Go to notes and disclaimers


The Game I
by Noirceur


Chapter One

It was late for the doorbell to be ringing. Skinner dropped the file he was studying onto the table and considered for a moment not answering the summons.

But things weren't normal any more in his life. He couldn't take the chance that the late-night caller was here on business.

Since the Consortium had destroyed itself in internal warfare, his life had taken on a surreal aspect. Now a Deputy Director—the Upper Floor hadn't had much choice in the appointment, too many ADs and at least two DDs had appeared in their informant's material—he found he had a foot in too many camps.

Because of his new posting, the Upper Floor expected him to support them in any decision they made. On the other hand, he had spent too many years supervising the X-Files to passively approve a government cover-up, no matter how sensitive the issue of inter-planetary involvement.

Then there were the facts. There was the fact that people who had actively tried to overthrow the government were now seeking its protection. There was also the fact that those who had killed innocent people, been involved in hurting them were getting away scot-free.

He opened the door to find one of the latter kind on his doorstep.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Krycek slouched against the door jamb, not trying to come in. "They released me today. I guess after four months they've run out of questions to ask me."

The disdain and sarcasm of his tone didn't go down well with Skinner. "Stop bitching. You're getting immunity and witness protection in return for all the information you syphoned down to us."

Krycek shrugged. "I turned down witness protection."

Skinner paused in the act of closing his door on the informant. "Why? A sudden quirk of conscience?"

Krycek gave one of those half-smiles of his. "Ask me in and I'll explain it to you."

The last thing Skinner wanted at that particular moment was to allow Alex Krycek into his house. However, one of the security team that sat outside his house these days started showing some signs of interest. He could feel Krycek's eyes on him as he signalled them away, opened the door wider and, with a gesture of his head, invited him in.

Krycek stood in the foyer, looking casually around, not coming in any further than necessary for Skinner to get the door shut. Waited for Skinner to come around him, go into the living room and turn on one of the lamps.

"What do you want, Krycek?" Skinner was obviously not in a good mood.

"Bad day?" Krycek wondered how far he could push Skinner tonight.

"Yes. You could say that. You'll appreciate this, Krycek. The irony of the whole situation."

Krycek realized then that Skinner was banking a great deal of anger.

"CGB Spender has been offered full and total immunity. In return for which he will forget where certain bodies are buried. Bodies which could prove to be an embarrassment for certain members of the governing establishment. Oh, he will be available for some time to answer questions, but, unlike you it seems, he is willing to participate in the witness protection program. With a new face."

Krycek didn't seem too surprised. "Yeah. That sounds like Spender."

Skinner didn't appreciate Krycek's nonchalant attitude. "Why are you here? What do you want, Krycek?"

Krycek looked down, seemingly interested with the carpet.

"Krycek!" Skinner snapped. "Get to it! I've got at least another couple of hours of work to get through tonight."

Krycek looked up, face bare of emotion. "I want you to punish me."

Skinner closed his eyes and counted to ten. "Give me that again."

"You're angry. You need to hit something. Someone. I'm offering myself." And waited while Skinner absorbed.

"What makes you think I'd be interested?"

"There's a place in New York. Just off the financial district. The Warehouse. Caters to people interested in punishment. In taking it. In giving it. You have quite a reputation there."

Skinner was too tired to even attempt to bluff this one out. "And?"

"And I want to see if you're as good as they say you are."

"Why?"

"Let's just say I want it." Krycek slouched against the entry to the living room. "Come on, Skinner. You're on the way to an ulcer. You need to get rid of that work-related stress. Add a taste of revenge, say for the beating I gave you."

"The nanocytes?" Skinner bit out. "For 'killing' me? For being involved with Scully's abduction? For your part in Melissa Scully's death?"

"For all that, if you want. For any of that." Krycek waited then added when Skinner didn't continue. "I'm giving you first refusal. If you don't want, I'll find someone else. I just thought that since you're already involved..."

"Shut up a minute. Let me think." Skinner examined the man standing in front of him. He didn't consciously consider Krycek's offer, just let his mind blank out. Waited for what was lately an over- sensitized gut to tell him if he should take the man up on his offer.

Why not, he thought finally. It's been too long since I paid New York a visit. My gut or his back. Not really a hard decision.

"It's Wednesday. Be here Friday at 10 p.m. Use the back door and make sure they," he nodded to the front of the house, "don't see you. Bring whatever you'll need with you."

"I'm moving in?" Krycek raised a brow at the idea.

Start as you intend to proceed, thought Skinner. "If you want me, boy, that's the way it is." In his best Marine voice.

Krycek raised his chin slightly. Thought. Then nodded. "Okay." Then, surprisingly, "Thank you."

His hand was on the door knob when Skinner called out, "10 p.m. Any later, and I don't let you in."

"I understand."

"Krycek. Safeword. What's the safeword you use?"

The younger man looked over his shoulder as he opened the door. "No."

"No? That's your safeword?"

"No. No safeword. I'll accept whatever you dish out."

###

Chapter Two

Krycek was punctual.

Skinner hadn't really expected him to show. Or had he? He'd certainly prepared for the eventuality.

He took the small gym bag from Krycek without comment, checking the contents for a weapon. None. Only a pair of jeans, a couple of shirts, a sweater, underwear and socks. Travelling kit. Skinner placed the kit on the kitchen table.

The only light on in the kitchen was the soft one over the stove. Skinner looked his "guest" over.

"No clothes unless I give you permission to wear them. Everything off."

Krycek stripped, handing Skinner each item of clothing as he removed it. Skinner carefully folded and then placed them in the gym bag along with the knife sheath and the small weapon that was holstered in the back of his belt. Boots by the bag.

"Arm off, too. You won't be needing it."

Skinner took the bag, boots, arm and locked them in a small cupboard in the mud room.

He opened the door to the downstairs and indicated with his head that Krycek was to precede him.

Skinner had been busy in the time he had. He's installed a pulley system to the main support beam, bolted a couple of rings to the floor. In a nearby corner, there was a thin bare mattress on the floor, with a plain, utility blanket folded at the foot. To one side, near the mattress were two battered dog bowls, one already containing water.

He waited for Krycek to comment. Got nothing.

"Bathroom." He pointed to a small utility room: toilet, small sink, plain shower stall.

Krycek stood waiting. He had yet to say a word.

Skinner assumed his Marine voice, spoke softly.

"Whenever you hear me in the kitchen, you will assume the proper waiting position. On your knees." He waited until Krycek had complied. "Sitting on your heels. Feet flat on the floor. Knees spread wide apart. Wider than that. Arm by your side. Hand open. Head down. Eyes will be down at all times. You do not have permission to look me in the face unless I give it to you. Understand?"

Krycek's head dipped a bit further down.

"And you may not speak to me unless I give you permission. Is that understood?"

Again the bowed head dipped.

Skinner turned on an overhead light and examined the man. The position he was in would become quickly uncomfortable. Too bad. If he stayed, which Skinner doubted, he'd get used to it. The light shone down on the brown-black hair. The bent head revealed the man's unprotected neck which somehow gave him a look of innocence. What an illusion that was!

The body was good. Muscle definition was lighter than his own: the body of a man who actually used his body rather than just exercised it.

The stump with its puckered scar tissue would be off limits. He had no intention of using it against the man. He had a momentary feeling of generosity at the concession he was making for the other man.

"Stand up."

Krycek rose a little less gracefully than he had knelt. Stood, head still bowed. Legs apart without having to be told: he'd obviously played this game before.

"I want you to shave all your body hair off. Now. You'll find a safety razor in the sink, lather too."

Krycek slowly moved into the bathroom. He filled the sink with hot water. With some awkwardness, he lathered the parts of his body he could reach and shaved himself.

The left side was easiest to do. The legs were easy enough as well. Shaving his groin took more time: he had to be careful with the blade. Safety razors could provide nasty cuts. His balls, ass were slow work. He had no second hand to pull things out of the way.

Finally he had done all but his right arm and armpit. At that point, Skinner, who had spent all this time watching stone-faced from the doorway, took the razor and lather and finished the job.

He tossed the items into the sink. Waited while Krycek cleaned the razor, recapped the lather, rinsed the hair from out of the sink.

"Shower. You'll find an enema bag in there. Use it every time you take a shower."

The shower stall had a transparent door. He watched as with the one hand Krycek washed himself in and out. When the man was done, he tossed him a large thick towel. With the same expressionless face, watched him dry himself.

Skinner stepped away from the door and Krycek went out to take his waiting position without being told.

Skinner walked over to a cupboard in the far end of the windowless room that had been used as a den by the last owner. He took some keys out of his jeans pocket, unlocked it and opened the door to his "toy" collection. He had something in his hand when he came to stand in front of Krycek. Who stayed still, head down. Skinner smiled to himself. Not only a player, but a trained one.

He put a finger under Krycek's chin, brought the face up.

"You may look at me. See this dog collar. It's yours." He put it around the man's throat, felt him swallow. Skinner waited till he had accepted the feel of it before buckling it on, tight but still loose enough to fit one finger under it.

"You never take it off except in the shower. You remove it only in the bathroom, and you put it back on before you leave the bathroom. If I ever see you without it on, you're out. Is that understood? Boy."

Krycek nodded.

"No. I asked you a direct question, boy. You answer direct questions. Let's try this again. Do you understand, boy?"

"Yes." Krycek's voice had no inflection in it at all.

"Yes what, boy?"

"Yes. Sir."

Skinner pushed Krycek's chin down and he assumed the correct position.

"Tonight, we will start the punishment you so rightly deserve. The punishment that you have asked me to administer. Are you certain that you don't want a safeword, boy?"

"No, sir. No safeword."

"If you ever ask me to stop, I will. But that will be the end of it. Do you understand, boy?"

"Yes, sir."

Skinner passed a hand along the man's jaw, up to his ear, around to the back of his head. He grabbed a handful of hair and pulled backwards. Krycek kept his eyes down.

Skinner's voice was softly threatening. "Who do you belong to? Boy?"

"To you, sir."

"Good." Skinner gave the hair a sharp tug. "Let's see what you're made of, boy."

Krycek stood arms tied above his head. Skinner had buckled a lined wrist restraint around his right wrist and tied one end of the line to it, now pulled taut. Around his left upper arm, he had a strap contraction that was also linked to the line thereby holding it up alongside of his head. It would effectively stop him from spinning to one side.

His ankles were also braceleted with lined leather, attached to the rings bolted into the floor. His legs were stretched as far apart as possible and still be supporting him.

He wore a bit gag in his mouth, a black cloth band with eye pads tied tightly over his eyes, wax plugs in his ears. Mute, blind, deaf.

Now Skinner was taking his time adding some of his particular favourite toys. He didn't think that Krycek would be here in the morning so he intended making this a session the ratbastard would never forget.

The nipple clamps were screw-ons rather than spring controlled. Krycek's head had snapped back when the first had gone on. Skinner had given him no time to adjust to it when the second had bitten into the sensitive nub. His nipples would be severely bruised by the end of the play.

The cock ring that buckled on was a thin leather strap that would cut into tender flesh when it was erect. At the front of the circumcised cock, from the ridge that edged the glans, Skinner hung two more nipple clamps. Krycek's hips jerked back at their addition.

Skinner stood back, admiring his work. Isolated, Krycek would not be able to brace or prepare himself for whatever "treat" he had in store for him. The clamps would become progressively more painful, the cock ring would impede any orgasm from happening until or even if he decided it should occur.

He left the man hanging there to change his clothes for a pair of sweat pants, and to fetch himself a bottle of juice from upstairs. When he returned he was pleased to see that in the time he had been gone, the bruising was beginning to be apparent.

Skinner looked over his collection of whips and crops in the cupboard. He rejected some as being too brutal: he wanted Krycek to last a long time. To get the full advantage of his punishment. Some he rejected as being too mild: the suede flogger was for discipline, not punishment. He settled on a riding crop. The effect of the blow would depend on the strength with which it was delivered.

He took a walk around the suspended man. Decided that he would swing a little too much from a decent blow and tightened the line to the pulley. Watched Krycek rise onto the front of his feet, the muscles of the right arm pulled even tauter. The left's harness was basically there to hold the stump out of the way.

He knew from past games that first blows were usually directed to the back. Skinner swung his across the already painful nipples. Was very pleased by the muffled sound Krycek couldn't prevent.

It went on from there. Some were closely placed on Krycek's body, in time. Others landed helter-skelter. Some were delivered with less force than others: there were no soft or gentle blows. Each time the crop landed, it left a mark. After a time, it drew blood.

And no part of Krycek's body was spared. The welts appeared over his torso, his back, his buttocks, the back of his thighs, the front, his legs. Skinner only avoided the upraised arms, the head, the nape of the neck.

He had even paid a small bit of attention to Krycek's groin, careful only not to do any permanent damage to the now upright penis.

He finally stopped for the last of the juice: this was thirsty work.

Through it all, Krycek had made sounds, but they were sounds drawn out of him rather than offered by him. He may have screamed, but not so that Skinner had noticed. Not that he had been disposed to notice.

He walked around the man, rather pleased with his work. He usually did this sort of stuff with one of those floggers that did no particular damage, merely pinkened the skin, a routine that released endorphins so the prickling of the whip turned into pleasure. He didn't think that endorphins were going to help Krycek much.

He slipped his hand into the sweats, roughly passed over his own erect cock. He had liked this kind of work in the Warehouse. It always aroused him. More so tonight.

He put the empty bottle down on the floor, went to stand in front of the man. He waited until Krycek realized that he was there. Smiled as the man braced himself. Smart move, he thought.

Roughly, his hands explored the body open to him. This time, Krycek moaned loudly, jerked back then sagged against the line keeping him upright.

Skinner moved around him, still roughly caressing the welts that marked the bruised skin. When he realized that Krycek was on the verge of losing consciousness, he pulled back to give him time to recover.

While he watched the ribs painfully push air in and out in shallow breaths, Skinner was pleased to find that his gut which had hurt all week—especially when the news of Spender's immunity had been passed on to him—was no longer paining him. This was much better than the bottles of antacid he'd been drinking down all week.

He slowly stroked himself into full erection. They'd fucked him around all week too. He took a condom from out of the cupboard, rolled it on himself. Reached for the lube. Stopped. He took the small bottle, tossed it into the air. He didn't let himself think about his next move. Put just a dab of the stuff on the pads of two fingers and returned to stand behind Krycek.

He placed his left hand against Krycek's lower abdomen, to keep him from moving. With the two fingers, he lubed Krycek's asshole, roughly entering the tight ring.

Krycek was alert enough to tense, but Skinner pressed hard, ignored the muted sounds. What little lube was left, he smeared on the tip of his cock.

He stood behind Krycek, used one hand to grip his hips, the other to position himself for entry. He began slowly, entering just enough so that he could release his cock and use the freed hand to hold Krycek steady. Then, in one brutal move, he buried himself in Krycek to the root.

He thought Krycek's scream would be heard by the security team. He waited, still buried in the man, till he was certain that no one was coming to investigate. He pulled out, feeling the drag of barely lubricated tissue gripping him. Pushed back in again. And enjoyed the next muted groan even more.

He took his time, drew it out, reaching orgasm.

He tossed the used condom into the wastebasket by the cupboard, put himself back into the sweats.

He casually removed the "toys", put them away in their places. Removed the ear plugs, threw them away. Removed the blind, folded it back onto the shelf. Removed the gag now sodden with saliva, put it away.

He released the ankle manacles from the rings, removed the manacles. Released the line which was the only thing holding Krycek up, removed it from the manacle, the manacle and harness from the man. Put them back in their places. Locked the cupboard doors. Put the key back in his pocket.

He crouched by Krycek, watching him slowly revive. He stood, grabbed him by the underarms and dragged him over to the mattress where he dropped him. After a moment's consideration, he filled the juice bottle with water and tipped it into the man's mouth. Krycek coughed then swallowed.

Skinner grabbed his chin in his hand, dragged the face up. Waited for Krycek's eyes to focus on him.

"Is this what you wanted, boy?"

Krycek had to try twice before the words came out.

"Yes. Sir." Almost whispered.

"And is this what you want more of, boy?"

Skinner released Krycek's face, waited for him to tell him what he wanted was out.

Krycek's body was trembling, hurting. He raised his head, met Skinner's eyes. "Yes. Sir." And let his head drop to the mattress.

###

Chapter Three

Skinner turned off the television. Saturday football wasn't as much fun to watch these days, not when he had a more intense game going on downstairs.

He strolled into the kitchen and rummaged in the freezer compartment for some ice. He dropped some into a glass, added some scotch.

In the two weeks since Krycek had arrived, his ulcer had calmed down enough for him to get away with the occasional drink. Who'd have known?

He put together a sandwich, finished it before picking up the glass, heading downstairs.

The one recessed light on provided just enough illumination for him to make out the pose he had left Krycek in before the game had started. He sipped some of the scotch, sitting at the bottom of the stairs.

The morning after the first session, Skinner came downstairs to find Krycek in the proper waiting position. It was obvious that he was in pain, but he stayed in position while Skinner walked around him, occasionally dragging a finger along a welt.

Skinner was pleased to see that his body retained the marks well and that the places he'd drawn blood were already scabbing over. Krycek's nipples were an interesting combination of blue and black: they would be very tender for some time.

Without a word, he went back upstairs, returning in a few minutes with an opened can. He dumped the congealed mass that was supposed to be stew into the second of the dog bowls, went and topped the water bowl.

He stood in front of the bowed head. "I'm busy today. When I'm not interested in you, you stay on the mattress. You may get off it only to piss or to shower. Remember when you shower to clean yourself inside as well. If I come down here, and find you're not in position or on the mattress, I can promise you won't..." He left the rest of his statement hanging.

"Get to the mattress. No, not on your feet. I didn't give you permission to stand. That's better, knees and hand, boy. Eat if you're hungry. I'll feed you twice a day. If I feel like it."

He turned and left Krycek "waiting" on the mattress. At the top of the stairs, he turned off the light, shut the door.

He gave Krycek till the next afternoon to recover. Not out of kindness, but because Bureau work came first. Even on a weekend.

When he came down that afternoon, Krycek's hair was still wet from his shower. The light shone on the little trails of water that ran down his back, some detouring around the scabbing tissue.

He began by blindfolding him: between the lights being kept off—he had replaced the light in the bathroom with a 25 watt bulb—and his being blindfolded when they were on, Krycek was spending a lot of time in the dark. There were no windows in this part of the basement.

Then, the gag. But before he placed it in his mouth, Skinner forced his chin up. He asked what was becoming part of their ritual every time he gagged Krycek: "Who do you belong to, boy?"

Krycek's voice seemed numb. "You, sir."

"Good. Shall we see if you care to continue this agreement?" He tightened the gag.

Next the ear plugs. He really like the fact that Krycek wouldn't be able even to anticipate any of his moves from sound.

This time, he strapped a narrow belt around his waist, snapped the wrist restraint to it, to a ring at the back. Then he attached a very short line from that ring to one of the floor rings causing Krycek to lay on his back. He left the other arm alone.

He attached the pulley line to one ankle bracelet; the other bracelet to the second floor ring. When he pulled on the line, Krycek's hips were lifted off the floor, his weight rested on his shoulders, legs spread painfully far apart, This would allow him full range from ankle to ankle.

He crouched between Krycek's legs, passed his hands up inner thighs from the knees and back down again. Just so the boy would have an idea that after this session, there would be no part of his body he hadn't attended to.

The toys he added were chosen more to remind Krycek of potential pain. The nipple clamps were actually quite gentle, the cock ring just a bit tighter than normal games. The last item he added was a bath towel he had folded into a thick pad which he dropped over Krycek's genitals. He had no intention of castrating the boy.

This time he had chosen a switch to make his point. It would sting rather than cut, allowing the game to continue for as long as he, Skinner, wanted it to.

Krycek had braced himself for the first blow when Skinner had tucked one end of the pad under the waist belt. But this time, Skinner began almost gently. He held back the power of his swings, but he covered the skin from knee to groin on both thighs.

Then he stopped. Removed the pad. Left Krycek hanging. He rewarded himself for getting through the next couple of tedious reports by returning downstairs. The vibrations of his footsteps on the floor warned Krycek, but no sooner had the pad been dropped into place, when the switch fell, much harder this time.

By the fourth visit, Skinner removed his boots before coming down, could drop the pad and swing the switch pretty much at the same time. Krycek's body writhed in its bonds, trying to pull away from the fire that was raging in his thighs whenever Skinner returned.

Skinner waited till just before he was heading for bed for his last visit. This time the gag barely muted the sounds Krycek made. Skinner smiled to himself, feeling that he would be well prepared to put up with the acute stupidity of dealing with Justice at tomorrow's meeting.

At the end of the session, he released Krycek, made him crawl back to his mattress before grabbing him by the hips. This time, he covered his condom with lube, even used some to prepare the ass hole he pushed himself into. When he finished only then did he remove the gag, blindfold, the ear plugs.

It was mid-week before he had time to be more than just momentarily concerned with Krycek. Wednesday had proved to be long and tedious. Longer and more tedious than usual. It was almost midnight when he came down the stairs. He could feel the anger radiating off himself and was more than passing pleased when he saw Krycek visibly brace himself to meet it.

Without a word, Skinner opened his fly, pulled out his cock. He grabbed Krycek by the hair, pulled his head back. Krycek didn't open up fast enough. Skinner grabbed him by the jaw and pressured his mouth open. He rammed his stiffening cock down to the back of Krycek's throat, almost choking him. All he wanted was a hot wet hole to suck him erect. When it was, he pushed Krycek to his shoulders, quickly rolled a condom on and rammed himself into Krycek.

Krycek screamed. Muffled the sound against his arm. When Skinner was done, he tossed the condom in the wastebasket, zipped his fly as he went upstairs, left Krycek where he lay.

The weekend saw another session that lasted pretty much all of Saturday. Skinner left Krycek hanging most of the day, using the crop on him whenever he visited. Krycek was barely conscious when he dropped him to the floor.

That week was taken up with the Bureau's side of the Spender deal. Spender seemed to enjoy the fact that Skinner had been delegated to inform him of the steps the Bureau was taking to ensure his safety. Skinner's only revenge was in refusing the man permission to light up in front of him. When Spender ignored him, as he had always done, Skinner grabbed the cigarette out of his mouth and snapped it in half.

His ulcer flared up, he drank more antacid, went home and took his frustrations out on Krycek.

Skinner sipped the last of his scotch and stood up to see if Krycek was still conscious. He'd lost consciousness twice so far this week. Skinner was beginning to feel a bit uneasy.

Krycek's hand was behind him, snapped onto the waist belt. A short chain from that clasp attached to the still shorter chain that joined the two ankle bracelets through the floor ring. His back was arched from the pressure, his knees wide apart. Small tremors shook his body almost continually. He bore the usual accroutement of clamps, rings. This time, Skinner had added a thick dildo to the collection. His body was a map of welts, colourful bruises.

Skinner crouched between the boy's legs. He doubted that Krycek knew he was here. He doubted that Krycek was aware of anything beyond the pain in his body. He reached out and stroked the arc made by knee to knee. Krycek's body arched even more at the feel of his hands on skin that reacted even to a breath.

Why the hell was the boy still here? wondered Skinner. Why hadn't he left a long time ago? The doors weren't locked: he could easily get out. Why was he accepting all this? The Krycek he knew wouldn't have. He would have fought back, counter-attacked. He would have been long gone.

He released Krycek, noting that the blind was wet with tears of pain, that the gag was showing definite signs of teeth wear. He dragged the boy to the mattress, got him some water which he could barely swallow, covered him with the blanket and left him alone.

Monday, he got a break from the Spender Affair: VCU had gotten a request to investigate a series of murders and, since one of the suspects was the son of a Senator, he had been asked to verify their conclusions.

"As you can see from the evidence we've gathered, we can place Thomas McCloud in the vicinity of the crime sites at all the correct times.

"And though the Senator seems to think that we're overreacting to those 'coincidences', let me add that he also doesn't believe that his little boy could do anything like we've seen in the pictures. In spite of the fact that the pictures were found in his bedroom."

Skinner did his stone-face routine, casually picked up the dossier with the pictures. Froze.

"The Senator finds it hard to accept that his son gets off on torturing people before he cuts their throats."

Under his desk, Skinner pressed a small button. Ten seconds later, his office phone rang. "Thank you, Kim. I'm sorry, Agent Astley, I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside while I deal with this."

He waited for the door to close. He found himself taking a deep breath. Picked up the photos again.

Agent Astley had used the term torture. Looking at these pictures, he, too, would have used the term torture.

The bodies were covered in welts, bruising.

Like the body on the mattress in his basement.


Skinner turned on all the basement lights.

The man curled in a fetal position on the bare mattress never noticed.

Skinner made some noise as he approached, not to startle Krycek. He didn't react.

Carefully, Skinner lifted the blanket off the sleeping/unconscious man. The body before him could easily have fit McCloud's m.o.

Skinner passed the back of his hand over his nose. He reached out and gently lay his hand on the side of Krycek's face. It didn't need a medical degree to realize the man was ill.

Skinner stroked the bearded cheek. After two weeks of not shaving, Krycek was well on his way to a full beard.

He needs care, thought Skinner. But not down here.

He wrapped the blanket around the man. With some difficulty—Krycek was dead weight—he managed to get him to his feet, and then over his shoulder in a fireman's hold.

At the top of the stairs, he grabbed a clean sheet from the pile of laundry on the kitchen table and somehow got it spread out on the living room couch. He carefully dropped Krycek onto it.

The light here was better. Better to see his handiwork. His stomach churned uncomfortably.

Well, first things first. He needed to check out the medicine cabinets. Realized very quickly that a finger band-aid wasn't going to do the job. He pulled a blanket from the linen closet, covered Krycek with it.

Leaving the lights on in case the man woke up, he went out to visit the all-night pharmacy in the local shopping centre.

The couch was empty when he returned. Skinner dropped the bag he was carrying and quickly checked the other rooms. He didn't think Krycek could have gone far in his condition.

The basement door was open. He found Krycek slumped in his waiting position at the bottom of the stairs.

"Jesus Christ, boy! Why the hell didn't you stay where I put you?" Not that he expected a reply.

But he got one. Offered in a raw voice, barely audible. "Not allowed on furniture... beat me." Krycek gasped as Skinner helped him to his feet, got him back up the stairs.

"If I put you on the couch, you stay on the couch. Do you hear me, boy?"

But when Skinner tried to get Krycek to lay down, he pulled away in fear. "Please," he begged, "not there. Please! He'll beat me!"

Skinner's gut wrenched. Shit! He'd never beaten the boy for sitting on the couch. He wanted to settle Krycek before he medicated him, but it was obvious that would never happen with Krycek this panicky about that idea. He half-carried, half-walked Krycek into the kitchen. The light would be better there anyway.

The only way Krycek was partially comfortable was lying on his left side. Because of the stump, Skinner had paid a bit less attention to it for fear of damaging the arm. Before he touched Krycek, he got him to take a couple of codeine capsules, knowing that they would knock him out. Once he was certain that the pain would be less felt, he applied medicated ointment to the welts and covered the worse ones with gauze.

Looking, really looking at Krycek, Skinner had to admit that he had lost weight. Then he realized that he had thrown out most of the food he had placed in that dog bowl, that Krycek had barely eaten in the past days.

He found a bottle of apple juice in the fridge, got some of it into a surprisingly still conscious Krycek. Took advantage of that fact by getting him to swallow one of the multi-vitamins he had added to his purchases at the last moment.

He left Krycek on the kitchen floor, lightly covered with the sheet. The sound of the doorbell shocked him. Shit! It was after midnight. Who the fuck...

He answered to find that it was one of the security team that staked out his house whenever he was home. Was everything all right? They'd arrived late—some mix up on rota—and were just checking in.

Krycek had nearly made it to the basement door. God, thought Skinner, the ratbastard has a one-track mind!

Krycek didn't seem to understand that he was not being returned to the basement, but at the same time, got frantic at the idea of the couch.

Finally, Skinner gave up. Ordered Krycek in his brisk Marine tones to stay exactly where he was. Which was on the kitchen floor. Ran upstairs to find the thick comforter stored in the empty second bedroom, a remnant of the last Christmas he and Sharon had been married. One of those bath sheets, a white one, from the bathroom cupboard. Grabbed the blanket off the couch and entered the kitchen to find Krycek where he had left him.

He turned up the heat in the laundry room, just off the kitchen, unfolded the comforter into a pad, covered it with the towel. With some difficulty, he got Krycek onto it, covered him with the sheet and blanket.

"Now listen to me, boy. This is where you're sleeping until I tell you differently. You got that, boy?"

Krycek nodded, semi-stoned from the codeine finally hitting him.

"There's a bathroom just the other side of the washer. That's the one you use. Got that, boy?"

Krycek nodded slightly, eyes dialated, unfocused.

Skinner sat in the kitchen, watching Krycek sleep.

What the hell had happened to them? Why were they both acting this way? Had the Consortium finally won in spite of being destroyed?

What the fuck had happened to Krycek for him to be behaving the way he was? Damn, the boy was many things, but he'd never been a masochist. At least as far as he knew.

Why was he so accepting of the shit Skinner kept on dishing out? Since when had he been hungry for pain and humiliation?

And God! When the fuck had he turned into a sadist?

He'd been a player in these sorts of games before. Had used them as an outlet for the frustration that built up in his work, even in his marriage. He knew he had a bit of a reputation at the Warehouse as being available for some of the more extreme stuff, but he'd never gone this far. He had always been in control of his actions. Was known for that control. But, here and now, he had to admit at least to himself, he had lost it.

He hated Krycek, true, for what he had done to Scully, to Mulder, to himself, even to the Bureau. But hadn't he made some reparation with the information he'd passed on to Mulder? At no little risk to himself.

Hell, was this a case of the messenger being killed? It wasn't the boy's fault that men and women who had sworn an oath of loyalty had betrayed that oath. Wasn't his fault that the Bureau was such a mess with agents and ADs disappearing or being arrested, with their names popping up on documentation that proved they had been buyable, or treasonous.

Then there was the fact that along with the hardcopy data that had been delivered in the package to his office was one of those bubbled packs addressed to him, personally. Contents, one de-powered palm pilot and a CD of information on the life span of nanocytes. Which, it seemed, was short if not periodically activated. Which they hadn't been since his "dying" episode. Scully had been taking blood samples from him every week, testing the veracity of that documentation. Proving it right.

Krycek started to shift position in his sleep and gasped. He settled down while Skinner crouched over him, not touching him, just waiting till it was obvious that he was deeply asleep.

And then there was the fact of his promotion. Before the data dump, he had realized that his career had gone as far it would probably go. He had lost any upward mobility with his support of Mulder and the X-Files. But now the Upper Floor had had to admit that the Bureau had been infiltrated, that Mulder had been right. And there were offices to be filled. His promotion had come, not because they thought he deserved it, but because necessity had ordained it. And that too was not Krycek's fault.

He turned the bathroom light on, placed a small open bottle of juice within reach, made sure Krycek was warm on his bed. Tucked the blanket a bit more around the ointment-slicked shoulders.

"God, Krycek," he whispered, "what have they done to us?"

Went to bed. Didn't sleep.

###

Chapter Four

"Thank you, Kim."

Skinner waited till his office door closed before dealing with the pile of files that his assistant had located for him.

All, in one way or another, dealing with one Alex Krycek.

Somewhere in them he hoped there would be a clue as to Krycek's behaviour.

Going through the first dossier, a Bureau personnel file, he was reminded that Krycek had had potential as an agent. He had done well at Quantico, had produced good results in the cases he had been assigned to. His reports were concise and clear, unlike some others he could choose to mention. If it hadn't been for the cigarette butts Mulder had found in the ashtray of Krycek's car...

The next file contained a series of reports, most of them written by Mulder, some by Scully, dealing with any contact either of them had had with Krycek from the time of his "departure" from the Bureau to the day the package had shown up in his office, addressed to Special Agent Fox Mulder c/o AD Walter Sergei Skinner.

That was also the day their, his and Mulder's, computers were effectively out of service as all they did was accept downloads from a variety of internet sources around the globe.

He'd shown up at Mulder's the next night, requesting immunity in return for providing them with the codes to open up all those files.

Skinner shook his head in grudging admiration. They had held off giving it to him, keeping him in a secure room here at the Bureau, until finally their decryptors informed him that it would take years of work to break open the security codes Krycek had placed at the beginning of each file.

And the stuff had been dynamite. The repercussions were still being felt and would for a long time to come.

The thickest of the dossiers came from the investigative team. In spite of this being the computer age, Krycek's "easy" accessibility to even the most hidden of Consortium files had resulted in a new wave of paper at the Bureau. Numbered sheets, non- copyable red ink.

Four months of questioning took up lots of paper. Skinner scanned the dossier rapidly. Just the usual dry give and take of interrogation reports.

"Kim. Would you know if any of the team that worked on Krycek are in the building today?"

"I'll check and get back to you, sir."

Agent Rachel Madison was one of the newer members of the Bureau. Being called to the Deputy Director's office made her feel she had done something wrong even when she knew she hadn't.

Skinner asked Kim to serve coffee to make for a more comfortable atmosphere. He wanted her observations on Alex Krycek: not on the material covered by the report, but on his behaviour, his relationship with the team.

Agent Madison had been one of the minor members of the team, but was appreciative enough of this singling out to give the DD all the details she could.

No, Krycek hadn't been a problem, except when the team leader asked the same question too often. Krycek would call him on it every time, no matter what indirect route Connors took to get to it.

Yes, he had chaffed a bit at the restrictions which had been placed on his life. That was normal, to be expected. More grousing than anything else.

Personality change? No. Not really. Well, he did get quieter at one point. Joked around less. They had been at it thirteen weeks at that point: hard for anyone to maintain good humour that long under the circumstances. The team had been on rotation, but Krycek had had to deal with the situation seven days a week.

Had anything happened around then that was different? A break in the routine?

Well, they had gotten that file from Justice, with its own list of questions. Remember, Justice hadn't been allowed access to Krycek until almost the end. Most of the questions were repeats. Krycek hadn't been too co- operative at that point. She remembered he'd asked for the list, told them he'd only answer anything that was new.

Connors had just tossed him the whole thing and told Krycek to take the night to look it over.

They were all pretty tired by then.

Personal stuff on Krycek? Well, apart from the conference room she hadn't been with him anywhere else. They had their meals brought to them. Whoever was on the team that day ate with him. Oh, yes. (She smiled at the memory.) He'd finish her dessert if it were chocolate. Cake or pudding, it didn't matter. She only tasted dessert. Didn't have much of a sweet tooth. Neither did Krycek, unless it was chocolate.

That was all she could think of. Would any of that help with his problem?

Skinner smiled at the casual way she had slipped that in. He hadn't told her why he'd wanted this information and gave her points for having held onto her curiosity as long as she had.

"Thank you, Agent Madison. I appreciate the thought you've put into my request."

Agent Madison accepted that her question was not going to be answered with better grace than he would have in her place.

Kim's research into the Justice file came back "Returned to Justice per their request".

It took him two days of finagling to get his hands on it.

Two nights of watching Krycek sleep, doped to the gills. It was the only way he could get the boy to stay quiet, to accept the time to heal.

He could get the boy to drink everything he gave him to drink, but it had taken him a whole day to figure out why he wasn't eating. He'd had Krycek lie flat out on his stomach, touched the swollen tissues around his anus. Krycek's first impulse had been to try and escape the threatening finger. Then he'd forced himself to accept.

Skinner had made him swallow one of the perscription pain-killers he'd gotten, waited till the man was stoned before lubricating the finger of a latex glove, smearing it with medicated ointment, and examining him. Even drugged, Krycek felt it, made a sound into the arm he held against his mouth. Skinner grimaced at hearing it.

He increased Krycek's liquid intake. And left the man alone.

The Justice file was not easy to get. Only the fact that the request came from a Deputy Director, the one with particular links to the case, and the one with the proper security clearance was what got it onto his desk.

Whoever had gathered the information had assumed the request included the Justice Department's own files on Krycek, gotten courtesy of CGB Spender. As part of his deal for protection, Spender had turned over his own few private files on Consortium doings to Justice.

The one Skinner had originally request contained, as Agent Madison had stated, nothing more than several pages of questions, most of which bore the notation "FBI". He assumed that this meant Krycek had already answered this for the Bureau. Here and there, there was a sentence or two. Terse answers in a clearly written cursive. Answers as much to the point as his reports had read.

He flipped through the paper, stopping occasionally to read an answer. Smiled at the "See pages 2, 9, 17, 21. Don't you get tired of asking the same question?"

That was one of the things missing in the Krycek that had appeared at his door that night, that sarcastic humour, the edge that made so much of what was unacceptable in Krycek's behaviour tolerable.

He was about to toss the dossier on the table when he realized that there was something stuck between two pages toward the end of the document. He tugged gently at what turned out to be a photo. Not particularly big. About three by five.

He stared at it for some time, then turned it around to read the hand-printed label on the back. Carefully placed it in the top drawer of his desk.

After a bit, he picked up the file that Spender had compiled on Alex Krycek.

There were photos in this one too. Several of them, of a boy about fourteen, maybe older. Posed. Probably for some prostitution catalogue. In the last one, Krycek looked to be in his late teens. The body was that of a man not yet filled out, but well on the way.

Skinner had expected something like this, but seeing actual pictures made it all the more real.

Shit! What the hell chance had Krycek had, if this was his background? It was a tribute to some inner decency that when he finally had understood just what his masters were up to he had decided to turn on them and help put an end to their plans.

He lay the pictures face down on his desk.

Surprisingly, the next part of the dossier contained high school report cards. From several schools. From the north-east to the mid-west. They'd moved him around a fair bit, but someone (Spender?) had seen to it that he regularly attended school.

Krycek's success at Quantico had not been a fluke. The majority of the marks were A's of some kind, a few were B's. Attached to all of them was a photocopy of a letter from a doctor that excused Krycek from any phys- ed activity.

Of course, thought Skinner, his body would be marked.

He was ready to go onto to the next batch of documents when something caught his attention about the high schools themselves. He had to think a bit. They were all member schools of the same teaching order of Brothers. An order that in the eighties had found itself the focus of quite a few court investigations on charges of sexual abuse.

The university transcripts were another surprise, but expected if he thought about it. Good university near a strong central-european enclave of population. Four year program done in three. Krycek had attended full time, 12 months a year. His only time off would have been school holidays.

His majors were less surprising: Political Science major with a minor in Computers. Partial scholarship maintained throughout his entire time there. 80% plus average.

The boy had brains. Why hadn't he used them to get away from the Consortium? Shit, why the hell wasn't he using them these days?

The next batch of papers were medical reports. About broken bones (once an arm, another time some ribs), concussions (at least four of those). Detailed reports on abrasions and anal damage. Which made him wince.

Last was a listing of names and dates. It took only a moment to recognize some of the names as being members of the Consortium; most of middle importance, some of the higher eschelons. Krycek's tricks.

Into the second page a name began appearing: Peskow. Coming with more and more frequency until it was the only one listed. Skinner calculated that Krycek had been about 16 when Peskow's name first appeared. Was about 20 at the end. So the boy had been exclusively Peskow's at that point. And Skinner knew what Peskow's use had been to the Consortium. At least Spender had acknowledged Krycek's intelligence by having him trained in his profession by one of the best assassins around.

He put all the material back together, made the copies himself of what he wanted, had Kim courier it back to Justice. All except for the photo in his desk drawer.

Skinner took it out and looked it over carefully, as objectively as possible, even though bile was threatening to overcome him. The boy in the photo couldn't have been older than ten, maybe eleven. He was beautiful. Nude. Wearing a dog collar and bruises. From the body language, afraid but handling it. Even in this small photo it was obvious his eyes were green. Obviously Alex Krycek.

So why did the label on the back identify the boy as "Danny"?

###

Chapter Five

Skinner sighed when he saw Krycek "waiting" for him by the basement door. He'd come home last night to find him back downstairs, in position, waiting in the dark for... what? More abuse?

He'd ordered him back upstairs, locked the basement door and sent him back to his bed. And made an issue, apart from feeding him, of ignoring him the rest of the evening.

God, but he was tenacious!

Skinner ignored him, went upstairs to change and came back down to prepare a meal.

"Please, sir, may I speak?"

Skinner was taken by surprise. That was the first time since he'd arrived that the boy had initiated a conversation. He turned from his preparations, settled a hip against the counter, crossed his arms. "Yes. You may speak."

"I'm fine, sir." Krycek spoke softly, kept his eyes on Skinner's face, not really looking him in the eyes.

"Yes?"

"There's no reason I can't return downstairs, sir."

Skinner kept his face expressionless. "And?"

Krycek paused a bit before continuing. "Please, sir. When I came here, I told you I needed to be punished. Why have you stopped?" He met Skinner's eyes. "I haven't asked you to stop, sir."

"And?" Skinner held his gaze. After a moment, Krycek dropped his.

"Please, sir, if you're not going to punish me, I'll need to find someone who will."

He said nothing. Just waited for Krycek to continue.

"Please, sir," Krycek's voice softly begged, "I need this."

Skinner desperately wanted to ask Krycek why he needed this so badly, but a good master knew when to stay silent. He used the time to think. He couldn't let Krycek leave and go find himself a new master. He'd probably end up getting killed.

And, in spite of everything, Skinner felt Krycek didn't deserve that.

Damn! He should never have agreed to start this stupid "punishment" shit! Now what the hell was he supposed to do? He had to keep some form of discipline ongoing, something that would keep the boy here, until he could figure out just what the hell was going on in that mind of his.

Until he could figure out the connection between Alex Krycek and Danny.

He owed him at least that for the way he'd treated him.

He pushed away from the counter and came to crouch in front of him. He took Krycek's jaw in his hand, gripped it just this side of pain and raised it so he could look into those green eyes that had so little life in them.

"What," he too spoke softly, "makes you think you're not being punished right now?" He added a little touch of sneer. "Boy."

He released Krycek's jaw, passed a finger along his jaw line from ear to chin. "It seems to me, boy, that you like the whip just a bit too much for it to be real punishment." He stroked the other side of Krycek's face. His smile was not kind. "Maybe you should practice being patient for the next little while. You're going to find that you'll need it in the coming days."

He watched doubt appear in those eyes, knew that if he didn't do something, Krycek would be gone soon.

"Tomorrow I won't be going in to work until late. Tomorrow morning, we'll test just how patient you can be. Boy. Now, I'm going to fix something to eat. And you will eat it all. And then you will go to your bed. I'll allow this evening's behaviour because I'm in a generous mood. But don't test me too often, boy."

In the morning, he went downstairs to his toy cupboard and came back with some items in his hands. He closed the curtains in the living room, had Krycek join him. Made him wait there while he had breakfast. Then he sat in his favourite armchair and spent some time just looking at the man.

"Have you showered properly this morning?"

Krycek nodded. He'd even shaved his body again.

"Good." Skinner got up and went to the small writing desk in a corner of the living room.

He put the blindfold on first. Could almost swear he felt Krycek relax at its touch. Stroked his cheek with the bit gag. "Who do you belong to, boy?"

"You, sir." And opened his mouth for the gag.

The nipple clamps were next. Tight enough for Krycek's breath to hitch at their closing on sensitive skin.

He made him sit up, belted the strap around his waist, snapped the wrist restraint to it in the back. Stroked the boy's chest, abdomen with the tips of his fingers until his penis twitched in reaction. He took Krycek's cock in his hands, stroked it into erection. He was nicely built in that area too. A good length, thickening nicely under stimulation. He paid some attention to the balls hanging loosely in their sac, rolling them just enough to add dimension to the darkening cock.

Krycek's hips began to move in counter-rhythm to the movement on his cock. Skinner put a halt to that with a hard grip of his hands on Krycek's hip bones.

He reached for the lube, put some on his hands and continued working Krycek into a full erection. Then he slipped on a cock ring, one that opened into several attached sections.

With one hand, he pushed Krycek so that he lay back on his heels, knees splayed, hips raised by the position. He passed his still lubricated fingers over the sensitive perineum, teased the puckered muscle at its end. Krycek tensed, took a deep breath through his nose and forced himself to settle.

Skinner added more lube to his fingers, began the opening process with a lot more care than he had shown the boy until then. He slowly worked in one finger, made sure the path was well greased before adding a second finger. Made sure to rub Krycek's prostate enough for those hips to jerk, for a small gasp to be heard from behind the gag. He removed his fingers, replaced them with a large enough anal plug which he linked to the clasp that held Krycek's wrist.

He stood, pulled Krycek back up to the usual "wait" position. Stroked the side of the boy's neck in a reassuring gesture. Played a bit with the dog collar.

"Now, listen to me, boy. You look very beautiful done up this way. Very beautiful. I have to go to work now. I want to find you looking this beautiful when I come back tonight. In exactly the same place. You're lucky. I'll be home early. This time."

"I realize that this waiting is going to make you a bit nervous. You'll find yourself listening for sounds, for signs that may help you with the time, with my coming home. I don't think all that tension is good for you. You have enough to do keeping yourself beautiful for me. This will help keep out the sounds that may distract you from doing that."

Skinner placed a set of headphones on Krycek's head, the sort with the ear plugs on both sides. It needed no connector to the CD player, worked on some kind of radio wave. He made sure that they were securely on, tied a blindfold around them to keep them in place. He had put five CDs into the player, all of them of white noise. Krycek had a good six hours of isolation in front of him.

Before he left for the office, he passed a hand down Krycek's body, played with the ringed cock, gave the plug an encouraging twist.

###

It took two days to arrange for an interview with Spender. In one of the new no-smoking areas of the Complex where he was being held under tight security.

"Mr. Skinner. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Spender sat down across from Skinner at a table bolted to the floor. The chairs were also bolted to the floor. Not the most comfortable of rooms for an interview. Both men knew that their conversation was being taped: Skinner had in fact requested a copy of it to be given to him on his way out of the Complex.

Spender was a bit taken aback that the purpose of this interview was one Alex Krycek.

"Now why that topic, Mr. Skinner?"

Skinner smiled coldly. "I believe the final decisions about security have yet to be taken, Mr. Spender. You give me the information I want. I only tell you what you need to know." He paused, enjoying Spender's frustrated acceptance. "So begin. All you remember about Alex Krycek. From the first day you got him."

He'd gotten Alex when he was about fourteen. Definitely Alex. No, he had never heard about a Danny.

Skinner found that hard to believe, especially considering the slight grin Spender wore just then. The Danny picture had, in fact, come from his files. Skinner didn't call him on it. He recognized that there were limits to Spender's co-operation.

Well trained, continued Spender, recognizing the anger building behind the closed face, not really knowing why but revelling in the fact that Skinner could do nothing but sit there across from him and listen.

Lots of stamina. Very popular with some of the quirkier members of the upper ranks.

School? Well, it was obvious the boy had brains. Read a lot. Analyzed well. It was useful to educate him. Surprised at how well he did? "Well," Spender smiled, "Alex is very... good... at multi-tasking. Alex is very good at whatever he's told to do. Surely you have some experience of that, Mr. Skinner."

Peskow? Yes, Peskow also had some experience of that. He'd been treated to Alex by one of the Elders as an unexpected fringe benefit. Was quite impressed with our Alex. Thought he had potential. That he'd work well in Peskow's profession.

Peskow had been right. Alex was very cool about it. Even though he started quite young, about 17 at the time of his first kill. Never seemed overly bothered by any of it. Never seemed bothered by much of anything he could remember. Well, not at that time.

His mistake with Alex was trying to take him out. Until then, he had been theirs. Why take him out? "I thought he was getting just a little too cocky. Too interested in moving up. I thought he would eventually be trouble. I was right, wasn't I, Mr. Skinner?"

After that attempt, he was a loose cannon. Thinking back, if he had to do it over again, he would order Alex killed at the silo. But who knew he'd manage to get out.

The next time he saw Alex, he was with the Brit. The Brit liked him, brought him back into the system. Might well have been able to control him, but then he gotten blown up. And by that time, Alex was higher up than he ever should have been allowed. Look at the information he had passed on.

Alex before he had gotten him? He'd have to come from the sex trade pool. One of the handlers was still around. Tommy Glenn. "You've got him somewhere in the system, on other charges."

Skinner left the prison, tape in pocket, and with an overwhelming urge to scrub himself clean.

It took several days to track down Thomas Glenn, up on fraud, of all things. And another to arrange a deal with the man's hot-shot lawyer in exchange for an interview.

Thomas Glenn was not what Skinner was expecting to see in someone who had trained and handled young boys for purposes of prostitution. He looked like Santa Claus, round, bearded, jovial until you realized just how cold those pale blue eyes were.

He knew nothing about an Alex Krycek. Had never heard of the man. Skinner showed him a copy of the Danny picture. Glenn thought a bit. Came up with a name: Daniel Alyosha Gorshok.

He was 10, maybe 11 when Glenn got him. Through one of the area controllers. Long dead. If he remembered well, his mother had passed him on to the controller who had passed him on to Glenn. Father was some minor cog who died or got himself killed and the mother didn't want the boy.

He was beautiful. So, of course, they took him.

"He was easy to train. I just had to remind him that his mother had sent him to me for punishment."

"Punishment for what?"

Glenn shrugged. "Never knew. If he started getting out of hand, I just had to remind him of the fact that he deserved all this because of what he'd done. Worked every time."

"So how did Danny get taken out of your... care? What happened to him?"

"One of the Elders requested him. He never came back. Well, that particular Elder had a reputation for being quite nasty with some of the boys. Sometimes they didn't come back. Still, I figured Danny would. He had a high threshold for pain. Mended quickly, too. How old was he? About thirteen, I guess."

Skinner had a tape of this meeting as well. He'd driven about a mile from the prison when he stopped to throw up.

Agent Madison was both surprised and pleased to be called into the Deputy Director's presence. Business this time, no social cup of coffee.

A special assignment for her, should she be interested. Not a direct assignment, so something she could maybe attend to should she have some free time.

Like hell, thought Madison. What the DD wanted, he would get. He wanted her to juggle her regular assignments with this one and to keep quiet about it. And he wanted results. She would get them for him.

Aloud, she admitted to having some free time on her hands these days. What would the Deputy Director like her to do?

Skinner handed her a file. One sheet of paper. At the top, in his own hand-writing: Daniel Aloysha Gorshok, aged 10 or 11, 1972 or 1973.

The rest of the sheet was blank.

"What I would like you to do, Agent Madison, is to fill that sheet of paper with whatever you can find out about that boy, from pre-birth to 1972, 1973."

"Am I looking for anything in particular, sir?"

"Whatever you find, no matter how minor a detail, I want to know about it."

"Do we have a description of the boy, sir?"

"No." He had no intention of showing her the photo. "Do your best, Agent Madison. And let me know what you find when you can. My assistant will give you an appointment whenever you ask for one."

Agent Madison knew a dismissal when she heard it. Nodded. On her way out of his office, she was already planning a line of investigation.

###

Chapter Seven

Skinner dropped the last file on the living room floor by his armchair. He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes hard. The only things he was getting out of this promotion were an ulcer and a possible case of blindness. He found himself thinking more and more these days about retirement.

Hell, he'd put in more than his twenty years, and the way things were changing at the Bureau—all those new interns to replace the agents who had disappeared, been arrested or forced into quitting/retirement. God, the average age of the average agent had to be high twenties. He was feeling his age these days.

He put his glasses back on, examined the man mainly responsible for all the changes at the Bureau. Krycek was in what he now referred to "isolate-mode", in position, completely cut off from sight and sound, adorned, partially erect.

He was having limited success in having Krycek accept this as punishment. Two nights ago, he had come home to find that the restlessness he'd sense in the man had come full front.

"Please, sir," he'd whispered, "please, make it hurt."

Krycek had almost looked relieved when he'd told him to go wait downstairs, that he'd come down when he felt like it.

He'd strung up the boy like he had in the past, but this time used the suede cat on him. Pain and pleasure. He'd taken the boy roughly, not allowing him to reach orgasm. Then he'd ordered him upstairs, to wait in the kitchen, warning him that he did not have permission to touch himself. He'd made him wait a good hour before allowing him to masturbate, in front of him, then ordering him to bed.

After that, he seemed calmer. More willing to accept this new form of game.

Skinner crouched in front of the man, wondered what world he had put himself into, in his isolation.

He reached out with a finger and stroked the bare cheek under the gag. Krycek started a bit, caught himself.

"What the hell could a ten year old boy have done," Skinner asked the deafened man, "to deserve punishment? Especially that kind of punishment? And to feel he actually deserved it?"

His finger moved along the jaw, down the throat to trace the dog collar.

"Because this is what this is, isn't it, boy? Punishment you feel you deserve. But why now? Not like you've spent the time between university and now looking for punishment." The finger traced the hollow at the base of his throat, moved along the collarbones.

"Mind you, it might explain why you're so accepting of things that happen to you. Like that Oilian possession: I don't know many people who could have tolerated that as well as you have. The diver and his wife certainly haven't."

The finger was now tracing a pattern around clamped nipples. Krycek's breathing was more audible.

"You didn't bitch much about that night on my balcony, though it certainly wasn't one of the warmest we'd had that fall. And your arm."

The finger traced the webbed scarring caused by fire and blades. The muscle in the upper arm twitched. He'd never touched the arm unless it was to put the harness on. Now he investigated it, looked at the muscles that seemed smaller than it had when these games had started. Of course. He wasn't using it: it was atrophying. He'd better get him on an exercise program and soon. He'd need whatever use he still had with the arm in the future.

"You didn't strike any of the team debriefing you as someone who needed 'punishment'. They may not have liked you, boy, but a couple of them feel some sneaking respect for what you did, for your attitude."

He left the arm for the chest, tracing a middle line to the belt holding the other arm behind his back. He teased the navel, smiling at the slight sound that made its way past the gag. The boy was just a bit ticklish at that spot.

"So what happened, boy? Was it the picture? Why would the picture make you react like that?"

He moved past the shaved groin to stoke the finger along a now full erection.

"And what the hell made you come to me, Krycek? You certainly picked the wrong time to do that. I'm still angry, but it's more under control now. Then, dear God, did you have any idea of what I might do to you? Yeah, I supposed you did have: if only for the nanocytes."

He passed the finger lightly under the man's balls making them twitch, then moved behind them, gently stroking the perineum, teasing the tight muscles around the anal plug. Krycek's hips bucked.

"And now, we're both caught in this little game we started, aren't we? If I end it, you'll go and find yourself someone who just might end up killing you. Is that what you wanted, boy?

"Well, you're not going to get that here. I don't mind using the cat on you, but I hope that'll be enough. The crop may have done my ulcer a lot of good, but it didn't do much for my conscience."

Skinner's watch beeped. He smiled. "Football. A good way to spend a Saturday afternoon, eh boy?" He grabbed the remote from the coffee table, turned the set on. Went and got himself a large bottle of apple juice from the fridge, added a bowl of pretzels and set everything up by the couch.

"Got a good game going here, boy. Two teams that need to score big to make it into the Super Bowl. Should be interesting."

He went to stand behind Krycek, removed the headphones—this game would be too good to miss—placed his hands on his shoulders and nudged him to his feet. Directed him over to the couch, pushed down till he got the idea of sitting down on it. Skinner had piled a bunch of small pillows against the arm of the couch, made Krycek lie back on them. Took his right leg and placed it up along the back of the couch. Left the other foot flat on the floor.

While he watched one game, Skinner kept the second one going by paying occasional attention to the display next to him. He knew that several times Krycek was close to orgasm, especially since he'd removed the cock ring some time ago. But he'd already made it clear when he'd started this new stage of the game that Krycek had to wait for permission to come.

So far, he hadn't had to devise a punishment for disobedience. But today, he had to admit he was pushing hard, so when he felt it necessary, a tight squeeze to the base of the cock, a sharp pulling on the balls helped the boy stay out of trouble. Occasionally hips would buck and then a slap to the side of the nearest thigh got the message through that that behaviour was not acceptable. Once, he placed the cold bottle of juice against the boy's groin, to help him cool down.

He wondered if sexual frustration rated as high a punishment in the boy's mind as a whipping.

When the game was over, he directed Krycek into the laundry room. At the back end of the room was a double washtub that stood on metal rods that were adjustable for height. He made the boy lie down, attached the ankle bracelets, one to each rod so that he lay legs spread apart. He slipped one of the smaller cushions under his hips, so he would have some support for his back. And left him there.

Periodically, throughout the evening, he would come and check, offering a helping hand to keep him erect. But never satisfied. Finally, at bedtime, he unsnapped the cock ring, released Krycek's legs, turned him over and satisfied himself: Krycek wasn't the only one who had spent the evening hard and frustrated. It didn't take either one of them long to climax. He'd pumped Krycek's ass only a couple of times when he felt the inner muscles of the man grab him tight, heard the muted scream of a man long waiting for release. He came only moments later, grunting his orgasm against the nape of Krycek's neck.

They both lay still and then Skinner rolled off Krycek, got rid of the condom, helped the man to his knees. He stripped him, pushed him toward the bedding on the floor where he still slept. And went to bed.


The next time, he pushed the notion that sometimes no punishment is punishment.

He had Krycek waiting by the kitchen table that evening, while he sat there, plowing through yet another incompetent report. He knew there was something he was missing in this one, but he was tired and he'd read it through twice already and hadn't found what was bothering him about it.

He looked at the man who was sitting still, head bowed, lost in some world of his own making. What the hell, thought Skinner. He poked Krycek on the shoulder. "Here, you read it. See if this makes any sense to you."

Krycek slowly raise his head, not seeming to understand what was being asked of him. Skinner playfully tapped him on the head with the report. "Earth to Krycek. Are you in there?"

"Sir?" Krycek hesitated, then looked at him.

"Read this. There's something screwy about it, something I should be picking up and I'm too tired to find it. See what you can do with it. Well, take it. And sit down properly. You'll find it easier to read. On your ass, boy."

Out of the corner of his eye, as he was working through yet another report, he watched Krycek begin to read. After a page or so, he gave his head a little shake, as if he were quick starting some brain function, trying to get it to connect. Started over again.

He didn't seem to be having an easy time of it. True, thought Skinner, for the past six weeks, he'd done absolutely nothing with his brain. And that report needed blue-pencilling in a bad way. Still, he realized that on his second complete read-through Krycek was flipping back between pages as if searching for something. Skinner waited until Krycek closed the report and set it down on the floor. "Well?"

"The guys at VCU are covering up for the SAC. But they're got him in two different places at the same time. Here, " he pointed to a page in the report, "they've got him supposedly supervising in Virginia, but four pages later he's in New York City at the same time, dealing with the cops. Considering the precinct, I'd say he was in New York paying off some loan sharks or dealing with his bookie. Maybe even taking care of VCU business."

Skinner took the report from Krycek, verified the information. Nodded, made a few notes. He added the file to the others, stood up, stretched. Krycek was back in position, head down. He missed the speculative look he got from Skinner.

The next evening, Skinner came home carrying a box topped with a bag of what was obviously take-out.

He changed into jeans and a henley, nuked the spicy Thai to the right temperature. Krycek was in position by the laundry door. "Get in here."

Skinner fixed two plates with food, but instead of giving one to Krycek for him to handle whichever way he could, he placed the plate on a kitchen chair, handed him a fork. He tackled his with chopsticks.

Krycek didn't eat right away. He watched the chopsticks and then looked at the fork. For a second, there was a flash of the old Krycek, ready to give his opinion about eating Thai with a fork, but he caught himself and ate. Skinner hid his smile behind some noodles.

After they finished eating, Skinner removed a handful of files from the top of the box, then dropped it to the floor next to Krycek. He went into the living room, and returned with a cushion from one of the armchairs. Dropped that next to Krycek, too. He grabbed a chair for his feet, made himself comfortable. Smiled down at Krycek.

"See all those files in the box?"

Krycek nodded.

"Read them. I haven't got the time to read them all, so you're going to do that for me. When you're done each one, I want you to sum it up for me. Only the salient points. In one sentence or less would be nice. Let me know when you're ready with the first."

"Oh, and get comfortable on the cushion. You're in for a long night. These all have to be done before we can get some sleep."

Skinner picked up the first report on his stack, pretended to ignore Krycek's confusion. After a minute, the man sat cross-legged on the cushion, slowly picked up the top file in the box. Across it, in large red letters, was its level of security clearance. Krycek looked even more confused.

"Sir?" He waited till he had Skinner's attention to point to the lettering.

"Boy," smiled Skinner, "you're going to find that you're familiar with most of the contents anyway. Most of these are fall-out from your little information dump. See if you can find anything new in any of them."

By the end of the box, Skinner appreciated that Krycek had taken his request to heart: each oral report had been brief, sysinct. Better yet, he was relaxed, his eyes actually looked alive.

"You did that well, Alex. Very well."

Krycek said nothing, just lowered his head.

Skinner reached out and stroked the side of his face. "Alex, what do you say when someone offers you a compliment?"

Krycek looked up, surprised.

"Thank you. Sir."

###

Chapter Eight

Skinner tossed the report—God! yet another report—at the pile spread over the foot of the bed. He'd had Krycek read another load this evening, but these were of a vastly different variety, one that he himself had to pay attention to. He stretched his body, wondered if his back would one day pop and freeze him in that position.

God, he was tired of all this shit. It made him long for the days of the X-Files. Now Dana Scully was teaching forensic investigation at Quantico and Mulder was being farmed out to any investigation that was dealing with the Consortium.

He got up, scratching his stomach. Maybe a warm cup of milk would soothe the ulcer and help him get to sleep. Krycek probably wouldn't hear him if he went down to the kitchen. He'd gotten one of those soliflex exercise machines and made Krycek work out on it several times a day. After all this time of not really doing anything, he'd found that an hour on the machine in the evening helped Krycek sleep soundly. That left arm was already beginning to look a bit better.

He had taken to leaving Krycek with a daily schedule of things to do. Not just exercising, but dumping more of those files on him. Kim was very impressed with the fact that the backlog of files was potentially dropping down to a managable level. Skinner smiled. Krycek was beginning to appreciate just what the consequences of his actions were. Even made bold to comment that it was sad that so many trees had given up their lives for so much bull-shit.

He also seemed to be very accepting of the fact that there was a lot less game-playing apart from the normal everyday stuff. There had been no return trips downstairs since he'd started him on the reports. Maybe they were punishment enough in themselves. Skinner snickered at the thought. He certainly found them so.

He was pouring milk into a mug when he realized there was a whimpering sound coming from the laundry room. Krycek?

It was obviously a nightmare. Skinner went in to try and wake him when Krycek began speaking. Almost in a child's voice. Skinner felt the hair on his arms rise. He crouched to listen before deciding whether or not to rouse the man.

The words were difficult to make out. The speaker was panicky, afraid. The word "please" was easy to understand: it was being repeated over and over again. Then, more clearly, "I didn't do it."

Skinner leaned over, carefully placed his hand on Krycek's shoulder. The voice spoke louder, desparately. "Please. I didn't do it. I swear I didn't. Please tell moma I didn't do it. Ask her to let me come home. Please!" Louder, more panic, "You're hurting me! Please! I didn't do it!" Almost a scream.

"Krycek! It's all right. Wake up, boy!"

But the dream had Krycek too deeply in its claws and he just tried to pull away, now screaming, "I hurt! Please, I hurt!"

"Danny!" Skinner spoke in tones of authority. "Stop it, Danny! Do you hear me? Stop it."

The noise dropped in volume, screaming replaced by soft moaning.

"You didn't do it, Danny. I know that. It's all right. Danny." Kept on repeating the same words and watched as Krycek slowly settled back into quiet. He kept his hand on the shoulder, waiting until he was certain that Danny/Krycek was soundly sleeping.

The hand gently stroking the side of his face woke Krycek. "Sir?" His voice was thick with sleep.

"Alex. Who's Danny?"

"Danny?" Krycek sounded confused, still half-asleep. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't know any Danny. Did he write one of the reports?"

"It's all right. Go back to sleep. I was just checking up on you. I thought maybe your left shoulder was hurting tonight."

Krycek settled back down. Closed his eyes and yawned. "No, it's just tight. Sir."

Skinner sat in the kitchen, sipping his milk. Did Krycek really not remember having a nightmare or was he just pretending?

Either way, Skinner felt he had better find out just who Danny was.

###

Chapter Nine

Skinner let the phone ring twice, then hung up. He redialled the number, let it ring until this time it was answered.

"Krycek?"

"Sir."

Skinner was attending a series of meetings out of town. Krycek was home alone.

Before leaving, Skinner had set up a pretty intense schedule for Krycek to follow. A couple of boxes of reports to read: some of them only included to fill up the man's time. This time he had requested a written report on each. More time-consumming.

Then there were the times for exercising. Eating. And he'd even scheduled in sleeping time. And every night at nine o'clock, he checked in to be sure Krycek was still there.

"How are the reports coming along?"

"They're coming." Krycek's tone was disparaging. "Who let these kids out of Quantico without making sure they could use Spellcheck?"

Skinnr laughed. "Patience, grasshopper. They come from a different time. We'll get them trained eventually. Have you got any blue pencils left?"

"Yes." Then very quietly, "Sir? When are you coming back?"

Skinner hoped he wasn't hearing the possiblity of Krycek's disappearing. In a colder tone than he'd used till then, "It's Wednesday today. I should be back very late tomorrow night. Don't wait up for me."

"No, sir."

Skinner had a feeling of unease. He had had to take these meetings, hadn't been able to get out of them.

"Boy. Who do you belong to, boy?"

He heard a sound like a small sigh, then almost relief. "You, sir. I belong to you." There was a pause. "Sir? You will be back tomorrow night?"

"I will be back at the house tomorrow night, boy," he promised, comforting.

It was almost midnight when the Bureau car left him at his house.

"Sorry, sir, but since the storm hit last evening, this whole area has been without electricity. Are you sure you want me to drop you off here, sir? Your house will be freezing by now. Especially with this cold front Canada sent us."

"I have a fireplace, Agent Edison. Thank you anyway."

"Your security men aren't here, sir."

"No. I had them dismissed some weeks ago. There's better use for them elsewhere. By the way, I noticed that the lights were on west of here?"

"Yes, sir. Seems their electricity feed comes from another location."

The house was cold. Before leaving, apart from the kitchen and the laundry room, he had turned the thermostats down low in the rest of the house. He hoped that Krycek had had the good sense to put clothes on. He hoped Krycek was still here.

He found the man asleep, huddled under his bedding, curled up in a tight ball.

"Alex?" Skinner shook him awake. "Come on, Alex, wake up, boy!"

Krycek moved, raised himself up on his elbow. "Sir." The relief in his voice was slight, but it was also on his face. Skinner shook his head, not believing that Krycek would still be obedient to the point of freezing rather than putting on clothes.

He got up, went to the cupboard where he'd stored the man's clothes, unlocked it and handed him the prosthesis, the gym bag with his clothes. The reaction he got took him completely by surprise.

"No!" Krycek scrambled to his knees. "Please! No! Please... tell me what I've done wrong. Don't send me away. Please, sir!" He sounded like he had the night he had been Danny.

Skinner crouched, awkwardly reaching for the man. "Alex. Stop that! I'm not sending you away. Shit sake, boy. Get a grip!" He grabbed Krycek by the shoulders and literally pulled him to his feet. Shook him.

"Listen to me, boy. Are you listening to me? Boy."

Krycek nodded, head bent, body trembling.

Jesus Christ, thought Skinner. Carefully he pulled the man close to him, wrapped his heavy coat around them both. Stroked his hands up and down the tense muscles of Krycek's back.

"Alex. I am not sending you away. I am not angry with you. You haven't done anything wrong. Got that, Alex. You've done nothing wrong. The house is cold and I haven't eaten supper yet. It's midnight. There's an all night diner over where they still have electricity. You're going to get dressed. We're going to the diner to get a hot meal. Then we're coming back here. We can make a fire in the fireplace. For the rest of the night. Have you got that, Alex?"

He pulled away enough from the man to see his face. Even in the dark he could make out the fear. He cupped his head and drew him close again. Waited till the trembling was more or less under control. "All right now, boy, get dressed."

The diner was a fifteen minute drive away. Skinner worried all the way there about Krycek's reaction, thought about it through the meal he had to make Krycek eat, did some more worrying about it on the way back.

At the diner he had to tell Krycek to keep the scarf he'd wrapped around his neck on so that the dog collar wouldn't be seen. It made him realize how much part of Krycek it had become that the man wasn't aware he was wearing it. Ten seconds after the kitchen door had closed behind them, that was all Krycek was wearing again.

He made him move into the living room, got a fire going. There was enough wood for a couple of days, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Krycek was wrapped in a couple of blankets, a lump huddled against the front of the couch. Skinner decided not to force the issue tonight and let him stay on the floor. He waited until he sensed Krycek was calmer, then went and felt his forehead as if checking to see if he were fevered. Krycek flinched as if expecting a blow of some kind. He ducked his head; Skinner left him alone.

He made himself a bed on the couch. He was tired: the conference had been a waste of time for someone like himself who hated the politicking required by his position as DD. And he found it very stressful being polite to idiots who had no idea why there had been shake-ups in so many government departments.

Krycek's nightmare woke him up. The Danny dream again.

Skinner slipped to the floor, dragging his bedding with him. He covered himself and Krycek before he began bringing the man out of whatever terror Danny was facing.

Kept repeating, "You haven't done anything wrong. I believe you."

Krycek was quiet a long time after he awoke. Skinner yawned. Checked his watch. It was after four a.m.

"I'm sorry, sir." Krycek was back to his normal voice.

"It's okay. Alex, what's the dream about?"

"I don't know. I know I have it. It leaves me feeling... I don't know... hungry for something."

"For punishment?"

Krycek shrugged. Skinner pulled him close, spooned himself behind the man. Went back to sleep. After a some time, Krycek brought his hand to rest on top of Skinner's.

###

Chapter Ten

Skinner looked up from the budget proposal he was trying to decipher and accepted the report Alex handed him. He scanned the pages, snickering over the comments Alex now added to his editing.

He enjoyed the comments: he wasn't sure the writer would. Still, he appreciated them not just because they were right on, but he knew Alex added them to make him laugh.

Alex was watching his reaction from under his eyelashes.

Skinner finished reviewing the report, tossed it onto the others they were both working their way through. "Does it seem to you that the more of these things we get through, the more of them there are?"

"Maybe you shouldn't keep them together in those boxes. Close proximity and all that."

"Encouraging reproduction you mean? God, who knows? That's as good a theory as anything I've heard." He pulled a thick one out of the box. Opened it up, read the title page, grimaced. After a thought, he pulled off the top sheet and handed it to him.

"Here. Read this and just circle the salient points."

He kept an eye on Alex during this one. Watched with growing amusement as the man's level of frustration grew. He flipped back through the report often, frowning, trying to find something. Was pleasantly surprised to hear him muttering to himself: Alex never made noises while reading. Watched him scratch his head with the pencil he held in his hand.

When Skinner laughed out loud, Alex looked up. "Is this for real?"

"Oh, yeah," Skinner grinned. "Real real." He handed Alex the title page.

"Spender! What the hell is Jeffrey Spender still doing at the Bureau?"

"Writing massive reports that kill more trees than the spruce bud worm." He snorted at Alex's expression of disgust. "We had to keep him, Alex. He was shot on Bureau property while on duty and some felt that it wouldn't be fair to him to make him pay for his father's transgressions. But they have put him behind a desk where he's quite happily producing these things. Where he's of no potential danger."

"Except to my sanity," muttered Alex. He sighed, went back to work.

Skinner rummaged around in his briefcase. He waited till Alex muttered something again. "Alex? Close your eyes and raise your head. Now, open your mouth."

He could tell the exact moment when Alex's taste buds signalled chocolate to his brain. There was a moment's surprise, then it was as if his entire body went boneless. He made a soft little sound in the back of his throat, closed his eyes even tighter.

Skinner was reminded of a character on a cartoon show he remembered seeing with his kid brother: Quick Draw McGraw's tracking dog. The only way Quick Draw could get the dog to track the criminal was to offer him a dog biscuit. The dog then went through contortions of ecstasy, ending with a levitation into the air and a feather-like floating down to the ground.

He grinned, brushed his fingers over Alex's cheek. "Does that help?"

Alex just nodded in sheer bliss, eyes closed, savouring the very expensive chocolate melting in his mouth.

Skinner rubbed his thumb against Alex's cheekbone. "I'm glad. There's the second half of that piece for when you're finished."

The chocolate helped with the report, but not with the nightmares. They were coming with more frequency. Skinner had added a monitor to the laundry room and had its double in his room so that he could hear Alex when he was having one.

And they weren't all Danny-dreams. The ones where he was caught in the silo, or having his arm cut off were more prevalent too. That one intrigued him: Alex didn't dream of the actual cutting off of his arm but of the arm itself after its amputation. Lying alone in the forest, ants and other insects crawling all over it, the hand twitching in supplication, in silent screams.

Often, after the worse of the dreams, Alex would wait by the downstairs door, silently asking for punishment. Skinner gave it to him—they seemed to make him more easy—but never with the cruelty of their first games. And whatever games they played, he now made certain Alex climaxed before leaving him.

He watched the man sleeping under the blankets, peacefully this morning. No nightmares last night. He bent over and poked him. "Alex? Get up." Watched as Alex stretched out, twisted with that little gesture he did, almost like a cat. He enjoyed watching Alex wake up.

He was about to put all that good feeling to a test. He handed Alex a cup of coffee, watched him take it warily, sip it.

"Good?" he inquired.

Alex nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome. Problem is that's the last of it." Waited.

Alex looked up from under his lashes, still sipping the coffee.

"And we're out of lots of things." Waited again.

Alex finished the coffee, placed the mug on the floor.

"Problem is," sighed Skinner, "I haven't got the time to get the stuff we need today. And I certainly am going to want more coffee before the day is over."

He could see Alex beginning to understand where he was headed. He jumped in before he could react. "Seems to me the best solution to this problem is for you to put some clothes on, take my car and go run the errands that need to get done."

He crouched, passed his hand over the dog collar. "Wrap a scarf around that before you leave."

He got up, tossed the cupboard key onto the bedding and left the room. He waited in the living room, with the ubiquitous report in his hand, for twenty minutes before Alex hesitantly come out of the room dressed. And armed.

Skinner looked up casually. "You'll find the list on the table along with some money. I drew you a map of how to get to the nearest shopping centre. Oh, and Alex, try not to take more than a couple of hours, will you? I'll need the car this afternoon."

He waited until he'd heard the car keys being picked up before calling out. "Oh, Alex, the list says ice cream. Get me some of that butter pecan thing Ben & Jerry's make. And pick yourself one of the chocolate things they concoct."

From the time the car left to the time it arrived one hour forty-seven minutes fifteen seconds later, Skinner wondered if he had done the right thing. Maybe Alex hadn't been ready to go out on his own. The night they'd gone out to the diner, it was just he hadn't clung to him.

He went back to his chair, pretended to be working, letting Alex bring in all the groceries by himself, even put them away. He waited till he was almost done before joining him. He said nothing, just picked up the coffee and made a fresh pot.

Alex handed him back the change, went into the laundry room and took his clothes off. Took his position waiting by the door. Skinner made some sandwiches, handed Alex's to him and went off to change for his command appearance at some afternoon do with the Director.

Alex was quiet that evening and the next day. Too quiet. Skinner found Alex's eyes tracked him around the room, even when he was sitting, his head down. He couldn't decide if Alex was depressed or afraid. Definitely apprehensive.

By Sunday afternoon, he decided some reassurance was in order. He waited until Alex had finished yet another report—he was ready to challenge Kim with the notion that he was being given not just his reports to read, but that of the whole damn Upper Floor.

"Alex. On the table."

He'd picked up the table at a garage sale someone moving down the street had. It was round, low, made in the days furniture was made with real wood and craftsmanship.

Its height meant that Alex was more conveniently placed for casual attentions, and its solidity assured safety for the more active moments. Besides, it meant Alex was more on display and Skinner was honest enough to admit that Alex made a beautiful picture whenever he looked up from work. Delayed gratification was a good incentive for getting through reports that were irritating him more and more.

He kept the toys down to a minimum these days, gradually leaving them out. The only things he used today was the belt to keep Alex's hand behind his back and the blindfold.

"Who do you belong to, boy?"

"To you, sir."

He held Alex's face in his hands, stroking the cheekbones with his thumbs until he heard Alex sigh and felt him relax into the mind-set for the game.

Skinner took his time arousing Alex. The boy started when he took a nipple into his mouth—a first in these games, he usually only used his hands—and tongued the nub into hardness. He tested its rigidity with a flick of a finger, eliciting one of those little sounds Alex made at the back of his throat. Skinner smiled. Pleased to get another of those little sounds while he worked on the second nipple.

He moved his mouth slowly down, crouching, teasing the ticklish navel. He had to hold Alex's hips, keeping them still while he worked lower down. He played around the hardening cock and the heavy balls without ever touching them.

He had to admit that this was easier to do with Alex shaved, but the bareness of Alex's body was beginning to bother him. He realized that the thrill associated with this was the pre-pubescent look, but Alex was not a boy, was a man. Still, it was nice to play around like this and not end up with a mouthful of hair. He'd have to think about this some more.

While his mouth had been busy, his hands kneaded ass, stroking and lightly running over sensitive skin. Alex was particularly reactive to the tips of fingers barely skimming along the skin of his inner thighs. Nice vocalizations as well.

Skinner sat back on his heels and looked at the erotic picture he had composed for his own pleasure. Alex had his head back, throat revealed as if in submission. Skin flushed a pale pink from groin to throat, and not as a result of the cat. His hips bucked now and then, as though he couldn't control their desire for touch. His cock had thickened and was riding high, twitching for attention, the glans leaking pre-come.

Skinner rubbed a hand along the erection beginning behind his jeans, sighed and pulled his hand away. There were still some things he wanted to do before he attended to that.

He went into the kitchen, rummaged around a bit, knowing that Alex could hear him and would be wondering. Alex no longer slipped into that world isolation had given him. Didn't seem to need it as much any more except for the times he needed to deal with the dreams.

It seemed to Skinner, the "better" Alex was getting, the harder the dreams hit. The Danny ones left him anxious, almost frantic. He wondered how Agent Madison was coming along with her research.

He stood in front of the table, stroked Alex's lips till they parted. "Nice, Alex. Keep them that way." He dipped a finger into the preparation he had been concocting in the kitchen, smeared it thickly over Alex's lips, dipping just the barest touch into his mouth. Then he sat back to watch what Alex would do about the chocolate on his lips.

He hadn't ordered him to leave the chocolate alone, but he also hadn't given him permission to lick it off. He almost missed it when the show began. Just the barest hint of pink as a bit of tongue flicked into a corner and pulled back in.

Skinner put down the report, sat back in his armchair and waited. With bare, tiny cat licks, the chocolate began disappearing off Alex's lips. Just the tiniest bit of pink drawing back with an even tinier bit of chocolate.

Alex's tongue appeared here in the corner, there at the upper lip, then at the lower. He never once brought his lips together; just a gradually clearance of chocolate and the reappearance of lip.

After twenty minutes, Alex's lips bore only a chocolate outline and Skinner's erection was beginning to demand attention. Instead he went back to Alex, dipped his finger into the chocolate and held it close to his mouth. Alex's tongue shyly came out to investigate, ready to pull in should this not be acceptable.

Skinner let him lick his finger clean. He dipped it again in the chocolate, gently placed it inside Alex's mouth. And had his finger seduced by Alex's tongue. All he could think of was the play of that tongue on his cock. And he knew Alex was very aware of that. The way his tongue played with his finger, cupping it, slowly drawing the tip along its lower side, giving it little flicks, gently sucking until Skinner pulled the finger out. Skinner placed his mouth over Alex's, rubbed hard, smearing the last of the chocolate over both their lips.

Alex's face became marked with chocolate, his throat, even his nipples bore some stain. The soft sounds that accompanied his explorations went directly to Skinner's groin. His hands skimmed flesh, causing their own reaction until Alex's whimper kept time with his bucking hips.

At that point, Skinner reached up and pulled the blind off. He wanted to see Alex's eyes, their expression when pleasure wiped out all conscious thought. Quickly he unsnapped his jeans, pulled them down.

Alex began rolling over, ready to support his weight on his shoulders, presenting his ass for penetration. Skinner grabbed his hips to prevent it. "On your back, Alex." Alex hesitated: this wasn't their usual position. Skinner pushed against his hips, got him on his back and raised his legs so that they now rested over his shoulders. He grabbed a pillow, shoved it under Alex's hips. Found the lube where he had placed it at the beginning of the game and spread it on his fingers.

Alex's head bent back exposing his throat as the first finger entered him. When he added a second finger, Alex gasped loudly, raised his hips to meet the penetration. Skinner slowly fucked Alex with his fingers, smiling at the gasps of pleasure whenever his fingertips stroked Alex's prostate. Watching his cock deepen in colour, pre-come weeping over the glans. He didn't touch it, knew Alex couldn't, not with his hand still bound behind his back.

He pulled his fingers out. Alex keened their loss, face in a tight grimace. Skinner rolled the condom on himself, wiped the lube off his fingers onto it and holding tightly onto Alex's hips, slowly entered. When he was fully in, he clutched Alex's cock by the base, using his grip like a cock ring, denying him completion. Drove himself to his own.

Alex almost wept. It had been weeks since he hadn't been allowed to orgasm in their encounters. Skinner almost smiled at the sounds of frustration and disappointment that Alex couldn't prevent. He raised his head, dared to glare at Skinner who now did indeed smile. Kept on smiling as he slowly raised Alex's hips higher and then dropped his mouth on to Alex's cock.

He placed his hands under Alex's ass, fingers gripping as the tight muscles flexed in reaction to his sucking, to his playing with Alex's cock as Alex had played with his finger. He raised his head enough to see Alex's body arch, resting only on the shoulders, hips still. Frozen in time. Then Skinner could feel the first taste of come in his mouth and Alex screamed.

Skinner waited until Alex's cock softened before giving it a last suck. He lowered Alex's feet to the floor, leaned over Alex's still panting torso and kissed him. Heavy-lidded green eyes were watching him when he raised his head. Skinner rested his hands on either side of the body under his, smiled. "I've got to feed you chocolate more often."

He reached behind Alex, removed the belt, the restraint. Alex raised his hand, hesitated a moment then settled it on Skinner's shoulder. The tip of his tongue came out and passed over his lips. Skinner's eyes followed the action. "I'd like that," Alex admitted.

###

Skinner glared at the clock by the bed. He'd only slept a couple of hours. Now, he was awake, restless. And the cause was probably sound asleep on his bed in the laundry room.

There were no sounds coming from the monitor so he assumed Alex was sleeping soundly, untroubled by nightmares. Maybe it was time for some warm milk. He pulled his bath robe on, headed downstairs.

Alex was sound asleep. He could make out the top of the tousled head from under the blankets. Because of the nightmares, he left the bathroom light on so that if Alex woke up, the presence of light helped him orient himself more quickly. He slouched against the kitchen entry, not going in, just wondering what the hell he was going to do with Alex Krycek.

Whenever they played the game, he always began with having Alex state that he belonged to him. A form of ritual. Except that it had become more. Alex did belong to him. Was his to play with as he pleased. His to enjoy.

But had also become his as a responsibility. Someone to take care of. Someone to protect.

Alex raised himself on an elbow, turned to look at the man watching him. Skinner kept on looking for a minute, then slowly came into the room, crouched by the man so seriously meeting his eyes.

Skinner pulled the covers off, examined the body laid out before him. Alex lay down on his back, arm away from his body. He waited as if in surrender, as if in anticipation of some judgement.

Skinner bent, took his face between his hands and kissed him. Not in judgement. Not in a show of mastery. But as a lover would. Gently, eliciting a response, waiting for that response as permission to continue.

Alex brought his hand up Skinner's arm, stroking what skin he could reach under the sleeve. Raised his head to facilitate their kissing. Skinner one-handedly removed his robe, tossed it to one side, never losing contact with Alex's skin. His hands shaped the body beneath him, his mouth aroused it.

Alex rubbed his body against Skinner's, used his mouth to taste whatever portion of Skinner's body was close, revelling in being allowed to touch as much as he was touched.

Skinner had the advantage: he already knew where to touch, how to arouse. Alex learned quickly.

Skinner blindly sought his robe, dug into its pocket and found the lube and condom he'd put there some time ago. Alex took the condom from him, tore open the pack with his teeth and expertly rolled on the latex. Skinner pulled him into his arms, mouth devouring, his fingers preparing Alex. Then, slouching against the wall, he positioned Alex so that the man's knees were on either side of his lap, so that Alex could control his own penetration. Alex smiled as he gripped Skinner's cock with his inner muscles and watched Skinner's reaction to that manoeuvre. Skinner's hand in turn duplicated those actions on Alex's cock. Alex came first, his orgasm sending Skinner over the edge.

Alex sagged into Skinner's arms. Skinner slowly slid flat to the floor. After a while, Skinner managed to slip off the condom, to drag the bedclothes over them.

Alex settled his head over Skinner's heart, rubbed the side of his face against the slickened skin. Skinner's hand came up and cupped the back of Alex's head; he rested his cheek on it.

###

jmann@pobox.mondenet.com

The Game II

Betas: Livvy, Xanthe
Date: Written: June 1999
Posted: April, 2000
Pairing: Skinner/Krycek
Rating: NC-17
WARNING: BDSM and some of the ugliness of life
Comments: jmann@pobox.mondenet.com or if you're getting bounced, try jmann@spam.mondenet.com
DISCLAIMER: The main characters are the property of CC, Fox and 1013. Other members of that world appear in cameo roles.
SPECIAL THANKS: To Olivia for reading it and then offering to beta it. Grand merci, chere amie.
Extra note of thanks: To Sister Loretta May who caught me reading John O'Hara (So controversial in those days, so forgotten now!) at the back of the class and forced me to read the Lives of the Saints and Martyrs—one of the great collections of BDSM.

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