2360 Hegal Plaza
Apt. #42
Alexandria, Va 23242

Krycek ducked as the picked-over carcass came flying at him. The now defunct turkey landed against the wall, leaving a greasy spatter. Looking around, he grabbed the nearest food item and hurled it across the room. Pickle spears and black olives smacked Mulder dead in the face, the brine streaking down his face like precum. Mulder took a step towards him and flew backwards as his foot landed in what was left of the sweet potato souffle. Alex took the opening and launched himself at the prone man, his chin meeting an extended elbow on the way down. He ducked his head and did his best to wrap himself around the gangly man's limbs, knowing with his weight and strength he could ride Mulder's anger out. A thigh rubbed against his hard-on...once, then twice before it slammed into his crotch. Alex let go and rolled away, waiting for the shock to be replaced by that ice-needle pain. His too-full stomach protested and for a minute he thought he might lose his dinner. Mulder must have thought so, too because when he opened his eyes he noticed the gravy boat placed under his face. Picking himself up he had the chance to blink once before Mulder hit him. A slippery fist glanced off his cheekbone and landed at the outer curve of his ear. Instead of ducking he leaned into it and grabbed Mulder's knees, pulling him down beneath him. Bracing his legs between Mulder's, he grabbed the carving knife and shoved it into the jeans beneath him. Mulder went very still at the first prick of the blade.

"Wise man." Alex grunted as he slit open the seams of the crotch. Pressing the cold steel against Mulder's thigh he used his spare hand to undo his pants. "So, Mulder, which do you prefer? Turkey gravy or creamed corn?"

Mulder bucked under him and hissed as the knife broke the skin. Alex looked down to see the damage and Mulder caught him in the temple with a left hook. Krycek snarled and threw the knife away, hearing it land and skitter under Mulder's couch. Picking the taller man up by his shirt he felt the tiny impact of a few buttons. Yanking harder, the material gave way and Mulder's skin came into view. Already there were bruises forming just above the waistband where Alex had slammed him into the stove. Spinning the man around he pulled him into a low punch, landing a kidney. Mulder's body bowed out and he yelled something unintelligible that probably had to do with Alex's ancestry. Krycek grunted and slammed his shoulder into Mulder's back as his foot came down on Alex's instep. The force carried them towards the table where Mulder landed with his face in creamy mashed potatoes and one hand wrapped around an errant drumstick. Beating it on the table Mulder yelled around spuds as Krycek bent his arm up into a lock.

"Creamed corn it is, then." Mulder struggled as Alex slapped yellow slime across his bare ass where it was exposed. Two fingers pushed the corn into his crease, into his ass where kernels popped from the force of Alex's ministrations. He bit his tongue and decided he would not enjoy this, would not under any circumstance be brought off by creamed corn. Alex pushed his fingers with more force, causing Mulder's erection to scrape against the table edge, jeans providing comfort to the friction. 'Fuck it.' Mulder thought and started thrusting his hip back and forth along the metal trim of the kitchenette. Alex's harsh victory laugh grated his nerves and he lashed out a long leg, catching the chuckling man in the knee. The fingers stopped for a moment then were joined by two more, all mirth drained from the moment. Mulder pressed harder against the table, dropping his drumstick and grabbing the edge. Krycek watched his adversary flex, grunt with each graze against the Formica and metal. He watched as Mulder abandoned himself to it, left him behind and fell into the sensation. Pissed, he pulled his fingers out and smacked Mulder's ass until it burned red. Mulder's face was turned and his brow furrowed in concentration and mashed potatoes. He was holding off on it, holding back. Alex grabbed Mulder's hips and entered him, slowly. So slowly he thought he'd come just from the force of Mulder's clenching. Each time he rasped across the table his ass clamped down. Gritting his teeth he felt his balls bounce off Mulder's as he probed the last few inches. His hips rocked back and forth with the older man's rhythm. 'I may as well not even be here.' He thought angrily. Giving a few testing thrusts he seethed at the lack of response. Grabbing Mulder's hair he shoved his head into the potatoes and held it there, the body beneath him now tense but still. Alex pulled out his length and pounded into him, rocking the table, knocking over wine glasses and cranberry sauce. He lost track of where he was, of time, of all things that weren't the struggling body beneath him. Pulling out one final time he slammed back into him and came, his body jerking from the strain. Letting go of Mulder's head he lay his face against the clammy skin of the still man's back. His ear picking up a low, thready pulse punctuated by short, shallow breaths. Deducing Mulder would live he pulled out and fixed his appearance as best he could. Patches of food were crusting over on his pants and shirt. His jacket would hide most of it. If anyone commented on the rest he'd shoot them...or maybe give them a mean look. He'd decide later, as sweet lassitude was taking him down. Or was it the turkey?

Giving one last look before he left he shuddered at the mess, grateful he wouldn't have to clean it up. Then wished he had a camera on him so he could get a pick of Mulder bent over the table with creamed corn and cum leaking out of his ass and onto the shredded jeans. Committing the image to memory would have to do, he decided and closed the door.

Mulder groaned and tried to lean up, the spots still dancing beneath his eyes. After much maneuvering he managed to seat himself in one of the still-stable chairs. Suddenly he started chuckling, a low barking sound. As he recaptured his breath he was practically howling with laughter. After several minutes of what he would later determine 'post-asphyxiation dementia' he wiped the tears from his face and smiled into the mess of the room... "Creamed corn."

End.