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Junksick	By : Lucilla Category: S through Z > X-Files Views: 1641 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Files, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Junksick
- 1
Title: Junksick
Author: L.C. Sulla
Date Finished: July
2001
Fandom: X-Files
Pairing:
Mulder/Krycek
Keywords: m/m
slash, Krycek POV, non-con
Rating: NC-17 for
m/m slash, non-con, drug use
***Warning*** - This story includes graphic descriptions
of non-consensual sex and drug abuse.
If this bothers you, don�t read it.
You�ve been warned.
Feedback: Yes
please � lcsulla2001@yahoo.com
Website: Dark
Rooms � X-Files Non-Con Fanfic:
http://evilzz.net/darkrooms
Disclaimer: Mulder
and Krycek belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox. I�m making no money off this venture, and no
copyright infringement is intended. Oh,
and CC is the devil. Bleh. Bleh.
Jokes!! Don�t sue me.

Summery: Krycek
fights his personal demons.

Author�s Notes:
This story is in no way connected to Zen and Nancy�s Heroin series. In fact, I�ve never read the series
myself. It was just brought to my
attention that there could be parallels drawn to that series, but that was not
my intention. Everything contained
herein (besides the characters) is an original thought from my oh-so-sick mind.
// // denotes flashback sequences

Dedication: To my
friends in my hometown � may you all have better success than Krycek does in
this story.

Thanks: Thanks go
out to my supreme beta-reader, Satina.
Any mistakes contained in this story are mine, and probably added after
her beta job.

Junksick by L.C. Sulla

Day One
*******

The options I have are pitiful, so it means that I�ve had
to lock myself away. Low on cash, on
the run, and fucked if I�m going to do anything as demeaning as sell my ass on
the street. Yeah, I may be Alex Krycek,
weasel of the century � or maybe thats *rat* of the century, as some would say
� but I do have some degree of pride.

I have to scoff at that
thought. If I had any real pride, I
wouldn�t be here, sweating buckets, shaking and twitching as I begin the
process of letting the poison slowly relinquish my body. If I had any pride, I wouldn�t have gone out
that night and reinitiated contact with an old dealer.

If I had any pride, I wouldn�t be
wired to heroin.

The night I started using again
was hellish, yeah, but it�s not like I haven�t been raped before. I think what made it different, and
therefore made me seek out chemical solace, was that this time it was an
assault made on me by Mulder.

Hell, I�ve been molested, raped,
abused, what have you, so many damn times in my life that I should be immune to
any emotional effects of just one more incident. But when I see what he did, playing like a film projected in the
back of my skull, it�s unbearable. And
the hours immediately after the assault were the worst, of course. Trying to deal with it is what made me go
out. Stupid idiot that I am.

Lying here in the dark, I spend
more time thinking about the event that drove me back to drugs for the first
time since my late teens. Against my
will. I don�t *want* to think about it.
It was Mulder who did this to me, who, in spite of all of our vicious history,
I never would have thought would attack me in this most destructive of
ways. I always felt something for him,
and I still do. I�m not free completely
of vain thoughts of peaceful co-existence with the man. Seriously.
I mean, he rapes me, and I still love him, somehow. Go figure.

As I said, I�m used to rape,
abuse, to people not listening when I say no.
I take it in stride. But with
Mulder...it�s different. Despite
everything, I had hopes. Dreams. Foolish, but true. And the only thing that keeps the pain at bay is the junk. I hate needing a drug to cope with my own
mind.

I sniffle loudly, sprawled on my
tattered couch, and the action causes a string of sneezes that wrack my
body. When that finally stops, electric
shocks radiate through my limbs, threatening sanity. I can�t unbend my knees.
I can�t still my twitching muscles for longer than 30 seconds. I know that I won�t be sleeping again for
days.

Every second lasts a minute,
every minute lasts an hour, and the seven to ten days that this withdrawal will
take seem to be decades stretching out before me.

Shit. I mean, I only had my last fix less than 16 hours ago, but I feel
like I�ve been junksick for years. I
hate the shit, but I would die to have one more shot right now.

And *that* is precisely why I
won�t go out and get more.

Well, that and the fact that I
had a man from down the street nail the door shut from the outside. I�m not leaving, damn it. I�m sick of this bullshit. I�m sick of the waiting, the scamming, the
scoring, the abscesses, the tracks, the way my ankles are bruised and
battered. With only one arm, my ankles
were my best bet for hitting. But it�s
time this stopped.

And this is only the
beginning. It only gets worse from
here.

Day Two
*******

Don�t know how much longer I can
take this. I don�t. I just

*twitch*

*THRASH*

I�ve started puking now. I cough, and it makes me vomit bile. I vomit, and my bowels turn to liquid. Bathroom�s a mess. Smells like sour sweat and shit and fear and chemicals in
here. Pain. And suffering. Permanent
hard-on, normal for withdrawal from opiate narcotics, but not pleasurable. Unbearable.
Touch it and I come. Seven times
already today. Nothing is coming out
anymore. I�m coming dry.

*twitch*

*THRASH*

I can�t can�t can�t can�t

//�What the fuck do you want,
Mulder?�

�Nothing. I want nothing, and that would be you. I knew I�d find you eventually, Krycek.�//

*twitch*

*WRITHE*

Can�t do this. Don�t want to remember

*twitch*

//He shoves me against the
wall. Pistol�s barrel grinding against
the back of my skull. My own gun
removed, clip taken out, both thrown in opposite directions. Jeans roughly yanked down around knees//

*THRASH THRASH THRASH*

Nononononono STOP!!

Day Three
********

Shaking freezing sweating spasms
convulsing

//...pause and sounds of rustling
clothing. His weight holds me to the
wall still, the gun pressing in hard, bruising. Sound of something being uncapped, squelching noises as he obviously
lubes himself. Thank God for small
favors//

*spasm*

Dry heave. Nothing, not even bile. Wipe mouth.
Lie down again on cold tile floor.

*stretch twitch*

*WRITHE*

//...rough fingers plunging into
my ass, stretching me. One. Two.
Three. Quick, careless
withdrawal. Replaced by huge
bluntness. Shove. Pain, burning. I cry out, and he just grunts in response//

Can�t

//...one solid thrust and he�s in
me to the hilt. Mulder�s cock up my
ass. Not how I wanted this to
happen. Supposed to be tender, with
care. Dreams, stupid dreams. He withdraws, and slams into me again//

*gasp*

*choke*

*TREMOR*

*SPASM*

//...hard rhythm. Mulder�s substantial penis pounding
violently, seemingly trying to reach through me to drill into the wall. Sound and feel of his balls slapping against
my bare ass. His loud, rhythmic
grunts. Gun hand has slipped, now
clutching my shoulder. Other hand
digging into my hip. Cold breeze
chilling my exposed skin//

*shock*

*THRASH*

*groan*

//...shock as hand holding my hip
slips around and grasps my own hard cock.
Humiliation. Hard from my own
rape. Chuckle from behind. Hand begins roughly pumping my erection,
coaxing precum from the tip. I meet his
thrusts. Buck forward into his hand//

Nononono can�t

*CONVULSE*

//...feel it building. Rushing on me like a freight train. Finally come, spurting jets of semen against
the wall. Pounding in my ass doesn�t
stop. Grunting doesn�t stop.yes"> Weight disappears, and slick penis slips out of my body. Sound of clothing rustling, zipper being
done up. Gun barrel traced down my
back, over my left ass cheek. Feel of
Mulder�s semen dripping out of my hole, down the inside of my leg.

�...what did I...fuck. I can�t...oh no. Krycek...fuck.�

Sound of fleeing footsteps. Alone with jeans around knees, come on my
ass and thighs. Hike up trousers. Mulder.
Mulder couldn�t have done this.
Cry. No. Not cry. Find dealer//

NOOOOO

Yes. Find dealer.

I�m gagging, but I�m getting
up.

*!!crash!!*

*convulse*

Get back up again.

Just one shot. One more fix. Can�t handle

Can�t handle.

Door splinters as I ram my
shoulder into it. I�m getting out if it
kills me.

***Later, Day Three***

Yes. Junk. One more. I can start again tomorrow. I can quit tomorrow. For real.

Spoon. Water. Filter. Clean rig.
Alcohol swab.
Pour. Add water. Heat. Add filter.
Suck up.
Tie off leg. Aim.
Insert. Pull back plunger.
Flag. Beautiful red blood flag.
In the vein.
Depress plunger. Remove rig.
Wait.

That�s it.

That�s it.

I can do it all tomorrow. It won�t be so bad. I can deal with it. Everything�s okay. Everything. Is. Just.
Fine.

*��..*

Day Four
*******

I wake up to the askew door
opening slowly, tentatively. I peel my
drooping eyelids back. It�s Mulder.

How the fuck did he find me?

He takes in the surroundings. I see his eyes take in the paraphernalia
littered around my body, and I can�t help but flush with embarrassment. I feel so weak and pathetic, and I don�t
want to meet his eyes. But when I do,
it�s shock I feel first.

He�s crying.

�Alex...I�m so sorry...�

******************************************************

End.

Feedback to: lcsulla2001@yahoo.com
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