by Russianrat
Papers and Russian curses flew in equal measure as Alex
Krycek searched for the file he knew damn well he'd left
in
the desk. Fox Mulder's desk. The last place Mulder would
be
likely to notice it. Krycek didn't have much time. He'd
gotten the call this morning, warning him to get out while
he could.
The cheap suit he wore made Krycek's neck itch, and he
ran
his finger around the collar irritably. He paused,
listening, but heard nothing out of the ordinary so he went
back to rifling through Mulder's desk. His efforts were
making him sweat. He ignored the strand of dark brown hair
that flopped into his eyes and continued his search.
Ah, there it was. Krycek pulled the manila envelope from a
stack of nearly identical envelopes. It contained his last
notes on Mulder and Scully. Not much more than he'd already
reported to his superiors, certainly, but Krycek felt that
every little bit of information he could turn over would
gain him more leverage within the Consortium.
He stuffed the envelope inside his jacket and turned to go.
The sight of Walter Skinner leaning casually against the
door to the basement room, arms folded across his massive
chest, caught Krycek with his mouth half open. Somehow he
managed to paste on a smile.
"Sir! I was just about to report to you."
"Were you now?" Skinner's tone was soft, yet cutting.
He
stood away from the door, then closed and locked it behind
him. "Were you going to tell me why your phone is
disconnected, Agent Krycek?"
"Oh, sorry, Sir. I'm in the process of moving. As a matter
of fact, I was going to give you my new number--"
"Cut the bullshit, Krycek. We both know what you're doing."
Krycek shut his mouth with an audible snap as Skinner walked
across the room. Damn, how could such a big man move so
quietly? He tried one more time, calling up the most
innocent expression he could muster.
"Sir?"
"Don't even bother, boy." Skinner stopped about two
feet
away. Even at that distance, he appeared to loom over the
younger man.
Krycek didn't like the use of violence when it wasn't
necessary. Violent means only called attention to oneself,
not a good idea in his line of work. Nevertheless, he was
always prepared for it. He put a hand up to his face as if
to wipe away the sweat on his forehead. His other hand
drifted towards the waistband of his slacks.
With a gesture worthy of a Taijutsu master, Skinner's hand
shot forward, snagging Krycek's wrist.
"I'll take that."
Skinner pulled the gun out of Krycek's waistband and held it
up for inspection. "Sig Sauer P220, eh? Nice little toy."
"What do you want with me?" Krycek snarled, dropping
all
pretense of civility.
"How does a life sentence with no possibility of parole
sound?"
Krycek snorted in disbelief. "For what? Rearranging the
sunflower seed hulls on Mulder's desk?"
"Don't get smart with me, Krycek." The Assistant
Director's
brown eyes narrowed. "I think accessory to kidnapping would
suffice. If that's not enough, we could probably fit one or
two murder charges in."
"You're bluffing. You have no clue what's going on here."
"Whatever it is, it smells of Morleys."
Krycek's lush mouth curved in a hateful smile. "Funny,
isn't
it? Since neither of us smokes."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You're not exactly Mr. Clean, Skinner. I know how you
got
appointed to Assistant Director."
Skinner frowned as his stomach clenched in helpless anger.
Damn, he would give anything to be able to turn back the
clock and have nothing to do with that cancerous bastard.
Krycek grinned triumphantly and began to edge around the AD.
Acting on impulse, Skinner grabbed Krycek by the shirt
collar. The sound of ripping cloth and the sudden fear in
Krycek's green eyes brought a measure of grim satisfaction
to Skinner. He yanked harder on the material, and it split
open right down to Krycek's navel.
"What the fuck--!" Krycek hissed, attempting to pull
away.
Skinner laid one hand solidly on Krycek's shoulder, holding
the smaller man in place. Krycek hesitated, ensnared in the
burn of the AD's gaze. He thought he could take Skinner,
despite his bulk, but his real boss might frown upon such
extreme methods. Krycek had made his reputation by his
ability to talk his way out of a conflict.
The heat radiating from Skinner's broad chest dried any
words Krycek might have uttered. He stared at the AD and
found something more than anger reflected back at him. His
gaze dropped. What he saw caused him to look up again
hastily.
Skinner's slow grin sent a lance of fear through Krycek.
"So who are you going to tell about this?" the AD
asked in a
whisper that slid through his lips like a snake in tall
grass. He pushed the cloth away from Krycek's shoulder.
"Your boss? What do you suppose he'd say...Alex?"
Krycek leaned back, but his knees were already against the
desk.
"No way. No fucking way." Not good, he thought. It
sounded
too much like pleading.
Skinner's hand roamed down through the fine golden hairs on
Krycek's chest. He pinched one nipple lightly, and smiled
when Krycek jumped.
"What's wrong, Alex? Not fighting? Does that mean you
want
this?"
Skinner didn't wait for Krycek's reply, if any was
forthcoming. Instead, he twisted his fingers through the
double agent's hair. Krycek winced.
"Let me go," he gasped.
"Do you really want to leave?" Skinner asked softly,
reaching up to remove his wire-rimmed glasses.
"No. Yes! Shit."
"That's what I thought," said Skinner, and he ground
his
lips savagely against Krycek's mouth.
Krycek's paralysis broke. He tried to struggle, but it was
like battling a stone monument. Skinner pushed steadily
until Krycek was laying almost flat on the desk. The AD
tugged Krycek's ruined shirt free of his slacks, then went
to work on his belt. With his left hand freed, Krycek batted
ineffectually at Skinner's rock-hard torso. Skinner merely
favored him with an icy glare and a casual backhand.
Krycek's head slammed against the wooden desk. He gasped in
pain as Skinner's fingers continued their quest.
Skinner paused long enough to notice Krycek's distress. He
placed a fingertip upon the younger man's mouth and leaned
down to kiss away the blood he'd drawn. There was no more
arrogance in Krycek's teal gaze, only anguish and dread.
Skinner kissed him again, gently. "This doesn't have to
hurt, Alex..." He deliberately let the sentence trail off.
Krycek felt the length of Skinner's swollen cock against his
own groin and moaned involuntarily. His mutinous body
circumvented his will as a hand found and stroked him to
life through the thin material of his dress slacks. He
pushed up into the hand, a cat in heat.
"Damn you, Skinner," he gasped.
"Probably," Skinner murmured, continuing his exploration.
He
licked and nibbled around the edges of the prone man's
mouth. Krycek's struggles grew weaker as his cock grew
harder. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself the
luxury of sex. Skinner felt the change and took advantage of
it by lifting Krycek bodily off the desk and peeling his
slacks down around his knees.
A big hand, still calloused even after the many years of
desk work, found Krycek's balls. Fingernails scratched
lightly, sending raw tremors through the double agent's
nerves. Then the hand moved up to his shaft and wrapped
around it, setting a rhythm that made Krycek forget any last
notion of escape. He arched and moaned, gripping the edge of
the desk.
"You want this, don't you, boy?" Skinner growled
low in his
throat.
Krycek didn't, couldn't answer. He was so close that precum
was oozing steadily from the head of his cock. Dimly, he
felt Skinner spread the hot liquid over the bulbous crown.
Without warning, the big man grasped the shaft just beneath
the crown and squeezed hard. Krycek bit down on a scream.
"Don't you?" insisted Skinner.
"Y-yes. Please."
"You're going to bend over and let me take you."
"Yes."
"I'll fuck you until you can't stand up, much less walk."
"Yes, yes! Do it."
Skinner smiled, a cruel smile, full of power and
anticipation. He knew that Krycek would say anything at the
moment in order to get some release. He gave one last stroke
to the young man's cock, then freed his hand to work the
zipper on his own slacks. Krycek felt the absence of warmth
and strained to see what Skinner was up to. About ten
inches, his mind offered slightly hysterically, as he caught
his first glimpse of the length and breadth of the AD's
weeping prick.
"Lift your feet," commanded Skinner.
Krycek obeyed, as lost as a small animal under the gaze of
a
hawk. Skinner quickly pulled Krycek's shoes and socks off,
then finished removing the slacks that had been bunched
around his ankles. Beneath the tacky clothing, Krycek was a
strikingly beautiful young man. Skinner took a moment to
admire the view, running his hands across the planes of
Krycek's chest and hips until he was writhing helplessly
with lust.
Skinner finally stood back, reached into his shirt pocket,
and brought out a small container of lube. Krycek's eyes
cracked open long enough to recognize what Skinner was
holding.
Bastard planned this! he thought. Then Krycek's mind
fragmented once more as Skinner's palm went back to work on
him.
With his other hand, Skinner squeezed some lube into the
juncture of Krycek's thighs. He spread the gel efficiently
around the tight, puckered hole, and abruptly slid a finger
inside, making Krycek gasp. The remaining lube went onto
Skinner's dick. Krycek blinked, trying to grasp what was
missing. Before he could voice a protest, Skinner had lifted
him up once more and flipped him onto his stomach atop the
desk.
ohmigod he's going to fuck me bare
Krycek's hands scrabbled on the rough surface of Mulder's
desk as he tried to throw Skinner off his back. Skinner
simply ignored the young man's efforts. He positioned
himself against Krycek's anus and bore down.
Krycek howled. His ass was on fire, his body nearly split
through by a pile driver. The greater his struggles, the
deeper he was impaled. At last he subsided more through
sheer exhaustion than any lessening of will.
For reward, Skinner's movements slowed, gentled. He reached
around to grasp Krycek's wilting shaft and stroked it to
life again. Krycek's mind reeled at the sudden changes in
the AD's temperament, a little voice in his head trying to
warn him that Skinner was only playing a version of 'good
cop/bad cop' in his attempt to get Krycek's cooperation in
his own seduction.
The voice fled as the rim of Skinner's cock rubbed against
the double agent's prostate. Krycek thrust back
instinctively. Skinner grinned and angled his next few jabs
just right, making the man beneath him groan.
Skinner ran his fingertips over Krycek's nipples again. The
younger man reached for his cock, but Skinner grabbed both
his wrists and pinned him to the desk. Krycek sobbed quietly
as Skinner rode him with a steady, even rhythm.
Finally, Skinner's movements became more erratic as he
neared climax. He let go of Krycek's wrists and dug his
nails into the other man's hips instead, pounding into him
in earnest. Krycek felt a rush of heat in his groin as the
stimulation brought him to orgasm, and he shuddered and came
in thick spurts across the desk. There was no joy in it. He
lay unmoving beneath Skinner as the AD thrust deep one last
time and his cock pulsed and spasmed inside Krycek's ass.
Krycek gasped as Skinner pulled out abruptly and cleaned
himself up. The young man twisted his head around in time to
see Skinner finishing zipping his dress slacks nonchalantly.
Didn't even bother to take off his clothes thought
Krycek bitterly.
Skinner bent to retrieve Krycek's ruined shirt from the
floor and tossed it to him.
"Better clean up the evidence, boy. Mulder may be coming
back any time now. Oh, and I'll keep this." He waved a file
in Krycek's direction, ignoring the hate-filled emerald
glare of his eyes. "Your boss has quite enough information
already."
Skinner leaned over the desk one last time. He pressed his
lips to Krycek's mouth, pulling back quickly lest he get
bitten. He laughed, a low, guttural sound.
"I think it's probably better if you don't show up for
work
tomorrow, don't you? Mulder isn't able to control himself as
well as I can."
He left abruptly, shutting the door with a firm snick.
Krycek snatched up his pants and jacket and dressed
hurriedly. His head was splitting, his ass throbbed, and
anger coursed through his veins like poison. He swore he
would get even with Skinner--and the rest of them--if it
took his whole life.
Hobbling to the door, Krycek peered carefully in both
directions. No one was in sight. With thoughts of revenge
sustaining him, he pulled the edges of the jacket across his
bare chest and slipped into the shadows.
The End...
ermo! Ebitskaya sila!"
