Walter Skinner fought his key out of the sticking lock, entered his apartment, and dropped his briefcase even before the door finished shutting. Leaning back against the door until it clicked, he closed his eyes and wished absently he could trade in his head for one that didn't hurt quite so badly. Any small improvement would do. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. The painkillers he had taken before leaving work hadn't even started to kick in, and he began to doubt they would.

"Barcelona..."

Barcelona? Skinner's head came up and his eyes opened in confusion. From somewhere in his living room the one word reached out and touched his ears with an entirely too harmonious lilt.

"...where the winds all blew"

Dragging out the final word, the husky voice crawled up his spine and burrowed into the base of his brain. Recognition came instantly, though only of the voice. The soft song being crooned at him from his dark apartment was totally unfamiliar. Spanish nationals come to sing me to sleep? his overtired brain asked, even though he had already processed the information available and identified the skulking visitor.

"...and the churches don't have windows, but the graveyards do..."

Skinner shuddered. Krycek's voice was moving, floating about his apartment as it serenaded him. The words tickled spider legs over his skin. Death come to sing me to sleep, his brain decided.

"...me and my shadow...are wrestlin' again...."

The sepulchral voice moved to his left and he tracked it as his hand went for his gun.

"...look out, stranger, there's a dark cloud movin' in..."

"How appropriate," Skinner muttered, aiming in the general direction of the voice of his own personal little black rain cloud, his eyes adjusting too slowly to the dark to be more precise.

A soft laugh accompanied sudden illumination as Krycek snapped on the lamp by the sofa. He glanced at the gun in Skinner's hand, shook his head, and lifted a finger in admonishment. "I don't think so, Walter. Now put it away. We've already established that you're only going to shoot me when I ask you to. And me being alive is the only thing keeping you alive. But then, you know that. Don't you." Krycek smiled.

"Maybe I don't care, Krycek," Skinner grated, not lowering the gun.

"Yes, you do. We've proven that enough times, too." Krycek dropped onto the sofa and stretched out his legs. Dragging a small black box out of his jacket pocket, he studied it casually, then held it up to Skinner. "As we' ve also established, this isn't the only one tuned to you, yadda yadda yadda...if I don't stay alive long enough to check in...the usual drill." He hummed the Barcelona tune as he waved the box at Skinner.

"You start singing again and I'm putting a bullet in your kneecap just on principle," Skinner snapped. The eerie effect of Krycek's voice floating out of the dark in that strange song had unnerved him more than he cared to think, and covering the chills with annoyance was an old habit. Atavistic reaction, he told himself. Anyone would react to Krycek like they would a snake.

But his logic couldn't still the irrational feeling that had struck the moment he heard the breathy cadence and the morbid words—the feeling that the smoky voice could somehow stimulate and call to the technological time bomb ticking in his blood...in his body...all through him. Hovering deep within him. Waiting. His skin crawled. His hand tightened on the gun. Anything to keep the man from singing again.

Krycek just laughed. "Yeah, you're good at shooting extremities, aren't you. What...don't like my voice? I'm hurt. Rather bold remark for such a careful man, though. I think you might want to reconsider. And I'm sure you will." The taunting tone became suddenly conciliatory. "Come on in, Walter. Come in, take off your coat, sit down. It's the end of the day. Relax."

"Relax." Skinner sank back against the door again and slowly lowered the gun, ignoring the tremor in his muscles. "Right." He stared at the dark figure on his couch dully.

"You've had a long day," Krycek murmured. "Too long, actually. I've been waiting. It's not nice to keep your guests waiting. You really need to stop working until after eight. Bad habit. You'll give yourself a...heart attack." The big eyes widened innocently.

Skinner's lip pulled back in a sneer, but he refused to rise to the bait. Adrenaline had chased the exhaustion away, but his headache still pounded. He stood with his back pressed to the door, wondering what he would do next. Unusual. He always knew what to do next. He never surprised himself.

For long moments the urge to simply turn around and walk out the door tugged at him seductively. But simple male instinct and pride refused to even consider backing off his own territory in the face of the challenger...this boy. Krycek may have him vastly out-armed with his little black box, but Skinner would stand his ground, bridle and growl and bare his teeth, just as biology wanted him to do. He almost laughed at the idiocy of it. Careful. Sure.

"Come on...sit. Let me get you a drink." Krycek bounced to his feet and walked confidently to Skinner's liquor.

His anger rose a couple notches at the nonchalant display of familiarity, just as Krycek obviously intended. Skinner glared murderously at him, but his back was turned. Waste of a good glower. Oh fuck this. He holstered his gun. Shrugging out of his overcoat, then his suit coat, he dropped them over the nearest chair-back. He was either going to shoot Krycek, or he was going to have to deal with him for as long as he chose to stay. Since, given the balance of power, shooting the bastard wasn't really on the agenda this time, he might as well sit down.

Moving further into his living room, he sat heavily in an armchair, head tilting back and hand going automatically to rub at his forehead. "Headache?" a solicitous voice inquired. He looked up to stare at a glass of scotch hovering in front of his nose. Accepting it wordlessly he let his eyes coast up to focus on that angelic face, arranged in a perfect expression of familiar sympathy. Pure rage swept over him, making him glad the scotch was straight up. On the rocks would have given him away when the ice reacted to his trembling grip.

"Yes." No more. No less. Steady enough voice. No complaints. Skinner took a drink and concentrated on the budget meeting he had sat through today. His mind had wandered at the time—wandered fairly close to the subject looming over him, actually—but perhaps now it could be useful in trying to keep himself in check. Numbers on a page. Droning voices.

Think boring thoughts. Numbers on a page.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Krycek's fingers brushed over Skinner's left temple. "You need to take better care of yourself. You always did get those terrible headaches. And I bet no one helps you with them like I did."

Skinner kept himself still with an effort, allowed the fingers their liberty because he could do little else, and thought about numbers on a page.

Numbers on a page.

Krycek withdrew after a moment to sit back down on the couch. Skinner glanced over at him wordlessly. Krycek watched him like a cat with a cornered chipmunk. Waiting...just waiting to see what amusing little trick he was going to try next. Sitting just far enough away to make it look like you might, just might, actually be able to get away.

Ha.

"If you just dropped by to watch me, we could set up a video camera and you could watch in the comfort of your own private hole in the wall."

Krycek laughed delightedly. "Mulder ever test you for psychic powers, Walter? What a coincidence. I was going to talk to you about a video feed later. Given how good you are at taping things for me. Although the camera isn't going to be set up here." He smiled brightly. "You know how fascinated I am by that new little bundle of joy—"

Skinner groaned inwardly and wondered how bad death could really be.

"—and Mulder and Scully just feel so safe when Uncle Walter comes to babysit, don't they? Yes, I'm feeling an uncontrollable urge to capture every coo and gurgle on film for posterity. But please...I thought we could chat first. No sense jumping right into business, now is there. Hardly polite."

Skinner eyed the grinning man skeptically. "Bored, Krycek?"

The right shoulder lifted and dropped in an edgy shrug. "A little." Heavy sigh. "Things are a little slow at...the office."

Skinner contemplated the idea of a bored Krycek. And found it no little disturbing. This could be a long night. "So I'm to be your entertainment?"

Another husky chuckle. "Oh, you already are my entertainment."

"Funny, I don't feel very entertaining."

"You've always underestimated your entertainment value, Walter."

Skinner sipped his drink. Numbers on a page. Numbers on a—

"Take off your tie."

Turning his head slowly, Skinner stared at him for a long moment. "No."

Krycek rolled his eyes. "Oh, will you stop. I'm not trying to initiate a striptease. Although that does tell me where your mind is at. But no, you just look so...tight. Shirt all buttoned up, tie all squeezed right in. And you with that pained look on your face. I just want you to get more comfortable."

"Then leave."

"Now that wouldn't do it. Then you wouldn't know where I was." Krycek did that head tilt/eyebrow twitch thing that Skinner supposed he thought looked innocent. "How much more comfortable are you when you have no idea where I am and what I'm...doing?" Long fingers slid over the suddenly visible black box.

Skinner heaved a sigh. "You're right, of course. To really relax me you'll just have to die."

"Yeah, and no luck yet on that front, eh?"

"Is this going anywhere?" Skinner interrupted brusquely. "Can I expect to go to bed anytime tonight?" The green eyes watching him went suddenly incandescent, and Skinner winced, wondering why he was handing out such perfect openings to someone who wouldn't hesitate to use them.

"You can go to bed anytime you like. Just say the word," Krycek husked, his meaning dead obvious.

With an effort, Skinner ignored him and cleared his throat. He stared at his glass. "Can you just get on with it? Why you're here, I mean?" he clarified quickly.

"Maybe this is why I'm here."

"Meaning..."

"Maybe I just feel like sitting here. Talking to you."

"You really are bored."

"I thought we'd already established that." Krycek shifted on the couch.

Memories of what that restlessness used to herald stirred in Skinner's mind. Once upon a time, a restless Krycek had been a thing to look forward to...He slammed a mental door on the thought with something akin to panic, and spoke quickly in an effort to distract himself. "What are you, waiting out some consequences to whatever you're plotting at the moment? Do you need to kill a couple hours before a bomb goes off? Keep yourself scarce until a body gets found? What is this, the last place anyone would look for you?"

Krycek grinned. "What an imagination you have. And you think you're not entertaining. And no, if I wanted to kick back in the last place anyone would look, it'd be Dana Scully's bedroom."

The glass in his hand came down hard on the chair arm, slopping scotch, and he rose halfway before he caught himself. With a sharp breath, he dropped back down. "Stay away from Dana Scully's bedroom," he growled, teeth clenching despite his attempt to control his reaction.

Krycek's eyes widened along with his grin. "Like duh, Walter. What do you take me for? I don't have a death wish. But tell me..." he sat forward and his expression got a touch feral. "What's up with your vehement interest in the good doctor's boudoir?" An eyebrow rose. "Protective instincts? Or something more, perhaps? Are your intentions honorable, Walter?"

Skinner sucked scotch off his hand and concentrated on a spot somewhere to the left of Krycek. Looking into that face just sent his irritation skyrocketing. "I don't have to answer your questions. You can't sit there holding your finger over the button for every little thing you want to know. You wouldn't waste your leverage like that."

"No, not really. I wouldn't, would I? But...it'd be fun. And 20 questions is a hell of a way to kill a few hours. Don't you just love a good getting-to-know-you game? Oh! I know! Even better...truth or dare!"

Skinner's eyes were dragged back to the man against their will. "What? What are you on about, Krycek?" He was practically glowing, Skinner noted. Almost bouncing on the couch. Scary.

"Truth or dare! Come on...it'll be fun..."

Again memories flared, and again Skinner slammed them down. One forced its way through, though, and he had an instant crystal clear image of Alex in his office, tugging at his belt, voice a low, excited whisper. 'Come on, Walter, it'll be fun...'

"Truth or dare?" he croaked.

"Yeah, you know...you get to choose truth or dare and then I get to either ask you—"

"I know how to play, Krycek."

Krycek smirked. "Okay then. Truth or dare?"

"I said I know how to play, not that I would play."

"Oh Walter," Krycek sighed. "What else are you going to do with your evening? I mean as long as I'm here," he hastened to add when it looked like Skinner was about to answer.

Skinner paused. He had a point. As long as Krycek sat there holding his "gun" on him, he wasn't going to get anything else done. He drained his glass. And maybe if he gave in, Krycek would leave. Please just let him leave. Staring at his empty glass, he finally leaned forward and put it on the coffee table between them. "Fine," he sighed.

"Oh good! Refill?"

The bounce was back, and Skinner eyed him warily as he shook his head. "No, you can stop offering me my own liquor. I have no intention of drinking with you."

"I'm not drinking."

Skinner rolled his eyes. "You don't drink, asshole. I mean I have no intention of drinking while you're here."

"You remembered," Krycek purred.

Skinner stared straight ahead. Numbers on a page. "Yes. I also remember Kim's favorite color and Agent Martin's lactose intolerance. Big deal."

"Take off your tie."

"Krycek—"

"Look, if we're going to play a game, you can't be sitting there looking like that," Krycek said in a perfectly reasonable tone. "You just make me tense."

I make him tense. He almost snorted, then took a deep breath and held it. It's not worth it. Play the game, get him out of here. Skinner huffed out another sigh and yanked on his tie. Throwing it to the floor, he glared at the shadow on his sofa. "There. Happy?"

Krycek gave him an exasperated look. "Come on. The first couple buttons."

Skinner simply sat, giving him a stony stare. Playing the game had its limits.

"Stubborn," Krycek muttered, getting to his feet and crossing to the chair, reaching out one-handed and fingering the top button before nimbly twisting his fingers around it and pushing it through the hole.

Batting his hand away, Skinner jerked back. "I'll do it," he snapped. Krycek lingered for a moment then went back to the couch as Skinner opened the top two buttons.

"That's better." Krycek grinned at him. "But you know, I think we need proper incentive."

"Incentive."

"Yeah. A real reason to win. What's a game without a winner? And what's a winner without a prize..."

"Forget it."

"So I think we should—"

"Forget it."

"—have some prize really worth—"

"Forget it."

"—winning. Don't you?"

Skinner said nothing.

"I knew you'd see it my way. Now then...I propose, winner fucks the loser. Anything the winner wants."

Numbers on a page were no match for that. Ignoring both the tingle at his throat where Krycek's fingers had brushed, and the accompanying fire that crawled up his spine at the low, rusty voice and blunt words, Skinner simply went in for a really deep sigh this time. "For. Get. It."

"You have a better prize in mind?" Krycek offered innocently.

Staring up at the ceiling, Skinner realized he wasn't going to get away from the constant needling, and by bristling he was likely giving Krycek exactly the reaction he wanted. In a sudden decision, he rededicated himself to playing along instead. Get him out of here. "How the hell do you win at truth or dare, Krycek?"

"Easy. You wait for the other person to lose."

Shutting his eyes and rubbing them, Skinner forced the words out. "And how do you lose?"

"Even easier. On a truth question, you lose by lying or refusing to answer. On a dare, you lose by not doing it. 'Kay?"

Skinner waved a hand tiredly. "Oh sure. Go ahead." He told himself he had no intention of collecting the prize if he won, but then almost laughed aloud when he realized he was actually thinking in terms of winning and losing. As if Krycek wouldn't have the game rigged from the word go. As if he had any chance in hell of getting out of this without Alex Krycek's cock up his ass. That thought effectively choked off the laugh, and he steadfastly ignored the reaction it did stir.

He'd considered himself lucky so far. Krycek had needled and poked and prodded and teased since infecting him with the nanocytes, but he'd never shown real intent to use his leverage in a sexual sense. Either his luck had just run out...or it just kicked in, his mind whispered. He winced and tried desperately to stomp the thought into broken little thought-bits that could be easily brushed aside. Now was not the time for his subconscious to be acting up.

"So you'll play?"

"I said go ahead."

"You agree to the terms, then?" Krycek insisted.

Finally looking directly at the man, Skinner had another strong urge to throttle him. "No, I do not agree to the terms. But neither do I have any choice in the matter. Now do I?"

"You always have a choice, Walter," Krycek murmured, pulling out the black box and stroking the button again. "You're choosing life with dishonor over death with honor."

Skinner flinched.

"Odd, isn't it. People always swear they know how they would react. When the sword is hanging over their head. But they never really know, do they? Not until they're actually there. In the hospital bed. With the monitors, and those funny little mechanical noises they make, and the lowered voices, and that hospital smell—"

And the pain, Skinner's mind filled in. The pain, and the looks from the people looming at the bedside, and the sympathetic touches from small hands that only seemed to touch him when they were being sympathetic.

"The deathbed confessions," Krycek drawled.

Skinner's head snapped up. "I get your point, Krycek."

"Still choosing to live, Walter?"

The pause couldn't have been any longer without graduating to an uncomfortable silence. "For the moment," he finally ground out.

"Then let's play a game. You agree to the rules and the terms?"

He had to put up at least a token objection. If he was going to end up fucked by Alex, he couldn't let it look as if he was walking into it willingly. Even if...no, don't go there. Token objection...token objection...ah ha. "What makes you think I'd believe you would play by the rules."

"You have my word, Walter."

You have my word, Walter. He didn't even want to go near those memories.

"And if I win?"

"What if you do?"

"What makes you think I'd want to fuck you if I won?"

"Oh puh-lease." Krycek rolled his eyes. "You not wanting to fuck me. Right. Can we get on with this now?"

Numbers. On. A. Page. Deep breaths, and numbers on a page. Don't give him the satisfaction...

"So, what'll it be, truth or dare?" Krycek prodded.

"Truth," Skinner said absently, trying to visualize the exact figures on line item 33.

Krycek snorted. "Safe," he muttered.

"Truth," Skinner repeated, more firmly.

"Fine. Um...let's see." Krycek made a show of pondering, then glanced at the floor as he spoke. "When did you find out about me?"

Skinner paused. Say what? That hadn't been what he'd been expecting at all. "Find out...about you?"

"You know. Way back when. That first time."

"The day...you didn't show up for work. When the hell did you think I found out?"

"Just wondering. I always wondered. If you knew...before. When you knew. If you suspected."

"You can't honestly wonder if I would have done what I did...with you—," Skinner bit off his sentence. "If I'd known or even thought—"

"Of course not." His uninvited guest looked up with a tight smile. "Not you. Your turn."

Skinner stared at him. He actually thinks I might have started sleeping with him if I'd known...? Where would he get that idea...why...

"Your turn."

Skinner jerked out of his thoughts and arched an eyebrow. "Oh right."

"Hey, I told you. I'm playing fair. You get your turn."

Skinner closed his eyes and tried to reorder his thoughts. "Truth or dare," he finally said on a slow exhale.

"Truth," Krycek piped up gleefully.

Skinner groaned. "This is a stupid game, Krycek. How am I supposed to know if you're telling the truth or not?"

"You just have to trust me."

"Oh sure. Like you'd tell me a lie, and then tell me that you just told me a lie."

"I might."

"You're nuts."

"I've been told. Come on, ask away."

Skinner's brain wanted a vacation. He forced it to think, but the only thing he could come up with was, "What the hell was that song you were singing?"

"Hunh?" At least he had the pleasure of knocking Krycek off balance.

"That song...something about Spain?"

"That's what you want to know?" Krycek asked incredulously. "You've got me here promising to tell you the truth and you want to know what I was singing when you got home?"

Put that way it did sound stupid. But he couldn't back down now. He had little enough pride where Krycek was concerned. "Humor me."

"It was...," Krycek's forehead wrinkled and the familiar little crease appeared at the top of his nose. Skinner pretended to himself he hadn't noticed. "I don't know, actually," Krycek finally answered. "I just liked the words. I was just messing with your head. Some pop princess. The CD was in the last car I...borrowed. It was playing while I drove over here." He hummed it again.

Skinner held up one hand. "Don't."

"Relax. I wouldn't sing you the rest of that song if you paid me," Krycek retorted, with the oddest expression Skinner had yet seen on his face. Even counting the old days.

"Not your type of music." Skinner didn't bother framing it as a question.

Krycek's head hit the back of the couch with a soft thump. "Oh please. Here we go again. Assumptions. Everyone knows me so well."

"Uh..."

"What, you think I sit around all day listening to the James Bond theme? I do own a radio you know. Or at the very least usually have access to one. Is it so weird to believe I might actually listen to it? Hear some popular music once in a while?"

"I didn't mean...I just...I didn't know your taste ran to 'pop princesses', is all." Skinner wondered even as he spoke why he was justifying himself.

"My taste? My taste." Krycek laughed outright. "You might be surprised what I do and don't like. My taste, if you can call it that, is whatever noise is currently in the background. I can listen to anything and put up with it or enjoy it as the situation calls for. Anything...classical, hard rock, opera, heavy metal, rap, pop, punk...you name it. Oh, and I have an elaborate knowledge of Romanian folk tunes." He laughed again at Skinner's expression. "It's called versatility, Walt. You might want to look it up in the dictionary sometime."

Skinner raised an eyebrow. "You think I can't be versatile?"

Krycek's grin grew wicked. "Au contraire. I have intimate experience with just how versatile you can be."

Walked into it again. Closing his eyes briefly, he refocused his attention. "Well, for all your versatile love of pop princesses, leave it in your borrowed car."

"Ah, just count yourself lucky I wasn't singing to you about how we're all God's hands."

"Or God's hand, as the case may be." It was out before Skinner even realized he was going to say it. His visitor's expression froze, eyes wide and blank.

"Cute," came the slightly ragged response.

Sensing a weakness, Skinner pounced. "Now that we're chatting...what happened with that, anyway? Occupational hazard? Workman's comp injury?"

"You had your question," Krycek's voice was cooler, but mostly recovered when he spoke again. "My turn. Truth or dare."

"Truth."

"That night you had me on your balcony, all cuffed and helpless, what did you dream about?" There was a challenge in the question, as if Skinner's comment about the arm had spurred Krycek to push harder.

Skinner flushed. He waited a beat, then shrugged. "You. Surprise surprise."

"No fair, you know the deal. What did you dream about. You chose truth, you give me the truth."

Skinner ducked his head, grinding his teeth. "With our past, Krycek, I'd have had to be dead not to dream about you that night, wouldn't I? You want to know if it was a sexy dream? Yes, it was a sexy dream. Were you in handcuffs and helpless?" He paused, suddenly unsure he really wanted to give the answer. Finally, he shrugged, staring down at his hand smoothing over his own thigh. "No. You were...it was..." He stopped. Tried again. "It was like a replay dream. It was just...scenes from the past." He looked up and met Krycek's intent gaze. "It would have been better if you had been in cuffs and helpless. It would have been easier waking up the next morning." Skinner's eyes widened. That hadn't been a flinch had it?

If it had been, Krycek recovered from it instantly. "Your turn," he said sharply. "Truth."

Skinner studied him for a moment. He didn't think of himself as a cruel man, but he had little enough advantage in this situation. Of course, it might not be brilliant strategy to get Alex pissed off. The temper that had never seemed to rise back when he was Special Agent Krycek had certainly shown itself since then. An inexplicable stairwell scuffle rose to mind, not to mention the look on that face in a hospital hallway, and then again behind a closing elevator door ...and suddenly Skinner felt angry enough. "So, truth then...what happened to your arm?"

From the look, Alex had been expecting that. No flinch, no reaction, just cool regard from the couch. "Some Russian peasants took it in their heads to cut it off." The voice again challenged Skinner, this time to ask for more details if he dared.

"Why would they do that?"

"They thought they were saving me from a fate worse than death. No arm, no test. Tunguska, Walter. I'm sure Mulder filled you in on what went down there, with the tests and all. Vaccination scars?"

"You'd be surprised what Mulder doesn't fill me in on. He did tell me you left him in a gulag..."

"Is that a question, Walter? Because it's not your turn," Krycek taunted, fully recovered from whatever remnants of emotion had been affecting him earlier. Skinner had the sensation of an opportunity missed, and shrugged again.

"Fine. Here's a shocker, I think I'll take truth."

"Scared, Walter? Scared what I might dare you to do?"

"Truth, Krycek."

"Fiiiiine. Truth. Speaking of Mulder...Which one do you want, Mulder or Scully? I'd assume Mulder, given what I know of your past...indiscretions, but then you were married, and you do have the oddest reaction whenever the good doctor is mentioned."

The tight smile was back, but the curled lips had a sneering look to them Skinner longed to slap off that face. But then, he didn't really need to, did he. Truth...the boy wanted truth. Let him have it. "Neither, Krycek," he drawled. "I saved it all for you."

Krycek rolled his eyes. "Aw, you're sweet...but this is truth, remember?"

Skinner stared at him and didn't react. Nothing. Not one word, no shift of expression. Finally, after one long moment that seemed to hold endlessly, he responded with just an arched eyebrow.

And watched, amazed, as for just one instant, that beautiful face crumpled.

The smirking lips melted into open-mouthed...something, and the raw pain flashing across Krycek's face knifed through Skinner's chest. Then it was gone. The head dipped, eyelashes dropped, and when his face lifted again it was...different. A soft breath, and then, "So...you do know how to play this game, don't you."

Skinner forced himself not to react. Just sat and stared stonily at that softened face. "Yes. Which makes it my turn."

The pause was longer. "Truth."

No surprise there. Well, Krycek had brought up Mulder...something he'd always wondered about. Why not. "Why didn't you ever tell Mulder about us? You certainly show up in his life often enough. I figured you'd be dropping that little bombshell at some perfectly inopportune time."

"Maybe I didn't want him to know."

"By your own rules, you know that's not an answer," Skinner responded mildly. All outward calm. Not giving anything away. Ignoring the knotty feeling in his gut that this was a damn dangerous game. For both of them.

Krycek's lips twisted, lashes shuttering his eyes for a moment, again dragging up better-forgotten images from the depths Skinner kept trying to stuff them back into. "I suppose," Krycek sighed. "Alright. Maybe...I didn't want him to know you were into boys. Didn't want him getting any ideas about you."

The response was immediate and came with a huffing snort. "Please! Me and Mulder?" Skinner fought not to laugh, and ended up snickering anyway. "You didn't need to worry. He's all yours. Wouldn't touch him."

That earned him a raised eyebrow right back. "Oh? Why not?"

"Is that your next game question?" Skinner fired back.

Krycek rolled his eyes again. "Fine, be that way." He thought for a moment, finger tapping his chin, then nodded. "Yes. It is my next question, assuming you weren't going to go for a dare that time?"

Skinner snorted. "Safe assumption. But are we done with your answer? That was a maybe I heard, wasn't it? Maybe you didn't want him knowing I was into boys? Out with it...is that the truth or is there more."

Krycek's eyes snapped fire at him, but his face didn't change. "That's mostly it."

"Mostly."

The right shoulder lifted in that odd shrug again. "He didn't need to know. I never saw any good reason to tell him. Believe me, if I'd had a good reason, I wouldn't have hesitated. But...what purpose. I always have a reason, Walt. No matter what I do, you can always count on that. Somehow, some way, it's necessary. And in this case, it just wasn't." He paused. "He didn't need to know," he repeated in an absent voice. "He's had enough people turn out to be something he didn't expect."

Skinner let the silence rest for a moment, contemplating what was under the words. It was more of an answer than he'd expected. And somewhat more than he'd wanted to hear.

"Answer enough?"

Skinner nodded. "Truth," he emphasized.

A smirk lurked around that pretty mouth again. "Alright then...so, why no interest in the noble Agent Mulder?"

"Maybe because I have a brain in my head? A functioning brain?" Unlike you, the curl of Skinner's lip said. "No fucking way. He's pretty but—"

Krycek grinned. "—but can he type?"

Skinner snorted again. "Mulder's just really not my type. Truth is it's as simple as that. I like the man, respect him, but..." He shook his head. "You know how it is. Some people just don't do it for you, that way. And relationship material he definitely isn't. Can't believe Scully is actually trying it. I certainly thought she had more intelligence. I give them six months tops. Can't imagine anyone going there," he goaded.

"Hunh. Always wondered about that. I knew it couldn't be something so straightforward as 'I don't fuck agents under my supervision'," Krycek's voice dug at him, the subtle edge of cruelty biting hard.

Skinner's eyes closed, and he drew a long, slow breath. Hell, why not stick with the truth, even though that hadn't been a question. Truth had gotten such an...interesting reaction before. "Alex, believe it or not, you were an aberration." Skinner worked up a touch of scorn and added, "A role that is probably quite familiar to you."

"Oh, ha ha. So what made me so...special?" The voice was casual.

Perfect. At least I'm not the only one walking into these openings. Skinner opened his eyes and calmly delivered a perfectly balanced strike. Letting his voice go dead for maximum effect. "At this point, I have absolutely no idea."

The look that washed over that shadowed face felt like a punch to his gut. Apparently that strike had been a bit too on target. He's an excellent actor, Skinner reminded himself quickly while trying to catch his breath from the blaze of agony that had eclipsed Krycek's expression for a bare second, just remember that.

Krycek turned away, staring off into the soft darkness for another small eternity. When he cleared his throat and spoke, his voice came even lower than before. "Whose turn?"

Skinner opened his mouth to make a crack about how Krycek couldn't keep track of his own game, but all that came out was, "Mine." He cleared his throat. "Truth or dare? And technically I get two questions, because I gave you an extra answer."

"Of course. Must be fair," Krycek spoke with exaggerated emphasis as his head swung back around, eyes cold. "Oh, let's see...how about truth?"

Skinner rolled his eyes, but thought for a moment. Why not ask some real questions. Krycek seemed in such an odd mood. "Alright, you claim you're offering the truth. Let's go back to the beginning. Did you kill Mulder's father?"

Krycek laughed so suddenly Skinner jumped. "Actually, I can finally answer yes to that question," he said with real amusement. "For the longest time I was telling the truth when I said I didn't, but now I can tell the truth and say I did." Krycek continued to laugh, a soft breathy sound that Skinner didn't like hearing. It just raised more old ghosts. He cut in sharply, even though he already had his suspicions what Krycek meant.

"Give me a break. What kind of answer is that? You have to explain that, and it still only counts as one question."

"Picky picky," Krycek grinned. "Yes, I killed Mulder's father. And gladly, I might add. That's your answer...what's your complaint?"

Skinner gave him an exasperated look and didn't bother to respond.

"Oh alright," Krycek singsonged at last, still openly grinning. "The answer is yes, I did kill his father. But not...as you say...back at the beginning. Back then, when Mulder used to ask me over and over if I killed his father, back when old Bill turned up dead, I could honestly say I didn't kill his father." He stared at Skinner, waiting for him to connect the dots.

Skinner nodded slowly. "But you did kill Bill Mulder."

Krycek smiled. "Is that a direct question?"

Knowing the answer, but wanting the confirmation, he nodded again.

"Ah, the question Mulder never thought to ask. Yes. I did kill Bill Mulder."

"And...when did you kill...his father?"

"Uh uh...you got your two questions, Walter. Truth or dare?"

Skinner sighed. "Truth."

"Bor-ing, Walter. Truth truth truth. You sound like Mulder. Okay, tell me the truth on this one...are you glad he's finally out of the FBI and out of your—" Krycek let his eyes slide upward meaningfully, "—hair?"

Skinner ignored the dig and opened his mouth, then realized in the same breath he had no clue how to actually respond. He sat for a moment in confusion, then finally shrugged. "Truthfully, I'd have to say yes and no. He wasn't an easy man to supervise; he wasn't always an easy man to be friends with. But I did mean it when I said I respected him, and his work. Well, most of it anyway. I think the Bureau lost an asset. A big one. Agent Doggett is a good man but...well, he's just not Mulder."

A muffled snort and something that sounded suspiciously like "you can say that again" accompanied Skinner's observation.

"Hey. John Doggett is a decent, hardworking man, an excellent agent with a fine sense of responsibility and—"

Krycek's eyes narrowed. "Is he now?"

Skinner felt a frisson of unease crawl up his spine at the expression and the tone of voice. Something...he wasn't sure what...made him want to get off the subject of Doggett. He liked the man. Didn't want anything untoward happening to him. Clearing his throat he went back to the question at hand hurriedly. "Anyway, on the flip side, I can't say my life isn't quieter, less stressful, and I don't necessarily think leaving the FBI was a bad thing for Mulder personally." He pondered for a moment more, then suddenly realized exactly how much energy he was expending trying to make a thorough, truthful answer. To Alex Krycek. He sighed and his eyes drifted closed. Sometimes I really wonder about myself. "Anyway, that's my answer. Yes and no." Undoubtedly not what Krycek had been picking after, but tough. "Truth or dare?"

"The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

Skinner thought for another moment. Krycek really did seem to be taking this seriously. He could ask more about the paternity question, but really, he already knew those answers, didn't he. Had surmised them long ago. In which case, the next obvious question would be..."Scully's abduction. Were you behind that?"

"Behind it? I think that's overstating the case. You make it sound like it was my idea."

"It wasn't?"

This time it was Krycek's mouth that opened, then closed immediately after without having spoken, a vexed look crossing his face. "Oh...hell. I could say no, but this is truth, after all. Hmmm. Okay, here's the deal."

He sat forward, elbow on knee, watching Skinner closely. "It wasn't exactly my idea. I mean I didn't walk into His Smokiness' throne room and say 'boys, why not set up the little redhead with the aliens cutters, have them take her away, experiment on her, stick in a few implants, the kind that will give her cancer if removed, oh and while you're at it make sure she can't have kids.' It wasn't like that." He paused, and Skinner had the momentary absurd impression that Alex was feeling just as he himself had with the previous question...reaching for a truth that wasn't easily put into words and wondering why even as he did so. "But in a way, even though I wasn't 'behind' it, I have to take the blame, don't I? Because I was the one who told them they needed to separate her and Mulder. It was my first and biggest recommendation. Get her out of the picture." He stopped again, but Skinner could tell he had more to say and stayed silent. "I didn't know that was what was going to happen. I'm not altogether certain they did...my man Duane was a wildcard in his own right. But I did know it could happen. I did know that with a recommendation of 'get her out of the way', to those guys, anything could happen."

"And you gave the...recommendation anyway."

Krycek sat back with a huff of exasperation, rolling his eyes. "Of course. And you wouldn't understand why even if it was your turn and you could ask. Which it isn't, so you can't, so stop trying to get extras. Truth or dare."

Skinner wondered at Krycek's matter-of-fact brush off. For a guy so casual about sending Scully to the aliens, he'd been working awfully hard 30 seconds ago to explain how it hadn't been his idea. Once again, familiar from so many times in his dealings with this frustrating man, Skinner puzzled over what made him tick. Wondered if this silly game might actually be a way to find out. "Truth."

"Oh, gee, I wasn't prepared for that...let me think. Is the baby really Mulder's?"

Skinner laughed before he could stop himself. "You mean you don't know?"

"Yeah Skinner, I always waste time asking questions I already know the answer to. I know what some people think."

"Well, then you know more than I do. All I have is a best guess."

"Which is?"

"I think it is. I think Mulder and Scully think it is."

"Like they've never been delusional," Krycek scoffed under his breath.

"What are you really asking? Do I know if they're fucking? I would have said no, before the kid. Actually I still would have said no, since as I've mentioned, I actually thought Dana Scully had more native intelligence. Besides, I was under the impression the two of them having sex wouldn't make much impact baby-wise, given her medical history." He shook his head, again struck by the morass of ambiguity surrounding recent events. "I honestly don't know, Alex. They don't talk to me about their sex life, thank God for small favors. But they both apparently believe it to be Mulder's child, however it happened." Krycek looked annoyed, as if none of this was what he wanted to hear. Skinner couldn't help a flash of triumph at the vexed expression. "Truth or dare," he deadpanned.

"Truth, justice and the American way. And Skinner...a word of advice? Why don't you stop asking Mulder's questions, and start asking something you want to know."

Skinner blinked, startled. He always had wanted to know about Mulder's father, about Scully's abduction. Hadn't he? Yes. He had. A soft voice tickled through his head...and it's easier to ask Mulder's questions than ask what you really want to know. He swallowed. And decided suddenly to follow the new topic of the baby. "Why did you want Scully's baby dead?"

Krycek gave him a long-suffering look. "Duh. Having a senior moment, Walt? I figured you'd have worked that out eventually. I needed some way to get you to get him off life support. That seemed like it would be the...quickest. I know how protective you are of our dear lady Scully."

Skinner sighed heavily. "You gave Mulder the vaccine. In the hospital."

"Yep." Krycek smirked. "You didn't honestly think a round of earthbound anti-virals did the trick, didya?" He rolled his eyes and laid his head against the couch back, doing a passable imitation of Scully's breathless wonder. "'I can't explain it, but he's getting better'...Gawd, that woman. You ever notice how the only time she believes something totally unbelievable is when it suits her purpose to ignore the truth?"

"Can't you ever just do anything straightforward?"

"No." Krycek smiled cheerfully. "Come on, Walt. I give you a bottle and say 'it's the vaccine, give it to Mulder.' What would you do? I'd be severely disappointed if you did take me at my word. Instead, get you thinking I want you to do one thing, do something else, get your suspicious little brain buzzing, appeal to rank emotion, and before you know it, you do exactly what I want. And in record time I might add. I was rather proud of that one." The smile widened, with what indeed looked like pride.

Skinner stared at him. "You really are certifiable."

"Oh sure, I'm certifiable. She believes he came back from the fucking dead, six months in the goddamn ground, and a round of antivirals cured him...but I'm certifiable. Hey, far be it from me to question the little Madonna." The scathing anger in his voice took Skinner by surprise, and he blinked at the suddenly animated face. "I'm sure the Consortium has just been fucking around with vaccines and drug trials and human experiments for the fun of it, because god knows, those earth antivirals are such a goddamn wonderdrug! Hell, we all take those, who cares if the oilians invade."

Skinner's mouth tilted into a smile as an idea took root. "If you wanted credit for saving his life, your round about way of getting him the vaccine sort of short-circuited that plan," he offered mildly. He grinned as Alex went wide-eyed and silent. "Your turn," he added, "and I think I'll take truth."

Krycek's mouth worked for another moment, then he scowled at Skinner. "So...Doggett," he ground out. "What's his story?"

"Doggett?" Skinner tried to think fast, figure out what Alex was after and what would be the best way to steer him away from Doggett. "He...ah...well, he seems clean enough. As I said, decent man, with a—"

Krycek cut in impatiently. "Not that. Hell, I'd know better than you if he was dirty. Believe me, he's the cleanest thing the FBI has seen in awhile. No, I'm talking about him personally. Does he have a personal life, or is he following the established tradition of X-Files employees? What about him and Scully. What's his story with her?"

Skinner choked. That was a leap. Never mind it was a leap he'd wondered about himself. "You mean are they...?"

"Yeah. Is he interested? Does he even do the ladies? Is she interested? Come on, she's still with the FBI. I assume you talk with her occasionally."

"I'm not that personal with my agents—"

"Oh yes you are," Krycek purred smugly, causing Skinner to curse mentally.

"I'm just looking for your truthful thoughts on the matter, Walter. You' re a trained observer, investigator. Surely you've observed. Surely you have a theory. Are sparks flying? Theorize for me."

He didn't want to say it. He really didn't want to say. He didn't exactly know why he so adamantly didn't want to, but for the first time since the game started, he offered a point-blank bald-faced lie. "I have no indication of any non-professional interest between the two of them." Without meaning to, he'd lapsed into AD-voice. He realized it as he watched Krycek's lips thin in disgust.

"Truth is a funny thing, isn't it, Walter. Why do I get the feeling I could call you on that one and win this game."

Raising an eyebrow, Skinner met and held his eyes, not blinking, not twitching, not giving any indication that he was lying through his teeth. He didn't know quite what Krycek was after, but not giving him anything seemed safest. "If you think you know I'm lying, indicating you already have an answer to your question in mind, why are you asking me the question in the first place?"

"Because I'm looking for facts, not my own interpretation or impression. Shock you though it may, I have actually been wrong before."

"No!" Skinner mimed disbelief with such overdone theatrics that his houseguest averted his eyes and bit his lip to keep from laughing. Even with the precaution, Krycek's mouth quirked, giving him away. Skinner felt oddly triumphant. "Truth or dare," he drawled.

"Truuuuth," Krycek intoned.

"Who do you think the father of the baby is?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Krycek shuddered. "You don't want to know."

Skinner's eyes widened at the obvious implication. "No! How?!"

"He got Scully out on a little jaunt some time back. Led her on a rose-garden tour, and I hear there may have been some missing time involved. I was indisposed at the time, so I don't have first hand information. Let's just say that little Will probably is, in some way, Mulder's. At least partially. I think." An odd expression crossed the shadowed face. "That's the best I can do. I really don't know, anymore than you do. I thought maybe Scully would have told you something. Something about why they're so sure it's Mulder's."

Skinner shook his head, even though it hadn't been a question. "I'm given to understand they tried artificial insemination."

"And there's no reason that should have worked," Krycek mused softly. "Nothing else, eh?"

"The principles aren't talking."

Krycek nodded thoughtfully. "Likely because they don't know either." His lip curled. "Just like I said...she's willing to believe the unbelievable when it makes her life easier."

Skinner opened his mouth to defend Scully, and found he didn't know what to say. He'd wondered himself often enough at her strange pregnancy. For a scientist, with all the cold, clinical facts staring her in the face, she'd accepted it rather unquestioningly as a miracle. He sighed, staring off into space.

"Truth or dare," Krycek offered conversationally.

"Truth," he responded in the same tone.

"If you could go back and change one thing in your life, what would it be."

"Oh God." A lifetime of small and not-so-small regrets loomed large in Skinner's mind. "So many." And then there it was, staring him in the face, the obvious answer. "Sharon," he said without hesitation. "My marriage. If I could do it differently...I wouldn't hurt her as much."

"So I'm not the worst mistake you ever made."

"Just one of the many."

"One of the more enjoyable?"

Skinner tilted his head to look over his glasses at the man slouching on his sofa. "Truth or dare."

Krycek grinned unrepentantly. "Truth, I'd have to say."

"When did they get to you? The Consortium?"

Krycek snorted, sounding alarmingly like himself, Skinner thought with a start. "Get to me? They didn't have to get to me. They had me. It's a family thing."

"Family thing?"

"I was born into it."

"So even before the FBI...Quantico..."

"Long before." The clipped tones didn't encourage further questions or clarification, and Skinner had to admit Alex had technically answered the question. He couldn't think of a way to force more of an answer without expanding the original inquiry.

Besides, the only question he really wanted answered wouldn't make it out of his mouth...so there was nothing I didn't do...nothing I could have done differently for you? It wasn't my fault? He couldn't ask it. Nothing could make the words come out.

"—or dare?"

"Truth," Skinner mumbled, still lost in thought.

"Do you really give them six months?"

Skinner startled, and found himself laughing before he could catch it back. The grin was back on Krycek's face. "On a good day, six months." Skinner shrugged and shook his head. "Sometimes I think closer to three."

Krycek nodded. "Sounds about right to me. I'll take truth by the way."

"Why do you want Mulder to think you're dead?"

The room went silent. Skinner listened to his clock ticking and realized Alex had even stopped moving.

A slow deep breath, then, "It's easier."

"That's an answer?"

A rough noise of irritation followed. "I...I need to disappear. Really disappear. It's useful for me to be dead right now. My...partners would like me to be perceived as out of the game. It helps them too."

"Your partners?"

Krycek shook his head and moved restlessly on the couch. "Separate question, Walter."

"Okay, let's go back to the original then. You still haven't really answered. Why Mulder? I can understand you needing to be dead, sort of. I mean I can see how it could be useful for someone like you to be perceived as dead. But why in front of Mulder? Why did you particularly want him to think you were dead?"

"I didn't," Krycek hedged. "It was just a perfect set up, you know? On tape, and the tape will get to the right places. In front of witnesses. And he's such a pain in the ass, always showing up in the wrong place at the wrong time, it's helpful for him to think I'm out of the game permanently too. Hopefully keep him out of my way."

Skinner shook his head. "Ah yes, the truth is a funny thing."

Krycek huffed out an exasperated breath. "What do you want me to say? Sounds like you have an answer to this one in your head."

"No, I'm just honestly curious, and I still feel like you aren't really being straight with me. But so what else is new. You did answer, more or less, and I can't prove it's not true. Unless you're planning to now tell me that was a lie?"

A half smile curled Krycek's lips as his words came back at him. "No. It's the truth. The best I can do."

Something in his voice on the final words made Skinner's throat tighten. More than ever he wondered about Krycek's choice of death scenes. Wondered what he'd been looking for, from Mulder. From himself. Wondered if he'd gotten it.

"Truth or dare, Walt."

"Truth."

"Did you enjoy killing me?"

Skinner blinked, and his throat closed even more. The raw tone to the question...he cleared his throat. "No. Were you scared I was really going to do it?"

Those incredible eyelashes lowered once, then lifted. "Yes." Tilting his head to one side, Alex forced a smile, the fingers on his right hand clenching into a fist repeatedly. "But Walter, here I thought I was giving you such a treat? A way to psychologically exorcise all that pent up aggression and hostility toward me?"

"It didn't work."

"Oh. Sorry." Alex looked confused for a moment. "Damn, I've lost track again."

"Well, if I count right, I answered you, then asked you a question and you answered it and asked me a question, which I just answered, making it my turn...truth or dare?"

Long legs shifted, and the right fingers still worked spastically against his right thigh. "Ah, fuck this. I'll be the brave one. Dare," he tossed out challengingly, his eyes bright and just a bit crazed.

"Really?" Skinner paused, surprised. He wondered what had made Krycek shift gears...the possibility that Skinner might pose a question about his 'partners', or the possibility that he might follow up on the track they were currently on.

"Really. Dare me, Walter." The cocky grin was back, and any signs that any of their conversation may have affected him at all were firmly tucked away.

Skinner stared at him for long, silent moments, watching the edgy energy implicit in his fidgets, the dark flicker in his eyes, the reckless expression. A wash of calm flooded him. As if from a distance he heard his own voice. "Push the button."

"What?" Alex looked honestly confused again.

Skinner held his gaze, calmly speaking again. "Do it, Alex. I dare you to push the button. All the way. Kill me. Now."

Alex's mouth fell open as he stared at Skinner, uncomprehending. "You...but— " He clamped his mouth closed, glaring at Skinner, hand plucking the little black box from his pocket. He stared down at it for long moments. Finally he gave a short laugh. "You fucker." He tossed the box at Skinner with a tad more force than necessary. Skinner caught it as it impacted his chest. Alex's eyes gleamed dark in the lamplight. "You win," he ground out.

The calm swept through Skinner and departed on a decidedly giddy note. "You don't say?"

"You bastard."

"I win! You don't say. How about that." Peering at the black box in his hand, he grinned. "How about that."

"Oh shut up, you smug bastard."

"But I won," Skinner said innocently, looking up. "Don't I get gloating privileges?"

"No," Alex rasped darkly. "You do not. Why did I think this was a good way to combat boredom?" he asked the ceiling.

Skinner carefully set the black box to one side, and stood up. He walked over to the couch and loomed over Alex silently for a moment. "I don't know, Krycek. You tell me?"

The half shrug looked even more edgy this time. "Seemed like a good idea at the time?"

Skinner took a step closer and nudged Alex's knee with his own. "Doesn't seem like a good idea now?"

"Not...particularly," he drawled, trying hard for unaffected. The rapid rise and fall of his chest defeated the effort.

"Hmm. Too bad." He kicked Krycek's black boot. "Spread your legs." The body on the couch stiffened, then slowly the knees parted, thighs spreading. Skinner stepped in between and leaned over Alex's sprawled body, placing his hands on the back of the couch, lowering his face until he was inches from Alex's nose. "So," he murmured. He watched the pert nose flare as Alex's breath came faster. In the back of his head a warning voice was screaming at full volume 'this is a stupid idea this is a stupid idea danger danger danger' but it had next to no chance when pitted against the smell of a warm, sweaty Alex Krycek close enough to lick. He lifted his right hand from the couch back, and drew one finger down the nose, over the lips, down the swallowing throat. He played for a moment at the neck of the t-shirt, tugging it out and running his finger over the notched collarbone. When Alex's eyelashes dipped, he dragged his hand slowly down chest, stomach, groin...and finally settled heavily in the widespread crotch. Curling fingers down over the warm bulge, letting his hand engulf it completely, he squeezed once...twice. "So. I suppose it's time for me to decide if I'm going to collect my incentive prize..." he squeezed once more, harder, and was rewarded with a gasp, "...or not."

Alex's eyes flew all the way open again, and he stared at Skinner in obvious shock. "Or...not?" his voice sounded like it had been dragged out over hot coals.

Squeezing gently, rhythmically, Skinner rolled his eyes ceiling-ward and pondered. "I just don't know. I did win, after all. I deserve the prize. But then again, it is you. And I'm tired, and my head aches." 'And this is a really stupid idea' screamed the dying mental voice.

Krycek's eyes flared and his body jerked, legs coming together and making as if to rise. Skinner grinned and tightened his grip, leaning down a little further, his own legs blocking Alex's knees from pulling in fully.

"Going somewhere, Alex? But I haven't made my decision yet." He enjoyed the fierce snapping of the glare aimed at him, the way the lips peeled back off the teeth. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alex's real hand move. Rocking back on his feet, he caught it with his left, pinning it to the couch and leaning forward again. "Uh uh, Alex...no trying to sway the decision."

"Right," he spat. "Like you don't want it. Tell me another one, Skinner." Krycek's chin lifted and he gave Skinner a haughty stare, somewhat belied by the spots of hectic color in his cheeks. "You won, fair enough. I told you I'd play fair. Don't try to snow me that you're going to turn this down."

Skinner smiled lazily and took long moments to feel out the zipper of Krycek's fly without looking down. After a thorough groping had brought Alex's color even higher, and he'd found the tag of the zipper, he pulled it down slowly. Working his fingers through the opened crotch of the jeans, he rubbed at the heated, swelling flesh through the thin cotton of strained underwear. The mental voice of caution was effectively rendered speechless. "Okay, I won't." He watched in amusement as Alex obviously tried to remember the thread of the conversation while his brains dribbled out his ears.

"Won't..."

"Won't kid you that I'm going to turn this down," Skinner supplied. "After all, you did come up with the incentive prize idea, not me. Only fair you should have to pay up."

Krycek's head rolled restlessly against the couch-back; his hand under Skinner's grip flexed helplessly. "Only fair..." he managed in a breathy voice, his hips pressing up against Skinner's hand at his crotch.

Laughing softly, Skinner slid his hand back out through the gaping fly, accompanied by a pained groan from the couch. "Let's see...I think it went 'whatever the winner wants'? Didn't it?" He pulled apart the sides of the hole created by the unzipped but still-buttoned jeans, exposing the white of Krycek's briefs. He played his fingers lightly over the shifting bulge, laughing again at the way Krycek's hips lifted off the couch, trying to increase the pressure.

An irritated sound that almost qualified as a growl met his question.

"Sorry, was that an answer?"

"Fuck you, Skinner. You know that's what I said." Alex's voice battled hard for unaffected and casual.

Impressed with the effort, Skinner nodded. "I thought so. Hmmm...decisions, decisions. Whatever I want." He danced his fingers up to the twisted button-hole of the jeans, and undid the button. Pulling back the sides of the jeans until they neatly framed Alex's growing erection, he paused to admire the effect. All that black surrounding the exposed V of white gave it the appearance of almost glowing. Skinner smiled at the fanciful thought. "Whatever...I...want..." he drawled, punctuating each word with a slow stroke over the full cock outlined clearly under the stretched white cotton.

Alex's arm twisted under the loose grip pinning it to the sofa, and his eyes closed. "Christ Skinner, just make up your goddamn mind. What do you want..."

"Don't rush me," Skinner countered easily, suddenly fascinated by the growing dampness on the underwear near the tip of Alex's cock. He ran his finger over it repeatedly, earning a tortured gasp and moan. He watched in pleasure as Alex's teeth clenched and his head tilted back, throat working silently. He knew, cognitively, that Alex found sex with him arousing, but given their history, he couldn't help wonder how much acting had been involved. With no reason left to put on a show, he found Alex's current state something of a compliment and couldn't resist dragging it out. "There's just so much to choose from. Do I want you on your knees on the floor, begging for it? Or up against the wall with your jeans around your thighs, like a horny slut in a back alley...or flat out on a bed on your stomach, ass in the air...or tied down, spread open, and gagged..." Another rough groan cut into his words and he grinned as Alex bit his lip, hard. "Do I want you pleading and easy, or struggling and fighting...or lashed down so tight it doesn't make any difference. How do you want it, Alex?" he whispered, and watched the eyes fly open, almost panicked. Can't you ever just do anything straightforward, Alex? "But then, how you want it doesn't really matter does it? It's all about how I want it." He glanced down pointedly, fingering the growing wet spot on Alex's underwear. "Looks like you want it any way you can get it."

The dark flush that swept over Krycek's face was beautiful, and he took long moments to enjoy the squirming, the way the eyes darted everywhere trying to avoid his. "Make...up...your...mind," Krycek ground out.

"Why? You didn't say anything about a time-limited offer. And maybe this is how I want it. Teasing you into crumbling little bits, watching you fight with yourself over how much you want this." The blush darkened impossibly, and Skinner laughed again. Direct hit. How do you like it, Alex? And I don't even need a little black box. "But I think I want you struggling a little. That's fun and gives everything a nice edge." He tightened his grip on Alex's wrist, and spread his other fingers out over the pulsing erection. "You can give me a little fight, can't you, Alex?"

The face was priceless as Alex glared at him, flushed and disheveled, hair spiking up and teeth grinding. "I think I can do that," he bit out, arm working spastically under Skinner's hold, eyes a delightful mix of angry and sullen.

"Ah, good. That's perfect. Doing what you 'have' to do, fighting it every step of the way," Skinner paused significantly then let his voice drop to a husky rumble, "even though you're just dying for it." He bit back another laugh as Alex's head jerked to the side, staring off into the dark apartment, expression murderous. "Yeah, that's how I want it. I think you can pull it off. Make sure you give it a good edge of 'just dying for it', though. That's the best part." He let the amusement creep into his voice. "And doesn't look like it'll be too hard for you to pull off."

"You really are a bastard," Alex muttered, still staring past Skinner, cheeks still hot.

"I've been told," Skinner tossed off cheerfully, feeling the best he had in a long time. The headache was even gone. "C'mon Alex, it'll be fun." He curled his fingers into the splayed jeans and tugged, releasing Alex's wrist at the same time. "Stand up." He let his voice drop into his best AD 'make it happen' cadence, and watched as Alex started standing almost before he realized he'd done as ordered.

"Good boy," he murmured when Alex stood in front of him, just for the fun of watching the blush suffuse that pretty face again. He jerked down on the jeans. "Off." He smiled as Alex's lips twitched with an obvious retort, then stilled and thinned. Working with just his good hand, Alex pushed and pulled the jeans to his ankles, then paused uncertainly when he realized he hadn't removed his boots. "Boots off," Skinner ordered. "Then lose the jeans."

Shifting his weight, Krycek started to heel off the right boot, but almost immediately lost his balance. Having expected it, Skinner stepped closer, hands catching him at the hips. Krycek started in surprise, his hand catching hold of Skinner's arm, startled into looking up and meeting his eyes. But Skinner just steadied him silently, then let both hands wander to the full ass that would be his momentarily. Stroking and squeezing the rounded cheeks through the briefs, he grinned as Alex's breath caught. He continued to fondle, pinching occasionally, as Alex fought his boots off and kicked out of his jeans, using Skinner for balance. Enjoying the soft noises Alex tried to swallow back, he found his own breathing picking up, his erection swelling under his suit pants. Releasing Alex's ass reluctantly, he lifted his hands and slipped the leather jacket off broad shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. But when his fingers caught under the bottom edge of the t-shirt, Alex's hand at his wrist stopped him.

"Stays on."

Skinner started to shake his head, then took in Alex's expression. He paused.

"Some things are not negotiable. It wasn't part of the deal, and it stays on." Voice still breathless and raspy with arousal, Alex could have sounded a lot more commanding. The look in his eyes made up for it.

Making a split-second decision, Skinner nodded slowly. The flare of relief on Alex's face was gone before he could be sure he'd seen it. Instead, he let his fingers wander back to the waistband of the tented briefs, and tugged them down over Alex's hips. "Off," he murmured.

Swallowing hard, Krycek took a step back and pulled down his underwear, letting it drop to his feet then stepping out of it. In a black t-shirt, black socks, and rosy blush, he lifted his head and met Skinner's gaze, chin rising.

Skinner let a slow smile stretch his lips as he surveyed the body in front of him. "Very nice," he commented as his eyes rested on the erect cock, dark with blood. He reached out as if to stroke, but at the last minute dropped his hand and cupped the heavy balls. Alex's sharp intake of breath pleased him, and he spent long moments fondling the swollen sac. "Pretty, pretty Alex," he mused. "You haven't changed a bit, have you." He tightened his fingers until he gripped the sensitive testicles firmly, then lifted his eyes to meet Alex's. The flushed face was beautiful, eyes wide, lips parted and quivering as he tried to breathe without moving. He had changed, of course. The arm, the lines around eyes and mouth, the hardness that had either been missing or well-hidden during their previous affair. But watching his body respond, the changes seemed superficial, unimportant. The core remained. And at the thought, the bubbling anger of earlier in the evening resurfaced, and Skinner felt all the frustrations, all the tension of his never-ending, twisted "relationship" with this man, rise and wash through him like the tingling prickle of a sleeping limb shaken awake.

The urge to restrain Alex was suddenly strong. Tie him up then tie him down, gag him, fuck him. His hand squeezed, and his thoughts must have shown in his face because Krycek's eyes widened, and a flash of something...something like fear...crossed the pretty face. As if for the first time tonight, he realized he might have left himself a little too open, might have underestimated Skinner. Then it was gone, and there was nothing but the arousal, the heat, the burning lust that radiated off him like a furnace. Skinner massaged the balls in his grip firmly, leaning in to speak directly in Alex's ear while his captive moaned helplessly. "Don't worry, Alex. I'm not you." He pulled back to see confusion in Krycek's expression, but he didn't bother to elaborate. Instead he stared hard at the fake arm, trying to decide if it would bend back, if he could cuff both hands behind Krycek's back. It looked like it would, but given the height of the amputation, he didn't know if it would put strain on Alex's shoulder, if the joining of prosthesis to shoulder would be under too much pressure.

He didn't want to care. Told himself he didn't, particularly, he just didn't want Krycek distracted from the fucking he was about to get. He didn't really know why he bothered, since lying to himself seldom worked, but either way he gave up on the cuffs behind the back idea. Which was a shame, really, because it was an image he liked. A lot. Instead, he released Alex reluctantly, backed up a step, and unbuttoned his own shirt the rest of the way. Taking it off, he almost laughed again at the way Alex's eyes focused avidly on his torso. Peeling up his own t-shirt, he dragged it over his head slowly, then stepped forward again, trailing it in one hand. Alex looked up at him, puzzled. Silently, he reached out and guided the fake arm and the real arm in front of Alex until the wrists crossed, then wound the t-shirt around them and tied it off tightly. Alex started to jerk back, then held still with an obvious effort. Skinner tested the make-shift bondage, and the tightness and look of it satisfied him, causing his arousal to spike just that much higher. He knew Krycek could get out of it easily, but that wasn't really the point, was it? He wouldn't be getting out of it, because this was whatever Walter wanted. If anything, the slightly ridiculous nature of the bondage was better than cuffs...accentuating the fact that Alex would give in, would take whatever Skinner wanted to do to him.

And it gave him another idea. Bending down, he caught up the discarded briefs and studied them deliberately. Alex shifted back uncertainly when Skinner raised his head and smiled at him. "Open up, Alex."

"No..."

The one word was a mistake, as Skinner grabbed the opening and caught his chin, stuffing the damp underwear into his mouth. Krycek's head jerked wildly and his arms wrenched once at the restraining tie, then he stilled with an effort, facing Skinner again, eye glaring hotly, cheeks bright red. Skinner smiled, enjoying the image, his ever-present anger settling to a background purr, dancing at the edge of his arousal. "There. Good look on you. And you're remembering the bit of fight, such a good boy. Just one last thing, then we'll get on with the main event." Skinner jerked his head to the side, indicating where his tie lay on the floor where he'd dropped it earlier. "Get me my tie."

Eyes narrowing, Krycek stared at him suspiciously, jaw working around the mouthful of white cotton, nose flaring.

"Now."

With a scathing glare and a completely incomprehensible mutter, Krycek moved and bent over, reaching for the tie with his bound hands. Skinner enjoyed the impressive view, massaging his own erection through his pants. Krycek came back with the tie clutched in his good hand, eyes widening at the sight of Skinner stroking himself. His chest rose and fell faster, his cheeks hollowing around the underwear as his body automatically tried to suck in more air. Skinner gave himself one more leisurely rub, then took the tie from the unresisting fingers. Running the silky material through his fingers, he smiled. "Wondering why I didn't use this on your hands? I've got another use for it." He could see Krycek had already guessed what he had in mind from the way he shuffled back a step, one leg shifting forward as if to shield his groin. Skinner shook his head. "Now now. None of that. Spread your legs nice and wide."

Eyes closing, cheeks flaming, Krycek shifted his stance until his feet were farther apart, giving Skinner full access to his cock and balls. Making another muffled sound at the first contact of Skinner's hands, he held himself still with an obvious effort.

Skinner took his time, wrapping one hand fully around Krycek's cock and stroking it a few times, his other fingers wrapping the tie around the base of the thick cock. Doubling the slippery material over the pulsing flesh, he then wound it firmly around the top of the testicles twice, then back up and around the base of the cock again. The choked whimper was music to his ears as he tied off the tie and then played with the throbbing genitals mercilessly, content that Krycek wouldn't be coming anytime soon. The long ends of the tie dangled between Krycek's thighs, tickling against his skin every time he shifted. Skinner ran his fingers all around the head of Krycek's cock, petting the knot of nerves on the underside repeatedly, spreading around the slickness of the precum that dripped from the slit. Settling his palm against the swollen balls, he chaffed his hand back and forth. Within minutes Krycek was whimpering steadily, hips riding against Skinner's hands, thigh muscles trembling.

"Ready to be fucked?" Skinner asked conversationally, then laughed at the killing look he got. "Tell me how much you want to be fucked. I know you can't exactly talk comfortably, but I just want to hear the sound of it."

Krycek looked ready to rip out of the t-shirt restraining his wrists, but he held himself back. Skinner couldn't help but admire the man's concept of playing fair. He never would have thought. Here he was pushing all the buttons he could possibly think of, and Krycek was following the rules to the letter. In the back of his mind he again heard his question from much earlier...can't you ever just do anything straightforward, Alex? He pushed it aside and leaned in. "Come on now, tell me what you want. Want to get fucked, Alex? Want my cock up your ass?" He shifted his hand from Krycek's balls to his own, watching as Alex's eyes tracked the movement with a deep hunger.

"Mmmmphff..."

"You can do better than that."

The low groan was beautiful. "Ah wwuh ooh eh unhn..." came through the underwear gag. "Eeh, waahah...eeeh."

"Mmmm, that's better," Skinner murmured, nuzzling Alex's cheek, throat, then over to his earlobe. He sucked on the earlobe until he got a muffled groan, then bit, hard. Pulling back, he reached between Krycek's legs and caught the ends of the tie, then started walking backward, tugging Alex after him. A sound of protest rose, but then Alex was following helplessly. Skinner guided him over to the armchair he had sat in throughout the game, and around behind it. Running a hand over the smooth, cushiony leather of the chair back thoughtfully, he glanced around the room. Ah ha...there. Spotting what he wanted on the back of the second armchair, he lifted a finger and drew it down Krycek's nose. "Don't go anywhere, now." He smiled at the dirty look this got him, then crossed the room quickly.

Snatching up the wool blanket off the back of the second chair, he carried it back to the first. The wool was rough and scratchy, the main reason the blanket had been banished from the bedroom to the living room in the first place. It was a family blanket, not to be thrown out, and pretty enough to look at, just not particularly comfortable against the skin. Skinner spread it across the chair back with relish, then turned to his evening's entertainment. He couldn't help a flash of wicked triumph at the way the tables had turned. "Bend over the chair, ass up."

Krycek hesitated, and Skinner caught his bound wrists, jerking him forward. Turning him to face the chair roughly, he pushed Krycek against it and bent him over the back. An inarticulate yelp sounded as Krycek's sensitized groin came in contact with the rough blanket. His hips arched up and back but Skinner was ready for him, bringing his open hand down on the rounded ass, spanking him soundly until, with a muffled yell, Krycek's hips settled against the blanket, his bound cock and balls pressed fully against the uncomfortable covering. "Spread your legs or have them spread for you," Skinner barked, punctuating the order with another sharp slap to the pinkening cheeks.

An almost constant litany of groans came as Krycek shifted against the scratchy wool, spreading his thighs as well as he could in his awkward position. Skinner circled the chair, undoing his pants and releasing his erection. Stroking his cock slowly, he slid his other hand into the spiky hair and gripped, lifting Alex's head until he could meet his eyes. "Comfortable, Alex?" he asked sweetly. Krycek's eye darkened, brows pulling in, obviously scowling if his mouth hadn't been contorted by the briefs filling it. "You know you're just getting what you deserve," Skinner taunted, watching knowingly as the eyes glazed with lust at the words. "But go ahead and struggle, because it's so much fun to watch." He stroked himself again and watched Alex's eyes refocus, watched his mouth contract around the gag, his throat working suddenly.

Releasing the soft hair, Skinner walked back around the chair, admiring the plump buttocks propped up before him so accessibly. "You've really got a great ass, Alex. One of the things that never changed." He slapped the firm flesh, then did it again. Something about it was just too enjoyable. Something about the vulnerability of his tormentor's position, the traditional 'punishment' message a spanking carried, the embarrassment factor for Krycek. He continued to spank the raised ass, varying the strength and timing of the slaps, enjoying the way the blows caused Alex to buck, grinding his hard on and his swollen balls against the wool blanket. He grinned at the way the loose ends of the tie bounced with each movement, the way Alex's ass took on a deep red flush, and heated against his hand. When his right hand got tired he switched to the left, laughing outright when Alex's head swung up and around, an outraged glare aimed over his shoulder, garbled protests trying to force their way through the gag.

"What's that? Don't like being spanked? Ready to be fucked? Yeah, aren't you always."

He laughed again as Alex's entire body arched and bucked against the chair, legs contracted as if he was about to stand back up, call the whole thing off. "Oh no you don't." Skinner stepped in close behind him and pushed him back down with a firm hand in the small of his back, his cock pressing into the cleft of Alex's buttocks. A throaty groan floated up to him and Alex's head dropped again, the tension draining from his body, leaving him hanging over the chair back. Skinner groaned as well, then rocked against him, enjoying the heat of the spanked buttocks pressing against his cock. The mewling noises from the man slung over his chair pleased him, and he continued to ride against the full ass, pushing his own hunger higher.

Finally he stepped back, not wanting to come without having fucked the ass he'd been tormenting. That had been the letter of the prize, after all. He ran his finger over Krycek's asshole, smiling as it tightened against his touch. That would change soon enough. "Now don't go anywhere, Alex," he said again, stepping around the chair and catching up Krycek's chin. "I'll be extremely disappointed if you move one inch...and you won't like the repercussions. Really." He stared into the huge eyes, almost completely black from the dilated pupils, making sure Krycek got the message he wasn't kidding. Then he turned, crossed the room, and headed up the stairs, catching the waist of his pants before they could slip.

Once out of sight, he sprinted to his bedroom, fumbled the lube out of the bedside drawer, and was back to the top of the stairs in record time. Regulating his breathing, he started down the stairs at a measured pace, letting Alex hear his slow footsteps while he hung in suspended arousal over the armchair. The groans and shifting he could hear brought the smile back to his lips, and he crossed the living room admiring the sight Krycek presented.

"Good boy," he crooned again as he took up his position at Krycek's ass. He rubbed one big hand over the red ass, making Krycek jump. Flipping open the lube, he squeezed out a healthy dollop onto the cleft of Krycek's ass, then began working it in, fingers pressing for entry. He probed past the sphincter muscle firmly, getting a grunt and a buck from the body beneath him. Working his finger around roughly, he felt for the prostate, laughing as Alex's body arched when he hit it. Stroking it with pressure, he worked a second finger in to the sounds of muffled keening. Satisfied, he withdrew his hand, lubed up his cock, and lined up for entry. Settling his cock against the relaxed asshole, he thrust forward, listening to the endless moan rising from his partner. As the head of his cock breached the warm, lube-slicked hole, he sucked in a breath, trying to hold himself back. He knew how he wanted to do this, and that didn't include coming in seconds. As the sphincter tightened back down after the flare of his cockhead passed, he shifted his hands back to the sore asscheeks and spread them apart, holding them spread so he could watch his cock penetrating Krycek's ass.

Alex writhed against the blanket, muffled noises again coming regularly, but Skinner tightened his grip and snapped out, "Don't you move. I'm fucking you. You're taking it." The body stilled, and Skinner held completely stationary for another long moment, then thrust inside in one long, hard drive. Alex's howl as he was filled sparked Skinner's pleasure as the tight ass gripped his cock, and he started thrusting steadily, drawing almost all the way out before riding back in relentlessly. The tight hole was slick and hot, perfect. He kept himself in check as long as he could, wanting to draw it out, make it last, make sure Alex would be feeling it for days. Every thrust drove Alex's hips against the chair, rubbed his bound cock against the scratch of the wool, the pressure of the chair back. Plenty of friction and stimulation but he couldn't come, and Skinner liked that thought. He listened to the whines and whimpers and liked them too, loved the sensation of taking Alex Krycek, tied and gagged and bent over a chair...taking him hard, fucking his spanked ass, forcing his pleasure as the boy had so often forced Skinner's hand. Penetrating him, controlling him, keeping him on the brink. The power flooded through him and drove him on. He pounded into the spread ass until he couldn't hold back, and with one final thrust he came, orgasm shaking him, collapsing forward over the chair, pinning Alex where he lay.

He stayed still, catching his breath, until the whimpering and writhing of the body beneath him caught his attention. Taking his time, he eased himself up and back, his softening cock still buried in Alex's ass. He squeezed the full cheeks one more time, then drew back, his cock leaving reluctantly. The body slumped before him was trembling, sweat slick and flushed. Taking hold of Alex's hips, he pulled him back, helping him to stand, steadying him as the blood-rush from his head dizzied him.

Krycek collapsed back against him, leaned against his chest, head falling back, eyes closed. After a moment he straightened, turning in Skinner's arm, eyes wide and pleading as he pressed his hips against Skinner.

"Want to come?" Skinner asked cheerfully, hand dropping to caress the tortured genitals. The hurried nod and pleading sound from behind the gag pleased Skinner once again, and he leaned in, nuzzling Alex's neck and breathing in the scent of him. "I don't know, Alex. Was that part of the deal? I won, which meant I got to fuck you however I wanted, but I don't remember us saying anything about the loser getting to come..."

The outraged sound and the suddenly twisting body made Skinner laugh as he caught Alex and pinned him easily. The younger man was still shaky from the fuck, and still bound besides. "Relax," he teased, meeting furious eyes. "Just messing with your head." He smirked at the look he got, and reaching up, tugged the underwear out of Alex's mouth.

"You fucking bastard," the hoarse voice spat.

"You're repeating yourself, Alex. Do you want to come or not?" Skinner gave him a meaningful look, and dropped his hand to the dangling tie ends, tugging on them gently. "I removed the gag so you could ask nicely."

The expression on the pretty face promised Skinner that if the black box was in Alex's tied hands right at that moment, Skinner would be dead on the floor. But prolonged arousal and a damned good fucking had taken its toll. Still, he said nothing, lips firming into a straight line.

"Alllllleeeexxx," Skinner taunted, lifting one silky end of the tie and rubbing in lightly over Krycek's ravaged cock. He whimpered almost instantly, the sensation almost too much after the torture of the wool blanket. "Ask nicely..."

His face contorting, it obviously took everything in him to force compliance. Finally Alex's lips parted and after another extended pause, he managed, "Please. Please Skinner...let me come."

Skinner raised one eyebrow. "What happened to 'Walter', Alex?"

Green eyes burned into him as lips pulled back again. "Please, Walter. Please let me come," he ground out.

Deciding he'd pushed about as much as he was going to survive tonight, Skinner tugged at the knots in the tie, working them open, letting the material and his hands brush 'accidentally' against Alex's swollen cock and balls as much as possible. Finally free, Krycek groaned and held his hands up to be undone. Skinner shook his head, and bent Alex back against the chair. He yelped as his tender ass came in contact with the blanket, but Skinner's hand surrounding his cock turned it into a moan of relief.

Gently, Skinner worked the cock in his hand, watching Alex's face as he brought him up and over the peak in seconds, holding the body firmly between himself and the chair as Alex's hips spasmed over and over, as he relaxed at last and crumpled against Skinner.

Releasing the spent cock, Skinner untied the t-shirt knot easily, and released Alex's hands. Stepping back when Alex could stand, he tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up, watching the shaking man before him. "Not bored anymore?" he asked.

Krycek met his gaze and rolled his eyes, shook his head. "Smart ass."

"Yours will smart tomorrow," Skinner offered with a smirk.

"What the hell was that," Krycek snarled as he turned, found his jeans and started yanking them on, notably not trying to put his underwear back on. "The incentive was a fuck...where did spanking come in?"

Skinner grinned unrepentantly and shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time?"

Shaking his head and muttering, Krycek sat on the couch, then almost leapt up again, the look on his face priceless. Skinner went into a minor coughing fit, and found Krycek glaring at him as he pulled his boots on, then stood and bent for his jacket.

"Leaving?" Skinner asked innocently.

"Yeah, I've played enough for one night," Krycek snapped as he shrugged into the jacket.

Skinner nodded. "Well, stop in again if you want a rematch. You were right. It was fun."

Stopping short, Krycek lifted his head, staring at him searchingly. A smile twitched around his lips but didn't materialize. "Bastard," he enunciated clearly, one more time, then spun and walked to the door.

Skinner stayed where he was, listening as the door clicked shut. He leaned against the chair back, running his hand over the rough blanket and wincing at the scratch of it against his palm. He looked up at the closed door and sighed. Whatever he'd come for, Skinner had the feeling he'd gotten it.

Can't you ever just do anything straightforward, Alex.

He looked down again and caught sight of the black box beside the armchair. His eyebrows rose in surprise. He'd expected Alex to reclaim it before leaving. He picked it up, then picked up his shirts, his tie, and the wet briefs on the floor. Heading for the stairs, he climbed upward, humming a tune about graveyards and black clouds.

Alex Krycek walked stiffly to his car-of-the-moment, and eased himself inside, wincing as his ass came in contact with the seat. And he was starting to wish he'd put the damn underwear back on. He stared out through the windshield at the dark sky, his own reflection getting in his way. "That went well," he said conversationally to himself. His reflection smiled back at him.

He turned the car on, and music swelled to fill the interior as the unejected cd came back to life. He pulled out, singing softly with the words.

"...look out stranger, there's a dark cloud rollin' in...
But if you could hear the voice in my heart it would tell you
I'm afraid I am alone
Won't somebody please hold me, release me
Show me the meaning of mercy
Let me loose
Fly...let me fly, let me fly..."

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