by Josan
Being AD meant, among other things, that one had to maintain a cool
image even if the temperature outside was in the
high nineties with a humidex reading over a hundred. And even if the
tempers level inside the Bureau was volcanic.
Mulder and Scully were at each other throats because of a
disagreement over some forensic evidence. Two of his other
field agents had been handed divorce papers on their return home.
Another hadn't ducked quickly enough when some
idiot went after his girlfriend with a baseball bat.
And Jeff Spender had spent the afternoon detailing a report that
should have taken twenty minutes max. Every time he had
tried to hurry Spender on, Spender felt it necessary to remind Skinner
of all the reasons the report had to be so detailed.
In the long run, he had just shut up and let the twerp get on with it.
So, when Skinner opened the door to his apartment, he was fighting
off a headache of gigantic proportions. All he wanted
was a cool shower, a handful of something for the headache and an
evening of peace and quiet.
He knew it wasn't going to happen when he heard Miles Davis softly
moaning on his trumpet.
He put his briefcase down along with his jacket as he drew his weapon
from his holster.
A careful look-through the apartment told him that the balcony doors
were open—a slight breeze moved the sheer drapes
—when they shouldn't have been.
And that, on a table by the doors, someone had set up an ice bucket,
a glass and an opened bottle of scotch.
A suspicion was forming in his mind. He let the weapon drop to his
side and walked quietly to the table. There he put
some ice into the glass, poured some of the scotch, swirled it around
savouring the scent of peat bogs.
The first mouthful helped push back some of the headache. He refilled
the glass and went out onto the balcony.
Krycek, wearing jeans and a thin white t-shirt, was sitting on the
floor, back against the wall, just looking out over the city.
Skinner went and sat next to him.
Silently, the two men sipped their drinks, listening to Davis and the
barely audible traffic sounds from below.
"You're looking well," Skinner finally broke the silence.
Krycek was looking well. The past four months had to have been less
traumatic than the previous year. He looked fit,
relaxed, angelic. He turned his head sideways to look Skinner over,
green eyes filled with devilment.
"You, on the other hand, look like hell."
Skinner rested his head against the wall, closed his eyes. "It's been
that kind of week. And it's only Wednesday." He
sighed.
Later, when he was being honest with himself, he had to admit that he
wasn't too surprised when Krycek moved to
straddle his legs.
He kept his eyes closed while his tie was removed, his shirt was
unbuttoned.
While Krycek's mouth played with his.
He couldn't call the tongue invasive when his own was exploring
Krycek's mouth at the same time.
Neither man was in a hurry. Seemingly quite content with just
tasting.
Then Krycek's mouth moved on and Skinner just sat there, his head
tilted back. When the mouth moved to his chest, he
demurred. "I need to take a shower."
Krycek ignored the comment. Moved on to his nipples, playing with the
nubs with his tongue, gently biting, using his
teeth to pull on them just to the point where the pleasure threatened to
become pain.
Skinner put his glass down, brought his hand up to massage Krycek's
nape, silently encouraging the man. After Krycek
had built a fire in the pit of his stomach, he pulled the man's head
back up to capture his mouth again.
Krycek rested his body against Skinner's chest, enjoying the play of
Skinner's mouth on his face and neck. Skinner used
his nose to nudge Krycek's chin up so he could get access to the soft
under-throat. Krycek made a slight sound of
approval, tipped his head further back so that his throat was fully
exposed to Skinner's explorations.
"Alex." Skinner murmured between tastings, "I'm too old to make love
on a floor, especially a cement one. And I need a
shower. Let's take this upstairs where we'll be more comfortable."
"Can I take a shower with you?" Krycek's voice had hoarsened. He bent
his head to run his tongue around the swirls of
Skinner's ear.
"Hmm."
But neither of them made much effort to move from their positions.
Skinner pulled Krycek's t-shirt out of his jeans and
ran his hand up and across ribs and chest. Fingers found hardened
pebbles, pinched and pulled. Krycek arched his back,
grunted.
His own hand was busy freeing Skinner of his belt, slipping into his
pants, under the waistband of his shorts to find his
awakening cock. Skinner's hips bucked into the hand.
"Too quick," he protested to Krycek. He captured the wandering hand,
dropped his own to Krycek's waist, held tight.
"Shower."
Still touching, still tasting, the men made their way to their feet.
Skinner pushed Krycek against the panel of glass next to
the balcony door, tried hard to devour his mouth.
When they moved indoors, they nearly tripped over the bottom run of
the sliding doors, causing them both to take a
breath, and a breather. Krycek actually giggled a bit.
Skinner had a wide grin plastered on his face. There was no hint of
headache now. Hand gripping Krycek's wrist, he
tugged the man towards the stairs and up into the bathroom.
Undressing took a lot more time than it usually did. There were shoes
and boots to toe off. Jeans and pants to remove,
hands slowly stroking thighs and legs as they made their descent. Shirt
to join them on the floor. T-shirt to be pulled off
between kisses. A newer version of prosthesis to be unstrapped, reddened
skin to be soothed with mouth and tongue.
Skinner's glasses removed and stored safely on a shelf.
Skinner managed to manoeuvre them to the tub, bent over to turn on
the taps, regulate the temperature of the water.
Krycek's mouth was identifying each of the vertebrae, from his neck to
the middle of his back.
Skinner turned his head to find Krycek's navel level with his mouth.
The perfect occasion for his own exploration. His
tongue dipped in, his teeth nibbled on the edge.
They made it under the spray with just the minimum of water getting
on the floor.
Krycek took the soap from Skinner's hands, held it under the spray.
"My turn to wash you."
Skinner stood still, letting Krycek rub the bar of soap over his
chest, his ribs, turning when Krycek pushed a bit so that
his back got attention.
Krycek dropped the soap into the dish. His hand slipped over
Skinner's ass, massaging the tight muscles, slipping
between the cheeks. A finger found the puckered muscle and teased its
way in and out, around, slowly. Went away to the
sound of a soft whimper.
Krycek dropped to his knees, rubbed his nose between Skinner's
cheeks, until his mouth came to the asshole.
Skinner made a whimpering noise when Krycek's tongue began playing
with him, pushing its way into him, mouth
sucking on the outer muscle. He braced his hands against the front wall
of the shower and hoped his legs would support
him.
Krycek slowly stood, replacing his tongue with a finger. There was an
instant's hesitation until the muscle relaxed and,
head resting against Skinner's shoulder, Krycek slowly eased in first
one finger then two. His own erection rested against
Skinner's thigh as he moved his fingers back and forth, gently turning
them so that his knuckles teased prostate. Skinner's
hips bucked in reaction.
"Alex. Don't. You'll make me come too soon."
Krycek rubbed his face against Skinner's back. "You sound as though
you only have one shot in you." But he removed
his fingers.
He slowly dropped to his knees, his mouth descending Skinner's body,
under the arm, till he knelt in front of him. Hand
on the back of Skinner's thigh. Took his erection into his mouth.
Skinner groaned. Christ, it felt so damn good, that mouth.
Krycek swirled the tip of his tongue around the crown, sucked hard
before pushing his mouth further down the
thickening cock.
Skinner pushed with his hips, forcing it further into his throat.
Krycek began pulling up, using his tongue to pressure the large
underside vein. Back to the crown. Brought his hand
forward to grasp the base, squeezing and releasing. His tongue played
with the slit on the head, he sucked hard as if trying
to pull Skinner's come out.
Skinner thrust his hips forward, not caring any more if he came too
quickly.
Krycek's hand grabbed Skinner's balls, rolled them in their casing,
squeezed not that gently, rubbed his hand around and
up the perineum, finger back to asshole. He inserted his finger, found
Skinner's prostate again.
That was it for Skinner. He grabbed Krycek's head with both hands,
held it steady while he thrust back and forth into that
demanding mouth.
Krycek took a deep breath and swallowed shot after shot of hot,
salty-gamey come while Skinner shouted his orgasm.
His cock slipped out of Krycek's mouth as his knees released him to
the floor of the tub. He still held Krycek's head
between his hands, rested his forehead against Krycek's. Licked the
white residue off Krycek's lips.
Krycek opened his mouth, let himself be tasted. Let Skinner's tongue
clean the remnants of his own semen from the man's
mouth.
Skinner gently kissed that mouth. Moved to kiss eyes, worked his
mouth down the nose to nip the tip with his teeth.
Krycek's eyes opened, surprised by the teasing.
"Your turn. But not in the tub. Any longer and we'll both be too
waterlogged to do anything." Skinner kissed the devil
smile that appeared on Krycek's angel face.
Getting out of the tub, drying each other was a long involved
business.
At one point, Krycek gasped out, "You need to know. I'm clean."
It took Skinner a moment to decipher that, his mind was still on the
shower. He raised his head from the nipple he was
tormenting, made the connection when he saw how serious Krycek was. "Me
too."
He pushed Krycek till his back rested on the bathroom door. Slowly
traced a path with mouth and hands to Krycek's
demanding erection. Dropped to his knees and took it deep into his
mouth. He wasn't as proficient as Krycek, not that
Krycek noticed: he found that he had to brace himself against the door,
to keep his knees from joining Skinner's.
Because he was less experienced in this, Skinner took his time, very
slowly working in more and more of Krycek's cock
into his mouth, from the tip of the head to the point where his gag
reflex warned him it was enough.
All the time, his tongue played with the hard and hardening contents
of his mouth. The tip teasing the crown, the flat
pressuring the big vein that rose from root to head.
Skinner's hands had been busy stroking up and down the back of
Krycek's thighs, kneading tightening ass muscles,
coming around to the front to push knees a bit further apart so he could
more easily access Krycek's cock.
Then, remembering how it had felt, he used a finger to stroke the
perineum. His other hand to tease Krycek's balls at the
same time. Felt them rise in their casing and thought he was prepared
for Krycek's ejaculation.
Krycek was also better at swallowing than he was. Krycek had more to
clean up than he had.
They finally made it into the bedroom.
Because the edge had been blunted, they spent time just exploring
each other's bodies.
For Krycek, that was a novel experience. His sexual encounters were
mostly business. Fucks to disarm contracts. A way
of getting information. Usually quick, often brutal. His body had been
well trained to show pleasure with almost anything
done to it. But it was rare that he actually felt pleasure.
Even rarer that someone took the time to discover what really
pleasured him. Had anyone ever bothered?
It hadn't been difficult to understand that Skinner was not overly
experienced with men. After all, he had been married for
seventeen years and, what he knew about the man told him that he had
taken his vows seriously, at least until the end when
there was that thing with the dead hooker Mulder had told him about.
Maybe that was why Skinner was taking such time with him: women were
notorious for liking foreplay. The foreplay in
his world was usually nothing more than some hip rubbing, a bit of
yanking before the actual blow job.
And he was discovering that he liked all this touching and tasting
stuff. Liked having it done to him. Liked doing it to
Skinner.
Found that the soft noises Skinner made whenever he stroked or
caressed the right spots added to the fire Skinner's
hands, mouth were building in him.
When he'd come here, set up his seduction scene, he had expected it
to be no more than fucking, a way of thanking
Skinner for his rescue, a way of satisfying his own curiosity about the
man.
Maybe, a way of relegating Skinner into the category of "client"
rather than "jerk-off fantasy".
Instead he was the one being seduced.
And when his right spots were stroked or caressed, he found that the
noises he made were not faked, were real.
Which, when he would have time to think about it, would frighten him.
But not here. Not now.
Now and here were for him. No outside involvement. No need to report.
He put his thoughts on hold and became just sensation.
Sex with Sharon had not been plentiful towards the end. He supposed,
before, they had had relations within the expected
norm for a couple married as long as they had been, considering the job
he had.
And since the divorce, there had been a few more encounters. One even
with a man. But nothing seemed to pan out. He'd
taken to masturbation rather than wake in a strange bed with a stranger
who was going to remain just that.
He remembered his pre-married days enough to recognize a seduction
scenario when it was presented to him. Maybe he
should have just left the apartment when he'd seen the open doors, the
scotch.
But he had been curious about Krycek. Not the Krycek who had betrayed
the FBI. Or the one who had beaten him up in
the stairwell. Not even the one he had cuffed to the balcony railing
that cold autumn night.
No, the one he had wanted to know more about was the man who needed
to be held to keep nightmares at bay. Who had
trusted him to do that. Who played chess with delight, with his own
weird strategies. Who enjoyed the same jazz that he
did. Who, in his own fashion, paid his debts.
He watched that Krycek come to life under his hands, his mouth and
found it exceedingly erotic.
"Please. Fuck me." Krycek found it hard to put his want into words,
but right now he wanted Skinner in him more than
anything. Wanted to know if the sensation of Skinner's cock up his ass
would help put out the fire in him, the craving that
was almost painful.
Skinner reached into the bedside table for condoms and lube, a
left-over habit from his marriage.
He had trouble with the foil. It was hard to tear it open at the best
of times, and right now, he was too busy tasting the
difference in textures between Krycek's thigh and the bush next to it.
Krycek took the foil away from him, tore it open with his mouth. Eyes
holding eyes, he sat up, expertly gloved Skinner's
rampant cock. Spread a thin layer of lube on the latex. With some
awkwardness, on his own fingers.
He lay back down, rolled over slightly, spread his legs wider and
lubed his own asshole, all the time holding onto
Skinner's eyes.
Skinner bent and took his mouth, tongues thrusting against each
other. When he moved his mouth back down, Krycek
arched his back, head tossed back, throat exposed.
Penetration was slow, not just because Skinner didn't want to hurt
his partner, but because by now, the erotic flavour of
slowness had permeated all their actions.
Krycek pushed his ass down along Skinner's shaft as Skinner pushed
in.
All that Krycek wanted was centred in that shaft. He gasped aloud at
the pleasure it built in him. He whimpered when he
felt it withdrawing. Clenched his ass around it, to keep it from leaving
him.
Skinner grunted at the sensation. He wasn't far from coming, but he
wanted Krycek to come first. Wanted to see if those
eyes would darken further. If the surprise he had already glimpsed now
and then would appear yet again.
The knowledge that for Krycek some of this mating was new to him only
added to his own sense of satisfaction. His
hand gripped and released, stroked and caressed Krycek's cock in the
same slow rhythm of penetration.
When Krycek came, Skinner grimaced in pleasure at hearing the scream
that tore its way from the man's tendoned throat.
The sound threw him over the edge, and soon his own loud grunts of
completion filled the room.
They lay in a tangled heap, barely finding the energy to breathe.
Eventually Skinner went to move off Krycek, worried his
weight would be too heavy for the smaller man. Krycek's hand came up to
hold him back. He whimpered a small
complaint. So Skinner stayed where he was, head resting on Krycek's
collarbone, Krycek's legs resting on the back of his
thighs.
They stayed that way for a short while. Dozing.
Krycek woke to find his face being traced by a finger. He turned his
head slightly, almost afraid of opening his eyes. Of
what he might see in Skinner's. He braced himself: best get it over
with.
Skinner was aware of the tensing, not fully aware of the reason for
it. He smiled down at the serious eyes watching him.
Slowly bent to take a soft mouth with his.
Krycek pulled him down for a serious kiss. The wariness in his eyes
replaced by satiation.
They didn't speak, just slowly played mouths over faces, arms wrapped
around each other. Skinner yawned first, pulled
Krycek's head against his shoulder. Slept.
He was alone when he woke. Knew from the feel of the place, alone in
the apartment. He rolled over onto his back,
covered his eyes with an arm. Waited for his disappointment to abate.
He might have felt better if he had known that Krycek had left
quickly because he was afraid to stay.
This Being the Second
ashington, DC,
in the summer was hot, humid and because of that tempers
flared easily.
Skinner was surprised to find how hungry he was for touch. How much
he had missed it.
