When the highbeam of Mulder’s flashlight showed solid walls and an unbroken roof, Krycek let himself relax for the first time since the avalanche. He aimed Mulder’s arm around the room until the light glinted off an oil lamp, then left Mulder to get it started.

     “Hey, kindling.” More looking found rusted knives, a wood stove, a cast iron skillet. It would have been asking too much, he figured, to have found food too. He sent Mulder to scavenge the car and started a fire with the last of the wood.

     “Go get more,” he said quietly. When Mulder came back, shivering and shaky, but with a large armful, Krycek had the last of the car food mangled together in a meal. Processed cheese food. Only Mulder.

 

     “The bad news…”

     “Is pretty obvious,” Mulder said, eating the last of the crackers and peanut butter packages.

     “The good news is, we’ve definitely gotten them off our track, and now I can call in for a pick up.” He patted his high-tech leather case meaningfully. “Once the snow stops, they should be able to get here within an hour.”

      “Your friends. And what will they do to me?”

     Krycek laughed dryly. “Nothing they couldn’t do any damn day they wanted to."

     "Color me reassured." They exchanged ironic smiles.

 

     As they got water melted and blankets gathered, their eyes kept catching; Krycek knew they were going to do it, for once without the warm-up namecalling and abuse. Carefully making sure Mulder wasn’t looking, he dug through the almost empty leather case and palmed a tube before saying, “get over here.”

     They dragged the mattress in front of the fire and stripped off their wet clothes, and after a few minutes, Mulder was actually sweating a little, beautiful in the firelight. Krycek unscrewed the tube, then held on to Mulder when he started to roll over. “No, stay here.” He slid down a little, aligning their cocks together, pausing, thinking. If he just lubed up Mulder, he’d be committed. Awkwardly, he squeezed the lube out into his hand and slid it down over both their cocks, giving himself another minute to change his mind. Outside, the wind howled louder, making the fire waver madly.

     He took a deep breath and rolled them over, spreading his legs deliberately. Mulder stared at him, obviously surprised. “Don’t say it, Mulder, just do it.”

      “But you don’t…”

     He wasn’t going to answer; he wasn’t sure he could keep his voice clear if he did. But he wiggled in a way universally understood as ‘just fuck me”, closed his eyes against Mulder’s words, and waited.

     But not for long.

     Mulder didn’t hold back, and the brief pain brought tears to his eyes. He looked away, taking deep breaths; bearing down, tightening around Mulder’s cock, Mulder’s manhood, making it good for him, making it good for himself. He grabbed Mulder’s shoulders and rolled them over again, off the mattress onto a rough blanket on the floor. Awkwardly, he pushed himself down, impaling himself deeper, then raised his hands to Mulder’s face, tracing his features in the firelight. Gasping harshly, he whispered, “Mulder, Mulder,” then more quietly, “Fox.”

     He watched Mulder’s eyes widen, his mouth drop open in pleasure, and ground his ass down hard. The eyes fluttered, the tiny groan escaped, then Krycek reached under the blanket, pulled out his Lugar, and shot Mulder in the head.

     He fell forward, sobbing as he came.

 

     When the road opened up seven weeks later, all that was left were gnawed bones. He buried them before he left.