by Louise Wu
I've been afraid to come on to anyone since Tunguska.
Worried that I'm not sexy any more. Or worse—worried that someone will want me
because of my amputation. That fucking creeps me out.
I don't doubt that I'm good looking, but is it enough to overcome my missing
limb? It fucking better be, because my cock has been hard for three months.
I drag myself down to my favorite Toronto leather bar, L'Avatar. I'm wearing my
tightest jeans and a dark green T-shirt. My leather jacket is almost
new—something else I lost in Tunguska—but it came looking weathered, so it
doesn't scream novice. My hair is freshly trimmed. My keys on the left, a beer
in my hand, and I'm prowling for a male animal to satisfy my need.
There are a few hot men. A pretty blonde with a red hanky
in his right pocket. I can do that with one hand. Can't I? A closer look... he's too pretty.
I'm looking for something a little more masculine.
A body builder in the corner catches my eye. I always warm to muscles, but the
man is staring in the mirror. A few more beers and he'll be trying to pick up
his own reflection.
Sexy plump ass on a tall nerdy guy. I could definitely put it between those
cheeks. Another man approaches him from the bar and wraps his arms possessively
around the nerd's waist. Taken.
I swallow the last of my beer and leave the bottle on a table. Pushing my
shoulders back, I glide through the bar, stopping at the door to the backroom.
I lean against the wall and adopt a good surly pose. One that's worked for me
in the past. One knee bent, foot against the wall. It's a bit rent boy but, in
this place, it will be accurately read as horny topman.
Eyes meet mine, but I don't return their glances. Not what I'm looking for.
Nice chest in a harness, but he's too young. Another has puppy dog eyes... too
needy. A handsome black man, but he's looking around the bar like a tourist.
A pair of broad shoulders catch my eye from the other side of the pool table.
Nice erect posture. Shiny bald head... hmm... gotta love that excess
testosterone. As he turns I see his keys on the left. Too bad. Then my eyes
wander upward and my breath stops.
Walter Skinner.
Merde.
Automatically, my body rotates away so he can't see my face, but I can keep an
eye on him with my peripheral vision.
He can't arrest me without extradition papers. That takes a few days. He
couldn't have come here to find me. I haven't been here in almost a year. And I
know I wasn't followed.
I chance another direct look. White T-shirt, leather vest, tight jeans—oh,
Christ, look at the sizable lump down the inner left seam of those pants. I
can't prevent my reckless and irresponsible cock from twitching at the sight.
And wearing my keys on the left doesn't stop me from the instinctive urge to
kneel and rub my face along the denim-clad bulge.
My traitorous body wants what I can never have.
He's dressed right for this bar—the understated top look—doesn't need to wear
a lot of leather to prove he's an alpha dog. He must be on vacation. Leaving
the country to enjoy his kinks.
Fuck. If I'd known he was in the scene I would have... what? Dropped my cheap
suit pants and bent over his desk? Begged him to join me on his balcony that
night? Fuck, I don't know, but something... What a beautiful specimen of a man.
It's obvious that I should scurry out of the bar like a rat out of the kitchen.
He turns and heads down the hall toward the men's room. I stride after him. I
hope he's not armed, but it doesn't look like it under the vest. I'm carrying
only my boot knife. As I approach, he senses my presence and turns.
"You here to arrest me, Skinner?"
That's what I like about this town. Close to home, yet a world away. And not
just in attitude.
I'm no longer an Assistant Director with the Bureau. Just a man. A horny man.
L'Avatar is one of the few places I can let my hair down—laugh, Walter, that's
a joke—and not have to worry about accidentally bumping into someone I
shouldn't see or who shouldn't see me.
The mood here is more laid back than the places I've
tried in D.C. or New York. Not as crowded... Still, it
is Friday night...wonder why... Oh, yeah. Stanley Cup Playoffs.
Fuck, these Canadians and their hockey. The damn game is more important to them
than getting laid.
Well, I want to get laid. It's been too long and I need... God! What I need!
This crowd's too pretty. That guy in the corner is about to do himself in the
mirror.
And too fucking young. The kid in the harness looks like a puppy needing to be
taken for a walk. I like them to already know the score. I play too heavy for
novices.
And I keep forgetting about this beer they drink up here. What is it—two,
three times the alcohol levels of the stuff back home? Goes through me like a
sieve. I head for the restroom.
"You here to arrest me, Skinner?"
Jesus, of all the...
"Krycek." I say his name with a hint of a sneer. "No, Krycek, I really am not
in the mood to arrest you tonight. Too much hassle. And I'm not sure you'd be
worth any of it." I sound like I can't be bothered with him
But he is bothering me.
God, he looks good tonight. If those jeans were any tighter, he'd be castrating
himself with each step. And, considering what they're showing, that might be a
pity.
And the T-shirt. Nice body. Bet he doesn't have to work out to have it. Bet he
doesn't have to work out to handle the stress. No, come to think of it, it's
his job to provide the stress. I should have taken care of the little bastard
when I had him on my balcony.
"What do you want, Krycek? I'm surprised to see you here. Do your masters know
you're slumming?"
He didn't like that. Glaring at me darkly, he says nothing.
His angry-young-man faÁade just makes me want to play him and see what lies
underneath.
"If you're here to get something on me, you've played
your hand a little too early. Just so happens, I decided to drop into this bar
near my hotel for a beer and well, I am just so
surprised to find myself in this kind of
a place. In fact, I was on my way out when you so rudely stopped me."
He doesn't like being mocked. His face doesn't show it but those cat eyes of
his do.
I have to add that to my list of things he doesn't seem to like. Getting my
fist in his gut. Being cuffed to my balcony. Spending a cool winter's night
outdoors. And me laughing at him.
Krycek's eyes drop to the ground for a moment. He takes a deep breath and then
gazes at me again. "I'm here for the same reason you are." He takes a half step
toward me and looks at me longingly through thick eyelashes.
"And just what reason is that, Krycek?" I growl, increasingly annoyed by the
encounter.
Fuck! Those eyes! Pretty as a girl's.
Krycek doesn't reply to my question.
I step back as if to examine him. Like I haven't already noticed the goods he's
offering. From his legs-slightly-spread pose, I conclude he's fully aware of
the effect he's having on me.
His keys are hanging on the left side. The bastard's a topman? I shrink from a
brief feeling of disappointment.
Do I really want to fuck Alex Krycek?
Hell yes, I want to fuck him. Body and mind.
Krycek captures my gaze, and his eyes never leave mine as a hand reaches for
his keys. He deftly unhooks them from his left side and reconnects the key ring
to the right side.
I'm glad we resolved that
little problem so easily.
His face is tight with tension, an odd crease settling at the top of his nose.
It hurt him to make the concession. Good.
A pair of men pass down the hall to the head. Stepping aside to make room,
Krycek stands even closer to me. I can smell him.
A mixture of soap and male musk. It's the musk that gets to me. The smell of
sex and nerves. And he is nervy, coming on to me. He doesn't have the slightest
idea what he's getting into.
One of the men pushes against him. Krycek stumbles into me. I reach up to
steady him... and he freezes. Those cat eyes change... darken. What the hell?
He shifts to pull back, but I tighten my hold on him. There's a flash of
something like regret in his eyes, then he holds still. He's not seducing any
more; he's waiting. For...?
I pass my hands down from his shoulders and then I know. His arm isn't flesh
and blood. My eyes dart across his body, seeking another explanation, but there
is none. His arm is missing from the level of his biceps.
His chin juts out and those incredible eyes dare me to say anything.
I have to say something. Jesus! What the fuck can I say? I'm taking too long to
react. I can feel him drawing away.
"No." I give him one of those reliable
what-the-fuck-do-you-think-you're-doing patented AD looks that work so well on
my agents. Well, most of my agents. "You're the one
who came on to me. I'll
be the one to decide whether I'm interested or
not."
I give him a totally different look, slowly, from eyes down to groin. I
appraise the reaction that he can't control, even behind those jeans of his.
Then, with a wicked smile, I nod. Once. And release him.
He doesn't look so sure of himself right now. Good. Uncertainty looks good on
him. Better than that braced face he was just wearing. I smile again, and he
licks his lips with the tip of his tongue. Damn, but that mouth of his...
I reach for him and pull him close, so close I can feel his chest move against
mine.
My fingers slide into the back of his hair, gripping hard, to position his face
where I want it. When my mouth assaults his, I'm claiming my territory for the
night.
Suddenly, my body is in his arms. I feel almost petite against his chest,
dwarfed by his broad shoulders. His tongue invades my mouth... hot, probing.
Do you want me, Walter Skinner?
Christ, fuck. Maybe he does. Still, I'm expecting him to pull away at any
moment and laugh at me. Taunt me for being a fool.
I'm offering myself to a man who may have an agenda besides the impressive
hard-on in his pants. At our last encounter, he gave me a literally gut
wrenching blow and left me—alone—in bondage on his balcony all night. What
leads me to believe that tonight will be any different?
That impressive hard-on. Krycek, you fucking dumbass. I rub my thigh against it
to reassure myself. What I feel there stokes my engines.
Christ, he smells so damned good. My want is rapidly becoming need.
Belatedly, I respond with my own tongue thrusting into his mouth. I anchor
myself with my hand around his waist and rub my body across his, trying to feel
every inch of his muscular form, lamenting our useless clothing and needing
more than he can possibly give me in the hall outside the men's room.
I try to speak, but I'm unwilling to take my mouth off his. "I have a room," I
manage to sputter against his upper lip, and then my lips close over his again.
I won't have a room any longer if I take him there, but I don't want a hurried
fuck in the back room. I want him to take his time with me.
Damn but that mouth of his tastes sweet. Sweet and hot. And that hard body
rubbing against me like a cat in heat.
I pull back just enough to gasp a breath of air into my lungs, inhaling the
scent of aroused male. God! He's almost purring. Like a cat. No. Not a cat. Too
domestic for him. Too tame. Must not forget just how untamed he is. Like a
leopard. Never really tamed.
He has a room, does he?
"Yes," I answer into his mouth. I pass my tongue over his teeth, allow his back
into my mouth. Bite just hard enough to hold it there.
Those striking cat eyes open. We're so close, he's out of focus. Even so, I can
see the hint of rebellion. He wants me, but he doesn't usually bottom. This
will probably turn into a fistfight, but perhaps not. I have a feeling about
this boy.
I let go of his tongue, and he snaps his head back. I can see him rubbing his
tongue against his palate, trying to diffuse the sensation of my bite.
"Lead the way," I tell him.
It will be the last chance he has to lead anything tonight.
He brushes his body against me again and then whispers into my ear, "It's just
a couple of blocks. We can walk."
It's almost too convenient. It crosses my mind that this is a trap. Will the
action be recorded? But the very improbability of our encounter suggests
otherwise. Krycek is the last man anyone would send to seduce me.
Krycek pulls away reluctantly, takes a few steps into the main bar and glances
back. I let him wait just long enough to wonder if I'm going to follow. I want
him on his toes, ready for anything.
Outside the bar, we walk side-by-side, in silence, through the dark and mostly
quiet streets of Toronto. I still find it hard to believe a city of this size
can be so quiet on a Friday night. Even with all the bars and restaurants open,
the people on the street, the place is so well behaved that sometimes it gives
me the creeps.
After a brief walk, he pauses, then turns up a flight of stairs next to a shoe
repair shop. I stay back to watch as his round ass strains against the material
of those tight jeans. An ass that's going to be mine to play with in just a few
minutes. He realizes I'm not following and looks back. I'm making him nervous.
Good. It's not just your ass I intend to play with, boy. I begin to climb.
At the top of the stairs, he unlocks a door over the shop.
When he said a room, he meant a room. It's a small space. Immaculately clean.
Sparse furnishings. Hardwood floors. Queen-size bed with a forest green
comforter. Table. A couple of chairs. No kitchen. Few personal belongings that
I can see. One nice print on the wall over a neat desk—an arty male nude with
a bubble butt.
My eyes flick to the door, half expecting it to require a key for exit, but it
doesn't appear to.
He turns to me, his face placid, but his fingers are twitching. "Can I get you
a beer? A Coke? I have some scotch, but it's cheap stuff. Not to your taste."
I'm curious. "How would you know that?"
He shrugs. "Not like the stuff you had on the sideboard in your place the night
I..." he offers part of a smile, "stayed over."
I shake my head, refusing his offer. "But there is something I would like to
taste." I indicate with a finger that I want him to approach. He hesitates and
I frown. He's going to have to learn to respond immediately to my wishes.
Almost reluctantly, he moves to stand in front of me.
I grab him by the throat.
It takes a strong physical decision on his part to stop his ingrained reaction
to my move. His right hand rises part way to reach for me and drops again. It
happens twice more before his body goes quiet.
Good. He'll play. He'll have to work hard at it, but that will add spice to the
night.
I wait until he stands perfectly still in my grip, then I reward him. I take
his mouth.
He doesn't open his mouth right away. One more little rebellion? I bite his
lower lip. Well, what's it there for, if not to be bitten? Lush, pouty. A
temptation I have every intention of succumbing to anytime I want. I bear down
hard and taste the coppery flavor of blood.
He winces, but opens his mouth, and I ram my tongue down his throat.
He tastes of toothpaste, beer, and his own particular flavor.
His tongue decides to get into the act, so I allow it to come into my mouth and
then I bite on it, hard. He stills. That's it, boy. I decide what you're
allowed to do. Not you. You have no say in how this is going to proceed. Learn
that now.
He's not the type to easily submit. He wouldn't still be alive if he were.
Krycek waits until I release his tongue and even then leaves it in my mouth
until I push against it with mine, granting him permission to withdraw.
"Good boy," I tell him and his eyes flame with protest at the 'boy' but he
catches himself and, with difficulty, lowers his eyes.
Ah, Christ. He's already asserting his dominance. Not
that it's any surprise that he would be a talented topman. He
exudes
control. I want this, but...
I rarely bottom. I like to get my way. The thought of giving up control to him
is making my cock unbearably hard, but... As if it isn't fucking dumb enough
for me to bottom to a lawman. He has a very personal agenda with me and I'm
giving him an opportunity to act it out. But my gonads won't listen to reason.
I gaze up at him again. Walter Skinner has the most passionate brown eyes.
Once, years ago, those eyes looked upon me warmly. They tell the truth of what
lies beneath his stern exterior. Now those eyes match the facial expression...
distrusting and aggressive.
"Take off your clothes." His voice is such a demanding baritone. Obeying a man
with that vocal pitch has to be an animal instinct.
I shrug off my leather jacket and hang it on a hook. Sitting on my easy chair,
I unfasten and remove my boots. I'm calmer now that his hand is no longer
around my throat.
He's watching me with no discernable interest.
Once my feet are bare, I rise again. I remove my heavy leather belt and set it
on the bedside table, in case he wants to use it for something. His eyes flick
to it. And then back to me. His eyebrow rises.
Standing a few feet from him, I reach for my T-shirt. I'm trying for bravado,
but my hand is trembling. There's no question I'm afraid of his reaction, but I
force my expression to remain neutral. And with a small amount of effort, I am
able to steady my hand. I yank off the shirt, exposing my chest.
And wait.
Shit! No wonder they call him Old Stone Face. I can't read his reaction.
His eyes slowly trail over me. I wish I knew if he likes what he sees. Now he's
looking at the arm. Wonder what he's thinking.
"Take it off." He sounds like that fucking drill instructor we had at Quantico.
Yes, sir. No, sir. Three bags full, sir.
Well, too fucking bad. It's not coming off.
I meet his eyes and deliberately make my voice hard. "No. It stays on."
He's raising that eyebrow again. He looks at me coldly.
Yeah, I've seen that look before. In his office. Just before he disemboweled
some agent who pissed him off. Well, sorry, sir. I'm not one of your agents. Not any more.
Christ! He's heading for the door!
"No, wait! Please." The words are out of my mouth before I consciously decide I
want him to stay. I put my hand on his shoulder. "It's my goddamned arm." My
own words make me wince. That can't be me pleading with him, can it?
He glares at me. This expression is worse than the disemboweling face.
I withdraw my hand. I should grovel at his feet and beg, but I won't. I can't.
Giving him as much as I can, my eyes drop to the floor and I whisper, "Please."
He stands there, at the door, not moving. Even if I raise my eyes I won't have
any idea what he's thinking. Damn! I don't want him to leave. Just waiting here
for his decision is making my cock twitch.
"Uhhh!" He's grabbed me hard by the jaw and he's pulling my head up.
"It is
your goddamn arm, Krycek. But I want it off." He twists his fingers a bit
harder, into the bone. "But then, as you say, it's your arm. So it's your
decision."
He releases my face and I know I've just acquired my first set of bruises for
the night.
Fuck. When I went to the bar, I was hard, but now my
hard-on has his name on it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I know I'm going to do it for a few long seconds before I can get my hand to
move. Then I slowly unstrap the prosthetic arm. Placing it on the table behind
us, I keep my eyes on the floor. I can't look at him or he'll see what he's
doing to me.
I take a deep breath and stand still for his inspection. He comes up close to
me, forcing my chin up again.
It must be a trick of the light because I could swear I see sympathy in his
eyes. Has to be an illusion because, when he speaks, his tone is hard and he's
wearing the disemboweling look again. "Does it hurt?"
I try to shake my head but he's holding me firm. "No." Shit! I didn't mean for
that to come out as a whisper. If I clear my throat and try again, it would
just be pathetic.
"Sir." His tone sets the expectation that he
will be obeyed. He tightens his hold yet again. Damn it! Is he trying to
break my jaw?
I clear my throat this time to avoid croaking. "No... Not
at the moment... sir." It's so fucking difficult for me to say it. I don't want
to give him anything, because I'm afraid of just how much I
could give him.
God, but he has a strong backhand! Guess he didn't like my hesitation. My cheek
stings, but my cock throbs in my jeans.
Dammit, I'm trying! Every little moment of deference to him feels like it's
being ripped out of me. Hell, he's damned lucky to be alive after putting his
hand around my throat.
My mouth opens. The situation calls for a humble apology, but just the act of
keeping my face in place, should he choose to strike me again, is more than I
have ever given anyone.
He takes me completely by surprise. His mouth is on mine, and before I can
react, his tongue is down my throat.
If he goes any deeper, I'm going to have to control my gag reflex. But it's not
just my mouth that feels invaded. My hand wants to slam onto his chest and push
him away. At the same time, I want to rub up against his massive body.
Instead, I force myself not to do anything. To let him plunder my mouth.
Damn, the taste of him is making me drunk.
Finally! He's reducing the force of his invasion. My turn now?
Yes.
Oh, god! Warm, wet. I can't get enough of the taste of him. I press harder
against his mouth, teasing the top of his palate with the tip of my tongue. He
bites down, not hard, forcing my tongue still.
I get it. Sir
.
No movement unless you allow it.
He releases his grip and pulls away, eyeing me sternly as if I'm forgetting
something obvious.
Then it dawns in my dim little brain. At some point, centuries ago, before the
man put me in my place, he'd asked me to undress. My hand reaches for the fly
of my 501's and I shoot him a questioning glance.
He gives me a curt nod.
With a practiced tug, I open the buttons. After a brief pause, I work the jeans
down my ass, an act that is irritatingly slow with one hand. But perhaps, with
an audience, it's not a total waste.
I step out of the jeans. Skinner's impassive eyes are
focused on my crotch as I reveal my silky black mesh jockstrap. Men have told
me
that my cock is beautiful. That my body is sexy. I've never felt insecure about
it. Until now. We both know that he's here for my body, so he's walking out
that
door if he finds me lacking. After
the fucker
made me take off my goddamned arm.
I shake my head, to clear the thought. Okay, Alex. The rest of you is still
damned good looking.
The best view in a jock is, of course, the rear view. And
I know
I've got a great ass. My eyes glued to his, I turn slowly. I
glance over my shoulder at him and brush my fingertips down my crack. I really
want him to want me. The possibility of rejection hurts, but making myself
vulnerable to him is oddly sweet, in a very disturbing way. My cock thickens
under the black mesh.
I watch those expressive eyes. Does my body turn you on, Walter? Do you still
want me?
He's smiling. Well, I think that's what he's doing. Lips pulled back over
teeth. He comes close. Unwilling to leave my back unprotected, I turn to face
him.
He kicks my jeans out of the way. His hand finds my left arm, what's left of
it. He looks me in the eyes as that hand slowly makes its way up to my
shoulder. The little massage feels good. I want more than that, Walter. Touch
me. I want to feel your hands all over my body.
His hand moves across to my neck. Damn, is he going to play that game again?
No. It's gliding down the center of me, his wide hand spread as if spanning my
torso. Fingertips are rough in spite of pushing paper... skimming around my
navel, moving back and forth until I catch myself wavering on my feet, up on my
toes, trying to urge his hand lower.
He pushes the straps of my jock off my hips. Rakes his nails into my pubes.
Like a comb... untangling the thick curls... He seems to like doing that. I
like it, too. He tugs, not sharply, not painfully, just enough to make me crave
more of his touch.
I want his hand on my cock.
He knows it.
He teases me with a light pass over the mesh. Back and forth. I moan; his other
hand settles on my lips. Got it. No talking. No sound.
His touch makes my erection twitch desperately. I suck on my lower lip to
contain any sound. He disapproves. A slight slap across the cheek and I release
my lip. Just what does the bastard want me to do?
Fuck you, Walter! You like smacking my face, don't you? Be careful. Push me too
hard and you may find out exactly how I feel about it...
Fuck, yes! That rough hand is on my cock. I want to close
my eyes but I'll just bet he
wants them open.
My cock is painfully hard. I can almost feel the blood leaving my brain. I
can't stop my hips from thrusting toward him. His other hand reaches underneath
to cup my balls. It feels so fucking good... hotter even with my own hand at my
side, knowing that it has to remain there. He pumps my cock a few times.
Trying to hold back a moan, I emit a weird sound like a squeal instead. Christ!
I sound like a wounded animal. Immediately, he releases my cock and balls and
glares at me.
"Dammit, Skinner! Do you want a fucking automaton? You touch my cock, I'm going
to react. I'm not in a coma."
His eyes widen with surprise and for a moment, I think he's going to use lethal
force. My arm twitches, ready to defend myself. I wish I was still wearing my
prosthetic.
Skinner surprises me. He laughs out loud. "No, Krycek. You may be many things,
but one thing you're not is an automaton. Parts of you may be Pavlovian," he
looks down at my cock, still straining against his hand... Shit! Do something
with that fucking hand of yours! "... but there's nothing robotic about you."
Finally! The ball of his hand rubs hard down my shaft, ends up with my balls
gripped in it. He squeezes... hard... just the other side of uncomfortable, not
really pain. I find myself rising on my toes. And I wonder where the hell we
are going.
We both know I'm not going to jerk him off. A horny boy is much easier to
control. He can barely submit even while he's fully hard. This scene will end
when he comes.
I give his balls one last very tight squeeze, appreciating the clear teal green
of those beautiful eyes in pain. Then I release his genitals and give his cock
a light smack.
A flash of rebellion strikes his face and his fist tightens. He's telegraphing
his moves. If he strikes, he'll go for my nose. Easy to block... And I won't
have to worry about his left.
I gaze at him, waiting for him to relax before I proceed.
After a moment, I watch him force his face to calm.
"Lose the jock."
He slides the silky fabric down his long, lean legs and kicks it away. His cock
is very hard, a bead of pre-cum at the tip.
"So you're a topman, Krycek?" I ask in a skeptical tone.
"Yeah." His chin juts defiantly.
I offer him only a challenging glare.
"A damned good one, too. I could top you, Skinner."
I cross my arms on my chest. "Maybe you could, Krycek. But can you bottom to
me?"
He bites his lip and glances away. Apparently unable to think of a suitable
retort, he just shrugs, a gesture that emphasizes the asymmetry of his
shoulders.
Leopard boy isn't cocky at all about his ability as a sub. We shall see... "If
you're a topman, why did you switch your keys to the right?"
"I was inspired."
I growl my reply, "As long as you're inspired, you can show the proper
respect." I'm guessing that my voice is the only threat I'll need this time.
"... inspired, sir
," Krycek mutters back at me, tone vaguely surly.
There are lots of ways to say 'sir.' Before this evening
is over I intend to hear at least one 'sir' from his lips that is voluntary
and
submissive. "Inspired by what?"
His eyes trail down my body and linger at my groin.
Perhaps it's true, but I doubt it. There were a lot of good bodies in that bar.
Bodies he could have without moving his keys. Bodies less problematic for an
international fugitive. However, I don't expect a lot of candor from him.
"Take off my boots, boy."
He's a little off balance, expecting more conversation perhaps. But I'm not in
the mood.
After a brief hesitation, he drops gracefully to one knee and slides up one
pant leg. My laces are double knotted and tight. Perhaps not an easy assignment
for a one-armed man.
However, his fingers are adept and he only has to use his teeth once. When the
laces of both boots are loosened, I lift each in turn and he removes them by
the heel. I hold each foot out again and he slips off my socks.
He surprises me by remaining on the one knee, head tilted down, waiting for my
next command. Good boy.
"Stand up."
Krycek rises smoothly at first, but has to shift his weight abruptly. Still off
balance from the missing arm? Once he's upright, he tenses his face to
eradicate a scowl.
"Take off my vest."
He removes it, placing it on a small dresser.
"My T-shirt."
He eases the white cotton shirt over my head, careful not to dislodge my
glasses. When I can see again, his eyes are on my chest, lips parted. Eyelids
heavy, thick eyelashes quivering. Quite a beautiful display of lust.
With a twitch, his fingers reach out and glide through the hair on my chest.
No. My hand rises instantly.
Skinner backhands me again.
No fucking more!
My fist rises, aiming for his nose. I contract my left leg for a follow-up
kick.
Almost instantaneously, Skinner catches my fist in mid air. Before I can put my
foot into his gut, he spins my body around and pushes me face first into the
wall. I rapidly turn my face to protect my nose. My arm is roughly twisted
behind me and held with an iron grip. Then his body presses me into the wall.
Fast for an older man. He must have been expecting it.
I regulate my breathing. What's he going to do now?
I can't budge. His legs against mine prevent backward kicks. Movement of my
hips meets an immovable counter force. I could probably pry my arm free, but
not without breaking it. Not an option.
The solid weight of the strong man behind me makes me panicky.
I need him to do something. Hit me, hurt me, yell at me. Anything but the
silence, which only underscores unwanted feelings. I am appallingly helpless.
The last time I was helpless, I lost a major body part.
At that moment, I hate the man with every inch of my body. Except for the
rebellious inches of my erection. My cock throbs, oblivious to any concern
besides sex.
But for a little room to move, I'd be humping the wall.
I don't really hate him. I hate myself for the longing. For needing what I
cannot allow myself to have.
Finally the fucker speaks. "If it comes to a fight, I'm going to win, boy. But
that isn't how I choose to get laid. So I'm going to give you a moment to
think. You decide if you want this. If you do, when I let you go, you're on
your knees with a humble apology."
Adrenalin surges in my veins. No way. I don't fucking do humble.
But Skinner holds me for a long time.
My resistance starts to melt into fatigue.
I can smell him. The smell of aroused man. I can feel the outline of his
denim-clad cock against my bare butt.
You know you want it. Dammit. No way. Not that badly.
Male heat. Pressed against my bare skin.
I can't give him this. Why won't he just fuck me? I could
cooperate with that. Go through the motions. But calling him sir, humble apologies
and letting him smack my face is too much.
Too much what I want. What I need. I can't. I can't give it to him.
Skinner's hot breath caresses the back of my neck. "Do you want it, boy?"
Deep inside of me, a weak voice calls out, Yes, sir. But my angry body will never say the words.
I can't give him the power... Skinner will destroy me.
His rough baritone hisses in my ear. "Your cock has been hard every second
since you shifted your keys to the right."
The fucker is right.
What if? What if I gave myself what I needed? What if Walter Skinner gave it to
me? I'd never be the same. I'd be weak and needy. I'd be dead.
Skinner asks, "What do you want?"
My throat is so dry I can barely speak. "Take it. Force me."
"No."
"No, Krycek. You want it. There's no reason to force you." Is he reading my
fucking mind?
My head hangs. Even as my mouth opens to speak, I fight the admission. "I
can't."
"You can." His tone has changed... almost gentle. Oddly reassuring.
"Could you?"
"Not with you, but I won't abuse you, Alex." He presses his lips to the back of
my neck. "I didn't come here to harm you."
The tenderness of the kiss destroys me. My body starts to
quiver. An animal sound comes from my throat. I believe him. He won't
abuse me
.
"Give it up."
"I can't." But my body goes slack, as if the fight had been drained out of me.
It is a partial surrender. And I feel oddly safe, until the big man's body
releases me.
My trembling gets worse. I can feel weakness in my knees.
Part of my body wants to obey. Yes!
"No!" I cry out even as I drop to my knees with a loud
thunk on the floor.
I shiver silently, like a cowering animal in front of a predator.
And somehow the words come out of my mouth, "I apologize, sir." I want to smack
myself for the sincerity in my voice.
When the words replay in my mind, they burn. Hurt worse than a bloody stump
wrapped in my torn shirt as I hiked the road out of Tunguska. What did I lose
this time?
A warm hand cups my chin, tilting my face up. Skinner's eyes are warm. Burning
intensity... a passionate expression of lust and awe. He bends over me and
whispers, "Beautiful," as his lips close in on mine.
The kiss is sweet. The kiss of a fond lover. It makes my entire body ache, but
it soothes, too.
Kneeling. Pleading. Me? No, I didn't. I couldn't have.
Who is this kneeling man? Someone I don't know. Someone who relishes that
Skinner is pleased with him. I cling to his pleasure. It is the only thing I
have to replace what I've lost. I shiver in fear at his power.
His lips are so sweet. I'm moved by him.
He is no longer Alex Krycek. He is just a boy. A boy who gave up something that
he held as tightly as his own life. How can we have come so far in one night?
Even as my tongue prowls his mouth, I know I have to take him one step further.
To a place he'll never be able to deny. This moment is too nebulous... an
apology. By tomorrow, he'll deny it ever happened.
His body is still shaking, so I lower a hand to his shoulder, providing
psychological support. And I encourage his tongue to enter my mouth.
Pain would work for a lot of bottoms, but he's had his arm hacked off. Pain
won't be the defining act that imprints the memory of his raw need.
Ultimately, my bladder makes the suggestion. He's a fastidious man, probably
never even did it to his bottoms.
I relinquish his mouth and stretch my body upright.
Making my voice sound casual, I set the trap. "I have to piss."
Gazing up at me with eyes softer than I've ever seen them, he gestures vaguely
toward the bathroom door.
My eyes meet his and I shake my head slowly.
His mouth falls open as he grasps my intention. His head gives a half shake and
he says, "I don't..."
I gaze down at him, not saying a word. He'll either do it or he won't.
The conflict is written all over his face. When he
realizes that he will do it, his expression shifts. He looks hurt and scared.
I'm a little surprised by my own desire to comfort him, but it's too soon. He'd
bolt if I tried to comfort him now. Instead, I open my fly and take out my
cock.
He flinches backward a little as I reach for him. He doesn't appear to be
breathing; his eyes are lit by an intensity that makes them glow.
I place a steady hand on his shoulder and press down firmly. Knowing he can't
easily rise will make it easier for him.
When he starts breathing again, I give him a moment and press my cock to his
lips. His eyes close tightly as he opens his mouth.
I want to praise him, but I dare not. It would be too much.
His pretty mouth closes around my cock.
I am way too turned on to do this easily. I have to close my own eyes and
concentrate on all the beer I've consumed. It still takes some time... too
long... but at last I let go. When the piss begins to flow, I open my eyes.
His eyes are still closed, and the look on his face is abject pain, but it's
pain filled with desire. His Adam's apple bobs with each swallow.
The sight of him drinking my piss turns me on so much, so quickly that I feel
my cock harden and the flow cuts off prematurely.
His eyes stay closed until I'm finished. He doesn't want to see what he's
revealed about himself. But his tongue licks the tip of my cock as I withdraw
it from his mouth. That tells me everything I need to know.
His head drops down and he makes a breathy, sobbing sound.
I reach for the back of his head, grabbing his hair to guide him to his feet. I
wrap my arms around his waist and pull him close to me, muttering, "Beautiful.
Thank you."
My arms tighten automatically, as he groans and tries to pull away. It hurts
him to hear it, but I had to say it.
Does he understand that I'm thanking him for his exquisite submission? Not for
using him that way.
He made it to the place where he truly wants to please. Probably for the first
time in his life and possibly the last time, too.
I hold him until he stops shaking and his breathing calms.
He clears his throat. "May I use the restroom and rinse my mouth?" His voice
comes out a whisper. "Sir."
"You may." I kiss him gently on his forehead and release him.
Several minutes later, a subdued Alex returns from the bathroom and retrieves a
bottle of Scotch from under the bedside table. After pouring some into the
glass, he swishes it around in his mouth and swallows. He repeats the process.
He slowly turns toward me, and forces himself to meet my eyes. His cock is hard
again. He needs something familiar now... something emotionally safer.
I'm in a half daze.
"I'm going to hurt you now," says a voice.
I nod mindlessly. It seems like a good idea. Nothing can hurt me more than what
he's already done.
An arm encircles my waist. "On the bed. On your belly."
Without awareness of any intention to move my body, I feel the skin of my chest
against the sheets.
"Hand behind your neck."
I comply. Give me something... anything... to fill the emptiness.
I wish I was bound, but this is the point. To give it to him. But still... I
need... something.
The slap of the belt on my ass is reassuring. It stings and burns. Seems
necessary somehow. The next blow bites into the skin of my butt but seems to
sensitize my entire body. I moan as a rush of dizzying sensation engulfs me,
obliterating my emotions.
Gradually, with the pain, sensate awareness increases. My
hard-on seems more urgent. I shift to thrust my hips, seeking friction for my
cock, but something holds them still. He wants you still.
The man I was until twenty minutes ago objects to the concession, but I ignore
him.
The belt comes down again and again, burning a path across my backside. For a
minute? An hour? The heat makes me float... The pain cauterizes a wound opened
a long time ago.
Then the rhythm of the blows stops. It takes me a moment to notice.
I feel the bed shifting near my shoulder. A hand turning my head. Skinner's
voice. "Are you still in there?"
"Yes, sir," I mutter.
My lips are pried open and he kisses me again. Conquering territory. This time
I want to be conquered. I open my mouth wide, offering it to him. When the kiss
is over, I see his face. This time, I'm sure he's smiling at me.
I shake my head, dazed and bemused. Walter Skinner smiling at me.
Then he's off the bed again. The belt connects with my shoulders. It bites
worse than my butt. I want to curl up and roll away from it. But he sets a
steady pace and somehow I accept. And soon I realize that I need it. For the
first time since I lost my arm, my body is mine again. The intense sting of the
leather on my upper back grounds me. My body. My pain. My blood rushing to the
surface of my skin to heal the tiny wounds left by the belt. At his hands.
It stops again. The room is silent for a long time. I can almost hear the
sizzle of my superheated back and ass.
A sound like a whimper comes out of my mouth. Am I alone? Has he brought me
here to this unfamiliar place and abandoned me?
Then his weight is on the bed near my hip. Hands gently stroking my tender ass.
Then my back. Fingers exploring my raw skin. I hear his accelerated breathing.
Beating me turned him on. I'm extraordinarily pleased by this fact.
I wriggle my hips on the bed, just to release the tension of holding still.
He gives a low chuckle. Hands around my waist, he rolls me onto my back. I
hiss... The sheets chafe my skin. Skinner gazes down at me. "You're stoned,
Alex."
So true. I feel the smile on my face. It occurs to me to say something, but I
can't formulate a thought.
He straddles my body and looms over me, body weight braced by muscular arms
over my head. "Scoot down the bed."
I slide between his legs, until my face is at his breastbone. I can't resist
the urge to nuzzle the thick hair on his chest.
He allows it. Even emits a soft sigh when my tongue teases a nipple. Shifts his
body a little so the other one is in my face. I take it carefully between my
teeth, nipping and sucking.
I'm calm now.
His hard-on brushes against my belly. I groan... wanting it. My mouth. My ass.
Skinner taps my shoulder. "Slide down more."
I ease my body lower on the bed, until my knees are at the edge, calves hanging
over. His fat cock is in my face. Beautiful. My mouth falls open. In an
instant, I've sucked the tip into my mouth.
Skinner groans and jerks away my prize. "Did I say you could have that?"
"No, sir," I reply petulantly. My mouth is still open, needing so desperately
what is only two inches away. I can take it again. I'm his bottom, so this is
mine to suck on. Surely I've earned it. I can't stop my tongue from reaching
out to lap at the tip.
"No. Only when... I say..." The harsh and labored tone of his voice gives away
his own need.
I'm deliriously happy at having brought him to this state. No longer suffering
alone.
He holds the position, erection still a few inches from my face. I can see
pre-cum oozing from the tip. My body twitches toward him. I have to have it.
After an eternity, he reaches back with his hand and pushes his cock to my
mouth. Greedily, I suck in the tip, running my tongue along the underside. His
cock tastes musky, even a bit sweet. It makes my head spin.
He gasps and his body sways over me.
I lap at the ridge and then take in a couple inches of the shaft, massaging it
with my lips.
With a groan, he shifts his body weight. A hand appears under my neck and,
realizing what he intends, my entire body tenses with both alarm and desire. He
shoves his hard-on all the way into my throat. I can do nothing except open my
throat and swallow him.
I've never given a blowjob I didn't control.
He fucks my face slowly. I can breathe some of the time. My head spins with
fleeting emotions I am unable to identify. He's using my body as an implement
for his pleasure. Part of me rebels... hating every second. But I also feel
pure and deep contentment. It scares me. And my balls are beginning to ache.
My hand reaches for his hip and glides down his thigh, feeling and massaging
strong muscles. When I hold my hand still, I can feel his thigh contract as he
thrusts into me.
Growling, he suddenly pulls away.
"Uhhh," is the only objection I can manage.
He sprawls out next to me on the bed, sucking down oxygen like a man who has
just run a race. After a moment, he speaks. "Condom? Lube?"
Yes. Fuck me.
I scoot away, opening the bedside table. I pass him a small bottle and
foil-wrapped packet. He places them on the pillow. Rolling onto his back, he
opens his legs and gestures.
I kneel between his legs.
"Suck my balls."
I bend over his body and start at the base of his cock, licking and nibbling my
way to his furry balls. I suck them one at a time. Applying enough pressure to
make him groan.
He lifts his legs, pulling them to his chest. "Lick my ass."
I sigh into his groin and kiss my way to his anus. Tentatively at first, I
tongue the ring of muscle, teasing the skin around it. His legs start to
vibrate. Then, applying myself more vigorously, I brush my tongue across his
anus, trying to create some friction.
"'S good," he offers in a breathless voice.
I grin into his crack. My lips gnaw a ring around his anus before licking it
again. Then my tongue plunges inside him, fucking him briskly.
"Jesus," he mutters.
Utterly pleased with myself, I continue my assault on his rectum. My nose
nudges his balls as I probe deeper inside him.
"Fuck... I can't take any more. Stop."
I don't stop immediately, giving him a few last forceful thrusts of my tongue.
His hand finds my hair and yanks me away. "I said stop, boy."
I smile down at him. "Yes, sir," a hint of the regular smart-ass Alex in my
tone.
He glares at me, trying for stern, but he's too turned on to pull it off.
One of his powerful legs pushes me to the side and he sits up. He reaches out
and strokes my hair. "You're very good at that."
His praise warms me, but I shrug the uncomfortable feeling away.
Chocolate brown eyes seem to close in on me, assessing.
Fear spikes in my brain. What does he see? What have I become? "May I rinse my
mouth?"
"You may."
I squat on the floor at the bedside table, locating my bottle of cheap Scotch.
I never let a boy kiss me or even suck my cock after he's rimmed me. First time
I've used the bottle myself. Twice in one night.
He watches me while I rinse with the harsh liquid. I swallow it, enjoying the
burn in my throat, and then repeat the procedure. When I'm finished, I replace
the bottle and stand to face him.
He tosses the bottle of lube at me, which I catch before I have time to think
about it. "Get your ass ready."
With one hand, it's awkward to open the bottle and pour the liquid. I retrieve
a handkerchief from the drawer and open it on the bedside table. I squeeze the
lube into a puddle on top of it.
Still standing, I turn my back to him and spread my legs. My fingers slide down
my crack, reaching my anus. I tease myself, brushing the cool lube across my
anus before easing one finger inside. My body shudders from the sensation.
Easing the finger out, I push back inside with two fingers. This time, I hold
the digits steady and fuck myself on them. It feels great, but him watching me
do it—getting ready for his cock—is the best part. "Are you enjoying this,
sir?" I inquire.
"Oh, yes," he replies in a tone that leaves little doubt. "Another finger and
fuck yourself hard."
I push in three fingers and work myself on them. I feel sluttish. Fucking
myself like this for his enjoyment. Not that I'm not enjoying it, too. It's
just not something I ever thought to let anyone watch me do. And yet, as long
as he's enjoying the show, I'm willing to do it.
"On the bed," he calls out.
"How do you want me?" He gives me that look again and I hasten to add, "Sir."
"On your knees," he says curtly.
I kneel on the bed, facing the headboard, so I can brace myself against it.
After a moment, he moves to kneel behind me. He inserts his erection between
the lobes of my ass, just letting it rest there.
The proximity is too much. I need to feel it inside me. Pointlessly, I push
back with my hips.
His arms wrap around me, brushing against my chest. He takes a nipple in each
of his hands and pinches.
It feels good, but all I can think about is his cock. Fuck me, dammit!
Gradually, he increases the pressure on my nipples, until it is a sharp bite.
Suddenly, he twists them brutally and I howl. My back arches and my head falls
forward.
When he releases my nipples, I can feel the hot blood rushing into them.
His hands wander down my body, stroking my thighs. I open my legs wider for
him, conveying my need agonizingly clearly.
Ignoring my silent plea, he brushes fingertips along my inner thighs. Then he
reaches for my balls. Instinctively, they want to retreat into my body, but
they're heavy and full. His touch tingles.
He begins to increase the pressure to a heavy squeeze. When it starts to hurt,
it's not an erotic pain. "Fuck, that hurts!"
"Does it?" he replies in an innocent tone.
"Fuck you!" It hurts deeply. I've been turned on too long to take much of this.
It feels like my nuts will explode. I'm ready to fight him again, but can't
divine how to do that with my balls in his fist.
He continues to increase the vise-hard grip. "What, Alex?"
Please, sir. Don't hurt me like that. "Stop, dammit!"
"You know I won't as long as you talk to me like that."
My frustration becomes a low scream. A long scream, but as it fades, I struggle
to speak again. "Please, sir. Please stop."
Suddenly, his hand is merely cradling my balls. I don't know when I started
shaking, but I can't keep still.
He holds me tightly. "Shh, it's okay, Alex."
He's soothing me like a child after a nightmare. And I'm allowing it.
A memory flashes into my brain. The first time I visited the back room of a
leather bar. A kneeling man, wearing only a pale blue jockstrap. How he looked
and acted... extreme submission. I loathed him, but I also envied him. And now
I know why. He is me... without the fight.
Mortified by what I've become, I moan mournfully.
A strong arm pulls my hips backward, away from the headboard.
A hot slap stings my ass. "Back up. Head and shoulders down. Ass up."
I comply automatically, keeping my knees apart.
He pries my legs painfully further apart and positions his body over mine.
Yes. Take me. My hips quiver with anticipation.
Then something moist presses against my anus.
Something about the position of my body is making my hard-on throb. I realize
to my horror that it's my helplessness. Anxiety flares from deep inside me and
I panic. What am I doing here? And with who?
My body jerks with a sudden need to get off the bed and out from under him.
A warm weight presses me down, keeping me in place.
I sputter out, "What the... hell am I doing?"
"What you're told, Alex," he replies softly. Fingers find my hair, stroking.
"I'm going to fuck you now."
And I want it, don't I? With dismay, I accept that I do want it. Want all of
this. From him.
My body goes limp under him. Only my legs have any muscle tension at all,
keeping them open wide for him.
He nibbles at the back of my neck. And then the tip of his cock pushes inside
me.
The burn of it stretching me is pure pleasure. Fuck me!
Skinner slowly fills me up. My internal organs feel as if they're being pushed
aside to make room for him. His rigid cock won't bend; my body must yield to
him.
He pauses. I whimper as he waits, regaining his control.
Impatiently, I bear down, giving his cock a squeeze.
I can feel the vibrations of his groan in his body. "Don't. Do. That. Dammit."
"Yes, sir," I reply, delighted to make a forty-something man fear coming too
soon.
Listening to his raspy breathing, I resist the urge to move my ass, trying to
get what I need. I feel like a gazelle taken down by a tiger, enjoying a few
moments of agonizing surrender before I'm lunch.
When at last he withdraws a bit and begins to fuck me, it feels so right.
His thick cock pistons in and out of me. I'm not virgin, but nothing has ever
felt like this. So big. So hard. So complete.
I allow my ass to meet his thrusts.
He gives a feral growl and begins to pump into me harder. Each of our motions
is rubbing the tip of my cock across the bed. The friction of his body across
my back chafes against the recently whipped flesh of my ass, but I don't seem
to care.
"Christ, fuck, yes." I guess that was my voice... it sounded hoarse and
possessed.
I shift my hips a bit and achieve the angle I need. His thick erection glides
across my prostate. It's so damned intense that I feel like I'm going to
explode. God, yes.
We slam our bodies at each other. Each penetration is bliss. I'm starting to
shake and sweat, but I don't care. As long as his body keeps plowing into mine.
I want it to last forever.
His respiration and body tension ratchet up, until I know he won't last long.
But he keeps it going, longer than seems possible, and I absorb each thrust in
my entire body. The pleasure is no longer confined to my cock. I can feel it in
my toes.
Driving me into the sheets, he fucks me with every pound of his body. Then his
body convulses and he grunts out what might have been a word. With a baritone
cry of satisfaction, he falls onto me, crushing me. I feel his cock pulse deep
inside me.
At the second his body goes limp, my own orgasm detonates. Smashed under his
body, I am barely able to writhe, but my limbs clench. I feel the angry but
blissful outburst of my long denied erection.
In a moment, I am practically sobbing, just struggling to get oxygen into my
lungs. There's no fight left in me. I've given him everything. The emotional
release feels... almost good. I don't know who this boy is. He probably fucking
wants to cuddle next.
Skinner shifts his body to the side, so he is half on me, half off me.
It's enough to breathe.
I feel profoundly satisfied. It's not just my body. Something deeper has been
touched. A long neglected need met.
Barely moving, we lie there together. It feels so natural, like we've always
been lovers.
Fuck! That was too damned good. I thought I was just going to get laid, but
leopard boy was concealing a sweet submissive. Taking him there was incredible.
Now that the scene is over, I want to be kind to him, but I don't know if he'll
tolerate it. And what about me? Can I treat Alex Krycek like any vulnerable
bottom? Be gentle with him to help him get grounded again post scene?
The grim realities of who I've done this with are all too clear. He's hotter than anything I've had
in years. Damn! Couldn't he have been someone else? Anyone else, for fuck's
sake!
A hint of blood returns to my dim brain and I realize what I've done and who
I've done it with. I twitch with anxiety.
His lips find my cheek. "It's okay, Alex."
On a word from him, it is okay. For a moment longer.
Then my traitorous brain begins to think clearly again.
This was too fucking good. I can't not want it again. Fuck.
I curse my stupidity for bringing this man home. Even as the post-sex stupor
soothes me, I'm already trying to pretend that he was a boring fuck. Something
to have enjoyed once, but never needed again.
But even I can't pull off that level of denial. Mentally, I smack myself across
the face. Try to think of something else. I'm hungry. Need to leave Toronto
tonight. Maybe I'll go back to Sydney. Dammit, I have to have this again. Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck.
He wasn't supposed to get to me like this.
When his body shifts a bit, I roll quickly out from under his weight.
His eyes flick open, assessing me.
I gaze back at him uneasily.
As I sit up, my hand fumbles for the bedside table. I pull out my chocolate
stash. I break off a chunk. "Chocolate?" I say to the wall, not looking at him.
"Okay."
A hand reaches out and I pass him a piece of Valrhona. "Don't chew it. Just let
it melt." I stick another segment of the French chocolate into my mouth.
Just as it begins to melt, he says behind me, "It's good. Not too sweet."
It's the best damned chocolate in the world. But I don't say anything.
I feel his weight rise from the bed. Sound of clothing and then shoes.
I pop another piece of Valrhona into my mouth and rise slowly. My body is
stiff. Even the base of my tongue is a little sore... from the vigorous
rimming. I try not to think about it.
My jeans are on the floor. I tug them on, watching him out of the corner of my
eye as he tucks in his shirt
There's a fog in my brain that is more than post-sex mindlessness. It's
protecting me from the consequences of my actions. At least, I hope it is.
Skinner slips on his vest and boots. After adjusting his belt, he walks slowly
toward me. His mouth opens once as if to speak, but closes again. Instead, he
kisses me and we share the flavors of our mouths and the rich chocolate.
When he breaks the kiss, he says, "Alex, thank you."
I give him a reluctant nod. I don't trust myself to speak.
But as he steps through the door, my mouth opens against my will. "Skinner?"
He turns silently.
"If I came to D.C..." I can't finish the question. Didn't want to ask it in the
first place. Can't bear to hear the answer. I know he's going to reject me, but
I guess I'm willing to endure the humiliation for even a chance.
"Don't." He shakes his head, brown eyes warm, perhaps even regretful.
Biting my lip, I give a curt nod. The door snicks shut behind him. I sit in my
chair and close my eyes.
The part of me that I gave him tonight can be hurt. Damned good reason to keep
it under wraps, Krycek.
I rise and retrieve my suitcase from the closet.
The straps that attach the prosthetic chafe at the sensitized skin of my upper
back... where he whipped me.
I went looking for a warm place to put my dick. What I found was something else
entirely.
And I was so worried about my missing arm. It was my fucking character that was
the problem.
Fuck.
Twelve minutes later, my bag is packed and I'm in the car. I'll catch a flight
to Singapore. From there to Australia. Or maybe Hong Kong. Or Berlin.
And in a couple of months, I'll visit D.C. I'll find a way to make him change
his mind. I need to get laid. And now my need smells like Walter Skinner.
4 December 2000
10:45 P.M.
Friday, 30 May 1997
Toronto
need to get laid.
"Please." Even the
tone of the word is a plea. Not the defiance I am trying desperately to
project.
