by Jennie
Anyway, when I went to his place that night I was angry
disappointed, and, most of all, I was hurting. I needed someone to
blame and he was a convenient target. He'd let me down. Never mind
that he was dealing with his own feelings of guilt and loss. Pain
and betrayal consumed me. Most of all, there was this great,
overwhelming fear.
When the door swung open one look at his expression told me that
he'd been expecting me. That he'd been waiting for me. And, that
he blamed himself far more than I could ever blame him.
"Krycek," he said in a curiously resigned tone, "come on in."
"You lost him," I accused. "How could you do that, Skinner? I
depended on you. I trusted you!"
"I tried to find him, but, he was just... gone, Krycek." His hands
clenched into helpless fists. "He was just gone."
I could see the pain in his eyes. The redness told me how very much
the loss of Mulder had hurt him... was still hurting him. My anger
faded in the face of his obvious suffering.
I wandered in and dropped to sit on the couch. I sighed and looked
up at him. "What are we gonna do now?"
Skinner shrugged. "Look for him. Find him."
I stared at him with a frown as I tried to decipher that tone. What
an interesting combination of utter loss and absolute belief. I'd
never heard anything quite like it.
I smiled bitterly. "Are we fools, Skinner? To believe in him...
that we'll ever see him again?"
He looked surprised that I could possibly doubt that we'd see Mulder
again. How could he believe so completely? I don't think I've ever
had such faith in anything or anyone.
Not even in Mulder.
"I will find him, Krycek." He stared at me fiercely. "I will."
I nodded. What else could I do? I mean, who the hell was I to
question his belief... his trust in Mulder's seemingly endless
ability to rise above the roadblocks of life? I mean, the man had
survived so much already... come back from endless disappointments,
disillusionments and losses. No small amount of which was caused by
yours truly.
I sighed and sat back on the couch. "So, where do we start?" I
asked simply. "Any ideas?"
"With a drink." He crossed to the kitchen and called out, "Vodka?"
I cleared my throat, "Yeah, that'll do me."
When, I wondered, had it happened? When had I become his ally?
And, how had he known? Because, he certainly had no doubts. None
whatsoever. I watched him as he came back into the room and sat on
the other end of the sofa and handed me a rocks glass half-filled
with chilled vodka. I nodded my thanks and took a sip.
"So," I said, "it's been a while, huh?"
He raised his brows at me. "Has it?"
I rolled my eyes. "I meant since we spent any time... that wasn't
... Oh hell, you must know what I mean. Time not spent at each
other's throats."
He considered this in silence for a beat then nodded. "Yeah, I
guess it has."
We sat in silence for quite some time, each studying our memories.
He rose to refill our drinks twice. The third time, he just brought
the bottles back with him and set them on the coffee table. He
picked up the TV remote and turned the tube on. After several false
starts, he settled on "Blade Runner." We watched in comfortable
silence, steadily drinking our way through a large portion of our
respective bottles.
When the movie ended, I frowned and turned to him. "When was that
made, anyway?"
He thought for a moment then shrugged and picked up the TV guide.
"1982," he finally said.
"No!" I stared at him with shock. "That's not possible. Lemme see
that." He handed it over without protest and I read the listing.
"Damn. How can this be? I remember going to see that when it
premiered. I was a sophomore in college that year." I shook my
head. "I'm getting old, Skinner."
He snorted. "Join the club, Krycek. Join the fucking club."
He leaned forward to pour himself another drink and then settled
into a comfortable sprawl at his end of the couch. I studied him for
a moment, then refilled my vodka. I leaned back, then sat up again
rather abruptly.
"Shit!" I pulled on my prosthesis, trying to resettle it. "Dammit,
I hate this fucking thing." I mumbled.
"What's wrong?" He asked mildly.
I glared at him. Knowing it was not his fault didn't seem important
at the time. I just needed someone to blame. For everything. For
every god damned thing in my entire sorry-ass life. I shifted
again, once more trying to pull that damned arm back into place so
it would stop biting the living shit out of my stump.
"Damn, damn, damn," I bitched. "I've had the thing on for too long,
I guess." I looked up at him. "Um, d'you mind if I..." I waved
towards it with my good hand.
He shrugged. "I don't care, Alex. Seen it, remember?"
Well, that took the wind right out of my sails. I'd come over here
tonight, so filled with anger that I'd been just about ready to
explode. The man lets me in, takes my abuse with no complaint,
offers me hope, where I'd had none at all, lets me sit here drinking
peacefully with him... And now, now he brings up one of the two
maybe three good memories of my life. Damn. I sagged back against
the couch, ignoring my arm, and stared at the far wall. It hurt.
Probably more than anything ever had, it hurt to remember.
"Skinner," I finally whispered, "we lost him. We fucking lost
him."
One of his warm hands came to rest on the back of my neck. "We'll
find him, Alex. You'll see, we're gonna find him." He scooted
closer and reached for the buttons of my shirt.
I caught my breath. "What are you doing?"
"Gotta take your shirt off before we can get the arm off." He
grinned at me, "And, Alex, I promise... we won't lose the damned
thing."
I laughed and relaxed. "Damn... Y'know, I never did remember
anything about that night... always remembered the morning after,
but never the night before."
"Hmmm," he ruminated as he figured out how to remove the prosthesis,
"Well, I remember the night pretty clearly. Thought I'd die when
the two of you called; 'Have you ever had sex', indeed."
We laughed. It had been pretty damn funny. In fact, it was fucking
hilarious now that I could look back on it. At the time though...
"You bastard," I said with no heat in my voice. "You really made us
suffer the next day."
He shrugged. "You deserved it. The both of you. Besides, I made
it up to you, didn't I?"
Well, I couldn't argue with that. I sat quietly and let him finish
his self appointed task.
He finally got my arm off and I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks,
Skinner." I reached up to rub at the sore stump, but his hand was
there first. And it was so fucking warm, so soothing, that I moaned
and closed my eyes enjoying the simple pleasure of being touched
with comfort.
"Walt," he said.
I opened my eyes again. "Huh?" I asked none too brightly.
"My name... remember? W—A—L—T. Walt."
I smiled. "Not likely to ever forget that one, Waaalt."
And he smiled at me. Damn. I hadn't seen him smile since that
morning... Hell, I wasn't sure if I had even smiled one single time
since that morning. He released what was let of my arm and met my
fascinated stare.
"What?" He asked.
I shrugged. "Nothing really. Just thinking that... never mind."
I dropped my stare to study the almost empty vodka bottle.
"Alex," he tilted my chin up with two fingers, looking at me
searchingly, "tell me."
"Well, you smiled, and I was smiling too. And, it occurred to me
that the last time I smiled was that morning... that day. Y'know?"
He nodded his understanding. "Neither of us has had much cause to
smile the past few years."
I grunted and leaned forward to top off my drink. I looked at him
over my shoulder; "You ready?"
"Sure." He handed me his glass.
I poured him a healthy draught of Scotch and sat back. We were
shoulder to shoulder now, since he'd stayed at my end of the sofa
after removing my prosthesis. I found myself slowly leaning into
him, attracted to his warmth and solidity. He pulled his arm out
from between our bodies, and put it around me, tucking me neatly
against him. I sighed and put my hand on his knee, unconsciously
rubbing in a soothing manner.
He stretched out his legs and pulled me closer yet, until my head
came to rest on his shoulder. My hand continued its movements,
slowly traveling up his thigh, stopping along the way to test his
strength. I was enjoying the unfamiliar feel of a masculine leg
other than my own under my hand. It was nice, this quiet sharing.
I'd not much experience of it in my life, but I really liked it.
Needed it. That night I did, anyway.
He reached out and picked up my hand in his, staring at it for
several long moments. Finally, he lifted it to his face and placed
my fingers on his cheek.
I caught my breath. "Walt?" I whispered. I sat up and turned to
see his face. He just sat there watching me; waiting for me to make
the next move, I guessed. I reached up and removed his glasses.
He smiled at me again. Oh my god. He was smiling at me again. I
trembled at the implications. It had been so long... so very, very
long.
Carefully, slowly, I leaned forward. The arm he'd had around my
shoulders closed, pulling me to him as his other hand came up to
cradle the side of my face. I closed my eyes and let him guide me
to him. His lips were as warm and mobile as I remembered. Such a
big man... so very hard... and, he was willing to let me feel his
vulnerability. I parted my lips and let my tongue taste the whisky
on him.
"Mmm," I hummed, leaning closer and opening my mouth a bit more. He
let me in, and oh, he tasted so wonderful. Better even than I
recalled him tasting. I moaned and leaned against him, letting him
support my weight as I explored the wonder of this unexpected treat.
That morning with him and Mulder... Fox, had been one of the most
erotic, touching, and open encounters of my life. I'd brought that
treasured memory out every so often over the years, dusted it off
and just wallowed in the pleasure of that time. It had been
everything to me for so long that I was almost afraid that by
accepting what he now offered me I might somehow offend the gods.
That a person such as I should consider himself damn lucky to have
even one such experience in his life and should therefore not tempt
their anger by accepting another. I moaned and drew back.
"Shhh, Alex," he soothed, "it's okay."
"I'm afraid," I was surprised to hear myself whisper.
His hand soothed over my hair. "I know you are," he rumbled. "I
am too. Let's share our fear for the night." He shrugged and
grinned slightly. "Who knows? Maybe it'll help."
I searched his eyes and found only safety and warmth and, lurking in
the shadows, a vague heat. "Okay," I nodded to him. "Okay."
He gave me a truly wicked smile as his hand dropped slowly from my
hair and traveled south. It came to rest on my right nipple. And,
there it was; the heat was no longer banked, flames leapt unhidden
adding depth to his sherry brown eyes. I'd dreamt of those flames
many times over the past four years.
One twist of those clever fingertips on my nipple, and I was in his
lap, straddling him, while my hand on his nape begged him...
pleaded with him...
Oh, and his answer was yes! I arched as his mouth found my nipple,
depending on his hands at my back to support me.
"Oh, god," I gasped. "Please, oh please. Yesss." I finally
hissed when his teeth gently worried the hardened nub he'd brought
forth. It felt so damn good, so fucking perfect that I was close to
tears.
Now, I admit that my nipples have always been an erogenous zone.
Hell, I love to have them attended to. But, I am not usually
brought to tears by the experience. The thing was, he'd remembered.
After only one time—which, granted, was a pretty spectacular
encounter—he'd fucking remembered! No one had ever done that,
cared enough, hell, been around long enough to learn my preferences.
Except Mulder... he'd known.
And, now, Skinner had remembered.
I remembered things too. The feel of his skin. His taste. The way
he rumbled deep in his chest when caressed. Oh yeah, I remembered!
Opening my eyes to slits, I looked at him and realized that he was
still completely dressed. Words were pretty much beyond me at that
point, so I plucked impatiently at the neck of his t-shirt.
"What?" He looked up at me frowning his confusion.
"Want to touch you, too. Need to feel you," I managed to say.
He smiled again. I filed it away with all the other smiles he'd
given me this night and smiled back at him.
"Shall we take this party into the bedroom?" I asked, echoing his
own question to Mulder and me on that memorable morning so long ago.
"An excellent idea, Alex. But... you're gonna have to get off of
me first."
I pouted, but did as he asked and headed up to the bedroom. He was
no more than a step behind me, his warmth a tangible presence at my
back. I think that that heat, more than anything else about him, is
what I remember most often. The thing I hold to myself late at
night when those nightmares come calling.
Once I actually walked into his room, I was overcome by doubts and
hesitation. I slowed and stopped before I reached the bed. He
seemed to recognize my problem, because he didn't pressure or push.
He simply sat on the bed and proceeded to undress. I watched him
closely, but still felt unaccountably shy. I mean, I knew I was
being ridiculous... My shirt was already off, so it wasn't the arm.
It was the fact, I think, that he knew me in a way that no one
else ever had... Except for Mulder, of course. And, we'd had
Mulder with us last time. Somehow, that had made it easier. This
time, his attention would all be directed at me. He's not an easy
man, and I just suddenly felt a little overwhelmed.
Finally, after I'd spent several minutes just staring at him in
silence, he lay back on the bed and held one hand out to me. "Alex,
c'mere." He said in a low husky tone that vibrated in the pit of my
stomach.
I walked over and sat next to him, staring at his face. How could
he be so damn calm? I couldn't understand it. I was glad one of us
was, though.
He took my hand and placed it in the center of his chest. "Touch
me." He said, and gave me a look that was positively inflammatory.
Well, that certainly helped get me back on track. I moaned and
carefully let my hand wander across his chest, loving the silky feel
of the scattering of hair. I followed the line of that hair down to
his abdomen then detoured around his erection to his hip and upper
thigh. What the hell is it about that man's legs, anyway? Long and
leanly muscled, they're the sexiest damn things I've ever seen.
I sighed and let my hand move back up to his chest. I teased his
nipples, pleased with myself when he shifted up towards my touch and
his breathing quickened.
"Think you're ready to undress now?" He asked in that wonderful
husky voice I recalled so clearly.
The heat in his expression had me up on my feet and out of the rest
of my clothing in short order. I climbed in next to him and lay
back. And, wonder of wonders, he remembered this too... I don't
like to be on top anymore. I'm off balance and can't touch if I'm
using my only arm to support myself. But, he knew... understood
that about me. As I lay back, he propped himself up on one elbow
and started to caress my chest again. I reached up and pulled him
down into a kiss that was... lord have mercy, it was fucking
unbelievable. What that man can do with his lips and tongue is
absolutely indescribable. He had me a panting, moaning, writhing,
but ecstatically happy wreck almost immediately.
His weight settled more completely over me and I felt safe for the
first time in forever. It was an almost forgotten feeling for me,
safety. I think, no, I know that the last time I'd felt this way
was the last time I'd been in bed with him. Oh, Mulder and I had
gotten together a couple of times in the intervening years but...
wonderful as Mulder was, he couldn't make me feel this. Only
Skinner seemed to hold that ability.
I moaned and pulled him down, shifting to place myself closer to
him. He lay across me, one hand petting me. He traced a line down
to my cock and I'd have probably been hanging from the ceiling if
his wonderful weight hadn't been anchoring me down to the bed.
"Oh fuck," I gasped. "Damn, Walt. How can you do this to me? I
don't... I can't..."
"Shh," he soothed, even as his hand brought me perilously close to
losing my tenuous control. "You're okay, Alex. I've got you."
And, suddenly, I understood. He needed to be needed. Had been
raised to be the strong one, the protector. Being able to offer
these things to me made him feel as if he some measure of control in
a life that seemed completely adrift on the winds of circumstance.
With my newfound knowledge came a sudden need to give him whatever
he needed. I wanted to offer him at least as much as he offered me.
I let down my guard and allowed him to read my eyes, let my need and
want show. Relaxing into his hold, I reached up to touch his face
with trembling fingers. He leaned into my touch and smiled at me
again.
Damn. Those fucking smiles of his were slowly chipping away at all
of my carefully constructed defenses. But, I could see that he was
truly enjoying what his touch did to me; how my decision to let him
give me whatever he wanted had been recognized and was appreciated.
He leaned in closer and started mapping a path across my face with
his lips. I occurred to me that, as my body was under his, the
danger of my floating away was minimal. I let go my desperate grip
on his nape and started to explore.
He retaliated by attacking my neck. The bastard. Aside from the
obvious areas of sensitivity, my neck... well, as a diversionary
tactic, it was a complete success. I twined my arm around his
shoulders and held on for dear life. Arching my neck back to give
him easier access, I begged him to never stop. I began to doubt my
ability to control my orgasm if he moved below my collarbone.
"Wait," I gasped. "Stop. Toosoontoosoon. I'll come..." I was
tossing my head in protest and pushing at him.
Finally, he got the message and lifted his head. "What? What's
wrong, Alex?"
"Gonna come... gonna come."
"Ah." He gave me a very serious look and I started to relax my
hold. Quicker than shit, he scooted down the bed and swallowed my
cock whole.
"Fuck!" I yelled. "You bastard... shit! Oh god... no. No,
stop!" Of course, the whole time I'm yelling this litany at the top
of my lungs, my hand is firmly at the back of his head urging him on
in his efforts.
Luckily for me, he knew which message to pay attention to. I must
have lasted a whole ten... fifteen seconds, tops. I came
shuddering and sobbing, while he swallowed every drop, not releasing
me until I stirred in protest at the over-stimulation. Returning to
lay beside me, he held me as I slowly regained my senses.
"You... you bastard!" I complained. "Why'd you do that?"
He snorted. "Well, that is the object of the exercise, Alex."
"Fucker," I retorted. "You know what I mean. It was too soon!" I
was feeling deeply aggrieved.
He raised his eyebrows at me. "I have faith in your ability to come
at least one more time tonight."
"Weren't you listening to me earlier, Walt? I'm getting fucking
old."
Nodding seriously, he appeared to agree with me. Then he grinned
and I knew I was doomed. "How about this? You have faith in my
ability to make you come again tonight."
Oh. Well, that was a different story. That I had no problem
believing in. The humor in the situation finally dawned on me and I
laughed.
"Sorry," I offered, a bit shame-faced.
"Well, I suppose you can make it up to me." How generous he was in
victory. What a guy.
While I may prefer not to be on top, I am still capable of doing a
credible simulation of it. I rose up and indicated to him that he
should lay flat. He followed my silent orders without protest. I
seldom tried this, but I figured he could handle the occasional
clumsiness my missing limb caused.
And, damned if I wasn't right. If he even noticed, I'll be fucked
if I could tell. Turning into my touch, letting me know with sighs
and moans that my efforts were quite enjoyed, he was every bit as
responsive as I recalled him being. And he tasted even better... a
mellow, spicy kind of taste. I loved it and lost no opportunity to
lick and suck and nibble on whatever flesh I could get my mouth on.
When I finally reached his cock, he was purring, a deep rumble of a
sound. I'd been waiting to hear that noise.
You know, he was right. Just that sound was enough, on top of his
amazing sensitivity and openness, to get me hard again. He grinned
triumphantly at me when my erection brushed against his leg. I met
his eyes and silently asked the question. Who would it be...
Fucker? Or, fucked? His expression sobered then and he met my
gaze. When I looked down, answering my own question, he caught his
breath.
"Are you sure?" He asked me.
I had not allowed this last time. It... just wasn't the something
I did easily. And, they hadn't pressured me. In fact, they'd never
even asked.
I met his gaze again and nodded. "Positive."
He turned away to grab lube and a condom from the bedside table. I
grinned at his preparedness and he shrugged. "I was expecting you,"
he offered simply.
That took my breath away. By the time I recovered, he had the
condom on and was looking at me again.
"How?" he asked me.
"On my back." I'm a simple man. It was the easiest way for me to
get fucked and still be able to touch him. Perfect for the
occasion. I lay back and he moved close, lifting one of my legs and
draping it over his hip. I was already in heaven, and he hadn't
even touched me. I moaned and he covered my lips with his own.
When he had me good and distracted, he reached under me and started
stroking one slick finger along my crack.
Fuck. I arched, trying to force his finger into me but he kept
beyond my reach. Once he had me reduced to incoherency, he finally
slipped that finger inside of me.
"Oh god," I groaned. "Fuck, Skinner. Oh, man... that's
incredible."
He stopped.
"What?!" I almost screamed at him.
"Walt," he answered me quietly.
What? Whatthefuck? "Oh shit." I huffed a laugh. "Okay, Walt.
Sorry, Walt. Fuck me Walt. Please fuck me, Walt."
He grinned at me as if I was the cleverest man in the world to have
remembered the words he'd attributed to me that morning at Mulder's.
I'd have been a little embarrassed if his own instant recognition
of those words hadn't given away his own clear memories of the
event. I grinned back at him and moved impatiently.
"C'mon, Walt," I begged. "I really, really do want you to fuck
me."
Resuming his explorations, he inserted two fingers. Damn, it felt
so good. I moved against him languidly, enjoying the lovely full
feeling when he twisted his fingers and found my prostate. Fuck!
There wasn't a languid cell left in my body after that, I can assure
you.
"Jesus h christ," I yelled. "Damn, Walt. How the hell can you..."
He shut me up by sticking his tongue in my mouth. Extremely
effective. One of the few ways to shut me up when this particular
man touched me. I am not by nature, a vocal lover. Can't afford to
be. Not in my line of work. But, there was something about Skinner... that feeling of safety I mentioned earlier, I guess, that made
me yell and scream when he brought me pleasure. It was kind of
scary, to tell you the truth. Nice, but scary.
He continued to work me, sliding two, then three, fingers in and
out, hitting my prostate gland on every pass. I was a wreck when he
finally stopped. I tried to catch my breath while he moved,
settling his weight fully on top of me. He hooked my knees with his
arms and raised my legs. I caught my breath in anticipation as he
reached down and guided his erection to my opening.
"Ah... mmmm," I hummed as he slowly sank into me. "God, Walt.
Yeah... hmmm." Oh, he felt so incredible. He filled me completely
and waited for me to adjust to his size.
I breathed deeply then pushed up at him a bit. He eased half way
out and sank back inside. I groaned and pushed up to meet him.
Fuck, it was wonderful! Better than I'd hoped... And, I'd had very
high hopes. He continued to fuck me easily, and I loved it.
Eventually, though I needed more. He ignored my polite hints and I
grew impatient.
"Fuck me, dammit," I finally growled at him. "Fuck me."
The man takes direction well. I think it's a Marine thing. He did
exactly what I'd told him to do. And, very well, indeed. He
shifted his weight back a bit and began to fuck me in earnest. I
watched him closely, thankful now that I'd already come once
tonight. It gave me a measure of control I'd have otherwise lacked
now, when I was so fucking determined to make him climax first. I
needed to see it. To know that it was caused by me... that I could
do that to him. When his breathing quickened and his thrusts grew
stronger, I started to see stars. I ruthlessly pushed my own
pleasure aside and reached down to grab his ass, pulling him in as I
pushed up at him.
"Fuck!" He hissed.
Ah, good move. I smiled, pleased with myself. I let my hand
migrate until I was twisting and pinching one of his nipples. Mmm,
he liked that too. He was gasping for air. I was feeling quite the
slut, ready to pull his orgasm from by sheer dint of will.
I should have known better. I really, really should have.
Sonofabitch moved his hand and started jacking me off. And, that
was all she wrote. I screamed at the top of my lungs and came all
over both of us.
But, in the end, I won too. My orgasmic muscle spasms sent him over
the edge and he shouted, "Alex, yes!"
He collapsed onto me, breathing heavily. I'd have probably stayed
like that all night, but he was thinking ahead, thank god. He
pulled out of me, despite my groan of protest, and released my legs.
'Shit," I hissed as the cramped muscles made their presence known.
He didn't even have to ask, he just rubbed my hips and thighs,
easing the pain and sending me back into boneless satiation.
"Damn, Walt," I finally said drowsily. "That was fucking amazing."
He settled my limp body against his. "Yeah," he agreed, "it was."
"G'night." I barely had the energy to get the word out. "See you
in the morning."
"Promise?" He asked.
Promise? He wanted a promise from me? That opened my eyes. I
looked up at him and saw that he was serious. "I won't leave
without waking you." I told him gravely.
And that seemed to do the trick. He was asleep before I could once
again rest my head on him. I shrugged and followed him.
He opened his eyes blearily. I was standing in the middle of the
room looking around one last time to make sure I hadn't forgotten
anything.
"Your arm's in the living room, Alex."
I crossed to the bed and kissed him. "Gotta go," I explained
shortly. "I was gonna wake you after I got dressed."
He nodded and returned my kiss. "Okay," he murmured. "See you."
"Yeah," I whispered.
Then, I dressed and got the hell out of there. But, before leaving
I stopped and left him a note:
Dear Walt, In case you haven't heard the news... My arm's in
Russia. I'll call A
Where are my angels?
Where are My Angels
n the end, it came down to just him and me. I should've known it
would come to that. But, you know how it is; you just never think
it'll ever really end.
Where's my golden one?
Where's my hope
Now that my heroes have gone?
