Title: Wishful Thinking
Author/pseudonym: Sandra Lee
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: M/K

Archive: No, thank you.
Series/Sequel: Maybe

Disclaimers: You know the drill – Not mine etc <sigh>

Notes: Set near the start of the episode 'Duane Barry'

I wrote this a while ago – in fact it was my first M/K piece. I think you can tell =)

Summary: Just what was Krycek thinking during his poolside encounter with Mulder?


How long did I stand there? I have no idea. One minute? Five? Watching
him from a distance. I slowly made my way down to the pool… pausing
once, for a moment to take a deep breath in the hope that it would help
focus my chaotic thoughts.

I barely had time to look as I approached the edge and waited, and yet
my mind managed to catalogue in those brief seconds how gracefully he
ploughed through the water, how the muscles in his arms strained with
every stroke.

"Agent Mulder!" I called his name as he finished his lap. He gripped the
side of the pool and stared up at me. As he removed his goggles I caught
a glimpse of something I couldn't recognise in his eyes before his
expression once more became guarded.

"Krycek.  What's up?"

Ohhh boy! Was that a leading question. One I wouldn't, couldn't answer.
Definitely ironic considering my previous musings, but he would never
know that. Only through practice did I manage not to betray my thoughts
and feelings in word or deed.

I watched him rise from the water, the liquid flowing over his pale
Skin, droplets catching in the small patch of hair across his
Chest, sliding over his nicely defined stomach, and dripping down his well
muscled legs. I was suddenly assailed by a powerful mental image of
those wonderful legs slung over my shoulders, his ankles locked behind
my neck. I internally screamed at myself to stop the torment, but of
course it didn't work.

He was completely unaware of how he looked in that minuscule scrap of
red fabric, glistening from the remaining drops of water or his affect
on me, on anyone. That was one of the many things that always intrigued
me about Mulder.  How oblivious he was of his own appeal. He never noticed
the inviting glances he received from quite a few of the women he came
into contact with, or the men. I don't think that even his boss the
great Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner was completely immune to his
charms.  Maybe that's why we never really got along, because I was seen as
competition. Not that it really matters now.

He walked ahead of me, dripping everywhere as I began to explain my
reason for interrupting his swim and was almost surprised at how even my
voice sounded.

"There's a situation going down.  They want you out there right away!"

"What kind of situation?" He looked curious.

"Hostage negotiation"

He stopped and turned slightly to look at me as he reached for his

"And they want *me*?" said in a faintly incredulous tone of voice
accompanied by a slightly surprised expression on his face, as he
started to towel some of the moisture from his hair.

"Yeah!" an intelligent reply.  I was a little disgusted with myself but my
brain was seemingly off-line.

"What for?" muffled by the towel.

I mentally grinned at his appearance; practically naked, dripping water
and his hair all spiky like a 5-year olds from rubbing it with the

I forced my brain back on track.

"The guy escaped a mental institution, he's got four people at gun point
in an office building, claims he's being controlled by aliens!"

I made that statement as if I was reciting it from a book without
sarcasm or disbelief.

He blinked and looked thoughtful.

Only Mulder wouldn't react with disbelief to something like that, but he
did react as always with curiosity. I could almost see his mind ticking
over, processing the information, already working out theories. I had
heard that he was a brilliant profiler, but I only got glimpses of that
side of him from time to time.

He was so open to possibilities, so willing to believe almost anything in
his quest for the truth, so driven that it was almost scary to see, but it
was also one of the things I most admired about him.

His determination would be his undoing.  And I was still so uncertain of
the part I was going to play in it. I would never have thought that
spying on this man would do so much to me. I wanted to refuse but was
now in way too deep for that to be possible. That cigarette smoking
bastard had my leash well and truly tightened. So I would continue to
work for him, continue to spy on Mulder, and hopefully in some small way
find a way to help him. Continue to act like the FBI agent I was
supposed to be and continue to watch him when he wasn't looking.

And now as I wait for him to shower and get dressed I could close my
eyes and dream.

Head thrown back in ecstasy against the whiteness of the pillow, mouth
open in a wordless scream as I pounded into him. Muscles clenching
around me, hands digging into the mattress, a sheen of sweat coating his
body. Leaning over to suck on that full lower lip, nibbling on his
collar bone, arching back, crying out and turning my head to bite the
inside of his thigh.

Slumped boneless in a heap together, whispering words of desire, love.

Mulder has his own truth to find. I have found mine. Each moment more
that I can stay with him I file away for the time I know I must leave
him. Soon, but hopefully not that soon.

I just hope we can make it through this next case.

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