time I said it out loud. "But can Scully afford for you not to?" I pulled my own phone, hit speed dial, said, "Put her on," and held it up toward him.
Her voice, beautifully shaky and weak, said, "Who is this?"
He, of course, immediately started yelling, "Where are you, Scully — who has you?" He was choking on his own emotion. I was touched. Kinda.
I clicked the phone shut, grateful that the tape had worked. Apparently it'd been worth what I'd had to do to get it. Time to close the deal. "Here it is; I get to, um, sample the dark pleasures of your pretty physique until we both come. In exchange, you get the address. The faster we're through with this, the faster you get to save Scully."
His breathing was harsh and echoed slightly in the vast room; my heart seemed to be beating almost as loudly. This was it.
I wanted to hear him say yes; but I wanted to fuck him too badly to drag this scene out. I decided to skip that pleasure and cut to the chase, before he realized how much this meant to me. "Strip."
He stood there, all New England-bred 6'1" Armani-clad length of him, and said, "God. Damn. You. To. Hell."
"Uh-huh," I said, as bored as I could manage. "Shoes first."
The rage on his face was strangely shadowed by embarrassment, even guilt. Strange boy, our Mulder. It was really too bad I wasn't going to have more time to plumb his psyche, but this trip was for plumbing something else.
"Socks." As we're taught in spy school, start with easy stuff, and get them used to taking orders from you.
Mulder took one sock off, turned slightly, then rose quickly, throwing a shoe at my head and grabbing for my gun.
Sheesh, Mulder. I took a quick step back, ducked and aimed carefully just past his ear — if he had hearing problems later, he deserved them — and fired. "Pants," I said, affecting a bored tone. I wasn't even breathing hard, and if it had been possible, that would have pissed him off even more.
What a sight he made: the cold grimy warehouse was a wonderful contrast to the beautiful length of him. His fingers paused at his belt and he shot me a look. Weirdly enough, I realized that he still didn't believe that I really wanted him. What, you think this is a joke? That as soon as you take your pants off, someone's going to shout, "Surprise!" and the whole office is going to show up? "Scully," I whispered, not even bothering to lift the gun again. He slid the zipper down slowly; it was doubtless reluctance, but my body read it as a tease. I felt myself rising relentlessly, and rubbed myself gently with my pistol.
"Come on, step out of them." He was adorable in shirttails, his feet shifting uncomfortably on the cold grubby floor. Hm, briefs first, or shirt?
There was a dirty counter-height workbench running along one side of the room a couple of feet away. I motioned him towards it so he could pile his clothes. The height of the bench had been the reason why I'd taken this place. It was perfect. Just seeing Mulder standing near the workbench made it hard for me to breathe naturally.
"What, no hangers?"
Good line, but I subtracted points for the quaver in his voice.
"Shirt."
"Fuck you."
"All in good time." He still didn't move, so I angled the gun a little, taking aim. "It's not like I want to go jogging with you, Mulder. A bullet in your foot isn't going to get in my way at all."
If looks could kill, Mulder would have been a happy man. As it was, I watched him unbutton his shirt, unbuttoning my own in unison, imagining his slim fingers over mine, and tried to imagine a Mulder seduction. Wonder if he's any good at this? Maybe I could ask Scully sometime...
Back in spy school, there'd been a short tutorial on rape, but it had never appealed. Forcing someone to have sex with you? Ick.
Forcing Fox Mulder to touch my cock...?
That's a completely different story.
Frankly, I've often wondered why male rape isn't more common. It's easier than you'd think; most men are completely in thrall to their cocks, so the time between erection and orgasm is almost risk free. Now all I had to do was get his dick hard. How difficult could that be?
### Harder than you might think, certainly harder than I thought it would be, but not impossible. Making him touch himself — nada. Making him touch me — nada. Making him bend over, and touching him with the gun... well, well, well, Mulder. Does Scully know that?
It was like finding the secret decoder ring in my box of Cracker Jacks ; as long as I had the gun on him somewhere, he was amazingly acquiescent. Despite time pressure, and an overwhelming hunger for the main course, I decided I had to sample the hors d'ouevres. He was tense, probably scared, definitely pissed, but his cock was as hard as his father's heart.
I buried one hand tightly in his dark hair, and used it to arch him back, painfully. Oh the long, beautiful length of him. I used the gun in my other hand to blaze a trail down his chest and followed it with my lips. I wanted to touch him everywhere.
"Krycek?" He relaxed into my grip for a moment. "If this is all you want," he gasped, "surely we could find a cheap hotel or something."
"Shssh," I said idly, kneeling. My thumb skimmed around to touch the back of his knee, and my teeth tasted him, closed over him, suddenly greedy, rough and focused on that core of tight heat. To have no need for control is so... Think about it; I didn't have to care how I was touching him — softly or cruelly; licking or biting — after all, I wasn't doing it for him.
Mulder panted, "Krycek, can you tell me why Scully was taken?"
I moved around him, licking and nibbling, still following the pistol path on his skin. As I reached his ass, I took a hard bite, and spoke through his flesh, "While we are here, all that there is, is us. And we'll stay here until both of us come. Got it?"
He'd always been fast on the uptake; without wasting a beat, Mulder started to reach for his cock. Definitely a minor victory for me. I stopped him of course, stood back up and grabbed it myself; Mulder's elegant dick bucked in my hand with rock-hard yearning. Mulder gripped my hand and forced it furiously up and down his shaft. I told him with a guttural bark to let-the-fuck-go.
He did. Surprised — Mulder's not exactly a poster boy for obedience school — I decided to reward him: I pulled him with steady strokes, his foreskin pushing forward to gather drops of clear, sticky liquid around the pink tip of his cock.
Mulder let out a series of whispered groans. They were almost subliminal, and I knew how hard he was working to stifle them altogether. Made my heart proud.
Then he said, "Oh fuck," and thrust forward, straining and tensing. Damn him, he was trying to come right there. I squeezed his cock hard. Foolish man, he kept thrusting, and I squeezed harder. How can someone so smart be so fucking stubborn?
A groan of pain now. Still squeezing, I pulled his foreskin slowly forward and over his painfully sensitive cockhead. "Oh God, don't," he said. More of his juice fell in clear drops to the floor, and he finally stopped thrusting. His harsh pants echoed in the vast emptiness.
I said, "I'm going to fuck you."
"No." He was adamant. Like I cared.
I moved back enough to let my hard cock stand free from the tight crush of his buttock, and curved him over the bench, letting him support himself however he could.
I eased my tight grip on his cock, and he immediately started small thrusts through my hand. "Damn you, Mulder, stay still."
"Or what, you're going to rape me?"
How could he get a whole sentence out? I felt like I was running a marathon. I saw everything through a haze of passion, fury, or both.
With one hand still on his cock, and another hand needed to guide my own, I finally reholstered my pistol. There wasn't much he could do as long as I had a deathgrip around what he was proudest of, after all. I grabbed my own needy cock roughly, sweat pearling on my face, and guided the head of my cock to him. Virgin was an incredibly erotic word when combined with Mulder's ass.
He said, softly, "You don't have to do this."
"Spread your legs a bit," I said.
He did; then he whispered, "Don't."
Oh god, the sound of that word. The long muscles in my thighs quivered, and I almost lost my balance as I dug through my pockets for the final accoutrement.
I lubed him roughly and nudged at his small, glistening opening with my cock, then rewarded him, starting a slow stroke on his own sweet dick. A deeper groan burst from Mulder. Holding off was becoming unbearable. Aches of desire surged through my back, thighs, deep to my core, driving me to fuck.
"Bend forward," I said, and he leaned, putting his forearms on the bench. Wow, for the first time, he just did what I said, with no need of a threat from me, no warning. That was even more exciting than the abrupt sight of his tight hole, exposed as he bent forward.
I held my breath, holding myself back. Coming now would let him win in the worst way. I ran the palm of my hand up and across his smoothly muscled swimmer's back and shoulders, then pushed myself the first small distance into him.
I felt him jerk, hard. He choked out, "No, don't," and swallowed thickly, his long fingers flexing, clutching at nothing on the dirty bench. I let go of his cock, took hold of his hips and shoved into his tight resistance, his internal heat. "Fuck," he yelled. "Damn you to hell." His sphincter squeezed and clamped and resisted my forced entry. I pushed harder, further into him, and felt his cock ebb, losing its flint-edged hardness.
"I can't do it," he said desperately. Ah, Mulder, I thought, you really have no idea what you can do until someone pushes you.
"Almost there," I lied.
"No," he pleaded softly.
"No, what, Fox? No, you don't want to play anymore? No, you can't take it?" I could have said the magic word — Scully — but we were past that now. "All right." I deliberately pulled back so that the head of my cock was barely within his taut opening. He let out a small breath. Did he really think I was relenting? I nudged again, gently, and he swayed back with me as I withdrew; doubtless without even knowing. Playing gently at the opening of his tight hole was something he liked. Interesting.
"That's all right?" I asked.
No answer, but I hadn't expected one. What was he going to say? "I didn't know I liked my asshole teased," or "Hmm, you're raping me rather nicely."
"Put your hand on your cock and pump." Mulder didn't say 'no,' but his back stiffened; he knew I wanted him complicit. But sometimes all the knowledge in the world is no help at all. I took his hand, wrapped it around his cock and squeezed. Like any guy on earth, he couldn't help giving his erection a slight yank. Without his arm to support him, he'd had to straighten up a little, fitting us even more tightly together — nearly glued together; his back arched into my chest, my thighs fastened to his, every inch of his flesh pressed against mine. It was more than a little distracting; I couldn't remember the last time I was in such an information-rich environment.
"I'm gonna push in all the way."
He shook his head, 'no.'
As if... Mulder never seemed to learn. This time I grabbed his hips and shoved into him with all my strength, staggering a step or two forward, forcing him hard up against the bench, almost losing myself in him.
Mulder let out a sharp cry of pain, let his cock go and put the palms of his hands onto the wall ahead of him.
"Jesus, stop!" he cried.
I could barely speak, but growled, "Shut up." It was almost as if he'd expected me to make it easy for him.
"Oh fuck, stop, please!"
"Almost there."
"Fuck, oh fuck," he gasped. "It hurts." Major point — I got him to say it hurt.
I pushed again, almost gently, then fiercer and fiercer, and finally forced myself all the way in. My cock buried all the way in Fox Mulder.
Mulder just breathed, noisily. His head hung down between his outstretched arms pushing on the wall. I paused briefly to press against the firm mounds of his buttocks, to feel his full grip on my cock. Then, against his tight resistance, holding his slim waist, I started to fuck him. To open up his virgin hole.
Who knew I had a taste for this? Feeling his pain, his grunts and exclamations, I pulled out and plunged into him with increasing vigor. Harder and deeper. Hitting his ass with a thud, a grinding of teeth, my own animal noises escaping.
Even then, as incredible as it felt, I didn't drown in the physicality of pounding into his ass; no, it always came down to him. This tied us even more tightly together; I was stealing one more thing from him. This was better than stealing Scully from him — better than killing his dad. This was the best.
I was fucking him and I wasn't going to stop. I went on and on; deeper and deeper into him. Rhythmic, sweating, piston movements now. The hot gratification of friction becoming extreme, unbearable. Mulder was my entire world; tight and balanced on the end of my cock. I just pumped and pumped...until he gave a low groan of pleasure and his ass loosened just enough around my cock; opening for me, pliant surrender welcoming me in. Mulder stretched his head back, his neck taut and extended beside me, eyes still closed, and it was like everything before this moment was just foreplay compared to my pleasure now: I had made him like it!
I made you like it, I repeated to myself. Some day I'm going to get you to say, "Thank you for killing my fuckhead father," too!
I reached for his cock and slid it around in his own juices on the workbench. It couldn't have been harder, and it fit in my hand like I'd been born to do him. He made a frustrated, pleading growl, fucking his cock back into my hand. Suddenly realizing how close we were, I ran just a finger and thumb along his rigid length, bringing the foreskin teasingly forward, unwilling to let this end.
Suddenly I decided. I wanted him to come first. I wanted nothing to distract him from feeling me shoot into his ass; my seed, my cum, my claim. But I couldn't wait much longer. I grabbed his cock roughly and beat its length with hard, fast strokes. He was right there, tensing into an imminent explosion. I stopped a second to ram into him with a surge of blood-soaked strength. Seven, eight, nine times. Knocking him forward, knocking his balls painfully against the benchtop. Alive as I had maybe never been before.
I paused again, and thrashed his cock with a blur of savage hand movements. Mulder straightened halfway up, braced his spread legs up against the side of the bench and convulsed. I grabbed his shoulder and twisted him halfway around, determined to see his face; his reaction to my mastery. He strained his hard cock farther and farther out, away and toward the unbearable pleasure. His face contorted, but I couldn't tell: pain or pleasure? Then the head of his beautifully bulging cock gave a gentle red swell and a heavy shot of cum exploded from it. Then more. The smooth muscles of his ribs and shoulders stood out in strained definition, tightening against me as his cock surged again and again, Mulder making small whimpering noises, the initial blasts of cum ebbing to a thick white stream, flowing and falling into neat pools on the benchtop.
And then I was there. I felt the final build up, need pounding through me unstoppably. Watching him cum, unlike any dream of him I'd ever had, I lost myself thrusting into him. Root-deep inside, holding him as tightly as flesh allowed, I felt all his body shuddering with orgasm; pulling back to thrust again, I felt the clutch of his ass still throbbing. Then my final frantic thrusts concluded in fire. A soundless scream — a moment as the world itself stopped — then a huge liquid surge, a quicksilver rush of boundless energy. Pumping and pumping, into what I had made mine.
.
No matter how sublime the moment, it cannot last.
Somehow, though, I couldn't let him go. I clung to him awkwardly, sweat-stuck to his long back, his warm butt still pressed to my crotch, myself still sensitive and swollen in him. I could feel the balance of power inexorably tilting to his side as I continued to cling idiotically to him, but I couldn't pull away. My dreams had never gotten me this far.
Just as the slide from sublime to ridiculous seemed inevitable, his cellphone rang.
I pulled out of him abruptly, every centimeter of his tight damp hole clinging fast to my oversensitized flesh; skin I might never plunder again.
He grunted painfully at my retreat and reached for the phone, grunting again as he bent over, and yet again as he straightened.
He didn't look at me as he opened the phone.
I didn't need to hear the voice to know it was over.
I reached for my gun, but my holster caught on my shirt. As Scully's calm voice echoed through the warehouse, Mulder ran for his gun and scooped it up.
"I'll call you right back," he panted, and threw the phone down.
"Damn you," he said. "You lied. She'd never been taken, dammit; she was shopping!"
"I know that," I said calmly. After all, I'd set it up.
"Don't move." He raised the gun, walked over, and held it against my forehead.
We were bare inches apart. Our bodies, sweaty, but chilled now in the damp unheated warehouse, leaned towards each other in a selfish, senseless urge for warmth.
I looked up at him — his face: angels must have that face when they cry — and suddenly I couldn't bear it. I had wanted to destroy him as he'd helped destroy me, but now, so close to victory, I lost my desire to play.
But I had no choice. And I couldn't even leave him his self respect.
I kneed him in the balls, grabbed the gun as he toppled, retching, and cold-cocked him with it. Standing over him, awkwardly sprawled, cold and naked beneath me, I pulled my clothes together and sighed.
I couldn't win, I wouldn't lose, and I'd run out of other options. I picked up his phone and hit the first speed dial button, blessing Mulder's predictability.
"Mulder?" Scully's voice asked, concerned.
I lowered my voice to a baritone and said, "Come to 1652 24th Ave. Hurry, and if you care for Mulder at all, come alone."
Finally, I was safe, back on the script. I hung up and I put his phone back in his pocket, grabbing his wallet in passing. It was over. I started to walk away, then made the mistake of looking back.
A raw ache of grief clutched me. Mulder's long legs had a curious grace even as I could see my sperm weeping from between them. I took a ragged breath. I could see his full lips, slack and slightly open.
I forced myself to keep walking, and made it to the warehouse door, squinting out at the bright fall day. I almost went back to kiss him, but what was the point now? Hadn't I already gotten everything I wanted?
Hadn't I?
.
~ The End ~ .
Even cruel rat girls need feedback: sherrold@mail.com Author Notes: This is the first story I've finished in a long time, and I made almost everyone I know pre-read it for me. Much thanks to Rosa Westphalen, Rachael Sabotini, Dana S., Thomas, Nicole Vifian, and Shoshanna Green. Thanks also to Julien Bozza, for publishing this story in her wonderful zine, Homosapien Sux.
Also, I am all too well aware that this story has the same old plot as a bazillion other M/K stories; sorry, when the muse speaks, I listen, even if she's a hack with a taste for the same-old, same-old.
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