The warmth of the noonday sun soaked into Alex's scalp seeming to warm him all over;  his hair was still shorn ridiculously short, making the sun's job that much easier.  With his chosen avocation and the types of places in which he sometimes had to work or hide out, he wasn't unused to frigid temperatures—but that didn't mean he had to like them.  He liked heat—loved it. He saw the greening grass and the tips of the emerging crocuses and tulips and relished in their promise of more heat to come. 
     He pushed his file folder up tighter into the crook of his armpit as his eyes shifted from left to right, as always, looking for any signs of danger—for any sign of persons who might recognize him and wish him bodily harm.
     Ah! Spring, he thought, when a young man's thoughts turn to those of. . .taxes—that odious and compulsory rite that plagues constitutional democracies: a job you hate once a year, at least most people do.   He smiled.  It's not the way that quote usually insinuated itself into his brain,  but at this time of year it was fitting.
     His eyes scanned the little brass plaques on each of the office buildings he passed looking for the right one.  He silently chided himself for not checking the phone book for the exact address.  Sloppiness like this, he pondered, could get him killed. 
     Finally he saw it.  He read it twice over, just to be sure "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little & Starr, Certified Public Accountants.  He checked the file folder tucked under his arm, patting it lightly and entered the building. 

The elevator door opened silently and Alex was quite impressed when it opened directly into the reception area of the accounting firm.  He noticed the post-modern décor of the office; its appointments obviously showing the touches of a professional's hand with exquisite taste and a blank cheque.  The only incongruity that Krycek could see was this little old woman—she had to be a hold over from the Eisenhower Administration—entering god only know what into a computer. 
     She turned her washed out eyes toward him, and Alex knew he was going to have his work cut out for him.  She turned her eyes back to the computer, and only when she had finished what she was working on did she turn her full attention to him. 
     "Good afternoon, sir." She said.  "What can I do for you today?"
     "I'd like to see Mr. Twinkle."  Alex turned on the charm full bore, smiling from ear to ear for her, and for her alone. 
     Her eyes scanned the potential customer, noticing his state of dress.  Not many people showed up at her desk in leather jackets, black jeans and T shirts, and what could only be, to her mind, army boots.   She had to ask the question and the smirk on her face only bore witness to the fact that she already knew the answer. 
     "Do you have an appointment?"
     "No, I'm afraid I don't."  Alex's eyes twinkled at her, as though that would make the slightest bit of difference. 
     Without consulting her book at all, and with a voice that she reserved for small children and idiot adult males, she said: "I'm sorry, Mr. Twinkle is in court today."  She turned back dismissively to her computer hoping and wishing that Alex would simply just disappear.  She brushed a few stray grey hairs from her brow and resumed her typing. 
     She's good, Alex thought, they must pay her a fortune!  The one-armed man decided that he had to up the charm just a little. 
     "Might I see Mr. Twinkle, then?" He used his whiskey, out-all-night voice and just purred the question at the older woman. 
     "No appointment," she said—not a question, but a statement—and to Alex's ears it sounded like an indictment of all of his crimes, both actual and imagined.  She looked him up and down again, and with a weary voice said: "Sorry, Mr. Twinkle is out on an audit toady and won't be back."
     Krycek was becoming just a little upset by this time; he shifted the file folder from one armpit to the other and regarded the old woman dangerously. She returned the look and didn't flinch in the least. 
     Oh, she is good, Alex thought again. 
     "How about Mr. Little, then, may I see him?"  The smile was gone; the purr in his voice was a thing of the past. 
     "Mr. Little is with a client and wanted all his appointments, of which, I must remind you, you have none, cleared for the afternoon." She dismissed him again, turning back to her computer and her columns of numbers. 
     Alex lost his patience then, slamming his file folder down on her desk. He asked: "How about Mr. Starr?"
     She looked at Krycek's file folder on her desk as though it was something obscene, something she regarded with considerable distaste. 
     "This is about Income Tax, isn't it?"  Without waiting for Alex to answer, she reached down somewhere near her legs and pulled out four or five pages and placed them on Krycek's file folder.  "Mr. Starr likes all his new tax clients to fill out these forms before he sees them."  She passed folder and pages to Alex and instructed him to take a seat in the area provided, passed him a pen and said: "He will see you in a moment." She watched Krycek as he took a seat and began to fill out the forms.  She picked up the phone, punched a number and began to speak in low tones that Alex couldn't hear. 

     Krycek filled out his forms with an accuracy and completeness and with as little subterfuge as possible and still keep his secrets secret.  The rhythmic tap, tap of the old harpy's fingers on her keyboard was almost lulling him into a light doze.  He looked up at her in profile, noticing the eagle like beak, the yellow, sallow skin.  He didn't usually dislike older people on sight, but this one was different.  She reminded him of his sixth grade math teacher.  Oh, he hated her—hated her with a passion.  Nothing would have mad his day any better than his marching up to her desk and choking the life out of her; he locked that idea away, for now at least. 
     She turned, unperturbed at catching that look on Alex's face. 
     "Mr. Starr will see you now."  The pointed with her bony finger down the hallway.  "Third door on the left, just go in, he's expecting you.
     Not expecting any questions or comments on her instructions, she returned to her computer.  Flicking some imaginary piece of lint from the sleeve of her sweater, she began to type. 

 Alex opened the indicated door a noticed a tall man facing the window.  Swirls of smoke drifted up around his hair.  Alex noticed the height of the man, the obviously expensive suit he wore, the slight build of the man, and the brown, bushy hair crowning his head.  His jaw dropped open. 
     Mr. Starr turned to face him, looked Krycek squarely in the face held the cigarette aloft and said, "Sorry!  One bad habit I can't seem to break."
     Alex couldn't see the eyes behind the glasses the man wore, but he did see the sensuous lips begging to be licked; he did see the cupid's bow of the upper lip, the olive brown tone to his skin.
     "Not to worry," Krycek said, "I have one or two of those myself."
     The accountant took off his glasses and placed them on his desk.  To Alex's immense relief, he saw that the man's eyes were a decadent chocolate brown, rich and deep—beautiful, nonetheless, even though they weren't hazel.  Mr. Starr opened the few buttons on his jacket, letting it hang loose; Alex noticed the tie, a tie that was not only expensive but matched the suit perfectly. 
     Mr. Starr reached out his long, poet's hand and took the papers from Alex.  All he said was 'Taxes': one word—concise, terse, directly to the point, a perfect description of his and  Alex's business.  As a man to whom taxes are his bread and butter, he made no snide or nasty comments about the subject that just might be the want of lesser men. 
     He put his glasses back on, looked at the first page of Alex's questionnaire. "Good afternoon, Mr. Krycek.  May I call you Alex?"
     "Yes, please."
     Mr. Starr smiled at him. He reached out and took Alex's hand and shook it firmly.  "I'm Kenneth Starr, but you can call me Ken."
     "What!"
     "You heard right, Alex.  But don't worry, I don't take much interest in sex in high places."  The sound he made then was just left of a chuckle but not quite far enough down the road to be called a laugh, as though he had made that statement once too often in recent days. 
     He dragged his eyes, with some difficulty, from the blinding smile that Alex had given him.
     "Let's begin, shall we?" He finally said. 
     "Sure."
     "I see you are listing your occupation as an exterminator."
     Alex shook his head indicating his agreement. 
     "Oh my god, Alex, your reporting 10 million in revenue.  What do you exterminate and for whom to make this kind of money?"
     Krycek was enjoying this.  "I'm just very good at what I do."
     "I'd say!" Came the accountant's reply.  He rifled through the many receipts and papers inside Alex's folder and finally looked up at his client. "What exactly do you exterminate? If I might ask."
     "It has no vulgar name, it's very dangerous and hard to trap." Alex replied to the question straight-faced. 
     "Vulgar?"
     "Common name," Alex replied. 
     "So you're in Pest Control then."
     Alex laugh filled the room, the smile on his face quickly reaching his eyes.  "Yes, you might say that—yes, that's it exactly. Pest Control!"
     Ken picked up his pen and grabbed his legal, ruled pad ready to write.  "Could you tell me its scientific name then, for the records?"
     Alex looked at him carefully, not quick to respond, thinking what best to tell this man. 
     "Yes, it's Mulderia Consortium Eraticatus.  Very rare, and very dangerous—one of a kind, you might say.
     "I see," the accountant said as he wrote the information on the pad.  "With that kind of money, I think I might be in the wrong business," he said good-naturedly. 
     Alex said nothing but he rubbed his hand slowly over the leg of his jeans, not far from his groin.  It didn't escape his notice that Ken's eyes followed that hand with rapt interest, inch by inch, millimeter by millimeter until it came to rest near his zipper. 
     The accountant took some receipts from Krycek's folder.  "Well, Mr. Krycek, I see you're claiming medical expenses." 
     Ken's switch to a formal mode, didn't escape his notice.  "Please call me Alex," he said again. 
    The accountant nodded.  "Seven prosthetic arms, Alex.  Why seven?"
    "Well," Alex said, "one got left inside my quarry."
     "Close call."
     "Yes," Alex replied with an evil grin on his face, "you wouldn't believe the half of it."
     "I can imagine." Ken spoke as though this was not the most interesting thing he'd heard all day. 
     Alex continued, "But there is also Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday..."
     "I see," the accountant cut Alex off in mid-sentence, "but I don't think the IRS will go for that, Alex.  I'm sure they will disallow some of them."
     "Ken, I wouldn't worry about that if I were you, I have many low friends in high places."
     The accountant put those papers aside for the moment, picked up others detailing the purchase of guns, guns, and more guns.  His eyebrows went up in an arch. He looked up at his client.  "Lot of guns, Alex."
     "Lots and lots of guns, Ken!" Alex chuckled. 
     "Yes, indeed." 
     Ken casually glanced at more papers from Alex's file, enumerating each—out loud—as he turned the page over. 
     "Night vision goggles, video cameras, electronic tracking equipment, small listening devices..." Ken's voice droned on and on.  He looked up at Krycek then, not really expecting an answer: he learned early on not to ask questions that he might not really want to know the answers to. 
     Alex simply raised his eyebrows at him in unison and winked rakishly as though to say, "Well, doesn't everyone?"
     Ken picked up more papers and read each one of them in detail.  "You sure travel a lot Alex: Moscow, St. Petersburg, Washington DC, Toronto, London, Vienna, Little Rock. . .I thought you said your pest was rare, Alex."
     "I did, Ken, but it likes to travel and I have to follow, to trap it you know. 
     "Okay," the accountant said, "I think I have all I need."  He looked at Alex's questionnaire searching for something. "Good, I see you left a phone number where you can be reached if I have any more questions."
     "Yes, it's my cel number," Alex replied.  "It's strictly confidential, don't give it to anyone. Please destroy it when you've finished the return."
     The accountant looked puzzled.  "Agreed."  He placed the questionnaire inside the file folder with Alex's receipts and placed it in a drawer of his desk and locked it. 
     "I hope you don't mind, Alex, I'm just curious, you know.  Can you tell me how you plan to trap this pest?"
     "No, I can't tell you.  But I can show you."
     The accountant looked shocked—almost frightened as Alex got up from his chair and started to walk behind the desk.  He stopped right in front of Ken and looked down at him. 
     "Don't worry, this won't hurt.  As a matter of fact, I'm willing to bet you'll even enjoy this. . .a lot."  Krycek took the glasses from the accountant's face, folded them gently and put them in the breast pocket of the man's suit.  He took Ken under the armpits and lifted him to a standing position so that they were face to face. 
     "First, I plan to do this."  Alex's tongue licked his lips as he closed the distance between them, bringing his body up close and personal with that of the accountant.  His tongue began to lick at Ken's lips and the pencil pusher opened his mouth with a groan.  Alex took his opportunities where he found them and shoved his tongue in the older man's mouth.  Krycek tasted the nicotine zing on the other man's tongue before he sucked it into his own mouth. 
     Ken groaned and rubbed his hardness up against Alex. 
     Krycek let the man's tongue go and gently kissed his mouth. 
     "Then I plan to do this," he said.  Alex quickly unbuckled Ken's belt and undid the snap of the pants, and was completely satisfied with the sound of the trousers hitting the floor.  His good hand rubbed Ken's most erogenous zone as the plastic one cleared a little space on the top of the desk. 
     "Lie there, Ken."
     Alex helped him do just that.  He also noticed, with great appreciation, the skimpy, silk underwear that Ken wore. Still waters do run deep, Krycek thought. He bent down and licked the full length of Ken's torrid cock through the silk.  And a full length it had too, not overly wide, but from what Alex could see, a perfect shape.  Just my size, he thought. 
     Ken was hot, Ken was steaming, Ken was about to vaporize, and he let out a slow, erotic moan when Alex picked up his balls through the man's shorts and squeezed them gently. 
     "Now, Ken. . .about now, the beast is almost in my power, but not quite," Alex said in a low breathy purr.  "Lift up your hips, Ken."
     Alex pulled the shorts down to join the man's trousers pooled around his ankles.  Ken's cock was fully aroused, the head purple with blood and need; he almost screamed when Alex rubbed his hand the entire length of it ending in ending with a loving caress of the man's balls.  Alex smiled to himself; after all, was it not every man's dream to be sucked off at his desk—on his desk—at least that was Krycek's experience. 
     Krycek wasted no further time and he sucked the entire length of the man into his mouth, deep-throating him at once, pumping with all the power and finesse that he was capable of.  He knew the man wouldn't last long.  He coated his index finger with his own saliva wiped from the base of Ken's cock and shoved the finger into Ken's ass. 
     Ken moaned and thrashed wildly on the desk, but Alex held on.  His throat muscles working furiously around the head of Ken's cock, his finger pushing in and out of his ass.  He first felt Ken's muscles clench around his finger and then the bittersweet taste of cum gushing down his throat.  Alex continued to suck, to suckle every last bit of semen from the man.  He raised his mouth up to the head of Ken's cock, licking all evidence of his recent orgasm from him.  He could feel Ken shudder with each lick of his tongue on the over sensitized flesh. 
     "Now," Alex grinned up at Ken, "the beast is subdued, totally quiet, satiated, and no threat to me or anyone else.  He's trapped, and in my power."
     Ken couldn't speak, but nodded his head in agreement.  He reached out his hand to rub it over Alex's swollen organ. 
     Alex shook his head no. "Not this time, Ken."
     He looked at the crestfallen look on Ken's face and bent in to kiss him.  Locking his mouth with the accountant's, rubbing their tongues together, sharing Ken's own taste with him.  He laid feather kisses along Ken's jaw until he reached his ear.  "When will my return be ready?"
     Ken opened his mouth as though to speak, but he couldn't.  He took a few deep breaths, coughed once or twice.  "T. . .T . . .Tomorrow," was all that would come out of his throat. 
     "Good," Alex said. 
     Ken smiled up at him. 
     "And how much will I owe you, Ken?"
      "Nothing, Alex.  Account paid in full!"
      Krycek pulled the man's shorts back over his still aroused cock, bent down to lick and kiss it again.  He pulled up the man's pants to cover it, and put the stunned man back together.  He walked toward the door and reached for the handle.  "See you tomorrow, then."
     "Yes," Ken said.  "Alex, would you do me a favour?"
     Alex looked at him with a suprised look on his face. 
      "Would you tell Ms. Thistle that I won't need her services anymore today?  Tell her to take an early afternoon with my compliments."
     "Yes, Ken, with pleasure." 

Liked it? Hated it?  Let me know Riticulan