Triple Agent's Club
by Riticulan
"Fuck," Alex thought, "my life is getting boring."
"Triple-Agent's club, why did I join that thing, anyway?" Alex muttered
to himself; he idly kicked a can out of his way as he swaggered along.
"Triple-agents, yea right, most of em are double agents at best.
Braggarts!"
Alex hated people who got above themselves. "Pizza and beer, pizza and
beer," the green-eyed monkey sang as he staggered along, "all they want
is pizza and beer—some triple-agents they are! What I wouldn't give
for a blintz and a shot of vodka at one of our meetings!" Alex sneered
at a passerby who clutched her purse even more closely to her chest.
Alex was a dry as a wooden-god from all that pizza and pissy beer and
the talk of murder and mayhem and betrayal—of course, Alex did a lot
of the talking. When it came to bragging rights, there's not much that
could shut him up. Right now he'd give his spare prosthetic for a good
old-fashioned American coke. Just as the thought was almost flying out
of his alcohol befuddled mind, he spied a 24/7 convenience store. He
noticed the dark alley he'd have to walk through in order to get there,
but Alex Krycek was not a triple-agent who was afraid of the dark, no
sir—not him. When they put that plaque up at the club, that one
honouring all the triple-agents, past and present, he knew his name
would be heading the list. He smiled that self-satisfied smile that
only triple-agents who have betrayed just about everybody can manage.
"Krycek, you bastard!"
Alex froze in his tracks, he knew he was in trouble. He knew that
voice, but his eyes couldn't quite focus on the man who was bearing down
at him, at full throttle, through the alley.
"You helped them abduct Scully!"
"Oh god, Mulder" Alex said. "What happened to you killed my father?"
Krycek knew the world must have slipped off its axis, Mulder had changed
the order of the litany of his crimes. Suddenly his eyes were able to
focus on the man standing in front of him. As though in slow motion, he
saw Mulder grab the lapels of his uniform, pull him up to stand nose to
nose with the fibbie.
That nose, Alex thought, it's so big. Isn't that a sign of the size of
his...The thought was driven from his head by the pain, the pain of his
head slamming into the brick wall behind him.
Yea, it is the nose, Alex thought when metal capacity returned to him.
He looked at Mulder's proboscis again; yep, he must be really well
endow...
"You little Fuck!" Mulder screamed at him as his fist connected with
Alex's stomach, knocking all the air out of his lungs and doubling him
up with pain.
"I'm impressed, Mulder," Alex was able to slur.
Fox misunderstood and hit him again.
When Alex regained consciousness, he thought he was wrong about the
nose. It was the finger. He looked at Mulder's middle digit, as it was
poking him in the eye, again. Beautifully long, he thought, not too
thick, but long. Yes, he decided it was the fingers that are the best
indication of cock size.
"Ouch, that hurt! What's wrong Mulder, don't you love me anymore?"
Mulder jabbed his eye again with that long, delicious digit. Fox threw
him up against the wall.
Alex slid down the wall as if he were a rag doll. The last thing he
thought was that he was wrong about the nose (heaven knows, if it were
true, Mulder would be a really popular man), wrong about the finger. He
decided, in an instant, it was foot size. Yep, definitely foot size.
He looked at those hard, fibbie shoes, long and wide. Yes, definitely
that's it—foot size.
The last thing the tipsy triple-agent saw was that gloriously long foot
coming toward him. The last thing he felt was that foot connecting with
his ribs. As he slid into unconsciousness, with a smile on his face, and
chuckle on his lips, thinking what that nose, those fingers, that foot,
and most of all, that cock could do to him.
