Title: Penance, Chapter Two: Anguish
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: Can Alex live with the consequences of getting what he needs?
Beta Thanks: Helen & Ursula
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
Anguish by Zoë
Saturday, 7:59 P.M.
I hesitate outside Mulder's door. He's expecting me in one minute. I shouldn't be here. Never should have come back. Told myself I wouldn't.
But here I am, still chasing the elusive carrot.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. At the sound of knocking, my eyes fly open in alarm. I see my own hand dropping from the door. Christ, I am so out of control.
Don't be home, Mulder. Let this all have been a tease. A cruel joke. Let me go back to life before you said the word 'forgiveness.'
Please be home, Mulder.
The door opens, low lighting silhouetting Mulder's form. He simply turns his back and walks to the couch. I take that as a cue to enter. My eyes are glued to the floor as I close and lock the door. The floor is covered in plastic sheeting. What the hell is that for?
I'm finally able to lift my eyes from the plastic on the floor--the type that people like me so frequently use to dispose those nuisance dead bodies. I find Mulder seated on the couch, glasses on, one leg casually draped over the other, reading a book. He's wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt.
This is so not what I was expecting. I feel like I'm stuck in this spot. Unable to move, unable to speak, and barely able to think. The silence stretches on interminably, broken only by the occasional whisper of pages being turned.
Eventually Mulder glances at me, as if he'd forgotten I was standing here. He gestures to some equipment next to the TV. "The first thing you do every time you arrive." He tucks his nose back in the book.
The first thing? Every time? Uh...
But my feet are in motion. With practiced efficiency I set up the gear and scan Mulder's apartment for bugs. Is he protecting me? Not likely. More like protecting his revenge.
His apartment is neater than I've ever seen it. His bedroom actually looks like a bedroom, rather than the usual catch all for anything that doesn't go in the living room. The bed is even made. I brush against the mattress as I'm scanning near the bed. There's a slightly incongruent sound. I press on the mattress to test my theory. Same sound. There's a rubber sheet on the bed. I notice two eyebolts have been affixed to the wall above the bed. Almost involuntarily, my eyes are drawn further up. Six more in the ceiling.
I desperately don't want to believe that these changes have anything to do with me. To keep the panic at bay, I force myself to focus on the task at hand and finish scanning.
Oddly enough, I find one bug. In a place in the bathroom no one would waste a transmitter on. What is going on here?
Returning to the living room, I replace the gear and try to decide what my course of action should be. Mulder's voice startles me as he asks, "Well?" He peers at me over the top of his glasses.
My mouth opens and closes several times. I can't seem to come up with anything to say. So I just open my hand and show him the transmitter.
He nods. "Good. I planted that. I figured if you found that in such an unlikely spot, I could count on you to be thorough." His nose is back in his book.
For some reason that chafes a bit. "I'm always thorough."
Mulder glances at me again. "No doubt." His attention is back on the written word when he casually tosses off, "The second thing you do after you arrive is strip."
I think I must look like a fish the way my mouth keeps flopping open. "Mulder..."
Setting the book down next to him on the couch, he cocks an eyebrow. "You really don't want me to ever have to repeat something twice."
Sighing with exasperation, I roll my eyes. This has just passed into the absurd. "Maybe I do. Maybe I want you to repeat it five or six times and explain what the fuck is going on in your head."
"You know, I was going to let you go at the end of our session without having you suck me off. But you've just changed my mind. So, unless you also want to find yourself with your tongue up my ass, I suggest you get your fucking clothes OFF!"
Well, I certainly didn't want to hear that. I guess he wasn't planning to kill me and roll me in plastic after all.
He must see that I'm about to flee, because he offers a mysterious smile as he murmurs, "You made a commitment to me, Alex. You said you were mine. To do with as I please. You walk out that door, that's another betrayal. Another failure. Something else you've done to me. One more thing you're going to want forgiveness for, knowing you can never have it. And I will forever deny you your fucking penance." So damned cruel. "You've got one chance here. And only one. You're mine. You know it, I know it, and it's for the rest of your fucking life."
"I hate you." The words are out before I can stop them, but I'm shrugging out of my jacket.
Mulder just smiles enigmatically.
My shirt is next, then boots, socks, jeans, and this time, I don't even hesitate at my underwear. Once again, I'm naked before Mulder.
He surges to his feet and it startles me into recoiling slightly. But all he does is grab a straight-backed chair and place it in the center of the living room, facing the couch. He points to it. Guess that's my cue. So I sit.
On some weird orbit, he circles around me a few times, then sits directly across from me, perched on the edge of the sofa. "Ground rules... you don't ever question my orders. You won't like the consequences if you do."
Of course I'm going to like the consequences; that's the point. Beat the fucking crap out of me, if I have to question you to get it, I will.
He must see the thought in my expression, because he frowns. "You think you can provoke me into beating you? Alex... do you think I'm an idiot? Do you think I don't understand that for you the beating is the reward? Though I know you will try, you're not going to be able to provoke me. I've spent the last five days contemplating every way you can possibly piss me off, and there's one thing you need to be real clear on. I'm in charge here. Not you. Provoking me is just going to get you a punishment you don't like."
I try not to roll my eyes. "So, if I behave, you beat me, and if I don't, you make me your naked sex slave and force me to give you blow jobs?" I guess I'll fucking behave.
Mulder gives a humorless laugh. "You think you know what's going on here? You don't. You haven't got a fucking clue. You have this notion I'm keeping you naked for sexual reasons. Naked isn't about sex, you idiot. It's about humiliation." He stands and leans forward, his face a few inches from mine. "I saw it in your eyes when I made you undress the first time. Being naked in front of me makes you feel humiliated. Doesn't it, Alex?"
My chest suddenly feels tight and it's hard to breathe. I can't afford for him to see this much. Unexpectedly he slaps me across the face. "Answer my question! You feel humiliated sitting here naked in front of me. Don't you!?"
He slaps me on the other cheek. Harder.
"I answered your question!"
"And I rewarded you," he states matter of factly.
"Rewarded?" I trail off, feeling completely confused.
"I hit you, Alex. Isn't that what you want?"
No. I didn't want that. I just don't know why... My emotions are flipped upside down and I just feel bewildered.
He slaps me again. I feel tears sting my eyes. I don't get it.
Mulder is in my face again. "You thought you just wanted some pain to take you out of yourself. But not any pain will do. Being slapped in the face is humiliating, not liberating. It's how you hit..." he trails off, but I know the rest.
"A girl," I whisper.
"And you want to take it like a man."
Don't see so fucking much, Mulder.
Another ringing slap. "Stop!" I'd give anything right now if he'd backhand me instead of... this.
"Excuse me?" His palm connects with the opposite cheek. "Did you just tell me what to do? I must be hearing things." Alternating cheeks, he slaps me over and over.
Strange feelings surge in me. My breathing is shallow and erratic, body tense as a bowstring. Please stop. The repeated slaps make me feel oddly vulnerable and exposed. This unexpected sense of grief wells up inside of me and I'm certain it will tear me apart. My hand is in motion without conscious thought, deflecting the next blow.
Nothing happens. No touch, no words. I'm staring at nothing, chest heaving as if I'd run five miles. What's happening? Dazed, I look up into Mulder's angry eyes. He's glaring at me, his expression clear disapproval. Once he has my full attention, he grabs my hand, jerking it downward and wrapping my fingers around the seat of the chair. Got it. Don't move my hand. I swallow hard.
Then his lips are next to my ear. "Did you forget how well I understand the human psyche? Even one as twisted as yours? You can't hide from me. I know what's going on inside you. Better than you do."
Fuck. I am in so much trouble.
Mulder steps back, looming above me, waiting. I glance up, his eyes tell me to get ready. A dry sob escapes my throat. In the next instant, his hand connects with my cheek again.
He's relentless, and, in this moment, my deepest fear is that he'll never stop. That this path will lead me to insanity. My head is snapped back and forth, the sound of skin slapping skin resonates through the room. My entire body feels like it's gripping the chair, as if it's my only tie to reality. The sweat rolls off me. But the slaps never stop. Mulder never tires.
Thoughts and emotions are like quicksilver. So many, but I can't hold on to them. Each connection of his hand to my face brings another rush of emotional anguish. I'm drowning in my grief over what's become of my life. Mulder's hands continue to expertly punish me as I try not to gag on the suppressed sobs. My face hurts. I hurt. I'm sorry.
Then I lose it. I'm sorry. Please stop. I'm so fucking sorry. I can't keep the sobs down anymore... one for every slap, and it goes on and on. As does the litany in my head. I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry.
"I know you are."
I didn't even realize it stopped. Mulder is straddling my lap. I register his tongue... he's licking away my tears, following their path down my neck, to my collarbone.
My head is hanging back and I try to breathe. I can't stop the tears; I don't even know when they started. I don't remember speaking the litany out loud, but must have, and I suddenly feel broken. The sobs rise up again. I want to push them down, but can't. I'm completely raw and exposed.
Mulder's hands slide into my hair, tipping my head forward, so he can gather more of my grief on his tongue.
"I'm sorry." I don't even know what for.
"Shh." His tongue flicks over my closed eyelids. It's like he's taking my pain away, rather than giving it.
When I'm under control, he moves away from me. I hear the leather creak as he sits.
Everything I have has been drained out of me. But I feel so oddly at peace.
"Knees." His softly whispered word takes a moment to register with me. Another moment to figure out what it means. I slide off the chair and on to my knees. "Come here." My body simply follows his order and I crawl forward until I'm kneeling between his legs. Finally I look up and meet his gaze. I can't detect what he's feeling, his expression impassive. But I don't sense any anger.
Mulder turns his hands over, resting them palm up on his thighs. I glance at them. Both are vividly red. I just stare at them, thinking I regret that his hands hurt because of me.
The contentment is like a warm blanket. I just want to put my head down and lose myself in it. My head is indeed going down, then my lips graze his right palm. I freeze, waiting to see if there will be a penalty. I didn't really plan on that. He doesn't move or speak. Hesitantly, I shift my head toward his left hand, leaving a light kiss on his reddened skin.
I sit back on my heels, waiting, unwilling to look at him. My heart beats a little faster with each passing second. When it feels like it's about to pound out of my chest, Mulder softly says, "Look at me, Alex. Whatever's going on inside you belongs to me. I want to see it."
So I lift my eyes and meet his gaze. His expression is oddly gentle, making me want to curl up and cry. I fight it, but can tell by his eyes that he sees it. "You owe me your tears. Before we're done with this journey, you'll no longer be able to push them away." It should make me feel wary, or unsettled, but I can't muster the energy. I'm empty. All I can do is be.
Mulder watches me for a long time. Eventually he speaks softly, so softly I have to strain to hear him. "Ground rules... Never question my orders. You do what I say, when I say it. Everything about you belongs to me, every feeling, every thought, every part of your body. I can do whatever I want to you. Even kill you." I've never been threatened so sweetly before. "The reward is that in the end, you will have what you most desire. And so will I. The penalty for failure is that you get to keep on being you, just the way you've always been."
The rules pour over me. I absorb them, like a dry sponge absorbs water. But I can't process them yet. The feelings will come later. For these few seconds, I'm just grateful that I don't have to feel.
His hazel eyes feel as if they're boring into my soul. "Do you understand me, Alex?"
"Yes," I whisper.
"What do you understand?"
The words just pour out... like wringing out the sponge. "Every part of me belongs to you--even my life--to do with as you wish. And I'll do whatever you say without question." I don't even know who's speaking. I'm not here anymore.
Mulder gives a faint nod, then reaches into his pocket, extracting something small. He drops it on the floor in front of me. It's a key. "You will arrive promptly at the date and time I set forth. Let yourself in, scan the apartment, remove all your clothes and kneel in the center of the living room floor until I'm ready for you."
Like someone who has imbibed too much, I simply nod.
"When you leave, you'll take the black bag by the door with you. It will have your homework. You'll bring it back the next time I require your presence, homework complete."
I should have questions, but I don't.
"I will punish you for any infraction," he explains in a tone of voice one might use to say I love you. "Don't even think you can anticipate what it will be. But rest assured that you will not like it."
Painfully true. I never expected him to slap me like this, or that it would make me feel this way. But... That wasn't the punishment. That was what I came for. The realization hits me like a punch in the gut. I sense the conflict and confusion waiting for me, but I can only focus on the fact that I haven't been punished yet. The apprehension makes me tense. I'm scared of what he'll do. Then I realize he already told me the punishment. I should feel some resistance. Some revulsion. But it won't come.
I move forward a bit and tentatively reach for the top button of Mulder's jeans. He makes no move to stop me. I pop all the buttons open. It's harder doing it for someone else. I can tell his cock is already half hard as I awkwardly grope inside his jeans, trying to get inside his boxers. Eventually, I manage to free his cock, now fully hard. I'm surprised again by how big he is. I hold it in my hand, feeling the heat and the slight twitches. This shouldn't seem so foreign. I have a dick, but it's just not the same.
Before going further, I glance up at Mulder. He's watching me impassively, but gives a very faint nod. I lower my head and take his cock into my mouth. The slight stretch of my cheeks makes them burn, but it's irrelevant... I owe Mulder this. I didn't do what he asked me to do.
It's not as difficult as the first time, because he's not forcing me. I work him further into my mouth, then pull on and off his cock. No finesse, no skill. I don't know what I'm doing, I just have to make amends.
"Teeth!" Mulder faintly hisses in warning.
I do my best, but it requires all my concentration, so I inadvertently let his cock go too far into my throat and gag. Mulder moans and thrusts up into my mouth. I nearly choke on his dick and try to back off, to regain my equilibrium. But his hands are suddenly in my hair, holding my head in place as he rams his cock into my throat over and over. I can't breathe, dizziness overwhelms me, then he's holding my head tightly against him as his cock begins to pulse and twitch. His semen spurts into the back of my throat, but I can't swallow. It runs out of my mouth unchecked until Mulder releases my head so I can back off to get some air.
When I'm under control, I move to sit back on my heels, but Mulder's hand on the back of my neck stops me. "Uh uh. Clean up."
I have no illusions about what he means. A wave of nausea rolls over me, but I lower my head to his lap once again. There's more cum there than should be possible, but I lap at his cock until he's clean, trying desperately to ignore the taste. The slight covering of hair on his thighs feels like sandpaper to my abused cheeks.
When Mulder thinks I've done a sufficiently thorough job, he reaches down and tucks his cock into his jeans. With his hands on my shoulders, he pushes me toward the floor. It takes me a minute to get it, then I remember the way we ended the other night. Exactly what I wanted to do before I had to deal with my punishment. I curl up around his feet and let my mind simply shut down.
I'm unaware of the passage of time. It could be 10 minutes or two hours before Mulder nudges me with his foot and says, "Get dressed. Go."
I get to my feet, and like an automaton struggle into my clothes.
Mulder rises, and I'm completely unprepared for him to simply walk into the bedroom and close the door.
You'd think the bedroom door the oddest thing in the world the way I'm staring at it. I try to shake myself out of this fugue. The glint of metal catches my eye and I pick up the key Mulder gave me. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other. I grab the black bag by the door and leave, locking up behind me.
Suddenly, I'm at my apartment, having no memory of driving home. All I can think of is sleep. I live in a studio, so I drop my clothes in the living area on the way to the bed. It's after 1:00, but there's one more thing to do before sleep. I open the small black duffel to see what my 'homework' is.
The first thing I pull out is a book. 'The Joy of Gay Sex.' Hmm. There's a note pinned to the front.
Tuesday at 9:00 P.M. Read this entire book before then.
You are now celibate unless I say otherwise.
I set the book aside and reach into the bag for the only other item. It takes a few seconds for it to gel. A disposable enema. Written on the box in black marker is:
Buy some. Use one every time before you come over.
After tossing it back in the bag, I drop the bag off the side of the bed and collapse against the pillows. A deep, peaceful sleep claims me.
Sunday, 8:14 A.M.
My eyes slide open as I slowly greet the day. I slept so soundly last night. I stretch to loosen up stiff muscles. Then I register that my face hurts. Suddenly the events of last night flood through my brain. When I recover from the shock, I scramble for the bag, searching for his 'homework' assignments.
You fucking prick. Who the hell do you think you are? I hurl the book at the wall. I'll show you what I think of your homework.
** End Anguish **
19 June 2004
Writing dark fiction can be especially difficult. It's sometimes hard to let the beast out... your feedback helps me work up the nerve.
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