Title:  Penance, Chapter Seven: Abandon
Author:  Zoë
Website:  http://slashfactory.com/
Fandom:  X-Files
Pairing:  Krycek/Mulder
Rating:  NC-17 for m/m sex (and everything in the warning)
Warning:  Very dark, violence, physical, mental and emotional abuse and/or torture, disturbing thoughts and images. Please proceed cautiously!
Archive:  Please ask
Spoilers:  Canon through season five
Summary:  The inevitable conclusion.
Beta Thanks:  Ursula & Helen

Disclaimer:  Alex Krycek, Fox Mulder and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. No infringement of rights is intended. All the rest belong to me



Abandon   by Zoë

**

Wakefulness comes slowly. I lie still, eyes closed for a long time. I feel completely blank, devoid of thought or feeling. The blankness feels like something to be cherished... something I've wanted so desperately for so long. And it feels as if opening my eyes will strip away this fragile peace.

I can still feel leather wrapped around my ankles and wrist, but when I move, I realize I'm not confined in any way. So, I cautiously open my eyes and find that reality isn't as painful as I expected.

I'm alone in Mulder's room. Though it's dim in here, I'm pretty certain it's still daytime. I struggle to come up with which day it actually is. I realize it's only Saturday. I haven't even been here a full day, yet it feels like forever.

I don't let myself think about what happened earlier today--that way I don't have to feel anything about it. While continuing to lie here has a certain appeal, I know if I stay much longer, eventually, inevitably, I will have to think. And that simply must be avoided.

Getting up is an exercise in pain. Blessed relief that, because it keeps me focused on my body and not what's going on in the back of my head.

Part of me feels that I should stay here and wait to see what he wants, but another part--a more urgent part--doesn't want to be here without him. So, I go in search of him.

I find Mulder sitting on the couch, still wearing nothing but his jeans, staring off at nothing. He's completely absorbed in whatever's going through his mind. Cautiously, I approach him. When he doesn't react to my presence, I slip to my knees, so I'm kneeling between his legs, and tentatively place a hand on his knee.

His eyes slowly move to meet my gaze. There's no discernible emotion, but I sense something going on behind the veil of his eyes. And I'm afraid to know what it is.

I don't want to think on why I feel such a profound need to connect with him, I just know that I do. At first, I'm not certain what my plan is, but I let this strange compulsion guide me. Feeling great trepidation that he's going to push me away, I lean forward and press my lips to his. His breath escapes in a rush, but he doesn't move. No reaction is better than a bad reaction, I tell myself as I start to pull back. My lower lip is suddenly caught in the grip of his teeth, not allowing me to move. In the next instant his mouth consumes mine. His hands are at my head, holding me still so he can devour me. His bites at my lips, sucks at my tongue. I surrender to it all. Certain in this moment that I exist for him to use.

His arms come around me and I feel the press of his body. It feels like we're falling backward, but then I realize he's guiding me to the floor. I groan at the feel of the hard floor against my abused body. He sucks the sound out of me. The plastic sheeting covering the floor sticks to my skin. The kiss goes on, both passionate and violent. His denim-covered crotch rubs against my cock--the sensation painful to my whipped skin--and I realize I'm aroused. Some part of my brain whispers that I shouldn't be turned on, but I ignore it. Mulder already gave me permission to be turned on.

Mulder's hands slide down both my arms. I don't think he's ever touched the prosthesis before. He slams my arms over my head. At the same moment I finally taste blood. He groans and I know he tastes it too. He keeps kissing me, but the brutality of it doesn't allow me to do anything but accept it. His tongue traces my mouth, licking away the blood from my split lower lip.

When his hands travel roughly down my body, I keep my arms above my head where he left them. His fingers seek out every place that's hurt and caresses them. He finally pulls his mouth away. I gasp for air, but it's quickly cut off when his mouth ravages my neck. He bites and gnaws at my flesh. It feels good, yet it hurts. I twist underneath him, trying to get closer. Gasps of pleasure are intermixed with groans of pain. All mine--he's silent save for his labored breathing.

He weight is suddenly gone. I try to focus on him. His expression is tight, his eyes radiate lust and possessiveness. He kneels between my legs, staring at me, his chest heaving. The movement of his hand catches my attention. He rips open his jeans, freeing his erection. Then he reaches toward me and grabs my head, pulling it up, pressing on my skull hard enough to make it ache.

His pupils are dilated. "It has to hurt, Alex," he manages to gasp out. "Tell me you understand that."

Yes. Whatever it is... it has to hurt. I make an attempt at a nod, but his grip is too firm. His eyes bore into mine. He lowers my head to the floor, and then spits into his hand. He strokes his cock with the slick fingers. He reaches for my legs, sliding his hands under my knees.

Abruptly, I'm folded in half, Mulder on top of me, my knees in my chest. I yell as my body protests abused skin being stretched and touched. The feel of him pressed between my aching thighs is muted agony. I feel Mulder's cock sliding along my crack. His eyes never leave mine, his face mere inches away. The intensity of his gaze scares me. He reaches between us, and I feel pressure at my tender asshole. My breath comes in shallow gasps. The insistent pressure remains, but feels more intense, as his arm returns to secure my leg.

"Tell me, Alex." He pauses for breath. "Tell me you understand."

"Hurt me," I whisper.

His fingers clamp over my mouth as my ass is breached by his surge forward. I scream against the hand, my back arching off the floor. Oh, god, make it stop. It hurts too fucking bad. My breath escapes as sobs against his restraining hand.

It feels like I've been ripped apart, but I register that he's not moving. My sobs turn into a hiccoughing rasp. My erection is a vague memory. Part of me is grateful that I'm no longer aroused, but another part--what feels like a perverse part--misses that connection with something simple and human.

"Accept it," he whispers softly in my ear.

I nod against his hand and he pulls it away, now just using it to hold my leg in position. His tongue sweeps across my cheek, gathering tears.

"Oh, god, Alex. I didn't expect this." His lips travel over my face, pausing at my mouth, biting at my lips.

My mouth feels bruised and swollen, my legs as his hands dig into the backs of my thighs are sheer agony, my whipped back pressed to the hard floor is misery. But it's the pain of my anus throbbing around the heavy invasion of his cock that makes me breathless. "Expect what?" I manage to ask, grateful for any insight into his mind.

"To be so in love with your pain. It's so fucking beautiful. I need it... like it was air." He bites at my lip, re-opening the barely closed wound. "Our lives are irrevocably bound now. I swear I'll kill you if you try to walk away."

"I won't go," I whisper against his mouth, certain that there's no longer any course of action for me than the one we're on.

He groans into my mouth and I feel him tense, then he's pulling back. I nearly scream as a new fire of agony is lit inside me. Mulder sucks the sounds of pain from me. When he pushes back in, my eyes slide shut as if I can block out pain by blocking sight.

"No! Look at me, Alex." He orders as he pulls back again. "I have to see your eyes."

I meet his stare, finding it filled with tenderness as he slams into me. Hard. The scream is there before I can stop it. His fingers cover my mouth again and he groans as if pained. "I love that sound. But, you have to be quiet," he whispers into my ear as he surges into me again.

I nod, trying to accept the directive.

Accept the pain.

Accept.

The pain becomes a part of me, rather than something that's happening to me. I keep my gaze fixed on Mulder, astonished by how closely he's watching me. My arms are held tensely above my head. I stretch them out, feeling the tension uncoil from deep inside.

"Good," Mulder murmurs. His approval feels like something vital I never before knew I needed. The softness of his voice and expression are a strange counterpoint to the brutality of what he's doing to me. He's pounding into me hard and fast, every stroke bringing an eerie sense of calmness and rightness. His hands grip hard into my sore legs. I lift my hips, meeting his next thrust, welcoming fresh pain into my soul. Mulder's eyelids flutter, then his gaze is fixed on me again.

The rhythm becomes perfection. The pain comes in predictable waves and it feels peaceful. I start to feel lost, like I'm floating away, when he asks, "Why aren't you hard, Alex?"

My body responds to the implied command and I groan a protest, feeling new sensations building inside me. My cock stirs. I so don't want this. Arousal threatens my serenity.

"You have to accept that, too," Mulder breathes against my mouth, biting into my lips again.

I nod, trying to let that become a part of me. But it's difficult... my body feels only partially there.

"Do you want me, Alex?" he whispers as he slows his thrusts, drawing the torture out.

No. I don't want you. Not like that. I can't. I won't. "Yes," I choke out. God help me, I do.

"You want me to hurt you?" His cock drives into me hard.

"Yes," I manage around a sob.

"But you want me to make you feel good, too." He shifts his hips, his next thrust hitting that spot inside that causes white-hot pleasure. "Don't you?"

It feels like my soul's been laid bare. I can't make my mouth work to respond. Don't want to respond.

"Tell me," he whispers seductively as he slowly pulls back, then plows into me again.

"Yes... want it." My dirty little secret--one he figured out that I didn't even know about.

While viciously tormenting me with his dick, he leaves surprisingly gentle kisses on my face. The contradiction feels like it's shorting out my brain. "But then you feel guilty for wanting to feel good. Isn't that right?"

"Christ..." My emotions totally overwhelm me. The physical pain is nothing compared to how he's shredding my psyche.

His movement inside my body has become agonizingly slow. "Should I make you feel good, Alex?"

"No!" I yell.

He laughs. And it's not a nice laugh. He pulls almost all the way out, and stops, lifting his head to stare at me. His expression is relaxed, but that intensity in his eyes is still there. With slow deliberation, he presses his hands into the backs of my legs and gradually pushes them apart and down toward the floor.

My eyes widen and I feel like I'm hyperventilating. The stretch is too much. I'm not this flexible. The pull at my ass is too intense and I feel my eyes begin to water. He just watches me with a nearly impassive expression. My muscles quickly reach the end of their flexibility, and they're nowhere near the floor. Still he keeps pushing. It feels like something is going to tear or be dislocated.

With my body in this impossibly stretched out position, he surges back into me. If I could breathe, I'd scream, but all I can do is suffer.

Mulder holds the new position, buried deep inside me. "Should I make you feel good, Alex?"

"Yes," I whimper. Whatever you want. I don't care. Anything but this.

He lets my legs fall back over his shoulders and the relief is exquisite. His body weight presses into me heavily as he resumes up a hard, deep, driving rhythm. His lips graze my ear. "You're mine... to do with as I please. Everything else is just irrelevant."

I nod, fighting this insane desire to wrap my arms around him.

The sheer simplicity of him fucking my body is so sweet compared to him fucking with my mind. And that's all he's focused on now... hurting me while taking his pleasure from me. It's perfection and I lose myself in it. In the pain, in the arousal that feels so dirty, in the secret joy of feeling connected to someone. And through it all, he just keeps watching me.

A part of me doesn't want this to end, but my body is giving out. My muscles tremble with fatigue, my ability to differentiate sensation is gone. Sweat pours off me, but it's not just mine, it's his, too. I thought I had no defenses left, but when I feel them crumble, I have a fraction of a second to appreciate them before they're gone. I have no more tears left for pain. But I find that I can grieve again. Mulder sees it. It's what he's waiting for. In the wake of my grief comes his ecstasy. With a tortured groan and face twisted in what looks like agony, Mulder pushes into me one last time.

I feel him come inside me. And this time, when my eyes slide shut, he lets me get away with it. He presses his face against my neck.

As part of his boneless collapse on top of me, Mulder releases my legs. My limbs flail briefly, as I try to figure out what to do with them. I finally settle for wrapping my legs around him, trying to hold on to him for some reason. He grunts, but I think it's a positive noise. His fingers fist in my hair.

When he finally lets me walk out of here, there's not going to be much of me left. There isn't much of me left now. It's as if I've been purified by fire, but wound up surprised that there wasn't more worth keeping. Continuing with my life seems unbearably impossible. But it's also inevitable. There is no other choice. I just can't imagine it. And I can't imagine what comes next. All I can do is focus on now--and only the physical now at that. The emotional now is still too hot to touch.

So, I take it all in. I breathe it, feel it, hear it. Letting the here and now fill the emptiness inside. I register his labored breathing against my neck. The clutch of his fingers, still tight in my hair. The press of my erection against his stomach. The slide of our sweaty bodies against one another. The feel of the floor along my back. The oddly comforting feel of my legs wrapped around him. The discomfort of his cock still in my ass.

I fixate on that for a second. He still feels half hard. His continued arousal surprises me. Any man can get excited about getting a blowjob, but what I've seen in the last 24 hours is beyond that. Mulder feels some sort of lust or desire with respect to me. And I don't get that at all. I can't imagine why Mulder would want me. But if it's true, if he does, it's something that can fill up these deep empty places.

Reminding myself that I can't afford that kind of hope, I try to tell myself he gets off on inflicting pain, but the voice of logic tells me that if Mulder had a history of sadomasochistic activities, the Consortium would have known. So I file it away with all the other mysteries and stop thinking about it.

When Mulder decides to move, it's a painful surprise. He pushes himself up, simultaneously disengaging from my ass and breaking the hold of my legs. I gasp at the sudden flood of sensation, especially painful ones from my abused rectum. I very nearly express gratitude that he pulled me out of my reverie. He stays on hands and knees, hovering above me, shifting his legs to straddle my hips. He's now watching me contemplatively.

His persistent staring is beginning to get to me. I don't know what he's looking for. So, I allow my eyes to travel down his body, just to avoid his gaze. I gasp with shock when I see his dick. It's streaked with blood and cum. Why does seeing the blood on him suddenly make what just happened seem more real? The pain in my ass should be sufficient proof. The feeling of fluid slowly leaking out of me should tell the story. But it's more than that. If I were covered in my own blood, it would be what I deserve. But he shouldn't be.

I didn't decide to move, I just suddenly am. Slowly inching my way across the floor. It's painful with the plastic sticking to me and my body protesting every movement. The one glance I had of Mulder's expression revealed confusion but he doesn't make any attempt to stop me. When I've wiggled down enough, I finally move my arms from their 'bondage' position and reach for him, palming his hips, which are still encased in his jeans. I don't think about it, I just take him into my mouth, carefully licking away the blood and semen.

Mulder gasps, body quivering. His cock twitches, filling my mouth even more. I'm focused on getting every trace of blood off him.

All of a sudden, he pulls away, shifting until he's kneeling over me again, staring at me. "Tell me why," he demands.

I feel as if I'm truly coming unraveled. "If you leave me dying, covered in blood, that's fine," I whisper hoarsely. "But you walk away clean."

His eyes narrow. "That's my decision," he snaps.

I want to shake my head in denial, but it is his choice. And that makes me feel incredibly helpless for some reason.

After several long moments, in which I forget to draw air, he finally says, "Breathe, Alex. You have my permission always to lick your blood off my body."

"Thank you," I somehow manage to whisper, somewhat horrified by it. I feel as if this entire thing is happening on a level I don't understand. Whatever I lost while he was fucking me was vital. That defense kept me from acting on these dark and twisted needs.

His gaze flicks over my body as he moves between my legs again. He settles back onto his heels, spreading his knees apart and forcing my legs to drape over his thighs. I feel more fluid leaking from my asshole.

"Do you want to come?" His voice is odd. Like there's no real intent behind the question.

Huh? Do I want to come? I don't even know. My body is in a weird state of arousal, but I feel detached from it. But I also don't not want to come. It's confusing. I open my mouth to reply, not sure what's going to come out. "If that's what you want."

One of his brows lifts, quickly followed by the other one. He contemplates me for several long moments. "What if I want you dead?"

"Get me my gun," I whisper without thought. It's odd that I should feel so detached from the idea of my own death. But I just don't care. This is the only purpose for which I exist anymore. Nothing else has any meaning. And if he wants me dead, so be it.

Mulder nods distractedly. I realize his gaze is locked on my chest. More specifically, my nipples. And because he's staring at them, when he reaches for me, I'm not at all surprised that's where his hands settle. The gentleness of the touch does surprise me, however. He teases them, pinching lightly and twisting. I feel myself becoming tense, both with concern and increased arousal. What's going on?

He looks at my face, smiling at whatever he finds even as he continues to lightly rub the very sensitive tips. "You can handle the idea of blowing your brains out with stoicism, but having your nipples touched scares you?"

Fuck! He can see that?

I don't know what to say.

Mulder's smile gets bigger. "Don't worry, Alex. Nothing's changed." His gaze drifts back to my chest, but he pulls his fingers away, letting them rest on my stomach. "I'd very much like to clamp them, but we can't have them swollen." He's really talking to himself, but I find myself nodding.

What the fuck am I nodding at? Why can't they be swollen? Why am I even thinking about it? I still feel stuck in the emotional black hole of what's happened, but he's somewhere else and it's a struggle to keep up.

Using the back of one finger, he softly strokes the length of my dick, cocking his head to the side, contemplating me. When his fingers encase my balls, my hands twitch with the desire to stop him.

"Put your hands back above your head," he orders as he teases my very sensitive flesh.

I comply, resenting him for the surges of pleasure I'm feeling, desperately wanting him to stop. When he begins squeezing, the pleasure quickly morphs into discomfort then red-hot pain. It's such a relief, my body instantly relaxes and I sigh.

His smile tells me he knows everything that's going on inside my head. The hand on my balls changes from a bruising grip to a teasing caress. The fingers from his other hand travel down to my ass, stroking and sliding over my too-tender tissue. I can't stop the groan of discomfort.

His hand leaves my ass and a second later, I feel slippery fingers close around my dick and begin to pump me.

"Why?" I gasp out, an echo of his previous question to me.

"Because I can." His eyes drift down to where his hands are at work. "I want you to watch."

I so desperately don't want to, but my gaze follows his. He's gathered blood and cum and is coating my cock with it as he strokes me. Something about it seems right. My blood on my body. That's the way it should be. The sense of rightness disturbs me. I shouldn't appreciate this. Definitely shouldn't want it. My brain disconnects from what I'm seeing. This isn't my body. I'm watching someone else.

Between Mulder roughly stroking my cock and teasing my balls, something I thought to be impossible is happening. A familiar tension in my spine tells me I'm close to coming, but I fight it.

"It's my choice," Mulder hisses at me. His expression tells me he wants acknowledgement, but I just can't, because it's happening to someone else. He keeps the hand on my cock, but the other drifts down. A finger slides inside me, surprisingly gentle. Despite him being careful, it hurts and any pain is sweet relief. Until he finds that spot.

I reconnect with my body, forgetting about pain as pleasure swamps my senses. Part of me knows that somehow this is designed to hurt me. But the sweet sensations make it easy to ignore.

"Tell me," he demands.

"Your choice," I gasp out.

"Then come."

My back arches off the floor and I can't remember any orgasm before this one. It's as if it's my first experience with sexual pleasure. For a few breathless seconds, I experience something profound and real. Something precious and untainted by the rest of my life.

But coming back down is raw, painful reality. As my breathing returns to normal, I keep my eyes shut, trying to block out this entire situation.

I feel Mulder moving. His hand leaves my rapidly shrinking cock and trails up my chest smearing my cum in its wake. When I can feel his breath against my face, I know he's leaning over me.

"Alex, open up. You know I need to see."

"I really hate you," I whisper as I open my eyes.

He's smiling. Fucking prick. "Keep telling yourself that, baby."

With every fiber of my being, I want to look away, but I don't. I maintain eye contact. I'm beginning to understand this stare of his. He's evaluating, cataloguing. Profiling. Seeing entirely too much.

His expression is impassive when he orders, "Watch."

He braces one hand by my head and reaches for his erection with the other. My eyes follow his every movement. He's kneeling over me, stroking himself in a quick, practiced rhythm. Everything Mulder's done has had a purpose, so I try to figure out the point of this. It only takes a couple minutes. When his cum spatters my chest and abdomen, I get the point. Painfully.

Suddenly, Mulder is gone. He's on his feet, moving away. Before I can process anything, or move a muscle, he tosses my clothes in a heap next to me. "Get dressed."

Stumbling to my feet, I having to peel the plastic off me. It's apparent I re-opened some of the wounds on my back because I can feel blood trickling down my skin. I can also feel it on my thighs, but I know that's for a different reason. Without thought, I head for the bathroom.

"No," he stops me. "Just get dressed."

I have to take several deep breaths. The point of this exercise isn't lost on me either. I try not to think about how degrading this feels as I pull on my clothing. It's not any more degrading than him coming on me like I was a $50 whore.

I focus on Mulder instead. Watch as he rolls up the plastic on the floor. The plastic goes in the garbage and, with a simple wash of his hands, all the evidence of what transpired here is gone. Once I'm out of here, it will be like it never happened. For him. Not for me. I'm still covered in it, drowning in it, marked by it.

Mulder disappears into the bedroom. Like an automaton, I get my boots on, then my jacket, finally secure my weapon in the back of my waistband. He didn't say to leave, so I wait.

When he reappears, his jeans are finally fastened and he has on a plain white T-shirt. His hair is still damp with sweat, but nothing else about his demeanor, appearance or expression gives away that anything untoward has occurred. He stops near the front door and tosses the black duffel at me. I catch it, though it feels empty.

He jerks his chin toward the door. "Go."

It feels like it takes every ounce of my willpower to put one foot in front of the other. This moment perfectly shows how in control he is and how out of control I am.

As I'm reaching for the knob, Mulder's hand clamps on my arm, twisting me around and slamming me against the door. His fingers find my mouth, pulling at my lower lip, reopening the split. His tongue flicks out quickly, catching the blood, then his mouth is covering mine. Thoughts and emotions tumble through me, but before I can catch one, the door is giving way and I'm stumbling backward, into the hall.

By the time I've recovered my balance, the door is closed and I'm alone, staring at his front door. But the kiss has served to ground me enough that I can walk away.

Next thing I'm aware of is stepping into my dark apartment. I don't remember the trip home. The red glow of my clock catches my attention. 8:24 P.M. It registers that he must have let me go at almost exactly 8:00 P.M. He had me for 24 hours. Only 24 hours. Was that deliberate, too?

I feel like I'm just a shell. There's nothing left. There's nothing more than can be done or said to elicit emotions from me. I have nothing left. Sleep calls to me. I should shower, but maybe if I keep my clothes on it can wait.

I start to move toward my bed, but I register there's something in my hand. The duffel bag. My homework bag. It feels empty, but I'm sure I'm not that fortunate. Instead of doing what I want to do, I turn on the light and open the bag. Inside I find an envelope.

Feeling profound dread, I open it to find a couple sheets of folded paper. The top page has a business card stapled to it. The card is for a local piercing and tattoo place called BodyXchange. Handwritten at the bottom is:

Laurel. 9:00 P.M. Sunday

Below the business card is Mulder's familiar writing.

Friday 8:00 P.M. Bring a change of clothes. Jerk off every night thinking about what I did to you today.

I stare at the page in astonishment, totally unable to process it.

Not sure I'm prepared for whatever's next, I turn to the second page.

When we were partners, did you know that I wanted you? That I thought you were beautiful? It made it so much worse when I found out you'd betrayed me. I hated myself for having wanted you.

You surprised me today. I expected you to fight me... I thought it would take weeks before you'd give in this way. Thought it would take longer before you'd yield your pain to me so willingly. Your surrender made two things possible today. I stopped hating myself for wanting you, and I forgave you for that first offense. For lying to me, betraying me and walking away, I forgive you, Alex.
He stripped all my emotions away, then revived them with a few simple words. I'm on the floor, trying to find breath around the sobs rising up inside me.

** End Abandon **

4 October 2005

This is by far the most difficult chapter I've written. Feedback helps me keep going.

Zoë


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