Disclaimers: Not mine, not going to be, but I play with them all the same.

Note: I reserve the right to ignore anything in the X-Files. Also this story contains some graphic scenery that might be upsetting. Proceed at your own risk.

Rating: NC-17 for sex and violence. M/K, K/o

* * * A Snake in the Grass by StarWindDancer * * *

I was out cruising the local cuisine one Saturday night. I was exhausted of DC and their lame old, same old. The picking were pretty slim here as they were else where in the country. Probably why I killed them. Once you had a good ass, you've had them all. That's probably why the hunt got me all hot and horny. There is nothing like the feel of some punk on your dick, all shaking and shivering, the metallic tang of blood on your tongue, and the knowledge that you'll be his LAST fuck to get a man excited.

Mainly I liked two kinds, those young punks, innocent and sweet that beg for their lives as you're carving them up. Ahh, nothing like the promise of salvation to get their hopes up to only shoot them down.

The other kind I liked was those older, SM types. They know how to take pain. They scream and holler and cuss up a storm. The look in their eyes when they realize that you're not gonna stop is priceless. Almost as priceless as those vacant looks they give after they're dead. Gotta love those looks.

I should probably introduce myself. The name's Dexter Garret Kincade. I'm what the police call a serial killer or rather serial killers. For some reason they got into their head that there are two of me. Saw my boys on the TV once, on that show "Americas Most Wanted." I'm killer number 26 and 39.

You see part of that split was 'cause I had a hankering for boy chicks for a while. Did a couple of girls too, just to try them out.

But I returned to my regular boys once that spell was over. Gotta love those boys. But I've been thinking of those boy chicks for a while. Those are sweet, I just cut through them like a raging bull, get all that killing needs out of my blood before I go back to my regular boys.

You see, you gotta be careful of evidence, like fingerprints, skin, hair, semen, and the like, otherwise the police will catch up to you.

They haven't caught up to me yet, on account that I'm so careful. Which brings me back to what's happening.

I had my eye on this wonderful young boy. A nice rich thing that was probably rebelling against his parents. Gotta love those Protestant parents. The more devote the parent, the more over sexed the kid. He'd gone home with a least a dozen different men so I should be careful to wear at least two condoms.

It'd be a right smack in the face if one of my boys killed me with something like that. But I'm too ornery for the police and too ornery for the AIDS to get me.

I've had my eye on this one, anyhow. He was a pretty blond, blue eyed thing. His eyes looked almost purple, probably because he was wearing color contacts. I'd have to pop those out when I got him. Maybe take the contact lenses off before they came out, just to see what the real color of his eyes were.

He was kind of on the skinny side. The ass could use a year or two of maturity to really flesh them out.

What struck me was the mouth and neck. Of course him being rich didn't hurt. It's not like they can use the money afterwards.

He had one of those drow little mouths. Almost like a cupids kiss. I liked that. The neck was a long, swan like thing, something I could bit on while I was coming.

Ahh, what a sweet young thing. I'd take him either tonight or tomorrow. What ever the time limit was to get him alone. Right now he was trying for an older fellow that wasn't interested. Once the kid got a clue, I'd be on him like a hawk on its kill.

The kid had just about given up and I was ready for the kill when I saw him.

Ever hear of the term sex on legs, or prowling predator. This guy was it.

He wore a black leather jacket and matching pants, though I should say that the black leather wore him. The two seemed to be inseperetable. Almost like he was wearing a second coating of skin.

Not many people can get away wearing leather and looking like they belonged, this guy took it to a whole new level.

I could already tell he was a predator, just like me. He seemed to stalk and prowl through the bar like he was a tiger on the loose.

His eyes met mine and I half expected the light bulbs to pop from the sheer electricity of him and his gaze.

They were green, bright cat green and I swear to god I saw them go slited like a cats. His lips rolled back to show his fangs, not teeth, mind you, but fangs.

My heart was thudding so loud that I thought everybody in the bar could hear it. Boom, boom, boom, like the echoing drum beat across the prairie right before the Indians swept over Custard.

I was so hard and horny that I thought I'd come just by looking at him.

He was a killer, all right, in a class all by himself and he was hunting me. His eyes stared right into mine and if this was the movies, time would have slowed down.

He kept looking at me as he passed me by. He was going on a straight line, in the front door and out the back. I was so entranced with him I couldn't help but follow him. Even if I were to die at his hands, I wouldn't mind. I'd become one of his boys. An honor I couldn't pass up.

"I want to play," the stranger said in a warm, bedroom voice. His eyes scanned over me, as if sizing me up for the coffin. "Do you think you can keep up?"

"I can take it," I said, puffing myself up. I knew I was out classed. I knew this man could break me, he could take me apart and put me back together before I could even cry. I could tell he was death incarnate, but I'll be damned if I was going to pass this up.

The words echoed dimly in the long ally way, as if the walls, garbage, and stray animals were witness to the next covenant between God and man. I never believed in God, never had much use for him, had use for Satan, the god of knowledge and seduction. The words tapered away, as if this earth couldn't even contain them, taken from the air to be written down in the annals of Hades.

Those words also opened up a flood gate. The stranger attacked me, putting his hands every where, stroking me, groping me, as if he could devour me with his touch. They grabbed the lapels of my jacket and threw me against the wall. Just his hands, mind you. Of him there wasn't a hint of violence. It was as if his hands were something separate. His whole body crackled with a life and vitality that I wouldn't be surprised if I found his hands around my neck choking the life out of me while he went to the bar to get a drink.

His face hovered before me, his skin so close, so ready to come in for the kill that I could feel the hairs on our faces bearly touch. His breath played over my skin, silent and deadly. His madly glittering eyes caressed my skin, as if he could see the best part of my boys on my skin. As if he could see the brands of their blood, long since washed away, still scaring my skin.

"Do you think you can take me?" he whispered, "Do you think you deserve me?" His voice dropped to the huskiest whisper I have ever heard, it was almost like the low growl of a tiger before he attacked. "Do you think you can survive?"

I had somehow caught a hold of a tigers tail. I knew this man was far more dangerous then anything I could ever meet. If I only died, I'd be lucky. But I wasn't about to let go. I'd be damned to pass an opportunity like this.

"Yes," I hissed before his lips descended onto mine and tried their best to suck my soul out. The way his tongue moved he could have rimmed me at the same time. He was humping me like I was a bitch in heat.

The sound of the snap to my pants echoed loudly in the ally, but I paid it and the following sound of my zipper being pulled no mind. We both were so hard, it was almost startling that we hadn't busted through our seams.

I don't recall his mouth leaving mine, nor when it picked up my dick. The next thing I recall is having to bury my hands in his silky black hair and hanging on for the ride.

They don't have this ride at Disneyland. They would probably break too many safety bars, cause this ride was the wildest I've ever taken.

Just when I thought I was coming, he backed off, his lips forming a seal around the end of my cock. The tips of his teeth pressed lightly into my flesh. My erection almost wilted, almost. Him holding me like that, his evergreen eyes staring into mine, waiting to see what I'd do was one of the most erotic things I've ever seen. I knew what was happening, he was waiting. He was waiting for me to prove myself worthy to come down his throat. It was a test and if I didn't pass it, well, momma always wanted me to sing accapella in the choir.

My switch blade slid silently out of it's sheath. It's deadly sting impinging on the strangers flesh. I stroked it over that smooth neck, watching the blood flow from the long cut I made.

The strangers breath became raged, nearly panting. He had calmed down while he sucked my cock but the heat from before had taken over tenfold. I could well imagine seeing him come from just the taste of my cock in his mouth and the blade at his throat.

"You gonna suck it or fuck it." I emphasized my point with the point of my blade curving into forbidden territory beneath his shirt.

He purred as he sunk slowly down my length.

Heaven appeared to me somewhere at that point. My boys were all lined up, looking on with a jealousy as the stranger finished me off.

I melted against the stone wall from the bar. The stranger took the blade out of my lax hand. It would be my time now, I would die and carry out my damnation for the pleasures I had stolen in this life.

"I've been watching you," the stranger whispered. He ground his cock into my hip, letting me know I was the next one to be fucked. "How about we go back to my place and talk?"

"Sure," I said, ready to climb onto his alter for sacrifice. "But before you kill me, at least tell me your name."

The stranger collapsed, laughing on me. "I'm not going to kill you, you're going to." The stranger smiled a strange grin as if he knew some cosmic joke that he was about to share with me. "No, we're going to my place to talk about you, me, a bastard named Spender, and a Fibbie named Mulder."

I kissed him hard and deep before we tore ourselves apart. He led me out of the ally, me following behind like some dumb animal.

"But what's your name," I yelled after him, trying to keep up with his ground swallowing pace.

"Krycek, Alex Ratboy Krycek. Laugh and I'll slit your neck where you stand."

* * *

Mulder's Apartment Several months later

"Thank you for coming, Scully," Mulder said as he held the door open for his partner to enter.

His voice was so low, almost like he wasn't getting any sleep. Scully wanted to check on her partner, see what was wrong with him, see why he called her to his apartment at this late hour but noticed Skinner in the back ground, sitting on the couch.

"Would you like anything to drink? I have some tea made," Mulder offered, interrupting Scully's worries. She was tempted to refuse but knew the tea would help calm her down and think rationally.

"Some tea would be nice." Her polite tone sounded almost too cheery in the desolate apartment.

Mulder picked up Skinner's cup, nearly empty and went off to the kitchen leaving the two alone.

"Do you know what this is about, sir?" she asked quietly.

"I was hoping you could tell me, he is your partner after all." Skinner whispered back. The somberness of the whole room seeming weighing upon his words, almost pressing them to the floor before she could hear them.

"No, I can't. The only thing I know for sure is that he called..." Scully abrupted her statement, hearing Mulder's reentry into the living room.

Scully smiled politely as Mulder handed her a mug. She sipped timidly as she watched Mulder give Skinner his cup then sit on the other side of the couch.

Mulder was silent a long time, letting the absence of sound grow way beyond uncomfortable and oppressing. Scully was ready to ask what was happening when his voice started cutting through the air.

"Have you ever had a decision in front of you that could change everything. A decision that could change so much that you're afraid of making it." Mulder rubbed his hands wearily up and over his head, as if he could scrub whatever disturbing image from his mind. "To hold a human life in your hand, to know your decision will effect them. In the field it's so easy, you decide, you shoot, but here, now... I'm actually afraid to make it, now that I have time to think about it."

"Mulder, whatever it is, we'll be behind you," Scully said, wishing she could reach forward and put a comforting hand on him. However the space that separated them prevented the movement from being seemingly casual.

"That's what I'm afraid of." Mulder's voice was only a ghost of itself and she would have missed it if she didn't know Mulder that well.

"Mulder, would you kindly tell us what it is so that we can proceed." Skinner's silent promise to back up his agent implicit in his tone and manner.

"I can't tell you what it is, exactly. It'd be better if I showed you." Mulder picked up a video cassette off of a padded mail envelope. He used a clean handkerchief to keep his fingers off the black plastic. "I received this in the mail today."

"It's not one of *those* videos, is it, Mulder?" Scully joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Her attempt fell flat on its face.

"I only wish, Scully. Believe me, I wish that it was."

Soon an image sprung up on the screen. It was wobbly and unfocused for a few seconds before it settled on a figure huddled in the darkness.

"I seem to have caught me a rat, a very special rat," the eerie voice chuckled, the sound rough as it spewed from the speakers. "I understand that you have an invested interest in this particular rat, Fox William Mulder."

The image on the screen moved and bounced as the person holding the camera walked closer to the figure. A disembodied hand reached out, roughly grabbing the figure's hair and pulling his head back for an unobstructed view to the camera. It took a few seconds for the auto focus of the camera to give a clear view of what used to be a human face. One whole side was distorted and bruised. A gag, tightly tied, forced the jaw into an awkward angle. Blood, pus, dirt, and other materials obscured the other half of the face, making it hard to distinguish.

"Smile, you're on Candid Camera," the eerie voice commanded.

A silent whimper rose from abused vocal cords as the disembodied hand tossed the head about, trying to give a clear and full picture of just who it was.

"Knowing the history behind you two, I'm pretty sure you can recognize who this is. You've beaten him enough times to compare this particular view with others that you've known, but just in case your memory fails you, I have here one Alex 'The Ratboy' Krycek. The very same man who killed your father."

The camera swept dizzingly around the room, too fast for the watchers to see what was happening. After a minute the view resumed it's watch on the figure.

Scully could make out that Krycek was tied up very securely in a basement of some kind. There was a shiny, wet layer of water on the ground and the sound of plinks and plops of leaky pipes adding more water comming through on the tape. Krycek's hands were pulled up and to the side, almost making him hang from a junction of pipes that he was hand cuffed to. She wondered briefly why he didn't stand, easing the pressure off his arm until she saw the angle of his leg. The right one looked very much like it was broken.

"I purpose a trade." The voice came back, amusement apparent in its tone. "You get one, slightly damaged rat for whatever you want and I get one million dollars. I will contact you Thursday at 8:30 for details of the exchange. If you do not cooperate, I'll take ratboy here apart piece by piece. The sooner you pay, the more of him there is for you to have your revenge."

The image danced around the room once again but the sound of flesh hitting raw meat came through clearly. Half strangled screams tapered off to whimpers.

"If you really want your chance at him, I suggest you don't involve the FBI or what have you. His life is in my hands. If you ever want to hear the truth out of his mouth, you'll cooperate." The image and voice cut out then.

Static filled the TV, the sound of electronic snow tumultuous as Mulder stood there silently with the remote in hand. It took him a few moments to stir himself out of whatever trance he had put himself in to lower the volume and rewind the tape.

"You can see why I asked you over here." Mulder's voice dropped loudly in the room. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I have the money, no problem but it's going to take a while to cash in the stocks, bonds, and other accounts my father left me. I don't know how to proceed from there, though."

Skinner adjusted himself on the couch before his commanding voice filled the room. "You'll involve the FBI, of course. You wouldn't have called the Both of us here otherwise."

"I know, I know. I guess I made a decision without making a decision. I just couldn't face this alone."

"Mulder?" The strange relationship, the strange connection that Krycek and Mulder had always confused her. She really didn't know what truely went on between them and here, now, she was pretty sure that something else had happened between Krycek and Mulder that she didn't know about.

"Hate is a very powerful emotion," Mulder said. Scully gave a breif sigh of releif. "You invest in it. It become something powerful, all consuming. Hate turns into an entity all on it's own.