Title: A Game of Cat and Rat

Author: Mice and Lady Jaguar

Email: just_us_mice@yahoo.com, latigre@cielo.org

Category: PWP, crossover, Sentinel/Xfiles, Jim/Krycek, Jim/Blair implied

Warnings: m/m, kink -- bondage, Master/slave play, mild sexual violence, no rape or non-con

Rating: NC17

Summary: Jim's looking for answers. Does Krycek have them?

Feedback: Feed me, Seymour!

Website: Mice's Hole in the Wall -- https://www.squidge.org/mice/

Mirror: http://mice.inkpress.org

Disclaimer: Pet Fly owns Jim and Blair. 1013 owns Alex Krycek.

Author notes: This stand-alone story was written for Moonridge 2004, by request of the winner -- her choice of crossover pairing. No prequels, sequels or other-quels planned. Yep, Jim's out of character. Feel free to enjoy the tasty kinkiness of it all.

***

CASCADE, WASHINGTON

NIGHT

Alex Krycek straightened with a slow, liquid movement as the solidly-built man ghosted through the doorway of the club. He didn't need to check the photo reference on his PDA to make the ID. You couldn't mistake Jim Ellison for anything but a cop. He stood out in the dim, smoky room, looking like an eagle struck from the heights, eyes bright and wary.

Alex knew the type: ex-military law enforcement officer. There was something about the catlike grace of Ellison's movements and the man's bearing that reminded him of FBI Assistant Director Walter Skinner. He smiled softly, remembering his last encounter with Skinner. Was Ellison's mouth as hot and talented as Skinner's? He quickly concealed the smile. It wouldn't do to show that face here.

Still, it was a shame that the Consortium took away his nanotech toys. He'd had such fun with Skinner back then. That was a long time ago, Alex reminded himself, rubbing his new arm reflectively. He wasn't the same man who'd once played games of danger and power with humans and aliens alike. There was a new order within the Consortium and they had declared Alex "no longer of use." It was a polite way of saying that he had no resources, no friends, and they were turning him out of the organization for the FBI to take their revenge on. At least they'd regenerated his missing arm before throwing him to the wolves as a half-hearted thanks.

Alex was nothing if not resourceful. He'd spent too many years outwitting both sides. After laying down a false trail, he'd made contact with some power players in the Indonesian crime cartels and made himself very useful to a few highly placed people. Now he was back in the States, doing what he did best -- playing double agent.

He turned his attention back to his prey. Ellison was scanning the crowd casually, his eyes flickering quickly over the room, selecting events, selecting scenes, lingering on certain people and... equipment. The big cop might be here for business, but it was obvious that he was more than a little interested in some of the scenes at the club.

Ellison seemed to be focusing a lot of attention on the slaves, his body alerting slightly as he watched a Master punish a mischievous slave. It was a telltale sign, if you knew how to read men's kinks. Alex's eyes narrowed, pleased. Ellison would be easy -- almost too easy. He felt the predator in him rise, excited.

He sauntered up to the cop, smiling his most innocent smile, and muttered the code phrase. Ellison stared at him long and hard, then replied, "You've got the samples."

"I do, but this is a bad place to be handing over pharmaceuticals," he said, casual as a used car salesman. "You never know when you might get busted. We could go to a hotel... or to your place. Your choice."

Ellison hesitated, only a moment, then nodded. "My place. C'mon." He wheeled on his heel and stalked toward the exit.

Alex smirked to himself as he followed the cop. Of course Ellison would choose his own territory for the game. He'd have a known quantity, familiar surroundings, probably backup as well. That's what would make it so much more fun. He wondered if Ellison was carrying his cuffs. If not, something could be improvised.

***

Jim Ellison could tell the informant was bad news by the way he held himself; by the way he posed ever so subtly to attract attention. Perhaps that was his way of ensuring that he'd get out safely -- make sure that every man in the place knew he was there. With the almost blue-black hair, those startling green eyes, and the wickedly white smile, he exuded an air of tightly controlled danger. And this was a place for men who liked an edge of danger in their sexual experience.

Green Eyes smiled and placed a hand briefly on his arm and Jim fought not to step back. Every instinct screamed this one was a double-crosser. His backup plans were in place, but the man looked like he might be prepared for that. There was a slight double-click in the almost invisible ear bud radio. Rafe was signaling that they'd gotten the message that Jim would be taking the agent back to the loft and were on their way there. That was a relief; if things didn't go as anticipated, H and Rafe could be in the loft in less than three minutes.

It was a good thing Blair was away for the weekend at a conference. His partner and lover would have wanted to be involved, and with the look in this one's eye, it would be a lousy idea for Jim to show a weakness.

Blair was definitely his weakness.

"You into the scene?" the man asked as they slipped into the back of the cab. His green eyes were hard but excited. They measured Jim with laser precision, and he could see the intelligence behind them.

"On occasion." He lifted his chin to indicate the cabbie. He didn't want to talk about sex in front of witnesses, though the dark haired man practically oozed sensuality from his pores. Something about his scent grabbed Jim by the lizard brain, and combined with the heavy scent of rut and lust they'd just left behind in the club, it left Jim's mind swimming with unwanted images. Cuffs. Leather. Being fucked.

God, he was glad Blair was away. This could get dangerous. He felt barely under control, and was having a hard time dialing down scent.

"I saw you were interested in the slaves," the man said, trailing one black-gloved finger along the outside of Jim's thigh. He shuddered at the touch, then stopped sharply, willing his body to obey. He couldn't control the twitch in his dick. Damn. "You ever bottomed?" The words were soft, pure silk.

"I don't do that." Not that he'd never wanted to, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to let go like that. The idea of another man taking his body left him uneasy. It was too much of a loss of control. Still, the fantasy tugged at him -- being held helpless while an experienced lover tormented him until he begged for release. It was one of those fantasies that he'd never shared with Blair. Soon maybe. Oh, god.

Green-eyes leaned closer, purring into his ear. His scent and the warmth of his breath in Jim's ear provoked another shudder. "You need it, you need to submit. I can see it in your eyes."

Jim put a hand on the guy's chest and pushed. "Back off." The hot, throbbing pulse of the informant's heart ached into his palm. No. He couldn't. He didn't want this. Need tugged at him, and he could feel his jeans getting tighter, more uncomfortable. "What's your name?" Jim asked. He hoped it would deflect the feelings, shift the conversation.

A grin, smooth and dangerous. "Call me Krycek." The green eyes slipped half-closed, a look of triumph on the man's face. Jim would have to check this guy out thoroughly to see if the name was a recognized alias in the computer system at the office. So far, they'd turned up nothing in their searches since the informant had appeared. No photos, no prints, no nothing. It tasted of black ops. Not even the cartel bosses were that good.

"How much further?" Krycek asked.

"About five minutes." The leather-gloved hand slid along his side and he shivered. He could smell the leather, smell Krycek's pure, masculine musk, and feel the heat of the man's body next to him. It raised goosebumps and he forced himself not to take a sharp breath.

"You were watching them," Krycek insisted, whispering. "I saw you, wishing it was you there kneeling in front of your owner, leashed and cuffed and controlled. I know you want it, want to be treated that way. You need a Master. You need a strong, powerful man who can take you, force you to obey."

Jim fought the shiver slipping down his spine. Damn it, was this guy some sort of psy-ops expert in mind games? "Shut up," he snapped.

Blair -- think about Blair.

Oh, god, that didn't help. All he could see in his mind was Blair tying him to the railing at the head of their bed and fucking him until he screamed, begging for mercy. His cock was hard as iron.

Krycek's finger traced the ridge of it in his jeans. "God, you're a slut, cop."

Jim grabbed Krycek's wrist hard. "Hands *off.*"

Green eyes sparkled as a soft, dangerous laugh filled the back seat. "Oh, we'll see where the hands end up, slave. I've just decided to raise the price for my information."

Jim glared as the cab pulled to a stop in a parking lot two blocks from the loft. He paid the cabbie silently and gestured for Krycek to follow him. He lead the way through the anonymous alleys; a route that showed only the backs of buildings, and no identifiable streets. He'd earlier knocked out all the lighting along the way, and removed identifying signs. As he turned to look back at Krycek, he reached up and flicked the ear bud out of his ear, hearing the tiny clack as it landed at the edge of the alleyway.

Krycek would probably scan the loft for bugs. No point in letting him find the receiver that Jim was carrying.

In the distance he could see Brown and Rafe, watching from a van parked across the street from the loft. He nodded slightly, and dialed his sight up. Rafe nodded back. No need to call them in just yet. He could handle this.

Apparently it didn't fool the informant. "I know you've got backup," Krycek grinned as they entered the building. "You won't need them. But if you're good, I might let them watch. I know you'd like that. It's one of your slave fantasies, isn't it?"

Jim grabbed Krycek by the collar and slammed him into the open elevator. "Listen, punk, this game you're playing is getting irritating. Shut it down, and we'll deal. Keep it up and you can find someone else to deal with."

Krycek's hand cupped Jim's cock and balls and squeezed just hard enough to drag a frustrated moan from Jim. "No. We both want this. Our little game already has you so horny you don't want to quit, and as for me, I want to be the first to use your virgin ass. You'll be begging me to fuck you inside the next ten minutes, so don't give me that shit. A slave doesn't tell his Master what to do."

"You're not my Master." He could hear Krycek's heartbeat. It was quick, aroused. The green eyes were dilated and the heavy scent of lust filled the air around them. Some part of his mind was yammering about procedure and security and traps, but his attention was focused on those wicked green eyes and the overwhelming scent of arousal. "Not my Master," he repeated.

"I will be," Krycek growled. He tossed Jim's hand from his collar and suddenly slammed his fist into Jim's face, knocking him back across the elevator. "And you'll be my bitch."

Jim launched himself at the man, panting. He didn't want this. He didn't. Damn, why couldn't he convince his body of it? Hands probed at his side -- Krycek was using the wrestling match as an excuse to frisk him for weapons and devices. Two could play at *that* game, he decided, and his hands moved briskly over the man's body, probing and sliding. Pistol... several knives... electronic units... wallet in an inner zippered pocket... and a PDA -- something like a PalmPilot. Krycek was loaded with a lot of electronic goodies. Whoever he was working for wasn't skimping on the technology.

Jim yanked on the leather coat, using it as a leverage point. Krycek's eyes widened and then he grinned and slid halfway out of his jacket, swinging his body to slam Jim against one of the elevator walls. Jim staggered slightly and then lunged at the man again.

They tussled briefly, bouncing off the walls, then fell out the elevator door on to the third floor landing, Krycek on top. The impact knocked the wind from Jim, and Krycek writhed against him, grinding the hot length of his cock against Jim's own.

Jim couldn't suppress the groan this time.

Krycek chuckled. "You're a hell of a lot more fun than Mulder," he laughed. "Get up, slave." He grabbed Jim by the throat. "Take me into your place. We'll continue our business with you naked and kneeling in front me."

Jim got to his feet, then shoved Krycek back against the wall. He thought about calling the deal off, but the information Krycek carried was too valuable to their investigation. He'd have to play along with it, at least until he got what they needed. He gave Krycek a hard stare. "You'll have to do better than that," he scowled as he opened the door. "And cut out the crap games. We're here for a trade, not for an orgy."

***

Alex looked around the loft apartment, assessing the place and its owner.

The interior was stark and elegant, with a magnificent view of the city, but there was more here than he'd have expected from somebody like Ellison. Tribal masks and artifacts and unruly piles of books and papers suggested a roommate, probably male. Ellison's lover, most likely. The man himself looked like he'd live like a Spartan, given the choice.

"Where's your bitch?" he asked, looking over at the big cop.

"My *partner* is away."

Oh yeah. He'd struck a nerve there. "Does he know you want to be fucked?" He moved to a shelf near the fireplace and picked up a photo of Ellison with a shorter man. They were up to their knees in the water, laughing, the short guy holding up a fish. Gotta be the boyfriend. Kind of cute, if you liked them short. "Does he know that you want a Master?"

Ellison gave him a withering glare. "This is getting dull. Let's get on with the exchange. You have the merchandise. Let's see it."

Alex leaned against the fireplace, toying with his zipper. "Now, now. Master doesn't display his merchandise first."

"Get *off* it!" Ellison snarled. Anger was a good sign; the cop's emotions were getting out of hand. Alex slid one leather-gloved hand to his belt buckle and let it rest there.

"You'll enjoy me getting on it. I can tell you're a virgin -- never been fucked before. You probably think you're too macho to bottom. Curly here," he waved the photo, "would probably love to plow your ass. Looks like a toppy little guy. Bet he swings both ways, like a door in a bar. You ever watched him fuck a woman?"

"He's not up for discussion." Ellison jerked the photo out of his hand and set it carefully back in its place on the shelf. He obviously didn't want to be baited about the boyfriend, and if his anger got too far out of control, someone would end up dead or badly damaged. Dangerous fun was one thing; damage and death, however, tended to ruin your whole evening.

"Well, he may not be up for discussion, but you are." He grabbed Ellison's shirt and yanked, hard. Buttons went sailing across the room as he leaned in and nipped the rock-solid chest. Ellison stared at him like he'd been pole-axed, and Alex could almost feel the wave of heat and lust that rose in the man.

A moment later, the cop snagged his cuffs and grabbed for Alex's wrist. Alex grinned -- that would be the cop's first lesson. He ducked and twisted, there was a ratcheting click, and Ellison stood staring blankly at his own handcuffed wrist. Alex laughed. "Naughty slut!" he scolded.

The hesitation was brief. Ellison's hands raked his sides as the cop lunged, pulling at his coat and grabbing his ass. Alex yanked at the dangling handcuff and Ellison grabbed at his coat lining. He brought his knee up and Ellison yanked down hard, trying to pull him off balance.

Alex shoved back, twisting and writhing against the man. A hand brushed his cock, and then rubbed against it, long and hard, urging his arousal. God, Ellison felt good... so good. The sweetness of surrender would be stronger after this little wrestling match.

They rolled and slammed against the couch as they fought, causing remotes to fall from its arm with a loud plastic clatter. The man burst into a more frantic struggle at that, but it was mostly for show. They were on their feet again in a swift motion. Alex fastened his mouth on Ellison's throat and sucked, tearing groans and whimpers from the big man as he finally cuffed Ellison's wrists behind his back.

"On your knees, slave," Alex snarled, shoving Ellison down. The man's knees hit the hardwood floor with a thump, and he knelt there, panting hard, ice-blue eyes looking up at him. The need in those eyes was a physical presence. "Oh yeah, you want it, don't you? It's such a sweet game and you're aching to play." Ellison wasn't the only one who was aroused and ready. Alex slowly rubbed his crotch with his hand, emphasizing the shape of his cock. "You want this, don't you?"

Ellison didn't answer.

Alex slapped him across the face with one leather-clad hand. "Answer me, slave. You want it, don't you?"

Ellison looked away, silent, then nodded once.

"I said *answer* me. You will address me as Master when you speak to me." He jerked Ellison's chin up so the man was looking into his eyes. There was a rising bruise on his face from the earlier punch, and Alex could see the red marks where his teeth had sunk into chest and throat. He laughed. Ellison was going to have an interesting time explaining *that* to his boyfriend, and everyone else on the force. He slid his hand under Ellison's chin, his fingers resting lightly against the man's carotid artery. It hammered wildly. "Answer," he insisted.

"Yes, Master," Ellison whispered. Alex relaxed slightly. The game had been accepted, and whether or not the cop had intended to play out this little scene, it was in motion now.

"Very good, slut," Alex said. "I knew it when I looked at you. You need a man who can put you in your place, who can fuck you into obedience." He caressed the man's face, slipping one gloved finger into Ellison's panting mouth. The big cop's lips closed around it, sucking, blue eyes closing. "That's right, slave. Show me how much you want it. Show me how you'll suck my dick." Alex grinned, his full, hard cock throbbing. God, this had been easy.

***

The taste of leather overwhelmed Jim's senses and he'd have slid into a zone if Krycek hadn't leaned down and bit the back of his neck. He yelped and tried to pull away, but Krycek kept his finger in Jim's mouth. "Suck, slave. Let's see what that hot mouth of yours can do."

Oh, god, this was wild. He was so hard he ached. He struggled against the cuffs that held his hands behind his back, but they were locked down tight. Krycek chuckled. One hand turned Jim's head, and the wet, leather-clad finger slipped from his mouth. His face was pushed into Krycek's crotch. The man's dick was like granite under the dark denim.

"Gonna fuck your mouth, slut." Krycek's voice was low, smooth as butter. "You'll love sucking my dick, won't you?"

Jim nodded, nuzzled, burying his face in the man's crotch. He breathed deeply, almost dizzy with the intense scent of arousal.

Fingers buried themselves in his short hair and yanked his head back. "Won't you?" Krycek demanded.

"Yes, Master," Jim said. His voice was ragged.

"Such a good little slave," Krycek purred. "You're going to have to pay for the information you want with your body, bitch. I'll take the money we agreed to, but I'll fuck that virgin ass of yours until you scream before I do."

Krycek's hands drifted over him, touching him like he was a prize bull up for auction. The man's grin was feral, and he laughed when Jim hissed and arched back as his nipples were pinched hard and twisted. "Nice, hard body, slave. Responsive. I like that in a slut." The wet finger stroked down the side of Jim's neck from one ear to the end of his shoulder. "But I want to see more of it. We'll have to get rid of this shirt, won't we?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, Master." He wondered how Krycek intended to get it off, until he heard the snick of a switchblade opening.

Reflex taking over, he lunged away from the weapon, intending to kick the man's feet from under him, but Krycek caught his shirt collar and jerked him back to his knees. "Stay put, bitch." He held the blade in front of Jim's face. "I'm going to fuck you, not cut you. If I wanted you dead, you would be." The knife moved slowly toward his collar, and Krycek made short work of the cloth, stripping the shirt from his cuffed arms with a few efficient movements. It was tossed aside in tatters.

Jim couldn't help his trembling. Fear had nothing to do with it. He was confident now that he'd come to no serious harm. Chances were, he'd suffer no more than bites, bruises, and a roughly fucked ass. Krycek was enjoying the game too much. With a chill in the pit of his stomach, he realized that so was he. His trembling -- it was anticipation. He never thought he was so obvious about his desires when he was around those clubs. He'd thought his years in Vice had inured him to the appeal, made him able to ignore it when he was on duty.

Black clad hands slid open along the expanse of his chest and he leaned his head back to allow the access. He hadn't dialed his touch up at all, but the leather felt so good, so soft and smooth. The sensation was heady, erotic.

"That's right, bitch. Let your Master touch you." Fingers pinched one nipple hard, dragging him to his feet. He gasped, rising, eyes squeezed shut against the pain. "Good boy. Can't get your pants off when you're on your knees."

Both his nipples ached, and his shaft throbbed an answering rhythm, wanting touch.

"Stand at attention, slave. I know you know how." Krycek slapped Jim's crotch and he gasped, forcibly straightening himself. His body remembered his military training without his brain's interference.

"Good slut." Krycek's hand stroked him slowly as a reward for obedience, sliding down the length of his aching penis. Jim's fingers curled into fists behind his back and he pressed into the caress, teeth gritting. God, he wanted to feel that leather on his shaft.

"Thank your Master when he rewards you, slave." Another caress, and a squeeze through his jeans.

"Unnh... thank you, Master..." He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but it didn't work.

Krycek's hands moved along his body again, touching and caressing, pinching and rubbing. Jim held absolutely still, absorbing the feeling. A moment later, Krycek unbuckled Jim's belt and pulled it from the belt loops in his jeans. A swift flick of the wrist and the belt folded in his hand. He held it up with both hands and snapped it near Jim's ear, but Jim had seen it coming and hastily dialed down his hearing. He still flinched at the sharp retort.

"Once you're stripped, I'll let you feel it on your ass, slave."

Jim swallowed, uneasy, then nodded.

"Say it."

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

"You're still overdressed." Krycek dropped the belt on the table and popped the buttons open on Jim's jeans. "Kick off your

shoes, bitch."

Stripped down to his boxers, the cop was magnificent. Sweat slicked the hard, sculpted body as it reacted to Alex's every move. His big, thick cock stood out, tenting the plaid silk. Damn, it was compelling to have a god like this obeying him without question. The plaid had to go, though. The stuff was ugly as sin, not to mention the fact it covered what Alex wanted.

The gruff, macho ones were always the most submissive bottoms, when you knew how to get to them. Ellison's ass would be virgin-tight, and so hot. He could hardly wait.

Another soft stroke along the hidden ridge of Ellison's dick and the cop gasped, straining for more touch. Oh, man. "Hot little bitch, aren't you? You'll be begging for my cock in your ass soon enough." He could feel the sculpted body shudder under his hand. The power was delicious. It had been like this with Skinner, once he'd applied a little nanocyte-based persuasion. It was amusing what the little techno-bugs could do to a man's body when it came to the application of pain and pleasure. He licked his lips, savoring the image. "On your knees, slave. I think it's time you showed me how well you can suck dick."

Ellison slowly lowered himself to his knees. "Yes, Master," he whispered. The man's eyes were dilated to an incredible degree. Alex hadn't seen anything like it before. He tugged a condom out of his pocket and opened the packet. "Put this on me." He tucked the condom into Ellison's mouth then pulled his cock from his tight, straining jeans. Ellison moaned softly when Alex exposed himself. God, the cop wanted it bad. The raw, intense need in his eyes was so sweet.

His mouth was just as talented as Alex had hoped. Ellison might never have had his ass fucked, but he'd sure sucked enough dick to know his way around. Alex's head fell back and he groaned loudly as the cop's mouth took him in and covered him with the condom and then began a slow and sensual swirling around his shaft.

"God, bitch, yes..." Alex hissed. "Do it -- suck it you slut. You've always wanted it like this, haven't you?"

Ellison kept licking and sucking, his mouth impossibly good, then swallowed Alex's cock. Alex gasped and thrust sharply, but Ellison was ready for it, eager despite his obvious nervousness. No, the cop was having too much fun. Time to change the game a little, sweeten it with an expression of his power. He pulled back and chuckled at the soft sound his dick made, popping out of Ellison's mouth.

"Hey!"

He slapped Ellison hard across the face again, jarring his head to the left. "Never address your Master that way, slave."

Ellison's eyes glazed for a moment, then the focus returned. "I'm sorry, Master." He lowered his face.

"You will be." Alex put one booted foot on the back of Ellison's neck and shoved until the man's shoulders and cheek were pressed to the floor, ass lifted high in the air. Yeah, that was better. Not a bad view, either. Alex grinned. "How do you like the taste of floor in your face, bitch?"

Ellison remained silent. Probably thought it was a rhetorical question. That would be the cop's problem. "Answer me, fucktoy." He pressed harder against the man's neck.

Ellison squirmed, his face twisted with discomfort. "I... Master, this is--"

Alex cut him off. "Shut up, slut." He took his foot off Ellison's neck and slid it down in front of the man. "Lick the boot." Ellison's face twisted in a grimace of revulsion and Alex grinned. His boot wasn't actually that dirty. He'd had them polished earlier in the day, but he figured Mister Anal here would balk at the order, and he'd have yet another excuse to punish his slave. It was good to be the Master.

Ellison clenched his teeth and tried to twist his hands free. "No!" But his cock twitched upward, its tip glistening with pre-come. Yeah, the cop was enjoying this game.

Alex picked up the belt from the table and looped it between his hands again, snapping it with a loud pop. Ellison's eyes widened. "Lick the boot." He brought the leather belt down across Ellison's shoulders several times and watched, pleased, as the cop jerked silently at the strokes.

The corded muscles of his neck bunched briefly and then a pink tongue-tip emerged. Slowly, reluctantly, Ellison touched it to the boot. With a shudder, he began licking.

***

Jim didn't like the boot-licking at all, but the surrender inherent in it was a mind-bending thrill. His face was back on the floor again, bruised cheek against the hardwood. Krycek was laying into his ass with the belt, and God it felt good. He hissed and tried to resist jerking away with each blow. His cock was throbbing, and harder than hell. Closing his eyes, he hissed again as the belt fell.

"Such a red ass, slut. I can see how much you love this. Look how hard you are."

He was having a hard time keeping a handle on his senses. He wasn't spiking or zoning, but sensations, scents, tastes -- they were moving in and out of focus. He was almost dizzy with it. Normally, this would have him freaking badly, but it was incredibly... sensual.

The scent of leather grew stronger in his nostrils and he realized that Krycek was collaring him with his own belt. He moaned, his cock pounding with his pulse. Krycek jerked on the belt like a leash and hauled him to his feet.

"Oh, no, slave. You can't come yet. I haven't had my dick in your ass."

Jim struggled with the cuffs behind his back, and Krycek gave his shaft a hard, sharp slap.

"Aaaah!" He winced and shrank back, the stark pain pulling him from the brink of orgasm. The pain was... disturbingly stimulating. He was panting, wanting release.

"Come along, slave."

"Yes, Master." It was quiet, almost a gasp. When Krycek tugged on his leash, he went eagerly. The burn in his cheeks left his ass tingling, and he craved more. He needed sensation, touch, on his hole, inside him. Excitement kept his pulse galloping as they ascended the stairs to the loft bedroom.

He could smell Krycek's arousal, thick and heavy as a cloud in the room around him. There was a distinct edge of danger to the man, and Jim knew that under other circumstances, he'd never turn his back on him. This, though; it was heady, dizzying -- the fantasy of the forbidden.

The feeling of surrender was hot in his blood.

Krycek shoved him face-first onto the bed. "Ass up, slave. Display yourself. Show me your hole."

Jim raised his ass, legs spread, and spread his cheeks with his hands. He heard Krycek's heartbeat spike, and the sharp intake of his breath.

"Oh, yes," Krycek hissed, too soft for ordinary hearing. "I'm gonna love this." He could hear Krycek stroking himself, and the soft heat of his Master's breath on his ass, coming close to his cleft.

A sharp bite on his ass, and Jim shouted.

Krycek laughed and slapped him hard over his entrance with one leather-clad hand. Jim's body jerked, his senses wavering again, and the pain made him ache to be fucked.

"Please," he groaned.

"Did you say something, bitch?"

"Please, Master." God, his cock was pounding. Waiting was making him wild, and he could feel himself leaking on the bed.

"Does my fuckslut want something?"

"Fuck me, Master," Jim whispered, his voice harsh. He could hardly believe he was saying it, but his body was crying out for relief. He needed to feel something in his ass, to be penetrated deeply and ridden hard. He wanted to feel a man's body bending above his own, driving deep inside his most private opening. What had once been an object of curiosity was now a craving.

Two of Krycek's gloved fingers were shoved into his mouth, the leather rich and seductive on his tongue. He sucked and pushed himself back at Krycek, hoping the man would just get on with it. He moaned around the fingers as his Master thrust them in and out, rhythmic and hypnotic.

No, he couldn't zone -- he wouldn't. Focus, he needed to focus.

Leather taste, scent, the smell of lightning hot arousal, leather rubbing his tongue, in his mouth, the tightness of the collar around his neck, gloved hand kneading his ass, the cuffs on his wrists, air on his skin, two pounding hearts, panting and the hum of the digital clock at his bedside... Oh god.

The intensity swirled around him, carrying him out of himself, not like a zone but like being drunk on sex and scent and taste and texture. Drunk on power and surrender and the laser heat of his hard dick pounding inside its skin, about to burst.

Raw need was his only consciousness now, as the fingers popped out of his mouth. He was jerked around by the collar, and then his Master's cock was in his mouth again, hot and full and oh god so heavy and thick. He sucked mindlessly, groaning and growling as Krycek fucked his face.

Leather covered fingers invaded his ass, covered with cold lube -- and where the hell had that come from? He tried to shout, but Krycek shoved his cock down Jim's throat, and Jim thrashed, pierced by fingers and a long, hard shaft -- so good, so hot, stretching him where he'd never been touched before, and he would have come if his Master's other hand hadn't grabbed him by the balls and squeezed just *so*.

"Not yet," Krycek gasped. He pulled himself from Jim's mouth and Jim gasped, catching his breath. He shoved back, trying to impale himself further on the amazing fingers, but his Master tugged at his balls again, and he stilled, trembling, instead.

"Please, oh god, please Master, fuck me." Jim could hardly speak, but the words fell from his lips unbidden, forced by need and the terrifying depth of desire.

Krycek laughed. "That's right, slave. I knew you'd beg for it." He drove his fingers in further, faster, shifting his body around Jim's. The fingers skimmed over a sweet spot inside Jim and he howled, bucking again, fighting the cuffs. He wanted, needed to bury his fingers in something, grab and twist and hold tight enough to tear cloth. Keening, his fists clenched on his own ass cheeks, still keeping them open for his Master's thrusts.

"Beg!"

"Please Master, take me! Fuck me! I need it!"

With a swift motion, Krycek drove his hard, thick cock into Jim's ass and Jim came with a force that left him dizzy and breathless, still shouting for more. He felt like it would never end, his shaft spitting come like a fountain, his Master fucking him deep and hard, pounding into him over and over.

"Oh, yeah -- oh god, slut, you're so fucking *tight*, I knew you'd be good, so hot --" Krycek's thrusting got harder and faster, his words slurring, turning to moans and then to the tiniest of whispers. "Oh yeah... Mulder... fuck you like a dog... tight ... so hard... so... tight...," and then Jim felt Krycek stiffen as he climaxed.

They both collapsed, breathless and spent, chests heaving.

"So... what's your... bitch gonna think of you... now..." Krycek gasped.

Jim squeezed his eyes shut. He shook his head, trying to clear it. God, he needed sleep, but he had to focus. No, he couldn't think about Blair right now, or the possible consequences of his actions. He had no idea if he'd still have a lover two days from now, but he could hope. He prayed Blair would want to do this with him. His senses were still shifting randomly; sight and then taste, touch, and sound. He lay, panting, letting them slide down toward normalcy.

Everything was sharp, clearer than mountain air in winter. He could hear everything like crystal -- the other people in the building, water in the pipes, Rafe and H talking in their van.

Focus.

"So how about the merchandise, and that information," Jim finally asked, still out of breath.

Krycek was already rising from the bed, throwing the condom into the wastebasket and tucking his dick back in his pants.

"Money, slave. That's what I came for."

"You had my ass, 'Master.' I should think that's good enough for you."

He could hear Krycek chuckling, and it broadened into laughter. "You little virgin fuckslut cop, your ass isn't worth *that* much. I want my cash."

"In my jacket's breast pocket. Let me get it." He gestured with his bound hands.

Krycek rolled him over onto his side. He pulled a marker from his pants pocket and started writing on Jim's bruised face. "Here are the guys you want." He scribbled for a moment. Capping the pen, he stuffed it back into his pocket and pulled out a zip-locked baggie. "Here are the samples." He tossed it on Jim's desk.

With a smooth move, he slipped a key into Jim's mouth -- the key to the handcuffs that he'd somehow managed to palm from Jim's keyring. "There you go, slave. You can free yourself."

Adjusting his shirt, Krycek gave him one last, arrogant grin, then hurried down the stairs. Jim could hear him pick up the jacket from where it had fallen on the couch, and heard the whisper of his voice as he counted the payoff. "All here," he called back cheerfully.

There was a soft, buttery sound as Krycek slipped his own jacket back on, and the door of his loft opened, then shut. He heard the soft patter of footsteps descending the stairs and the breathy sound of off-key whistling. Then the outer door closed, and Krycek's voice shouted for a taxi. Car sounds faded into the night.

Ellison groaned. Crap. He spat the key out on the bed, then moved so he could grab it with one hand. It was a matter of moments to unlock the cuffs.

His hearing was still way up, and now there were familiar voices on the edge of his hearing.

"--his informant." Rafe's voice, with his muted South African accent. "Why haven't we heard from Jim?"

H sounded concerned. "He said to wait until he signaled, but nothin' so far. Let's start moving in. Damn fool, why did he wanna do it this way?"

"Beats me. Sometimes I think he figures he's Superman or something."

"Let's go."

Jim heard the car doors opening.

Shit shit shit. He ran downstairs, grabbing boxers and pants and getting them on quickly, hopping on one foot, then the other. The belt was still around his neck, and *that* was the sound of the building door opening.

A quick motion and he'd removed the belt. He tossed it on the coffee table. Shirt, shirt, where the hell was his -- oh fuck. It was shredded. He grabbed it and stuffed it under one of the couch cushions. Oh god. One of them was on the elevator and the other on the stairs.

He saw himself in the large glass panes of the loft's balcony doors. Damn it, he *looked* like he'd just been fucked -- eyes still a little wild, short hair spiked and going every which way, the gleam of drying spunk on his belly, bites on his chest and neck. He darted for the kitchen and swiped at the mess on his belly with a towel.

The elevator door ratcheted open and he could hear H whispering to Rafe. He flung the towel in the garbage can and darted for the living room. Damn damn damn damn! No shirt... no time to run upstairs for a tee shirt. There was his jacket.

He threw it on over his naked torso. Footsteps in his hallway. Damn!

With a quick motion, he reached under his couch for the prize that he'd risked his neck for; the reward for playing Krycek's little game -- the PDA that he'd discovered in their struggle on the elevator. The noise that it made when he tipped it out of the informant's pocket had been, thankfully, covered by some falling remotes.

He tapped the power button. It lit up asking for a password. The hallway sounds grew loud. Rafe was knocking on the door, H behind him. He could hear them, smell them.

What the hell was that name Krycek had said? Mulder? He entered it and -- YES!

Brown was thumping on the door now. "Ellison! Ellison, man, you okay? Open up!"

He hurried to the door just as the two detectives were backing up to kick it in.

"Oh, hey guys." Just act casual, maybe they won't notice.

They stared at him, bug eyed.

Oh crap. He'd forgotten his face had been written on.

"Uh, look, I know this looks really weird, but I'm fine and you need to see this." It was the understatement of the century. He waved the PDA like a magician producing a rabbit. "I think we've got a lot more than we bargained for here."

One last blink from Rafe, and they came in. Rafe took the PDA unit from him and started browsing through the unit's data files. His expression turned gleeful. "My God, Jim. I can't believe this. Some of this is Cartel stuff, definitely. Names, phone numbers, aliases, addresses, schedules."

Jim discretely buttoned his jacket. "Yep. I thought it might be useful," he said smugly.

He shook his head, astonished. "There's a lot of other stuff here too, but I've got no idea what it is." Rafe looked at him. "Yeah, those names on your face, they're here too." He laughed.

H grinned and looked up at Jim. "Ellison, man, I don't know *what* you did for this, and right now, I don't even care, but this is a gold mine! You got them *so* nailed. Look at this!" He poked one finger at the screen. "Something going down early this morning, about three a.m., looks like a big shipment. If we get this to Simon right now, we can have a raid set and waiting!"

"Then don't keep him waiting," Jim said as he herded them toward the door. "I'll take care of getting the samples to the lab while you go take care of that. We should let the FBI have this... someday. I think our friend may be of interest to them."

"Err... yeah." Rafe's look was speculative. Jim just smiled, closed the loft door, and leaned against it, sagging in relief. There were still issues to be resolved, but for now things were very, very good.

Oh yeah. It was good to be the Sentinel.

~fin~