(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.