X/Story: 29 June 1998
ArchiveX: 13 July 1998
Drown I: Your Blue Room
Spoilers: Not really.
Rating: PG-13 (still no smut, sorry)
Summary: Close my eyes/And hold so tightly/Scared of what the morning brings...
I couldn't think of anything else for the summary, so I used a line from The Cure's "Three Imaginary Boys." This is kind of an add-on to the Burn trilogy.
Your Blue Room
The moon is crying, Mulder thought, somewhat nonsensically, gazing out the window. The sky was hovering near rain, the clouds framing and obscuring the moon heavy and blue, damp. He let his eyes wander from the pregnant sky to the bedside clock. 3:37 am, in vivid-neon grey letters. He closed his eyes, turning to wrap an arm around the warm figure beside him on the mattress.
Did anyone ever tell you your ears are pointed, Alex?
I could take that to mean more than it does, of course. You've lured me out of the safety of the city and into the dark forest, entranced me. Bewitched. But I don't want to make excuses like that anymore. It's a cop-out. I wanted this. Needed it.
Besides, we're still in the city. A city; not sure which one. A cheap motel room is not a forest, though there are about as many insects in the bathroom as one would expect to find in the dankest marsh.
Mulder shifted as Krycek turned in his sleep to face him, face pressed to Mulder's collarbone. One of them sighed; Mulder didn't know who. He slid his hand up Krycek's hip, up his chest and neck, lifting it to rub the pads of his fingers across Krycek's jaw, learning the curves of bone and texture of skin. Teaching himself. This was all so new. He bent his head, licked the skin his fingers had just traveled, tasting the salt of sweat and a faint, chemical flavour of aftershave. Nasty stuff, he thought. He'd never really thought about it until now. He cupped the point of Krycek's chin in his palm, turning his head to the side, and tested the velvet nub of an earlobe with the tip of his tongue. Not so different. He tilted his own head and pressed his lips to the coal-dust sweep of eyelashes; this was different. No woman could have eyelashes like that. He gasped, more a rush of breath than a sound, as those lashes fluttered against his mouth, butterfly kissing. Krycek blinked, a faint frown crossing his face, and then his sleepy eyes were smiling at Mulder. "Hey."
"Why me, Krycek?" He didn't know where the question came from, to break the comfortable quiet between them. With his eyes on the ceiling, he couldn't see Krycek's shrug, but he felt it, smooth skin rubbing and shifting against his own.
"I need to trust someone, Mulder. Why not you?" His eyes lost their humourous twinkle, flitted away from Mulder's face, lighting on the closet door across the room. "The truth? You draw me. I just couldn't stay away."
Need. Fate. No choice. Mulder was thinking. Was that why I always wanted to be near him? Even to hit and to 'hate'? He rubbed his mouth across Krycek's eyelids, feeling the sleek, slick skin against the oversensitised flesh of his lips. "So what are we going to do now?"
Krycek tilted his head up, pressed his lips to Mulder's in a fleeting kiss, then another, and another, and two more. We've burned our boats, he thought. "I don't know. I don't know." I gave up everything for you. I've followed you around the world. We haven't even really made love yet. I gave up everything for a spark, to cup your flame in my hands and hope not to be burned too badly. "We keep going. We live."
Mulder blinked, slipping his fingers through Krycek's silky brown hair, nuzzling it and stroking it against the side of his face. "That's all?"
"Is there anything else we can do?" And there was the smile again, wistful in its simplicity this time. I love you. I'm sorry.
No. We have no way of knowing what comes next. We've thrown ourselves into the abyss. I'm scared. But I'm not sorry.
Krycek glanced at the red numbers of the clock, then kissed Mulder's eyelids and held him until he slept again.
X/Story: 30 June 1998
ArchiveX: 13 July 1998
Drown II: Pretending to Swim
Summary: Never quite said what I wanted to say to you...
Another short-short; eventually I will write something long and plotful, but not now. (How long have I been saying that...?) Sequel to "Your Blue Room." I'm calling that, this, and the next to come Drown.
Pretending to Swim
They awoke when it was still dark, the rain falling in quiet spatters on the roof of the motel. Mulder lay in silence in the still, staring at the ceiling, knowing it wasn't the gentle waterfall of the rain that had resurrected him from dreaming. He was acutely aware of his surroundings, his skin seeming to crackle with stored static at the touch of rough woolen blanket, smooth fuzzed skin, linen sheets. He lifted a hand, just holding it in empty space for a moment, testing the weight of his own flesh. And then he waved it in front of his face, as if testing for blindness. The hum of electrical devices seemed deafening, the dull roar of rainfall and the occasional car wooshing by. Say a prayer for those forced to be out driving at this hour.
I should be thinking of Scully now, he thought. Strike that: I should be with Scully. I'm not. I'm lying in a strange bed with the man who killed my father, listening to his breath. Anticipating his touch. Am I dreaming this? Have I finally gone mad?
Sometimes you have to walk away. Let it go.
Krycek's finger traced a line down the center of his nose, giving it a tap at the tip, still maddeningly silent.
Stupid, Mulder. How could you do this?
"You have such a pretty mouth," Krycek wanted to whisper, his fingernail scraping as it skated across the satin-shiny skin. But he kept his own mouth shut, not wanting to break the fragile surface of the quiet. Silence is golden. Or leaden.
He didn't want to think about that.
Mulder turned his head, pressed his face to Krycek's throat, delicately tasting and lapping at the skin. Tracing the faint blue lines of veins and arteries. I could kill you like this, he thought. Just sink my teeth in...
Krycek's hand moved down, stopped over his heart. Their lips met, tongues dancing a sloppy, sweet tango, a slippery ancient motion of desire. Love, even. And their eyes met, Krycek's almost glassy in the dying mist-filtered moonlight. Dewy.
Don't notice. Please.
Mulder's hand covered Krycek's, the rhythm of his heart, their hearts, almost a tangible thing. He closed his eyes, opened them again.
"I hate you, Alex."
Krycek sighed, eyes sliding on moisture away from Mulder's face, out the window. The rain had nearly stopped, and he could see the blue-green light creeping up from the horizon, starting to paint the sky.
X/Story: 3 July 1998
ArchiveX: 13 July 1998
Drown III: Ride?
Rating: PG-13 (Yes, *again*...)
Summary: Trouble in paradise.
The end of the Drown trilogy...fear not, there's more to come...
The sky was an almost painful purple, pregnant with dawn, as they drove. Mulder still didn't know where they were, but he knew it had to be coastal: The road they followed bordered the sea, the deep grey water more alluring than the dark highway. Krycek pushed his foot to the accelerator, as if wanting to outrun something.
Mulder stared out the window at the still-dark side of the sky, the dilapidated houses breezing past. He was thinking about love. How, he thought, does one fall into a feeling? What a silly phrase. I still feel like I'm falling. His hand absentmindedly worked at smoothing the wrinkles from his expensive woolen suit. Krycek looked decidedly more presentable in white t-shirt, blue jeans, black leather jacket and gloves. Mulder had eschewed his tie, not bothering with buttoning his crumpled shirt all the way, and the wind blowing through the cracked-open window whisked down his chest, making him shiver.
"Where are we going, Krycek?" Damn. He hated how husky, raw his voice sounded. Breathy. Needy.
A muscle jumped in Krycek's jaw, and Mulder could feel the car speed up, could almost see the foot bearing down on the pedal. He looked vaguely menacing as always, though the effect was somewhat diminished by the vivid pink rash left by Mulder's stubble blushing his pale face. "Alex," he said. His teeth were clenched, turning the word into a hiss. He was trying not to look at Mulder.
"I told you before. I don't know. We're just...going." He ran a gloved hand back through his hair, feeling it reluctantly push past the leather, tangle slightly. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath.
Mulder's voice was small, scared. "Are you mad at me?"
Krycek's smile was more a grimace. "Why, Mulder, whatever would give you that idea?"
Mulder frowned, eyebrows knotting. "Why?"
"Oh, I don't know," Krycek said, his eyes finally striking Mulder's. "Could be I'm getting sick of being told how much you hate me, but I could be wrong."
"Krycek, you know I..." I'm sorry. What am I supposed to say? I'm supposed to hate you.
"No. I don't." The car skidded to a stop on a shoulder of the road, and Mulder sat, frozen, as Krycek tugged his seatbelt off and opened his door. The slam jerked him, pushed him to motion, opening his own door and running after Krycek, who had run across the abandoned road and was heading toward the beach.
The sun finally burst bright over the horizon, yellow and orange streaking up through the sky, illuminating Krycek and outlining his body like an aura as Mulder watched. He stood on an outcropping leaning out over the water, slowly raising his arms to the sky and the light, turning his face up.
I could push him off, Mulder thought. It would be so easy...no one would even miss him, realise he was gone. And he knows it. He...trusts me?
I could do that. But would I?
Krycek turned, saw him standing there. Mulder could see the telltale trails of wetness running down his face, the crease between his eyebrows. He looks like a different person when he's sad, Mulder thought. Pretty, painful...vulnerable. His face looked flushed, hot. His eyes...god, I wish I could see those colours. They're grey flames. I can't even describe the intensity of that face, those eyes.
With a growl, Krycek reached for Mulder, gripping his shoulders hard as he pushed him to the edge of the small cliff, the heels of his fancy Italian shoes an inch over, the sky blindingly bright behind him, making him a glowing angel, a ghost. All he has to do is slip... Krycek's fingers shook as he held on as tightly as he could.
"Before we go on, you have to know. I didn't kill your father. I was framed. Don't lay that guilt trip on me."
He shook Mulder, watching the panicked expression flash over his face. He closed his eyes, turned his head away for a moment, heard himself making a sharp, keening sound. His voice went soft. "If you fall, I fall too, Mulder."
Mulder's breathing was quick, scared, hitching. "But..."
Krycek's fingers shifted slightly, and Mulder could tell that there would be bruises branding him soon enough. "You made your choice."
Yeah, I guess I did.
Maybe it would be best if we both just fell, right now. Make things a lot easier. But I can't do that to you, Mulder.
Krycek pulled Mulder away from the edge, took him in his arms, staring at the sun over his shoulder. Mulder slumped against him, looking dazedly at the dark sky in the west, the stars that were starting to fade out with the morning light. He listened to the sounds of dawn, the faint sound of birds shrieking with mindless joy, the crash of the sea, Krycek's quiet breathing. He could feel his heart again. The day had come.
but I'm in the process of moving to:
(I'd like to move to Arii or Solace, though... ::gives Ari and Maria pleading looks::)