Title: The End Of The Beginning
Author: RosesDecay
E-Mail address: RosesDecay@aol.com
Rating: NC-17
Category: SA
Spoilers: Nothing remotely recognizable
Keywords: Pendrell/Krycek, slash, pretty much PWP
Summary: The end of innocence and the beginning of eternity.

Author's Note: This story is set in the same universe as "The Care
And Feeding Of Young Dragons." However, this is from Pendrell's POV.
Takes place sometime in the years between Sleepless and Tunguska.

Previous stories at: http://members.xoom.com/rosesdecay/
Distribution: Anywhere, as long as my name and e-mail address
remain attatched.
Disclaimer: The X-Files and all characters related to
the show do not belong to me. I don't claim any right to
them. No infringement intended.

Many thanks to CiCi for the beta and encouragment.
For Abby, Paige, and Iceey. 50 it is, and 50 it shall be. Rock on. ;)


~
The End Of The Beginning
~

I want to re-live him all over again.

Those nights. I want to be back at my cheap apartment, the pillbox rooms
with the dim halogen lights. I want to be back on that twin bed, pressed
against the wall, falling to pieces with each toss and turn. Back.

Sometimes these days, all I want is to go back.

The night he looked me in the eye and told me he was going to hurt me.
The night he pressed himself against the door, saying he had to go, had
to run, before he destroyed me and my life and every chance I'd ever
have. The night he admitted to things I had suspected for months.

The night everything began.

He was shaking. We were younger then, not hardened enough to have learned
control over the teeth-clattering viciousness of nerves. Trembling with
some foaming concoction of lust and guilt and love and fuming, tired
hatred.  Hands fumbling for the door knob but never finding it. Dry
lips a dull, bloody red.

I want to go back to that first kiss.

Dry lips, unforgivingly dry. He closed his eyes and refused to move, to
give in. I licked my lips and his, gently sliding my tongue between
them. He warmed underneath me, shaking his head side to side, silent
frantic whispers puffing into my mouth. *I don't want to hurt you. I
don't I can't I won't*

I tasted guilt on every tooth, every slippery nerve of his inner cheek.
His tongue jabbed at mine helplessly, harsh and defiant and shamefully,
shamefully insistent. *I don't care,* I had told him, stilling his hand
as it touched the cold brass of the doorknob. *Don't care. Don't care.
Don't.*

The salt-tang of his neck against my mouth, a fierce, ravaging kiss that
tried to suck the very essence out of his skin. His head rolled slowly
to the side, giving me my way, giving me the full vast territory of his
throat to devour. Something hissed from between gently closed lips, a
sound that ran gentle fingers down my spine. So scared and so good.

That night. It was the beginning of the end.

He had the power. Hell, he's always had the power. The strength and the
force of will to get himself through anything, any time, anywhere.

His force of will had little effect on me that night, as he pulled away
from the cool unyielding door and began pushing me through the hallway.

Because I was already walking.

The bed. A twin bed with a thin fitted sheet, pushed against a wall going
off-white from so many nights with a body pressed against it. Thin fingers
going down the front of my jeans, hot and curved and shining like ivory
under the dim halogens. A teasing stroke that sent a rush of heat
bubbling through my stomach. And it was my turn to murmur, to send silent
benedictions to nameless gods and devils. Heat. Hot and dangerous and
beautiful, beautiful.

A fingertip traced out the curve of my cock, a whisper of something not
quite pain. And I sank into it, my hands on the back of his neck,
stretching the smooth unmarred tautness of his throat. It was salt and
the faint suggestion of blood, powerful and screaming through thread-thin
veins. Doom. The taste of danger and ash and ozone.

Then the bed was against the backs of my knees and I was falling, being
pushed over an edge that should have never been approached. His hands
leapt up and caught my head before it cracked against the wall, his lips
crushing into mine, slick and tearing. He caught my breath and tried to
pump it out of me, each tug and slide of his tongue dragging me deeper.
It was beyond the safety of our ordinary kisses, light and superficial,
a precursor to better things. *Danger, Will Robinson,* my mind croaked
uselessly as his body slammed down next to mine, narrowly missing the
floor.

My back was pressed against the wall, uncomfortably cold against the
thick heat in front of me. He was millimeters away from being pressed
up against me, maintaining delicate balance on his side. His lips tore
from mine as his hands tore forward, not worrying about balance or
steadiness or care, sliding under my shirt and wrenching it off with
two hooked thumbs.

"Alex." It's a whisper of a scream, borne of his tongue, his damnable
detestable tongue brushing lightly over my left nipple. He drew his
mouth down and sucked on it briefly, his dark hair grazing my chin. After
a moment he switched to the other, pushing against me, into me, steadying
himself on my trembling body.

Tremble. What I wouldn't give to go back to the days when we could still
tremble.

I let my hands drop to his back, clutching at his shirt and tugging as
insistently as his lips. The cloth bunched in my hands and I gave up,
giving them free roam over the pale warmth of his back. It amazed
me that he could be so smooth, so unmarred, every inch of him a slope
or curve, from the soft triangular tongue that traced every microscopic
ridge and wrinkle of my nipple to the crescent hands on my hips, pushing
me into the wall, pushing and pushing and pushing -

He let go and I nearly wailed like a baby, the cold air playing havoc on
my raw nipples. His mouth covered mine, hot whispers pouring into my
mouth. *Damn you damn you damn it all to hell Brian damn you...*

His hands were on my jeans and he was tugging, yanking like the world was
about to end. The denim got somewhere around my knees before vanishing
into the abyss at the foot of the bed, forever lost. I was hard, hot and
hard and whining as his hand slipped underneath my boxers, hovering just
above my cock. And I was damning him back, stealing his air and damning
him to the farthest reaches of hell, pushing against him until he relented,
his fingers wrapping around my length and squeezing, enough to make it
hurt, enough to make me moan.

"God, Alex," I whispered into his mouth, and it was the end of life as
I'd known it. "Good..."

My hands went back to his shirt and yanked. He spluttered as the cloth
encountered our lips and cheerfully tore right through us. He shook his
head out of its grip and attacked my shoulder, his mouth clamping down
with a bit of a growl. I hissed in pleasure, letting my eyes shut,
letting myself swim in it.

His other hand slid between us and worked the waist of my boxers down. I
lifted my hips, pushing into the grip of his fingers, and cool air rushed
to encase my cock. The boxers joined the darkness and his other hand
grasped me, the tight warmth and the sprawl of his fingers beginning to
stroke upward.

His lips tore from my shoulder, leaving only screaming maltreated nerves
in its place and went to my chin, the ridge of my jaw. His hands started
to pump me, steadily, lightly calloused fingertips brushing over the head
of my cock. My hands scrambled for his pants, trying to push his away.
"Slow down," I complained after a moment and several abortive attempts.

"No." Matter-of-fact and to the point. He licked along my jaw and I
shivered, my hips bucking into his hands. The air tasted slightly sweeter,
an indescribable taste of mocha darkness that signaled the end was near. And
he was holding onto me, terribly, lips moving along my collarbone, my
cock becoming slicker with each thrust. His tongue was making for my
navel and I knew what he was planning, but one tentative reach for his
pants only got my hands slapped away.

Wet. I thanked both Jesus Christ and Ra, the sun god as he took me in his
mouth. His fist still pumped at the base of my cock, bumping every so
often into the lips that curved up and down over the sensitive head.
The pace was increasing and I sunk into it shamelessly, digging my fingers
into the warmth of his shoulders. Faster and faster and I was whispering
it into him, thrusting it into him, *damn you damn you Alex please please*

His hand released and I almost screamed, my back ricochetting violently
off the wall. He cupped my ass with his hands and pulled me into his
mouth completely, tight and warm, sucking ferociously. And I pushed into
him, pleading, the coldness behind me so vivid against his consuming
warmth.

Faster and faster and faster and I was dying, screaming, falling all at
the same time. My orgasm rocked through his throat, his mouth tugging
determinedly at the base of my cock. I opened my eyes long enough to glance
at him and groaned, his wet lips taut and dark around me.

The ozone cleared and I was back on Earth, crushed against the wall and
panting. He released me and kissed his way back up to my jaw, where he
resumed his previous adorations. "Not fair," I murmured, reaching down
to his pants. His own solid length bucked into my hand insistently, and
I enjoyed the look of agony in his eyes when I curled my fingers around
it through the cloth.

"I can make it fair," he said, his voice rough and jumbled. A hot finger
stroked gently against my asshole and I blinked at him, resisting the
impulse to smack him one for impudence.

"You coulda just asked."

And he left - spirited into the darkness to retrieve all the cumbersome
necessities. I rolled over and faced the wall, the creamy not-white cool
against my forehead. Those few cold seconds were agony, but one of the
more pleasant types of agony.

That night, God. I want to go back.

When he returned he had finally gotten rid of the damn pants, balancing
on the bed with the same careless precision as before. His cock was
harder than steel, rubbing against my ass as he threaded his arms around
me, harassing my overworked nipples with deft fingers. "No, no," I moaned
softly and he laughed into my shoulder, bringing his hands back.

A moment, and then a warm, slick finger prodded at me gently before
slipping inside, pushing and probing all around. A groan ripped from my
lips and my cock twitched, threatening to start the whole ordeal over
again. He added another finger, stretching and stroking, his lips
murmuring wordless nothings into my neck. I rocked against him, working
him deeper, letting the waves of pleasure lap at me again.

His fingers stroked quickly into me one last time before pulling out,
and after an agonizing pause his cockhead pushed against me. Slowly,
slowly, he and I pushed, his ivory body warm against my back. The head
slipped inside and I exhaled, a tiny shiver of pain working itself
through me. His hand reached over and took my cock, stroking it gently,
encouraging it to rise. He began to push again, slowly, slickened with
lubricant and his own wetness. The slowness was hell, every nerve within
me screaming. His lips moved again, barely making sound. "Bri, Bri, God."

"Good?" My voice was strained, breathless. Each inch that filled me was
a taste of heaven, a glimpse of hell, my cock beginning to rise in the
sheer pseudo-pagan glory of it. His hand gripped me, hard, as he filled
me completely, the weight of his balls resting against my ass. He paused,
sucking the skin of my shoulder between his lips for the harshest of
kisses.

"Perfect."

It was far too late for him to start off slow, so I followed him right
into the fray. He thrust into me, sharp, angled strokes that burned
straight through into my cock. Agony. The unwilling pull of his cock,
the fierce thrust back in. His hand a fist around my painful erection,
daring me to come again. His other arm went around my chest and pulled
me in, closer, his lips reaching up for my ear. "Bri, c'mon." His pace
was getting faster, feverish. His cock slid in and out of me easily now,
and the blackness behind my eyes was a swimming dark chocolate sea. Again,
it pleaded. Again.

"C'mon. C'mon, Brian. Please. Please - "

He threw himself against me, nearly slamming us both into the wall as he
came, filling me with the heat of his orgasm. His hand kept pumping and
I relaxed into it, the combination of the jetting heat within me and the
harsh strokes on my cock sending me over again. He slowed as I came, each
stroke more gentle than the last. His cock was softening inside me, warm.
He was so beautifully warm.

"Damn you, Brian." It's only a faint whisper, his tongue flicking gently
at my earlobe. "We shouldn't have - I - "

"I don't care." He slid out of me slowly, his other arm making its way
around my waist. "I don't care what you have to do. You can't leave me."

He raised himself on one elbow and leaned over, taking my lips in a
troubled kiss. Mocha-deep and foreboding, dangerous. "I'm sorry," he
whispered helplessly.

I tasted his lips, silken and dark. "I'm not."

That night. When everything was on the brink of change, when everything
was a sugared promise of something new. Before the madness. Before the
long nights alone. Before the darkened isolation, the insanity, the loss.

What I wouldn't give to re-live that night.

It really wasn't a new beginning, that night. Not really. The beginning
was the day after, the dawn, when he first went to work. A job that would
make him kill his own, destroy the truth, force him to lose everything.

A job that would one day let us stare death in the face and wish for the
days when we'd tremble in its wake.

So perhaps that night was the end. The end of innocence, the last chance
to change our minds and, consequently, the course of our lives.

The end of the beginning.

So badly. I want it back.

I want him back.

~

"Oh, and in the calm before the storm
 The sun is shining, dark and warm
 Behind your eyes my world is spinning...
 Every kiss melts into one
 Once frozen love becomes a pool
 How sweet the water runs."

- "The End Of The Beginning," the Rembrandts

~