Descent

"Dermo! Ebitskaya sila!"

Papers and Russian curses flew in equal measure as Alex Krycek searched for the file he knew damn well he'd left in the desk. Fox Mulder's desk. The last place Mulder would be likely to notice it. Krycek didn't have much time. He'd gotten the call this morning, warning him to get out while he could.

The cheap suit he wore made Krycek's neck itch, and he ran his finger around the collar irritably. He paused, listening, but heard nothing out of the ordinary so he went back to rifling through Mulder's desk. His efforts were making him sweat. He ignored the strand of dark brown hair that flopped into his eyes and continued his search.

Ah, there it was. Krycek pulled the manila envelope from a stack of nearly identical envelopes. It contained his last notes on Mulder and Scully. Not much more than he'd already reported to his superiors, certainly, but Krycek felt that every little bit of information he could turn over would gain him more leverage within the Consortium.

He stuffed the envelope inside his jacket and turned to go. The sight of Walter Skinner leaning casually against the door to the basement room, arms folded across his massive chest, caught Krycek with his mouth half open. Somehow he managed to paste on a smile.

"Sir! I was just about to report to you."

"Were you now?" Skinner's tone was soft, yet cutting. He stood away from the door, then closed and locked it behind him. "Were you going to tell me why your phone is disconnected, Agent Krycek?"

"Oh, sorry, Sir. I'm in the process of moving. As a matter of fact, I was going to give you my new number--"

"Cut the bullshit, Krycek. We both know what you're doing."

Krycek shut his mouth with an audible snap as Skinner walked across the room. Damn, how could such a big man move so quietly? He tried one more time, calling up the most innocent expression he could muster.

"Sir?"

"Don't even bother, boy." Skinner stopped about two feet away. Even at that distance, he appeared to loom over the younger man.

Krycek didn't like the use of violence when it wasn't necessary. Violent means only called attention to oneself, not a good idea in his line of work. Nevertheless, he was always prepared for it. He put a hand up to his face as if to wipe away the sweat on his forehead. His other hand drifted towards the waistband of his slacks.

With a gesture worthy of a Taijutsu master, Skinner's hand shot forward, snagging Krycek's wrist.

"I'll take that."

Skinner pulled the gun out of Krycek's waistband and held it up for inspection. "Sig Sauer P220, eh? Nice little toy."

"What do you want with me?" Krycek snarled, dropping all pretense of civility.

"How does a life sentence with no possibility of parole sound?"

Krycek snorted in disbelief. "For what? Rearranging the sunflower seed hulls on Mulder's desk?"

"Don't get smart with me, Krycek." The Assistant Director's brown eyes narrowed. "I think accessory to kidnapping would suffice. If that's not enough, we could probably fit one or two murder charges in."

"You're bluffing. You have no clue what's going on here."

"Whatever it is, it smells of Morleys."

Krycek's lush mouth curved in a hateful smile. "Funny, isn't it? Since neither of us smokes."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're not exactly Mr. Clean, Skinner. I know how you got appointed to Assistant Director."

Skinner frowned as his stomach clenched in helpless anger. Damn, he would give anything to be able to turn back the clock and have nothing to do with that cancerous bastard. Krycek grinned triumphantly and began to edge around the AD.

Acting on impulse, Skinner grabbed Krycek by the shirt collar. The sound of ripping cloth and the sudden fear in Krycek's green eyes brought a measure of grim satisfaction to Skinner. He yanked harder on the material, and it split open right down to Krycek's navel.

"What the fuck--!" Krycek hissed, attempting to pull away.

Skinner laid one hand solidly on Krycek's shoulder, holding the smaller man in place. Krycek hesitated, ensnared in the burn of the AD's gaze. He thought he could take Skinner, despite his bulk, but his real boss might frown upon such extreme methods. Krycek had made his reputation by his ability to talk his way out of a conflict.

The heat radiating from Skinner's broad chest dried any words Krycek might have uttered. He stared at the AD and found something more than anger reflected back at him. His gaze dropped. What he saw caused him to look up again hastily.

Skinner's slow grin sent a lance of fear through Krycek.

"So who are you going to tell about this?" the AD asked in a whisper that slid through his lips like a snake in tall grass. He pushed the cloth away from Krycek's shoulder. "Your boss? What do you suppose he'd say...Alex?"

Krycek leaned back, but his knees were already against the desk.

"No way. No fucking way." Not good, he thought. It sounded too much like pleading.

Skinner's hand roamed down through the fine golden hairs on Krycek's chest. He pinched one nipple lightly, and smiled when Krycek jumped.

"What's wrong, Alex? Not fighting? Does that mean you want this?"

Skinner didn't wait for Krycek's reply, if any was forthcoming. Instead, he twisted his fingers through the double agent's hair. Krycek winced.

"Let me go," he gasped.

"Do you really want to leave?" Skinner asked softly, reaching up to remove his wire-rimmed glasses.

"No. Yes! Shit."

"That's what I thought," said Skinner, and he ground his lips savagely against Krycek's mouth.

Krycek's paralysis broke. He tried to struggle, but it was like battling a stone monument. Skinner pushed steadily until Krycek was laying almost flat on the desk. The AD tugged Krycek's ruined shirt free of his slacks, then went to work on his belt. With his left hand freed, Krycek batted ineffectually at Skinner's rock-hard torso. Skinner merely favored him with an icy glare and a casual backhand. Krycek's head slammed against the wooden desk. He gasped in pain as Skinner's fingers continued their quest.

Skinner paused long enough to notice Krycek's distress. He placed a fingertip upon the younger man's mouth and leaned down to kiss away the blood he'd drawn. There was no more arrogance in Krycek's teal gaze, only anguish and dread.

Skinner kissed him again, gently. "This doesn't have to hurt, Alex..." He deliberately let the sentence trail off.

Krycek felt the length of Skinner's swollen cock against his own groin and moaned involuntarily. His mutinous body circumvented his will as a hand found and stroked him to life through the thin material of his dress slacks. He pushed up into the hand, a cat in heat.

"Damn you, Skinner," he gasped.

"Probably," Skinner murmured, continuing his exploration. He licked and nibbled around the edges of the prone man's mouth. Krycek's struggles grew weaker as his cock grew harder. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself the luxury of sex. Skinner felt the change and took advantage of it by lifting Krycek bodily off the desk and peeling his slacks down around his knees.

A big hand, still calloused even after the many years of desk work, found Krycek's balls. Fingernails scratched lightly, sending raw tremors through the double agent's nerves. Then the hand moved up to his shaft and wrapped around it, setting a rhythm that made Krycek forget any last notion of escape. He arched and moaned, gripping the edge of the desk.

"You want this, don't you, boy?" Skinner growled low in his throat.

Krycek didn't, couldn't answer. He was so close that precum was oozing steadily from the head of his cock. Dimly, he felt Skinner spread the hot liquid over the bulbous crown. Without warning, the big man grasped the shaft just beneath the crown and squeezed hard. Krycek bit down on a scream.

"Don't you?" insisted Skinner.

"Y-yes. Please."

"You're going to bend over and let me take you."

"Yes."

"I'll fuck you until you can't stand up, much less walk."

"Yes, yes! Do it."

Skinner smiled, a cruel smile, full of power and anticipation. He knew that Krycek would say anything at the moment in order to get some release. He gave one last stroke to the young man's cock, then freed his hand to work the zipper on his own slacks. Krycek felt the absence of warmth and strained to see what Skinner was up to. About ten inches, his mind offered slightly hysterically, as he caught his first glimpse of the length and breadth of the AD's weeping prick.

"Lift your feet," commanded Skinner.

Krycek obeyed, as lost as a small animal under the gaze of a hawk. Skinner quickly pulled Krycek's shoes and socks off, then finished removing the slacks that had been bunched around his ankles. Beneath the tacky clothing, Krycek was a strikingly beautiful young man. Skinner took a moment to admire the view, running his hands across the planes of Krycek's chest and hips until he was writhing helplessly with lust.

Skinner finally stood back, reached into his shirt pocket, and brought out a small container of lube. Krycek's eyes cracked open long enough to recognize what Skinner was holding.

//Bastard planned this!// he thought. Then Krycek's mind fragmented once more as Skinner's palm went back to work on him.

With his other hand, Skinner squeezed some lube into the juncture of Krycek's thighs. He spread the gel efficiently around the tight, puckered hole, and abruptly slid a finger inside, making Krycek gasp. The remaining lube went onto Skinner's dick. Krycek blinked, trying to grasp what was missing. Before he could voice a protest, Skinner had lifted him up once more and flipped him onto his stomach atop the desk.

//ohmigod he's going to fuck me bare//

Krycek's hands scrabbled on the rough surface of Mulder's desk as he tried to throw Skinner off his back. Skinner simply ignored the young man's efforts. He positioned himself against Krycek's anus and bore down.

Krycek howled. His ass was on fire, his body nearly split through by a pile driver. The greater his struggles, the deeper he was impaled. At last he subsided more through sheer exhaustion than any lessening of will.

For reward, Skinner's movements slowed, gentled. He reached around to grasp Krycek's wilting shaft and stroked it to life again. Krycek's mind reeled at the sudden changes in the AD's temperament, a little voice in his head trying to warn him that Skinner was only playing a version of 'good cop/bad cop' in his attempt to get Krycek's cooperation in his own seduction.

The voice fled as the rim of Skinner's cock rubbed against the double agent's prostate. Krycek thrust back instinctively. Skinner grinned and angled his next few jabs just right, making the man beneath him groan.

Skinner ran his fingertips over Krycek's nipples again. The younger man reached for his cock, but Skinner grabbed both his wrists and pinned him to the desk. Krycek sobbed quietly as Skinner rode him with a steady, even rhythm.

Finally, Skinner's movements became more erratic as he neared climax. He let go of Krycek's wrists and dug his nails into the other man's hips instead, pounding into him in earnest. Krycek felt a rush of heat in his groin as the stimulation brought him to orgasm, and he shuddered and came in thick spurts across the desk. There was no joy in it. He lay unmoving beneath Skinner as the AD thrust deep one last time and his cock pulsed and spasmed inside Krycek's ass.

Krycek gasped as Skinner pulled out abruptly and cleaned himself up. The young man twisted his head around in time to see Skinner finishing zipping his dress slacks nonchalantly.

//Didn't even bother to take off his clothes// thought Krycek bitterly. Skinner bent to retrieve Krycek's ruined shirt from the floor and tossed it to him.

"Better clean up the evidence, boy. Mulder may be coming back any time now. Oh, and I'll keep this." He waved a file in Krycek's direction, ignoring the hate-filled emerald glare of his eyes. "Your boss has quite enough information already."

Skinner leaned over the desk one last time. He pressed his lips to Krycek's mouth, pulling back quickly lest he get bitten. He laughed, a low, guttural sound.

"I think it's probably better if you don't show up for work tomorrow, don't you? Mulder isn't able to control himself as well as I can."

He left abruptly, shutting the door with a firm snick.

Krycek snatched up his pants and jacket and dressed hurriedly. His head was splitting, his ass throbbed, and anger coursed through his veins like poison. He swore he would get even with Skinner--and the rest of them--if it took his whole life.

Hobbling to the door, Krycek peered carefully in both directions. No one was in sight. With thoughts of revenge sustaining him, he pulled the edges of the jacket across his bare chest and slipped into the shadows.