SECRET

by Kitty Fisher

He listened to the sound of a door opening and closing, and groaned silently. Not again, surely not this soon; it was too much. He found that breathing was difficult. Fear, icy as a winter's night, drowned the little warmth in his veins.

"Hello again."

Even blindfolded, Mulder could see the grin that went with the mocking voice. Anger flared through the fear, lifting his head off the bed to swear blindly, "Go fuck yourself, Krycek."

"Fox, don't be like that!"

"Why not?"

"Because you're all tied up and quite frankly, as I can do whatever I want to you, I'd be a good boy and keep that smart mouth shut."

"I thought you'd already done what you wanted." Silence. Though to Mulder it was as if he could hear Krycek laughing. "Didn't you, you bastard?"

"You mean I fucked you?"

Mulder heard soft footsteps as his captor came closer. He tugged uselessly at his arms, biting the metal cuffs that held him flat on his back deep into his wrists. Panic. This was close to panic; his heart fluttering painfully in his chest. "Yes."

"Or would you prefer to call it rape? More emotive, perhaps even more accurate, just as much fun. Rape or sex — or what about making love?" Krycek's voice softened slyly on the words. "The trouble is, as someone once said, once just isn't enough!"

"Alex..."

"Oh, Alex is it!"

"Krycek!"

"Be quiet! I like to fuck, Mulder, especially I like to fuck men like you, so smart, so condescending, so godamned horny. I wanted to get at you from the day they showed me your photo, and you know? Having you was even better than I ever imagined it would be."

"Why? Can you only get it up when your partner's unwilling? Christ, you're a sick bastard."

"Yes." The voice smiled again. "I guess I am." A hand touched Mulder's chest, making him tense, then it pinched his nipple, hard. "Though it takes one to know one."

Mulder fought as panic rushed adrenalin fast into his blood. No. There was no way Krycek could know. He hadn't come, before. Hadn't let himself... A mouth encompassed his nipple, shockingly warm, caring, gentling, before the teeth bit down and he arched in a wasted effort to escape the pain, a low sound crawling from his tight closed lips.

"You know something, Mulder?"

He knew lots of things, none of which were much help here. A shiver ran through his limbs, making the cuffs rattle loudly against the barred headboard. Flat on his back and helpless, shit...the bastard could answer himself.

Not that Krycek wanted a reply. "You look good naked. Your body is better than I expected. Always knew you had a great ass, but here," a hand touched Mulder's belly, "and here." It dipped down to his cock. "Great. You know, I wish I could keep you here, as a plaything, but they won't let me do that. Shame really, especially as once they get you, you'd probably rather be here as well."

"Don't bet on it!"

"Why? Do you look forward to being interrogated? To being tortured?"

Sickeningly, there was serious interest in the voice. "No!"

"Shame, because that's exactly what is going to happen. After I've finished with you."

"Who are they?"

"Don't ask questions you know I can't answer."

"You could if you wanted."

"But I don't. Now be quiet." An almost gentle slap enforced the command.

"What are you going to do?"

The laugh was soft, and oh, so amused. "Whatever I want, whatever I want."

There was the sibilant rustle of clothing being unpeeled then falling to the floor. Tied, hands cuffed above his head, feet chained apart, Mulder could only curse loudly.

"Don't!" A hand tight around his balls held the string of obscenity in check.

"You like to talk dirty? Okay, but not yet."

"Not yet?" Incredulous, Mulder almost laughed.

"Not until I want you to."

"Fuck it—" Mulder stopped speaking abruptly as the hand pulled hard.

"Ever worn a ball–stretcher? No? It would look good, pull these beauties down, give just enough pain to keep you keen."

"I don't, like, pain." Mulder hissed the words, gasping as the hand twisted.

"No?"

"No." He managed to sound firm, convinced. Then, just as the pain shot through him, heat encased his cock. Krycek's mouth; that sulky, little–boy's mouth, that told such lies, sucking him in, shockingly erotic. Breath fled from Mulder's lungs, he threshed wildly; panic there again, as the pain and pleasure shot into his brain. A keening sound threaded its way into his hearing, and he knew it for himself, for his own voice. It shocked him into cold sanity, and he knew where he was, remembered who was manipulating him, and what had been heat and desire turned arctic.

After a moment, the mouth slid away. "I had you then," Krycek tutted, though he loosened his hold, stroking the abused skin reflectively. "Almost."

Mulder was somewhere else, somewhere very cold. He spoke very slowly, very softly, "I don't want you to touch me."

"I don't suppose you do."

"Leave me alone, I won't respond to you. I won't play your games. Let your friends at me."

"In a while."

Mulder swallowed dryly, and tried not to think of what his body wanted. He felt shaken, frightened by a monster he didn't dare name. He started violently when a hand touched his face, making him jerk away, tension snapping at every nerve in his body.

"Shush. I could hurt you so badly, Fox. I could kill you..."

"Then do it!" It even sounded like a sane alternative to this captivity.

"No, not yet. Not yet."

The kiss was so swift that Mulder had no time to react, no time to show his revulsion; only time to flinch.

"I'd kiss you properly, but I know you'd bite my tongue off."

"And anything else!"

"I know that."

The laughter was back. Mulder wanted to scream.

Krycek was moving about, doing something. Not knowing what it was... It would be better to be deaf as well as blind. Mulder knew his pulse was speeding, sweat slickening on his skin, pricking under his arms, itching his scalp. Then fingers were touching his ankles and he knew that Krycek was going to do the same as he had earlier. Frustration, knowing what was going to happen, not being able to do a single thing to stop it, made him squirm on the bed, the mattress rough against his skin.

The chains were lengthened. Mulder tried to curl up, but Krycek was there, effortlessly holding him flat, his weight warm against chill skin, fingers bruising where they held, a knee threatening, stilling any threat of fight.

"There."

"Krycek..." Mulder gnawed at the fullness of his bottom lip, though it was already worn raw.

"Will you beg?" Krycek was shifting the long legs, making room for himself.

Mulder answered, "No."

"Will you tell me what they want to hear?" A hand stroked through his hair, gentle, kind.

"No." Despair, threaded into the single word.

"Oh, well..."

Mulder arched as his body was penetrated, hating every moment of the cock sliding slowly into his body, every soft sound of pleasure that escaped from his tormentor's lips. It all took longer than it had the first time. He lay still under the assault, let the pain wash around him while he fought the need to feel pleasure. Treachery was there in his own body, sliding around the shame and the bitterness, finding a path that led straight to his cock.

At the first stirring, he tried to back away. But there was nowhere to go, the mattress hard against his back, the cuffs solidly tethering his limbs.

"That's it, Fox! Let yourself!"

"No!" Mulder twisted, howling denial, careless that blood dampened his wrists as he fought, not feeling the warmth trickle between the straining tendons of his forearms.

"I can make you come, I know I can!" Triumph was there in Krycek's lust–tight voice.

And it was true. Mulder was hard, close to the edge, so fast, faster than he had ever been. When his knees were hoisted higher and the coupling became savage he was screaming again, and this time he was convulsing too, his body racked as he came, semen splashing on his curled belly as Krycek cursed and cursed again, the obscenities a fitting soundtrack to his loss.

A long time later, or so it seemed, he still lay where he was, semen drying cold and tight on his skin, the other's seeping like disease from his body. Despair cocooned his every thought, buffered him, though his face was wet, and he had no memory at all of tears.

Krycek was dressing. Going away. Mulder wished himself free of the chains, for all he wanted to do was to curl tight on himself.

"The others will be here soon."

Mulder flinched at the abrupt sound of speech.

"Tell them what they want. It will be easier."

If anything, there was some sort of pleading there in that soft command. Mulder shivered, very cold, hating the sympathy there, wanting the hatred more. It was hard to find words at all, but he was strong enough — though that fact surprised him. "Go away..."

"I'm going. Just thought..."

"Don't!"

"No." Krycek walked to the door, his shoes softly squeaking with each step. He seemed to pause. "You know, I could make any man come, not just you. Physiology..." He left the word hanging as if that explained it all, made it all right.

"Go to Hell!"

"Maybe, probably." The sound of footsteps, quite fast, brought him back to the bed, and his breath was warm, sweet as almonds against Mulder's face. "I understand your secret, Mulder, but even if I didn't, I could still have done the same."

Hands held his face, thumbs wiping away the wet from his cheeks. The kiss was light, scarcely a touch of skin against skin. "I won't let them kill you..." Breath, warm; the feel of close lips moving. "And I'll be back, when they aren't watching..."

And he was gone, leaving Mulder cold, waiting in darkness.

* * * * *

He lay on his side, nausea holding him still. Christ, he hated drugs, Sodium Phenobarbital more than most. Or so he had found. He shifted slightly, the darkness behind the blindfold finally beginning to settle.

They hadn't been so concerned with the cuffs this time, merely binding wrist to wrist and then by a chain to the bed. His legs were free. Though even at his most optimistic, Mulder would have agreed that he was hardly a threat. Not today. Against these people, maybe never.

At the sound of the door, his skin shivered. It was too soon for more of the truth–drug, they'd kill him. Unless that was what they wanted. Footsteps came close.

"Did you tell them the truth, Mulder?"

Krycek. It was such a relief that he could have wept.

Somehow Mulder held on to an unconcerned drawl. "What is truth, Alex?"

"Ah, Pilate's answer. He was a devious bastard — I'm glad to see they haven't broken you yet."

"Go to Hell, Krycek." Mulder gave up, his head falling wearily back onto the mattress.

"Really?" A hand touched Mulder's shoulder, it was very warm, making him realise quite how cold he was. "I could be good for you..."

"Go fuck yourself."

"I would if I could. Sounds great to me. I could fuck you instead though, that sounds even better." He gave a small laugh. "Or I could just hold you."

"No!"

"Scared, Fox?"

Mulder fought a wave of fear as Krycek climbed on the bed and curled against him. He was fully dressed, in what felt like a light–weight suit. His shoes were hard against the soles of Mulder's feet. Arms enclosed him, and Krycek leant his head into the curve of Mulder's neck. "There..." He stroked a hand gently against skin.

For Mulder it was, appallingly, the most comforting thing anyone had ever done for him. And the most frightening. He fought to stop shivering, and failed. "Why are you doing this?" He spoke between gritted teeth, trying not to let himself ease into the embrace, to not show how unsettling kindness was after everything else.

"You always have to have reasons for everything, don't you?"

The hand was still stroking, warm as velvet against his skin. "Me?" Mulder laughed shakily, without humour. "That's rich coming from you! Why are you here, what can you want?"

"Sarcasm." Krycek tutted. "Trust me, Mulder. Have I asked any of the questions they keep on at you with? No."

"Then why are you here?" Mulder was having trouble keeping the shiver out of his voice.

"Why not?" Krycek shifted, drawing his body even closer. He was hard, though he did nothing but tuck his hips neatly into the curve of Mulder's ass.

"Because you..."

"Shush! I'm not here to argue with you. Just be quiet for a while will you?"

"Just leave me alone, Krycek. I haven't the energy to play your mind–games."

"Leave you alone?" The hand stilled, though it lay, warm against skin.

"Yes!" There, that was better; firm and in control.

"Oh, Mulder..."

The loss of the warm body was shocking. Miserably, Mulder understood his own sense of loss far too well. It was good Krycek was leaving now. For the best.

"I'll come back another time."

"Don't bother."

"I want you, Fox Mulder." The bed creaked as Krycek leaned over it, his breath warm against Mulder's cheek. Then he spoke again, louder, no longer in the soft whisper that made Mulder want to cry. "I want to fuck you again, I'll be back for that."

"I'll count the hours."

Krycek laughed, and the sound of the door opening and closing brought silence to the room.

* * * * *

Time lost its coherency. Mulder counted hours, then lost them. Food came, then again, long before he was expecting it. Either that, or it didn't come at all. There were trips away from the room, and he knew from the sounds that he was in an old house, somewhere suburban, almost rural. They, whoever they were, only let him scream in the one room. He tried calling for help when being taken to the bathroom. It was less than successful, pain echoing in his head for hours after.

They still asked the same questions. Yet, unless he lied, he could never give them an answer.

He thought of Krycek more than should have been possible. The minutes they had lain together became a mnemonic for remembering there were ways he could be touched that didn't inflict pain. Even the times before that, when he had been fucked. At least it had been Krycek. Who he hated...and thought about more than he did Scully, or Skinner. Unless it was to wonder if either of them knew he was missing.

He knew he shouldn't have taken that vacation.

It had been a long time since Krycek had been in the room. A long time. Though he would never be sure of the exact measurement of hours and days. When they touched him now, he tried to think only of a warm arm encircling his body, of fine wool cloth scratchy against his skin. Comfort, in a world of unease.

* * * * *

"Mulder..." The whisper, and the touch of a hand, startled him from a light, dream–scattered sleep. "Don't say anything!"

"Krycek?"

"Who else. How are you tied?"

Hands felt his wrists, tied together above his head, then his ankles, somehow cuffed together. Then he was shifted onto his side, and a soft, bitten–off moan of protest was stifled as a naked body curled wonderfully into him.

"There."

An arm was around his waist, an anchor. Krycek. There were worse things in Heaven and Hell... Mulder blinked behind the thick blindfold. His voice was raw when he spoke. "Why are you here?"

Krycek giggled softly, there was some sort of alcohol on his breath, and something else — honey, as if he'd been eating Greek pastries. "They're all asleep. I just got back, and I don't want to disturb them. They've left one guard and he knows me well enough to let me in here. I told him to go and get some supper, so he won't be watching. I wanted you all to myself." He wriggled closer. "Fuck, it's cold in here, no wonder you're shivering!"

It wasn't the cold. He was used to that. No, it was the heat at his back, the soft voice, the hands that touched so easily. "You've been away."

"Mmm, so you noticed."

Mulder nodded, "Yes, I noticed."

"And you're still alive. Shit, sorry, was that a bruise?"

Mulder let out the trapped breath. "Guess so."

"You're a stubborn bastard, I'll give you that." The grin was there again. "Is your secret still safe?"

"I don't have a secret."

"You'd be one in a million. Well, I won't argue. But do you want me?"

The sudden question was shocking. Spinning Mulder off track. "What..?" He tried to twist from the encompassing arms, but was held easily in place. "Why should I want you?"

"Because."

Krycek's mouth was so close to Mulder's ear that he could feel the lips moving as Krycek spoke.

"Because nothing! I don't want you."

"But you do. Don't lie to me." Krycek's head moved, the mouth nibbling, finding where his arms were twisted above his head. He was laughing again. "You smell like your name, Foxy..."

"Don't call me that!"

"Then be good. Now, just lie a bit more on your side, and curl your legs up...that's right." Krycek wriggled, positioning himself. "I brought some stuff with me, you'll be fine."

Mulder wasn't worrying about lubrication. "Krycek, please, don't!" He was close to panic, breath coming hard around small sounds of distress, but something wet and cold was pushed into him by probing fingers.

"I'm not doing anything you don't want. Admit it."

"Jesus..." Mulder gasped as the head of Krycek's penis pushed blindly at the curve of his ass, sliding between his legs.

"Be quiet... I'm not going to hurt you, I only want this to please us both."

The whispers were the devil in Mulder's head, but he denied it all. "Please us both? What are you, insane?"

With a soft grunt, Krycek forced his cock in the first couple of inches, his hand covering Mulder's mouth before he could cry out. "No, not mad. Just wait, Mulder, relax a bit." He shifted and wriggled until he was as far in as the position would allow. "And straighten your legs, not too much." To his surprise, Mulder obeyed. "There..." He slid almost all the way out, then pushed back in one long even thrust.

"Krycek..."

"Yeah, told you it'd be good."

There was no fight in him anymore, and Mulder surrendered to his body. There was little difference between the pleasure of being held and this. Krycek was still there, warm and alive, close. Comforting. That he was being fucked as well... That was pleasure too, in its own way. He didn't get hard, but after a while he moved slightly to accommodate Krycek, did slight things with his hips that seemed to be good. When Krycek came, Mulder was crying.

Krycek held still for a long time after he'd come. His cock slowly shrinking back to normal until it slipped of its own accord from Mulder's body. There was the sound of a rubber being stripped off, a soft kiss brushed against his shoulder, then Krycek was gone.

Mulder cursed into the darkness. Despair tasted of bitterness, and was scented with honey.

* * * * *

They lost interest in him soon after that. For a while he'd thought they would kill him quickly, but then knew they were just going to leave him in this room to starve. Maybe they'd found another source that knew the answers they wanted. If Mulder had known anything, there was little doubt he would have told.

Mulder knew himself to be dying. Chained as he was, there was no way off the bed, no escape possible. If anything, all he felt was resignation.

Darkness cocooned him. The lack of hands to hurt was a blessing. But he yearned for Krycek. And that secret burned.

* * * * *

He heard them before he was really conscious. The Bureau, riding over the hill. Except there were no Indians left. He knew the building was empty.

The door crashed back and he heard Scully's challenge. But he couldn't move to show her it was safe, couldn't whisper. He felt her close by, smelt her scent, all subtlety and citrus. Something spread softly over his body, reminding him he was naked. Scully's coat. Then her hands were trying to remove the blindfold, but it was too tight. He'd probably made it worse by struggling to try and get it off himself. Then there was someone else. It was Skinner's voice. A knife slit easily through the cloth and Mulder turned away in pain from the light. Scully's voice, softly commanding, then someone turned the brightness off. Darkness was a balm. He blinked his eyes open, and in the shadows he could see them both, his partner and his boss, their figures unmistakeable. Mulder swallowed and tried to focus.

He understood when they told him about the ambulance being caught up in traffic. And he tried not to whimper when Skinner un–cuffed his hands, moved his arms. Other than that, it was all unreal. He closed his eyes and, inside the darkness, let Krycek fuck him. Inside his head it was summer, and there was sunshine warming his body. Crisp cotton was soft under his skin as he twisted sideways, sighing as the cock he had never seen filled him, comforted him afresh.

He never knew Scully was crying. Never saw the expression on Skinner's face.

* * * * *

They wouldn't let him work. He had healed, as he always did, but work was still out of bounds. He lay on the sofa and watched TV instead. Sometimes he slept. Though all he would dream of, relentlessly, was Krycek wrapped around his body, holding him; comfort from a comfortless place.

One day he drove himself back to the house; a Victorian near derelict in one of the city's outer suburbs. He sat for a long time in the car, engine running. It had gotten colder, and he shivered, even with his overcoat on, when he finally stepped outside.

A small flight of steps led up to an acid–etched glass door. He took the stairs slowly, letting himself into the house with a key. More stairs went up. He trod them lightly, as if afraid to disturb ghosts. They led him to the room.

The door eased back on oiled hinges. The sound of the handle enough to curl the hairs on the back of his neck. The bed was still there, his blood dark, ugly. The cuffs were gone.

He touched the metal frame, running a finger along the shiny newness. They must have bought this just for him, maybe that would be a way to find them, track back from where the bed had been bought. If he could be bothered. Scully was elsewhere, he'd successfully diverted her.

Hands deep in his coat pockets he sat down. He blinked slowly at the room, miserably aware of nothing in the world but loss.

Then a sound cracked softly through the silence. Mulder was on his feet, gun in hand, as the door swung slowly open. Krycek looked the same. Though he wore all black, the darkness taking in the light, making his face seem very pale. He seemed to hesitate, then nodded. "I wondered when you'd come back."

"How did you know I would?"

"I know you, Mulder."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

Mulder shook his head. This was what he had come for, but the reality was so different from dreams. He shook his head, the winter light slanting into the room, blurring his sight.

"Mulder, what do you want?"

He couldn't say, didn't know. He swallowed hard and looked away.

"If you want me, you can have me."

Mulder would have been laughing if it wasn't all so sad. "Krycek..." He broke off, shaking his head in denial.

Krycek stepped into the room, his leather jacket creaking softly as he pushed the door to and closed the distance between them. "I mean it." Without waiting he took hold of Mulder's face between his hands and kissed him.

Mulder moaned and opened his mouth. He knew this was sick, but if this was disease then he never wanted the cure. He kissed back, opening his mouth and taking possession of something he had never been offered before. The mouth tasted of honey; honey and cloves. Mulder licked into the warmth and moaned as his tongue was met, flicked against, dominated. He would have gone to his knees there and then, knelt like a whore, but he was not allowed to. Instead, Krycek held him still, and rather than demanding obedience, slipped to the floor himself.

Dazed, Mulder looked down at the tousled hair, and as if the hand reaching out was not his own, touched it. Soft and clean, it ran like water between his fingers. He concentrated on it, aware vaguely that his flies had parted and pants and boxers were pooled around his ankles.

The heat of Krycek's mouth was shocking.

"Alex..."

The secret was here. Mulder shuddered as his cock hit the back of a long throat and was held there, muscles swallowing around it. Fire streamed into his blood, forced his fingers to dig hard into hair and bone. Krycek moaned and Mulder knew it wasn't from pain. He understood everything; his fingers reaching into Krycek's skull linked them need to need. There was madness too. But he didn't care. Nothing mattered but the mouth. And the throat. He shuddered violently as Krycek's fingers dug into the skin of his thighs and, beyond hope, he spilled seed into Krycek's voracious heat, feeling him swallow it down with a cry that shivered in the air, unrecognisable as his own.

Unsteady, he stood unmoving while Krycek dressed him.

"Come on."

Mulder blinked at the command, unsure of what was required of him. "What do you want?"

"You." Krycek came close, and rubbed the back of his fingers against Mulder's stubbled cheek. "But not here."

"Where?" Not that it mattered. There was no doubt he would have gone anywhere.

"Away. I came back because of the secret, Mulder. It's mine too."

"I thought I'd hidden it so well." Amusement was there, and something of the old Mulder.

"Not from me, sweetheart."

"No." Mulder sighed and took the hand in his own, bringing it up to kiss the knuckles. "I hated you for so long."

"Maybe."

"I still do."

"Hate is like love; close as brothers."

"Or as lovers..."

Krycek smiled. "Come with me. I want to fuck you so bad..."

"Alex..." Mulder shivered; a ghost walking over his grave.

Krycek went to the door, hardly looking at the room around him. He reached his hand out and waited. Until Mulder came to him.

END