Krycek kept very still indeed. The last thing he wanted to do was to anger the man at his back. He could feel hot breath on his neck, a typical interrogation tactic. Keep the prisoner guessing.
The strap added another welt to the collection on his buttocks. Krycek hissed through clenched teeth.
The word was spoken quietly, right next to his ear. Krycek maintained his silence and refused to look at his captor. He tugged at his chains, making them speak for him.
Suddenly the man was in his face, so close that Krycek could see the nick by his mouth where he'd cut himself shaving.
"You may as well give it up, boy. I'll get what I want out of you, no matter how long it takes."
Krycek finally met the other man's flat brown eyes.
"Go to hell, Skinner."
Skinner's eyes narrowed. He reached up to check the manacles that held Krycek suspended in the center of the basement room. Then he ran his hand over the straps of Krycek's prosthesis to be sure they were holding. Skinner paused with his fingers still lightly caressing Krycek's shoulder.
"Maybe you'd rather hang from one hand."
A flick of his eyelashes was Krycek's only response. If he hadn't been securely hobbled, he would have kicked Skinner viciously. A draft of cool air on his bare skin made him shiver. He closed his eyes.
Something poked him beneath the chin. His eyes snapped open and his head jerked back involuntarily. Skinner stared at him and prodded him again with the deceptively soft leather of a quirt. Krycek squirmed as Skinner drew the leather across his chest, flicking it painfully over each nipple.
"Tell me," he demanded.
One nipple taken, squeezed hard between large fingers. Krycek grimaced at his captor, but did not scream. Not quite.
"Tell me what I want to know."
"Yob tvoyu mat'!" snapped Krycek defiantly.
Skinner moved closer, until Krycek could feel the other man's chest hair brush his own smooth skin. Dark eyes bore into him.
"I suggest you leave my mother out of this," said Skinner softly.
Krycek's eyes widened. Skinner understood Russian? He'd have to control his temper if he wanted to live...
As if reading his prisoner's mind, Skinner dropped the quirt suddenly and wrapped his hands around Krycek's throat. He increased the pressure until dark starbursts began to form and dissolve in Krycek's vision. Krycek bucked against his restraints helplessly.
Then the hands were gone. Krycek drew great, shuddering breaths through his raw windpipe. Skinner ignored his distress, bending down to retrieve the quirt. He stalked past his quarry until he was out of Krycek's line of sight.
Minutes passed. Krycek fought to calm his breathing, not to give Skinner any satisfaction by showing his fear. The man had him trapped in this basement room, totally at his mercy. Krycek had been cuffed and blindfolded when he arrived, but he presumed they were far from any prying eyes or ears.
The whistle of the quirt warned him only seconds before leather contacted skin. Krycek flinched. Several more blows fell in rapid succession. The quirt was smaller but more intense than the strap, and Krycek bit his lower lip until it bled. Still, he did not scream.
Krycek's stubborn silence seemed to anger Skinner. He dropped the quirt again and moved closer to his victim. Krycek felt Skinner's chest press against his back, and the soft denim of Skinner's jeans against his own bare buttocks. He shivered, wondering what kind of twisted game this was becoming.
"Like that, do you, boy?"
Krycek gasped as Skinner's right hand crept around his thigh and grazed his scrotum.
"Want some more?"
Skinner's whisper sent cold fire through Krycek's veins. He felt the skin covering his balls being rolled and pinched lightly, and tried not to react. Then Skinner squeezed, hard.
"He's not here," replied Skinner.
The bulge of Skinner's erection nudged Krycek's thigh.
"We can do this the easy way--" Another nudge. "--or the hard way. Your decision, Alex."
"You know what, Skinner?" Krycek's lips curled back from his teeth. "You can kiss my American ass."
Skinner stepped back into Krycek's line of sight. His eyes glittered dangerously.
"American? Don't give me that crap. I don't care where you were born, either, you're as Commie as they come."
He tossed the quirt aside and walked over to a table a few feet away. Skinner paused, then selected an item from several choices, keeping it hidden from Krycek until he turned around. He hefted a flogger, its strips at least three feet long. The leather was dull, and the strips had a dark edge as if something had dried there.
"So." Skinner prowled behind the shackled man once more. "What's it going to be? Easy? Or hard?"
"You wish," snarled Skinner, and brought the flogger down.
Flames bloomed on the raw skin of Krycek's back. He lurched and twisted in his chains like a broken marionette. The lash continued its work, first across his shoulders, next his thighs, until the pain became a living thing. He could never be sure where the flogger would land next.
Krycek began to feel as if he were in the middle of a whirlwind. His consciousness detached and floated apart from his body. Suddenly Skinner dropped the flogger and pressed a hand to Krycek's bare back, skimming his fingers over reddened skin and drawing hitching gasps from his prisoner. A hand grasped and stroked his cock. Krycek wondered when he'd gotten hard.
Skinner pushed gel into Krycek's ass with one hand, while the other continued rubbing his irritated skin. Krycek swayed and moaned in his chains. The sound of a zipper opening made him shiver. Then Skinner's chest was against Krycek's back, his cock demanding entrance. He lifted his squirming captive high and impaled him in one smooth motion.
Pain and pleasure shot through Krycek as Skinner's slow thrusts drove him to the brink of madness. A banshee wail rose from his throat and carried throughout the basement room. Skinner kept a hand tight at the base of Krycek's dick, making the double agent frantic with the need to come. This torture was far more cruel than any whip.
Skinner's movements quickened. Krycek twisted about, trying to loosen the grip on his cock. Finally, Skinner released his hold and pummeled Krycek's ass, roaring with the intensity of his orgasm. Krycek danced on Skinner's cock, his own semen painting abstract designs on the far wall.
Krycek slumped weakly, held only by his chains and Skinner's arms. After a couple of minutes, he was roused by a crescendo of applause.
"That was so hot!"
Jeffrey Spender and Fox Mulder watched enviously as Skinner pulled out of Krycek and reached up to unfasten his chains.
"Glad you liked it," said Skinner, rubbing the younger man's shoulders and right wrist gently. He kissed Krycek's damp forehead, then led him to a bench and sat him down.
"You were great, babe," he whispered, before turning back to their audience. Both Spender and Mulder sported obvious bulges in their jeans.
"Sorry, guys," said Skinner. "You'll have to find your own play space. Alex needs his rest."
Spender grumbled, but Mulder grabbed his hand and pulled him into his arms.
"I just installed cuffs on the waterbed," he murmured in Spender's ear.
"Mmm." Spender's expression brightened. "Let's go."