Title: Delusions
Author: kbk
E-mail: killedbykindness@hotmail.com
Notes: This kind of changes tenses, perspectives, styles... Written for the Through A Cube Darkly: Field Trip challenge at the cube - challenge day 25/01/03. Write M/K based on the ep "Field Trip" - Mulder and Scully hallucinating while being digested by a giant underground fungus. I tried to make it fit in with canon. Just because. And this is actually my first M/K.

I don't know why I'm surprised to see Mulder walking blithely into danger, but I am. I suppose I thought he might have learned a little something from our time working together; or, just possibly, the many years of training and experience he has behind him. But no. Mulder goes running straight into the dark, mysterious cave, not bothering to leave any kind of message, and with no consideration for anyone who might happen to have orders to follow him. Anyone in this case being me. And me not being particularly enthusiastic about small, dark, dank places. But orders are orders. And with Scully off doing whatever she's doing, it's the perfect opportunity for me to nab Mulder. I'd rather not, to be honest. He's much more amusing as a thorn in the side of the old men. While his interview with them would surely be a floorshow worth selling tickets for, it would also most likely end with his death. Or at least a mind-wipe, and they aren't exactly pleasant. Trust me. I know.

I, on the other hand, am perfectly alert as I creep into the cave on Mulder's trail, all senses extended, moving quietly and precisely over the uneven ground. Caution abandoned as soon as I see that yes, he's in trouble again. I knew not to leave him alone within half an hour of meeting him, and Scully has yet to work it out? I worry about that woman sometimes. And not in the sense of being concerned for her safety. Her rationality, perhaps. But there he is, up against the wall, with… something… oozing over him. The somewhat poisonous yellow colour of the gunk has no associations for me, so I reach in with my left hand – no sense in ignoring your assets, and I'm really not all that keen on finding out what that stuff feels like – and hook it around his arm. A few brief tugs inform me that he's fairly securely fixed to the wall. I holster my gun, get a better grip with my real hand, and yank. He shifts a little. One more good pull, and he is out of the slime. Unfortunately – or not, as the case may be – my sense of balance is still the tiniest bit compromised by the prosthetic, so Mulder's limp form collapsing against mine sends us both crashing to the ground. I, of course, bear the brunt of the impact.

* * *

"Krycek! What the hell are you doing here?" Mulder had recognised the hard body under his own without conscious thought, and filed this realisation away for further thought when he was far, far away.

"Saving your ass. Again." The cocky tilt of the other man's head as he lay quietly on the ground was infuriating, and it took a moment for Mulder's brain to catch up with his mouth. "You son of a bitch, you… what?"

A smug grin accompanied the words, "Look around you." Mulder raised his head to glance quickly around the cave, using his weight to keep Krycek pinned down. "Where did he go?" he asked, supplementing his comment on anticipating a question with, "Wallace Schiff, he was here just a second ago."

"He was one of the skeletons they found, right?" Krycek questioned – as if he hadn't most likely been given more detailed files than Mulder had.

"It was a decoy. The aliens wanted to keep them as long-term subjects, so they left the fake skeletons in order to…"

Krycek cut the older man off. "Mulder. Mulder! The Schiffs died."

"No, the skeletons were…"

"No, they weren't. The Schiffs died," the younger man repeated patiently.

"No, I saw them…" the agent protested.

"You really didn't," Krycek said with a smirk.

"I was just questioning Angela…" Mulder's voice trailed off.

"And what happened then?"

"I… don't remember."

"I pulled you out of the slime and you stopped hallucinating. Shame, really, you seem to have such fun when you're doped up." Krycek's face had a nasty smirk on it as he invited recollections of an evening years before.

"Fun like kicking your ass? You killed my father!"

"Yeah. I killed your father." Though his voice was neutral, Krycek's eyes gleamed a little in the dark. Mulder took him by the collar and pulled his head up to shout in his face, "Why, you cocksucking whore?" His attack didn't seem to move the other man, and he replied calmly, "Because that's what I was told to do."

"Tell me why, goddamnit! Why did you kill him?"

"Orders," the assassin reiterated.

Mulder tightened his grip on Krycek's collar and slammed his head into the ground in punctuation of his words. "Why. Did. They. Want. Him. Dead?"

"I don't know," Seeing Mulder preparing for another assault, Krycek stalled. "Hey, hey, I… I can guess, all right? He was going to talk, and you would either have been in or dead, and neither of those things are on the short-term agenda."

"Shit." Mulder abruptly rolled off the other man and deliberately slammed his own head against the ground.

"Don't," Krycek told him, skimming his hand lightly over the dirt-covered hair. Mulder looked up in surprise at the affectionate touch, and his eyes widened further as Krycek sat up enough to lean over his body, eyes raking over his prostrate form. Mulder swallowed dryly, then gasped in shock as Krycek dipped his head to place a gentle kiss on the agent's brow. "Don't hurt yourself," he expanded, and dropped another kiss on the same spot before lowering his head to rest it on Mulder's shoulder. Mulder stared upwards, blankly incredulous. "Can I hurt you?" he asked.

* * *

Krycek: once more pinned to the ground and breathing hard; glittering eyes dilated, dark behind thick eyelashes; head tipped slightly back, exposing the neck that just begged to be bitten (so Mulder did, bit down hard over the Adam's apple, drew blood and moved on, teethmarks leading down to the junction of neck and shoulder, out along the collarbone as the shirt was pushed back, exposing sculpted flesh that was pale and pristine for the marking); body hard and unyielding (undulating and writhing, wanton, delighting in each touch, silently begging to be used, to be touched and hurt and bitten and beaten and fucked); impressive bulge in his pants.
Mulder: moving, hands ungentle as they strip both men to the waist, teeth closing around a nipple to garner a less-than-manly whimper, caresses that fall just short of punches, guttural curses husked from his lips between bites, hips grinding down to rub erections together, achingly hard.

"Why are we doing this?"
"Why not?"

A hand between their bodies, now, flies being unzipped to leave flesh on flesh, surrounded by flesh, and it's the best thing Alex has ever felt because it's just crazy, he wouldn't believe it himself if he wasn't right here, but he is, and that's Mulder on top of him rasping out insults and encouragement in the same ragged breath, Fox Mulder, Spooky, "you-killed-my-father-you-rat-bastard-you-betrayed-me-I-hate-you-you-son-of-a-bitch" with his hands grappling with the fabric of Alex's pants and his teeth digging into the flesh of Alex's stomach.

"You're not going to shoot me for this, are you?"
"Depends if you've got any condoms."

And the next time Mulder actually pauses and takes in the situation, he's naked and kneeling between Krycek's legs with two of his fingers covered in slick and teasing across the asshole presented to him by the tilt of a limber body. It's not exactly what he had planned for the afternoon. But he pushes his index finger in anyway, and as the heated muscles grasp his finger he aches to be buried balls-deep in the man. Two fingers scissoring inside and he doesn't want to wait a single instant longer, but who knows where the man before him has been? He quickly unrolls a condom over his own cock, thankful that at least one of them was prepared for this eventuality, and tells Krycek to turn over. He might be able to forget just how wrong this is if he doesn't have to look at that deceptively open face.

"You ready for this?"
"You care?"

And suddenly he's just pushing in, and Alex grits his teeth against the pain as they still for a moment, just waiting. He almost laughs at the thought that this is perhaps the first time they have been so quiet together, so in accord. The sound emerges anyway, choked off into a groan as they begin to move, Mulder setting a fast rhythm that is just what Alex didn't know he needed. He's spiralling higher with every hit on his prostate, and he takes a hand off the floor to jerk himself off, the drag of the muck on his palm only adding to the rawness of the encounter.

And then it stops.

* * *

"C'mon, Krycek." The voice is harsh and totally out of context. "Wake the hell up, you bastard! Do you fuck up everything you touch, or is it just when he's around?"

Alex, dazed, doesn't even bother opening his eyes. While the voice may be unfamiliar, the tone and the words aren't. Consortium thug. "Mulder?" he queries, though he knows he shouldn't show any sign of caring. "Redhead bitch went in for him ten minutes after I pulled you out. Leave it."

Protesting would just make things worse. He lets go of consciousness with a feeling of relief.

* * *

"Assistant Director Skinner! You might be interested to know that your two favourite agents are currently being digested underground in North Carolina. I already pulled my man out. You might think about doing the same."

* * *

Chemical burns or not, Mulder signs himself out of the hospital as soon as he can and heads for home. A leather-clad figure is waiting on his sofa. Mulder pulls out his gun and starts yelling, wondering about the possibility of the Consortium having planted a bug inside his very brain – telepaths, perhaps, monitoring his hallucinations?

Alex stands, silently displays his own weaponry and leaves a wide berth around Mulder as he slinks out of the apartment. He doesn't know why he expected anything else.