He turned to lie the length of the bed instead of across it. I found the lidocaine where I'd left it, shook it, and sprayed his back. It was cool on the heat of the stripes.
"Thank you," he said with deep sincerity.
I lay on my back next to him and pulled him partway onto me, tucking his shoulder under my arm.
A nap seemed in order for both of us.
At that moment, there wasn't any other place I'd rather be. It was far simpler to just enjoy the heavy warmth in my limbs that try to sort out whether I should feel this good. Trying to reconcile the man who tortured me in several ways with the man who touched me tenderly and called me handsome, perfect, clever, and smart -- that was a larger task than I wanted to take on.
It would be easy to attribute my complacence to post orgasmic languor, but that would deny the things Mulder made me feel in my heart, not just my body. I was silly to ask how he knew just what I wanted -- needed -- to hear. The real question was why he bothered. He could control me based on just fear; that had already been proven. Why bother to comfort me or woo me with sweet words?
He called me perfect, a treasure. Smart, clever, and handsome. He considered me worth his time. That alone was almost worth the price of admission.
Admitting I did belong to him. Admitting he was now my master. Admitting not just that I enjoyed being held, caressed, and hand-fed, but that I enjoyed those things from him.
Admitting that I felt cherished when he cleaned me and held me.
A lot of what he did was clearly for his enjoyment as well. Most people prefer a responsive partner, and the master was expert at finding ways to trigger my responses. So expert was he that I no longer particularly cared if it made me gay or not -- I enjoyed what he did to me and, though I was not prepared to ask or initiate, I was not reticent about it happening again.
But some of what he did was only for my benefit, making my captivity comfortable. Given the choice (which I wasn't, but no matter), I preferred my prison gilded. Cushions, blankets, entertainment -- Tunisia had nothing on this.
Why did he bother? Why make me out to be his pet rather than a toy or slave?
The only reasonable explanation was that he cared. Well, perhaps not the only reasonable explanation, but it was the one I liked the best.
Caring wouldn't stop him from putting a gun to my head, though. Would it stop him from pulling the trigger? There was only one way to find out, and I wasn't willing to risk it. Not when freedom was rapidly paling in comparison to being here, held close and treasured.
It probably wasn't love.
But it would do.
I drifted awake after a short rest. Krycek was still awake, lying where I'd pulled him against me. I buried my nose in his hair and inhaled deeply. Trailing my fingers up his spine made him shiver against me. He moved invitingly.
I smiled. So, so very close. Willing, but not yet wanting. Anticipation gathered low in my groin. I pulled him fully on top of me, arranging his legs to fall on either side of mine and shifting him up so I could put my mouth to his neck. Holding him by the waist, I licked over his pulse point while he braced himself over me. Still soft for now, our genitals amicably shared the space between our groins, conforming to each other until arousal started to swell and harden us.
I stroked his ribs and bit gently at his soft throat while I sought his nipples to tug and pull. He shuddered and let his head hang next to mine. I licked his earlobe, sucking on it until his hips began to move in unconscious thrusts.