Assistant Director Walter Skinner frowned over the papers in front
of him, ignoring the nervous young agent fidgeting in the doorway.
"Sir?" Krycek ventured nervously. "You wanted to see me?" He
swallowed hard as Skinner pinned him to the wall with a harsh glare.
"Sit down, Agent Krycek," he snapped. "I'll be with you in a
minute."
Alex stepped quickly over to one of the chairs facing the AD's desk
and sat down, perching uneasily on the edge of the seat. He
swallowed hard as he realized that the paper in AD Skinner's hand,
the paper that seemed to be making Skinner's jaw clench harder and
the veins in his forehead stand out in even sharper relief, was in
fact the report he himself had submitted that very morning. Alex
fidgeted as the AD continued to read, occasionally grumbling and
shaking his head. Oh, shit, Alex thought, chewing his lip. Why do
I keep letting Mulder get me into these messes?
Alex watched Skinner from under his lashes, his heart pounding
triple-time. He'd wondered what it would be like to be on the
receiving end of one of Skinner's legendary ass-chewings. He had a
feeling he was about to find out. He found his gaze dropping to
Skinner's broad shoulders, his muscular arms, muscles toned, hard as
the wood of the desk they leaned on. His broad, well-shaped hands,
long strong fingers...Alex swallowed again, let his eyes travel back
upward, where he was horrified to find his stare met by a pair of
very displeased brown eyes. Alex paled and looked down. After a
moment, Skinner returned to his ruthless perusal of Krycek's report.
Alex twisted his hands nervously in his lap. Skinner alternately
fascinated and intimidated him. He couldn't deny to himself the
attraction he felt. But Alex had had enough of drill instructors at
Quantico, had been hoping to find a fortunate post under some fat,
laconic pencil-pusher. He had been surprised and a bit disconcerted
at his first meeting with Skinner. Something in the man's bearing,
in the set of his jaw and the deep rumbling sound of his voice as he
barked orders at his hapless agents told Alex that there was no
slacking in this man's department. He slumped glumly, pondering his
misfortune. It would be his luck to end up with an ex-Marine as his
boss.
At length, Skinner placed the papers neatly on his desk, folded his
hands and regarded Alex in stony silence. Alex tried to stop
fidgeting, tried to sit up straight and look appropriately attentive
and contrite at the same time, not an easy trick. His stomach
roiled and fluttered with that called-to-the-principal's-office
feeling he'd had all day, ever since Skinner's secretary Kim had
stopped by his desk to tell him that the AD wanted to see him in his
office at one o'clock sharp.
Finally, Skinner spoke, his voice deceptively calm.
"Do you know why I called you in here, Agent?"
Alex bit his lip, looked at the report in front of AD Skinner.
"Something about my report, sir?"
He jumped as Skinner's broad hand slammed down on the papers, making
the edges ruffle in the resultant gust of air.
"You could say that, Agent Krycek!" he barked. He stood, an
imposing figure in his white shirt. He held the offending report in
his hand, shaking it in Krycek's general direction.
"You call this a report, boy?" he snapped.
Alex's eyes suddenly went flinty and hard. His own jaw clenched.
He hated being called boy. His father had called him boy. His DIs
at Quantico had called him boy. He was no boy. He stood up, facing
the AD down in his own office.
"Don't call me boy," he growled. Skinner stepped closer, getting
into Alex's personal space.
"Sit. Down. Agent. Krycek."
Alex held firm, trembling a little in his cheap suit. The AD
towered over him, his face like a thundercloud.
"I SAID SIT DOWN!"
Alex dropped down into the chair, eyes riveted on the carpet, his
heart pounding.
Skinner leaned against his desk, his big arms folded, staring down
at Alex with a predatory smile on his face.
"So," he said, almost conversationally, "is this what they're
teaching the recruits at the Academy these days? To hand in
half-assed reports obviously scribbled on the fly, lacking pertinent
information, full of sentences that purport to convey fact but
actually lead nowhere, and coming to absolutely no conclusion at
all, save that the agent who submitted it is off to a very poor
start with his new Assistant Director?"
Alex stared mutinously at the carpet. Fucking Mulder. He never
should have let Mulder talk him into pub-crawling on a work night.
Asshole slammed back the Moscow Mules like they were going out of
style and came sashaying into work the next morning looking like a
million bucks. Suit pressed, not a hair out of place. Sat at his
desk grinning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, wolfing down a western
omelette while Alex hunkered over his desk feeling like a steel drum
band had taken up residence in his brainpan and a taste in his mouth
like he'd spent the night licking the inside of every garbage can in
Dupont Circle.
It had been quarter to eight when he'd remembered the report. The
report that was supposed to be on Skinner's desk at nine sharp. The
report that was supposed to explain neatly and in meticulous detail
just what he and Agent Mulder had done during their four day sojourn
in central Iowa. Not omitting the crop circles, the cattle
mutilations and the mysterious glyphs found painted on the side of
several grain silos. Also providing an explanation for why no
federal agent would ever again be permitted in the Cow and Crab
Tavern. Delving into the conundrum of why a report appeared on the
local police blotter of two men, whose descriptions were
suspiciously close to that of Agents Mulder and Krycek, reportedly
seen staggering around in the parking lot of said establishment,
drunk as lords, shining flashlights into the night sky and screaming
"Come down here, you assholes! We can see your eyes!" And
examining quite closely the reasons behind the submission of an
invoice to the Federal Bureau of Investigations by one H. P. Sykes
of Grummet for a John Deere tractor and a manure spreader.
Shaking and nauseous, Alex had hastily typed the report, every click
of his keyboard seeming louder than cannonfire. He'd gotten the
report to Skinner at the stroke of nine, then tried to make himself
scarce. He hadn't quite succeeded.
"Well, boy, what do you have to say for yourself?" Skinner
demanded, interrupting Alex's reverie. The young agent looked away,
but not before Skinner saw the glimmer of defiance in those forest
green eyes. He smiled to himself. He'd noticed the rookie agent
immediately, of course, had found it hard to keep his eyes off him.
Even the overzealous use of hair gel and those godawful Sears suits
couldn't hide the boy's overwhelming beauty. And he had fire...oh
yes. Nervous as a cat and shaking like a schoolboy at the thought
of the reaming to come, but that spark, that stubborn spirit shining
through. Skinner's smile widened as Krycek's fine-boned hands
twisted nervously, as those perfect white teeth nibbled at that lush
bottom lip. Oh yes, he thought, a reaming you shall have, my boy.
Alex gulped and finally dared to look up. Skinner's brown eyes were
fixed on him, one eyebrow arched, awaiting an explanation. But
there was something else, something behind that stern look,
something indefinable.
"I..." Alex began, his voice cracking slightly as it issued from a
dry throat. "I didn't spend the time on the report that I should
have, sir. I-I'm sorry."
He looked down again. Skinner didn't move. After what seemed like
an eternity, Alex cautiously looked up.
"Sir? Is that all, sir?"
Skinner scowled.
"I'll let you know, Krycek."
Alex dropped his gaze again.
"Yes, sir."
Skinner continued to perch almost jauntily on the edge of his desk,
amused by the young agent's attempt to vanish into the upholstery of
the chair in which he sat.
"So tell me, Agent Krycek," Skinner drawled. "What do you think
should be done with a young man, new to his position, who puts
drinking and carousing ahead of his career? Who comes to the office
of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, by which he is employed,
hung over and smelling like a brewery? Who hands in slipshod work
and hopes to get away with it?"
Krycek's jaw dropped.
"Sir! But I...how..."
Skinner smiled again.
"I had Agent Mulder in here an hour ago. Let's just say he now
appreciates the value of thorough and meticulous work. And he now
has a very enlighted opinion on the responsibilities of a senior
agent. He takes a very dim view now, I don't doubt, of his role in
the corruption of his juniors."
Alex looked down at his shoes.
Skinner waited.
"Yes sir," Alex whispered to the carpet. "Agent Mulder and I went
out drinking last night. I...I had a little too much and I was
still feeling the effects of it this morning. I let it affect my
work and I'm sorry, sir. I promise it won't happen again."
Skinner leaned forward until his face was mere inches from Krycek's.
Huge green eyes hesitantly met his. Skinner's voice was like
distant thunder.
"Oh, you're right about that, young man," he said, his voice almost
a whisper. "Because if it ever does happen again, you'll be in so
deep they'll have to Fed Ex you daylight. Is that clear, Agent
Krycek?"
"Y-yes sir," Krycek mumbled. "M-may I go now, sir?"
Skinner dropped the report on the desk and folded his arms again.
Alex gripped the arms of the chair, wanting desperately to get up
and flee from the room but not daring to move without Skinner's
permission.
"No, Agent Krycek, you may not," Skinner said firmly. "There is the
matter of discipline to discuss."
Alex sank back into the chair, his heart sinking as well. A
reprimand in his file, and so soon. This would look bad. He gulped
and looked at Skinner, trying to read the man's intentions. Was the
infraction serious enough to merit suspension without pay? Alex
thought nervously of his new apartment and the next month's rent
that would soon be due.
"D-discipline, sir?" he squeaked.
Skinner eyed him levelly.
"Yes, Agent," he said quietly. "Discipline. Specifically yours.
Punishment, well-earned and well-deserved. Unless you think you
don't deserve it?"
Alex swallowed hard. No! No! Tell him no, his mind shrieked. But
somehow, he knew that would be the wrong answer to give.
"I...I know I was wrong, sir," he said, softly at first, then more
clearly as his voice gathered strength. He lifted his head and
looked Skinner in the eye. "I was wrong. I failed to put the
Bureau first. I handed in substandard work. I...was disrespectful
to you. I'm sorry, sir. I do deserve to be disciplined and I
accept whatever disciplinary action you deem fair."
Skinner looked into Krycek's eyes for a long moment, found honesty
and acceptance there. He smiled.
"Very commendable, Agent. I'm proud of you for accepting
responsibility for your actions."
Alex blushed and dared a small smile.
"Thank you, sir," he said softly. "I'm ashamed of myself for my
poor performance and for disappointing you. I only hope you will
give me another chance to prove my worth to you and to the Bureau."
Skinner found himself staring, transfixed, at Krycek's peaches and
cream complexion, so fetchingly stained a pale pale pink. He'd
blushed, actually blushed at Skinner's compliment! He gazed at
the lovely young man, who contritely awaited his punishment.
"Agent Krycek?" Skinner said, his voice almost too low to be
audible.
"Sir?" Krycek looked up, his expression one of dread and
apprehension.
"You said you would accept whatever disciplinary action I deem
fair?"
"Yes, sir."
Skinner began to pace, one hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Could it work? Did he dare? Sure, it worked with Mulder, but this
young man was an unknown quantity. What if he freaked out, went
yelling blue murder to the Director?
He turned, only to find Krycek standing, one hand plucking fitfully
at the bottom of his hideous suit jacket.
"Sir?" Krycek said hesitantly. "I...please don't suspend me. I
swear, I won't let you down again. I know I deserve to be
disciplined, but please, give me another chance. Put me on wiretap
transcription or reprimand me. But...I...I'm still new, and a
suspension now..."
"You'd be finished in the Bureau," Skinner said matter-of-factly.
You'd end up transferred to Sioux Falls or Anchorage and never heard
from again."
Krycek flushed and looked down.
"Yes, sir."
Skinner stood in front of Krycek, waited for him to meet his gaze.
"What I have in mind, Agent, won't appear on your record at all. No
reprimand, no suspension. I see no reason why a bit of youthful
overenthusiasm should ruin what promises to be a fine career."
"Sir?" Krycek's eyes widened.
Skinner hesitated, then decided, in for a penny, in for a pound. He
couldn't explain it, but there was something about this boy,
something that indicated he'd be accepting of Skinner's unorthodox
brand of employee discipline.
"You're going to have to trust me, Alex."
The wide eyes grew huge in Krycek's pale face. Skinner saw the look
and paused.
"May I call you Alex?"
Krycek blushed-again-and Skinner felt his cock leap appreciatively.
God, he was pretty...standing penitently in Skinner's office, a
Botticelli angel in a $99 suit.
"Y-yes, sir."
Skinner spoke seriously, his every word the focus of Krycek's rapt
attention.
"You've got the makings of a good agent, Alex. You're smart, you're
enthusiastic. I've seen your records from Quantico. Outstanding
shot, excellent marks. Your instructors had nothing but praise for
you." He saw the blush deepen and the beginnings of a smile curving
those sensuous lips. He forced himself back to the matter at hand
and continued.
"-But—"
Krycek straightened his posture, tucked his head a little as he
waited for the reaming to commence.
"You've got a reckless streak, and a bit more attitude than perhaps
is advisable, young man. You need discipline, guidance. A firm
hand."
Green eyes met brown with the beginnings of understanding.
"What do you propose, sir?" Krycek asked softly.
Skinner went to his desk, unlocked the top drawer and removed a
paddle from it. He walked back over to Krycek, whose eyes seemed in
danger of swallowing his face. Skinner held the paddle out to Alex,
who took it, turning it over in his hands, his face unreadable. It
was an old-fashioned American school paddle, wide and flat and
admirably suited for the job, with six large holes drilled down the
center to ensure a particularly memorable experience for the
unfortunate soul whose bottom it encountered. Alex traced a finger
over its smooth surface. The paddle was obviously well-worn and
well-used, and had been lovingly varnished to a high sheen. Alex
looked up quizzically, his heart slamming against his ribcage.
Surely Skinner didn't mean to...surely he couldn't...could he?
Skinner took the paddle and placed a hand gently on Alex's shoulder.
"What I propose, Alex, is that you take down your trousers and your
underwear and bend over my desk, whereupon I will proceed to take
this," he gestured with the paddle, "and ignite a fire on your bare
ass, the smoldering remains of which will hopefully remind you in
the coming week to place your priorities in the proper order."
Alex hesitated. He had to admit to himself that the idea had a
certain appeal. He licked his lips, trying to ignore the stirrings
from below his cheap belt. The idea of surrendering his bare butt
to this incredibly stern, sexy man, to be spanked, like a naughty
schoolboy...Alex shook himself. Getting a visible erection now
would definitely complicate things. He cocked his head, looking at
Skinner, who waited silently for him to decide. There was another
reason to agree, Alex thought. He'd bend over, he'd get paddled,
and that would be that. The slate would be clean and he could start
fresh, work hard, take care not to end up on Skinner's bad side
again. He recalled the compliments Skinner had paid to him a few
moments ago, felt a frisson of pleasure in the pit of his stomach.
He realized that he badly wanted that feeling. Wanted it often. He
wanted Skinner to be proud of him.
"Sir? What...what happens after? I mean..."
Skinner nodded, understanding.
"Once we're done here, Alex, we're done. You bend over, I give you
ten of the best, you pull up your pants and the incident is
forgotten. You're a good b—man. I know you can be a good agent.
I don't mince words, Alex, and I don't bullshit. You take your
punishment and then you walk out that door and it's over. Now. Are
you prepared to accept this arrangement?"
Alex gulped. "A-arrangement?" he squeaked.
Skinner looked at him evenly. "Yes," he intoned seriously. "I
don't do anything halfway, Alex. You need discipline and I'm
prepared to give it to you, because I believe in you. I believe you
can realize your potential. So the arrangement is not just for
today. It's for anytime I find you on the other side of my desk,
looking guiltier than sin, and trying to explain to me why you've
broken the rules. Is that a problem, Agent?"
Alex paused, biting his lip. "No, sir," he whispered at last.
"Good," Skinner said, with a genuine smile. "All right then. Let's
get this over with." He went to the office door and opened it.
"Kim? Why don't you run down to the cafeteria and grab lunch now?
Would you bring me back a bottle of orange juice? Thanks."
He closed the door and locked it, then gestured toward the desk.
"Go on now, Alex. We won't be disturbed."
Alex hesitated, his face burning. His heartbeat was skittish, his
mouth dry. A profound sense of disbelief settled over him. He was
really about to bare his bottom to the Assistant Director, who was,
by all appearances, going to paddle it with vigor and determination.
Skinner waited patiently while Alex, his face red as a tomato,
fumbled with his zipper and finally arranged himself awkwardly over
Skinner's desk, his hands grasping the sides in a white-knuckled
grip, his face resting on the very evidence of his misdeeds. He
felt the cool air wafting against his very exposed butt and moaned
involuntarily, utterly humiliated. His gaze fell on the report,
bunched up under his cheek. He stiffened his resolve, gripped the
desk more tightly and waited. You can do this, Alex. You can do
it.
Ten strokes and it's over.
Skinner spoke from behind Alex.
"All right, Agent. You know what this paddling is for, but humor
me. Tell me why you're being punished."
Alex gritted his teeth, closed his eyes. God, just spank me
already, he thought. He was glad Skinner had locked the door. The
thought of anyone walking in right now and seeing him in this
vulnerable position brought tears to his eyes. I graduated third in
my class at Quantico and look at me now, he thought. Pants down
around my ankles, butt up over the AD's desk, about to get a
for-gods-sake paddling.
"I went out drinking on a work night and came in the next day unfit
for duty. I behaved irresponsibly. I submitted unsatisfactory work
and I displayed a disrespectful attitude toward you. I'm sorry,
sir, and I will do better."
"Very good, Agent," Skinner murmured. "Hold still now. I won't
make you count, but if you let go of the desk or stand up, we start
over from one."
"Y-yes, sir."
WHACK!
"OW!" Alex yelped. The first blow was so loud and so painful, he
almost lost his grip on the desk with the shock of it.
"Settle down, Agent," Skinner growled. "We're just getting
started."
By the fifth whack, Alex was gulping air, fighting back tears. The
sixth swat slammed down across his reddened cheeks and he gasped,
squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He would not cry, he would not
cry...
WHACK! WHACK!
Alex lost count then, a long hitching sob boiling up out of his
throat, his eyes stinging with blazing hot tears. Still gripping
the sides of the desk like a lifeline, he bawled helplessly.
"Ow, ow, sir, please...please, I'm sorry, I'll learn, I won't do it
again, I won't, I swear!"
"I know it hurts, Alex," the soothing voice came from behind him.
"I know. Only two more."
"Oh no, no, please..." Alex's pleas were quickly swamped by a fresh
bout of sobs. Alex buried his face in the now crumpled report and
cried, miserable in his shame. Not only had he disappointed the AD
with his irresponsible behavior, but now he'd gone completely to
pieces in front of him! How could he ever face him again? Bad
enough to be bare-assed, bent over his desk getting the spanking of
a lifetime, but to bawl like a little boy in the process...it was
just too much.
The final two whacks sounded like pistol shots in the quiet office.
Skinner put the paddle down. Alex lay dazed for a moment, his
backside aflame, tears of anguish running down his cheeks and
puddling under his chin. After a moment, he slowly, painfully,
stood up and tried to pull himself together. He hissed as the
polyester scraped over his sore bottom. Skinner waited while Alex
arranged his clothing. Alex looked down, unable to meet Skinner's
eyes. He scrubbed roughly at the persistent tears, surprised when a
handkerchief appeared in his line of vision.
"Here," Skinner said softly.
Alex hesitated, then took the handkerchief and wiped his eyes.
"Thank you, sir," he mumbled, "I'm sorry..."
"That's enough," Skinner rumbled softly. Alex felt strong hands
pull him close, felt himself held against a broad chest.
"S-sir?" Alex whispered, his eyes wide. Tears sparkled in the damp
lashes.
Skinner stared down at him, his brown eyes kind and understanding.
"You did well, Alex. I'm proud of you. I want you to know, just as
Agent Mulder knows, that I'm always here for you boys. I'll never
give up on you. Sometimes I will have to discipline you, but when
it's over, it's forgotten. I know you're going to be a great agent,
Alex. You're going to be a success and an asset to the Bureau. You
just need a firm hand and some guidance, and I'm here to give that
to you. I will not let you fail."
Alex suddenly found himself clinging to the older man.
"Thank you, sir," he found himself whispering into Skinner's
starched shirt. "Thank you."
He found, with faint surprise, that he meant it with all his heart.
Skippy!Rat I
by Lorelei
New Recruit
