Pit and Lantern 
By Jessica Harris

Summary: A companion piece to Never See Morning, Krycek's take on the 
same events.

Notes: Many thanks to Spike and Quercus for thoughtful beta, and to 
Nonie for general encouragement and for giving me a home.

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   Later,

It was raining and they got into bed.

O desire, O futile hope, O sighs!

In coal miner's pit and lantern:

The heart, the bright red heart . . .


- Charles Simic
====================================

Mulder was sleeping quietly for once, lying loosely curled on his 
side, one bare leg poking out from under the blankets. A better man, 
thought Krycek as he paused in the doorway, would let him sleep. He 
probably needed it. But then a better man wouldn't have come here like 
this, on the run, in the dead of night, cock hard in his pants before 
he even fumbled the lockpicks from his pocket. 

The apartment was warm, and it felt good after the chill night air 
outside. But as Krycek moved into the room, he was struck by a wave of 
the stale smoky reek that rose from his clothing in the sudden warmth. 
He stopped abruptly, then turned silently back towards the bathroom.

He stood for a long time beneath water hot enough to hurt, scrubbing 
his skin with Mulder's soap, feeling the air grow thick and heavy with 
steam that swirled through the faint glow from the window. He had left 
the lights off. He moved surely in the darkness, now, it was one of 
his skills, and besides, he didn't want to look at his own body, its 
frightening thinness, the scars, the ugly absence where his arm used 
to be. He stood there until the water began to cool, rinsing himself 
one more time, trying to ignore the worry that rose in him at the new 
sharpness of his hip-bones beneath his hands. They hadn't fed him much 
where he had been the past few months, that much was true.  But he had 
seen others waste away with the black cancer, and it was too easy to 
imagine what might lie beneath the growing prominence of his bones, at 
the site of the stubborn ache that settled some nights in his chest, 
making it hard to rise from whatever makeshift bed had offered him a 
few hours rest.

The water was raising goose-bumps on his skin now, and he turned it 
off, telling himself sternly that the scent of cigarette smoke didn't 
linger in his nostrils, that he couldn't still smell the heavy fug of 
rooms filled with ageing, devious men, or the darker stinks of the 
places they had sent him. 

The thought of those places made his chest twinge, and he rubbed it 
gingerly. God, what was he thinking, coming back here?

But even as he wondered his feet carried him back down the hallway, 
back to Mulder's sleeping form. 

He felt a tremor of wakefulness run through Mulder as he settled 
himself next to him, felt tension replace the weight of sleep in the 
other man's carefully unmoving body. Anger would have been easy but he 
resisted, breathing deep until it passed. Then he bit the back of that 
sleep-warmed neck. 

"I can tell you're awake," he said. 

There had been no need to pick the lock tonight. He still had the key 
that Mulder had given him, hidden securely away with the few other 
things he tried to keep hidden from his masters. But it hadn't felt 
right to use it.

That fucking key. He had been so angry when Mulder had offered it to 
him. "I know you don't actually *need* this," Mulder had said, and 
Krycek had felt an unexpected bloom of fury unfold behind his eyes, 
had stood paralysed until Mulder had reached out to him, slid key then 
hand into pocket. And only the fact that he could push Mulder down on 
the bed again and bury himself in that warm and living body had kept 
him from doing something darker, something to wipe out what he had 
seen flickering in those changeable eyes. 

He had been naked again in what seemed like seconds, Mulder groaning 
beneath his full weight as it bore him down, as Krycek roughly jacked 
those long legs up to Mulder's chest and braced himself against them. 
Mulder had still been slick from their first time that night but 
Krycek had worked three fingers into him more roughly than he needed 
to, feeling Mulder's body spasm in surprise then give way. He twisted 
knuckles against prostate and felt his own breath hiss out of him at 
the jerk and twitch of the other man's body, the complex movement he 
could trace from the inside. He had brushed his fourth finger against 
the stretched opening, and the thought came to him that he could just 
keep going, reach right inside this body until his hand closed around 
Mulder's beating heart ...

The intensity of the thought had frightened him and he'd pulled his 
fingers out, making Mulder gasp at the sudden absence. There had been 
that brief fumbling search for the condoms, then, and Mulder, arching 
his hips against him, had panted "Just do it, Alex, I don't care." 

He had even considered it for a moment before refusing, before yanking 
the drawer right out of the bedside table and grabbing the last 
plastic packet from the ground where it fell. And if he had one thing 
he could be proud of, it was that refusal. He knew his own life too 
well to add that to everything else they risked here.

He had thrust hard into Mulder, hard enough to shake his body against 
the headboard, to slam the bed against the wall, and with each thrust 
his thoughts whirled. Of course he didn't *need* the key, what the 
fuck was Mulder thinking, didn't he realise Krycek was dangerous, a 
killer? Didn't he know that even now he could snap his neck in seconds 
if he wanted to? Didn't Mulder realise that he didn't *need* anything 
from him, that what he *wanted* he could *take*, he didn't need 
anyone's fucking permission, he didn't need a godamn *invitation*, you 
don't invite someone like him in, don't just let him in, don't -

And then the thought wouldn't leave his mind,

 //Don't, Mulder. Don't do this.// 

and as Mulder's neck arched and his eyes fell half-shut with pleasure, 
Krycek had grabbed the other man's chin and forced his face back 
towards him, holding his gaze as if this way he could make him *hear* 
the thought, as if his eyes could tell him, 'cause christ, he couldn't 
say the words. 

He couldn't. 

It had been lunacy to come here in the first place, he never should 
have come here at all. But the first time had been one of those nights 
when the knowledge that everyone wanted him dead made him a little 
crazy. He had started to wonder if maybe it hadn't already happened, 
if he *was* dead, and just hadn't stopped moving long enough to 
notice.

And somehow he'd found himself at Mulder's apartment. Maybe he'd given 
up and wanted to get it over with, maybe he'd thought that trading in 
a life could get him his own back, maybe he'd just wanted to know if 
anyone could still see him. He couldn't even remember himself. And 
whatever plans he might have made had vanished when he touched Mulder 
and felt him respond.

Yes, even through his struggle he'd responded, and then the struggle 
had dropped away, and as Mulder twined fingers in Krycek's hair and 
nearly sucked all the breath from his lungs, Krycek had felt a fierce 
dark victory. Fighting their war might have twisted and crippled him, 
he might be as good as dead already, but he wouldn't go quietly.

And he wouldn't go alone. He would take Mulder with him. He'd 
eradicate the only thing that still reminded him of who he once could 
have been.

So he'd returned the second time with a swagger and the bitter 
certainty that this at least was his, the power to corrupt. That 
certainty had faltered, though, as he watched the gold flecks in 
Mulder's eyes brighten with passion, as he saw a light beneath the 
layers of damage that even he couldn't darken. He'd promised himself 
then that he wouldn't come back, that this was a foolish weakness and 
a gift to both their enemies.

But like most of his promises it was a lie, and he'd gone back again 
and again and again, until Mulder slid that key into his pocket.  

He'd only used the key once. One time, before returning to his 
masters, and as they had moved against each other in the darkness 
Mulder had cried out "Alex!" in such tones that Krycek's spine had 
turned to icicles and he'd fled as soon as he was able.

He'd thought it was the last time. But now here he was, and tonight 
Mulder said nothing and kept his back turned even as he arched at 
Krycek's touch, and when Krycek's hand closed around his cock the 
groan that came from him was dark and aching.

He tried to pull Mulder closer but the other man turned over, arching 
his ass towards him, and Krycek ran a hand between his cheeks, 
stroking, then followed it with his mouth, tongue against his asshole 
then in it, right inside him. He could feel Mulder start to shake and 
he dove in deeper, he didn't usually do this but with Mulder he wanted 
to, wanted to know all his dark and secret places. 

The shakes turned to rhythmic tremors, Mulder was rubbing himself 
against the mattress now, whimpering, and Krycek eased a wet finger 
inside him, gentle this time, and finally Mulder spoke, voice ragged:

"Fuck me, Alex."

The sound of his name made his cock throb harder. 

"Turn over," he said "I want you to look at me."

Mulder turned over, face still slightly puffy from sleep, eyes cast 
down as he reached for the condoms, no argument this time, and Krycek 
*hated* to ask for help like this, but there were some things he just 
couldn't do with a single arm. 

Mulder rolled the condom onto him and Krycek nearly lost it right 
there, at the feel of his hands. That made Mulder look though, and 
Krycek waited to see what would show in his eyes, waited for hatred, 
revulsion, pity. But when their eyes met all Krycek could see was an 
echo of his own pain beneath the pale reflection of his face. 

He held Mulder's gaze as he slid into his body and began to move, 
watched Mulder helplessly caught as pleasure stripped the layers away, 
heard his own moans tight and hoarse, he couldn't hold out much 
longer, Mulder's heat tight around him and his body straining up to 
meet him.

His thrusts grew ragged and then there it was at last, the thing that 
drew him here and drove him away and drew him helplessly back again, 
the inviolable living *essence* that rose defenceless in Mulder's 
eyes, and this was why the key had nearly fucking killed him, the 
thought that what he couldn't *take* Mulder might *give*, and he knew 
he wouldn't be able to stop, he'd take and take and take until there 
was nothing left.

And Mulder's eyes shone wide and ageless and gold-green as his body 
moved below him and it was so perfect Krycek thought he might die. So 
he bent to steal breath from Mulder's mouth, and Mulder exploded 
beneath him, spattering both their chests, teeth tearing Krycek's lip 
as he shouted.

With the taste of his own blood in Mulder's mouth panic slammed 
through Krycek's body and he came too, hard and desperate, then 
collapsed gracelessly on top of the other man.

Mulder's heart beat against his ear.  For a moment he let everything 
go and just listened to the sound. Then he felt Mulder tense and 
swallow, prepare to speak, and he braced himself for what might 
follow. 

"You've been gone a long time," said Mulder, with careful neutrality.

Krycek rolled off him, spooned tight against his body, putting off the 
moment he'd have to answer. He could make no guarantees. All he could 
offer was the barest of truths.

"I'm here now." 

After that Mulder was silent, and Krycek felt him drop gradually into 
sleep. It was tempting to follow. His body felt heavy and relaxed, his 
chest was free of pain, and he was tired, so tired. But it was too 
dangerous, and already he could feel the dark undertow of restlessness 
pulling him away from this warmth and ease. He didn't belong here. 
Better not to give in at all. Slowly he eased himself away, feeling 
Mulder shiver in his sleep. His clothes felt dank and unclean against 
his skin as he pulled them on, but he didn't falter. It was better 
this way, better to leave behind the sound of Mulder's steady 
breathing, to close the door behind him without looking back, to be 
gone before the sky began to lighten on another empty day. 

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