01/18/02
May flow


	The sky was endless here, in the flat prairie land. Forever and ever, the only sight was blue and white and the treetops.

	The spring wind was just shy of harsh, still a bit cold but almost soothing in it's bite. It spoke of re-birth and the coming warmth.

	In his commonly cynical fashion, Mulder was not warmed by this. Too many years and too many unhappy occasions had passed for him to be optimistic in the slightest.

	He was aware of the facts. Despite the deceiving weather, it was December, and spring was not on the way... winter was. He knew that this was just a tease, just a masquerade to fool people into a false sense of warmth. Of security.

	Perfect weather for his meeting with Krycek. The man was all false spring, false security and false reliability. He was the warmth before the blizzard.

	Sure enough, an icy wind blew in, violent, unexpected. Winter, showing it's true colors. On the tail end of the gust, and car pulled up. It came to an undignified stop, kicking up dry dusty dirt in it's wake. Krycek emerged from the cloud of debris, making a Hollywood perfect entrance.

	Mulder almost snickered at the way Krycek strode towards him, leather trench coat fluttering in the wind, eyes and stride intense and serious. What was the other man trying to prove, anyway? After all these years, was it really necessary to play these games with him?

	The history between them felt so heavy, but Mulder only then realized how little time they had actually spent together. Memory had lengthened each memory, stretched each brief meeting into something outside measurable time.

	Maybe it was the significance of each meeting, how the conspiracy always seemed to blossom each time Krycek appeared. Or it could be due to the fact that they came together so rarely; he had entirely too much time to mull over events, to inflate them.

	Perhaps it was just the man himself. The way Krycek looked at him made time something separate and inconsequential to reality, made Mulder boil inside. His emotions would expand and overflow, usually in acts of violence, and Mulder would always feel empty and too warm afterwards.

	Time couldn't change that, and even now Mulder felt the blood begin to rush within him.

	Krycek stared at him... re-acquainting himself with Mulder's face, or trying to read him. Mulder couldn't tell which, and honestly didn't know which would be better.

	"Mulder," Krycek began, "I have important information. It's a matter of life or death..."

	It was a line Mulder was all too familiar with. He knew he was in for a speech like so many others, and he wondered if it was really life or death at all. "Life or death, life or death", he had heard the phrase thrown around entirely too many times, often from the mouth of the man before him.

	And, to be completely honest, he was tired. The flight was too long and he had just come in from another endless case. He had walked in his door and found the letter telling him to come here, and turned straight around. Didn't even take his coat off.

	Now he was dirty and tired, without a hotel room, and entirely unwilling to go off on a quest that might very well be nothing more than a wild goose chase.

	So he watched Krycek's mouth move instead, the way his tongue shifted with his L's, the way his lips pursed when he said Mulder's name. And then he stopped. So Mulder had to look up, meet his eyes.

	"Mulder, are you listening?"

	"No."

	"Why did you even bother coming here if you weren't going to listen?"

	Mulder shrugged, because he really didn't have an answer. Not even for himself. It was just what he always did. Get the mysterious note, go to the meeting, get the tip, follow the tip, have it all fucked up, go home.

	Except, he didn't really feel like following through this time. Didn't really feel like going back to D.C., either. There wasn't even the false promise of spring, there. Just bitter cold. And it felt good to feel warmth on his skin after so long.

	It also felt good to have his blood boil again, he realized. He was sick of feeling numb and dead. Going through the motions and waiting for something to shake him up in a way that didn't make him grieve.

	Maybe he remembered these meetings as lasting longer because he wanted them to. Because he wanted to thaw, to melt and then boil, to feel like he never could with anyone else.

	He didn't understand it, and it was even a little scary. He felt it take him over, felt it rising, blood pounding in his ears. And this time, he went with it, didn't try to hold it back.

	Seeing only the surprised look in Krycek's eyes, he pounced, pushing the other man's shoulders, throwing him to the ground, following him down. Krycek resisted him, and they battled for a moment. Grappling, rolling... it wasn't about throwing punches, not about pain, not this time. 

	Mulder let emotion take over, didn't think at all. He grabbed Krycek, moved over him, and the fight turned into something else. Taking full account of himself, he realized he was harder than he'd ever been, rubbing himself all over the the other man, and then emotion led his lips to Krycek's.

	Krycek had been drawing in a huff of a breath in that moment, and Mulder felt like he was being inhaled, drawn into the other man's mouth. He licked Krycek's lips, and Krycek gasped. They stilled quite suddenly, Krycek's gaze wide and shell shocked.

	Mulder's good sense came kicking and screaming to the forefront, protesting. But every other part of him felt alive as if for the very first time, and he wanted. Just wanted.

	He made his expression as open and honest as he could manage, and leaned in. Stopping when he was nose to nose with Krycek, he waited.

	Krycek's look of surprise turned to suspicion, and then shifted again. Mulder didn't have time to gauge the next emotion before Krycek had put an end to the distance between them.

	As they groped and arched on the dead grass, the cold wind came again, ushering in dark clouds. Krycek wrapped his coat around them both, held Mulder close. December was showing it's true face, but Krycek was warm beneath him.

	And this time, though he had boiled over as never before, he didn't feel empty inside.


The
End


"From the body to the soul
Where our hearts lead we must go
Wherever love may flow "
Dead Can Dance, *Oman*