by Ursula
That dissipated voice, smoke cured, oh father of lies... Alex
curled in a knot, praying to some unknown god, some entity that had
never shown him kindness, for relief. Rescue me. Rescue me.
Turning in his thoughts to strong hands calloused from boxing,
hardly a bureaucrat's soft touch in that strength... to elegant
fingers, moving on him, claiming him. Skinner's hands... Mulder's
hands... Alex gasped as a fresh inundation of agony dragged him from
the place he went to hide.
Spender's nicotine stained fingers grasped his chin in an
implacable grip.
"You belong to me. I own you."
"No" Alex denied. "Fuck you! Fuck you!"
It was not Spender. That was the only relief. Hands spread him, a
hard, huge cock taking him until his body released him and sent him
to a better place.
Adrift, snug in Walter's arms, Mulder's sharp nose pressing
against his chest and his warm breath gently exhaling against his
nipple. A half forgotten voice saying, "and he sailed across the sea
to the very best place of all." Her voice, mother, beautiful sad
sweet mother with her hair tumbling in chestnut waves to her waist,
her green eyes of which Alex thought his the palest
reflection... murdered mother. Murdered father... regrets too late,
his beloved wife dead, Kolia, his daughter and Alex, his son, taken,
taken, taken...
Alex burst back into reality with a sob. Days of pain... days and
nights of screaming until his throat seared with the fires of his
agony until there was no cell in his body that remembered anything
but the feeling of pain just finished, pain to come. Finally, just
breaking, here he was, clay... malleable clay. Alex waited on his
knees, empty, waiting to be told who he was.
"Whore." Spender said, fingers turning Alex's face from side to
side. "Weak minded, useless whore."
Whore. Alex nodded gratefully. He understood his role. He knew
who he was. It was good.
Safely numb, Alex drifted through his days. Now, the pain was far
away. He didn't have to see it. Spender still wasn't happy, but Alex
didn't know how to make it right.
"Animal, mindless, useless animal..." Spender critiqued. "Well,
considering the investment, we may as well use what's left. You men
are so crude. I said mold him, forge a better tool and you broke him
instead. Stupid fools, you will be punished."
With opaque jadeite eyes, Alex reflected on a gun extended. So
bereft to know it was not for him, no escape... no way out.
The body of the man who had directed the kabuki play of Alex's
destruction fell to the floor.
"Have that trash removed," snapped Spender. "Clean the boy up,
make him presentable. If I can't use his mind, I can use his body."
Alex moved gracefully. His mind played an operating program for
the machine of his body. "The elbow just so..." his instructor said.
His arm had been so tired as he poured the wine for the
thousandth time. He watched in the mirror and corrected a minute
imbalance.
"Now that was lovely. You may rest." The mustached man in the
tuxedo complimented.
"Don't slobber over it. Delicate yet firm. Don't just hold it
with your fingers. My cock is a jewel, the most precious thing that
you ever felt. Taste the flavor. Look up at me that charming way you
have of glancing through your lashes, Alex. You are grateful for
this. You are happy to be allowed to serve. Now, worship the sides
with your lips. Careful of teeth. A few men like a bit of roughness.
Most don't. Don't touch with teeth unless you are told to do so."
Alex allowed his throat to go slack as his master angled a dildo
deeply inside. He didn't gag and teacher didn't shock him. He felt a
glow as he realized he had finally mastered this. The dildo was
replaced with his teacher's cock. Alex dreamily worked on it. His
tongue explored as his fingers caressed. He moaned as the cock sank
into him, allowing the vibration in his throat to please the man. He
neatly swallowed the come and finished by bowing his head prettily
with his soft hair against the firm, hairy thigh. His arms loosely
encircled as if clasping an icon... a martyr seeking salvation.
"Alex, Alex, good boy..."
The master's hand petted his head. Alex veiled his eyes and said,
"Thank you, sir."
Alex poured the wine as he had been taught. The man he served
squatted in a sheikdom between Africa and the Middle East. He was a
plump brown man with a pretty round face, decorated with a silly
thin mustache. His kingdom was an acrid, burning hold in the rocky
hell of a mountain range. It wasn't much. Over looked for centuries
until the vast eye of this modern era had found the hidden treasure
of this poverty-stricken domain. Now, it was becoming poor again and
its hardy goat herders had given way to ghastly, dying men covered
with sores. They squatted on small land holdings, homes built of
the tailings of the uranium mines. And they died slowly. But the man
in the castle lived well off the proceeds of their misery. But now
he needed more. Much more.
Spender had his own use for the meager pickings left after the
spoils were taken. Hostile land and nations antagonistic to both of
the major powers made this the perfect place to hide. Under the
guise of mercy, the Consortium doctors would choose who lived, who
died and how. Each ignorant, helpless native became a tattooed
subject in the experiments they performed.
This man, this greedy bastard, was ready to sell them out. Money,
wealth such as he had grown to expect, was in his grasp. He pulled
Alex onto his lap and his greasy mouth ravished Alex's. There was no
art to perform. He didn't want a sexual dance. He wanted to
dominate. To own. To touch Alex with a fury of lust and quench his
desire.
"Suck me." The man demanded. Alex knelt on the floor as the man
pushed his western styled trousers down.
The musky odor nearly made him gag. Beneath the tailored
garments, the man was unwashed. His crude male scent smelled like
the randy stench of a tomcat. Yet Alex smiled and his tongue painted
a picture of lust on the substantial flesh of that cock. Rough hands
grabbed his hair and forced him to take it deep. He thrust, crude
lunges that would have gagged Alex if that hadn't been trained out
of him. The man didn't take long. He gasped and groaned deep as his
come filled Alex's throat
Alex knelt ravished on the floor, waiting to be given permission
to rise. It didn't come. The man said, "The money and him. Seal the
bargain with this green-eyed devil. I won't let you have my country
without this man to sweeten my pact."
Passively, his hands resting on his knees, Alex crouched like a
bitch at his master's feet. Although he understood what they were
talking about, it didn't matter. His body just was. It had long
ceased to be anything to be concerned about. All that mattered was
the last little kernel of Alex left hidden in the fortress of his
mind. And in that shady pleasure dome, Alex waited in a huge white
bed with linens that smelt of sweet grasses and herbs, of clean
sunlight, and just the faintest scent of sweet Mulder and spicy
Skinner.
The bargaining went on and on. Alex was weary, but he kept his
back straight and his head gracefully poised, just short of bowing.
Statue. He was a statue of flesh, made to be enjoyed. Nothing else
mattered except pleasing his masters.
Finally, the snarl of Spender's voice. Alex flinched. Spender
said, "All right, you drive a hard bargain. Take him. But be wary.
If he ever wakes, he can be treacherous as my dear Agent Mulder and
poor noble Assistant Director Skinner have found in the past."
Empty handed, as lacking in possessions as any animal, Alex
walked behind his new master with uncomprehending obedience. He held
his mind vacant, on hold until he was told what was wanted. This was
nirvana as much as Alex's karma would allow. Behind the catatonic
freeze of his will, he refused to consider whether this was better
or worse than Spender. Let him drift. Let him remain empty of
thoughts, speculations, hopes, and even vacant of dread.
Alex blanked out what others called the man. Master, his name was
master and Alex served him. The mansion perched on a cliff like a
vulture surveying its domain. Once a craggy fortress as
impenetrable, as the old man of the mountain that had resided here
could make it. In another life, Alex would have been as curious as
Mulder. He would have wanted to investigate the ruins. See if it
could truly have been the home of the father of assassins, his
patron saint in a fashion. His namesake at least in the profession
that Spender had intended him to fit like a sleek weapon in leather
gloved hand.
But that was another country and that man was as good as dead.
Other slaves, less or more fortunate, served him. They pumiced
the rough skin of his elbows and knees, smoothed the scars on his
feet. His silken hair was conditioned until it gleamed and glowed
like ebony inlaid with rubies. His lashes were combed and exclaimed
over. His parts, hardly private any longer, were cleaned and oiled
as if they were jewels. He exercised, danced and trained, to sleek
the body his master owned. Soothing hands massaged and made him
supple for his master's pleasure.
It was pleasant in its way. This new master was not cruel. He had
no expectations beyond the use of Alex's body and skills. And often,
as Alex waited to see if his master would experience the renewal of
his desire, the round olive face would wear a look of content.
Best yet, were the times when the master held a hookah and
encouraged Alex to deeply inhale the acrid yet welcome fumes and
drift to his private heaven. Alex felt alive at those times when
master took him after the meandering visions yielded again to lust.
He cried and writhed with genuine passion as he dreamed that he lay
again in a bed in a faux southern mansion, surrounded by two lovers,
safe with Fox and Walter, home in their strong arms.
But things changed. Master's people were very unhappy. The
uranium sickness was bad enough, but the new plague was worst of
all. Not a family was spared. Every one had at least one member
taken to the shining, well-guarded laboratory and returned emaciated
and dying, screaming about black worms.
Because they thought he was an idiot, they whispered about it as
they combed his hair and cleaned beneath his nails. Master was not
wise. He should have spared the families of his soldiers and guards.
Loyalty could be bought. Alex knew the different denominations of
the coins. Money, patriotism, fear, lust... and best of all the
enervating fear for someone you loved. The fear that caved Skinner's
mighty heart and allowed Spender to lead him here and there. The
fear that... oh sister, oh sister, you would despise me for what I
have done in the name of saving you...
But Master's coin was brute power and his belief that he was born
divine.
He bled like any other man. Alex didn't fight the men who pulled
him from the master's bed. He watched blank faced as they held
Master squealing and drew their sharp knives across his brown
throat. Alex watched the dark eyes lose their glow as men stripped
off the rings that studded master's fat stubby fingers.
"Kill him?" one of the ragged rebels gasped out.
Alex waited. What ever happened was just another wind blowing his
life about as if he was a helpless leaf, fallen and fading. Not the
tree, nothing vital... just something to be used and discarded at
will.
One man said, "He slept in silk while our children starved."
Another said, "Kill him!"
A different one said, "Have him. We could all have him. Just like
kings, we could fuck the king's whore."
Another voice calm and strong said, "No, we won't kill him. We
won't fuck him. He's valuable. Just like the rubies. Just like the
gold and all the rest of the king's toys. He's loot. I'll find a
buyer. Look at him. He's medicine, food, and guns on the hoof."
All right. Alex made no attempt to communicate with his captors.
The leader of the group that took him from that bloody bedchamber
was a tall man for his kind. Still not as tall as Alex, but a head
above his starvation stunted compatriots. He had a long mustache,
which draped theatrically down his face. His eyes flashed like black
opals and his lips were red, red like rubies or blood. His nose was
beautiful. A Mulder-like nose and lip. Almost, Alex would have liked
to stay with him.
That night on the trail, the man kept Alex with him. Alex watched
him undress and waited to be taken. Instead the man knelt and
touched Alex's face. "Poor boy, I'd let you go if I dared. But the
others, they'd rape you and kill you. And we do need the money."
Alex knew no answers, but the man was beautiful and he looked
like Mulder in a dusky way. Alex turned to kiss the hand that cupped
his cheek. He lay back and opened his arms. The man sighed and
embraced him.
The only words they spoke were simple. "What's your name? I'm
Bakr."
Alex whispered, "Alex, I'm Alex."
The man was shy. He didn't know what to do. Alex touched him,
sculptured him with his hands. His lips followed, tasting his
honey-scented skin. Alex closed his eyes, thinking about Mulder,
wishing it were really his tall thin lover, beautiful Mulder.
Each night of the weeklong trip, that lean strong body moved over
him at night when all the others slept. Alex was quiet. It was
important to be silent about this even if Alex sometimes pretended
that this man was Mulder, a dark dangerous man, full of moods and
furious energy.
Another place. Alex washed gratefully, feeling the hot water soak
away a weeks' grime. It felt good to bathe with his hands again. To
have charge of his flesh without the intrusion of all those cloying
touches.
The leader sighed and said, "So beautiful. I wish I could keep
you, green-eyed slave, but the cause, the cause, I can not forget
the cause."
The kiss was sweet, the angling lips, steering around the
obstacle of the nose. The man sighed and patted Alex's cheek. "I
wonder about you. How did you come to be a slave here far from your
home? Were you always mad or what sad events crushed your spirit and
made you an empty bauble for man's desire?"
And Alex had no answer as he watched from the high tower of his
citadel deep in his mind.
A strange place with bright lights. Alex heard laughter. He saw
other naked men, naked women. Some of them offered themselves slyly
to the hands of the masters and mistresses in the room. Alex shut
himself away as always, neither protesting nor welcoming the probing
hands, the pinches and fondling touches.
"He's old." One said, "hardly worth the price. Let me make a
reasonable offer."
Alex's owner drove that one off with a rough imprecations. He
stood as he had been taught, displaying his nudity with as much
grace and dignity as if he were a classical statue, immune to shame
or interest in his own fate.
The woman who stopped in front of him was old. She was dressed in
a black evening gown. Her white hair was formed into a high cornet
around her face that age and power had carved into a mask of
arrogant certainty.
"This one." She said, her hand reaching to flick Alex's nipple.
"This pretty boy. Wrap him up. I'll take him with me."
Alex didn't question her. His voice had grown rusty from disuse,
but she wanted him to talk. So he talked. His mouth moved as he
pretended to have opinions about things that he didn't give a damn
about.
She brought him back to America with a forged passport. She
didn't ask him where he had come from or how he had come to be a
slave in the Middle East. Her kind bought people anywhere no matter
what passed as the government. Wealth was power and she was rich
enough to be above the law. And if it was her pleasure to own
someone, she owned him or her.
It was strange to wear a tailored suit. Strange to have people
address him as if he was a real person. In the privacy of her home,
Alex wore a dog collar and it was her pleasure to see him nude, but
she carried him about with her, handsomely dressed in suits that
reminded him of Mulder. She showed off his beauty and youth to
others of her kind. Alex was obedient. He didn't want to be
punished. Despite her soft words, he knew she was as cruel as
Spender and there was no point in being hurt.
Alex went here and there, driven by chauffeurs who doubled as
guards. She was cautious. Wise of her as part of Alex was growing
strong again. He was more aware as he gazed out windows and
recognized American scenes. He could almost feel them.
Walter and Fox not really far away. If he could reach them, Alex
deluded himself that he could stay. Spender surely thought that he
was dead or lost.
Mistress had bought him a new suit. He caught a glance in the
mirror, startling as he realized the sleek stylish creature next to
her was he. Alex moved to his owner's side, fetching her a drink and
capturing a canapé that would not upset her digestion.
The house that surrounded them was so ornate. It was a house out
of a fairy tale, glittering with antique chandeliers and walled with
exotic imported woods. Alex knew the floor beneath his feet was
Italian marble, milled and fashioned at incredible expense. He
almost felt honored that Mistress flaunted him here, considered him
an accessory worthy of these riches.
"Smile." Mistress bade him in a whisper. "Smile and be charming
or I'll have Tanner punish you. That's Portia Hall bearing down on
us. I want her to die of envy."
Alex said, "Yes, Miriam." She liked to be called Miriam in
public.
"Where do you find these charming young men?" another woman
asked, peering at Alex exactly as if he was for sale again.
Mistress smiled and fondled Alex's shapely arm through the
polished luxury of his tuxedo. "I still have my charms." She
declared. "I do believe the dear thing thinks that he is in love
with me. Isn't that so, Alex?"
And Alex lowered his lashes and blushed becomingly. He softly
replied, "Yes, Miriam. My beautiful dame sans merci. You know how I
adore you although all you do is toy with my heart."
"Isn't he perfect?" Miriam asked
"Lovely," declared the other woman. She was as plump as Miriam
was thin. Where Miriam's throat was turkey neck wizened, her throat
was lost in wattles of flesh. She wore twice as many jewels, but
Alex's appraising eye knew that hers were not worth half so much.
It was harder to be in a place such as this where Alex had to pay
attention and pretend he was something other than a slave. But Alex
made it through the evening. Mistress was pleased with him, very
pleased.
Her bedchamber was easier. Alex writhed as he penetrated a lovely
young girl while a muscle bound stud reamed him from behind. He
gasped and groaned the way Miriam liked. He kept his eyes on her the
way she had trained him to do. This was not about what the others
felt. Not about pleasure for Alex. This was hers. This was for the
mistress and Alex had no problem remembering that.
Freshly bathed, Alex returned to the bed. The others had been
dismissed. They worked for Miriam. She owned Alex. He moved to the
mat beside the bed, very weary and wanting to rest.
"No, come here. That was excellent. That was perfect. Get in with
me." The Mistress said.
Her body was naked beneath the covers. Alex moved the soft
blankets aside. He licked his lips and knelt between her blue-white
thighs. If he had loved her, he could have seen beyond the withered
flesh. The smell of wicked old age and death would have saddened him
instead of making him ill. As it was only his training kept him from
gagging. Only the fear of pain kept him to his task.
Her sudden movements made him think that she was done. But when
Alex looked up her eyes were bulging. Her claw like hands with the
two hundred dollar manicure hiding the yellow age-blemishes
scrabbled at her chest. Alex scrambled away. His mind no longer
sharp, shattered with pain to the tenuous thing that it now was, was
slow to react.
Heart attack. He knew the signs from first aid classes.
Automatically, like a good little agent, Alex picked up the phone
and rang 911. He thumbed the intercom to summon the nurse next.
Turmoil filled the room. "She's dying!" the nurse shouted.
Tanner, the muscle bound stud who ran the household as well as
performing little plays for her, screamed orders.
Alex left the room. It took him a moment to realize it. He was in
America. No one was watching. He reached up and removed the dog
collar from his throat.
In the confusion, it was easy to dress in the clothing she had
bought him. He knew that some petty cash was kept in the kitchen. He
found it in a box by the stove. The cook, clad in her nightgown,
stumbled in and saw him with the money. She screamed, "What are you
doing?"
Alex fumbled for the door and he ran. Ran as if the gates of hell
were closing in his wake. Ran as if Mercury had given him wings. Ran
until he realized there was no pursuit. He stumbled into a small
park and fell flat on the lush wet grass. His fingers grasped deep
into the soil. He was free. He was free!
Alex lay there breathing in the night air, aware of a breeze
sighing through the trees. He was free. Oh God, this was what he
wanted, wasn't it? He couldn't just lie here until he was arrested
for vagrancy. They would take his fingerprints and Spender would
have him back.
Alex sat up. He moved to a park bench. This was Rhode Island.
Alex counted the petty cash. Not enough to get to Washington. He'd
have to earn more. Well, he remembered how and he had all the
capital he needed, sleeked over with the black leather jacket, the
black denim jeans, the black silk and wool sweater. Just needed
condoms and lube and he was back in business.
It was no different. He remembered how. Standing there, hand
resting on his groin, eyes cat-slitted, and pink lips wet as if with
desire. It felt funny to sell himself after being sold at such a
price by others. Alex watched the man leave the cheap room. Not bad.
One hundred dollars plus the rent for the room. Alex got up and
washed, tossing the rough fabric of the towel into a corner of the
bathroom with the other one that he had used to protect the sheet of
the bed. It had been two days now. He found the buyers eager and he
had enough now to make it to D.C.
Alex wouldn't think beyond getting there. If they didn't want
him, then, well, he knew how to buy the cure for his existence.
Skinner had moved. An old couple that seemed quite happy with it
and with each other now occupied the apartment Walter had shared
with Sharon. Alex hung around and watched the couple through the
window as they kissed each other's wrinkled cheeks, made their
sparse lunch, and settled on the couch for the man to read to the
woman, her gray head pillowed in his tweed clad lap. On the outside,
looking in. That was Alex Krycek.
Hegel Place hadn't changed. Mulder probably hadn't even changed
the locks. Not that it mattered. Alex picked the lock as easy as
flicking a switch. Mmm, Mulder scent in the air here. Alex sniffed
for a hint of Walter and thought he caught the familiar smell of him
as well. He settled down to wait. An hour passed. Another. Mulder
was working late or out of town on an assignment. Alex reached for
the phone. Maybe he would risk calling Walter. He needed to see one
of them. He needed to be real again and not this discarded toy.
Not long. Alex heard the knob turn and his sleeping heart woke
with a jolt of pure joy. The door open and Alex scrambled for the
window as he recognized Luis Cardinal and Gregor, one of Spender's
disposable thugs. Behind them, a twirl of smoke announced the devil
himself.
In the end, it hardly mattered that Alex fought. Cardinal slugged
him in the face and Gregor finished him with a double fisted punch
to his stomach. He soon lay on the floor of the car, Spender's
unpolished shoe resting on his cheek. The old man had stepped in a
wad of chewing gum and Alex stared at it with bleak fascination.
Pink, banal, stupid accident. I feel as worthless as you. As crushed
as you.
Spender said, "Well, somehow you escaped from the mess that your
master made of things. Do you have any idea how much it's going to
cost to replace the lab fixtures that those uncouth rebels
destroyed? And here you are. What a story you must have to tell if
only I care enough to listen."
Spender said, "On the bright side, you appear to have recovered.
As much money as I have spent to train you and place you; I may as
well try to recover a bit of it. Are you ready to work again? Luis
can finish your training and I have a task or two that needs doing.
Mulder and Scully have been poking their noses in places where they
shouldn't. And they have taken up with unsavory acquaintances. I
think it is a time for a little reminder, my dear. As for Skinner,
he has notions of rebellion. I fear his close association with
Mulder is contaminating him. Do you have any idea how distressed I
felt when I found you had subverted the mission for your own
romantic foolishness?"
Alex managed to lift his head. Slowly and carefully, he took aim
and spat directly into Spender's face.
"Punish him!" Spender screamed, kicking at Alex's face. The pain
drew him back from the gray edge of consciousness.
'Kill me' He prayed, 'Just don't take me back."
Sudden cessation of motion. Cardinal grinning down at him.
"Nighty, night, sweet Alex."
Alex heard the wail of sirens very near. Spender scrambled back
into the car and said, "Just shoot him, Cardinal. I'll find a puppy
for you to torture later."
Cardinal pulled the trigger. Alex jerked at the last moment as
Gregor let him go, fearful of Cardinal's widely known lack of aim.
It felt like the electricity they'd shot through him to punish him.
His vision went black before his hearing faded.
"Put him in the dumpster!" Spender's voice directed.
Alex felt the sensation of being lifted. He was flung into a warm
heap of cans, bottles, and rotting food. The odor wafted all around
him as the lid of the dumpster slammed shut. Alex lay in the dark,
closed space, twisted limbs trapped beneath him. The rancid odors
reeked around him. His thoughts were fading now. Thrown away like
the well-used object that he was.
One vain regret. Mulder... Skinner... how he had wanted to see them
one more time.
A Hard Rain's Going to Fall III: The Executioner's Face AKA Silver
Where have You Gone?
ain, and pain, and pain... licking at him, consuming him, until his
world was just the creeping agony from his feet, the bruises pulping
him from head to toes. No, no, no way to go... no escape. He
screamed.
