RATING: NC-17. M/K. If m/m interaction bothers you, leave now.
SPOILERS: none at all, at all.
SUMMARY: "'Cause there's a rat under my bed..."
DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, as long as you ask me first.
FEEDBACK: Hell, yes. All feedback can be sent to Viridian5@aol.com
DISCLAIMERS: All things X-Files belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and 20th Century Fox. No infringement intended. Suing me would be a waste of time and a really mean thing to do.
NOTES: Written after some prodding from Te and Small Woodinat Creature.
Songfic a'poppin'! This story includes lyrics from "Copacabana" by Barry Manilow, "Stinkfist" by Tool, and, most prominently, "Destroyer" by the Kinks.
Beta by the loyal and true Orithain.
11/3/98

"Collaboration"
By Viridian5

Sometimes the urge to do something I *knew* to be stupid and dangerous overwhelmed me. You could call it a compulsion toward self-destruction or just plain weariness in sweeping for bugs all the time and watching what I said and did. I didn't go out drinking very often, not with my control issues and paranoia, but once in a while I felt the need to wallow the same way every other poor, working shlub did. Tonight, my drinking had given me another opportunity to endanger myself, a two for one deal.

Her name was Lola / She was a showgirl... I knew the woman at my side was dangerous to me even aside from her name forcing me to recall Barry Manilow tunes. I hadn't thought they still made girls named "Lola." Bottle blond, buxom, dressed like a streetwalker, and dim as a particularly skanky stroke room's lightbulb, she'd looked like trouble the moment I saw her. Five beers later, she'd looked like the kind of trouble I wanted to get into.

It didn't matter what I did or who I pretended to be tonight, because I would never see her again. The thought gave me a feeling of freedom that left me dizzy. Or maybe that was the jello shots...

When I opened the door to my apartment, I was still sober enough to check for waiting gunmen or enigmatic notes. To my relief, none presented themselves. I didn't bother checking for bugs. Hell, let the old bastards watch if they wanted to. I just hoped all that drinking hadn't left me with whiskey dick.

"Sorry, it's the maid's year off," I mumbled.

"You have a bedroom somewhere, Marty?" she asked, her voice a low purr.

I never told my rare pick-ups my real first name. It got me laughed out of the bar too often.

And I did have a bedroom, actually. I just used it and the bed for storage. With my insomnia, I had to stalk sleep like skittish prey, sneaking up on it. In a bed, it was all too obvious what I usually hoped to do, but sitting on a couch in front of a TV was more ambiguous.

When I whipped the top sheet up to scatter the papers off, Lola giggled. Then she reached up and brought my lips down to meet hers. She tasted of cherry lipgloss.

Things happened too fast to follow after that. I heard a loud bang, like a door slamming, then Lola rocked and slumped in my arms. Madly green eyes blazed at me over her bleached-blond, pistol- whipped head. "Mulder, Mulder, Mulder, what am I going to do with you?" Krycek asked.

I put her down on the bed and reached for the Sig in my nightstand. Krycek slapped my hand away with his gun.

"If I'd known you were this desperate--" he started.

"What?"

He just smiled and lifted her skirt. She had a wicked and professional-looking knife sheathed through her right garter belt. "My employers sent me after her because she terminated one of their favorite men. What a time for your paranoia to desert you. She's an assassin and thief, Mulder. Think how it would have looked if you were found murdered and robbed in your own apartment after what was obviously a one-night stand. Bye-bye what little good reputation you still own. What would your sainted mother think?"

"My 'sainted mother'? What do you know? I thought it was my paternity that was in question."

"But we're not bitter, are we? I don't know who put Lola onto you, but it wasn't one of my employers. You're putting together quite a rogue's gallery.

"You're such a smug son of a bitch."

"You wouldn't have me any other waaaaaaay..." he sang softly. As he stepped closer I smelled vodka and peaches on his breath. So we'd both been drinking. This could turn out to be very messy. "Watching the two of you slobber over one another was one of the most torturous things I ever had to sit through, including getting my arm sawn off. I considered waiting to see if you could get it up for her, but even my threshold for pain has limits."

"If you're here for something, Krycek, why don't you just get to it?"

"That may be the best idea you ever had." He laughed and started to circle me like a shark. "There's actually a song about this. Do you remember?"

Yes. "No."

With that soft, dark voice of his, that always sounded like a merging of a growl and a purr low in his throat, he started to sing, "Met a girl called Lola, and I took her back to my place / Feelin' guilty, feelin' scared, hidden cameras everywhere--! / Stop! Hold on. Stay in control..."

I remembered. When he had been my partner, sometimes we'd get a bit boisterous during stakeouts from too much caffeine and too little stimulation--no, let me rephrase that--too little to keep our attention occupied. Then we traded movie dialogue and song lyrics. We'd found out that we listened to a lot of the same music.

He stroked the side of my face with his gun. "Come on, Mulder, I know you know this one," he said, his breath stirring the fine hairs at the back of my neck. Circling, circling... "Girl, I want you here with me / But I'm really not as cool as I'd like to be / 'Cause there's a rat under my bed--"

"That's not right. It's ''Cause there's a red under my bed.'"

I shivered as he chuckled. "I like mine better," he said. . His gun hand started to stroke me, and I arched into his touch. He went on: "And there's a little yellow man in my head / And there's a true, blue, inside of me / That keeps stoppin' me, touchin' ya, watchin' ya, lovin' ya / Paranoia, need destroyer / Paranoia, they destroy ya." His lips teased my neck. "Your turn again, Mulder."

I wasn't interested in his game. Whiskey dick wasn't turning out to be a problem at all. I turned around and pinned him to the wall. I stopped the flow of lyrics with my lips and tasted the wet burn of alcohol, with a tinge of fruit. I bit at his neck, unfastened his jeans, and stroked him, but, while I felt him getting ever harder against me, he refused to touch me any further.

"Don' make me... Damn." I sighed and answered against his neck, "Well, I fell asleep, then I woke feelin' kinda queer..." I could feel his laugh vibrate through his skin. "Lola looked at me and said, 'Ooh, you look so weird' / She said, 'Man, there's really something wrong with you / One day you're gonna self-destruct / You're up, get down, I'll come work you out / You get a good thing goin', then you blow yourself out / Silly boy, ya self-destroyer / Silly boy, ya self-destroyer..."

At some point he must have put the gun down, because his now- empty hand had gone down the front of my jeans and pumped me in reward for each line. It ruined my delivery to have me whimpering like this at his touch, but he didn't seem to care. He couldn't possibly make us go through the whole damned song before he finished me... Could he?

He tripped me onto the bed on my back and landed on top of me, kicking Lola to the floor as he did so. I didn't care anymore. I wanted his mouth, I wanted his cock, and I wanted it all now. "Let me strip for you," I whispered.

He crouched at the foot of the bed, like a vulture waiting for the perfect moment, as I ripped off my boots, jeans, briefs, jacket and shirt. Feeling utterly vulnerable and naked, I grabbed him, enjoying the gleam of amusement in his eyes, and stripped him as well, even down to unbuckling his prosthesis, conscious at every moment that he was allowing me to do this. As far as technique went, I think I did all this at the level of a three year old child unwrapping his birthday presents, which wasn't that bad for someone as drunk and desperately horny as I was

As his lips and teeth started at my ear and slowly worked me over on his way down, the bastard still sang softly, his words buzzing pleasurably through my skin. "Silly boy, you got so much to live for / So much to aim for, so much to try for / You blow it all with paranoia / You're so insecure, you self-destroyer / And it goes like this, here it goes / Paranoia, they destroy ya / Here it goes again / Paranoia, they destroy ya..."

I had an unconscious, possibly dead, woman on the floor and one of my worst enemies, naked and hard, kissing and singing his way down my body to eventually give me the reaming of my life. I couldn't be happier.

As Krycek nibbled and kissed my inner thighs, which I'd so obligingly and enthusiastically opened for him, I rummaged through the nightstand till I found what I needed. I pulled him up a bit to stroke the condom and slick on him. Then I lifted my hips and prepared myself in strong, thorough thrusts.

He sat back and enjoyed my whimpering and writhing for a few minutes before saying, "I always did love how obsessively thorough you get." He finally batted my fingers away and kissed his way back down, singing softly, "There's a time device inside of me, I'm a self-destructin' man..." I must have missed a line; understandable really... "There's a rat under my bed..." And another substitution... How did he make me feel this way? "And there's a little green man in my head / And said, 'You're not goin' crazy, you're just a bit sad..."

I gasped as he thrust in the first time. The slow burn quickly turned into pleasure as he found a rhythm, sliding fast and slick in and out of me. I wrapped myself around him, trying to bring him in closer, harder, deeper...

He complied, chuckled, and sang, "'Cause there's a man in ya / Gnawin' ya / Tearin' ya / Into two!"

He stroked my cock in time with his thrusts, and my mind whited out, but I still had enough brain left to shout the next line with him as he sent me plunging over the edge: "Silly boy, ya self-destroyer / Paranoia, they destroy ya!" Then I passed out, grateful he didn't wait till we went through the whole song after all.

Sticky and aching, I woke up wishing my head would just shatter and get it over with. The light coming in through the window drilled through my brain. I felt like I'd been dragged behind a car for miles, and my mouth tasted like something that had been dragged that way had died in there. If I could lie still, maybe my stomach wouldn't desert me.

A cool cloth descended onto my forehead. I looked out from under it at Krycek, who radiated shower-warmth, smelled of my soap, and looked so damned perky I would have killed him if I could move. Now that I knew he was a morning person, I was sure he was the devil.

He smirked. "You have to treat yourself better, cherry baby," he said in a soft purr.

My swollen tongue touched my dry lips and tasted cherry lipgloss. "Where's--" The sound of my voice and the feel of it vibrating through my skull made me want to put myself out of my misery.

"Gone."

Last night came crashing back down on me. Shit. Did "gone" mean dead? Probably. But if she was an assassin, as that knife suggested... But still... Shit, I wasn't up to this now.

I'd wrecked myself, and he had been here to pick up the pieces... I thought of the next two lines to "Destroyer": Self-destroyer, wreck your health / Destroy friends, destroy yourself...

"Krycek--"

He had a light in his eyes like candle flames dancing behind stained glass. "You're completely at my mercy."

As if I hadn't always been. "Just the way you like it."

"Just the way *you* like it. You might as well lie back and enjoy it."

THE END

For those of you who want to know:

"Destroyer"
by the Kinks

Met a girl called Lola, and I took her back to my place
Feelin' guilty, feelin' scared, hidden cameras everywhere
Stop! Hold on. Stay in control

Girl, I want you here with me
But I'm really not as cool as I'd like to be
'Cause there's a red under my bed
And there's a little yellow man in my head
And there's a true, blue, inside of me
That keeps stoppin' me, touchin' ya, watchin' ya, lovin' ya

Paranoia, need destroyer
Paranoia, they destroy ya

Well, I fell asleep, then I woke feelin' kinda queer
Lola looked at me and said, "Ooh, you look so weird."
She said, "Man, there's really something wrong with you
One day you're gonna self-destruct
You're up, get down, I'll come work you out
You get a good thing goin', then you blow yourself out

Silly boy, ya self-destroyer
Silly boy, ya' self-destroyer

Silly boy, you got so much to live for
So much to aim for, so much to try for
You blow it all with paranoia
You're so insecure, you self-destroyer."

(And it goes like this, here it goes) paranoia, they destroy ya
(Here it goes again) paranoia, they destroy ya

"Doctor, doctor, help her please, I know you'll understand
There's a time device inside of me, I'm a self-destructin' man
There's a red under my bed
And there's a little green man in my head
And said, 'You're not goin' crazy, you're just a bit sad
'Cause there's a man in ya, gnawin' ya, tearin' ya, into two

Silly boy, ya self-destroyer.
Paranoia, they destroy ya'

Self-destroyer, wreck your health
Destroy friends, destroy yourself
The time device of self-destruction
Lies, confusion, start eruption

(Yeah, it goes like this, here it goes) paranoia, they destroy ya
(Here's to paranoia) paranoia, they destroy ya
(Hey, hey, here it goes) paranoia, they destroy ya
(And it goes like this)