Authors: Zoe Takashi & Louise Wu, Email Us|
Warning: Heavy angst, mild violence, a few decomposing corpses.
Spoilers: Seasons 1 and 2, through Ascension.
Summary: Fresh out of the Academy, Agent Alex Krycek seduces A.D. Skinner.
Series: Exigency. This story is best read after Becoming Alex.
Beta Thanks: Loren Q, Alex, Jennie, Kristen, Lyrical Soul.
Note: All sex positions have been painstakingly tested for accuracy, by our favorite visual aide, Loren Q.
Note: We change the date of Walter and Sharon's separation, as mentioned in Avatar.
Disclaimer: Skinner, Krycek, Mulder, Scully and other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. No infringement of rights is intended.
noun: urgent requirements, exacting want or pressing needs.
Zoe Takashi as Alex Krycek.
Louise Wu as Walter S. Skinner.
Falls Church, Virginia
Tuesday, 3 May 1994
I juggle dinner trying to get my apartment key out of my pocket.
Scooting around the sofa and loveseat, I enter the dining area, drop dinner on the table and glance at the clock. 8:35. Damn. My evening entertainment will be here in 25 minutes. I'm starving but I hate fucking on a full stomach... have to settle for a snack. Sitting at the table, I dig into the Indian food. After eating enough to take the edge off, I toss the rest onto the kitchen counter for later.
In my bedroom, I throw my suit onto the bed and change. As I shoulder into a T-shirt, there's a knock on the door. He's ten minutes early. I'm tempted to let him wait but I am already half-hard just at the prospect of fucking. I move to the living room and yank open the door.
"You're early." Despite the terseness of my tone, he flashes me a sultry grin and steps into the entryway.
"Only a few minutes, babe." He reaches out and runs his hand down my chest.
I pull him into the apartment and shut the door. "Do not call me 'babe.'" My tone is hard so he knows I'm serious, but I pull him into my arms and capture his mouth. He whimpers as my tongue aggressively finds his. I reach down and grab his ass, pulling him to me. I am fully hard now. So much for preliminaries.
Nick. Met him last night. I stopped for take-out, and Nick sauntered in with some friends. He abandoned his cohorts and spent ten minutes flirting outrageously with me while I waited for my food. I ignored him at first but he was the prettiest boy I had seen in a long time. Blonde, blue eyes, five-ten, lean and wiry. As I was about to leave, he became more assertive, insisting he could deliver the best blowjob of my life. That seemed unlikely, but he was fun and I needed to get laid. I told him he could come by tonight, and he gave me his phone number before returning to his friends.
Releasing him, I step back and reach for his shirt. Some skin-tight, silver, polyester thing I have to peel off him. Hmm... getting him out of those PVC pants is going to be a challenge. I reach for him, capturing one nipple, rolling it between my thumb and finger. Tightening my grip, I pull him toward me. He hisses, but then his eyes glaze over and he wiggles appreciatively. I lean down and capture the reddened nipple in my mouth and suck hard. He groans and his hand touches my head. Pulling his hand away from my hair, I increase the suction of my mouth and he whimpers.
The phone rings. Fuck. I heave a frustrated sigh. There is no one I want to talk to but I know I have to answer. I pull away and gesture for silence while picking up the phone.
Nick's hands brush across my ass and I turn to face him.
"Agent Krycek? It's Unit Manager Mathis." Christ... my fucking boss. Doesn't he bother me enough during the day? He's always so aggressive with his title, never content to just be called 'Agent Mathis.'
"Hmm?" Silence. Oh yeah. "Uh... sir?" This whole 'sir' thing is just inane. Yes, sir. No, sir. Can I shine your shoes, sir? Nick pulls up my shirt and runs his hand underneath, stroking my chest.
I flash him a lascivious grin and point to the floor. Smiling, he drops to his knees and begins to nuzzle his face against my crotch. Lord, that's distracting. Fuck, I missed what Mathis said.
"What was that, sir?"
"I said, we've been called into a meeting with Assistant Director Skinner tomorrow morning at 9:00." His tone is rife with exasperation. I don't know what he's all bent out of shape over. It's not his blowjob that's been interrupted.
Hmm... A.D. Skinner. One of the people at the Bureau I've been briefed on. But why am I going to this meeting? "And why do you need me there?" Fuck this 'sir' bit. I am off duty. Nick's mouth works my denim-clad crotch, wetting the material. I have to bite back a moan.
"We're discussing the Bingham kidnapping. The entire task force will attend. The Director is getting pressure from the President to solve this case. Soon."
"Right. That it?" I can barely muster any interest in what Mathis has to say with all the activity going on in the general vicinity of my groin.
"Yes, Agent Krycek, that will be all." He sounds weary and annoyed--his usual tone when speaking to me. I do try the man's patience. Just the thought makes me smile. I press my crotch harder against Nick's mouth. The phone clicks as the line goes dead. Back to the business at hand.
My gaze lands on Nick. He sits back and flashes me a heated look from under his lashes. I pull my T-shirt over my head and reach for the fly of my jeans. I pop the top button and raise one eyebrow at him. Grinning at me, he reaches out and begins to release the rest of the buttons.
Since I am not wearing underwear, Nick quickly frees my cock from the confines of my jeans, his eyes widening slightly. I thread my fingers through his hair and pull his head back. Leaning down, I run my tongue over his lips. "You going to be able to deliver on that promise?"
He gives me a cocky grin. I release his head and he inches forward, capturing the head of my dick in his mouth. A few minutes later, I have to concede that he is really good at this.
Gripping his hair to hold his head still, I alter the rhythm and begin fucking his face. I really want to fuck his ass but decide to go with it and let him finish sucking me off. A moment later, I thrust one last time in his mouth, then my cum shoots down his throat. He continues sucking and licking at my softening cock, and I am peripherally aware that he has begun to rub his own dick through his pants.
Shaking off the sex haze that has settled over my brain, I reach for his arm and pull him up. "Uh-uh. Not yet, pretty boy."
He wiggles against me and whimpers. "Please, baby, I need to come."
I clamp one hand around both his wrists, holding them behind his back while the other moves to the bulge in his pants. "You'll come when I'm ready. And, Nick, if you want me to do something about this little problem, ever," I squeeze a little harder than I know is comfortable and he jerks, "I suggest the word 'baby' not pass your lips even one more time."
Nick's expression is a cross between lust-addled and pained. He nods his head. I release his crotch and notice that only one of his nipples is red. Ah yes, interrupted by the phone. Leaning down, I capture the nipple I missed earlier and give it the same attention until Nick is writhing. His hands unerringly find their way back to my head and I pull away. "Hands off the head, Nick. I do not like it." It turns me into a brainless zombie, but Nick doesn't need that information. I give him a quick, hard kiss.
My jeans are still around my ankles. Releasing Nick, I kick them away. I give Nick's pants an assessing look. "Let's see if we can peel those things off."
Let the games begin.
Two hours later, I extricate myself from Nick's exhausted, sweaty body. I toss the condom in the trash on the way to the kitchen. Returning, I set towels and a glass of water on the coffee table and bend down to unlock the handcuffs. The cuffs were the only way I could get him to keep his hand off his dick.
I help him to a sitting position and hand him the water. After cleaning the semen off the carpet, I pause to consider what I'm going to do with the sleepy man sitting on my floor. He is obviously too tired to drive and I am too tired to take him home. I guess once will not kill me.
Sighing, I take the water and pull him up, guiding him toward the bedroom. He settles into my bed and watches me as I prepare for sleep. Sliding under the covers, I stifle a yawn and feel Nick's hand on my chest. I look over at him.
"That was so hot, baby." And he falls asleep.
I roll my eyes, almost too tired to care. If I threatened to take a belt to his ass, I wonder if he would quit with the 'baby' bullshit. I sigh. Probably not. He would probably do it more just to get me to whip him.
Removing his hand from my chest, I place it on the mattress and let sleep overtake me.
Wednesday, 4 May 1994
The warm, wet sucking at my cock draws me out of my sleep fog. I glance at the clock. My alarm will go off in fifteen minutes. Moaning, I arch into his mouth and he increases his suction. A few minutes later, I come and relax into the mattress.
Nick slides up my body, leaving kisses on my chest. I still do not like people sleeping in my bed but, I have to admit, this is a nice way to wake up. A perk I had not previously considered.
Nick begins rubbing his erection against my hip. Hmm... better make this fast. I roll him over and straddle his legs, reaching for his dick.
My alarm goes off about fifteen seconds after he comes. Grabbing a towel from the bathroom, I return to the bed and wipe the cum off his stomach and chest.
I leave him half asleep on the bed and head for the shower.
While rinsing my hair, I hear the shower door open followed by Nick's screech. "Yikes! Alex, turn down the hot!" I wipe the water from my face and look at him. He is huddled against the wall, avoiding the water spray.
Reaching for the soap, I reply, "No. Wait your turn."
He pouts but steps out of the shower.
A few minutes later, I emerge and gesture for him to hop in. "Hurry, Nick. I have to leave soon."
"You could go and I can lock up when I'm finished."
He has got to be kidding. "I think not. Just hurry."
Half an hour later, I usher him out the front door. He has a speculative expression on his face. "Do you always wear your hair like that?"
"Huh? No. Only at work."
"Well, it looks better the other way."
"Thanks for the info. But I am going to work, not trying to give someone a hard-on."
"Hmm... I don't think your hair has anything to do with that, but whatever. Hey, will I see you tonight?"
After locking the door, I turn to look at him. "No, not tonight. I'll call you later in the week."
He flashes me an 'I'm not falling for that line' look.
I sigh. Half amused, half irritated. "Okay, Nick. This week is busy but how about Saturday? Around 5:00?"
Nick grins and starts down the stairs. "See you Saturday!"
I shake my head. I have a feeling he is going to be a royal pain. Ah well, this should be amusing for a little while.
Putting on my sunglasses, I leave for work.
Fortunately I am not the last agent to arrive in the Ops room. Mathis is there, talking with a tall man who makes my breath catch in my throat. Spying me, Mathis gestures me over. "A.D. Skinner, I'd like you to meet Agent Alex Krycek. One of the newer members of my team."
This is Assistant Director Skinner? He extends one large, very masculine hand toward me. I can barely keep myself from gaping. "Agent Krycek," he acknowledges.
I grip his hand and feel a sizzle shoot up my arm that nearly fries my brain. "Assistant Director." I nod and we pull our hands apart.
Mathis gestures me to a chair down the table. I move away, feeling as if I've been punched. When I reach my chair, I realize my cock is hard. What the fuck? Once I'm seated and no one's paying attention, I let my mind assess what just happened. Since when do I find guys like Skinner attractive? The guy screams testosterone. Not my type. It's an aberration. I must be hard up.
Oh bullshit. Nick was sucking my cock before I was even fully awake this morning. Skinner is just fucking sexy, and something about him speaks to my dick. Life goes on. It doesn't mean anything.
The meeting begins. All the unit managers, including Mathis, give their excessively detailed reports. Surprisingly, Skinner listens patiently--much more so than I would have--only interrupting to clarify a point or ask questions. Once the reports are finished, he takes over the meeting, re-directing efforts and setting the investigative priorities.
He distributes his focus around the room, making sure he has everyone's attention. His gaze pauses, almost falters, on me before continuing to the next person. I realize my look probably tells him that I'm thinking about what's in his pants rather than the words coming out of his mouth.
My dick remains rock hard through the whole thing. By the end, I'm convinced that anyone in the room who doesn't have a hard-on for the man is a passionless drone. The high spot of my morning is hearing that these meetings are going to happen every day until this case is solved. The President wants daily updates. Lovely.
I spend the rest of the afternoon wondering why I'm attracted to Walter Skinner. Testosterone poster-man.
Thursday, 5 May 1994
I'm taking a late lunch in the break room. Relieved to have the room to myself, I take the opportunity to do some reading and pull out a collection of Poe's poems. I'm so engrossed in 'Al Aaraaf,' I don't hear him enter the room.
"Must be really good." Skinner's voice breaking the silence shoots straight to my dick. He moves toward one of the vending machines, glancing at me casually.
Feeling a little uncomfortable to have him take note of what I'm reading, I close the book and murmur, "It's okay."
I spent the morning meeting fantasizing about him, and managed to get in one look I know he interpreted correctly. Lust. It actually has crossed my mind to be more careful about giving him those looks. The man is probably heterosexual, and flirting with him isn't exactly part of my charter. But I can't help myself. I look at him and think of sex. If he gives me an indication that he objects, I'll stop.
He raises his eyebrows and walks over to the table, sliding the book out from under my hand. His eyebrows shoot up even further. "Poetry?"
"Uh, yeah." God, I want to see him naked. I look up at him, not trying to disguise where my mind has gone.
Skinner swallows hard and eyes me suspiciously. "It's good to enjoy something that has nothing to do with your work."
I'd be happy to enjoy you outside of work.
Abruptly, he turns and departs.
Hmm... he's going to have to give me a more overt indication than that.
I should probably try making small talk with the man, but I can barely keep my wits about me when he's in the room. Besides, I've decided I want him. Just once. And I want him to know I'm thinking about sex every time I see him. Then I can put this behind me and get on with something else.
Returning to my book, I finish reading the last paragraph of the poem.
Thus, in discourse, the lovers whiled away
The night that waned and waned and brought no day.
They fell: for Heaven to them no hope imparts
Who hear not for the beating of their hearts.
Tuesday, 10 May 1994
On my way to the second floor men's room, I nearly bump into Mathis' new kid, Krycek. The boy has been flirting with me--probably just a harmless crush, not genuine sexual attraction--but he worries me a little.
Fresh-faced agent. He's got the innocent act down, but there's something about this boy that suggests trouble. Mathis is not one of my better unit managers. I hope Krycek finds a decent mentor, at least until Mathis washes out.
Krycek's a handsome young man, though. Tall, slim and moves gracefully like a big cat. If I weren't married and he didn't work for me... Don't even go there, Walt.
At the briefing today, I asked him a question a junior agent can't reasonably be expected to have a good answer for. "What's your opinion, Agent Krycek? Do you think the asbestos fibers on the windowsill are related to the crime? Or just spurious fibers?"
Mathis rolled his eyes, his thin-lipped sneer communicating objections he'd never say to me in person. The man's barely able to listen to his senior agents.
Krycek's eyes lit up, obviously delighted to be taken seriously, and he considered his response carefully. "Spurious, sir. It seems clear that the back door was the point of entry, and that particular window was twenty-five feet away."
I nodded. The kid was probably right.
After the briefing, Krycek approached me. "Sir, Agent Mathis asked that you receive the full forensic report on the asbestos fibers so you can make an informed decision about the relative value of the evidence." His tone was level and betrayed no hint that he might resent being asked to relay to a superior that his supervisor did not believe his opinion was informed. I was about to say something vague and reassuring when he looked at me from under his lashes. Another one of those looks I had written off as flirting, but I have started to wonder.
My brain labored for a second, trying to recapture my train of thought, and I finally murmured, "Thank you, Agent Krycek." I could only describe his departing smile as sultry.
Shaking off the thoughts about the morning meeting, I wash my hands and leave the men's room. In the hallway outside Mathis' office, I hear raised voices. Voices I easily make out as Krycek and Mathis. They've already quieted down but I decide to find out what's happening.
Krycek is arguing that he's pursuing a pointless line of investigation and ignoring something with more promise. Mathis disagrees.
It takes only a few moments to ascertain that Krycek is right. On both counts. The lead he's pursuing is probably--not certainly, but probably--pointless and we have overlooked another line of inquiry. I sigh and step into Mathis' office. The conversation screeches to a halt and, for the first time since I met him, Agent Krycek doesn't look at me.
"Agents. Something new on the investigative front?" My tone is mild and the question is directed at Mathis.
"Agent Krycek was discussing his, umm, thoughts about the investigation with me," Mathis replies dryly.
Turning to Krycek, I query, "Agent Krycek?"
He blandly repeats what I already heard but without any judgments or recriminations. His expression is completely blank. Mathis jumps in with his disagreement, but I forestall him.
"Agent Krycek, I do not think your current line of investigation is without benefit, and since you're already working it, please continue. However, I do see merit in your concern about neglecting the Congressman's business relationship with VBI Enterprises as possible motive for the kidnapping."
I turn back to Mathis. "Your team is overloaded as it is. Send Agent Krycek to meet with Baker later this afternoon. His team can take it from there."
I pivot and leave the room.
Back in my office, my next meeting is waiting for me. Smith.
According to the Director, he's a Pentagon observer. I've been ordered to give him carte blanche in my office, and I don't like it a bit. He insinuates himself into the cases that interest him--mostly Mulder's--and hovers like a buzzard, smoking his foul cigarettes.
Mr. Smith? Yeah, right.
A few hours later, I'm walking down the hall when I hear my name. "Hear Skinner sided with Mathis against you today."
"I wouldn't exactly put it that way." Krycek sounds quiescent about the whole thing.
"And how would you put it?"
"I'd say he was playing Solomon." This kid is way too astute.
I nearly collide with them as I round the corner. Two murmured, "A.D. Skinner," are followed by my equally neutral, "Agents." Except Krycek flashes me another one of those looks before continuing on.
I can no longer mistake the looks he has been giving me. My cock hasn't missed the message either. I only hope my pants are loose enough to conceal the evidence.
It's been many, many years since I fucked a man. I lost my virginity to a girl, but my first love was male.
I dated a little in high school, but no one I really cared about, so I didn't pressure the girls to put out. I even turned girls down for sex, when I felt the relationship didn't justify the increased emotional involvement.
So I didn't lose my virginity until I was 18. Right before I left for the service. Laura Jean was a college girl, at least three years older than me. She'd tried to get me in bed a few times, but I insisted on dating first, and she wasn't interested. In an extremely tacky gesture, I showed up at her apartment the night before I had to report to Parris Island. I told her I was leaving and she took me to bed.
Perhaps like all virgin males, I was a clumsy lover, but she was aggressive and told me exactly what to do. She had three orgasms to my one, but I was happy. I didn't have to join the Marines a virgin.
In 'Nam, I joined a platoon with another FNG. Fucking New Guy. Lawrence Gundersen and I clung to each other like terrified children. I suppose that's what we were. He was a tall, lanky blonde. I was a tall, lanky brunette.
In our first mission, our platoon successfully destroyed an enemy supply depot. Larry and I had planted explosives along the back of the thatched building. Afterward, we ran the entire three miles back to our base, even though we'd only been half a mile across the demilitarized zone. I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that we'd surely killed anyone who had been inside the facility. I found it repulsive to have taken lives and not even know for sure who or how many.
Though we were both new to action, Larry was three years older than I. More mature, too. He saw how badly I was shaking and led the way outside the barracks. I had no idea where he was taking me, but I trusted him. He found a quiet spot in the bushes a couple hundred feet away from camp and sat on the ground. I sat next to him and he pulled me into his arms. Eventually, we were lying down, limbs entwined. Larry passed me a joint and we smoked it together.
Not a word was spoken, but my trembling stopped and we both enjoyed the serenity of comforting contact. When his mouth found mine and he kissed me, I let him. After my embarrassment subsided, I kissed him back. My cock was rock hard. It seemed sick to fuck after what we'd just done that day, so I pushed his hand away when he reached for my fly. "Not tonight, Larry. Just not tonight."
A week later, at night, we returned to our spot with only a flashlight for light. We knelt on the ground and kissed like the horny young men we were. He had a handsome blonde moustache that tickled my face. He wasn't cleanly shaved so his skin felt like sandpaper. I hardly cared.
This time I let him open my pants.
Larry took out my cock and stroked it reverently. It made me smile. Laura Jean hadn't given it much attention.
We rolled over on the ground and Larry brought his face down to my crotch. He licked my cock and I just about came right then and there. When he swallowed it down, I did come... almost instantly. He swallowed my cum and lapped the head of my cock until it was clean.
I looked down at him and stroked his soft hair. I was certain I was in love--in that naive way that seems so real to a teenager.
He whispered to me in the darkness, "Walt, you have the biggest, most beautiful cock I've ever seen." The glow of the flashlight made his blue eyes sparkle.
Beautiful? My cock? I'd come to think of it as an ugly appendage that evolution had stuck on my body as an afterthought. But Larry thought it was beautiful. I was amazed. And amused.
I reached for his zipper, wondering what I could do with his cock. It was smaller than mine, but I couldn't deny the appeal. Watching it twitch under my fingers was quite arousing.
I licked it a little, but was afraid to go further. Larry seemed content with my experimentation for a while. Then he pulled me up his body and kissed my face all over.
"I want to fuck you, Walt."
Well, that was even scarier.
"I promise you, it'll feel good. You're going to love it."
At that moment, I knew how girls felt when boys tried to talk them into something. There I was happily enjoying the body contact and post-orgasm lassitude, and suddenly I'm getting a sales pitch.
But he was my buddy. He'd sucked my cock and swallowed my cum. We'd both come back alive from two missions now. Missions I felt I couldn't face without him at my back.
So I lay on my side and bent one knee, exposing my ass to him. He had a tiny jar of Vaseline. True to his word, he played with my tight little asshole and I was feeling quite happy. He stuck a finger in me and that wasn't too bad.
Two fingers was another matter entirely. He tried his damnedest to get me to relax, rubbing my ass cheeks, stroking my anus and cooing into my ear. The concept of 'relax' seemed highly incompatible with having anything stuck up my butt, but eventually I managed to relax a little.
I bit back a scream when his cock pushed into me. He got it all the way in but didn't move for a long time. He just kept whispering to me, "Shhh. It's okay."
When he finally began to move, I wouldn't have described it as pleasurable, but it wasn't too bad. I enjoyed the sound of his escalating moans as he thrust into me. Just when he seemed to be losing control, his hand wrapped around my cock and he started to jerk it rather fiercely.
I was a little hard, but not very. I had this damned thing up my ass distracting me.
He came inside me, grunting his orgasm, but that hand kept stroking my cock. As his cock softened, easing the pressure, mine began to get hard again and he jerked me to completion.
Afterward, we zipped up and lay together, smoking pot and just being close.
"Did you enjoy that, Walt?"
"Yeah, kind of," I lied.
Getting fucked was a lot better the next time. Larry never would let me fuck him. Said I was too damned big. We did everything else we could possibly think of.
A lot of the other men probably knew what we were up to, but since we were both manly guys, we got away with it.
We were lovers for over a year. Until the entire platoon was wiped out. But I came back. In the hospital, I cried for Larry every day for a week. It was the first time I'd cried since I was a little boy.
In college, I slept with both men and women. Mostly men, because it was easier to get laid that way. Serious relationships seemed unimportant.
I stopped seeking out men when I joined the Bureau. I hadn't intended to. I knew that homosexuals were reviled by most of the agents, but that only made me decide to keep quiet about it. At Quantico, I watched a young gay man get harassed out of the Bureau before he ever finished his training. It seemed I had to choose. I chose the Bureau.
I met Sharon at the White House, of all places. A team I was part of had been invited to a White House fete as a presidential thank-you after the arrest of a prominent mafia boss. Sharon attended as the escort of a well-known local artist. She asked me to dance. Later, she kissed me over the punch bowl, and the Secretary of State had to ask us to move. It was the last time either of us ever received a social invitation to the White House.
For better or worse, I was still maintaining my marriage vows 15 years later. And that did not include fucking a twenty-something male subordinate, no matter how pretty his eyes.
Friday, 13 May 1994
It's been several days since I've seen Skinner outside of the morning meeting. The investigation is driving us all bonkers. Baker's team's inquiry into VBI Enterprises has given us one of two leads. I have no problem understanding why Skinner handled things this way, but I still want to cosh Mathis upside the head. Of course, I'd probably want to do that no matter what. The man has all the subtlety of a used car salesman under quota on the last day of the month.
I keep thinking if I don't see Skinner, this insanely rampaging lust will abate. No luck thus far. I fucked Nick senseless last night, trying to banish the sexy A.D. from my consciousness for a little while. All that happened was Nick was too worn out to drive home, so I had to let him stay. Again. So, today I'm tired because I don't sleep well with someone in my bed. But there was the lovely wake-up perk of having my morning Skinner-hard-on taken care of enthusiastically by Nick's willing and talented mouth.
I'm thinking about my morning blow job when the elevator doors open and I begin to step out, nearly colliding with Skinner.
"Assistant Director." This time I know sex was in my voice. He looks startled, very briefly, then his neutral expression is back and he punches the elevator button. The doors close and I turn away in a much better mood. Even though there have been few encounters over several days, I'm starting to feel as if I'm sexually harassing him.
I have to get the man in bed. And have no idea how to go about it.
Wednesday, 18 May 1994
I face Mathis, barely able to keep my eyes open. Agent Nathan Gjersee and I were called in for surveillance on the Bingham case Tuesday morning at 2:00 A.M. It is now Wednesday morning. I've had a whole two hours of sleep in the last 48. Gjersee is dead on his feet. So am I, but I refuse to let Mathis see how tired I really am.
Mathis finishes reviewing the surveillance reports and looks up at Gjersee. Way up. Gjersee's nearly 6'5" and he's the senior agent, so I will be ignored. Being ignored by Mathis is such a blessing. "All right, Agents. You're dismissed. Suggest you go home and get some rest." Mathis has been here for a whole fifteen minutes, and looks nice and fresh. I am now going to miss my Skinner fix two days in a row. Suddenly, I'm tired and cranky.
Gjersee trips over nothing on his way out the door and I grab his wrinkled T-shirt to keep him upright. That's the one perk of surveillance. Street clothes. Of course, after 28 hours they are smelly and gross. Gjersee's ratty jeans and old T-shirt add to his former-California-surfer-bum looks, and his spiky blond hair is sticking out in every possible direction.
I walk behind Gjersee as we head for the parking garage. The man's a wreck. I've gone a lot longer than two days without sleep but apparently he hasn't. "Nate, you'd better let me drive you home."
"Nah. I'll be fine." Yeah, right.
He trips again as he's opening the door to the parking garage. I grab his arm and stumble through the doorway, trying to keep him upright. He's a little too big for me to manage easily.
"I don't think you can drive, Nate." My voice bounces off the walls of the deserted parking garage.
"Told you, I'll be fine." If he weren't so tired, I think he would be aiming for surly. To prove how fine he is, he picks that moment to trip again. This time, he takes me with him. I land on my left hip and elbow. Pain shoots up my arm. "Fuck!"
Gjersee struggles up and offers me a hand. "Hell, no. You'll probably fall on me." I struggle to my feet, nursing my arm and glaring at him. "You cannot drive. I'll drop you home, and your girlfriend can drive you back later to pick up your truck."
"Agents, what's going on?" Skinner, using his best A.D. voice, startles the hell out of both of us.
"Sir. We're just on our way out." Gjersee actually manages to sound coherent and professional. Then ruins the effect by blinking rapidly, trying to keep his eyes open. I just stand there, drinking in the sight of Walter Skinner. I'm too tired to do anything other than appreciate the way he looks in his crisp, white shirt.
"I see that. Where are you coming from?"
"Surveillance for the Bingham case, sir." I'm glad Gjersee is answering the questions. When I get tired, my sense of decorum vanishes. I'd have probably answered with something like 'inside,' and really pissed him off. Just the thought almost makes me smile.
"When were you called on surveillance?"
"Two A.M., sir."
Skinner looks confused. I don't blame him. What kind of wimpy agents can't handle four hours of surveillance?
I decide to clear up the mystery. "Two A.M., yesterday."
He looks enlightened and then briefly annoyed before his expression is back to neutral. "Very well. Shall we go back inside?" He gestures toward the door.
Gjersee follows but I stay put. "Why? My car is right over there." I point in the general direction.
"Yes, Agent, I believe getting you both away from your vehicles is the point."
"Sir, I am capable of driving myself home."
"Agent Krycek, I'm not questioning your ability. I'm telling you that you are not driving home. Not negotiable. Now, let's go inside and we'll arrange to have you both taken home."
He's using the A.D. voice that strikes terror in the hearts of agents all over the building. I am somewhat impervious to the effect, but he is the boss, so I sigh and walk back inside.
My elbow is throbbing, so I leave Skinner to deal with Gjersee's constant stumbling. He walks us back to Mathis' office. Oh fuck. Is the man a sadist? He directs us to wait outside, then turns to me. "Do you need medical attention for that?" He gestures to my arm.
I feel my hackles rise. "No." Don't try to take care of me, Skinner.
He nods and enters Mathis' office, closing the door. There are no chairs in the hall. Nathan slides to the floor and leans his head against the wall. I pace.
I was given Mathis in a reorganization. I never would have promoted that fool. Unfortunately, the Office of Personnel Management won't let me demote him without due process, which is their euphemism for waiting until the end of time.
So I have to reprimand him. Again. "Mathis, did you just send Gjersee and Krycek home?"
His voice is instantly defensive. "Yeah, they've been on for 24 hours. I thought they needed some sleep."
"Yes, they do, but the expressway is not a good place for a nap." I glare, waiting for him to catch on. "The agents can hardly walk. What were you thinking just dismissing them like that?"
"Listen, Skinner. This case has the whole team putting in long hours. I can't afford to pull another agent off the case to play chauffeur to a couple of sleepy agents."
"But you have time for funerals? Or lawsuits, when these guys drive someone off the road?" I shake my head. "You look well rested, Mathis. You can drive them home."
"That's an order, Mathis."
I don't wait for his next gripe. I step into the hall. Gjersee looks asleep, leaning against the wall. Krycek gives me a tense glance. My voice carries. He probably heard the whole thing.
"Sir?" replies Krycek, giving Gjersee a nudge with his elbow. The older man blinks into semi-consciousness.
"I don't ever want you driving in this condition. Is that understood?"
Gjersee mumbles, "Yes, sir."
Krycek's face is still tense, but he gives an abrupt nod.
Mathis appears with his coat on and car keys in hand. He gives me a pissy glare as he leads the way to the elevator.
Falls Church, Virginia
Saturday, 21 May 1994
I wake up erect and thinking of Skinner. As usual. I fucked Nick last night, imagining that he was Skinner. Told him to go home immediately afterward, not wanting him to hang around reminding me that I'm not fucking the man I want.
A few pulls on my cock and I'm already close. Just thinking about Skinner does that to me. I wish I could figure out why I'm so fucking attracted to the man. I visualize his huge hard body bent over my dining room table, and I come, shooting on my stomach and chest.
Fuck. How much longer can I do this? I'm not used to endless days of sexual frustration. I'd seduce him if I had a clue how to go about it. Can't see any of my usual tricks working, and he's completely unresponsive to the smoldering looks I give every time I see him. Maybe I can get Spender to arrange for a transfer so I don't have to keep dealing with this.
I need to get some exercise and try to sweat Skinner out of my system. After a quick shower and breakfast, I change into bike shorts and a tight white tank top. Securing my keys, wallet and a bottle of water to my bike, I head out for a long, hopefully mindless, ride.
Before I can really get going, I stop at the 7-11 to call my voicemail. A short message from Vlad letting me know everything is fine. Just like clockwork, since I came to the States, he calls once a month to let me know everything is okay. Over the years, there have been other messages if he or Aleksei needed something.
Immediately putting Aleksei out of my head, I resume my ride.
Two hours later, I'm at home, dripping with sweat. I'm about to walk my bike up the stairs when a van pulls into the lot and Mathis jumps out. He's wearing grubby jeans and an old T-shirt that says 'Dan Fogelberg: Twin Sons of Different Mothers--The Tour.' Where does he get this shit?
"Agent Krycek, we've been trying to reach you."
"I was out." Obviously. "Problem?"
"We have a lead on the Bingham case. Setting up an undercover sting now. Let's go."
Well, here's a weekend gone to shit. "Let me stow my bike and change. Be right back."
"No. We need you undercover. A cyclist is just as good as anything else and saves time."
I want to argue with him, but just grit my teeth and mutter, "I'll go retrieve my weapon and badge." I'm up the stairs before he can object. I can't think of a reason why he'd argue, but I've determined that Mathis is a complete boob.
Upstairs, I retrieve my gun, badge and a lightweight jacket to stash it all in. In the parking lot, I discover they've put my bike in the van. I'm left to sit uncomfortably in the back, trying to keep it from falling on the equipment. I really hate this.
The bust goes down without a hitch. Our inside man got tape of them talking about nabbing the congressman's son, and his whereabouts. I got the distinction of tackling one of the men on the run. Didn't have cuffs, so had to sit on him 'til someone else caught up with us.
After we retrieve the Bingham kid and arrest two more perps, Mathis insists we all return to the Hoover for reports and debriefing. Fucking stupid. I have no reports to write. I was only there as backup, riding around looking pretty. I guess I could write a report about how I was yanked out of my home unprepared, didn't have my handcuffs and had to restrain the perp with my ass. Bet Mathis would love that.
Someone orders in lunch but I'm fairly certain it wasn't Mathis. Pizza this time. I'm grateful. Usually it's sandwiches. Too much bread in the American diet.
After a long, boring meeting, I try to finagle a ride for me and my bike from Agent Gjersee, who has a giant SUV--probably to carry his surfboard. As we're about to leave, Mathis calls me. I roll my eyes, making Nate chuckle, and turn to face Mathis.
"Agent Krycek, one last little thing. I need you to drop off copies of all the preliminary reports."
Gjersee slaps me on the shoulder. "Guess you won't need that ride, Krycek. See you Monday."
I mutter something vague and pleasant before turning back to Mathis.
"I'm sure you're aware that I don't have a vehicle, and I need to figure out how to get my bike home and, well, I have plans." Let me out of this, please!
He motions for me to follow him, which I do. In his office, he tosses me a set of keys and hands me a stuffed envelope. "Bureau car. It's in space 275. Bring it back Monday in one piece. Leave your bike here and pick it up later." I want to tell him to fuck off, but our relationship is already strained and I doubt my smoking friend is going to look favorably on me getting in trouble with my superiors. "And your job is more important than any plans you may have."
"Yes, sir. Where am I going?" Straight to hell, Krycek.
He passes me a printout with an address and, very considerately, driving directions. "Drop those reports at A.D. Skinner's house."
Oh, well, that changes everything! I struggle to control my facial expression. "I'll drop by my house and change, then take them over."
"No. Your place is the opposite direction. I just got off the phone with him and he's expecting those ASAP."
Shit. Way to make an impression. Show up half dressed, hair a mess and covered in a layer of old sweat. Great. "I'll leave right now."
Things are truly awful with Sharon.
Two weeks ago, when I started sleeping on the couch in the den, I thought it was for just one night. But we haven't fucked in months, and I couldn't bear the thought of lying in the same bed trying not to accidentally touch her.
Last night, I set up semi-permanent quarters in the guest room.
I'm so pissed off at her, but the situation is entirely my fault. I've never been emotionally giving, like Sharon. She made it clear from the first year of our marriage that she needed me to share my feelings. To me, it seems like I do communicate them to her, but I suppose it's nothing like the genuine emotional intimacy that other couples attain.
I'm a washout in the marriage business. It would have been depressing after a year or two, but after 15 it feels like a lifelong failure.
The last time we got our wedding rings cleaned, I didn't put mine on again. It's like wearing a reproach on my hand. I'm sure Sharon noticed, but she didn't say anything.
I will never understand why the woman hasn't left me. Managing the gallery pays well enough to support herself in style.
I think I almost hate her for not leaving me. Surely it's not my duty to leave her? I don't have any problem with our marriage. Well, not until I tried to seduce her one night and she said in a dead tone, "I just don't feel that close anymore." I rolled away and gave up. Probably for good.
Still, she didn't ask for a divorce. She's a beautiful and intelligent woman. She could replace me with twenty suitors in a week.
I remember when we met. Sharon charmed me right into her arms. We had so much fun doing simple things. A trip to the grocery store was full of laughter and joy. She was my best friend. She still is, but I've damaged us beyond repair. I took something beautiful and turned it into awkwardness and despair.
This morning I was drinking coffee in the kitchen when she came downstairs. One aggravated glance from her--so common these days she's going to have lines on her face from that expression--and I took my coffee into the living room. After I read the paper, I retreated to the garage.
My woodshop is where I hide when I can't face her. She rarely bothers me in the shop. I've hidden here so often on weekends lately, all my projects are finished. The last thing I built was a lingerie chest for her. I presented it in the bedroom one night. She forced a smile and kissed me on the cheek. "Thank you, Walter." It just served to remind me of all the genuine affection that no longer works between us. All that's left is a peck on the cheek as an obligatory thank you.
I shouldn't be in the shop barefooted, but I sweep the floor every time I'm here. I don't have a project or even any wood to start one, but I flip through an idea book. Maybe I'll build a table for the entryway. I jot down a list of the required supplies, but I don't feel motivated enough to go to the hardware store.
Instead, I start organizing my hand tools drawer. It was perfectly arranged before, but if I move a few things around, I might find some clever way to make one more of the often-used items easier to reach.
It takes twenty-five minutes and two wrong turns to navigate to Skinner's house. My stomach is in knots, and I've been fighting a perpetual erection since I was told to go to his house. Bike shorts don't exactly conceal anything, so every time I feel myself get hard, I visualize Mathis. That works surprisingly well.
Pulling up in front of the house, I think about wearing my jacket, but it doesn't cover my crotch, so I can't think of any point. I tuck my thin wallet and badge in the back waistband of my bike shorts, grab the reports and move to the house. I knock on the door, and a tall woman with dark hair answers. "Yes?"
I'm taken aback. "Uh, I'm looking for Walter Skinner. Do I have the right house?"
"Yes. And you are?"
"Sorry. Agent Krycek." Her eyebrows arch up. "Sorry about my appearance, umm, we were..."
"Undercover?" She grins.
"Uh, yeah. I think he's expecting me?"
"Can I see your ID?"
I reach to the small of my back and produce my badge. Pushing the screen door open, she motions for me to enter. Inside the foyer, she extends her hand to me.
"I'm Sharon Skinner. Walter's wife." God, why didn't it ever occur to me that he was married? And, therefore, apparently heterosexual. I groan internally while I shake her hand.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ma'am." I keep a neutral smile on my face.
"This way. He's out in the garage." She guides me through the house to the garage door. Opening it, she calls out to him, "Walter, there's an Agent Krycek here to see you."
I hear his voice but can't see him. "Thanks, Sharon." His tone is a little flat.
She gestures for me to enter the garage, murmuring, "I'll leave you two to talk business."
Watching my step as I take the three stairs into the garage, my breath catches in my throat when I look up. He's only wearing jeans. Oh fucking hell. Not even shoes. Just jeans. His body is better than I imagined. Chest covered in hair. So hyper-masculine that my cock starts to harden immediately. When did I start to find that appealing? I'm frozen on the spot and hear the door shut behind me.
I shut my eyes briefly and try to visualize Mathis. It's not working this time. I open my eyes and find him staring at me. I don't know for how long because I was too dazed to pay attention.
Mathis sent Alex Krycek. Wearing damned close to nothing. Look at that body... long, lean, beautiful. My cock is hard in a millisecond. It's damned good to know it still works.
The boy's sporting an erection himself. Sex is written all over his face. It's obvious that I could have him if I wanted. My throbbing cock reminds me that I do, but I won't. He'll leave here as hungry as he arrived.
His eyes are way too pretty. Teal green and translucent, with mink-thick eyelashes. I never notice features like that--didn't know what color Sharon's eyes were until we were engaged--but it's impossible not to be drawn in to Krycek's stunning eyes.
"So you brought me the report on the Bingham arrests?" When my words finally come out, they seem very wrong... entirely the wrong topic.
He's silent for a second, and I'm about to repeat myself, when he clears his throat and replies, "Uh, yes, sir." His voice is low and husky. "All the suspects have been rounded up and the Bingham kid was treated at the hospital and returned to his parents."
He steps forward, slowly, as if his feet are glued to the floor, extending the envelope when he's within reaching distance. I notice his breathing is rapid, drawing attention to the rise and fall of his chest. His nipples are visible through the tank.
I blink, trying to get my brain to function. I reach for the envelope, pulling the report out and flipping through it. Aware that Krycek hasn't moved, I set the file on the table next to me and look up at him. His eyes are glittering and the tip of his tongue is barely visible between his lips. Sorry, boy. You won't get what you came for today. "Thank you, Agent Krycek. That will be all."
He doesn't respond, staring at me as if transfixed. He takes a sudden step forward and his hand is resting on my ribs, just below my nipple, his gaze locked on my chest.
"You're way out of line, Agent Krycek." My words are strong, but my body doesn't move an inch. I can smell the musky scent of him. I'm impossibly aroused, and it feels so good to experience the simple pleasure of a very inspired hard-on on a Saturday morning.
His eyes slowly meet mine. Eyes glazed with desire, breathing rapid, lower lip caught in the grip of his teeth. His hand slides up my chest, fingers brushing across my nipple.
When was the last time someone looked at me like that? Fuck. What he's letting me see is so damned beautiful... his longing... Oh, Christ. I should have pushed him away a long time ago if I didn't want to do this.
As my hands reach for his waist, I throw away 15 years of fidelity. I pull him to my chest, feeling his rapidly beating heart. Mine, too. My hands stroke and wander over the muscles in his back, before drifting lower to explore his ass through the flimsy shorts. He writhes against me, seeming to caress my entire body with his. The only sound in the garage is my groan, a pitiful herald for the violation of my wedding vows.
Dammit, boy! Damn you for bringing me to this.
Now certain that this is his fault, I lose all thoughts of kissing those pouty lips. Instead, I turn him so he's facing my butcher block table. My hands slide down his hips, stroking his flanks. I reach around and locate his erection through the shorts. My other hand probes his well defined crack. Once I imagine my cock pressing into his ass, I have to have it.
Pressing him forward and starting to angle his torso down, I probe more insistently at his ass. He tenses and I hear a startled gasp. "What... I don't..."
I grab him around the waist, pulling his back to my chest, and hiss in his ear, "Are you teasing me, boy?"
His shaky voice travels on his escaping breath, "Oh, fuck no." His body suddenly relaxes against mine, acquiescing to whatever I have planned.
Now that that's settled, my mind shifts to more prosaic concerns. Lube...? I glance around the room looking for possibilities. Motor oil. WD-40. Ah, the hand lotion Sharon gave me. Smells like fruit or something.
I give Agent Krycek a light smack on the ass to let him know I'm coming back and step to the sink, returning with a pump bottle of lotion. He's turned his body so his hip is propped on the butcher block. I'm briefly caught in his stare. I realize now that what I thought were overt stares at the office were, in fact, pretty tame. He's breathing hard, and I've never seen such naked lust on someone's face. He reaches behind him and removes a flat wallet from his waistband. He removes a condom, then sets the wallet on the table followed by his badge.
Closing the short distance between us, I push him back around to face the table. I hear his breath hitch when I reach for him. I push him down so he's bracing his weight on his arms.
I want to touch him. My hands roam possessively across his back, then around to his front. Everywhere I touch, he presses into the caress. His body is so firm. It's been so long since I've touched a man. I slide one hand inside his tank top, stroking and squeezing his abdomen and his pecs. Nice, smooth chest.
I place a hand on each of his hips, then peel down his shorts revealing a pretty white ass. I can't resist petting him for a moment, but then nudge his legs open with my knee. His breathing becomes more erratic, and I press him down further so he's taking his weight on his elbows. I glide my fingers across his crack. A squirt of the lotion, warmed in my hands, and I massage his tiny anus.
Krycek gasps and a shudder passes through his body.
As I ease one finger inside him, he tightens and pulls away from me. I keep it inside, rubbing gently and, after a moment, he pushes back in my direction, moaning and arching his back. He's not completely sure he wants to get fucked, but that ass is so very tight around my digit. I'm sure.
I slowly insert a second finger. I massage and stretch him thoroughly before I make a point of gliding across his prostate. His head jerks up. "Oh fuck." He sounds surprised, but then pushes his hips back against my hand, groaning and dropping his torso across the table.
Rubbing his prostate for a few moments, I watch him writhe, listening to his gasps and moans. He tries to steady his breath and drops his head to the table as he reaches behind him, holding the condom out to me.
Good boy. I ease my fingers out of him and tear open the packet hurriedly. I want to be inside him yesterday. Unbuttoning my jeans, I take out my erection. I roll the condom on and slather the lotion on it. Krycek's legs are trembling.
Those long, muscular legs of his are exquisitely sexy. Bent over for me, his hamstrings are stretched beautifully.
I position my cock head at his entrance, rubbing his anus with the tip. He gasps and the muscles in his ass clench. I ask him, my voice unsteady, "This what you want, Krycek?" I don't know what I plan to do if he says no. That answer is simply unacceptable.
He makes a sound like a choked sob, then responds in a gravelly voice, "Fuck me."
Bracing a hand on his hip, I push forward and the head of my cock breaches the ring of his anus. It feels so fucking good that I have to stop and breathe. His shoulders tense and he groans. The muscles in his lower back and ass are quivering.
When I press on, I move slowly, but I don't stop until my cock is completely sheathed inside his ass. "Fuck, yeah," I whisper mindlessly. I place a reassuring hand on his upper back. "You okay?" His breath is coming in short gasps. He nods his head.
As I withdraw a bit and begin to fuck him, I am lost in the raw act. It's uncomplicated animal behavior. I thrust and he groans. My cock is squeezed magnificently by his very tight ass. With minor effort, I stimulate his prostate, and the sexy sounds he makes become honeyed sounds of pleasure.
I reach around his body and grasp his cock. He jerks in my hand and groans deep in his chest. It feels good to stroke it... so much like my own and yet so foreign. There's a bit of moisture at the tip. I wipe it over the head of his cock. He throws his head back and stops breathing for a few seconds. The skin is smooth and soft, but the organ is throbbing hard.
He smells of sex. We smell of sex. Musky. Masculine. Sweat. Smells that have nothing to do with women's bodies.
I begin to fuck him harder. My hand jerks his cock aggressively, the way I jack off when I'm in a hurry. He reaches for the edge of the table and the muscles in his back flex as he stretches himself out and holds on tightly. By his choppy breathing and the feel of his cock in my hand I know he's about to come.
The blood is surging in my veins and his. I'm alive.
I increase the pressure on his cock slightly, keeping my rhythm fast. He presses his ass against me, his cry muffled by his arm, as his ass clenches hard around my dick. Then I feel his cock erupt in my hand.
Thrusting hard and fast, my orgasm begins a few seconds after his. Pleasure is real again and no longer a memory. As my cock pulses inside him, I feel part of myself break away. Something besides my semen has been shed. And yet, I feel impossibly good. Pleased by the simple human act.
I collapse on his back for a moment. His breathing is shallow and rapid. His hands shake as he slowly releases his death grip on the table. His muscles tremble and, without realizing it at first, one of my hands is gently stroking the side of his lean body. It's the only thank you the boy is going to get from me today.
After a minute, I pull out of him, his tight ass gripping my cock as it is withdrawn. He gasps, his hands clenching on the table briefly. I dispose of the condom.
Sharon's voice intrudes on the intercom. "Walter, the Director is on the line."
I hold my pants up with one hand and reach for the button. "I want to finish here. Would you tell him I'll call him in five minutes?"
She does not respond. This is alienated Sharon-speak for agreement.
Once my cock is tucked away and my jeans are zipped, I reluctantly turn my eyes back toward him, dreading the next few minutes.
Still turned toward the table, Krycek slides his shorts up over his ass. Grabbing his wallet and badge, he tucks them into the waistband. He turns around, looking at the floor. Walking past me, he leans over and picks up car keys I wasn't aware he dropped.
Turning to face me, his eyes find mine, gaze direct but virtually expressionless. I feel an ache of guilt. I've just used him and I have nothing to say to him. He looks away and moves to the door, his fingertips grazing the back of my hand as he passes. A few seconds later, I hear the thump of the garage door closing.
This could easily cost me my job, but I'm not sure I even care. For one morning this year, I felt alive. It may have been worth it. If I feel alive, I must still be alive. This tiny spark of hope feels like a low hum inside me.
I flop back on my bed feeling completely wiped out and barely able to keep hold of a coherent thought. My ass hurts. And itches. And I'm getting hard again just thinking about how I got into this state. I resist the urge to scratch. What the fuck was in that lotion?
Rolling over on my stomach, I catch a whiff of... the faint smell of peaches. Oh, god. How mortifying.
I've been consensually fucked for the first time, by a man with a giant dick, using peach lotion for lube. And my brainless cock is getting harder knowing my butt smells like peaches. Knowing he made my butt smell like peaches.
I groan and bury my face in the pillows. Almost without conscious knowledge, my hips begin humping the bed.
Feeling twinges in my over-tenderized ass, I hump the bed even harder, seeking the sensation. I know I can't come this way, and my bike shorts are too fucking tight, but it feels good. The more I move my hips, the more acutely I'm aware of the tenderness in my ass.
I spread my legs. With my legs apart, the tenderness mutates into little flashes of pain. Mixed with the pleasure coursing through my cock and balls, it sends electric shocks to every nerve in my body. Spreading my legs further, causing more pain, I pull my knees up slightly and continue to thrust into my bed. The pleasure and pain mingling make me gasp and clutch the sheets.
Visualizing Skinner positioning the broad head of his cock at my tender anus, I come. In my too tight bike shorts.
The phone rings. I groan and reach for it. "Yeah."
"Nick, don't call me baby. It annoys the fuck out of me."
"Okay." I can almost hear him pouting. "You want me to come over?"
"No. Had to work. I am tired and not feeling social."
"You don't have to socialize, and I'm sure you'll feel better with my lips around your cock."
I doubt it. I would only feel better if your first name was Walter and... Fuck. I have got to think about something else.
"Not tonight, Nick. I'm going to shower and go to bed early."
"Okay, lover. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
In the shower, I soap my body, unable to stop myself from remembering Skinner's hands sliding over my skin. My cock starts to respond. Stop it, Alex!
Bracing my hands against the wall, I try to figure out what possessed me to bend over for Walter Skinner. It doesn't take much brain power to figure it out. Lust. And too damned much sexual tension over the last two weeks.
When he started touching me, I felt completely engulfed by lust. I have never been so caught up in sex before. So mindless in my desire. I've always been partially detached, thinking about what's next, what to do. For the first time, my brain shut off--before I even touched him.
It took me too long to process the signs that he planned to fuck me. And when I did, the concern that he would stop--pull away from me--was more powerful than my fear of being fucked.
It cannot happen again. He obviously has that top dog thing going. Top dog and I are not compatible. No, this will not happen again. I do not want anyone fucking me in the ass. I can use today--blackmail--if I ever need to get something from him. Right?
I groan, knowing I am suffering from a delusion. My soapy hands find the crack of my ass and brush across the sensitive opening. My cock comes to full attention, and I bite my lip before banging my head against the wall a few times in sheer frustration.
Dropping to my knees, I stroke my cock, wondering what his dick would feel like in my mouth, until my cum is rinsing down the drain.
Monday, 23 May 1994
With the kidnapping solved, things have calmed down substantially. Not that Mathis' team doesn't have months of work ahead of them to deal with the evidence and prepare the prosecution, but I won't have so many uptight VIPs on my case.
The X-Files are now my biggest headache. The Director told me to close them down. I think my Pentagon observer, Smith, is driving him. I can't divine any good reason why the Director is taking orders from the chain-smoking bastard. Mulder has been a management headache, but he's one of the smartest men in the Bureau and I admire his tenacity. And no one else wants these cases.
The liver-eating mutant thing wasn't exactly my idea of a choice case either. Surely that didn't really happen the way Mulder said it did? Or did it?
Mulder's informant is dead. There has to be a reason. It's probably not what Mulder thinks it is but it's something. Something important.
I'm going to stall the Director as long as I can. Maybe I can trade keeping the X-Files in exchange-
A tap on the door intrudes on my machinations.
I admit Section Chief Robert Baker into my office a few minutes before the Bingham case post-mortem.
Baker has been a section chief for five years, now heading up the violent crime section. He takes a lot of shit because he's about Scully's height, but, like her, he's a good agent to have backing you up. Fast, smart and lethal.
"Sir, I'd like to request the use of Agent Krycek for the Rose Killer. He was dead on about VBI Enterprises and I'd like to work with him again."
I'm about to ask why he's not having this conversation with Mathis, who is Krycek's unit manager, when he continues, "Mathis won't let me have him. Says the kid has an attitude problem and he wants to manage him closely."
Mathis is the one with the attitude problem. Krycek may be direct and opinionated, but he is no worse than most of the other good agents in the Bureau. And managing him closely is exactly the wrong strategy.
"Sir, Mathis is just pissed about VBI. We made him look bad by solving his case." He rolls his eyes. "Christ, I'd be fucking grateful if he'd solve one of mine."
"Krycek's a bit green for you guys to be fighting over him."
"He's damned smart." Baker scratches an itch in his moustache. "You know... I saw him at the Bingham bust. He tackled and subdued a suspect who had at least 60 lbs on him. And restrained him without cuffs. The kid's got a lot of potential and... frankly, sir, Mathis isn't capable of developing him."
I nod. "You can have Krycek. I'll talk to Mathis." Lucky me.
I follow him out the door, on my way to the Bingham kidnapping meeting.
I'm barely able to focus on the post-mortem. It's a relief when someone besides Skinner begins to speak, as I'm forced to focus my attention elsewhere. I have decided to not pursue the man but he still makes me hard. Every time I see him.
As the meeting ends, Section Chief Baker gestures me out into the hall. I follow the petite man, noticing that Skinner and Mathis are leaving the Ops room together.
I focus my attention on Baker. "Sir?"
"You are temporarily assigned to my section. You'll be working the Rose Killer case."
I'm a little surprised, but anything that keeps me away from Mathis is a good thing. "Yes, sir. Effective when?"
"Today. Wrap up whatever you're working on and report to the Unit Manager, Agent Kym. He'll brief you on the current state of the investigation. Get up to speed as quickly as possible. We could have another killing soon, and I don't want to have to brief you in the field." I nod. He slaps me on the shoulder and moves off.
A few hours later, Gjersee catches up with me. "Hey, I hear you're working on the Rose Killer case."
"Well, I don't envy you, man. Even if you are getting out of a lot of paperwork. Those serial killer cases are a real mind fuck. You seen the way Baker's agents look the first few days after a new victim?" Yeah, I have. They look strung out. I nod and he continues, "Hey, you wanna go grab some lunch?"
Being social and making friends is not part of my game plan but I need some distraction. Need to get Skinner off the brain. No point in dwelling on something that will not happen again. "Sure."
"Burger place across the street?"
Ugh... more bread. "How about Chinese? There's a place a couple of blocks away."
"Sure. Let me grab my jacket."
At lunch, Gjersee confirms my suspicions that he's from California and likes to surf. I don't bother asking how he manages that year-round tan. But we spend most of lunch talking about the Bingham case.
"You know, Krycek, I think the most intense thing was the morning Ops meetings."
That's a little strange. "Why?"
"One name. Skinner. The man makes me nervous. Having to sit in a meeting with him every morning ruined my breakfast."
I guess everything comes down to perspective. They made me want to corner Skinner in a dark closet and have lunch. Not supposed to be thinking about Skinner... change the subject.
Gjersee adds, "You know, I had to change gyms because he makes me so nervous?"
That catches my attention. "What do you mean?"
"Used to work out at Mike's on 4th Street. Ran into Skinner a couple of times and decided my nerves couldn't handle it." He laughs at himself. "Switched to 24-Hour Fitness."
Back at the office, I call to find out the hours for Mike's gym, then feel annoyed with myself for letting Skinner get to me. I suppress any more thoughts of one Walter Skinner, and head off to meet with Agent Kym.
There are three agents in the war room when I arrive. A case has to be very high profile to warrant taking over an entire ops room. I glance around, noting all the crime scene photos taped to the walls, and the white boards filled with information. There are files and papers piled on the large conference table. Fold-up tables have been set up along the walls, holding three computers and offering some 'desk' space.
There are three agents in the room. Two are pouring over a file together, and the third I already know. Special Agent Jennifer Gough rises to greet me.
"Hello, Agent Krycek." Gough is a tall, thin woman in her 40's with auburn hair. She actually works for Mathis. Must be another agent on loan.
"Agent Gough," I acknowledge. "I was supposed to meet with Agent Kym?"
"He's in a meeting with A.D. Skinner and Baker. You can get settled in and start reviewing the victim profiles." She gestures to a stack of folders at the end of a folding table. "You can work there."
"Do I need to clear out my desk?"
"No. There's a shortage of desks in this unit and since you're only temporarily assigned here, you'll keep your spot down on two."
Seems strange to work a floor away from the rest of the team. I hate having to ask a lot of questions. "So, I'll be working from there?"
"Most of the time, you'll work in here or out in the field."
Lovely. Another perk to being the lowest rung on the ladder. I simply nod my head and start toward the table with my reading materials.
She waves a hand toward the other two men. "David Lawrence and Eugene Mallory. Agents, this is Alex Krycek." They both look up and nod, immediately returning to their paperwork. "Agent Kym is the unit manager and investigative lead."
I thought Baker was the lead. She instantly understands my confusion. "Serial killers are always high profile and this one is getting a little out of hand. Which is why they're pulling agents from other units to help out. Section Chief Baker is more directly involved than usual. It doesn't help that the perpetrator is targeting the D.C. area. Puts it right in our faces." She looks around briefly before continuing, "Let me show you where everything is and then you can get started."
Agent Gough shows me the layout of the room, carefully watching me when we get to the wall of crime scene photos. I make sure to keep my face blank and glance at all the pictures. Gruesome is the only word that comes to mind. Well, maybe 'messy.' I'm sure every agent who looks at these pictures wishes the killer chose something besides disemboweling his victims.
Perhaps the creepiest thing is the purple rose placed in each victim's open mouth.
When the 'tour' is finished, I sit down to read about the Rose Killer. It only takes 20 minutes before my head begins to pound. God, no wonder this team always looks strung out. Five victims and absolutely no useful leads. Not one. It must drive them crazy.
And it's impossible to get a good lead because the killer has left no evidence and there's nothing similar about the victims. Five victims to date, over the last three months. Three men, two women. Ages 32 to 61. Everything from a waitress to an engineer to a retiree. Three Caucasians, one African American, one Asian. Not a single one lived in the same city. And the spacing between victims has been very erratic. From one week to one month.
I'm absentmindedly rubbing my temple when a voice behind me causes me to jump slightly. "Agent Krycek?"
I turn to face an unusually tall, slender Korean man. Probably in his early forties. I stand, extend my hand, and reply, "Yeah. Agent Kym?"
He shakes my hand. "Yung Kym. Nice to meet you, and nice to have some more help on this case. So, what do you think?" He nods to the folder.
"I think it would be nice if these people all belonged to a religious cult so we'd have some way to tie them together."
Kym gives a wry chuckle. "All go to the same paranoid schizophrenic hairdresser? The lack of commonality is certainly the thorn in our side."
"BSU have anything useful?"
He looks momentarily aggrieved. "Sadly, no. I don't think they quite know what to make of our boy. His victims don't fit any known serial killer pattern. They think he's a Caucasian, in his thirties, probably unemployed. Not a whole lot to work with. We're at the stage where we need a lot of manpower to go over every minute detail, looking for... anything."
Kym glances around the room. "Most of the team is out in the field, interviewing known associates of the victims, so you'll meet them later. I'd like you to finish reviewing the victim profiles, then look at the forensic reports. Be creative, and don't hesitate to discuss any idea. Right now, a fresh perspective is what we need." He pauses. "Any questions?"
"No, sir. But, I'm sure I will later."
He nods and moves over to talk with Agent Mallory. Mallory has to be another junior agent. Looks to be close to my age, good looking, black hair, close to six feet.
After a few more hours of reading, I gather up the unread files and head for home.
Nick is sitting on the stairs outside my apartment when I arrive. I refused to see him this weekend. He gives me a sultry smile. I think about sending him home--I have a ton of information to review tonight--but at the last minute, I haul him up and drag him into my apartment. I will get to the case later.
Wednesday, 25 May 1994
Wednesday evening, I am on my way out of the Bureau when a black sedan pulls up and the back door opens. I peer inside and see the glowing tip of a cigarette. I suppress a sigh and climb in. It seems risky for him to pick me up here.
He waits until we are out of the parking garage to speak. "You've been distinguishing yourself." He does not sound happy.
I wonder what he's talking about. Just like the rest of the team, I've made no progress on the Rose Killer case. "I was under the impression that I was supposed to distinguish myself."
"Refrain from revealing some of your more extensive training. You are a green FBI agent. Try to remember that." There is never a right thing to say to him, so I opt for an expression of confusion. I really do not know why he's annoyed.
He lights another cigarette and explains that the way I restrained the Bingham suspect was commented upon. I keep my face carefully neutral, but think this whole thing is foolish. I cannot believe he went to the effort of picking me up for this.
I am correct. There is more. "Establishing yourself with the FBI is certainly your highest priority but I may have a little extra project for you soon. We might as well get our money's worth."
I nod and he has the car stopped. I get out, not saying a word even though he's dropped me a couple of miles from the Hoover.
I start the walk back, feeling like an idiot. The reason I am here is never far from my mind, but life was starting to feel normal. Truthfully, I do not even know what normal is, but the work and routine were too easy to fall into. Too easy to imagine that this is my real life. Fuck. Never forget who you are, Krycek.
My mind drifts to Aleksei and I shut it down. I could smack myself. Ten years and I can count the number of times I have thought of him on one hand.
Driving to the gym, I find myself wanting to smash my car through anything that gets in the way.
I lost a battle with the Director today... had to shut down the X-Files. He also insisted on separating Mulder and Scully, assigning him to White Collar Crime and her to teach at Quantico.
I resent the large number of management decisions forced on me that offer no benefit to law enforcement. Or even impede it.
Mulder's pissed. I can't blame him. Sometimes I can't justify the orders I give. I don't like it any better than he does.
Lifting the heaviest weights I can move might help blow off the tension. Maybe I'll do supersets.
Retrieving my car from the Bureau garage, I drive home feeling frustrated and annoyed. I pace my apartment agitatedly. Nick calls. I tell him not to come over. Maybe tomorrow.
At 10:30 P.M., I'm still frustrated for no definable reason. Or at least, no reason I care to define. I change into running shorts, tank top and sweat shirt. Grabbing my gym bag, I head for my car.
I find myself in the parking lot of Mike's gym. I do not expect to find Skinner here; there are virtually no cars in the parking lot. But I know if I could seek him out right now, I would. I want him to fuck me again. Finally admitting it to myself makes me bang my head on the steering wheel.
Hopping out of the car, I grab my bag. I know they're open 'til midnight. I hate working out with weights, so I only need time on the treadmill. I hope an hour is enough to run this day out of my system.
I pay the guy behind the counter for a single-use pass and head into the facility. The few people present are working with free weights. The cardio equipment is all available. I'm almost to the treadmill, when a big man stands up from a bench press about fifteen feet away, wiping his face with a towel.
I've never seen him without his glasses on. My bag slips from my fingers. As if he feels the weight of my gaze, he turns and looks directly at me. A sense of surprise passes across his face, then it goes flat. I try to compose my features, knowing the shock shows in my expression. He nods at me and moves to another bench.
He's wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt. He looks fucking sexy. I'm torn between fleeing and throwing myself at him. I need to get myself together. I snap my jaw shut, suddenly aware of it hanging open, and force my expression into an approximation of neutral.
I cannot stop watching as the man does a triceps French press with about half my body weight on each arm. I'd pay a lot of money to see him work out in the nude.
I select the treadmill with the best view of the free weight area. After a quick warm-up, I'm running at a good clip. Yes, it is possible to run with a hard-on. When I'm not looking at Walter Skinner, I'm thinking about him. Since I admitted to myself that I want him again, I almost cannot keep from dragging him out of here.
But there's the rub. I don't know if he wants me. There's no telling how he would respond if I tried to put the moves on him again. I do not relish the idea of being beaten into the ground.
I avoid looking his direction, suddenly regretting selecting this treadmill. It feels as if everything is pointless. I want Walter Skinner, so it's logical to assume I cannot have him. I'm turned on and frustrated and hating this fucking life. I slam my hand down on the STOP button. Grabbing my stuff, I head out of the gym.
A few moments of pacing the parking lot and I could kick myself. Why screw up a perfectly good opportunity to ogle the man? God, snap out of it, Krycek.
Oh, fuck it. Worst case, he says no. Well, worst case, he beats me to a pulp, then says no, but I think it's worth the risk. Turning around, I head back into the gym.
The kid behind the desk looks up at me. "You're back. Did you forget something?"
"No. Went to grab my towel."
"Okay. The locker rooms are back there." He points to door behind the free-weight area. "We close in 30 minutes so you should have plenty of time."
Well, we shall see.
I enter the locker room. It's empty except for the janitor. He has just finished mopping the tile area near the toilet stalls and glances at me with a slight frown. "Hey, pal, I wanna get outta here early. Think you could try to be neat so I can go?"
How convenient. "Sure thing. Have a nice evening." I give him a bland smile.
He pushes the mop bucket out of sight and I hear a door shut. He nods at me as he leaves the locker room.
On a whim, I decide to check out where he went. At the end of a row of stalls is a closet with a very flimsy lock. Hmm. I grab a credit card out of my bag and open the door. Very tidy closet, and not as small as it looks from the outside. Someone's anal retentive. Either the janitor or the mysterious Mike.
I return to the locker and shower area to find Skinner walking into locker room. My steps falter.
He eyes me warily while working the combination of a locker. "Agent."
Forcing my feet back into motion, I reply with an equally neutral, "Assistant Director." I step over to the bench where my bag is resting and pull out my towel. Reaching for the hem of my sweatshirt, I pull it over my head as he begins rustling around in his locker.
I wonder how long he's been working out. His T-shirt is sweat soaked and clinging to his torso. I find myself curious as to how he smells. I wish I had positioned my gym bag better so I had a reason to stand closer to him.
Skinner had a hard-on for me once, but I don't know if that was a fluke or because he finds me attractive. Well, you play the hand you're dealt. I change my position so I am partially facing away and pull off my tank top. Using the shirt, I wipe excess sweat from the back of my neck. I kick away my shoes and reach for the waistband of my shorts. I am not going to wave my butt at the man, but there is no denying that his view is primarily of my ass. I push the shorts down over my hips and let them drop to the floor. Picking them up with my toes, I set them on the pile of clothes.
Well, there's no hiding my erection. I turn back to face him as I reach for my towel.
Skinner is frozen, his arms about to remove his own T-shirt. His eyes meet mine. There's a vaguely tormented look about him. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing provocatively. Eyes never leaving mine, he pulls off his shirt.
The sight of his bare torso almost makes me come. My cock twitches. It's obvious he is definitely interested. But he's so damned cautious. I reach into my bag for two essential items--condom and a foil pack of lube--enclosing them in my towel. At the shower, I set my towel on a bench and turn on the water. I get the temperature a few degrees below boiling and step under the spray. The communal shower is open to the locker room area... fitting nicely into my plan.
Without glancing at Skinner, I reach for some soap from the wall-mounted dispenser and run it over my chest. For a few moments, I massage my chest and abdomen, staying away from my over-excited cock--I'm not putting on that kind of show. I reach for more soap and move my hands around to my hips and butt. Taking a moment to work the soap into a lather, I finally slide the fingertips of one hand along the crack of my ass.
I hear a soft gasp from behind me. I quickly rinse the soap and turn the shower spray off. I catch Skinner's gaze. Those deep brown eyes seem to burn. His eyes brush over my body, eliminating any doubts about his attraction. Then he glances around the locker room and shrugs slightly. He's wearing only a towel.
I drop my voice and make sure the desire is written all over my face. "We have fifteen minutes and there is a private room."
After a moment's hesitation, he responds with a slight nod.
I grab the towel and head to the closet. He is fairly quiet, but I hear enough to know he is following. Inside the closet, I move to the far wall, dropping the towel and reaching up for the light string. Hearing the door close behind me, I wonder if I am going to have to continue to persuade him.
Warm hands on my shoulders tell me otherwise. And then his body is pressed behind me, his breath raspy in my ears. His arms wrap around me, trapping my arms at the side of my body. The texture of his towel is rough against my ass cheeks. His strong hands wander the front of my body, stroking my chest, kneading my pecs and sliding down to my belly.
My breath catches in my throat and all rational thoughts flee. My head falls back against his shoulder. My arms are confined, but I reach back enough to grab his hips, pulling him toward me as I push my ass back. My butt is firmly in contact with his towel-covered erection. I can smell him now... a masculine, musky scent that ratchets my desire to a frantic level.
His fingers grasp my erection and he strokes and pulls. Oh, Christ, he would not do that if he knew how close I was. I cannot prevent my groan as my hips jerk backward. His towel falls between us and suddenly his cock is gliding between my butt cheeks. His skin is smooth, the muscles firm under my grasping fingers.
I really want him to fuck me this time. In the garage, I only wanted to keep the sex going, to keep his body against mine. Anything to end the weeks of frustration. The pleasure was a surprise. Tonight, I know I want his cock in my ass.
Sliding out of his arms, I drop to one knee, quickly locating both. I start to hand them to him but rotate around instead. Oh fuck. His cock is as big as it feels. It's a good thing I did not see this in the garage. Not even blinding lust and weeks of pent-up sexual tension would have kept me there. Ripping the condom open with my teeth, I quickly roll it down his straining erection, then take a moment to stroke him. So smooth and hard. He emits a long slow groan. There's a throbbing sensation in my lower lip and I realize I've had it firmly clamped in my teeth. I release my lip and run my tongue over it, resisting the temptation to run it over Skinner's cock... we do not have much time and I need that cock up my ass.
Tearing open the lube packet, I apply some to my hand and spread it over him slowly. A distant part of my brain cannot believe I'm doing this. It feels like a struggle to breathe, when he takes the lube packet from me and grabs my arm, pulling me up.
"Lean against the wall." His voice is a low rasp.
Turning around, I lean against the wall and rest my head on my forearms.
The first thing I feel is his fingers sliding down my spine, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Then he pulls my ass open and a cool finger presses into me. Gasping, I push back against the probing digit. I would never have predicted that my body would beg to have something stuck in my ass.
He quickly inserts another finger, stretching and rubbing. His other hand finds my balls and gives them a gentle squeeze. It feels so good. I'm almost panting as I thrust back against his hand.
He growls into my ear and his cock brushes against my ass cheeks.
I do not want to wait. "Do it."
Skinner releases my balls. The fingers are withdrawn. The head of his cock nudges my anus. The push, when it comes, is excruciatingly slow. It takes an unbearably long time for just the head to enter me. I hold my breath for a moment. There is a flash of pain and I welcome it. I know I will have a couple of days to feel this. Days to stroke my tender anus, every twinge reminding me of this fuck.
Then his arm wraps around my waist and he drives all the way into me. I catch the cry in my throat, making a strangled sound. He pauses, his breathy voice near my ear. "So damned tight." Fuck, his deep voice turns me on.
He begins to thrust. The first feel of his hard cock moving in my ass brings me close to the edge. I fight back my orgasm but my mind throws up a picture. The picture of his dick sliding in and out of me, and I am again a breath from coming. I groan and bite my lip, fighting the urge, needing this to go on a little longer.
I press back, meeting every thrust. His cock repeatedly rubs my prostate--the spot my sex partners have moaned about, but I had never before been able to appreciate--and the sharp pleasure mingles with the pain of his penetration.
His hand slides down my abdomen and onto my cock. It's too much, too soon. My head comes away from the wall and my hips jerk back, impaling me further on his cock. "No... oh, god, I don't want to come yet."
Skinner makes a sound... a half chuckle, half moan, but the hand releases my cock and moves up my chest. He strokes me, then pinches a nipple. I drop my head on my arms and groan.
The power and speed of his fucking increases. I savor the feeling of his heavy body slamming into me. I fervently wish this were more than a quick fuck... I want to touch him, feel his skin. I settle for the part of him I am touching, and clench my rectum around him on his next thrust.
"Ah, fuck." His body shudders and for a moment his movements are sloppy. He regains his control and takes me even more vigorously, but soon he gasps for air and begins to come. As I feel his cock throbbing inside me, his hand gropes for mine. In a clumsy attempt to stroke me he manages only to brush it, but that is enough. I bite my arm to keep from yelling as my climax takes over.
For a few seconds, every nerve ending sparks to life, with pleasure so acute as to be painful, focused on the area where his body impales me. I have to remind myself to breathe as I come down from the high, feeling his body--warm, smooth skin--against mine.
His arms wrap around my waist, just holding me upright, as both of us catch our breath. I like having his arms around me, enough that warning bells go off in my brain, telling me to get away. But, for some bizarre reason, I am content to just stay here like this.
After a couple of minutes, he clears his throat and whispers, "Thank you."
I cannot think of how to respond. Unable to speak, I nod my head but find one of my hands rubbing his encircling arms.
He pulls back, allowing his cock to slide out of me. I am not quite successful at suppressing the small whimper, and wonder if I will get used to the fleeting sense of loss when our bodies are no longer connected.
As I turn around, he removes the condom and drops it in what appears to be a waste can. He picks up the towels and passes me mine. His goes back around his waist.
He seems to be waiting for me to put on my towel, but I just throw it over my arm and open the door.
As I step outside, I encounter a muscled 50-something man. He gives me a questioning look and steps up to me. "What are you doing?"
I raise one eyebrow and smile pleasantly. "Is there a particular reason why I should answer that question?" My voice is calm.
Skinner steps out from behind me and the unknown man's eyes bug out. "Hello, Mike," he says smoothly.
"Walter," he replies in a confused tone.
As if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, Skinner walks to the showers, doffs his towel and adjusts the spray.
Mike looks at me as if I'm from Neptune. I grab his hand and shake it firmly. "Pleasure to meet you." I move away before it dawns on him that I didn't introduce myself.
I slip into my clean sweats, occasionally glancing at Skinner. Remembering the awkwardness after our last encounter, I decide to leave before he finishes showering. As he passes his face under the shower spray, I pick up my bag and slip out the door. Mike watches me with a bemused expression on his face.
As I walk out to the car, I'm still rather shocked at myself. Did I really fuck Alex Krycek in the cleaning closet of the locker room? Mike will never be the same.
On Saturday, I told myself that sex with Krycek was just an outlet for my frustration about my marriage. A one-time demonstration that I'm still a healthy human male.
Tonight, I discovered the truth. He's a hot little fucker and I really enjoy touching him. In spite of the fact that I can quickly name two very good reasons why I should never lay a hand on him again, I know I want to. He won't have to work so hard to convince me next time.
Yes, I feel guilty about my marriage and about my job responsibilities, but those feelings are weak compared to the youthful joy I'm experiencing at having a sexy new lover.
Back at home, I lie in the bed in the guest room. The image of Krycek in the shower, soaping up his crack is my last thought before I fall asleep.
Thursday, 26 May 1994
Thursday morning is a long struggle trying to focus on the Rose Killer briefing. It's too easy to let my mind wander to last night. To see myself braced against a wall while Walter's cock pounded into me. Coming at just the brush of his fingers. God, I come so easily with him... it's almost embarrassing.
For what feels like the fortieth time, I force myself to shake off the images and concentrate on the meeting.
This is the first time I've seen the entire team crammed into the ops room. There are no empty chairs. I'm one of several agents seated back from the over crowded table, balancing files and tablets on our laps. I have a nice view of the back of Mallory's dark head. The discussion is intense, as possible leads are brought up, thoroughly reviewed, and--very unfortunately--ultimately discarded.
The conversation unerringly turns to the color and type of flower. Something I've been doing a lot of reading on. I lead forward to make sure I don't miss anything. I feel a twinge of discomfort in my asshole as I shift positions, and, yet again, have to banish thoughts of last night.
Two agents are arguing about the meaning of the flower. "No. Roses only symbolize love. Various types of love, but always love."
"But the color of the rose can change the meaning."
"Yes, but always to some other type of love... joy, friendship, remembrance, purity, romance... but always tied to love. That's what the flower symbolizes."
The argument about rose symbolism rages on. The first agent is correct. Roses always symbolize some sort of love. But I don't think the type of flower is really significant. The color, on the other hand...
Section Chief Baker asks the opinion of another junior agent sitting two chairs from me. He somehow manages to agree with both sides of the argument.
"And what about you, Krycek?"
Well, I knew that was coming. Sort of a 'quiz the junior agents' moment. "While I agree that roses always symbolize love, I do not agree that the symbolism of the flower has anything to do with the killings. In this instance, the color of the flower seems more significant than the type of flower."
The dissenting agent pipes up, "Exactly. Purple roses signify fascination... enchantment."
Shit. That was not what I meant. I'm about to clarify when Baker addresses me again. "You agree?"
"No. I think it's possible the color symbolizes something. The rose seems irrelevant."
The agent I just disagreed with clenches his teeth. Another senior agent chimes in and the focus moves back to the table. "Good point. As we've discussed, the color purple can signify power, leadership, wealth and respect. So, it does seem likely that the color is symbolic of the motive behind the killing... an expression of power."
I completely disagree, but heave an inaudible sigh, shrug slightly and look down at my notepad.
"You disagree, Agent Krycek?" I look up at Unit Manager Kym. He's been quiet through the entire meeting, and I was not aware he had been looking my direction.
I hesitate; it won't be productive to annoy the senior agents on the team. "Not necessarily," I hedge.
Kym rests his arms on the table and rubs the bridge of his nose. One of the other agents begins to espouse the 'purple means power' theory but Baker waves him down, watching Kym.
Agent Kym looks back at me again. "We need fresh perspectives. If you have an opinion, I want to hear it."
I shrug. Oh well, disagreeing with someone is certainly not the most offensive thing I've ever done. "I don't think it's much of a stretch to assume that power, or the exercising of it, has something to do with this killing... since it's a fairly common component of most murders. But I think, in this case, the act of power is just in the killing. The color of the flower might be symbolic of something else."
"Well, we've only examined the classic meanings of the color purple. But, taken in context, there are a lot more meanings to the color. For instance, in several religions, purple is a color that signifies penance."
The 'purple is power' agent jumps in with, "So, are you trying to say you think the killer is making his victims pay for something?" The mocking tone is impossible to miss but easily ignored.
"No. I'm saying that by focusing only on traditional interpretations of the flower or the color, we're not exploring possible insight into the killer's motive."
Kym looks thoughtful and nods. "And let's all remember that the flower may mean absolutely nothing. Which is about what we're getting from BSU these days." Everyone gives an obligatory chuckle. It's too painfully true. "Okay, kids. Enough for today. I need to meet separately with Gough, Mallory and Lawrence. Reese, since you and Krycek have such divergent views on the meaning of the color, you two work together on the report and get it to me by end of day."
I arrive home Thursday evening with hours of forensic reports to review because I spent all day preparing a report about the color purple. Nick is once again waiting outside my apartment.
Shifting my burden under my left arm, I fumble for my keys. "Why are you here, Nick? I thought we agreed that I would call you this weekend."
His hand lightly caresses my butt as I push the door open and step away from him. "Yeah... but I wanted to see you. You know I'll make it worthwhile." He gives me a flirtatious look as he steps into my apartment.
I'm tempted to tell him to leave but don't want to risk a scene in an open doorway with my neighbors around. I kick the door shut and set my stuff on the coffee table. When I turn around, Nick is there, reaching for me. I capture his hands and push him away.
"I already told you, I don't like unannounced visits. What part didn't you understand?"
He looks a little surprised, but he's back to seductive mode in a blink. "Come on, Alex. I can make you feel good. You look tired and stressed... and a little hostile. Let me make you feel better, baby."
"What would make me feel better is for you to leave. Because I am feeling hostile. I do not like unannounced visitors and really do not like being called 'baby.'"
He grins at me. "Hostile is okay... I can handle you aggressive, baby."
Suddenly, my plans for the evening change. I grab him and slam him against the wall, pinning him with the weight of my body. He gives a surprised gasp.
"You think so?" My voice is barely a hiss.
He swallows, briefly looking a little nervous, but I feel his cock begin to harden against my hip. His tongue darts across his lips, then he nods his head.
"Well, we shall see. Oh, and Nick... if you're too tired to drive, you sleep on the couch." He gives a delighted shiver. Fuck. I jerk him away from the wall and push him toward the bedroom.
Huntersville, North Carolina
Friday, 27 May 1994
This afternoon, Section Chief Baker's call interrupted a meeting with the Director. Baker informed us that a sixth Rose Killer body was found in Huntersville, North Carolina. His team and BSU were already on site.
I'd been avoiding direct involvement in this case, but since it doesn't appear to be going away, it's time I checked out the scene.
Following Baker's directions, I drive to the site. It's an old farmhouse, surrounded by state police vehicles, unmarked American cars and two coroner's vans. I park in the grass and scan the swarm of Coke-drinking law enforcement officials for someone I know.
Seeing no familiar faces, I pull out my shield as I pass a local cop who appears to be serving as gatekeeper. He directs me around the house to the barn.
The barn looks like it's about to collapse, but it's so dilapidated the danger is minimal. I think the team could survive being struck by falling moth-eaten boards. The most lethal aspect of the site is definitely the smell.
One of Baker's men spots me and passes the Vicks, which I gratefully smear under my nostrils. Baker joins me and gives a tour of the site. The body has been here for a couple of days. No question it wasn't pretty when it was fresh. Krycek is actually with the forensic team, labeling evidence bags.
It's a sad state of affairs when you find a disemboweled corpse boring, but I'm far more interested in hearing a review of the evidence. Baker and I lean against the evidence team van.
"So do we have anything?"
His heavy sigh gives me the big picture instantaneously. "Yeah, but it's the same as before. Still a purple rose, as you probably noticed. Same or similar blade."
"Who found the body?"
"The elderly couple who lives in the house. They noticed a bad odor. They're at the hospital. The husband was taken out in an ambulance about half an hour after we got here. Heart problems."
"Have you got someone searching the woods?"
"Kym, Lawrence and Mallory." Baker teases the end of his moustache with short, delicate fingers.
"You getting the support you need from the locals?"
"Yes, sir. They're not too bad. Except for every single cop in a fifty mile radius wanting to look at the body..." He shakes his head.
Baker shrugs. "They've given me a profile, but it's still too vague to be useful. I mean there are a lot of unemployed white guys in their 30s in the greater D.C. area."
"So what do you need to solve this case, Baker?"
He looks up at me with a grim expression. "A confession?"
"You want some fresh agents to canvas the town?"
"No, sir. Gough and Reese are doing that now. I'll go through again tomorrow in case they missed something."
I nod. This case seems a long way from resolution. "You need anything, I need to know. ASAP."
"How's Krycek working out? I noticed you had him working on the corpse with the evidence guys."
"He wouldn't have been my first choice, but I was running out of people who hadn't thrown up in the bushes. The kid knows how to keep his lunch down. His skin was a little green, but he did the job."
I pull out my cell and phone the Rose Killer operations center. No news is bad news. I call BSU and ask the senior unit manager to get his profilers to be a little more concrete. I can't think of any other way to help.
After the body's taken away, most of the crowd goes home. There's still one site team scouring the woods behind the barn, but the rest are packing it in.
Intending to drive back to D.C., I head for my car, but spot Krycek leaning against a car, stripping off his latex gloves. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, coat and tie long since abandoned. He looks solemn, maybe thoughtful.
I modify my course to pass him. "You okay, Agent Krycek?"
He glances up, his pale face blank for a second. There's a spark of recognition. "Yeah. Just fine." His voice is low and quiet.
"Is this the first one you've seen?"
I rest my foot on the car tire. "Not losing your lunch bought you a senior place on the team."
Krycek responds with a fleeting half smile. "I don't think labeling evidence bags and tucking in a man's intestines comes under the heading of 'advanced field work.'"
I can't help but offer a weak smile in return. "I won't tell you how many cases I worked before someone decided I was competent to print the date on an empty evidence bag."
He chuckles and runs his fingers through his disheveled hair, then gazes at me intently. "Sir, may I be blunt about something not related to this case?"
I can't stop myself from glancing around. We're at least fifteen feet from anyone else. "You may," I reply in a cautious tone.
Krycek steps closer. He looks damned good, even rumpled and sweaty. His voice is low. "These days, it seems like I have a hard-on every time I even think about you. Frankly, it is driving me insane... wondering if it will happen again. I want..." he breaks off, looking thoughtful.
Even as he speaks, I feel my cock thicken. No way I want to have this sort of conversation here.
I decide in an instant. "Half the team is staying here in Huntersville, but 20 miles up the highway is Davidson. There's one hotel... on Range Road. I'll get a room. Why don't you see if you can find a drugstore and meet me there?"
He briefly looks surprised, but composes his features and nods his head before replying, "I'll look for your car. If you leave the room door propped open, I should be able to find you."
I nod my agreement. He stares at me for a second then moves away, crossing a grassy area to his car.
When I drive up to the motel, the Valley Forge Inn, I'm mortified that I'm actually bringing someone here. But they give me a room on the most private far end. It's clean, at least. Burnt orange carpeting isn't very inspiring, but it'll do. Somehow I feel like the tawdry room reflects on me, the cheating husband.
I shed my coat and tie, then wash my face. After cracking the door open, I stand by the window, waiting. Fifteen minutes or so later, I see him park and glance around.
A moment later, Krycek enters. He drops a small paper bag on the table. Running his hand through his hair, he mutters, "Abysmal selection of lube."
I stare at him. I want to kiss him, but I don't. It feels awkward. But my eyes are on his mouth.
He starts to say something else and stops, biting his lip for a second. "I'll be back... going to wash up." He meets my gaze briefly, then walks to the bathroom.
I close the blinds and stow my gun, plus the contents of my pockets, in the bedside table. After removing my shirt and my undershirt, I toss them on the dresser. I turn down the bed and sit in the room's only chair to undo my shoes.
Alex returns a few minutes later, towel around his waist, hair damp. He leans against the wall. His gaze wanders over my body, stopping on my chest before returning to my face.
I watch him silently for a few minutes, allowing him an opportunity to talk if he wants to. He seems relaxed... content to just look at me.
I walk over to him and reach my arm around his back, pulling him to my chest. There's a flash of surprise in his eyes, quickly replaced by desire. My mouth finds his and my tongue slips inside. A small sound issues from the back of his throat before his tongue caresses mine. His arm slides around my waist. Our tongues tangle for a few seconds and he groans, trying to press closer with his body and mouth.
His mouth is hot and silky smooth. He tastes better than I'd imagined. He smells good, too. Clean and almost sweet. My senses are over stimulated.
Our kiss is rapidly escalating. My cock wants to be freed from my clothing. My mouth, still kissing, moves up the side of his face. "Take off my pants," I whisper in his ear.
His breath is raspy as he fumbles with my belt buckle, his movements oddly uncoordinated. He stills and takes a few measured breaths, resting his head against my collarbone. I stroke his back. Maybe he's not used to bossy lovers, or I'm coming on too strong. I am about to inquire when his hands are at my waist, pushing slightly. I take a step back.
Flicking his towel to the side, he slides to his knees and reaches for the fastening of my pants. His tongue finds my navel as he tugs the zipper down. Sucking and licking a trail across my abdomen, he reaches into my briefs and closes his fingers around my cock, freeing it from the confines of my underwear.
The head of my dick grazes his collarbone and neck as his lips and tongue continue their exploration of my stomach. The thought of those sexy lips on my cock is making my head spin. He strokes the shaft lightly a few times before gripping my pants and briefs, pulling them down and allowing me to step out.
His mouth briefly brushes the inside of my thigh. Without warning, my cock is down his throat, and his hands are gripping my ass.
I manage to emit a weak moan. Oh, Christ. I've never had anyone initiate a blowjob that quickly. It feels like he's going to suck my entire body down his throat.
It's been so damned long since I've been sucked like this. My knees are suddenly weak. I'm fighting the urge to fuck his face, because he's doing such a damned good job without my help. My hands grip his shoulders, holding on to the only stable object within my reach.
His tongue applies more pressure to the underside of my cock. The next time he takes me all the way down his throat, he gives me more suction and his throat clenches around the head of my dick.
One of his hands finds my balls, squeezing and caressing, as his mouth moves more rapidly on my dick. The other hand trails along the crack of my ass, until I feel pressure directly under my anus.
I can almost feel the blood draining from my brain as the hot mouth clamped on to me sucks me over the edge. I growl as I come in his mouth. Only as the final explosion subsides do I realize I've left marks on his shoulders. I loosen my hands and rub lightly... a non-verbal apology.
The boy has just given me the best blowjob of my life.
I'm so drained, remaining on my feet seems like a challenge. I extricate myself from his grasp and sit on the edge of the bed.
Green eyes are fixed on me, glittering and intense. His lower lip is wet, his expression radiating lust. He's a beautiful animal... so passionate.
He sits back on his heels, his back almost touching the wall. One hand rests lightly on his thigh. The fingertips of the other trail across his mouth and then glide down his neck. He moves both hands to his chest, rubbing across his nipples repeatedly. After pinching them, he moves further south to caress his abdomen. His eyes never leave my face.
There is nothing I want more right now than to watch him perform for me. "Do it," I say softly.
Alex's hands move firmly across his taut abdomen before sliding between his thighs. His hands simply rest against his thighs, but when he spreads his knees it creates the illusion of him pushing his legs apart. My flaccid cock twitches at the sight.
Knees spread wide, eyes locked on me, he begins lightly caressing his balls. The other hand wanders back to his chest as he squeezes his testicles more firmly. He pinches one nipple as his hand closes around his erection. He strokes himself slowly. His head drops back against the wall, eyes still focused in my direction, as he moans low in his throat.
"So sexy, Alex."
His lower lip is between his teeth. His chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. The speed of his stroking increases and pre-cum leaks from the tip of his cock. He caresses his chest, then moves his fingers to his lips, inserting two into his mouth. Sucking them in and out for a few seconds, he then trails the wet fingers back to his nipple as the rhythm of his stroking becomes erratic, and he begins to gasp.
Hips thrusting, a groan comes from deep in his chest as his cock erupts over his fist. Those beautiful eyes reflexively close as tremors rack his body. He strokes his cock lightly as his orgasm recedes.
Finally, he's still, head resting against the wall, breathing hard.
I squat on the floor next to him, reaching for his right hand. I lift it to my face and suck one of his semen-wet fingers into my mouth.
His eyes fly open and he stops breathing. Then his breath escapes in a rush.
I push his hand to his own lips.
His eyes widen briefly, then his tongue slides out, running over the fingertips before sucking them into his mouth. At my urging, he slowly licks his fingers clean. It's hard to breathe watching him do that.
I rise and extend a hand to him. He takes it and allows me to help him to his feet. I lead him to the bed, and he lies down. Removing my glasses, I slide in next to him. I roll onto my side and put an arm around his waist.
He rolls over, facing away and spoons back toward me. I kiss the back of his neck and pet his abdomen. He feels good in my arms. He doesn't seem to expect much from me, but so easily accepts whatever I give. I like that about him.
Between kisses, I speak softly into his ear. "You're very sexy, Alex." I knead his pecs. "I enjoy touching you." My hand slides down and around to his ass. "Your ass is extremely fuckable." He moans at the words and exposes more of his neck to me. There is a hiss of indrawn breath as I tease his crack. "And your cocksucking is a religious experience."
Alex emits a throaty chuckle as he turns his head to look at me. His voice is low and husky. "I'm glad you approve." His mouth finds mine, his tongue teasing my lips. I suck it into my mouth, but soon move the action into his. He tastes faintly of mint. We could both use a shave. I have to be careful or we'll leave marks on each other's faces.
I pull back from the kiss and study his face. His green eyes watch me warily. He's a little unsure of himself around me and that's not a comfortable feeling for him. I don't know precisely how, but this affair is catching him off guard.
His face is masculine, but also pretty. His nose and ears are small... the nose turned up at the tip. It's a bit silly. His cheekbones are high. The face would pass for cute on anyone else, but his dark, aggressive personality obliterates any trace of cute. The earnest young agent routine is an act. He's too confident and edgy to pull it off.
Under my inspection, he frowns a bit, causing a crease to form between his brows. That is cute, but I dare not say so. I smile, remembering my own need to present a façade at his age.
Alex turns on his back so he doesn't have to crane his neck around. His expression relaxes and he looks at me steadily. After a few moments, he smiles and starts to wiggle down the bed, murmuring as he goes. His voice is faint, but I catch part as he turns toward me, licking at my nipples. "...wondered what you... decided I do not want to know."
Lips, teeth and tongue mark a trail from one nipple to the other. Rolling the nipple with his tongue, his hands roam over my body--one hand lazily stroking between my thighs and the other sliding over my hips and ass.
It's too soon for an old man like me to get hard again, but it feels wonderful. I like being desired by him.
His mouth completes a thorough exploration of my chest before he scoots a little lower to explore stomach and hips. I catch more disjointed murmuring, "...wondering what you taste like." And then, "...hard-on in a meeting, thinking about how you smell."
I'm fighting to keep from laughing at his absurd ramblings. His tongue traces the various scars on my abdomen, sucking lightly at a few of them. The sensation of his mouth on the scar tissue is muted but still tingly. My mind briefly wanders to Vietnam and Larry, before the movement of Alex's tongue brings me back to the present.
Moving lower, his tongue slides down the length of my cock and over the head, then he licks my balls. He spends a few moments sucking them into his mouth before his lips follow the path of his hands to my legs.
I capture his head between my thighs and squeeze. Then, releasing him, I stroke his hair.
He gives a short laugh. This time, I hear him clearly. "I finally get to touch your incredibly hot body and you pull a WWF move on me." His mouth plays with the inside of one knee before he continues, "Try to not bean me with a metal folding chair."
"It's not in the plan, Alex." I'm tickled like a teenager by his praise for my body. Content to let him explore me, I grapple for a conversation opener. "Tell me about bike riding--you do ride, don't you? The shorts made quite an impression."
Apparently tired of struggling to reach the back of my body, Alex moves to his knees and climbs over me. His lips touch the back of my thigh and his hands resume their slow caress of my legs. "Really? Hmm... Uh, yeah, I ride. I only use exercise equipment when I have to. I like activities that take me somewhere." He nips lightly at the back of one thigh before sucking it and soothing it with his tongue. "Umm... I was actually a little annoyed that Mathis would not give me time to change... guess I owe him one." His tongue finds the juncture where thigh meets ass and plays for a moment. "What a horrible thought."
I resist the urge to tell him exactly what I think of his pathetic manager. "Where do you go when you ride?"
Alex's hands and mouth are now concentrated on my ass. His tongue and lips taste and tease one cheek before he responds. "All over. I start out in one direction and see where it takes me. Sometimes I get a little wrapped up in my thoughts and find myself an hour and a half from home. There is actually a really nice spot to ride on some property owned by the water district." He pauses for a moment. "You have an incredible ass." The stroking of his hands becomes a little firmer and his mouth plays along the crack.
Christ. We were talking about something, weren't we? My legs are starting to shake.
My brain registers the unique sensation of his scratchy evening beard against the tender flesh of my butt as his fingers pull my ass cheeks apart. His tongue slides in, lapping at the sensitive ring of my anus.
"Uhhhh..." The soft, wet feel of his tongue is making my flesh turn liquid. My cock twitches. I can already tell he's going to get me hard again in record time. His tongue caresses the opening for several long moments before he pushes inside. I make a sound somewhere between a grunt and a sigh.
His tongue moves in me for several moments then withdraws to resume licking around my anus. A breathless minute later, he shifts his body and moves his attention to my back, licking and sucking a path to my shoulders. He stills, his head resting near my shoulder blade, one hand caressing my ass, the other resting lightly against my spine. "You like that?" His voice is a husky whisper.
I reach behind myself awkwardly and manage to rumple his hair. "Fuck, Alex, what do you think?"
"Mmm..." His lips move over my shoulder briefly before he speaks. "I think I'd like to call you by your first name." His fingers trail over my hip, then up my arm. "Would that be all right?"
"Of course. Any man who has put his tongue up my ass has earned the privilege."
"Well, that's good to know, Walter." There's laughter in his voice. "Is there any place else you would like me to stick my tongue?"
I slip from his grasp and roll over on top of him, pinning his wrists to the bed with my hands. "Yeah." My mouth closes on his. After sucking his tongue and giving it a good chase around my mouth, I release his lips and kiss my way up the side of his face. When I reach his temple, I'm more nuzzling than kissing. It's so damned good to have uncomplicated sex like this. Still pinning him to the bed, I ask, "You do realize that I can't let you leave this bed until I have the opportunity to fuck you again?"
His body moves under mine and I feel his cock thicken against my lower abdomen. "I certainly hope not." His voice is throaty.
He's such a sweet bottom. So willing. And yet, I sense that it does not come easily to him. I shift my knees so they're between his and nudge. "Spread your legs."
There's a flash of wariness in his eyes and he's still for a moment before he slowly parts his legs, bending his knees.
Releasing his hands, I sit between his open legs. His body is laid out like an offering. He doesn't even move his hands from where I left them. His chest is lean and masculine. Just a hint of hair... nothing like the rug on mine. His cock is half hard. Circumcised, the head of it a perfect mushroom, with a drop of fluid at the tip. I want to taste it, so I do.
Alex gasps, and a tremor passes through his body.
Bland, with a hint of sweet. Nice. Looking at him and touching him aimlessly like this is such a luxury. Nothing to accomplish or prove. Just enjoying his body. And mine.
"Why did you seduce me, Alex? What made you think you could get away with it?"
His breath is a little uneven when he speaks. "Why? Because I had a hard-on for you before I ever even shook your hand. But I did not expect to get away with it... Some part of my brain expected you to pound me into the garage floor but I was a little, umm, distracted." He looks a bit uncomfortable telling me this. "Hell, Walter, you didn't even have a shirt on."
"It's good to know I wasn't obvious about ogling your ass during the Bingham meetings. I'd like to think I have a better poker face than that." I absently stroke his inner thighs. "The looks you were giving me were unmistakable, but I never intended to actually act on this." Now, I, too, have said more than I intended to.
Alex nods. "I am vaguely curious--well, more than vaguely--about why you changed your mind." I note that he's still keeping his hands where I put them. "Umm... mind you, I'm not complaining."
I frown a little remembering that morning. I don't want to talk about my beleaguered marriage. "It did cross my mind to slug you, but then I realized a sincere 'no' would have sufficed. That was the problem. I didn't want to say no. It pissed me off, too. I'm sorry if I was needlessly rough or unkind."
Alex looks uncomfortable. His hands twitch and his body tenses. "It was fine. I mean, I was fine."
Fine? What a meaningless and evasive word. I brush my hands across his calves. I don't want to think too much about what I'm doing, why it's wrong and the possible consequences. I need time to just live in the moment.
His body relaxes and his voice is soft. "Walter, it was incredibly hot sex. I have no misgivings... about any of it."
I nod. Unfortunately, I'm filled with misgivings. But there's no denying the sex was incredibly hot.
He seems to sense my mood and lifts his leg, running his foot along the top of my thigh. "I know this is more problematic for you... in every sense. If I were a nice guy, I would probably try to figure out the 'right' thing to do. But I am not a nice guy. I'm a selfish bastard who plans to keep seducing you. I will behave myself at work, but I want you, and will be available whenever you want me."
Then the affair will continue. Because, at least for now, I am incapable of saying no. I sigh, accepting my flaws for today. "I don't have a lot of time, Alex, but I'll find a way."
He gives me a thoughtful look. "I want this, but I'm not trying to make your life harder. Whenever you can."
Appreciative of his gesture, I give him another nod. He plans to keep seducing me. What a delightful proposition. I smile down at him. "Can anyone resist you when you seduce, Alex?"
He grins but doesn't reply.
Beautiful and he knows it. Fuck. But I'm still smiling.
No. No one has resisted my seduction yet, but I had thought Skinner might be the first. Very, very glad that was not the case. Although, I cannot believe I'm doing this--lying here with my hands where he put them--but I refuse to think about anything other than the incredibly hot body between my legs. I will smack myself around tomorrow.
Walter extricates himself from the tangle of my legs and slides up next to me. I turn to face him and our mouths connect, tongues seeking. I feel a jolt of desire in my cock, then his hand closes around my erection.
I moan into his mouth as my hips jerk, seeking more of the sensation.
His cock is getting hard against my upper thigh as his arms encircle my waist, pulling me closer. He begins to rub our groins together and I barely manage to bite back a moan. My hands wander down his back, caressing his ass. Some perverse part of my brain whispers that I should have asked to move my hands, and I am suddenly so appalled by myself, I can barely breathe. I fight the urge to leap out of bed and figure out where I left the real me, when his mouth on my neck distracts me to the point of oblivion.
He gnaws on my neck like a hungry animal. I know he's going to leave marks but I don't care. I want his marks all over my body. The hand on my cock moves to cup my balls, caressing them with smooth fingers. His other hand slides down my back and rubs my ass. My body writhes under his touch. He keeps it up for a long time, tongue lapping at my neck with an occasional bite. The fingers on my butt stroking and kneading... His breath is heavy and warm on the side of my face. I have never given anyone free rein of my body before and it feels like I am going insane with pleasure.
Just when I think I can't take it any longer, he mutters, "Lube? Condom?"
I curse myself for leaving the damned bag on the table. Groaning, I slip out of his arms, returning in a flash with the bag. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I dump the contents onto the sheet. As I open the box of condoms, a strong arm encircles my waist. I struggle to keep breathing, amazed at how his simplest touch affects me. He slips in behind me. The roughness of his evening beard brushes against the side of my face.
Somehow I manage to get a condom out of the box and tear open the packet. Setting it and the bottle of lube on the pillow beside us, I brush the rest of it onto the floor. I turn my head and find his mouth for another kiss, wanting to feel his tongue.
He kisses as if he's conquering territory. Maybe he is. Maybe that's what I want. I give my mouth over to him. The kisses make me hot, but his tongue in my mouth is almost a cruel tease, mimicking the act I really want him to perform. I groan my need.
His hand slides through my hair to the back of my neck, holding my face for him to ravage. With a gasp, he releases my mouth, kissing down my chin and back to my neck. He pushes me onto my back and hovers over me, his mouth trailing down my chest. He licks and bites at my nipples. I arch my back, pushing toward his tormenting mouth.
Walter grins at my whimpers, obviously enjoying what he's doing to me. Sliding lower between my legs, he nips at my belly and brushes his lips across my abdomen. I am half embarrassed that I cannot control my body... that I do not even want to try. He gives my cock a few licks, before taking my balls into his mouth, one at a time. I have to remind myself to breathe. Then he shoves my legs toward my chest and licks and teases my ass cheeks. Fuck. This may kill me, but what a way to go.
He releases me, coming to my side, and scoops me in his arms possessively, as if he's going to carry me from the bed. My cock throbs at the possessive touch. He simply squeezes me tightly and releases me again. A quick touch of his lips to mine, and he's mumbling, "On all fours."
My need beyond the point of desperation, I scramble to obey, still somewhat amazed at my willingness to do this. I assume the position, but Walter doesn't move. He gives me a predatory gaze before he shifts his body behind me. Then he reaches for the condom and lube. If he won't fuck me immediately, he needs to touch me. I shiver, craving the feel of his warm skin. I twist my head, impatiently, and see him rolling the condom onto his thick erection. I gnaw on my lip, gaze focused on the cock I want so desperately in my ass.
After an eternity, his hands stroke my back and rub my flanks. I feel frantic as teeth tease my ass, then give a not-so-gentle bite. Fuck, yeah. Mark me everywhere.
I can barely get the single word out of my mouth. "Please..."
He chuckles, but it morphs into a groan as I shamelessly wiggle my ass at him. I hear a sound that could be the bottle of lube and then the bliss of a cool finger probing my ass. Wanting it desperately, I push back trying to capture the finger inside me, but it squirms away and only caresses my anus. Breathing hard through my open mouth, I do not even try to control the sounds I'm making.
Walter Skinner is a cruel, cruel man. Only when he is ready, does he slide the finger inside me. Groaning my appreciation, I fuck myself on it, wanting more, but the evil man patiently works me with the lone digit. It feels like I'm about to come on that one damned finger, when he finally deigns to give me a second one. I push my ass hard against him, trying to get him to go deeper.
He scissors the fingers inside me, opening me up. I shudder, knowing it's not enough to truly prepare me for his cock, and want to feel his erection forcing me open. His free hand gently strokes my thigh, then slides up to squeeze my balls. Suddenly, I feel him brush my prostate. My throat constricts and I can barely breathe as the pleasure rushes through me. The fingers are withdrawn and, for a moment, there's nothing. Then I feel what has to be the head of his cock.
Come on, Walter, fuck me.
He braces his hands on my sides and pushes inside me, not stopping until I feel his balls nudge mine. Sounds like sobs rise up in my throat at the sensation of my ass stretching to accept him. He lowers his body onto my back. "You okay?"
Then he begins to fuck me. Slowly and gently, dammit. I want more. I tremble underneath him. He pulls almost all the way out and pushes back in again. It feels so good. If only he'd do it harder, faster. Please, Walter.
The soft grunting noises he makes tell me how badly he needs this, too. And yet, he increases the pace at a maddeningly slow rate. Just pushing a little bit harder and faster with each thrust. I feel him so impossibly deep inside me. I want to make my voice work--tell him to fuck me harder--but all that comes out are strange feral noises. Noises I never thought I would make.
His lips seek the back of my neck for a quick bite. Then he laps at it with his tongue. But, after a moment, my neck is forgotten and nothing exists but his cock penetrating me. And my own needy and neglected erection.
He's starting to put a little force behind his fucking. His breath is laboring at my ear. "Oh, Christ." He emits a long, low moan. "It feels so good... inside you." Yes, yes, yes. I want him to feel good. Blood pulses just at the sound of his voice.
Then he's giving it to me even harder. I drop my head and groan. "Too much... Alex?" he inquires in a breathy baritone.
All I can manage to say is, "No... more..." I hope he doesn't misunderstand.
He doesn't. Mercifully, he pushes harder. The nerves in my ass send screaming sensations to my entire body as his cock repeatedly moves across the sensitive tissues. My whole lower body is going to be bruised, but I don't care. I want to see the evidence of this fuck, not just feel it. He is relentless and it seems like he has been fucking me for a long time. My back, where our bodies are in contact, is drenched in sweat.
He growls and backs off a little, trying to control himself, but I don't want him to.
"No..." It's a pathetic whimper of need. Please keep fucking me... harder.
"Shhh," is his only reply. I want to protest but know it doesn't really matter... he'll have whatever he wants. He shifts his body off my back and the thrusting continues. He's kneeling behind me, hands at my hips, pounding into me. Yes, Walter, fuck me harder. If he weren't holding me, I'd go head first into the headboard from the weight of him slamming into me. It seems as if muscle control is beyond me, but I use what little strength I have to push back, encouraging him to fuck me harder.
The man knows how to maintain an erection. He keeps taking me, each thrust pulling almost completely out of me. I know my rectum would be screaming if I weren't high on endorphins. "Harder?" he asks breathlessly.
I whimper and nod, unable to speak. My brain has stopped working, all higher functions unavailable as the world focuses on the cock pounding in my ass.
When he ups the ante, I'm certain I am about to die from what he's giving me. And I accept it. Each thrust fills me so deeply. And still I want more.
And then, he pauses for another agonizing moment. A noise like a half sob, half whimper is torn from my throat.
No, please don't stop.
He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me up so I'm kneeling, and begins to thrust again. The new angle of penetration makes me gasp and tremors rack my body. He holds me against his body and he enters me hard. How can he do that?
Both of our bodies are trembling. Neither of us will last long. With one arm around my waist, tight enough to hurt, his other hand slides down to my groin. At the first touch of his fingers, I begin the spasm of my climax. I cannot help but completely let go as the orgasm floods through me. Somehow he manages to hold on to my writhing body, his cock still penetrating me, inexorably, as if driven by machinery, not by this shaking and groaning man.
As I ejaculate the last of my semen, my body becomes limp, held in place only by his strong arm. He groans from deep in his chest and lets loose in his own climax. I can feel the pulsing of his cock in me. And I begin to notice how raw my rectum is under his desperate thrusts, feeling completely possessed by Walter as he finishes his last few thrusts in my aching ass.
Through some miracle he manages to keep us both upright, leaning backward, so my weight rests against his chest. My head drops on his shoulder and I think to whisper my appreciation, but no real words are coming out. All I can do is gasp for air.
I feel him go slack under me and he lowers us both gently to the bed. I whimper when his cock slides out of my body. I'm on my side and he spoons in behind me, his breath still fast, his face nuzzled against my neck.
I know something happened here that changes things, but I cannot think beyond this moment. Or do not want to think beyond it. Beyond his hot body pressed up against mine, and the feel of his breath against my neck.
Wanting to kiss him, I try to turn my body but barely manage a twitch. My muscles are lax and uncooperative, so I settle for stroking the hand clasping my waist. "Thank you, Walter." My voice is a breathy murmur, and I am shocked to hear it. Even more shocked by what I said.
He responds with laughter that is pure wickedness. I hear him struggle to get his mouth working, then, "I hope I didn't hurt you."
It is my turn to be amused. "Who cares. Besides, I hope you'll do it again... just as soon as I can walk normally." I am completely unsuccessful at keeping the laughter out of my voice.
He chuckles and strokes my chest affectionately. "You love being fucked, don't you, Alex?"
"Yeah." My voice is low and quiet, and I am again surprised by what I have said. Even though the filter between my brain and my mouth is not working, I am relieved I did not give him the whole truth... 'I love being fucked by you.' I refuse to think about how I will feel about all this tomorrow.
He's quiet for a long time, but his large hand never stops touching me. After a heavy sigh, he speaks again. "I wish I could fall asleep here with you, Alex. But I should get home."
God, reality is a bitch. I force my uncooperative muscles into motion and turn enough to capture his mouth. I run my tongue along his lips for a brief moment before pulling away and murmuring, "Well, then, we had better get you on the road."
"Thank you for tonight, Alex."
I kiss him lightly and smile. "Anytime."
I struggle to sit up and my ass screams as it takes the weight of my body. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I am going to hurt like hell tomorrow. There's a hiss of breath through my teeth and I push my aching body to the edge of the bed.
He watches me with a broad smile on his face. The cocky bastard is no doubt proud of his handiwork. But when he stands, I'm pleased to see that he's a little stiff himself. He catches my grin before disappearing into the bathroom. There is still no doubt which of us will be the worse for wear tomorrow.
I force myself to rise, relieved that Walter is in the bathroom so I can move as awkwardly as I want. Reaching for my clothes, I realize how bad they smell and decide to dress after he leaves. It will be a fun ride back to D.C. smelling like a two-day old corpse. Not wanting to deal with sitting down and having to stand back up, I lean against the wall and wait for him.
Walter steps out of the bathroom and reaches for his clothes. As he slips on his underwear he glances at me provocatively. "It would be a lot easier to leave if you weren't standing there displaying your assets."
I smile at him, inordinately pleased by his distraction. "My clothes smell like the crime scene..."
He nods, pulling up his trousers. "Ah, yes. You have just learned why all seasoned G-men carry a spare set of clothing in the trunk of the car." He tucks in his shirt, slips on his coat and folds his tie into a pocket. "I might have a shirt that would fit you..."
I wave the offer away. "Uh, 'fit' isn't the right word. 'Hang loosely' perhaps?" Moving away from the wall, I walk over to him, trying to ignore the soreness in my body. "In any case, you mistake the reason for me not dressing." I reach out and rub my hand lightly across his abdomen. "I wouldn't want to smell like a two-day old corpse when I kiss you senseless." I wrap my arm around his waist and pull his mouth to mine.
He puts his arms around me, too, and the rough fabric of his suit tickles my naked skin. He allows me to take the lead in this kiss, but his hands are wandering over my body as if trying to find some secret hidden on my person. A deep groan fills my mouth.
"Dammit, Alex." His lips seek mine again for another kiss. "I don't suppose you could stop being so damned sexy for ten minutes." His suited groin rubs up against mine.
"No, I don't think so, Walter." Or else I might not get you back. I want him with a desperation that makes me uncomfortable.
He chuckles into my mouth and fingers slide down my crack. I moan and wiggle against him. His touch is light, and I know my ass, especially my anus, is too sore for anything else. So perversely, I really want his touch... firm, possessive. I suck his tongue for a moment before pulling my head back, gasping a little. "God, Walter, I am not the only one who's distracting."
With a low groan, he pulls away from my body. His eyes fall closed as he catches his breath. When he opens them again, he's calmer and more in control. He retrieves his glasses and personal possessions from the bedside table, slipping the holster over his shoulders with a practiced efficiency. Gesturing to the room key on the dresser, he says, "I've already paid for the room. Just leave the key."
I nod my head, giving him a half smile.
He reaches for me again, pressing a light kiss on my temple. I briefly touch his waist, suddenly feeling confused. Then he exits the room without looking back.
I stare at the door for several long minutes, trying to put thought to what I'm feeling. Something odd about his last touch. It was... affectionate? I think that was it. I cannot remember when someone last touched me in a way that was not sexual or violent. Maybe when I was a child? I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts.
Refusing to have the nauseous scent of my shirt too close to my face, I put on my shoes and pants, bundling up my shirt with my other stuff. In the car, my mind keeps drifting back to Walter's departure, trying to understand what happened today.
The ride back to D.C. is a jumble of unfocused thoughts. I finally arrive at my apartment, shuck my clothes and awkwardly climb into bed. My ass is throbbing and my entire body aches. Remembering the feel of Walter's cock invading my throat is my last thought before sleep claims me.
28 may Falls Church, Virginia
Saturday, 28 May 1994
I wake more sore than I've been in years. I lie still, psyching myself for movement. Walter's question buzzes through my mind. "You love being fucked, don't you, Alex?" My groan fills the room. I cannot believe someone asked me that question and that I immediately, truthfully, responded in the affirmative. And I do love being fucked... by him.
At least he didn't ask me if I love sucking cock. Possibly more than anything, that little change in my behavior bothers me the most. Oral sex has always been a power thing--a way of controlling or tormenting the men I fuck. And I've never done it from my knees. Where did that impulse come from?
I so don't want to think about it, but it's impossible to block out the experience. I desperately wanted his cock in my mouth... wanted to make him feel pleasure. So caught up in the way he felt--his erection throbbing in my mouth, smooth, hot skin on my tongue--I didn't even notice I was on my knees.
Fuck. I don't want to think about this.
Gingerly, I begin to move. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I convince myself that this cannot ever happen again. My brain shorts out around Skinner and I stop acting like myself. Not good at all.
No, this isn't going to happen again.
Slowly rising to my feet, I take the first few steps toward the bathroom. The soreness in my ass makes walking uncomfortable. Like watching a movie, my brain replays yesterday's events. My dick is hard and my breath catches in my throat as I remember the sensation of Walter's cock sliding in and out of my ass, me pushing against him and whimpering, begging for him to fuck me harder. And harder. And harder still.
Groaning, I brace one hand against the wall, trying to regulate my breathing, but my brain doesn't want to relinquish the images. My muscles start to tremble as I remember him pulling me to my knees as he continued to fuck me. I whimper just thinking about how that angle of penetration felt.
My other hand is around my dick, pumping furiously. The pleasure from jacking off wars for supremacy with the pain in my body. Memories assault my senses: the feel of his skin, the taste of his cock, him biting my neck and ass. The pleasure wins as I come, hissing Walter's name through my teeth.
Shit. I slowly reach for a piece of clothing draped over a nearby chair, and wipe up the semen. No, this cannot keep happening. Yeah, right, Krycek. All he'll have to do is crook his finger.
Shit, shit, shit.
A shower helps with some of the soreness. While the hot water pounds on my back, I flash on something else from last night. I rimmed him. Never done that before. Never wanted to do that before. And... I liked it. The theory of alien possession is beginning to seem more probable.
I've often thought it would be nice to occasionally let go when I have sex... to stop thinking and just experience. Now I have it... and I'm not sure I like it. Or maybe, I like it too much.
I turn off the water before I am completely parboiled and carefully towel off. As I return to the bedroom, I catch sight of myself in the mirrored closet doors that face my bed. I move closer and examine the bruises on my shoulders. What could have caused those? Then I notice a trail of bruises on the front of my hips. Turning, I find fainter ones on my ass and the tops of my thighs, and a particularly vivid bruise near the top of each ass cheek. Just about the size of a thumb. There's also a bite mark on the right side of my butt. I feel my cock starting to get hard again as I begin to match the marks with the activity. Fuck, this is insane.
The only mark I have to worry about covering up is the bite mark on the back of my neck. It wouldn't be a problem in my suit, but everyone dresses more casually on Saturdays. Hmm... I settle for a black turtleneck and a pair of jeans.
It takes a lot of concentration and focus--not to mention teeth grinding--to walk semi-normally as I head into work. I'm one of the last to arrive in the war room. Section Chief Baker is talking with several other agents around the end of the table and motions me over.
I carefully lower myself into a chair, wincing slightly. Baker gives me a speculative look and arches a brow. "You seem a little stiff today, Agent Krycek."
My mind goes into overdrive trying to come up with an explanation. "Uh, yeah." Everyone is suddenly looking at me. "I, umm, couldn't really sleep last night so I went to the gym... overdid it a little." Baker gives an understanding nod, and the agent seated next to me pats me sympathetically on the shoulder.
Baker hands me a file. "The profile on the latest victim. We got the ID on the guy at 2:00 A.M. Jason Zimmerman, HUD undersecretary." Oh, Jesus. The pressure on this case is going to rapidly become unbearable. As long as we were dealing with waitresses, construction workers and engineers, the political hierarchy was content to ignore us. But now...
Fidgeting with his moustache, Baker looks both tired and frustrated. "Review it, then you and Agent Mallory look for any commonality between the victims." I reach for the folder, sighing inwardly. We haven't found any similarity between the other five victims to date. And our HUD undersecretary seems to be another oddity in the victim mix.
A couple of hours later, I'm reading one section of the victim's profile for the tenth time. Something is niggling at the back of my mind but I cannot put a finger on it.
"Hey, Krycek." I glance up at Mallory. "You know where the file on the fourth vic is?"
Unfortunately, it's too far away to easily reach. "Yeah, just a sec." Trying to move as normally as possible, I get up, snag the file and hand it to Mallory. I know my movements are stiff. As I lower myself back into my chair, I glance up and see Skinner standing in the doorway. He's wearing khaki pants and a tight, hunter green Henley. I feel a slight flush warm my face when I realize he's probably seen my awkward movements.
His face gives away nothing, but his eyes seem to darken slightly. Those eyes pass over me all too quickly and land on Baker. He continues into the room, conferring with Baker and the BSU unit manager.
He glares at the BSU guy. "You have anything useful, Johanssen?"
The man takes a step backward and mutters something unintelligible.
I catch some of Skinner's baritone. "... or not he knows the victims?"
Johanssen's face is grim as he replies. He speaks for a long time, but whatever he's saying is not making Skinner happy. Finally, the unit manager just shrugs and walks out of the room.
Skinner and Baker go into a quiet huddle. The only thing I can overhear is, "... you'll have to go back and do the first one..."
After about ten minutes, Skinner breaks away and crosses the room to Gough. "Nice job getting the van report, Agent Gough."
"It's probably unrelated, sir."
"I know, but we can't afford to overlook anything. Another agent would've missed it. I appreciate your thoroughness."
Skinner turns and leaves the room. His ass looks damned nice in those pants. I could too easily get wrapped up in thinking about him instead of working. I struggle to shake it off, and return to reading my reports. I'm back to re-reading the same paragraph over and over but, this time, it's because I keep thinking about the way the Henley showed his chest definition. God, this is pathetic.
After an hour, I'm still obsessing on the same paragraph, wondering why it's bothering me that the vic recently had a wart removed, when Baker calls my name and gestures me over.
The small, wiry man shoves some papers in a folder and hands it to me. He's obviously distracted, continuing to look at the forensic report in front of him while running a hand through his hair. "Krycek, can you take those to A.D. Skinner?"
As the junior agent on the team, it's a given that I will be given all the menial tasks and, in this case, I do not mind at all. Pausing by the door, I jot something on a piece of paper and stick it in my pocket.
The door to Skinner's office is half open. I knock lightly, while pushing the door open. "Sir?"
His face is tight. "Agent?"
I slowly cross to his desk, trying to keep any evidence of soreness out of my gait. "Sir, Section Chief Baker requested that you receive these." I hand him the folder, making sure to keep my expression neutral.
This time, when he looks at me, there's warmth in those brown eyes. "Thank you." He opens the folder and briefly assesses the contents, before dropping the file on his desk.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the folded piece of paper and hand it to him. He takes it from me, nods, extracts his wallet from his pocket and inserts the slip.
"Good afternoon, sir." I turn and leave the room.
Alex Krycek. What a beautiful man he is. What a temptation in my office on a Saturday morning.
I can't get the images out of my head. Pictures from last night. Green eyes gazing up at me, my cock in his mouth. Him jerking off for me. The astonished look on his face when I tasted his semen from his fingers. The husky, sensuous sound of his voice: 'I had a hard-on for you...'
This affair with my agent is a very, very bad idea. Nevertheless, last night was more fun than I've had in ten years. The poor boy can barely walk, but neither of us has any regrets. We both wanted it hard. It's been so long since I could really let go like that. Never could with a woman... rarely with a man, but he's tough enough to take it.
At least he's smart enough to be discreet.
Next time, I'll take him to a decent hotel. The boy deserves better than the damned Valley Forge Inn. Maybe the Embassy Suites?
Fuck, even at the Valley Forge it was a night to remember.
What if Sharon finds out? Well, that's simple. I'll feel like a complete bastard... but I already do.
I open my wallet again and retrieve the paper. Just a phone number. Probably his home number. I could have pulled it from his personnel file, but I appreciate that I don't have to.
No question I'm going to call.
The Rose Killer beckons. Now with the HUD victim, I can expect every person in the chain of command between me and the President to call for daily updates. Just because Zimmerman was a HUD undersecretary doesn't mean his murderer left us any useful clues. The minor VIP's death is just as mysterious as the other five.
After reviewing the forensic report, I phone the Director with a non-update on the case. There's no new information, but I know he expects the call. I make a couple more pro-active calls, encouraging various officials to not call me.
I don't really want to be at work at all, but I don't want to go home either.
An hour later, I exit to the parking garage. I sit in the driver's seat, scanning my calendar, looking for opportunities to make time for my sexy new lover. My face feels funny and I realize that I'm smiling.
** End Part 1 **
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