Note from Bernice - as a rat owner, I'd like to point out that all of the rat care in this story is WRONG.  If you have a rat or plan on getting one, please do not do any of the things in this story - not even feeding your rats store bought rat food.  Thank you.



by Micetro

(sequel to A Rat's Tail by Liza)

The fumes from the D-Con were giving him a headache, so as soon as he was sure the way was clear, he pushed the box out into the main room, out of his hiding space. This would have to stop. So, okay, reincarnation as a rat wasn’t the best lifestyle choice possible, but it was better than no life at all! He’d have to work a little harder at regaining Mulder’s good will – he’d done very well at that in the past. Several times in fact, he remembered fondly. This time he couldn’t rely on using his physical charms, but he could still rely on his knowledge of Mulder’s personality. That twisted genius and intense curiosity could be made to work in Krycek’s favour, he was sure of it!

Of course, not everyone was happy to see rodents in their house. There were always some exceptions, like the lady who had ‘bred’ him. Oh what a joy that had been! The feeling of nothingness, the weird, and completely freaky experience of being aware in the womb, being born (again) and realising he’d been born a rat. He had nothing personal against rats, but being completely self-aware, with the intelligence of a 30 something year old human while in the body of a half inch long pinkie was horrifying. But then he’d joined in the fight for a furry nipple. Ah, mother, thank you for not eating me like you did little Mickey.

Sometimes he missed his littermates. Their undemanding, non-judgmental company had been comforting. For a while. Of course, ‘the call of the Mulder’ had lured him back here as soon as he’d been weaned. A young rat on the road soon learned how little most humans were pleased to see him dining on their finest garbage, and how, if he just showed his cute little white belly, the occasional human would adopt him, feed him, pat and stroke him. But the only person he wanted to pat and stroke him was Mulder.

If the rat poison wasn’t taken, there was always the chance Mulder would try something else. Traps wouldn’t work on someone smart enough to know what they were, but fumigation could be real bitch. Although he doubted Mulder would bother – there were things living under Mulder’s bed that even a rat wouldn’t touch.

Krycek wasn’t even sure what he hoped to achieve, scuttling across the floor to Mulder’s desk. He knew he could make a fine living as a pet in some cage, or live a short but free life in an alley, but if he could just pique Mulder’s curiosity…

It took about half an hour to get the computer and printer working. Tiny little legs and little thumbless paws couldn’t manipulate buttons and toggles with the ease of human hands. And the computer mouse was no friend to rats. Damn thing was as big as he was and full of food and gunk. Eventually he got the word processor up and running, and wrote out a few notes. So okay, they were clumsy, he’d never been a good typist, and when the keys were bigger than his paws…

dont killthe rat

the rat isyor friend

He tried to print them out twice, found he’d accidentally done 18 copies, and left them placed strategically all over the apartment. A trip to the neighbour’s apartment for some fresh bread and he was exhausted. Curling up in the leg of Mulder’s boxers, the silk over his face like a shroud, he thought how once a upon a time he couldn’t have fitted into these boxers or his heavy frame would have stretched them out. Now they made a tent, a sex toy, a bed, a blanket, a pterodactyl. The body that once would have filled them was possibly decomposing somewhere unknown to him. Unknown, probably unmourned, (except by Mulder, he fantasised). Oh well, onwards and… downwards. No point in mourning himself, he had a new life to build. Built on old memories perhaps, but full of new possibilities. Krycek was dead, along with all his sins and crimes. The king is dead, long live the king… rat.


The click of the lock woke him hours later. Mulder went straight for the D-con on the floor, which was paper weighting some of Krycek’s opus ratum.

Crumpling the paper, Mulder was ‘damning’ under his breath, and holding another printout to the light looking for secret writing, looking for hidden messages, pissed at having someone break into his apartment and make a joke about it.

Of course, you don’t believe the rat left you messages, Mulder. Who would? Then again, you believe in aliens, vampires, ghosts, time travel, goblins, ghouls, and fairies, can’t you believe in talking rats as well?

The night was a write-off. Mulder only stopped to collect something from his desk and left again, not coming back until the next night, with traps he set around the couch, the cupboards, and near the computer.

When Mulder was asleep Krycek rolled a stub of pencil off the desk and started again. This was much harder. With no thumbs to speak of even a small pencil was almost impossible to manipulate, but using a foot on the paper and his teeth to steady the pencil he managed again, scrawling unsteadily across the paper.

Stop the traps - the rat is your friend

At least his spelling didn’t look so bad this time.

He dragged the paper up and dropped it carefully onto Mulder’s chest, leaving it a little worse for rat-fanging for Mulder to find when he woke up.


 "Okay, rat, come out and talk to me then."

To give Mulder his due, he was at least open to the possibility of a talking rat after only two sets of messages. The man stood in the middle of the floor, fists on hips, the note in one hand, waiting. He was not at all embarrassed as most would to be talking to an invisible rat.

Now that the moment had come, Krycek was a little nervous. What if Mulder decided to stomp him anyway? Nah, not Mulder. More likely he’d just want to make Krycek into an X-File.

He cleared his throat and took his place under the couch. He didn’t want to make an exit from the closet, just in case he needed that hiding place again. "Squeak." Fuck! That wasn’t what he’d meant to say!

Mulder was down on his knees immediately, peering under the couch.

"So you can hear me then?" he asked the darkness.

"Yes, I can hear you."

A moment’s silence, "You can talk?" Mulder’s amazement was almost breathless.

Chances he’d be stomped reducing rapidly, Krycek oozed forward a little, letting Mulder look him right in the beady little eye, "Yes, I can talk. Don’t try and kill me anymore, okay?"

"Oh, okay… If I get rid of the traps, will you come out?"

"If you’ve stopped trying to kill me, I will."

Mulder didn’t stop talking while he scooted about, picking up the traps and poison, and dumping it in the bin. Questions tumbled out, questions like: ‘how can you talk, rats don’t have the right vocal chords, how can you understand what we are saying? What are you?’ and many guesses on what exactly could cause a rat to talk, including the final slide into madness for Mulder.

At least he wasn’t asking ‘did you kill my father?’ Krycek had always hated that one.

As Mulder came to rest on the floor, on his stomach in front of the couch, Krycek finally came all the way out… very carefully. He puffed his whiskers out to their full fluffiness, sat on his haunches so his white belly and little pink paws showed, and made his eyes as big as he possibly could. He was going for ‘cute’ here.

"Um… I was a human being…"

"Someone turned you into a rat?"

"No, I don’t think so," Krycek shook his head, but he didn’t laugh. Mulder probably knew a few witches and warlocks here and there; it was always a possibility.

"Someone transplanted your intelligence into the body of a rat?"

"No." Now that was reaching! "I think I was killed, and reincarnated as a rat."


"Could be worse. Could be a battery hen, or an amoeba, or a politician."

"Why did you come to me?"

"I… uh… thought you’d be open minded about this."

"How did you know that? How did you hear about me?"

"I knew someone, before I died, who’d heard of the X-Files. A mutual friend." Krycek realised now how little thought he’d put into this part.


"Um… well, the details are fuzzy now, you know, being born again isn’t that good on the memory."


"Could I trouble you for a snack?" Krycek interrupted before the questions got too insistent. "Something small, I don’t want to be too much trouble." Quivering whiskers and a turn of the head to one side to add a touch of pathos.

"Do you like Lucky Charms?"

Krycek shook his head, scrunching his nose up, forgetting he was trying to be cute, "Er… no thanks."

"Well, I guess we’ll have to go shopping then."

Only Mulder, faced with a talking rat, would decide to go shopping. Most people would phone Ricki Lake, or Jerry Springer, or a circus, or perhaps even their partner to show her the latest X-File. Maybe, Krycek pondered, Mulder and Scully have had another falling out and Mulder’s no longer telling her about the weird things he finds.

"What’s your name?" Mulder swooped him up and dropped him into the breast pocket of a crisp linen shirt. Bliss. Mulder’s flesh was as warm and erotically fragrant as Krycek remembered and he started to ‘nest’ immediately, twisting and turning, and pressing himself against the nipple he could feel underneath.

"Al," he scrambled, distracted by that delicious bump of flesh into almost not answering the question. And the questions kept coming: to the car and to the 7/11 on the corner, as Mulder picked up high sugar cereals, enough caffeine to hype up an army and a jar of peanut butter. Krycek made a few suggestions; apples, rat pellets (yes, they really did taste pretty good to a rat) and a bag of frozen wieners. Since his reincarnation he’d really developed a taste for those. Wieners as big as his own body, rich in fat and preservatives, dripping in noxious toxins and tasting of pigeon necks and horses feet. Delicious! He kept forgetting to answer the questions, trying to create a whole new history for himself, thinking of perhaps getting an entire wiener to himself later. Mulder was fairly forgiving, enamoured enough of a talking rat to forgive any tongue-tiedness on Krycek’s part.

On the drive back Mulder handed him a sunflower seed. "Do you mind if I take you to meet someone?"

Scully, it had to be Scully.

"I’d rather not, I don’t think it would be a good idea."

"Sure, my partner, she works on the X-Files with me, she’d be fascinated to meet you, Al."

Krycek munched his seed in silence and dropped the shell down the inside of Mulder’s shirt, spitting the empty shells down Mulder’s collar.


 "Scully!" Mulder’s voice, usually monotonal, was almost animated with excitement, "Look at this!" He grabbed Krycek and showed him off in the palm of his hand.

Scully backed up a step, eyeing Mulder with suspicion, wondering if he’d finally gone nuts.

"You got a pet, Mulder?"

"No, no, he talks! Go on, Al, say something."

"Squeak," and this time Krycek really meant it.

Mulder stood stupefied with another disappointment, while Krycek practised the vague, looking off into middle distance, dumb-animal look his at which brothers and sisters had so excelled.

"Mulder… I think it’s time you were medicated. Have you ever considered Prozac?"

"He did, he…" Mulder’s voice trailed off. "Sorry to bother you." He turned around, shoulders drooping, stuffing Krycek back into his pocket.

"Mulder, are you all right?" She made to follow him, concern in her eyes.

"Yes, I’m fine. Goodnight, Scully."


In the car again: "Why didn’t you talk to her?"

"I just… didn’t feel comfortable with that, Mulder. I don’t mind talking to you, but I… I don’t want to become some kind of freak or experiment, you understand?"

"Sure. Now I know how Wilbur felt, Mr. Al."

Krycek smiled up at Mulder, and Mulder burst into laughter. The first time a rat grins at you, full buck-toothed glory, is always a surprise.

"So what now?" Mulder asked after they sat down to a meal of wieners and rat pellets. Mulder had decided the pellets were palatable enough but no replacement for seeds.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you want, Al?"

To fetch your golden ball from the well, to eat from your plate, to sleep on your pillow… "I’m a rat, I have no plans."

"But… don’t you want to… I don’t know… become human again?"

"How? Anyway, been there, done that, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be."

"Don’t you want your human body back?"

"Not right now, no. It’s probably quite disgustingly rotten by now."

"Oh." A moment’s uncomfortable silence, "Pellet?"

"No, thanks, I’m pretty full, but um…"


"I kinda need to make pellets of my own."

"Are you toilet trained?"

"I’m a rat for chrissakes, of course I’m not. Pass me a tissue and turn around."

"Oh," Mulder politely turned to watch the television, "Where have you been sleeping?"

Krycek paused in his ablutions, panicking. He couldn’t tell the truth, Mulder would find the boxers. Those stolen, stained, smelly, and adored boxers. "Here and there."

"You want me to make up a bed for you?"

No, I want to sleep with you, my hand on your butt like the old days, "Sure, a tissue box will do though, if you don’t mind me tearing a few of them up."

"Okay." Mulder took the tissue full of pellets and dropped it into the waste paper bin. "Shall I leave it on the floor?"



Krycek retired early, spending some time tearing up the tissues, nesting comfortably in his aloe impregnated bed, waiting until Mulder was asleep. Pity he couldn’t drag out the boxers, they’d make a sweet silky lining, but this new bed did afford him an even better view of Mulder, his sweat shirt rucked up to reveal a thin line of skin round his middle. The slight bulge of the ever present love handles, the thin line of hair on his belly, the soft tan skin Krycek had licked and caressed so few times.

Gentle snores filled the room. Krycek slid out of his bed, walking across the carpet, his claws catching now and then. It took careful scrambling to get up onto the couch without waking Mulder, listening to the rhythm of the snores, walking in time to each exhalation until he was beside that strip of skin. Just as he reached it, Mulder turned slightly onto his side, dipping the couch until Krycek slid uncontrollably down the leather and landed with a soft thud against the bare belly. He froze – holding his breath, not daring to breathe lest his whiskers tickled – until Mulder settled again.

He closed his eyes, concentrating on the scent, and slowly let his weight rest against the soft flesh. The slightest curve of the belly, dipping towards the navel, and he couldn’t resist a little taste. Just a little one, one tiny lap, one petite lick, and no biting.

Mulder snuffled, and Krycek flattened himself out as sleepy fingers investigated the tickling and scratched the navel in question. Again Mulder settled, and again Krycek took a little lick. He was dizzy, the heady scent, the flavours of Mulder. All different now, changed through rat senses, yet despite the change of perception, so familiar as well. The warm musky scent of human male, a rich odour that wafted from the groin and set Krycek to salivating. The aroma of pool chlorine, reminding Krycek of tiny, tiny red Speedo’s that did nothing to raise the standards of decency. The slightly sweet, slightly sour smell of human skin… his mouth watering, Krycek couldn’t resist the tiniest nip…

Disturbed Mulder finally turned all the way over, face down, trapping Krycek under his stomach; small, fuzzy, squeaking, and suffocating, and not at all bothered about it. There were many ways to die (and he’d experienced a few of them), drowning in Mulder flesh was one of the most pleasant. The dizziness increased as his oxygen was cut off, and he couldn’t help a few happy squeaks, with his nose buried in Mulder’s navel and the world going black around him.

"Wha… what are you doing under there?" Mulder snapped awake in seconds, found the furry lump that had woken him, and picked it up. "What are you? A gay homosexual rat or something?" Mulder put Krycek back on the floor, and two fingers under his tail scooted him back towards his tissue box. "Go back to sleep, Al."

How undignified. Krycek rubbed his balls from his perch on the edge of the tissue box. He settled, staring out at Mulder, falling asleep with him in sight. He wasn’t sure if this was worse torture than not being with Mulder – being this close, being accepted back at Mulder’s side, even in this form, and being simply unable to do anything about it. And now his balls ached – how could Mulder push him there – when anyone had to know that an instant hard on was compulsory, even from the merest touch of Mulder’s finger tips. He could go and get those boxers… but he was so full of wiener…


By the time Mulder got home, Krycek was exhausted. He was lying on his back on the boxers, which were now pretty stiff all by themselves, his legs in the air, one of those magazines lying open to a lovely, thin, brown haired boy. A little young for Krycek’s tastes, but he had that great pec development, just the right brush of chest hair…

"Al?" Mulder was hollering for him. "You still here."

"Squeak, I mean, yes." Getting his shit together, Krycek waddled out.

"Thought maybe you’d taken off."

"I got nowhere better to be. Not like they’re expecting me down at the White House."

"I don’t know, Al, a talking rat. That’s got to open some doors. I wish you’d let me…"

"No. No tests. No videos. No making me into an X-File."

"Talking of videos, I picked us up a few." Mulder dropped Chinese takeaway and a bag of videos beside the couch. Krycek was amazed how having someone to talk to, even if it was just a rat, had perked up Mulder’s interest in his environment. Or perhaps because it was a rat. Krycek couldn’t imagine Mulder going to this effort for another human being.

"I got ‘Ben’, ‘Willard’ and ‘The Abyss’. Take your pick."

Krycek groaned and rolled his eyes. Rat movies. And he’d seen them all anyway. "The Abyss." At least it wasn’t a horror movie about rats – the last thing he wanted was for Mulder to have an image of rats eating people.

Krycek dragged his carcass onto the couch, watching Mulder make popcorn. The movement of the man, fluid and easy, brachiating around his kitchenette, sent Krycek’s blood flowing again. It lifted his self-induced exhaustion, brightening his eyes, setting his whiskers a-twitching again; and when Mulder plopped down beside him, lifting him up and dropping him down onto the gently curved muscle of one thigh, Krycek couldn’t help but squeak quietly in rapture. He clenched his fingers and toes, massaging the muscle under his paws and rubbed his belly and balls on the soft fabric. He gnawed the piece of popcorn Mulder gave him, and rocked back and forth unobtrusively.

"So," Mulder started, as the rat in the movie was about to get dunked. Krycek was glad of the distraction. "Who was this friend you say knew me?"


"You said you knew someone who knew of my work with the X-Files. Who was it?"

Trust Mulder not to give up.

Alex licked butter off his paw, and decided to bite the bullet, "Alex Krycek."

"Krycek…!" Mulder stood up, grabbing Krycek by the tail and dangling him at arm’s length.

"Hey, I hate being held by my tail," Krycek squawked, turning and twisting frantically.

"You didn’t know Alex Krycek. You are Alex Krycek!

"You’re gonna break my tail!" Krycek struggled frantically to right himself.

"I’ll break your…" Mulder was red faced and furious, "You tricked me! I trusted you! Again! I thought you were… You son-of-a-bitch!" He was in the kitchen now, the world flying by, leaving Krycek nauseous and afraid.

"Hey, Mulder," he called out, but his voice was so high and squeaky he wasn’t sure he was being heard, "I didn’t… I didn’t betray you! Not in this lifetime…" but then he couldn’t make himself heard over the sound of whirring machinery, and squealed in terror as he realised Mulder had slapped on the blender. His paws scrabbled helplessly at the slippery plastic walls as he was lowered.

Mulder was still shouting at him – hurling the same epithets he’d screamed a lifetime ago, when they’d both been human and Mulder had used him as a punching bag – and Krycek tried to beg for his new life. It may not be much, but any life was better than the hungry blades below. His high pitched "please please please" was lost in the sound of the machinery, and turned into a stream of high pitched shrieking as he felt the suction drawing him down. And then his whiskers were caught, one side curling around the blades, dragging his body side to side, slamming him against the clear plastic walls and the pain was so much he couldn’t even squeak anymore, the terror making the blood solidify in his veins, his heart beating so loud he could hear nothing but the thudding in his chest and the crash as he slammed to the other side.

And then silence.

He was drawn out and held in warm gentle hands. It had only been a few seconds since Mulder’s outburst had started, although Krycek felt he’d died all over again.

"Oh, god, I’m sorry…" now Mulder’s guilt had kicked in. It couldn’t have happened before, just a second or two?

Alex could feel his limbs stiffening up; he couldn’t move, he couldn’t even turn his eyes. His face hurt. He could feel the blood from torn whiskers filling his mouth. His body hurt, his heart was still hammering frantically, but he couldn’t move. His joints seemed to have locked in place.

"Alex?" Mulder’s voice was soft, wavering, guilt stricken. "Oh no… I’ve killed him…"

Krycek recognised the symptoms of shock in himself as shaking started, quivering his body, the muscles shocked into shaking and spasms, and his bladder released itself over Mulder’s fingers.

He’s really going to kill me now, Krycek thought, and his world was enveloped in terry towelling. He could hear Mulder’s voice, distressed, shouting down the phone, frantic questions, impatient pauses… If he hadn’t been so close to a full faint, Krycek could make-believe Mulder cared… Then they were moving. Hugged close to Mulder’s chest, he could almost enjoy the trip, apart from the pain and the fear, and the reality sliding away from him into the grey edges of his vision. You held me close like this once before when I died as well, and that had been the sweetest memory of that life… There were voices, and lights, and explanations and Mulder’s hands and the warm cloth disappeared, more questions, fingers prodding, and then something was being held over his face… They’re euthanising me… Krycek couldn’t even find the wits to be scared… and then all the pain went away, along with his consciousness.


The pressure against his face woke him, it felt like someone was jabbing him with a cotton covered hockey stick. Cracking open one eye, he realised Mulder was daubing him with some cream on a cotton bud. He wanted to get up and run away from it, but not one muscle in his body would obey, and he simply twitched violently.

"Hey?" Mulder’s voice was soft, cautious, still guilt stricken.

So you should be, beating on something smaller than your own hand! Hitting me when I was a man, even handcuffed, that’s one thing, but hitting a tiny little rat? Then one of those huge hands came down, blocking his vision, enclosing him again, and he panicked, striking out in perfect rat fashion.

Mulder screamed, pulled back, dragging Krycek across the desk a little, and stuffed his finger in his mouth. "You bit me!" Mulder accused, blood smearing across his lips.

Trying to escape, Krycek was able to get his back legs under him, and made to run off the desk. Unfortunately, his front paws didn’t want to co-operate, and after a few seconds of ungainly wheel-barrowing, he gave up and sat in the middle of the desk and cowered.

He hurt. He stank. He was never going to be allowed to sit on Mulder’s thigh, or ride so intimately in Mulder’s pocket again. He was miserable. He was cursing himself for giving away who he’d been. Rats usually only lived about four years. Couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut for four years? A nice, cushy life of being Mulder’s pet, thrown away in a moment of stupidity. Now he had a life of vivisection to look forward to. That bite had been ill-considered as well. Mulder was back, finger wrapped in tissue.

"If I get rabies from this you’re in for it, Krycek." Mulder’s voice was soft though, despite his words, and his hands even more so as he lifted Krycek off the desk, and carried him into the bathroom.

He’s gonna drown me! Krycek thought, as the taps started filling the sink.

Mulder lined the bottom of the sink with a worn old towel, and filled it with an inch of warm water while Krycek watched, his body too sore to attempt another escape. He was again gently lifted, and lowered into the water, resting in the palm of Mulder’s hand, the water lapping against him, warm and soothing.

It hurt to remember the last time Mulder had bathed him, when Mulder had leaned back against him as they’d shared a bath. Mulder would tremble with the simple pleasure of having someone’s arms around his shoulders. They’d both loved and laughed and splashed; Mulder could blow the biggest soap bubbles Krycek had ever seen, leaving him breathless with delighted laughter.

Krycek closed his eyes and tried to block the memory.

"Is that better?" Mulder’s voice interrupted his reverie.

"Yeah," Krycek whispered, his voice even squeakier than before.

"I thought the vet was going to make my ears bleed with the lecture she gave me when I brought you in. There’s a lot more to caring for a pet rat than just giving them junk food and not putting them in a blender!"

"So… you’re not going to kill me then?"

"After the vet’s bill I just had to pay out? No way! Anyway," Mulder dropped the attempt at jocularity, "if the cosmos has already apportioned out the karma that you have to spend your life as a rat, who am I to keep on punishing you?"

"Like I said before," Krycek burrowed a paw between Mulder’s fingers, hugging it, getting comfortable, "could have been worse."

"Then why wasn’t it? Why weren’t you reincarnated as a maggot, or the bacteria in a toilet?"

"Rats are pretty high up on the scale of things you know! We come higher than dogs!"

"But you killed people, why should you be so high?"

"… because I was sorry."

"Oh." Mulder thought about that a little bit. "That really counts?"

"Yes. And…"

"And what?"

"And when I died, someone loved me, and that counts big time too."


"You. Just a little bit. No matter how much you tried to hate me, you still loved me a little."

"Oh, I hated you, too."

"That’s why I didn’t get to be a dolphin."

"Oh, great, put the blame for your rodent status on me!"

"I’m not blaming you!" Krycek looked up, finding his muscles starting to loosen in the warm water.

"Forgive me anyway?" Mulder’s voice was hesitant.

Me? Forgive you?

Mulder was gently flicking the water over his aching body, the waves working like a tender massage.


"And the blender thing?"

"And the blender thing."

"Thanks." Mulder smiled, a mere softening of the lips and a warming of the eyes.

"How could I hold a grudge? You hold me in the palm of your hand. Literally!"

"Your whiskers are pretty mangled on one side… Don’t touch them!"

Krycek took his investigative paw away, "They’ll grow back." He really couldn’t hold a grudge. Not while Mulder was carefully rubbing shampoo into his fur. He rolled onto his belly so Mulder could scratch those fingernails against the base of his tail. He wiggled and arched hedonistically as he was efficiently scrubbed.




"Uh huh." Deeply contented rodent sighs.

"You want to soak a bit?"

Krycek thought he should say no – he shouldn’t push his luck after all, but then, hey, he was the one who’d been stuffed into a blender! "Yeah." So Mulder had to stand there, hand full of rat, his skin pruning up until Krycek was feeling strong enough to again face the world.

"Okay, I’m done," Krycek squeaked, and sat placidly on the side as Mulder got out his hair dryer.

Of course, neither of them were quite prepared when the blast of hot air sent Krycek sliding across the vanity and nearly shot him into the toilet. He scrabbled, his legs shot out from under him, he surfed closer… then Mulder picked him up again, apologising profusely – an effect totally ruined by Mulder’s helpless laughter. Deep belly laughs. Krycek had never seen him crack up so, his body shaking and his eyes tearing, so Krycek played it to the hilt, puffing himself out in a display of complete huff – sticking his tail up, nose in the air, an attitude of total humph.

"Oh, man," Mulder tried, gasping for air, "I’m sorry about that, too!" Snort, gasp, wheeze, giggle. "I really didn’t mean that! Let’s try again, shall we?"

Still giggling, Mulder turned the air force right down, putting Krycek on a towel so he’d have something to grasp with his claws, and started again. It didn’t take long, Krycek turned this way and that, letting the blast blow his ears back, then putting his rump forward to fluff his fur out the wrong way until he was totally dry.

"There you go, sir," Mulder held up a small hand mirror to Krycek could see the effect, "One rat, extra fluffy."

Krycek posed and preened, putting on a show. He had to admit, it was a pretty good look. He felt and looked cleaner than he had in ages. If it wasn’t for the one side of mangled whiskers he could be a rather handsome rat, and the conditioner had made his fur so tangle free and easy to manage!

Another application of topical ointment, then Mulder carried him into the main room again, holding him warm against firm pectoral muscle.

"I missed you, you know, Krycek. When you disappeared." Mulder’s thumb stroked his back, over and over, fretful petting. "I never intended for you to die… I was so angry, but… I never wanted you to be dead."

"I know. It’s okay."

"How can you be so easy about that?"

"Mulder, I thought I was going to go to hell for what I did. Eternal damnation in the pit. You know, it’s kinda weird, but waking up as a rat, that was actually a big relief. Plus I also rather like having all my limbs again – much shortened, certainly, but all here. And, in an odd way, I can be with you again. That makes up for a lot."

Mulder’s thumb rubbed behind his ears, in that special little spot that tickled so delightfully that Krycek just couldn’t stop a little shiver. Absently, with no intent to be cruel or tease, Mulder raised him up and pressed a tight-lipped kiss to Krycek’s shoulder. It was only meant as reassurance for Mulder that he’d been forgiven, and a promise of no pain to Krycek, but it cut through him like a knife. It let Krycek know just how much he’d lost, how much he could never hope to regain in this lifetime. How it had been so beautiful it would make him cry to hold Mulder, how he’d groan with involuntary shock as Mulder’s jaw would press against his throat.

Now Mulder’s fingers held him loosely, closely, as Mulder settled onto the couch again. Krycek in one hand, remote in the other, Mulder’s usual routine of staring at the screen until he was hypnotised by the flickering lights. It was cosy, close, comforting, clasped in Mulder’s bony fingers. The fingers would spasmodically squeeze around him, never hard enough to hurt, just an all over body hug in time with the channel changes being conducted by Mulder’s other hand. It reminded Krycek of watching Mulder jerk-off, the same squeeze, release, squeeze – only never this gentle. Mulder wasn’t this tender with himself, and wasn’t really aware of what he was doing to Krycek now. Eventually the squeezes stopped, the remote control slid, shifted, then fell from Mulder’s hand as the man finally dozed. Krycek could easily have fallen asleep right there himself, but Mulder’s shirt was just a tiny bit open. The buttons were undone, revealing a few tufts of chest hair. How could anyone resist?

He oozed forward, slowly. Mulder’s skin twitched like ripples on a pond as Krycek’s tiny claws tickled his skin. The chest hair was longer than his legs – he felt like he was wading through long sparse grass which tickled his belly. He closed his beady little eyes and inhaled, it was always good to take the time and smell the roses. The tickling excited him a little, and he rocked back and forth, letting it brush against all the sensitive places. A couple of little strands between his teeth to tug and slide over his tongue, the skin like silk under his paws. He could nest here quite happily.

He squeezed up a small handful of flesh between his paws and licked it reverently, blinded by the hair that caressed his face. He rubbed his face into the hair, his balls on the flesh, so warm, so…

"What are you doing!"

Mulder had snapped awake so quickly, Krycek didn’t have time to look innocent or pretending to be sleep walking. He let go of the hair in his mouth and tried to talk around his teeth that suddenly seemed so big and clumsy and ratty.

"I uh… I was just…" How do you explain that you’re trying to get yourself off on someone’s chest while they slept? "I… er…"

Sometimes being so tiny was a bitch! It was way too easy to be picked up and hung out at arm’s length, and rat legs simply couldn’t cross over to hide the evidence. He drew his legs up against his body, but that really only brought attention to the obvious.

Krycek just stared up at Mulder from his place on his back in Mulder’s hand, as Mulder swung his feet over onto the floor, hunching his body over, studying the evidence of Krycek’s arousal.

"Hmm…" Mulder’s finger tip gently explored the pink exposed flesh. "So I still turn you on, huh?" He grinned and laughed sharply.

"Hehehe…" Krycek joined him, nervously. What could he say? He wiggled, trying to avoid that investigating finger.

"I turn on rats…" Mulder’s voice was quiet and introspective, amused and bemused, continuing to rub so intimately, so distressingly… but at least he wasn’t mad or disgusted.

"You always did…"


Krycek knew what ‘really’ meant. It meant: ‘you weren’t faking it? You weren’t using me, twisting me around, making me believe you loved me to get me to do things your way, to get information out of me, to make me believe in you?’

"Really." Really really!

Mulder’s finger tip brushed over his disproportionately large balls, "Those are some stones you’ve got there, Krycek."

Krycek’s wiggling was turning into trembling, his hips pushing involuntarily up against the gentle pressure. It had been so long since Mulder had touched him like this – another life time ago.

Even the ridges of Mulder’s fingerprints were detectable to the exposed pink of Krycek’s penis, he could feel each bump, and the salt in Mulder’s skin as it moved him this way and that, did nothing to diminish the throb and pulse.

His whiskers starting to twitch, he couldn’t hold in an anxious squeak.

Mulder paused his inspection, "I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just…"

Mulder was quiet for a beat, then moved forward, pressing his lips to Krycek’s mouth. It was as sweet as their first kiss, gentle and testing each other’s reactions. Krycek held still, dreading his teeth cutting Mulder’s lip where it pressed against his whiskers. It was so… kind. Krycek’s heart was breaking. It had been so pure back then, so untainted by what had come later. This wasn’t pure, but it was forgiving. A press of flesh that spoke of forgiveness from them both, no more punishment, no more retribution. Mulder’s mouth left his, but didn’t move far away, and his breath was sweet, gusting through short soft fur.

Mulder kissed him a little lower, pressing his lips to Krycek’s chest, mindful of fragile bones. Krycek reached up, caressing Mulder’s face with tiny paws.

"Your fur tickles," Mulder grinned, and they both laughed a little breathlessly, a little embarrassed, both of them just a little weirded out by Mulder’s actions.

And Krycek wasn’t expecting it when Mulder’s tongue lathed his entire body from the base of his tail to the tip of his nose. He stared down in surprise at his own belly, fur spiking up in damp little triangles.

He looked up at Mulder’s face, blurry at this close distance – all nose – expecting to see his own surprise reflected back at him. But Mulder’s face showed concentration, a tiny frown between his eyes, his lips parted and a tongue tip darting out exploring again in curious quest.

Krycek’s nipples were next, and his eyes fluttered shut as each of them was bared and teased. He wondered Mulder could even find them, but each of the twelve were exposed, moistened, stiffened. Virgin nipples; in none of this life’s experience had they ever been touched. So sensitive in his past life, he’d never even considered their sensitivity in this.

He tried to capture that tongue – wrapping his arms around it as it effortlessly unravelled his mind – but it travelled on, laying his soul bare, its strength greater than his own. As it moved, massaged, teased his new body, he gave in, laying back, his hands grasping Mulder’s nose.


Krycek cursed himself for squeaking in his excitement, not wanting to bring attention to his ratness at this point, but Mulder simply laughed, a snuffling laugh damp on Krycek’s belly, and ruffled his lips through the fur, licking moist trails down between Krycek’s legs.

Legs which, at this stage, were trundling frantically at the air either side of Mulder’s face. He tried to stop them, to hold still, but his body wouldn’t obey, and his whiskers were a white blur as Mulder’s tongue circled and pressed, finding every secret ratty hot spot. He’d done the same when human; wiggling and giggling like a tickled child under the direction of Mulder’s talented mouth.

He’d enjoyed the occasional ‘hi-how-are-you-do-you-wanna-good-bye’ with a few lady rats here and there in his short new life, probably leaving a trail of self-aware ratlings across the country, but nothing compared to this. Nothing had ever compared to having an orally fixated Mulder between the legs, or ever would, not in a thousand life-times. Soft warm lips flexed against his body, a rhythmic and delicious massage. A nubbly tongue tip pressed and rubbed, easing him between those lips where the suction drew his mind away. White light built up in his brain, flashing brilliant rainbows against the inside of his eyelids and he grasped Mulder’s nose with tiny pink paws and rode it out. His hips worked, pumping up from Mulder’s hands, pushing him against Mulder’s lips, the hot pink of him pushing between those purveyors of heaven and hell. Mulder’s hot breath caressed his fur, the lips pressed a little firmer, the suckling came a little harder, and finally Krycek just let it go. Once again he gave his all to Mulder, in this life, as the last, helpless to his passion for this man. The devil selling his soul to this angel. Perverted angel. Twisted angel. Krycek’s angel.

He collapsed back into Mulder’s cupping hands, limp and lose, damp and stunned. "Oh. My. God," he squeaked breathlessly.

"Is there a god?" Mulder’s voice was breathless, lips moist with more than just saliva.

Krycek couldn’t believe Mulder, one moment he’s sucking a rat’s dick, the next he’s asking the rat ‘the question’, as if Krycek was an expert in everything to do with the afterlife.

"Mulder, you are one sick dude, and thank god for that," he gasped.

Mulder grinned, apparently not too concerned with following his previous line of questioning. Krycek looked up into those sad, beautiful eyes. Pupils dilated, colour high in his cheeks, lips pink and slightly parted. It suddenly occurred to Krycek that Mulder was turned on, he was actually aroused by licking a rat, by sucking Krycek to orgasm. I still turn you on, Krycek whispered even in the silence of his own thoughts. Oh god, I still turn you on…. After all this time, Krycek had never been so close to finding religion.

"Thank you." He wasn’t quite sure what he was thanking Mulder for. The blow job, the kindness, or thanking Mulder for being turned on by the act. Probably the latter, or all of the above.

"You’re welcome," Mulder quirked one eyebrow, grinning slightly.

Mulder suddenly swung back, lifting his legs onto the couch and lying back down, the motion taking Krycek slightly be surprise. Oh, holy couch, witness to my conversion to the church of Mulder, let me worship here, on the sacred chest. Krycek faced Mecca – Mulder’s chin - his damp belly fur mingling with the hair on Mulder’s chest, and concentrated on breathing. It was quite difficult, Mulder’s fingers, gently stroking his back, made concentrating on anything very difficult, and as long fingers tickled carefully behind his neck he found himself giggling just slightly. A breathless, helpless, high as a kite kind of giggle, so insane with relief and love and joy he was struggling not to let his giggles become tears.

"You okay?" Mulder’s hand again encased him in warm security, the man was apparently a little worried by Krycek’s reactions.

"Post-coital madness, Mulder."

"Nothing out of the ordinary, then."

"Nope, everything’s just fine."

They were quiet for a short while, the television making midnight patterns of stained-glass light over their resting bodies. Krycek could feel his own peace spreading comfortably through nose to pink toes, but he could feel the muscles in Mulder’s body tensing and relaxing beneath him, a continuation of the contractions he’d put rat and remote control through earlier. For a little while Krycek said nothing; it was rather like being on a floating restaurant, the gentle rise and fall of breathing combined with the restless movements were vaguely soothing, but if he didn’t stop soon Krycek was going to become sea sick. A less than romantic end to the evening. But then, it had been a romantic ending for Krycek. Mulder hadn’t actually had his end away yet.


"Um…?" Mulder didn’t turn away from the riveting late-night/early-morning crap no one wanted to watch, it was so bad.

"Do you need to… you know…?"

"Would you mind?"

"Do I ever?"

Mulder looked down, eyes meeting, Krycek’s eyes no bigger than Mulder’s pupils, expanded in the dimness. "Will you watch me?"

Krycek nearly squeaked out ‘Would I ever!’ but restrained himself to suit the comfortable mood they’d found. He nodded sagely instead, and turned to watch as Mulder’s fingers slipped over his own belly and under the waist band of his pants.

"Take them off," Krycek ordered, moving down to the empty oasis of Mulder’s navel.

"Yes, oh Master Splinter," Mulder grinned.

Krycek threw a stiff-whiskered look of contempt over his shoulder, but was really too interested in watching Mulder’s hips lifting, sliding the track pants over the ripe round bulge of buttocks and down slender thighs to care too much what Mulder called him.

His breath escaped in a small woof of amazement and he oozed forward another inch or two as the evidence of Mulder’s arousal arched over him, bending up and over – all it needed was a crown of foliage to give Krycek the impression of lying on a beach under a sheltering palm tree. He’d always known Mulder was big; he’d teased and chomped and sucked and fondled this beauty never enough times in the past to be fully aware of its size and majesty, but now… now it pulsed and swooped over his head, as long as his own entire body. He sat back on his haunches, extending his nose for a sniff, to tickle his whiskers against the soft head, listening as blood pumped through, pulsing life into this magnificent flesh.

"Watch me," Mulder hissed again, his fingers clasping the base and stroking upwards, hard fingers, not giving himself pleasure but putting on a show for Krycek.

"Slowly, Mulder. Slowly… make it feel good."


"That’s right, Mulder, gently… make love to yourself. Remember how my hands used to touch you, do it like that." Krycek kept his voice as low as he possibly could, deep, hiding the squeak, directing how Mulder’s hands touched himself.

"Just under the crown, Mulder, rub it back and forth. Slower, that’s right, keep your fingers tight, make it pop."

"Oh, God, Krycek…"

"Rub your thumb over the head, don’t touch the slit, just rub it over each glan, press harder, that’s good. Rub your whole palm over it now, circle it around."

"Yeah, Alex, like that…"

"Put your other hand on your balls, Mulder, hold them, squeeze them, gently. Be easy on yourself, that’s right."


"Lick your little finger, get it wet, that’s right… Now tickle the slit with it, gently. So lightly. You remember how I did that with my tongue, Mulder?"

"Oh yeah…"

"Rub it back and forth, tease the hole… I can see a little precum now, smear that around. Bring me some, let me taste it, let me lick it off your finger… that’s right… god, Mulder… you taste like heaven, you always did. Now stroke yourself again, just the tips of your fingers."


"Hold it, Mulder, take it easy, enjoy the ride. Run your fingers up from the base, rub that spot, your secret spot, remember how I found it with my lips so many times? Just press there gently."

"Ooo oooo…"

"Make it good, Mulder, make it dance for me, lover. One stroke, one hard stroke from the base now, that’s it, stop, no more."

"Oh, god, Alex… I can’t…"

"Yes you can. Now just the fingertips again, tickle it, I wanna see that puppy dance, yeah, just like that, look at it go, Mulder, watch it twitching and jerking, look at it, all that colour and power. Can you feel the cum starting to rise, Mulder?"

"I… oh yeah… I…"

"Stroke again, stop, just rub the head, how are your balls, are they feeding the cum through yet?"

"It’s… uh… it’s like acid, bubbling up…"

"Good, feel it, stroke from the base again, twist your hand over the head, that’s right, now down, just how I used to do it for you… remember how I’d kneel between your legs and make you scream, Mulder, just like that."

"Oh, god yeah, I’m so close… don’t stop… Umnnnnnnnnggg."

"My breath so hot, brushing you, my tongue bathing you, one more stroke, nice and firm, that’s it, don’t forget the head, make it feel so good, make love to your self for me, Mulder, that’s right, take your other hand, slide it down, I know you’re so close now, tickle yourself just behind the balls, rub it, think about that instead of how good your hand feels, stroking and rubbing, that’s it, good boy, Mulder, draw your legs up, expose everything to the cold air, feel that cold air between your legs, I want you to slide a finger into yourself, gently, be sweet to your flesh, Mulder, you know how gently I used to do it, do it like that, yeah, that’s right Mulder, just one finger, turn it, open yourself up, stroke a little harder, Mulder, go on, baby, pull it, pull all that juice out for me, Mulder, harder, stroke it harder, wrap your fingers all the way round, love yourself, love yourself like I do, gently, firm hands, stronger, Mulder, stroke…"

"Oh. God. Yes. Alex. Now… Now! Aaaaauuuuuuuuunnnnghaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"…that’s right, just like Umph Ack!"

Krycek rolled backwards with the force of the first splat, and had to brace himself with all four paws to stop himself getting shot right off Mulder’s belly as the warm goo impacted right between his eyes. He’d been getting a dry mouth from all that talking and this was a fine way to quench a thirst. He lapped at the dripping mess, another one hitting square between the ears, and he enjoyed the bitter musky taste. It had been far too long. Far too long when another man’s cum becomes ambrosia, Mulder’s cum the nectar of the gods.

"Aahhhh…" Mulder sighed, his body relaxing… his sticky fingers still wrapped around his flesh as the last spasms. "Man…"

Krycek turned, grinning broadly, "Hey, that worked!"

"Better than phone sex, Alex." Mulder relaxed back against the couch, eyes closed. His previously twitchy stomach now soft and accommodating as Krycek trundled back up chest-wise.

"Pass me a tissue, Mulder? I got an unexpected shower there."

"Hmm…" Mulder picked him up, surveying the mess, "And after all the trouble I went to giving you a nice bath!"

"Yeah, well, I-"

Krycek shut up as Mulder took a long swipe with this tongue, and continued on, cleaning and lapping his own mess away, leaving Krycek squeaky clean.

"Sleep now." Sleepy voice.

"Okay… night." Sleepier.

They curled together, man and rat, flickering stars replaced by flickering television in their romantic tableau, finding a gentle peace with each other, finding forgiveness and an odd kind of love.


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