Retaliation

By Palinurus

September 28, 1997

When darkness fell, the cold in the cell became intense. Mulder started to shiver almost as soon as he sat down, exhausted, headache pounding. Krycek sat against the opposite wall and regarded him with unveiled curiosity. Mulder very badly wanted to punch him again, but the situation wasn't quite right for that anymore. The balance of power had shifted spectacularly to his disadvantage, with Krycek uncuffed, in better shape, and now the only one who could communicate with their captors. He contemplated his predicament miserably.

Krycek made no attempt to hide his glee at his sudden power. He happily gave voice to another unsettling aspect of the situation. "Mulder. I know how distasteful this must be to you, but we really should start huddling. Spending the night this far apart from me would kill you. Worse, it would kill me too. We'd freeze to death in no time."

Mulder gritted his teeth and didn't reply. After several minutes of silence, Krycek resumed, "Mulder, you can either spend the night awake and getting chased around the cell, or asleep in my arms. I will defend your virtue with my life, I promise."

Mulder knew he was right; it was likely that neither of them would make it through the night if they didn't keep each other warm. The inevitability of it made him fume, and it took him a long time to swallow his anger and move back to the corner where Krycek was waiting for him. Krycek opened his arms with a inviting smile, and crushed Mulder to his chest. "Just keep your disgusting hands to yourself Krycek, or I swear I'll kill you, even if I freeze to death afterwards," he whispered.

"Mulder, shut up. We both know you can only kill me, or even hit me, when I'm handcuffed." That was true again. Most of Mulder's time was spent sitting at a desk, in an airplane or in a car, while a sewer rat like Krycek would... well, god knew how he spent his time, but judging by the strength of his arms, paperwork didn't take up much of it. He could outrun, outpunch, outlast Mulder any time. Bile rose in his throat at the recognition that the situation had stripped him of every hold he had over the other man. It would be wise to be careful. He shut up and clenched his teeth. Krycek pulled him down, snuggled up against his back and put an arm and a leg around him. After a long time, he fell into an exhausted sleep.
 
~.~

From the depths of the underworld, he floated up on a current of breathtaking arousal, pushed higher and higher by his own pulse. He had had a most incredible dream, a dream of being touched by a thousand disconnected hands, invisible, disembodied, touching him relentlessly and carrying him up to what must surely become the most intense orgasm of his life. Almost at the surface, he let his body be swept along on the swell of huge waves of lust, moaning softly, turning this way and that to provide optimal access to the divine touches, tensing up in anticipation of the cataclysmic explosion building up.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, far above the surface of his warm, delightful sea, there was something vaguely disquieting. Something subtly wrong. Something he decided to ignore for as long as it would let him.

A new barrage of electrifying touches. He spread his legs wider, fingers in his ass, rubbing his prostate, sending warm rivulets along his spine, his cock engulfed in a slick, hot embrace, a huge wave swelling, rising with incredible force, sweeping him along. It crested at dizzying height, and hurled him into space, gasping for breath, hanging on for dear life, parsecs away before he slowed, stopped, and then gently floated down in the vacuum. His muscles started to relax. One hand fell to the side, touching an incongruously hard, cold, rough surface. Slowly his mind came out of its trance and the threat lost its remoteness, solidified into familiar horror. He snapped his eyes open. At the same instant, he heard Krycek's hateful chuckle very close to his ear. So close he could feel the warm breath on his cheek, a startling contrast to the freezing air in the cell. The shock finally woke him up completely.

"That was really wonderful to watch, Mulder. Definitely worth the work. Not that I expect you to be very grateful for it, of course."

With a cry of rage, he struggled to his knees and lunged at the other. He tripped and fell face-down on the floor, only then realizing his jeans were bundled around his knees. The maneuver provoked another chuckle. "It's a good thing I had a hunch about your post-climactic temper, Mulder. You could have hurt me badly there. And I'm still bruised from all the other times you misread your feelings."

"God damn you Krycek, you fucking pervert", he spat out through clenched teeth, pulling up his pants so hastily he almost caught himself in the zipper.

"Judging by the physical evidence remaining on the floor, I don't think you have much of a case against me, Mulder."

Mortified by what had happened, disgusted by his own refusal to wake up fully before the damage was done, Mulder moved along the cell wall to get as far away from the other as possible, and sat down in the corner.

"Mulder, you know what? Your body is simply too good for you. You should have seen yourself lying there. A cat in heat would have been embarrassed to move like you did. Your eyes closed, your ass following my hand, making all these delightful little noises, I really didn't think you had it in you. And look at you now. All bundled up, not knowing what to do with yourself. You're a prude, that's what you are. It makes my eyes hurt to look at you."

He tried to close him mind to that voice, hating it for making him remember, fearing his own rage at the relentless taunting.

All day long Mulder's mind kept sneaking back to the events of that morning, like a tongue obsessively touching a sore tooth. It had been truly incredible, the most wonderful orgasm in a long time. What really bothered him was that he couldn't quite convince himself that he hadn't known what was happening, who was doing all those breathtaking things to him. As the day passed, he found himself staring at an uninvited video recording of the scene, shot from the ceiling, and could hardly keep from groaning with embarrassment. After watching several lurid repetitions of Krycek bringing him off, he was horrified to find that the coil of tension in his stomach was releasing little warm furry balls that descended directly into his groin. Jesus Christ, what was happening here? It must be something in the food, maybe they drugged him with something while he was unconscious. The whole situation was unreal.

Occasionally, he noticed that Krycek was watching him, was actually studying him with great interest, the motherfucking son-of-a-bitch. As if he knew exactly what was going on. Mulder got up and walked over to the barred window. There was nothing to see but a blind wall, but at least he wouldn't have to look at Krycek's knowing face. He stared at the poor-quality Russian brickwork and tried to think of nothing, or at least of something else, and even succeeded for a while. Suddenly he felt Krycek's hot breath in his neck, two hands on either side of his crotch, moving down between his legs and staying there, the thumbs turned inward to touch his balls. He gasped, stood for a stunned second to gather his shattered wits, to gain control of his leg muscles which had turned very weak. Then he punched Krycek in the gut with his elbow, and turned around, growling. Krycek didn't seem in much pain. He backed off fast, smiling his most endearing smile, and said, "Sorry Mulder, but you looked like you needed some consolation. You really looked rather upset; I thought I'd try to comfort you."

"Stay away from me, you bastard!" Mulder shouted, sounding feeble even to himself.

Krycek looked at him, shook his head in resignation, and sat down again. "I do wish you'd stop hitting me, Mulder. At some point I might get mad and hit back, and I don't want to hurt you."

"Fuck you, Krycek!" That earned him another look, almost pitying this time.

~.~

The gloomy daylight faded and the temperature started falling again. They sat leaning against opposite walls in the cell. Mulder had worn himself out pacing, unable to sit still for long.

"Mulder. I'm getting really, really cold again. How about it?"

Mulder had been anticipating this moment with dread, unable to think of a way to defuse the situation. His impotent anger surfaced again immediately. "If you think for a moment you're going to have any more good times at my expense, just forget it, you bastard."

Krycek looked at him in mock exasperation. "Mulder, I don't know where you get these crazy ideas. There must be a serious warp somewhere in your head." He got up in the semi-darkness, crossed the cell to where Mulder was sitting, and sat down opposite him, no more than a foot away, and resumed, "But seriously, Mr. Incorruptible. I really don't know what you're trying to prove. You can't deny I showed you a pretty good time last night. You also can't deny that you knew exactly what was happening. It was convenient, wasn't it, being asleep for as long as it took, not waking up until it was over. I hope you're fooling yourself, though I doubt it. You're certainly doing a lousy job of fooling me." He looked intently at Mulder, who stared back at him, unable to stare him down, unwilling to break the lock and admit defeat. Finally Krycek reached out and traced a finger along his jaw. He growled and angrily swung at the arm, which made Krycek smile again.

"You know, there's a saying in German that goes 'Was sich liebt, das neckt sich', which means, people in love will tease each other. This is really Freud in a nutshell, don't you think Mulder?" He reached out again, this time putting his hand behind Mulder's head and pulling him closer. "That's why I'm still putting up with your random violence. I know what you mean, and I know it's really hard for you to say it."

Mulder felt his stomach churn. He ducked to get rid of the hand, too weary to even attempt another swing at it. He turned away from Krycek and sat parallel to the wall, leaning his head and shoulder against it. He pulled up his knees and put his arms around them, an ineffectual attempt to shield himself from Krycek's scrutiny. The man's closeness raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He attempted to breathe normally to hide his agitation, but very quickly became light-headed with the lack of oxygen and was forced to breathe faster to keep from getting faint.

Krycek watched every second of his struggle, fascinated. When his breathing returned to almost normal, Krycek scooted over, sitting behind him, then gingerly put a hand in the center of his back, between his shoulder blades. When Mulder remained still, he moved in closer, gently pulling at stiff, unyielding shoulders until Mulder almost fell backwards into his lap, before giving in and leaning against Krycek.

Mulder was in a daze, telling himself to get up, to beat the living daylights out of the insolent bastard, to want to escape, to do something, anything, but he was too worn out from the day's emotional turmoil to be bothered. He was also getting very cold again, and relished the warmth that was seeping through his sweater and relaxing the muscles in his back. A bone-deep weariness overcame him. When Krycek put his arms around him, he let his head fall back on the waiting shoulder and closed his eyes.

Krycek sat still for a long time before gradually withdrawing his shoulder and laying Mulder on the ground. He turned him towards the wall and lay behind him. Not that he expected a lot of trouble, but it never hurt to be prepared. He put on arm around Mulder's body, and slowly, lazily, moved his hand over his abdomen, his chest, his throat, traced the outlines of his face.

Mulder drifted in and out of sleep during the maneuver. He woke up fully, however, when Krycek softly kissed the back of his neck. A jolt of pleasure took his breath away. And this time it was no use even trying to pretend that he didn't know whose attentions his body was enthusiastically responding to. He clenched his teeth and tried to shut up the voices trying to shout each other down inside his head, while Krycek lapped at the bare skin behind his ear and softly bit his earlobe. He sucked in his breath as if he was in pain. He moved his muscles erratically, more to relieve the tension than to go anywhere, and encountered the wall hemming him in.

It was an acute sense of claustrophobia that finally launched him into action. He started to struggle. Immediately, Krycek threw his full weight on him, pinning him to the rough floor. He twisted sideways to throw him off, but Krycek had his legs spread out for support and wasn't that easy to unbalance. He grabbed Mulder's arms, pinned them to his side, and whispered into his neck, "Don't make this so difficult, Mulder. You know what's going to happen, you want it, you've been thinking about it all day. For Christ's sake don't start giving yourself a hard time now."

Mulder felt Krycek's erection pressing against him through two layers of jeans. He felt his own, complaining indignantly about the cold floor. He gave in.

Krycek, sensing he had won, at least for the moment, wrapped his arms around Mulder and rolled them both back on their sides, Mulder once again facing the wall. He resumed his kissing, finding gooseflesh wherever he touched. He buried his nose in Mulder's hair, and whispered "Stupid-ass haircut!", and felt the body next to him twitch. With anger? Or was Mulder actually chuckling?

His free arms wandered to the hem of Mulder's sweater and snaked its way inside. He yearned for more naked flesh, but it was too cold for that. He felt Mulder's abdominal muscles ripple under his touch, and was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of awed tenderness. The man's whole body was rigid as a board. His considerable talents would be totally wasted unless he went really slowly.

Instead of teasing with only his fingertips, he went for a massage using his whole hand. He felt the muscles relax slightly almost instantaneously, and bit on his lip to keep from laughing. It really seemed like Mulder had no problem as long as he could find an excuse to tell himself it wasn't about sex. Experimentally, Krycek combined more massage with more gentle kissing of the neck, and could almost feel Mulder silently, furiously debating the sex issue with himself. Finally he apparently decided and relaxed again.

This is going to take too long, Krycek thought. He quit the massage and move his hand to a nipple. That was obviously sex. He ignored the tension that was close to drawing sparks from Mulder's skin, and wrapped a leg around him. That move almost triggered another flight attempt. Mulder was gasping for breath now, sweating in spite of the intense cold, his muscles trembling with the effort of being poised for flight for too long.

Krycek knew he wouldn't be able to keep that tension up for much longer. He stuck his tongue into Mulder's ear and slid his hand down towards the zipper of his jeans. Mulder jerked up like a nervous colt, and Krycek let his hand lie quietly for a moment, concentrating on the ear, only to move on when Mulder settled down again. He bit back another smile when he felt the sizable bulge that had formed, in spite of Mulder's squeamish virgin act. He slowly opened the jeans and put his hand inside, a moist wave rising in his belly at the warmth and hardness that met him there. Mulder made a sound that was much like a sob, and shook his head violently, as if to clear his mind. Krycek spent more long moments holding very still, concentrating on kissing him and settling him down, before he went on.

He very, very softly grazed his finger down the length of Mulder's cock through the paper-thin fabric of his shorts (silk! Krycek almost choked on his chuckle at the incongruence of silk underwear in a Russian gulag), enjoying the suppressed shudder this evoked. He was now leaning on an elbow, his body stretched alongside Mulder's, keeping him warm. Mulder's head was cradled in the crook of Krycek's elbow, his neck exposed to Krycek's kisses, his crotch within easy reach. Krycek tugged at the waistband of the open jeans to make room, then pulled down pants and boxers in one well-executed move. Mulder made a throaty noise. His head came up and he again tried to raise himself. Krycek pushed him back down with more laps and kisses, keeping his hand perfectly still on Mulder's hip. It's my own fault for wanting an Arabian, I could have settled for a well-broke quarter horse, he said to himself and to his painful erection.

When he went back to stroking his cock Mulder began to make soft noises. Listening closely, Krycek heard him whispering, "No... no... no..."

Krycek lost his temper. Goddamn you, Mulder. Have some fun, it isn't as if I'm not doing my best for you. He pulled his supporting arm away, and Mulder almost banged his head on the floor. He began to get up again, and this time Krycek pushed him down and put a knee on his chest to keep him down. He took Mulder's cock into his mouth and began to suck without any more preliminaries. Come, you thankless bastard, so I can finally start working on my own pleasure. He went back to kissing the tip of Mulder's cock, slowly worked his way down, then back up, using his tongue. He added a series of very careful bites, then engulfed as much as he could of the pulsing cock. He heard small gasps coming from his victim. It was time to start work on the hard part.

He slid a hand between Mulder's legs, caressing his balls, softly nibbling at the base of his cock, and slowly worked his hand down and into the crack of Mulder's ass. An audible intake of breath followed, as well as more sharp tightening of muscles. Oh, for Christ's sake. Leaving the hand in place, he applied the massage technique to Mulder's thighs with his other hand, and found that it once again worked almost immediately. What a silly game this was, really. He bit down on a giggle that tried to find its way out. When most of the tension had gone from the muscles, he reached into one of his jeans pockets. He extracted the small tube of lip balm he never left home without, and as unobtrusively as he could took off the cap and put a small quantity on his middle finger.

The hand moved back to Mulder's ass, teasing, sliding a finger in the crack, probing for his anus. Mulder tensed up again. Krycek found the small hole, pressed a finger against it, and waited. Mulder was panting, his whole body rigid again, his legs trying to close around Krycek's arm. Upon the prolonged contact, his sphincter started to contract and release involuntarily. Krycek timed the contractions and slipped his finger inside when the muscle was relaxed. Relatively relaxed.

Mulder groaned, although there couldn't be any pain yet, and shifted restlessly. He moved the finger around, making Mulder move with it, then crooked it, eliciting a tremor and a small, birdlike noise. He kept the finger inside, and took Mulder's cock in his mouth again. This resulted in greater tremors. Mulder began to pant, and put his hands on Krycek's head, trying to guide his movements, to push himself deeper, then lifted his hips off the floor. He was moaning now, his sphincter gripping the intruder, his whole body moving with Krycek's finger and mouth.

Krycek withdrew the finger slightly, then very slowly pushed in a second one, and almost came at the muffled cry of pain, the thought of the stretched flesh, the heat inside, the burning he knew Mulder must now be feeling. He began to move his hand again, rubbing against Mulder's prostate rhythmically. Mulder lay back, his eyes closed, almost incoherent, moaning in time to Krycek's fingers fucking him.

So far, so good, Krycek thought. He slowly withdrew his fingers from Mulder's rectum. Mulder gasped and reached out to stop him. "It'll get even better before you know it," Krycek said in a raspy voice, and stretched out beside him, turning him to face the wall again. This was going to cost him a lot of lip balm, but that couldn't be helped. He squirted about half the content of the tube onto two fingers, and lay down again.

Putting one arm around Mulder's throat, kissing the back of his neck again, he slowly ran his thumb through the crack of Mulder's ass, letting the two fingers follow in its track. When they reached the anus he waited a moment, then slowly began pushing inside again. The resistance was much more pronounced now, and Mulder, who finally seemed to realize what this was leading to, began to squirm. "I... I don't think I... this is not... no! Krycek, stop!"

"Hush, Mulder, relax, it will be OK. You'll enjoy it, and it won't hurt at all," he said, and noticed with amazement that the lie had some effect. He spread the lubricant around and gave Mulder's prostate a few more rakes, which made him throw his head back and hit Krycek's nose painfully.

He withdrew his fingers again and moved his throbbing cock into position, hoping he'd at least make it all the way inside. Thinking of the filthy cell... the cold night... the cockroaches in the soup, that helped a bit. Krycek began to push against the resistant muscle, very slowly, very carefully. He felt it relax slightly, reluctantly, just enough to let him in. Christ, it was tight in there, almost scary, but it felt unbelievably good. He pushed on with pulsing movements, feeling the body beside him squirm, ignoring the gasps that accompanied his every move. He paused when he was half-way in, giving the other a chance to recover. Look at me, he thought exultantly, just look at me now! Look who I'm fucking! Oh my god! He began to thrust, as slowly and gently as he could manage.

Mulder stopped breathing for a few moments, then started again with very small, superficial breaths. "Oh... oh..."

His small, breathless moans went straight to Krycek's balls, who desperately thought of the soup again. Slightly sobered, he stopped moving and reached for Mulder's cock. He was surprised to find it still very erect. He gently caressed it, keeping himself as still as possible. Mulder drew up his arms and held them in front of his face, trying to shield himself from the unimaginable things that were happening.

Krycek began pushing in again, but he had lost some of his caution and put much more force in his movements. Mulder cried out and started to struggle. Krycek grabbed his arms and pinned him down again. "Jesus, Mulder, stop that, you'll hurt yourself!" There was a small sobbing sound, and Krycek felt another wave of sympathy mixed with almost painful arousal wash through his body. It did nothing to quench the fire, but he forced himself to slow down. He pushed on, in small, pumping movements, and finally was all the way in, panting, sweating, feeling like he'd scaled Everest.

Mulder was lying still, breathing hard, ragged breaths, his face behind his arms again. Krycek reached down, touched his balls, gently stroking the skin of the sac, then moving on to the penis which was almost limp now, but showed encouraging signs of interest when touched. Mulder tried to get back into a curl and Krycek had to straighten his body before he could continue his stroking. He took his time, content to stay in his delightful little prison for as long as he could.

He coaxed Mulder's penis back into full hardness, then started to jack him off with short, hard movements, biting the back of his neck and his ears, very gently at first, then harder. Mulder writhed like a worm on a fish hook, trying to keep himself still, groaning with pain when he accidentally moved. "No, wait, please, not like this," he panted, sounding desperate. "I don't... I don't want to come like this!"

"You have a habit of miscalculating your options, Mulder," Krycek whispered maliciously, tightening the arm around his chest without breaking the rhythm of his other hand.

Mulder whimpered, tried to twist away from Krycek's hand, writhing furiously, then cried out and came in a giant spurt, the orgasm wracking his body. His breath came in heaves now, his face was glistening with sweat. Krycek's heavenly prison became even tighter, which almost did him in again. He started to move inside Mulder, who was still in the aftershocks of his orgasm and barely seemed to notice. Oh god... the heat, the tightness, the flesh caving in whenever he pushed, clinging to his cock when he withdrew...

He picked up speed, then moved out all the way, watching closely, fascinated by the way the muscle wouldn't close completely after its sudden release. He rammed his cock in again, unable to go slowly anymore, eliciting a weak cry of pain. Mulder was coming alive, clutching at the floor, groaning. Krycek lay down on him with his full weight, one arm tightly around his neck, restricting his air, fucking him at the fastest pace he could manage. Oh god, oh god, this feels so good, I'll never feel so good again in my life, fucking the most beautiful man in the universe, with the tightest ass in the universe... He made himself slow down, thrust deeper, harder, pushing in with all the force he could muster, then felt himself tighten up and come. The semen rushed up from his toes, his fingers, the crown of his head, collecting in his balls, pushing outward with heart-stopping urgency. Hot flushes ran through him, he cried out through clenched teeth, still thrusting at the same pace, trying to empty himself completely into the man gasping and struggling beneath him. He was trembling, covered in sweat. He lay down on top of the other, and stretched out as far as he could, trying to touch as much as possible of that wonderful body. He sighed deeply several times, totally relaxed, and had almost fallen asleep when he felt Mulder stir.

'You still there, old man?' he whispered. There was no reply. Mulder twisted sideways to get Krycek off his back, then got up and hitched up his jeans. He moved to the other side of the cell and sat down carefully, gingerly, in the corner, knees pulled up, elbows resting on them, head in his hands. Oh damn, Krycek thought. He sat up, no longer sleepy, and zipped himself up, then leaned against his own wall. He suddenly felt quite shy. Maybe he had gone over the edge a bit. On the other hand, he was still black and blue from all the random slaps and punches Mulder had treated him to when he had him in handcuffs. He'd really had it coming for a long time. And two orgasms for one was a fair trade. Wasn't it? Of course it was.

There was a long silence. After many minutes Krycek walked over to Mulder's corner and sat down. Mulder looked at him. Glared at him. And put his head on his arms again. He cleared his throat. "Mulder." No answer. "Um, I guess got carried away a bit at the end. Maybe I could have been a bit more, eh, considerate." Silence. Had he actually said that? Had he really almost, not quite but almost, apologized to this FBI man who had taken every excuse to try to break his face when he was defenseless? Christ, he must be getting old. Well, whatever. "I hope you're not aiming for both of us to freeze to death on account of this, er, mishap." Mulder glanced at him. That was progress, wasn't it? After another minute or two, Mulder actually laid down. Krycek stretched out beside him, turned his back on Mulder and immediately went to sleep.

Mulder looked at him enviously. He didn't think he would sleep much tonight. He felt very shaky. Both his ass and his ego were bruised. He was tired, sweaty and sticky all over, and his bowels were starting to cramp in protest after the injection of Krycek's semen. Apart from being very uncomfortable, he was also extremely pissed off, mostly with himself. Again movie-like visions began to swim before his eyes. Of Krycek's hand on his bare stomach, drawing sparks. Of himself getting finger-fucked, and enjoying it, and pretending not to be there. Himself impaled on Krycek's cock, squirming, begging, please let me make *one* decision, please... He broke into a cold sweat. If only he hadn't been so passive, so slow, so dim-witted, so... so prudish. If only he'd come to his senses before it was too late, before he'd lost all power to act. In the dark, he tried to picture himself kissing Krycek's neck. It wasn't very difficult. He imagined biting that earlobe. He could have done it, easily. He raised himself on one elbow and studied Krycek's profile, barely visible in the dim light. No, it wouldn't have been hard at all. He experimentally traced a finger over the straight nose. Not a problem. He tried kissing the earlobe. Krycek sighed deeply in his sleep, and he felt a flash when a nerve connecting his mouth and his balls lit up brightly. It would be a piece of cake. I'll get you yet, Krycek, you filthy rat.

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