I love writers. I love words. I love reading. I collect lines that resonate with me.
Over the years as I have read X-Files fanfiction over and over I have abstracted bits and pieces that I wanted to cherish, gloat over, recapture, remember, not lose. I never remember to put title of source or author with these tidbits and never worried about it because I do not write and would never use them anywhere or pass them off as mine. I want to put them somewhere out there. These are not mine but they are gems I polish occasionally. I wish I had written them. I wish there were more of them. Most of these are Alex-centric. The reason I am doing this today is I reread Hth's Stroke of Luck and the same lines hit home again and I went looking for my files of collected lines and then thought I would put them here and reread them.
From my commonplace book...Alex Bits:
All his incarnations, an incubus, young agent, eager, smiling and kind. Leather clad pretty boy from Hong Kong. Soldier from Tunguska. Krycek had torment, no boundaries. Invasion of Mulder’s life.
Behind the long-lashed face (should have been eyes) lived a killer – the succubus who has enticed him for years.
Elegant arc of neck
Precious face
Understanding by osmosis
Six foot walking sex toy
I’m playing with you baby.
His skin invited touch the way well carved marble would.
One small pointed ear
Slim but well built
Favours bulky white shirts which look sooooo good on him.
Warm wet cat-raspy tongue.
Jibed
Kiss all his problems into next week.
I can’t help you, darling, all I know is that we’re bound to act out every last act of our little tragedy and then the gods will destroy us.
Gorgeous, graceful contour of neck, finely shaped pectorals, slim waist, long sinewy legs.
This was no ordinary stud but a deadly predator and you should consider yourself very lucky if you were chosen to be his mate and not his prey.
How dangerous this sensual creature.
His beauty overwhelmed me completely.
So stunningly gorgeous.
A panther, deep raspy love stalking its prey.
He loved Alex like this naturally unrestrained. Alex was once a very dangerous man, and it was times like these that reminded him that only love and devotion had tamed him.
This is your kind of place. I hear rodents.
Sweet thing.
Pretty profile
Eyes closed, the long lashes forming dark arcs, his lips parted. God he was so beautiful.
Alex Krycek, kneeling in the moonlight fully aroused; eyes closed, shirt open and pants down around his knees. It was easily the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
God I love the way he moans.
~(::::) 8> The Rat is Out There.
Angry had been a road sign he passed fifteen miles ago. And he most certainly hadn’t turned off there. In fact, he’d just taken the fast lane through outraged, furious, and downright acrimonious without stopping to see the sights. Right about now, he was coming up on murderously pissed, and it looked like a pit stop was in order.
A perfect tart of a young man.
Only a half sucked acid drop of a moon for company.
Geraniums sniggered around the house.
We passed a heavy vote of censure on you.
Pardon the gross lack of intelligence in this letter.
On some level he was always aware of the other’s presence.
Green eyed demon feasting on him.
All evidence to the contrary.
All variations on a theme of leather and denim.
Terse in his response.
Eyes a simple olive colour.
The whiskey growl
Eyes blackly luminous.
The pretty face was smooth.
Hiss like an angry cat.
Jumped like a scalded cat.
Damn they were all feline.
Silky purr
Long body and the devious mind it housed.
Big green eyes, limpid gaze.
Draped with the tamed demon.
The relentless adoration of the borderline sociopath.
Husky chuckle.
Honey hipped.
Alex moved with studied grace. He prowled, Alex did, sinuous glide from the hip and the play of muscles beneath the skin clearly visible beneath worn, frayed denim that coated him like a second skin.
Seductively husky voice.
The strange being facing him.
He raised his chin defiantly, a gesture that was purely Krycek.
Eyes wild and darker than he had ever seen. Alex was not home.
Rage, fear, dark joy, lust in those eyes.
The scent of leather and razor wire the man trailed even when nude.
Tricksters, players and games. Deadly and smooth and awkwardly young. Every laugh, every snarl, every act of casual savagery a wonder to behold.
That mouth.
Alex always and forever.
Such a perfect pretty face.
Eyes turned hard and green like jade expression unreadable.
A pheromonal essence uniquely Krycek.
Well formed feet.
Cock rising at the sound of Mulder’s voice.
Cock rampant.
Perfect peachy ass.
Radiance in Mulder’s face at the sight of a naked Alex.
Pretty face made beautiful by need and arousal.
Tiny mewling sounds and writhing.
She sees what he sees: this gorgeous creature conjured by his hands and tongue –emerald glitter of eyes and carmine cheeks, a sprawl of loose muscle and glowing flesh and at the center, the core of his burning, brilliant need –Krycek’s cock and Mulder’s own cock purpled, rampant.
You are beautiful enough to be the devil.
Buttery husk
Pretty peach mouth
Cat quick those eyes I’ve loved for longer than I have ever been able to admit.
Eyes poisonously olive.
Languorously playful bat of eyelashes a feral glitter in the wild green eyes.
The werewolf hour of 2:30 a.m.
Alex had always been beautiful.
Seduce all you can, lord knows you have the ass for it.
He was far too accepting of this to be a virgin. Too pretty not to have been approached. Probably a slut who’d sit on it for anybody.
Mulder, have you ever stopped to consider that you’re not really rational when it comes to Krycek?
Krycek could never be controlled. Like quicksilver he slipped through your fingers, like a force3 of nature, no matter what you did you turned around and he was gone, only to reappear three months later, six months, a year, bloodied but unbroken, to turn your life upside down again.
If Mulder hadn’t gone ballistic and raised his fist.
Mulder could feel Krycek’s awareness of his presence, just as he could feel Krycek’s. Something in the air, heavy and dark and almost sweet, like the tinge of ozone that presages a storm.
A way to deal with the unbearable feelings Krycek aroused in him.
It was beautiful the way he did that: a deep breath, an effort of will, and his perfect control was back.
I want to fuck you
Why does that not surprise me?
Work for it sweetheart.
Krycek was magnificent – thoroughly impaled on Mulder’s cock, squirming and growling, his beautiful control gone.
He was solidly built, with the appearance of quiet strength. His skin was smooth and creamy. Dimple of his tailbone.
There was just something touchable about Krycek. He was driven by an uncontrollable need to have his hands on him.
Leaving his heat imprinted on Mulder.
Bright eyed, armoured in his leather, looking dark and dangerous and stunningly beautiful.
April 30 Rudmas
July 31 Lammas
Dos vidaniya – until we meet again.
Fiery green eyes.
Dedicated eye fucking. You lose.
Otmudohatye suka =
Kak dva pal’tsa obossat = this is a piece of cake
Mne po khuy = I don’t give a fuck.
Strike first, strike hard. No mercy.
Prison is the state of your mind.
Odin = one
Dva = two
Tri = three
Chetyre = four
Pyat = five
Shest = six
Sem = seven
Vosem = eight
Devyat= nine
Dezyat = ten
Open throated voice of epic proportions. Fine featured androgyny – kd Lang
Sex is bizarre. It is wriggly meats.
The second you make yourself vulnerable to someone, they start drawing blood.
Chameleon eyes.
Grinned toothily.
The voice was low and smoky rumbling in the back of its owner’s throat. Picture of a man who wielded it like a weapon.
Malevolent joy.
Pure unalloyed pleasure with a clear touch of malice.
A wolfish grin.
The one man whirlwind.
Mulder & Krycek had always been circling one another, always drawn together but unable to complete the circuit that whispered and sung between them. It had never dimmed, not even through the betrayals, the reverses, the revelations. Now Krycek was upstairs, hurt and helpless, claws sheathed and fangs hidden.
Krycek’s beautiful, abused body.
He surveyed the length of Krycek’s body laid out in the moonlight silvered.
Jesus, you’re beautiful, Alex.
Tearing at his rational cool persona, leaving him naked and alone at the center.
Fandom is Borg. Resistance is futile.
Have you had your slash today?
"Hey, I *am* nice to you. I took care of those two assholes for you.
That's the Krycek equivalent of a hallmark card."
And where does this tenderness come from?
And what to do with it, sly
Boy, passing stranger,
With eyelashes - the longest ever?'
Alex Krycek. The man who put the 'ass' in 'assassin'.
My recollections of you are few
And I am not captivated by your fate,
But from my soul the mark won't fade
Of an insignificant meeting with you.
Your red house I pass by with intent,
Your red house above the river's ferment,
But I know that I aggrievedly excite
Your pierced peace with a piece of sunlight.
Let it not be you who kneels above
My lips, my mouth, praying of love,
Let it not be you who makes immortal
With golden verses my listless torpor,--
In secret I cast spells on the future,
And if it is perfectly clear this evening,
I foresee a second meeting,
An inevitable meeting with you.
1913
Specifically: getting Mulder into a restricting bed
(It not what you think; get your mind out of the gutter!).
I'm more offended by the insult of assuming that Krycek getting Mulder into
bed requires one's mind to be in the gutter...
> And I'm not kidding
Sorry...? Am I missing something here...? Perhaps the kerb was hiding it from view... P- HEW what is that smell down here...? I really must stop falling into the gutter but then, there is always such great company down here... Hi there Aqualegia, Fan4Richie, Karen-Leigh... What, someone mention Krycek, Mulder and bed in one sentence again... so that's why I am down here
Tarlan
Now, I'm ticked. I told Tarlan that we were down here because the roses
grow best in this locale. >>
Fan4Richie
I always thought it was where our favourite rat lurked.
Karen-Leigh
Oh no... I'm so sorry guys for letting out our big secret... now *everyone*
will want to sink into the gutters on a rat hunt.
Tarlan
That's true, she is saving all of her angst. It's in a mayonnaise jar on
the back shelf of her refrigerator.
Um, Shadow, are the voices in your head having their weekly poker night
tonight? I thought they had been holding them on Thursdays.
Alex/Methos (aka Loki/Lucifer)
And when I suck you off not a drop will go to waste
It's really not so bad you know once you get past the taste.
All Nick all the time
Nick Lea is my idea of a perfect chew toy.
Mary Mary quite contrary
How does your garden grow?
With toxic weeds and lethal seeds
And corpses all in a row.
Snerk
Alex-centric
In the end there can be only one.
May it be Alex Krycek, rat bastard extraordinaire.
My night is coloured headache grey.
The uncalculated cant of those hips.
The second you make yourself vulnerable to somebody, they start drawing blood. Poppy Brite.
The Sixth Extinction I
…and on top of all this we get the long-awaited (sh-yeah right!) return of Kritschgau!
The Sixth Extinction II
Why does Krycek kill everybody he sees these days? He's gone from being one of the best villains on the show to existing merely to kill off and burn all myth arc ep loose ends.
Where's Krycek when we need him?
Federal Bureau of Intimidation.
All the boxes in a woman's head are open at one time.
Men's are closed, they open one at a time.
Books have always been like a drug to me. I always have one on the go and I value them as a major key to survival during many a 'dark and stormy night.'
They are one of life's lovely keyholes - pass through them and all sorts of wonderful, exciting, funny, sad, scary, mesmerizing vistas unfold.
ME
I'm temperamentally friendly.
I'm sensitively strong.
I'm aggressively sweet.
I'm seriously goofy.
I'm shyly outgoing.
I'm simply confusing.
I'm idiotically intelligent.
I'm strangely normal.
I'm morbidly cheerful.
I'm loudly quiet.
I'm dangerously harmless.
I'm deeply shallow.
I'm nervously confident.
Yeah, that's me!
Moment when knowledge and regret combined.
Your own smell is comforting and others' is repulsive.
Sympathy for angels. They get all the mucky jobs. A city needs destroying - send an angel. Saints to wrestle - send an angel. Angels go through eternity with one wing dipped in blood. Angels, God's assassins. (Morgan Peterson)
Do we need to be improved by our reading.
Easier to read non-fiction goop. A novel doesn't give all the answers. It forces you to think.
An interesting character - I think I will ride his coat-tails.
A resonance with the mind. A lot of layers. Inspires.
Remember Barbara Rhoades
Mouse potato
Key pal
Meatloaf - spam
TFB = Too fucking bad
STBY - Sucks to be you
Frag & Defrag = Unorganized and organized
Boat anchor = obsolete computer
DBU = Dead brain user
IRL = In real life
He did that thing with his head. How can I describe it? I can't. I can only describe its effect on me. I gasped; I swooned; I sighed; I cursed a universe in which he would never be mine; I mourned a life in which I would never be able to catch him doing that thing with his head at odd and sundry domestic moments; diluting the orange juice concentrate in the morning, shopping for hinges at Canadian Tire on Saturday afternoon, explaining how he totalled the Porsche on the way home Friday night.
I tried to reason with myself. He's a construct, invented by/???? And my own fevered imagination. What I wanted, I realized, what I needed, was the rush I got from watching him do that thing with his head. A moment of looking scary, vulpine.
He does not possess a static beauty. It would take the genius of an Annie Leibowitz to capture the beauty of that thing he does with his head in a still photograph. There is something intrinsically bad about objectifying somebody who has read.
He looks like a man who has come to terms with the fact that people want him to take off his shirt for photographs but still doesn't like it. Even screen idols deserve better than to be made into eye-candy, and it appears that he does more with his head than move it in just the right way to interest a tired (and single) ?????(Keanu Reeves) could be Nick or Alex.
A lot more manual labour involved in housework than going into the office.
Emotions trigger brain activity faster in women. Men take 7 times longer.
What do you call a man with ten rabbits in his ass? Warren
The class ring of MIT is called the Brass Rat because the beaver on the brass ring looks like a rat.
Story Idea:
Mulder makes an Internet friend Sasha before Alex is sent in as his partner. He had gotten used to talking to Sasha about everything. He felt a freedom to be himself in a way that he had never had with anyone in his life. It was like keeping a diary or a journal but with feedback.
He talked to Sasha about the closing of the Xfiles. Sasha believed and they discussed their beliefs. He discussed his new partner Alex and what he felt about him. The growing awareness and attraction. Sasha encouraged him and confided his own growing emotional attachment to another man.
What Mulder doesn't know is that Sasha and Alex are one and the same. Sasha told Mulder that he was a computer consultant/software designer and that he lived in England and that he traveled a lot but seldom to the United States. He told Mulder to truth of his childhood. He sent him interesting facts and pictures of X-File type phenomenon. He researched for Mulder.
They spoke of world events, movies, books, sports and weird phenomena. Mulder bounced ideas off him about his cases. They spoke of loneliness.
As Mulder fell deeper and deeper in love with Alex, Sasha encouraged him to be brave and test the waters. Alex and Mulder became lovers.
Then Alex was gone and Sasha kept him sane. Helped him keep the faith that Scully was alive and would be found. Unbeknownst to Mulder Alex was searching for her and when he found her, he returned her to Mulder. Mulder's relief and joy spilled over into his conversations with Sasha. Mulder and Scully went back to work on the Xfiles Now that his focus was off Scully Mulder's emotional compass swung to missing Alex. Sasha too confided that his love affair had come to a bad end. They commiserated together. Mulder had much anger and hurt. Sasha only had hurt.
Alex kept popping back into Mulder's life and never fought back when Mulder attacked him. He rescued Mulder and fed him information. Sasha was a rock. Whenever Scully failed him with her refusal to believe what was right before her eyes. Sasha reassured him.
There was a long period after Tunguska that Sasha didn't answer his mail and Mulder began to profile. During his long trip with Alex there were moments of déjà vu and when he began to really miss Sasha he began to put pieces together.
It was after he watched the ship rise in the sky and listened to Scully denying her experience that he finally got an answer from Sasha. Believing that Sasha and Alex were the same person he began trying to get confirmation of his belief. Sasha apologized for not answering his mail. He told Mulder that he had had an accident and was unable to access his computer. His answers came slower than usual and had more mistakes.
Mulder found out for sure that Alex and Sasha were one and the same when Alex almost died and someone tried to contact his next of kin to notify them. Mulder hurried to the bedside of the man who was his best friend Sasha and his lost love Alex.
John Doyle's Critical List in Broadcast Week Aug 19-25, 2000
Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye
Here, the excellent Nicholas Lea plays Dustin. It is a slight satire of Hollywood.
Lea is somewhat wasted in the early going and is much better when Dustin turns the tables on Minnow and uses his Hollywood player skills to bite back. A murky little thriller doesn't pack the full wallop it could have.
Yeah, he did sort of take over, didn't he? I think it's because
he's such an ambiguous character--you can read him about a zillion
different ways, and all of them can be supported from canon. And of
course, it doesn't hurt that Nick Lea looks like an angel.
(Amazingly, people who've seen him in person says the camera really
doesn't like him all that much, and he's much better looking in
person. Ye gods and little fishes, he must be lethal...)
Krycek's face, sharply boned, cruelly beautiful; cagey green eyes framed by long, lazy lashes.
A polished feline movement.
Loki - God of Mischief
Deep rumbling giggle.
Sleek dragons gliding.
The cock, a shaft of velvet sheathed steel, nine rebellious inches pressing against his belly.
Other people bore me when I am sober and I bore other people when I am drunk.
Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.
I think it was because Methos is SOOOO slashable! He's like water -- flows
to conform to the shape of any container . A 5000 YO man HAS to have had
male lovers (given all the cultures he's lived through AND the sheer
"boredom" factor ). Methos supersedes many labels - he just IS.
One writer went so far as to say she never bothered to open a dictionary to check her spelling because she thought such things were a waste of time.
My usual response to that is "please stop masturbating
in my mailbox."
***
Ezekiel: "Why don't you try and just enjoy some of the beautiful things in
this world? Just one. Try it on for size."
The Devil: "Believe me, it won't fit."
***
80% of gay men are born that way
the other 20% were sucked into it.
Machiavellian
Smirk
Devil
Primer on power
Either be really nice to people or kill them.
A gun is a man's best friend.
A "how to' for people who are insufficiently unkind.
Loyalty is for suckers
Perception is more important than reality.
Tests on net:
My colour is blue - serene and thoughtful
If I were a dog I would be a Great Dane.- sophisticated and full of spirit.
This is a message from Nick Lea, about that USA Today poll:
>> Hey everyone! I'm really sorry it took me sooo long to get
>> back to you. I've been very busy. I wanted to thank (from
>> the bottom of my heart) all those who contributed to the
>> USA Poll. You're awesome! I am so lucky to have support
>> from ALL of you like that. Even though I don't see myself as
>> the next Stallone, your support of my work only makes me
>> want to try harder to be a better actor - to live up to your
>> sustained kindness and faith. Thank you all. Nick
Life had moved on, and Krycek had disappeared
without a trace, no bubbles rising to the surface of slimy ponds, no scent
of sex and leather curled on the incipient breeze. The comet had completed
its course through my orbit and had taken off to the nether regions of
space; the icy core reduced by proximity to heat, but essentially untouched.
I had been burnt by his passage. His essential being, my need for him had
been seared into me, like the afterimage of a light imprinted onto a retina.
Leashed power personified.
Almost scary to watch him transform.
My internal grey landscape.
She was a flamboyant fifty
Had to resist the impulse to run over pedestrians.
I'm trailing in his wake.
Top or bottom - male sex changes the way you think about yourself.
Besmirch
Chagrined
Undressing me like a rag doll
Bore the calenture (attack?)
No scent of sex and leather rising.
Mom spit removes everything.
Ah sarcasm!
The reality softener you should apply liberally.
Chalet means shared body warmth in rustic talk.
LINES I LOVE FROM IN A DARK TIME – SLEEPLESS
Mulder had been painted to him as non compos mentis, not just a basket case but a walking clothes hamper of neuroses and antisocial impulses. In the category of those still carrying badges, he was said to be the most unbalanced bastard the bureau had ever produced and it had produced more than its share of locos.
Doogie Howser does justice (described Alex)
Unreachable describes an essential aspect of his personality.
You find yourself talking mostly to other specialists….then you abridge too much. Eg Doctor speak, engineer speak.
When he thought he had all whimsical impulses well in hand, he said innocuously.
Well—duh.
Caught off guard Mulder blushed. Duh, indeed. Of course Krycek had heard of him. The copy machine repairman had heard of him. The Alaskan field offices. SAC’s 63 year old secretary sent him Christmas cards.
They probably pass my photo out to all the new recruits with a warning and a whistle.
Actually, I try not to think about my reputation. A careful avoidance allows me to get dressed in the morning.
Transfixed by unknowable thoughts, he projected the serene aspect of a wandering scholar lost in the world—a GQ Buddha.
Bone-cold eyes reflected hers; clearing so quickly she wondered if she’d only imagined that glittering mirror of malice.
Mulder’s voice was quiet, and his face had taken on that expressionless quality that she knew all too well. Reflexively, before he even spoke again, Scully had tensed for the inevitable retaliation.
His voice was bland, seemingly conveying nothing but a mild and professional curiosity. It was, in her unexpressed opinion, his deadliest tone of voice.
I was always a few volts below threshold anyway.
The gallows in my garden, people say/Is new and neat and adequately tall/ I tie the noose on in a knowing way/As one that knots his necktie for a ball.
It’s too early to hang him.
He reminds me of a really tall Kewpie doll.
You’re a neat boy. This is good. Can we go?”
Anyone ever tell you you’re a brat?”
I log the times.”
That must take up a lot of space on your hard drive.
You a werewolf, Mulder? You have a reason for being this fucking crazy?”
He’d do him in a New York minute. Very fuckable, even if a bit past the buy-date for his usual taste. Ten years ago he’d probably been exactly the kind of juicy, clueless puppy Alex loved to shove around. Alex liked a more malleable personality. Not warm and fuzzy, but not an emotional cuisinart either. This was a man with his own personal zip code in the Twilight Zone.
Assessing every detail that reached his attention to determine if the ducks were lining up for him.
Greetings—welcome to Earth! Please don’t feed the monkeys!
He could usually manage coherence on demand, if not manners. Trying to put a drag on the rocket’s tail.
Bureau agents shouldn’t have a death wish. It’s a poor psychological profile for success.
Mudak, thought Alex, watching Mulder leave. And if you think that great ass of yours redeems the asshole it’s shipped with, you’ve got another thing coming, pal.
He looked up at Mulder from under long lashes, eyes holding that hawkish gleam.
You get old, the sponge starts to get a little soggy.
He’d joined himself at the hip effortlessly.
I don’t know how you communicate with others of your species, but here all it takes is a word—even a grunt.
See if anything jumps out at you.
“Feral cats, minor demons, evil puppets.
Krycek was standing across the room, in a kind of parade rest stance, watching him with sharp, expressionless eyes.
Prowling
I’m the one being fondled here.
A dark figure pacing him, a devil riding at his side in the wicked night.
Voice lowered, darkened to the brooding growl of thunder just before the lightning’s flare.
He really was…attractive. It fell short but he could think of no word appropriate to Alex’s strange fey charm. Neither beautiful nor handsome, he might have belonged to some other species to whom such set, simple terms did not apply. His features, his demeanor, were in constant flux; he altered too quickly to be pinned down. One moment he seemed only the measure of his twenty-odd years and no more—an unpolished kid, a bit naïve, almost shy—and then a leprechaun face would peeep out behind the m ask, mischievous, wilful, elementally tricky, and then, in the next shape-shift9ing moment he was all panther, feral and vital, dark and sharply fanged. Fey..dangerous…volatile…
He’s a fairy, Mulder thought wickedly.
A low voice muttered from the offstage wings of his mind.
Alex felt his heart accelerate into the feral predatory rhythms that were the reason he loved his job. His mind was a grinning thing.
I haven’t booted up my brain yet, Scully.
Roger Smith Dining room – IDTA
“Yo, it’s Starsky and Hutch,” Gilda said, nudging her companion.
Look a’ that schweet ass on him.
Tell him you wanna jump his nightstick, honey—
“He ain’t a copy, he’s an FBI agent, and lissen---
Ask if you can see his gun
I’ll betcha his gun is smokinnnn
Now I like the young one.
Lithium solves Mondays. Late nights. Bad hair days---
But it tends to even out the personality, Krycek. I wouldn’t have those perky highs anymore.
Kills your sex drive, too, I hear.
An interloper with a wolf’s hungry face.
Stroke of Luck – Hth
Over the way that each jagged breath Krycek drew seemed to strain in Mulder’s lungs.
Mulder’s name, Mulder’s rat, Mulder’s problem.
Alex Krycek. Mulder’s rat, Mulder’s partner. Mulder’s victory.
Mulder stood at the center of it. Krycek’s G-man, Krycek’s problem. Krycek’s only weakness.
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