He even had the right tool.
The sweating, disheveled young man tried to curl himself into a tighter
ball, even though it was physically impossible. The last thing he
remembered was hiding out in a little town in rural Alberta, a wide spot on
the road where no one would find him, no one would remark on a quiet
stranger who kept to his apartment, smiled and answered politely when they
attempted to chat with him. No one would get too close, no one would report
him. And no one had. No one needed to. They had managed to track him down
anyway. Middle of the night, at least five of them, all in black, hidden
faces, no time to react, nowhere to hide, no time to fight...
The memory brought a fresh wave of nausea-inducing pain through his head.
Long, trembling fingers rubbed at the back of his neck, pressing at the
tiny straight scar, the mark he'd thought was a mole and couldn't believe
he'd been so stupid as to discount.
He didn't remember them putting the implant in his neck, either.
This one was different, he thought muzzily through the constant waves of
pain. He didn't think the one they put in Scully could do this to her. Or
else why wouldn't they have used it? This implant was weird. It wasn't just
some sort of human version of an ear tag. He stopped trying to disappear
into himself as that thought struck him. If the chip he assumed was under
the scar really was some sort of transceiver, why hadn't his old boss used
it to track him down? His eyes widened at the thought. When had they done
this to him? And why? And what did they want from him now?
The metallic slide of a door clanging open distracted him, and he tried to
straighten to face the new threat. A new wave of fire lanced through his
head and he instinctively dropped back down, whimpering and covering his
head with his arms as if to somehow block the pain. Stupid really, when he
knew it came from inside himself, but he could no more stop the movement
than he could voluntarily cease to breathe.
"Mr. Krycek. Alex. Stop fighting it. Don't struggle, and I'll make it go
away."
The cold, mellifluous voice flowed over him, and he stopped trying to push
the pain away in order to try to make sense of the words. A shiver rippled
through his body as he slowly dropped his arms, willing himself to stay
still. The pain did subside, then, to a manageable level. He took a shaky
breath and stared up at his captor, a well dressed, handsome Black man in
his forties, with the coldest eyes he had ever seen.
"What... what do you want?" His voice sounded small, reedy. Frightened.
The man looked down at him, and smiled slightly, and his fear grew
stronger.
"It's time for your final performance, Mr. Krycek. One last task for you to
perform and you will finally be free."
Alex pulled himself slowly along the wall, using its support against his
back to lever himself upright. "I thought I was free," he whispered
fiercely. "When did you do this?" His hand swept up to point unsteadily at
his neck. The other man blinked, and considered the question. Alex thought
he'd never seen a human look so much like a snake in his life.
"When you first entered our service, Mr. Krycek," he finally answered.
"Then why didn't-" Before he could finish the question the man cut him off.
"My predecessor didn't have intimate knowledge of all the aspects of our
field operations." He paused, and ran his gaze dismissingly along Alex's
sprawled body. "I did. It wasn't necessary to waste your talents by
allowing him to kill you. Now, he is dead." Alex started, then controlled
himself when the movement sent blinding pain through his skull. When he
was able to concentrate on his surroundings again he realized that his
captor was still speaking. "-neural technology. It is, in effect, a
controlling device hardwired into your nervous system. You will do as you
are ordered, or you will suffer. Your own subconscious will be the trigger
for your punishment. If you knowingly disobey a direct order, you will die.
Painfully. Slowly. Do you understand me?
Alex stared mutely up at him, patently confused. The other man sighed
briefly. "Let me put it simply. You'll do as I tell you. I will take you to
a place, and bring a man to you. I will give you orders and leave. You will
follow those orders, even without my presence, because if you do not do so
you will feel this." One strong, dark hand disappeared into the outer
pocket of his overcoat, and Krycek screamed with the sudden sensation of
every nerve in his body catching fire. It was gone as swiftly as it came,
and the aftermath left him shaking, with tears running down his face and
the acrid scent of urine in the air where he had wetted himself. He gasped
for air and looked up into the implacable face of his new enemy.
"I'll do whatever you tell me to," he rasped. The other man nodded.
"Yes. You will."
Mulder looked at the stacks of paperwork threatening to create a landslide
off his desk and sighed unhappily. Scully wasn't around to keep him on
track, and even after only two days, her absence was strongly felt. She'd
been unexpectedly tapped for a two week assignment to teach a forensic
pathology seminar in Edinburgh, Scotland, and he wasn't expecting to hear
more from her than the occasional email message for another twelve days.
He sighed again, and moved to the door, unwilling to admit he was running
from his paperwork. He would do it tomorrow, he assured himself. It was
just too nice a day to spend it filling out justifications for losing his
gun on eight different cases... in quadruplicate. As he waited for the
elevator to take him from their basement dwelling place up to the entrance
and home, he glanced at his watch and was surprised to see that it was
nearly eight. Time flies, he started to muse, when a fist came out of
seemingly nowhere and caught him behind the ear. He never saw his
assailant, never heard a whisper of warning. The world went dark.
It had been three days. He'd been fed, and allowed to wash, and dressed in
clean clothes. All of his weapons were gone. No one would tell him a damned
thing. The Black man hadn't come back, and he was grateful for that. But
the waiting was getting on his already shot nerves. When they came for him,
he tried to ask where they were taking him, but it was as if they were
deaf, or he was mute. They didn't even look at him. When they stopped, one
forced him into a small room on the back side of a rural motel, and
ordered, "Stay there."
He stared at the dingy walls of the seedy motel room where they had
deposited him. One stood at the door, patently guarding against escape.
What they didn't know was that he wasn't going anywhere. He didn't know
what the hell the thing was in his neck, but it worked just like the man
had said. When he automatically started mapping escape routes, a warning
wave of fire had lanced through his body. He stopped thinking about doing
anything but 'staying there,' and the pain went away. So he sat there, and
shivered, despite the heat of the August night.
A small gray sedan pulled up, and the guard came to attention. He opened
the door to allow the man in the dark suit to enter the room, followed
closely by two men dragging a tall, limp form between them. Krycek stared
with complete disbelief mixed with any number of other emotions as they
dropped Fox Mulder's lanky body at the side of the bed. Alex was too tired
and too far out of his depth to even try to shield the play of emotions
across his features. Shock, that they had decided to be so open and finally
attack Mulder himself, fear, at what the consequences would be,
apprehension at what they would order him to do to his old ex-partner,
hatred of the whole situation. He stared at Mulder, who groaned slightly
and began to stir. Strong fingers moved to cup his face under his chin,
forcing him to meet deep, frozen brown eyes. Those eyes studied him for a
long moment, ignoring the small sounds issuing from the prone figure
between their feet, taking in the emotions writ large in stormy green eyes.
"Now you can do what you always wanted to do, Mr. Krycek," he almost
whispered. "Take care of Agent Mulder. In your own inimitable style." A
louder groan from the floor interrupted his little speech, and he nodded at
the guards to leave. Mulder had one hand braced on the floor and was
starting to rise now. The older man looked as if he wanted to say
something more, but instead, he dropped Krycek's face and headed for the
door. Alex watched him go, and realized two things. He was supposed to get
rid of Mulder. Permanently. And everyone else in the entire group wore
gloves except him. A hand clutched the bedspread next to his leg. Well, him
and Mulder. Which meant if he did kill the agent, he would take the fall.
"That was the plan, no doubt." At the suggestion that he might not follow
orders, the pain began. Hastily, taking a deep breath, he concentrated on
his intended victim. Mulder was leaning against the bed, shaking his head
gingerly, trying to focus. The blow had been a strong one, but he'd had
worse. And luckily he had a thick skull. At least that's what his partner
was always telling him. Before he could get his eyes to cooperate he felt
himself yanked up by the thick hair at the back of his head. He found
himself bent backward over hard thighs, his hands clawing innefectually at
the hand in his hair, overbalanced and unable to kick or punch out to free
himself. The grip brought tears to his eyes. Another hand came to close
strongly around his throat, but to his vague surprise the fingers didn't
close around his windpipe. Instead, he was held in the back-breaking
position for long moments as his eyes finally cleared.
He almost wished they hadn't.
"Hello, Fox." Alex Krycek's face was pale, sweating slightly in the heat,
with a flush across his cheekbones and a strange, almost manic glitter in
his eyes.
"Oh, fuck," Mulder squeezed out. Nothing like having your nightmares visit
you in the flesh. Oddly enough, Krycek froze at the exclamation, and stared
at him for the longest moment. Then he smiled, with what looked strangely
like relief.
"Yes," he hissed, and lowered his mouth viciously to cover Mulder's parted
lips. The other man was frozen with shock, still unable to move or fight
back, not quite able to believe that his nemesis was kissing him, hotly,
wetly, carnally, thoroughly. Mulder was wondering if he shouldn't be
gagging or something, instead of feeling vaguely aroused and completely
confused. It really had been too long if this was turning him on, he
thought, then Krycek broke the kiss and gulped for air. Mulder lay with his
mouth open, lower lip slightly swollen from the force of the kiss, and
watched Krycek stare off into the distance. He instinctively looked over to
see what the other man was staring at, but all he saw was the closed door.
"It just... might... work."
Mulder looked back at Krycek, who was now peering at him intently. The
manic gleam had, if anything, intensified, but there were other things
there too. Fear. Desperation. Pain. Arousal. The last was given added
emphasis by the unmistakable bulge of a rapidly hardening cock pressing
into his left bicep. He stared, mesmerized, at the emerald eyes staring
back down at him. "What the fuck is going on here, Krycek?" he challenged
him, ignoring the fact that he was not exactly in a position of strength.
A fresh wave of pain took dominance over the other emotions in Alex's
eyes, and the younger man winced for a moment before shaking it off. Then
he leaned over and put his mouth next to Mulder's ear.
"Will you listen?" He waited an interminable moment for the almost
imperceptible nod from his captive, then continued with his whispered
explanation. "Got a chip in my neck. Discipline thing. I do what they say
or it hurts me. I disobey, it kills me. They ordered me to 'take care of
you' in my 'own style'—'do what I always wanted to do to you.' Then I
take the fall, you're out of their hair. But it had to be a direct order."
He pulled back and stared at Mulder's pale face and wide hazel eyes. The
expression of a man expecting his executioner. "We got an edge." His voice
was jerky now, trying hard to keep the thread of the conversation before
pain took him over. "I know what they want. Hurts to disobey but I have to,
sort of. I'll... take care of you, all right. My style... is a little
rough. I always... wanted to fuck you, hard and deep until you couldn't
move." Mulder's eyes widened even further, and a strangled protest caught
in the back of his throat. "Not quite what... he had in mind." The strain
was beginning to show on Krycek. "Please... please don't fight me. If you
fight me... I'll do what he really wants. Please."
Mulder's mind was reeling. Krycek wanted him to participate in his own
rape. If he didn't, he would die. Or, if he played it right, he just might
escape. He bit slightly at his lower lip, wincing a little at the
tenderness there. He had to try. Besides, his legs and his back were
killing him. Maybe if he went along for a little while Krycek would let him
out of that bloody back bend he was in. He nodded, feigning concerned
acceptance. "I won't fight you, Alex." The other man's eyes closed for a
moment, and he sighed with relief.
Krycek gently disentangled his fingers from Mulder's hair, shifting his
hands under Mulder's armpits and half lifting, half sliding him onto the
bed. Taking a deep breath, he began to pull at the buttons of his shirt,
trying to remain calm, trying to ignore the trickle of fire running all
along his nerves that reminded him that what he was doing was not precisely
what his boss had had in mind. He clamped down as tightly as he could on
the errant thought and the pain it created, and concentrated on the long
body lying quiescent beside him. His breath was coming in short gasps, and
it wasn't just from the exertion or the pain. He had wanted Mulder for
months, since the first time he had walked up to his desk and seen him with
the headphones on, mouth working on sunflower seeds, eyes hooded in a tired
face. The desire, strictly sublimated, had only grown, even as he was
betraying the man. By the time Mulder had thrown him up against the bank of
telephones at the Hong Kong airport and used his body to hold him down,
he'd nearly come in his jeans at the contact. Luckily, Mulder hadn't
figured it out. And he'd had a lot of time since then, in the silo and
during the long months since his escape, to fantasize about what he would
do to this man if he ever got the chance. As his mouth closed over one
bared nipple and his hand began to work frantically at the zipper of
Mulder's slacks, those thoughts played through his mind in an endless,
dizzying loop.
As the rough hands tore at his shirt and the dark head lowered to his
chest, Mulder wrenched his thoughts away from the unexpectedly arousing
sight and feel of his ex-partner. This would be the best chance he would
get for escape, now, while Krycek was caught up in his passion. Mulder
shoved his arms under Krycek's torso with a quick, strong move, flipping
the other man off of him and following the flip with a strong right cross
to Krycek's jaw. It connected with a satisfying crack that left his fingers
numb, but it had the opposite effect than he expected. Krycek howled, like
a wolf with his paw caught in a trap, and lunged at Mulder. The ferocity of
his attack overwhelmed Mulder, and the younger man threw him across the side
of the bed to land with stunning force against the far wall. The back of
Mulder's head thudded dully against the plaster wall, and the force of the
concussion knocked the shade off of the light fixture. Still groggy from
the previous blows to his head, this one sent him into a half-conscious
state, and he was in no condition to fight off Krycek any further.
Alex caught Mulder as he started to slide down the wall, and threw him face
first onto the bed, snarling unintelligibly as he stripped the shirt and
pants off the weakly resisting agent. Shoes and socks joined the pile of
nearly shredded garments beside the bed, soon joined by Krycek's own jeans
and tee shirt, boots and socks. Mulder tried to pull himself off the bed,
but the younger man straddled him and put a hand to the back of his neck,
forcing him to stay in place. There was a sudden pressure, material burning
against his waist and hip as Krycek ripped his boxers from his body, the
soft cotton no match for his anger. Mulder gasped as Krycek dropped to lay
his entire weight against his back, pulling his head back to arch his neck
and growl in his ear. "You motherfucker, I warned you. I DON'T want to kill
you. I just want to fuck you. It HURTS! It hurts, goddamnit. You shouldn't
have tried to run. You said you wouldn't fight." Krycek's voice was
slurring as he fought the almost overwhelming urge to break the neck under
his hands, to follow the underlying orders as well as the spoken command.
Adrenaline and arousal mixed with pain from the implant until he seemed
barely human. Mulder shuddered at the heat radiating from the body pressed
so tightly to his. This, he just knew, was really going to hurt.
Krycek was spreading his ass, kneading the muscles, forcing his legs apart
to roll his testicles roughly from side to side, pulling at his sac. The
pressure was painful, but he knew it was nothing compared to what was
coming. Forcing his mind to concentrate on nearly forgotten encounters with
his roommate at Oxford, Mulder managed to take a deep breath and force
himself to relax. As he did, he felt Krycek slide one finger firmly into
his anus, forcing its way past the ring of muscle. He breathed deeply, and
was startled to feel a hot mouth at his shoulder, a wet tongue lapping and
sharp teeth nipping at the curve of his neck. A second finger joined the
first, and pulled into a beckoning motion, raking across his prostate and
ripping a moan from his chest. His body began to betray him, his cock
hardening under him, pressing into the mattress as Krycek forced a third
finger deeply into his ass, not pausing in his assault on the gland that
was sending jolts of electricity through Mulder's nervous system. He buried
his face in the pillow, tears starting at the sheer helplessness of his
position and his unwanted, unwilling arousal. The fingers were
unceremoniously pulled from his ass and he inhaled with the shock of
relief, only to lose the breath to a gasp as Krycek forced his rigid cock
past the ring of muscle, taking the path his fingers had loosened. Mulder
whimpered under the assault, and Krycek bit him once more on the side of
the throat, making him feel the sting of his teeth as he sank to the balls
into Mulder's body. Resting, as far in as he could go, he laved the tender
spot with his tongue, licking a trail from the side of his throat to his
ear, across the exposed cheek to the corner of his eye, pausing to dab at
the tears there with the tip of his tongue.
Then Alex drew up, running his hands along Mulder's arms to rest his palms
firmly against the backs of Mulder's hands, pinning them above his head,
holding him in place. Shifting to plant his knees more solidly between
Mulder's parted thighs, he channeled the fiery pain from the implant, the
frustration of the past several months on the run, and his long-buried
desire for Mulder into a punishing rhythm, pushing in as far as he could
go, withdrawing almost completely and slamming back in until they were skin
to skin, his balls slapping against Mulder's perineum, ignoring the
strangled gasps and moans being torn from his victim. Over and over, in
time with his thrusts, he muttered, "Hurts. Shouldn't have fought. Hurts
so much. Do you. Hurts."
Mulder couldn't help but agree. After what felt like a lifetime, he felt
the rhythm speed up, and the intensity of Alex's thrusts grew, hard as he
found that to believe. He just wanted it to be over with, wanted the
pounding to stop, wanted to come, to relieve the aching fullness of his own
cock, to drive his erection into the bedsheets and have it be over, never
have to admit the extent of his body's betrayal. With a sudden moan, Krycek
slammed all the way into Mulder's ass, and he felt the pulse as the other
man came, shooting twice, three times, deeply into him. The sensation
nearly triggered his own climax, but his horror at what was being done to
him and the pain from Krycek abruptly withdrawing his softening cock from
his abused ass took the edge off his own need for orgasm. He was still
hard, but now, at least, he could think.
He was utterly surprised when strong arms came around him and hugged him
tightly to the slick body laying along his back. He couldn't quite make out
the sounds Krycek was making. The other man had buried his face in the nape
of his neck and... suddenly the shaking movement in the body behind him
made sense. Krycek was crying. He froze, shocked into immobility by this
unexpected reaction. Before he could figure out where this was coming from,
Alex was shifting again, and he felt the sensation of thin, scratchy
toweling as the other man gently cleaned up the sweat and semen from his
ass and the tops of his thighs. The tenderness and intimacy of the action
revived his erection, and he groaned, feeling his pelvis jerk in small
thrusts as he tried to get himself off against the sheets. He heard a small
sniffle behind him, then another, then those muscled arms were turning him
over, settling him gingerly against the rumpled sheets. Wet dark eyes like
drowned spring leaves stared into his, and he caught his breath as the
other man leaned over him and sought his mouth again. This time there was
less frenzy in the kiss, and it was both deeper and sweeter, as Krycek took
his time and explored, using his tongue, his teeth, his lips to seduce
Mulder's mouth as thoroughly as he had just taken his ass. One hand snaked
down between the two close-pressed bodies to grasp Mulder's erection
firmly, rubbing up and down, circling the sensitive head with a thumb,
milking it with a steady pressure from clenching fingers. Mulder's breath
began to sound more and more like sobs, and Alex withdrew, taking in the
shell shocked expression in the wide hazel eyes.
"It was this or death, Fox Mulder," Krycek murmured. "Did you want to
live?" The shame in the shadowed eyes below his own answered the question
without any words having to be spoken. "I do too," Alex added, then slid
down the sweat-drenched body and replaced his grasping hand with his mouth.
Mulder threw his head back at the first shock of Krycek's mouth closing
over the head of his cock. He pumped into the welcome heat, panting as the
younger man slid one hand carefully between his thighs and soothed the sore
tissue around his anus, the gentle touch almost unbearably stimulating in
concert with the movement of Alex's tongue on the sensitive head, the
slight rasp of teeth along the column of erect flesh, the pulling caress of
the lips. Krycek alternated licking the length of Mulder's cock with strong
sucking, then flicking the tip of his tongue into the weeping eye at the
tip of his cock. By now, the sensations were making Mulder thrash against
the sheets, one hand tearing at the cheap cotton, the other buried in
Alex's hair, his pelvis thrusting forward as he fucked Alex's mouth
mindlessly, his head tossing from side to side on the pillow. With one last
inarticulate scream he climaxed, pumping down Alex's throat, coming so hard
spots swam in the darkness in front of his eyes under tightly squeezed
lids. The aftermath of the climax left him nearly unconscious.
Alex pulled himself along the bed, gathering Mulder's relaxed form into his
arms and holding on tightly. Breathing deeply, he was shocked to realize
that for the first time since he had been captured, the pain was gone. He
reached an unsteady hand up to feel the spot at his neck and was shocked to
find that the scar was hot enough to burn his fingertip. His bitten-off
curse roused Mulder, who stared at him distrustfully.
"Mulder," he began, then stopped and licked his lips. Looking around a
little wildly, he spotted a utility can opener next to the cracked plastic
ice bucket on the dresser. Unwrapping himself from the other man, Alex slid
from the bed and shakily stumbled to retrieve it. Approaching the bed at a
near run, he thrust it out toward Mulder. The agent started back, then
stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "No time. They'll be back soon, or
else they'll send the cops, expecting to find your corpse here and my
fingerprints all over the fucking room." Mulder took the can opener,
continuing to stare at him in disbelieving silence. "Take it out!" Alex
commanded.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Mulder responded. "This is a damned
can opener, Krycek!"
"Do you see anything else around here that could be used? Hurry, damnit!
The, our, shit-" he was stumbling over his words, trying to explain, not
wanting to waste precious time to do so. "Orgasm seems to have disabled the
implant temporarily now will you please open the goddamned can opener and
take this fucking thing out of my neck?!"
Mulder swallowed at the rising edge of desperation in Krycek's voice, and
pulled open the curved hook at the end of the can opener. Licking his lips
nervously, he clenched his jaw and used the sharp tip to cut into the flesh
at the back of the young man's neck. Krycek whistled softly between his
tightly clenched teeth, but made no movement. Mulder felt the hard round
pellet in the layer of subcutaneous fat and scooped it out, for all the
world as if he was removing a huge sliver with a scoop shovel. Grabbing the
edge of the sheet and swiftly tearing off a strip, he wadded it into a
semblance of a pad and pressed it against the small, bleeding cut. Alex
reached up and held it against himself, and Mulder rolled carefully from
the bed, reaching for his clothes as swiftly as he could. Krycek watched
him slip the pellet into his pants pocket, and got up to reach for his own
clothes. Dressing as efficiently as he could with a wad of cotton clamped
to the back of his neck, he stared at Mulder. The other man had washed up a
bit, scrubbing his hands, splashing water into his face, keeping as far
from Alex as he could. Alex took a deep breath and tipped his head to the
side, indicating the wound from the removal of the implant.
"Thanks. Now, I have a chance, at least."
The agent nodded. "I don't know whether to thank you for not killing me or
kill you for..." His voice trailed off, and he stared at the floor.
Krycek bit his lip, and walked over to stand in front of him. "I'm sorry,"
he offered quietly. "It... I didn't know what else to do. And I had to
make the pain stop. Had to do something-"
"Obey the letter of the law," Mulder interrupted. "Well, I guess in this
case I'll just say the two cancel each other out, then." He looked angry,
and confused, and strangely vulnerable before he clamped down on his
emotions and the familiar calm mask descended. "What will you do now?" He
wanted to take him in, for Scully's sake if not his own. But he knew if he
did Krycek would never live to see trial. And he wasn't sure he'd be able
to take him, even if he tried.
"Start over," Krycek replied, studying Mulder's face intently. Slowly,
moving softly, he reached out and traced the slight cleft in the older
man's chin, then let his finger rest gently against his full lower lip. "I
never meant to hurt you. But I had to make my choices, and I had to take my
chances." He let his hand drop, then stepped back and regarded Mulder with
a modicum of professional distance that should have seemed out of place
under the circumstances. For some reason it felt right. "I'd better leave
now. I got the impression the cops were next on the agenda, and I really
don't want to be here when they show up." As if on cue, the faint sound of
sirens disturbed the night. Krycek gave a ghost of a smile, and Mulder
couldn't help but return it. Then he continued seriously, "You chose life,
Mulder. Hold on to that."
Mulder stared at him as he slipped out the door and disappeared around the
corner of the parking lot, suddenly and completely exhausted. Had it been a
choice? He supposed, in a very limited way, it had. All he knew at this
point was that it had been another near escape from the machinations of
those who would see his quest for the truth stopped, and it had been the
hardest night of his life. His nightmares now had a new dimension.
Choices
by Brenda Antrim
It had simply gone on too long. His chain-smoking superior was no more,
brought down by his own unhealthy habits. He was the one with the 'little
bit of power' now. And the situation did not look good. The FBI was
beginning to lend more and more credence to the duo of Agents Mulder and
Scully, and the web of subterfuge protecting their operations was growing
too dangerously thin. His predecessor had attempted to control the
dangerous pair's investigations over the past six years, but Agent
Scully's abduction, while yielding interesting medical data and providing
some entertainment for the elite as they witnessed Mulder's breakdown, had
not been nearly successful enough. In the years since then they had merely
grown stronger, their intent undiminished. The Consortium was backed
against the wall. It was time to rip out the weed in the middle of their
particular shady garden. Time to kill Mulder.
