Work Text:
The Hoover Building
Skinner's Office
"You wanted to see me, Sir?"
I looked up from my paperwork to see Fox Mulder, my most brilliant and troublesome agent, standing in the doorway to my office. I had been dreading this confrontation all morning, but now that the time had arrived, there was nothing I could do about it. Clearing my throat, I announced in a cool, steady voice, "Yes I did. Come in and close the door, please." I then gestured to the chairs in front of me, my intention unmistakable.
As he strode over to his customary chair, I quickly buzzed my assistant over the intercom, reminding her, "Hold my calls, Kim."
That got a concerned frown from the young man who was now sitting in his comfortable leather chair. Since I rarely made that particular request, he probably sensed this meeting was going to be a bad one.
He wasn't alone.
We stared at each other for a couple of minutes in an uneasy silence and I could see Mulder's normal unflappable façade was starting to fray a bit at the edges. Finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, he blurted out, "Sir, if this is about the Anderson case . . . ."
I didn't let him finish, cutting right to the chase. "Mulder, what were you doing with Alex Krycek last night?"
Mulder just gaped at me for a moment or two, his expressive hazel eyes seemingly too large for his face all of a sudden. "Where did you hear that, Sir?" he asked casually, trying to cover up his initial surprise, but his bluff didn't fool me.
"I have my sources, agent," I answered, vaguely. My mind unconsciously conjured up the image of him and Krycek outside an unfamiliar nightclub called Cheaters; their arms were around each other and they were obviously laughing. The photo was sitting on my desk this morning – sent anonymously, of course – digital date and time crystal clear in the lower right-hand corner. I still didn't know if it had been left by a friend or an enemy. "Now tell me what you were doing with Alex Krycek," I repeated, more forcibly.
He settled back in the chair, crossing his right leg over his left before mumbling, "It's not important, Sir."
"I'll decide whether something is important or not, Agent Mulder," I informed him, brusquely. "Just answer the question." My tone clearly indicated refusal was not an option.
His large eyes now burned with an indignant fire as he responded snippily, "Sir, with all due respect, what I do outside this office on my personal time is my own business, and . . . ."
"And that includes being seen in the company of a man who's a known felon and enemy of the government?" I cut in angrily. "Now tell me what you were doing with Krycek, dammit!"
Mulder lowered his eyes and took a deep breath. He had bluffed as long as he could, and he knew it. Without looking up, he sighed, "He . . . gives me things I can't get anywhere else."
"What do you mean? He gives you information?" I inquired, seeking clarification.
That caused him to glance back up and give me a wry grin. "Not exactly, Sir."
I could feel my jaw clenching as I growled, "Mulder, I'm quickly losing my patience."
"You know, I'm not sure if we should be having this conversation here," he commented, suddenly. "The walls have ears."
"Not since your friends started sweeping the place once a week," I informed him, gruffly.
That got his attention. "Friends? You mean the Gunmen?"
I shrugged nonchalantly. "Hey, when you want the job done correctly, you get the best, right?" With a snort of laughter, I added, "I swear, Mulder, those three are more paranoid than you are, and that's saying a lot."
"I think I've just been insulted," he smirked.
"You were . . . and you still didn't tell me what's going between with you and Krycek."
The smile disappeared. Another awkward pause. Another deep breath. Another sigh. And then the confession, said so softly, I almost missed it. "He's my . . . I'm sleeping with him, okay? Are you satisfied now?"
The rage and jealousy I felt at the sound of those words scared the hell out of me. Alex Krycek and Fox Mulder? MY Fox Mulder?! How dare he! If the Rat Bastard was here I'd kill him with my own bare hands. But I hid that reaction from the man who sat less than three feet from me. Putting on my best poker face I growled, "Christ, Mulder, just when I think you can't surprise me anymore. Are you telling me you have sex with Alex Krycek to get information out of him?"
He lowered his eyes once more, a faint reddish glow painting his cheeks. "At first, but now . . . ." The sentence trailed off, then with a bitter laugh, he finished, "I guess you could say he's my boyfriend."
BOYFRIEND? Did he just say Krycek was his 'boyfriend'? That implied a lot more than just trading sexual favors in his pursuit of 'the truth'. The fact that Mulder would do that was bad enough, but this . . . this meant . . . oh, God . . . . "Mulder, are you telling me you're gay?" I tried to keep my voice low, steady, unaffected. Hard to do when your heart is hammering away in your chest so hard you could stroke out at any moment.
"Gee, Sir, what happened to 'don't ask, don't tell'?" he responded, dryly.
I released a long-suffering groan. "For once, can't you answer a simple question?"
He shifted uneasily in his chair. "It's not such an easy question, Sir. I mean, I experimented in college, but that ended when I went off to the Academy. I thought it was just a phase, but . . . ." A deep sigh, accompanied by a rueful shrug, then he added sardonically, "I figured I was straight, but I guess I lean further to the left than I thought."
I massaged absently at my temples, already feeling a massive Mulder-migraine taking hold. "Mulder, are you out of your mind?"
His eyes lifted to look at me and he tipped his head slightly to one side, reminiscent of a curious puppy. "Is that another simple question you want me to answer?"
Shaking my head incredulously, I muttered, "I can't believe we're sitting here having this discussion. Alex Krycek, of all people."
"Sir, you don't understand . . ." he began, plaintively.
"No, you're right. I don't understand. Don't you see you're playing with fire here, agent?"
He seemed to ponder that over for a moment before responding, "I've played with fire before and I've come out of it with just a few singes. I know what I'm doing."
Looking him right in the eye, I commanded softly but firmly, "Stop seeing him."
"But Sir, I . . ." he started to argue.
I slammed my fist angrily on my desk, a bit more melodramatic than I liked, but this called for desperate measures. "That's an order, Agent Mulder," I growled in my surliest A.D. tone. "I know you have a hard time following them, but I highly recommend that you obey this one."
Fury once more flared in those bright incandescent eyes. "Why? Will you drum me out of the F.B.I. if I disobey?" he sneered.
"I won't have to. You'll be dead before I have a chance to finish the paperwork."
"Alex won't kill me," he proclaimed, defiantly.
"How can you be so sure? You can't tell me you actually TRUST this murderous traitor?" I asked, cautiously.
He paused just long enough to release a resigned breath, then said, "No. I don't trust Krycek."
"Then how can you POSSIBLY be in a relationship with him?" I demanded.
Long elegant fingers laced themselves over his crossed knee. "I think the word, 'relationship' is a bit more serious than what we have."
I just glared at him over my glasses. "Mulder, what you two have is deathly serious. Emphasis on 'death'."
"I told you – Krycek would never hurt me," he reiterated, confidently.
"So you DO trust him?"
"No. And he doesn't trust me. That's why we're the perfect couple."
Oh, yeah. One major Mulder-migraine coming right up. "If you'll excuse me, agent, that is the dumbest fucking thing I've ever heard you say. And that covers a lot of ground."
"Thank you, Sir. I try my best," he shot back, acerbically.
This was just going from bad to worse. I only wanted to protect Mulder, save him from himself, not get into a battle of angry words. I went in with good intentions, tried to keep my own personal feelings out of it, but the more I thought of Alex Krycek touching Mulder – MY Mulder – I wanted to throttle the Russian son of a bitch. Deciding to change tactics, I offered some practical advice. "Why can't you just find someone else, Mulder? I mean, there's got to be thousands of handsome, young, willing men in Washington. Why Krycek?"
He bit down on his lower lip, worrying it between straight white teeth; I bit down a whimper of desire at the sight. How many times over the years have I watched him make that same nervous motion? How many times have I wanted to just grab him by the lapels of his expensive suit jacket and pull him to me, crushing my mouth to those luscious full lips? My God, did the man even know how sexy he was when he did that? Did he have any clue what he did to me?
All these years, I never made a move. All these years, I never dared to dream that there could ever be anything more between me and Mulder than a boss and subordinate relationship – and not just because it was unethical or because I was married. All these years, I never worked up the courage to tell him how I felt about him.
All these years, I never knew the real Fox Mulder . . . and he didn't know the real me.
I was so lost in my futile musings that I almost missed his answer to my question. "Because, we both know what we're getting," he explained, logically. "I don't have to worry about Alex being a plant for the Consortium because I already KNOW he's a plant. And likewise he doesn't have to worry that I'm working for his enemies because he's already aware of where my loyalties lie."
"But do *I* know anymore?" I said softly, almost absently.
A hurt expression flickered over his face, dulling the brilliance of those eyes. "Sir. What Krycek and I have is strictly hormonal. I swear to you – I would never betray the F.B.I. or my country."
"Convincing me is one thing – convincing OPR if they ever get wind of your 'arrangement' will be something completely different." I pushed my glasses up, rubbing at the bridge of my nose; I took the time to carefully choose my next words, hoping to make him understand just how serious this situation was while not revealing too much how badly his revelations had me reeling. "Mulder, if you won't listen to me as your superior, then listen to me as your friend. Break it off with Krycek as quickly as possible. For your own sake and safety. Alex may not hurt you, but he's made a lot of enemies over the years, including members of his own organization. The longer you're with him, the more danger you're in. And frankly, I don't want to have to send Agent Scully out to ID your body some night."
"You wouldn't do it yourself, Sir? You wound me," he fired back, flippantly.
And with that statement, I knew my hands were tied. Jesus Christ, he was a grown man. He had to make his own way, make his own mistakes. Besides, he was right – his personal time WAS his own. And I couldn't be certain if my motives in this meeting were completely pure or simple jealousy. Deep in my heart, I knew Krycek was bad news, but there was nothing I could do to make Mulder listen to me. To him, I was nothing but his hard-assed boss.
And that depressed me to no end.
"Dismissed, agent," I sighed wearily, with a wave of my hand towards the closed door. "Just promise me you'll watch your back, okay?"
"Yes, Sir," he replied, for the first time since the meeting began without a sarcastic lilt to it. He stood up and started to leave, but stopped just as he got to the door. Without looking back, his hand resting on the doorknob, he mumbled, "You know, Sir, it's not as easy as you think it is. To just walk away from something that – that's been missing all your life. That you didn't even KNOW was missing." And with that, he opened the door and left.
"Don't be so sure of that, Mulder," I muttered sadly, then turned my attention back to my work.
Mulder's Apartment
That Night:
All day long I puzzled how Skinner could have found out about me and Krycek. We had done everything we could think of to be discreet – even meeting in bars and nightclubs out of town, just to be on the safe side. Hell, if Skinner thought the Gunmen were more paranoid than I was, he didn't how bad Alex could be.
Skinner. Just thinking about him sent a familiar tingle of forbidden desire down my spine. A hundred times more forbidden and dangerous than my trysts with Alex. For years I had ignored them, or perhaps repressed is a better word. Feelings so taboo and suicidal to my career they had to be locked away. Only after Krycek entered the picture did I take them out, examine them, cherish them.
Jesus, did Krycek know how I felt about Skinner? Could he have read something in me that even I didn't know was there? Was that why I had been such an easy mark for him? Did he know he was nothing more than a substitute for the man I really wanted?
And what would he do if I broke it off with him? COULD I break it off with him? Was I in too deep, as Skinner seemed to think? Or was it more than just the politics of our arrangement? Maybe I didn't want to end it – maybe I wasn't ready to go back to a life of enforced celibacy. After all, I couldn't deny that I enjoyed our sexual romps, and I'd be less than honest if I didn't admit it was pretty good sex. Alex and I were fuck-buddies – without the burdensome 'buddy' part. It was a handy outlet for us both, and I couldn't be sure I was strong enough to let it go.
So many thoughts, so many emotions running through my brain. So many that I almost jumped a foot off the couch when a knock echoed from my front door – luckily I was able to keep the girly scream at bay. Taking a moment to clear my head, I hopped off the couch to go answer the door. One look through the peephole and I almost changed my mind.
"Sir? What are you doing here?" I asked hesitantly as I swung the door open to reveal my visitor. Our earlier confrontation was still fresh in my mind, and quite frankly, I didn't think I was up to round two at the moment.
Not waiting for an invitation, he just stormed right past me, brushing one arm across my chest as he did. Turning to face me he demanded, "What does he give you?"
He looked different somehow, and it had nothing to do with his casual attire. The impeccably tailored Brooks Brothers suit was gone, replaced with a burgundy crewneck sweater stretched tight over his massive chest, and a pair of well-loved blue jeans hugged his muscular thighs like a second skin. Nice. VERY Nice.
It took me a second to figure out what was really different, though – he wasn't wearing his glasses. Instead, naked brown eyes the color of melted chocolate bored through me, reaching down into my soul.
Forbidden and dangerous.
"Who?" I asked stupidly, licking my suddenly dry lips.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he replied impatiently, "Krycek. You said he gives you things you can't get anywhere else. What is it? Spankings? Beatings? Domination? Leather games?"
I must've stared at him for a full minute, my mouth hanging down to the floor as I replayed his words in my head. "Where'd you get those ideas?" I finally managed to get out.
Glancing away, he stated, haltingly, "Your . . . hobby . . . is far from secret, Mulder. I've seen the magazines myself."
I didn't know whether to be angry, indignant, or nauseous. In the end, I went for all three. "When?" I sputtered.
Arms uncrossed and hands slipped into the front pockets of his jeans as he turned his gaze back in my direction. Jesus, it should be against the law to look that sexy. I'd dump Krycek like a hot potato for just one night with Skinner – but that wasn't likely to happen in this lifetime. "The last time you disappeared," he explained, easily. "I searched the Basement looking for clues . . . I found the magazines in your desk drawer." With a ghost of a smile, he added, "You really shouldn't leave those things lying around the office – Scully might find them."
"How do you know they aren't Scully's in the first place?" I teased.
"Always the joker," he sighed, sounding almost disappointed.
Now it was my turn to glance away, mumbling, "Not always, Sir."
It grew quiet between us; all I could hear was the soft exhale of Skinner's breath, and the steady hammering of my own heart. Finally, just as the silence had become stifling, I felt my chin being tilted gently with one finger until I was looking at him once more, captivated by those dark brown pools of light. In a low husky growl, he uttered, "Look, I . . . I can't give you those things, Mulder. Won't give you those things. All I can give you is . . . my . . . myself."
The finger dropped away as he closed his eyes, and rubbed both hands tiredly over his face. Almost to himself he muttered, "Fuck, this was a bad idea. Forget I was here." In the next instant, he was already past me and opening the front door.
My head was spinning. What the hell was going on here? It was all so surreal, I could almost believe I was hallucinating the whole thing. But I could still feel the warmth where his finger had rested on my chin, smell his expensive cologne hanging in the air. He was definitely real, and I wasn't about to let him leave just yet – not until he knew the truth.
Nimbly I reached around him and closed the door. He turned back, startled. "It's not what you think, Sir," I began, looking him right in the eye. "I mean, sometimes when we've gotten out of control, it's been a little rough. And maybe we've broken out the handcuffs a couple of times but that's Krycek's kink, not mine."
"And the magazines?" he inquired, quirk of an eyebrow.
A burning blush prickled my cheeks as I confessed, "I find them hot, but I'd never want to try any of that stuff. Fantasy is one thing – reality is something else. I don't get off on pain." At that, he released a sigh that seemed vaguely relieved.
Taking a step towards him, I continued, "Look, you want to know what Krycek gives me, right? It's pretty simple: he rotates my tires when I need it, and I do the same for him. That's all. We know that when we're horny, we just place a call and we've got a partner for the night. We don't trust each other, but we do know each other. And given the alternative of picking up a total stranger for a one-nighter – someone working for Cancerman who could easily assassinate us once the screaming is done – it's probably the safest sex either of us can have."
A dark shadow crossed over his face momentarily. I hated having to remind him of that dead prostitute – just an innocent woman killed by our enemies and left in his bed to frame and discredit him. But at least now he understood where I was coming from. Yeah, I'm paranoid, but that's only because they keep giving me reasons to be.
Even as he tried to regroup from my remarks, I advanced another step until I was standing within his personal space. "Now, what did you mean when you said all you can give me is yourself?" I asked quietly, curiously.
I didn't think it was possible for Walter 'Hard-ass' Skinner to blush, but I'll be damned if that's not exactly what he did. Trying to cover up his obvious discomfort, he coughed once before saying, "Mulder, you said you and Alex are together because you mutually mistrust each other, that you both know where the other stands. Basically, you have nothing to lose. Well, I've got everything to lose, and I'm here anyway."
My heart started pounding even harder; I thought for sure he'd be able to hear it where he stood. "Sir, I don't quite understand . . ." but my voice gave out, and the sentence remained unfinished.
Eyes unguarded and vulnerable and dark like the black velvet of an Elvis painting seared through me. And suddenly I was transported back three years, to that day in the Basement when Skinner came to inform me he was refusing my resignation. That was the first time I remember seeing him without his glasses, the first time I understood the power of those naked eyes, and why he kept them hidden from the world. "You're not the only one with secrets, Mulder," he said softly. "You're not the only one who knows how hard it is to deny a part of yourself. To deny what you want. To deny your desires."
Dreamlike, I watched as if from outside my body as he reached out and carefully cupped my face in those large, strong hands. "You know where I stand, Fox," he whispered in a voice so tender and sexy that I didn't even mind the use of my hated first name. "You know I have as much to lose as you do, even more, in fact. And you know you can trust me. I'm not looking for a lifetime commitment, but I'm also not just looking to have my tires rotated. You mean much more than that to me." And then, in slow motion, soft-focus, with harps and flutes playing in the background in the grandest of Hollywood traditions, he leaned forward and pressed his lips gingerly to mine.
I momentarily stood in shock, not believing that my most forbidden fantasy was coming true. Somewhere in the back of my mind, in the tiny part that was still functioning, I knew I was in serious trouble, but I could barely work up the enthusiasm to care. Fuck the F.B.I. Fuck the career. Fuck everything. Walter Skinner was kissing me.
Life couldn't get much better than that.
Krycek rarely kissed me, and when he did, it was an arrogant act, one of victory or ownership. Not Skinner. His kiss was pure passion and need and desire. I felt my legs turn to jelly, my knees almost buckling under the onslaught. A shiver trickled down my back and I sensed that if I continued in this madness, I could easily be reduced to ashes from his heat and intensity.
After a moment or two, I gave up the fight and immersed myself in his fervor, not caring if all they ever found of us were the charred remains. A lion's growl rumbled in his throat as I opened my mouth and shyly licked at his lips. He took the hint and soon his tongue was dueling with mine. It felt so good, and I let myself succumb to the pleasure flowing through me, the last of my self-control quickly evaporating. I simply collapsed in his arms, crushing myself to that warm, muscular chest, as years of unprofessed yearnings and emotions were finally expressed in the most basic of terms.
I couldn't tell you how long we stood there, lost in our embrace. All I know for sure is too soon, far too soon, we found ourselves starved for oxygen and reluctantly drew apart. A calloused thumb caressed my lower lip as I sighed happily and gazed up at my handsome boss through lust-dazed eyes. Mother goddamn, if only his kiss could turn me inside out, what would happen if we . . . when we . . .?
The thought never got a chance to fully form. As I stood there, drugged stupid, his hand patted my cheek affectionately and he murmured, "The choice is yours, Fox." One final gossamer-like brush of his lips on mine, and he was gone.
It took me a couple of minutes before I managed to make my way over to my couch on shaky legs, and collapse into the soft, worn-out cushions. Hundreds of thoughts flashed through my head, flickers of pictures from the last few minutes, as Skinner's words and promises bounced around my brain. What he was offering me was everything I had ever dreamed of having – maybe more. I wasn't delusional enough not to see the dangers and pitfalls of his offer – if OPR ever found out, it'd be both our asses – but sometimes the heart overrules your head.
This was one of those times.
Decision made, I picked up the phone, my hand sweaty as I dialed the familiar number. And as it began ringing, I started to formulate what I was going to say when Krycek picked up.
The End