He couldn't really figure out why his superiors even bothered surveilling
the lower parking garage of the FBI's main building. All that was ever
captured on the tapes were the coming and going of nondescript sedans, the
appearances and reappearances of suited men and women on their way to and
from their offices. Nothing spectacular. Hell, nothing in the slightest
bit interesting.
And now, here he was with a week's worth of videotapes staring him in the
face, almost taunting him with the upcoming crippling boredom. The worst
thing was, he never even really knew what his superiors were looking for.
'Anything out of the ordinary'. 'Anything different'. 'Anything that
catches your eye'. These were the phases hurled at him.
The man snorted quietly to himself. There was never anything different or
out of the ordinary. The cars were the same. The people were the same.
Their clothes were the same. Hell, even the way they walked and tossed
their keys in their hands was always the same. He had never known of a more
boring group of people.
So the man sat down with a thump and a dramatic sigh in the little apartment
that served as one of the many Syndicate viewing rooms. He'd better get
onto it. He popped the first tape into the VCR, and pressed play.
It was well into the fourteenth hour and the sixth tape before anything
actually did catch his eye. And that was a first. But when he saw the two
men approaching each other in the carpark, his eyes squinted in
concentration. It couldn't be. No way. It couldn't.
The man leaned forward, which really did nothing to enhance the footage.
Actually the footage was incredibly high in quality; modern technology had
banished the days of the grainy black and white surveillance tapes. They
had been replaced by the full-color, sharp-resolution format that he now had
before him. But the reason he leaned forward was not to question the image
before him, but to question his own eyes. That dark-haired man in black
with his gun drawn had to be Alex Krycek.
He himself hadn't seen Krycek for years; he had just been inducted as a new
addition to the Syndicate's workforce around the time that Krycek had first
defected from the old men's powerful clutches. But he knew a face when he
saw it. That was Krycek.
The other man was obviously that permanent thorn in the Syndicate's
proverbial paw, Special Agent Fox Mulder. Now, him he knew from personal
experience. He had spent many an hour in surveillance of Mulder's
apartment, so he wouldn't miss that man anywhere.
He could see the slight sneer on the agent's face as he approached Krycek.
Yeah, there was a hell of a lot of animosity between these two men all
right; the Syndicate man had heard the stories. He knew the details of the
deception and betrayal, the history of the fights and beatings. Far more
interesting, though, were the whispered rumors that had circulated among the
Syndicate workers of sexual interest between the two former partners.
The Syndicate man could see now, though, that any spark between the two men
was more than likely long gone, if there ever had been one in the first
place. Doubtful. The said sneer on Mulder's face was gaining in altitude,
and Krycek's mocking smirk spoke volumes. Then Krycek opened his mouth, and
began to address the surly agent before him.
When he saw this on the screen before him, but heard no sound, the Syndicate
man lunged forward to hit the volume controls. No way in hell he was gonna
miss this. When he could hear the murmurings of the man in black clearly,
he jumped to the side, grabbing his ever-waiting but never-used pen and
logbook, poised to transcribe anything interesting that was said. His eyes
glanced to the date and time display on the corner of the screen. Three
days ago, very late at night. No wonder Krycek was willing to risk
appearing there. It was unlikely any other agents would be present; only a
workaholic with no life whatsoever, like Mulder, would stay at work past
midnight on a Friday.
So the man ran the tape back for several seconds, to be sure not to miss
anything, and settled back, pen in hand, to take it all in.
Krycek stood silently for a few moments, seeming to wait to see if Mulder
would speak first. But as the seconds dragged into minutes, and the agent's
raised upper lip soared to new heights, he decided to begin himself.
"So, Mulder, glad you could come."
The agent snorted. "Sure, whatever, Krycek. So glad you have to point a
gun on me when you said this was a business meeting. Are you scared I'm
gonna hurt you Krycek?"
This last sentence positively dripped sarcasm.
"Hardly," Krycek replied, shifting his grip carefully on the Glock he held,
pointing it loosely in the direction of Mulder's groin. "This is indeed a
business meeting, but I didn't say what kind of business meeting, did I?
And, well," he continued, his voice dropping subtly to a low, sensual growl,
"it isn't the kind of business you're expecting.
Mulder's eyebrow quirked up slightly, but he didn't respond. Silence
reigned. Seconds ticked by. Then Krycek spoke again.
"Take off your pants, Mulder."
The Syndicate man almost jumped in his chair. What the fuck? Well, that was
fast... His pen lay in his hand, forgotten, as he stared intently at the
two figures on the monitor before him. What on earth was Krycek planning?
He waited with baited breath, a strange mix of dread and anticipation
warring in his mind.
Mulder scowled. "What the fuck are you talking about, Krycek? You haven't
gotten that desperate, have you? I mean, loosing that arm may make it hard
to get laid, but it shouldn't prevent you from going out and getting
yourself a rentboy. They'll fuck anything, well, if you pay them enough."
The corner of Krycek's lip twitched, the only motion or hint that any
emotion whatsoever lurked behind his generally immobile features. Then in a
split second the gun was gone, and he was on Mulder, spinning him around,
digging out his handcuffs, and clasping the agent's hands together behind
his back.
"Fuck, Krycek!" Mulder yelled, and Krycek's fist slammed into the side of
his head.
"Shut up," replied the younger man, dragging the hapless agent over to the
nearest available car, which happened to be Mulder's own. He bent the man
forward over the hood with his body, pushing Mulder's cheek hard against the
cool metal with his fingers carded through the thick brown hair.
Krycek held Mulder face down against the car for several moments, appearing
to be considering his options. Then the hand on Mulder's head was gone, and
his belt was being wrenched open, and his pants pulled down to his knees.
His boxers followed shortly thereafter, baring his ass to the cold air.
Mulder gasped as the chill bit into him. "Krycek... Krycek don' t. Don't
fucking do this. Don't."
Above him, the man in black grinned lewdly, but this was out of Mulder's
line of sight.
"But Mulder," the younger man purred, "you don't even know what I'm going to
do!"
The prone man didn't respond, but his panicked gasps could be heard
throughout the empty carpark. He was being held against the car by Krycek's
body, and his cuffed hands prevented him from getting enough leverage to
lift his torso off the hood. He was pinned.
Except for the sound of the air leaving Mulder's lungs over and over,
silence reigned. Krycek stood motionless above him. As time stretched on
inexorably, and nothing further happened, Mulder began to visibly relax.
One beat, then two, and then a hand flew down on the agent's bare ass,
slapping him hard. Mulder yelped despairingly, as the fire spread across
his abused flesh.
"What the fuck !"
The only answer was another slap, harder than the first, followed by a
volley of blows that seemed to go on for hours. Mulder's breath sobbed out
of him as he jerked involuntarily at each and every impact. Finally Krycek
stopped, and stared down at his handiwork, face carefully neutral.
Mulder's ass was bright red, and the flesh quivered visibly as the agent
braced again and again for the next slaps that never came. He was taking
long, shuddering breaths, desperately attempting to regain his composure.
Suddenly Krycek's hand dove between his legs, and the man grinned at the
tight hardness he found there. His hand circled around Mulder's cock,
giving one long stroke from root to tip, pausing at the engorged head to
smear the drop of precum over the sensitive flesh. The agent gasped, almost
sobbed, mentally flailing, almost drowning, in his own humiliation.
"...yeah, Mulder," Krycek growled, almost inaudibly. "I've found something
you like, haven't I."
It was said as a statement of fact rather than as a question, and it went
unanswered. Krycek brought his hand out from between Mulder's legs again,
and quickly worked at his own belt, sighing quietly as he lowered his
zipper. Krycek's cock sprang from its confines, ruddy and diamond hard,
oozing his own pre-ejaculate from the slit.
Below him Mulder tensed yet again at the zipper's ominous sound, and began
to shake. "No, Krycek...fuck..." he whined, his voice trailing off at the
end.
Krycek raised a finger to his mouth, sucked on it contemplatively for a
short moment, and then reached to spread Mulder's cheeks one-handed. The
agent gasped again, tensing all over, clenching his anus tight. Krycek
smiled sweetly at the movement of that tiny pucker, and an expression of
anticipation painted his pretty features.
He waited a few moments for Mulder to relax minutely, and then without any
preliminaries, he gently worked his index finger into the tight hole,
clearly enjoying the feel of the agent squirming and clenching around the
digit. Mulder began to moan quietly as Krycek started to work the finger in
and out of his ass.
By this time, the Syndicate man was positive that he had lost his jawbone
somewhere on the floor. He had been shocked as Krycek bared Mulder's ass,
and had watched avidly the flurry of blows that rained down on the agent's
reddening skin. The detail of the surveillance tapes was really exquisite,
he thought.
When Krycek paused, the man stopped breathing, wondering what the assassin
would do next. His hand dropped to the hardening bulge in his pants as
Krycek sucked on his fingers, and he moaned aloud when that finger was dug
into Mulder's ass.
He looked around furtively, as if to reassure himself that no one was there
to see him, and then the Syndicate man pulled out his cock and began to
stroke.
When the agent relaxed a little more, Krycek leaned over and spat directly
onto his finger and the puckered flesh around it. He then inserted a second
finger, not so gently this time, and started to pump the fingers vigorously
into the tight channel, working it, stretching it open to make way for what
was surely to come.
After several moments of this, Krycek retrieved his fingers from within the
agent's ass to the sound of the prone man's whimper, and spat in his hand.
He lubed up his bare cock with it and his precum, and then moved to place
the blunt end of his erection against Mulder's twitching anus. He thrust.
Mulder cried out sharply, and Krycek's eyes moved to the man's face. Mulder
's eyes were squeezed tight shut, his mouth twisted into a grimace. He
stopped for a moment, evidently to give the man some time to adjust. Then,
unable to wait any longer, he plunged his cock the rest of the way into Fox
Mulder's tight rectum, right to the hilt.
"Take it, bitch, yeah..." Krycek growled through the lewd grin that graced
his face, and twisted his hips viciously at the apex of the thrust. Mulder
cried out again, weaker this time, as his whole form shuddered against the
car with the impact of his enemy's body.
Krycek began a blistering pace. He hammered relentlessly into Mulder's
still, prone form, milking his own cock with the agent's tight channel. He
moved without thought, based purely in instinct, almost mechanically.
Suddenly he leaned slightly, and sought out Mulder's cock once more, seeming
to delight in its rigor.
He never faltered in his brutal pace, drilling himself continuously into
body of his enemy. "You like this, don't you bitch?" he sneered, beginning
to pant with exertion as he took up the agent's cock and stroked it in time
with his own thrusts. "Yeah, Mulder, you like my cock up your tight FBI
ass. You want me to fuck you. You...ah...you've always wanted me to fuck
you. I'll rip you open and...unh...lay you bare, bitch."
Below him, Mulder's face was flushed red, his eyes still screwed up tight,
and his mouth with its pouting lips open in a silent cry. Three more
strokes of Krycek's hand, and Mulder began to convulse, gasping and grunting
with both the impact of his attacker's body and that of his own orgasm.
Thick ropey steams of semen splattered the hood of his car and his jacketed
chest.
Krycek continued to skewer Mulder through the clamping convulsions on his
cock. His force increased mightily, to the point where it seemed something
would have to be breaking inside the agent's stretched and reddened ass.
Then finally his thrusts became erratic, and he arched his back and came
with a loud grunt, digging his fingers into Mulder's hips as he shot his cum
deep into the prone man's rectum.
Krycek only paused for a moment before straightening and pulling out of
Mulder with a slick squelching sound. He quickly and efficiently tucked
himself back into his jeans, and, this done, quickly uncuffed Mulder's hands
and then slapped his ass lightly, provoking a yelp of pain.
"Get up, Mulder. You don't want to lie around all night like this, do you?"
The man lying in his own cum on the hood of his car shifted slightly,
craning his head around to take in the rogue agent with a scowl.
"You son of a bitch."
Krycek smirked anew. "Yeah, yeah, you like it, baby. You know you do."
Mulder slowly stood up, reaching for his pants, which were now puddled about
his ankles. Ignoring the trickle of Krycek's cum that was moving slowly out
of his anus and down the inside of his thigh, Mulder pulled the cloth up
over his softening cock.
"Yeah, whatever buddy."
The two men shared a look, and turned as one to stare at a small dark crack
in the ceiling, both grinning ear to ear. Krycek winked before turning back
to Mulder.
Then they both turned away, each going to one side of the car; Krycek on the
driver's side. Before he got in, Mulder addressed the younger man across
the roof.
"Next time, I'm on top."
The Syndicate man sat hunched in his chair, softening cock in hand, jacket
splattered with his cum. His mouth gaped. What the fuck? It had all been
a...
"Son of a bitch !"
Well, he guessed the cover for that camera was blown...
Watched
by LC. Sulla
When the Syndicate man retrieved the tapes from the closet hidden in the
bowels of the Hoover building, he was not in a good mood. He saw stretching
before him yet another night of perusing endless hours of useless footage.
