by Leather Alex
Skinner froze with the receiver in his hand. He might have expected
Mulder calling in the middle of the night, or Scully, or maybe even
somebody else, anyone but Cancerman. This didn't promise anything
good.
"Do you want to get Alex Krycek?" The voice became more persistent.
"Yes," Skinner swallowed. He sat up in the bed, throwing the blanket
off. Even though he was sleeping naked as usual, he felt suddenly hot.
"There is a car downstairs waiting for you."
Fine. Did they really expect him to run after this bait at—he
checked the clock—two in the morning? "Wait... Then what do you
want from me?" Skinner asked. The only answer was just dull beeps
from the another end.
Skinner had never been there before. It was a large, modern building
in the outskirts of D.C.; probably built to maintain a bank or
offices. He was led inside by obvious Consortium hit men and then
assisted up, by elevator. It was weird on the top floor, where the
elevator stopped, it reminded him of an office, but a very quiet one.
Skinner felt upset if not afraid; this feeling grew stronger as a
dreadful, chilling human scream cut through the air. It was desperate
and long enough to fix its location as somewhere nearby.
"Welcome," Cancerman appeared in the door next to Skinner,
interrupting his troubled thoughts. "It is nice to see you again.
Maybe we will have one successful deal at last."
Feeling more than uncomfortable Skinner followed Cancerman into the
room.
"Sit down, please. As I understand it, you wouldn't mind getting Alex
Krycek?" Cancerman walked around a heavy oak cabinet, looking almost
black in the dim-lit room and sank in the same dark leather chair.
Skinner took a seat, trying to look inviolable.
"Yes. And what would be the price?"
"Just some information."
Skinner looked at Cancerman through his glasses. A situation too
familiar. He hated to hear about what the smoking bastard called the
business, but understood though, what he had meant by "a successful
deal at last". They knew how much he wanted to lay his hands on their
little operative. Maybe they just needed a little more proof when
they called him in the middle of the night, and he had given it, all
right. Angry at himself, Skinner crossed his arms on the chest and
leaned back in the chair. Everything was clear. After all, now it
depended on what kind of information they wanted. If it were possible
for Cancerman to obtain it without his participation, then the only
loser would be Skinner himself. But he craved revenge like mad, to
lay all the anger, frustration and pain on the flesh of the little
son of a bitch.
"Let's discuss that."
Horrible human screams, muffled by walls, went on and on, and never
stopped.
"I will lend you a car to deliver your merchandise. With a driver,"
Cancerman said as he stood.
"Fine," Skinner was exhausted and he wanted out as soon as possible,
when another scream echoed in the walls. The AD paused for a second,
then spoke again, with words different than what he had planned to
say before, "Although I'd like to know what's going on here. Maybe
you would consider stopping this... "
"You mean the little night music? Feel sorry for somebody you even
don't know? Well, if you're interested, I can show you; come."
Skinner felt cold again. He didn't like Cancerman's games, never did,
and now momentarily regretted his own tampering with the bastard's
activities.
"Sure," he raised himself from the chair. "Which way?"
They entered a large, well-lit room. The first thing Skinner noticed
was an impressive metal construction in the middle of it and a human
figure fixed to this. It was male; naked, in chains, wearing just a
black leather collar. The body was attached by the arms, standing, or
actually hanging, helplessly. The whole body was black and blue,
covered with red welts and marks. He had been tortured for hours...
days... maybe even for weeks. The dark—haired head was bent. Dead
or unconscious, Skinner asked himself while coming closer. Poor
creature, he looked so weak and vulnerable against the steel bars.
Skinner was sure he couldn't imagine in his worst dreams what had
been done to this helpless man. Approaching him, Skinner lifted his
chin. The man's body jerked and his eyes opened—angelic, green,
glittering in the light, framed by long dark eyelashes. Alex Krycek.
Skinner could have easily killed him; but he couldn't look in those
eyes now. The stare the younger man fixed on him was one of the
young, green agent,—helpless, scared, and—this time—hurt. Dark
hatred and pity mixed in the AD for a moment; then the former took
over.
"Please," small, well-shaped lips moved, forming the silent
whispers, "help me."
"You fucking bastard," Skinner snapped in Krycek's face. Not capable
of restraint, he backhanded him heavily. When Alex turned his face
towards Skinner again, there were tears in his eyes.
"Please, Skinner, I can't take more. I beg for your mercy.
Please... "
"I always wanted to see tears in your eyes, bitch. And I'm very happy
now, you know? I enjoy hearing your pleas, you bastard. Do you read
me?"
Krycek stilled. Silent tears flowed down his cheeks.
"Nice, Mr. Skinner, isn't it? You wouldn't like to see another man's
torture, but you'd still be willing to make an exception for Alex
Krycek, right? Do you want to have some fun with him? I can order the
elder-in-training to come back," Skinner heard Cancerman's voice
behind his back.
"Yes, why not," Skinner answered, looking at the enemy's bound flesh,
the tears running down his impossibly beautiful face. He hated him
like few men on earth. He wanted him to suffer, suffer as if in hell.
And now this body belonged to him. He was even happy that Krycek had
flesh—flesh to torture, to make him feel anguish and pain.
Krycek's lips formed "please" again when Skinner stepped back to give
way to Cancerman's operative—a muscled, tall man, dressed in black
leather.
"Have a good time, Skinner," the malicious smile in the wrinkled face
didn't show all the triumph of his victory, but Cancerman had always
been reserved. "See you."
When the door shut behind the grey suit, Skinner turned his attention
back to Krycek. It was a crying despair in those beautiful eyes,
fixed on Cancerman's operative approaching with a riding crop in his
hands. That was exciting . He loved the fear in the double agent's
childish face. He wanted to see the young man scared... shivering
just from seeing him.
The operative went behind Krycek, examining his body, then bent and
pulled something out of him. Strange feelings overwhelmed Skinner
when he saw that it was a rather large butt plug. The man went to the
table in the corner, where an amazing collection of perfect torture
tools was organized, everything to make an inexperienced mind flinch -
whips, paddles, clamps, dildos, anal beads, gags and a lot of other
smart-looking toys—if they could be called toys, and chose another
butt plug, even bigger. He raised it to Krycek's lips. The young man
lowered his eyes and kissed the plug. Then the operative pushed it
into the helpless body. Skinner flinched at the sight; Krycek emitted
just a low moan.
"Why that?" Skinner asked. He had never seen anything like that in
his life, but felt that it would feel quite awful.
The operative laughed. "Or why not that. Alex has got such a round
and juicy ass, it would be a crime to leave it without attention.
Besides, it's always nice to stretch a slut's butt."
"Slut's?"
"Yes, of course. Alex, were you such a bad boy that you didn't let
this gentleman know what are you? Tell him. Now."
"I'm a slut, Sir."
"More, Alex."
"I'm a faggot, Sir. Men take me up the ass, whenever they please,
Sir."
Krycek was looking directly in Skinner's eyes when saying that. It
felt so weird. Even uncomfortable. Big, green eyes stared at him like
two burning lakes. They were so calm though; and the words came over
his delicate lips shamelessly.
Yes. Krycek could be desirable for men. His beauty... Yes, he should
have realized a long time ago what the boy was...
"Won't you offer Sir your ass?"
Krycek's eyes went dark and Skinner recognized the previous Krycek;
the assassin coming back for a moment.
"Will I have to ask you again?"
There were tears and hatred in Krycek's eyes. He kept silent.
"You made your choice."
"No," Alex's voice was suddenly so loud and sonorous, "please, I... "
"You said no?"
The fear and despair which grew in Krycek's wide eyes was wild. An
even wilder excitement grew in Skinner. The AD braced himself when he
felt his cock hardening. He couldn't understand why.
The operative grabbed the steel bar to which Krycek was fastened and
turned it around. Alex's back, ass and thighs had no unmarked spot.
Black and blue, red streaks, gore, and, yes, probably dried semen on
his thighs. Where he can be beaten then, Skinner asked himself,
haven't they left a piece for me? And then he understood the reason
for Krycek's horrible screams.
The crop landed on the man's bare, beaten ass. It was the first
shriek. Skinner wished he could taste it. But there was more. Much
more. Krycek screamed terribly, he yelled from unbearable, lasting
pain; the operative beat him with full his strength, not giving him
any time to recover. The crop left red welts on the tortured flesh,
drawing blood here and there. At last the screams stopped, and young
man's body collapsed, hanging at the bars.
"Lost consciousness," the operative said, turning to Skinner, "just a
few seconds, he'll come to."
There was a bucket of water under the table. The thug took it and
poured a good shower on Krycek's bent head. The young man came to
himself with a scream. He shivered badly.
Then it started again. This time it took less for Krycek to collapse.
He couldn't stand up any more when the operative made him to come to
himself again, but the look he fixed on Skinner was clear and
conscious to the pain. Unbearable, burning eyes. Hated eyes.
"Would you like to change the approach? I could use a cane or nipple
clamps, or maybe you'd prefer a golden shower? I can do some fisting,
too, if you give permission—as he's yours. I'm good at that."
"Fisting? Golden shower?"
"Fist—fucking him; and golden shower... "
Skinner wasn't sure he could look at something like that. Besides, he
had already seen enough.
"Leave us alone. I want to try a few approaches by myself," he said
as he raised himself from the chair.
The smile on the operative's face was rather unpleasant. Too
experienced. Probably he had seen such a scene hundred times before.
He put the crop back on the table and left.
Krycek shivered when Skinner approached him. "Disgusting bitch," the
AD growled in the double agent's face, pulling his head back by a
handful of his silky, dark, short hair. "You are full of crap; I will
beat it out of you. We're not even yet, boy."
"Mercy," Krycek's wet, bitten lips moved slightly, "Please, I can't
take more. Mercy... "
"Oh, yes, you can, bitch. At first you will get some for the
inexperienced, innocent FBI agent, my little actor," Skinner chose
quite an impressive cane from the table, "I think you'll like it
exceedingly well. And since I am not such a bastard as you are, I
will release you from the bondage. You can try to resist, so to
speak."
Skinner began to unlock and loosen the chains. He wondered how
fragile Krycek's bruised wrists actually were; they were nothing
compared to Skinner's large, strong arms. At last one arm was free.
Skinner shuddered when it clung around his neck, and pushed it away,
but it came back.
"You want to seduce me, dirty fag?" he snapped at the man, roughly
showing him away. Krycek collapsed on his knees, hanging by one
arm. "No," it was almost a cry, "no!" He shivered, and, seeing
Skinner approaching him, tried to crawl into the corner.
"You, Cancerman's whore, you think I want to fuck you? I wouldn't
even want to spit on your dirty ass. And you're trying to seduce me?
You dare to touch me?"
Krycek's pleas turned to an incoherent row of desperate "No-no-no-
no's," when Skinner stopped in front of him. He looked down at the
curled up man. It would really be fine to put the bastard in his
place. By something he would remember for the rest of his life,
however much was left. In his mind Skinner quickly went over all the
things he had ever read or heard. Yes, that fits perfectly. Not
forgettable. Ever. He opened his pants, grabbed Krycek's hair and
pulled him close, then aimed his cock at the man's mouth.
"You want me to drink it?" Krycek whispered, looking directly in
Skinner's eyes.
Skinner paused. "You have done this before?"
"Yes," for the first time Krycek dropped his eyes, "I've done almost
everything." Then the lashes lifted again, "They've done it to me
since I was a teenager; please, Skinner, don't go on; I've been here
for two, three weeks," he grabbed the AD's leg, " I'm broken, you
can't take more from me except my life. And—if you do—please, I
beg you, do it fast, I have suffered enough to satisfy your thirst
for revenge, as well as theirs."
"Do you feel pain?" Skinner shook Krycek's hand off his leg.
"Yes," Krycek looked at him, not understanding why he would ask that.
"Good. You have flesh still and I can make you feel pain. I haven't
seen enough of your suffering, but I will. You have deserved this and
much more," he held Krycek's hair in a tight grasp, "open your
disgusting mouth!"
Krycek obeyed. Skinner placed his cock between the pretty, delicate
lips, letting the lower one touch the head, and looked in Krycek's
eyes. The man was awaiting the inevitable, a bit tensed. Skinner let
go. He had never done this, and he couldn't imagine a humiliation
greater than what his enemy was doing, miserable, on his knees. The
liquid filled the man's pretty mouth.
Skinner stopped for a while and saw Krycek knowingly swallowing it.
It didn't look easy for him to do that, he had to force himself. Then
he opened his mouth again and Skinner went on. Krycek did well. Not
even one drop fell on the floor.
"I can't believe how versatile you are, Krycek. In fact I could use
you as a toilet in my cottage." Skinner closed his pants and began to
unfasten the other arm, freeing Krycek to fall down to the floor. He
took the cane again. "So you remember—that's for the innocent
agent."
Krycek raised his eyes and, seeing Skinner with the cane, rushed away
on his hands and knees. It was something agonizing, even
heartbreaking in his senseless, desperate and weak aspirations to
escape the cruel blows, to save the most damaged, bloody spots. But
there was no safe place. Skinner was quick and strong; it reminded
him of the play of cat and rat, and he beat the naked flesh without
mercy, enjoying the horrible screams of the tortured creature.
Nothing was left there of the assassin and little of a man in Krycek;
he resembled a scared, desperate animal. Red welts appeared on
Krycek's arms and neck; at last one strong blow hit his head near the
temple and he fell down.
Skinner took a breath. It had been quite intense physical exercise.
He looked down at the body on the floor. Krycek groaned slightly and
moved weakly to curl up. Sudden weakness rose up in the AD's heart
again. Although his enemy was one of the men he hated most in the
world, he looked so defenseless... childish. Pity almost grew in
Skinner again, but he didn't let it take over. This too well known
appearance would not cheat him again.
To overcome the weakness, Skinner kicked Krycek in the guts with all
his strength. The man just groaned and tried to curl up in even
tighter ball, expecting more blows. They never came. Skinner turned
Krycek around with his toe-cap instead. The young man moaned again as
the sore, beaten back and ass touched ground. He wept; delicate lips
trembled and shivers ran all through his body.
Skinner was tired of beating him, yet he couldn't stop. He turned to
the table and looked over all the toys there. Nice that Cancerman had
more imagination and experience than he had. Some toys he didn't
recognize but could have guessed how to use them; some were even hard
to guess. So that left just the familiar ones to choose from.
Returning to Krycek, Skinner squatted down. The young man had a very
nice, smooth chest; the light brown, slightly swollen nipples looked
soft and quite appetizing to him. Skinner decorated the left one with
a nipple clamp. Krycek's painful scream which followed was so sudden
that Skinner slapped him in the face. That didn't help either, the
intensity of screams only increasing when the right one was added.
Slowly the screaming turned to moans, while the young man's tense
body writhed with pain. In fact that body was quite nice. The chest
was really soft... it looked sweet—this writhing body, the open
mouth... And—in fact—why not to use him, if everyone else did?
Skinner hadn't had a woman for a month, maybe even longer. After all,
he would be the one in charge, the one who would take and use. He
wouldn't make love. He would just fuck Krycek's flesh.
He reopened his pants.
"Rinse your filthy mouth, bitch, then get on your knees and suck me."
Krycek turned his head to look at Skinner.
"Don't stare at me with your teddy bear's eyes. Do it. Now!"
Krycek crawled to the bucket and bent his head. He sank his lips in
the water, then began to drink. Like an animal.
"Are you asleep? Move!"
It was not easy for Krycek to kneel; all his strength was gone. One
hand timorously touched the AD's waist, then grasped at it.
Skinner didn't like Krycek's dirty hands touching his body, but he
let him do it. Partly because of the amazing sensations radiating
from his cock. Krycek was performing outstandingly, in a short while
Skinner's cock became rigid and demanding. He took it out of the
man's mouth and pushed him down.
"In the doggy position. Open up your ass for me, bitch."
Krycek obeyed. As he bent, the butt plug came into Skinner's view
again. Now it looked quite sexy—the large, black plug between those
smooth cheeks; it must have been stretching the hole like hell.
"Don't take me like that, Sir, please. Don't do it that way." Krycek
whispered, not daring to turn his head.
"What? You sissy, you still haven't had enough?" A strong slap hit
the young man's bare ass; it was enough to draw a scream from him
again. Yet Skinner wasn't satisfied with just one scream. The little
scum, taken up the ass by every bastard Cancerman allowed, dared to
object to an AD with the FBI? Object, when he was totally at his
mercy? Stupid creature must have been driven crazy during the
torture. Skinner began to kick Krycek, aiming the blows on his
asshole. The ex-assassin curled up, trying to protect his stomach and
head; he groaned with pain when Skinner's heavy boots slammed into
his naked, tormented body; the blows which reached the target made
Krycek roar as the butt plug almost tore his guts.
"Have you learned your lesson, bitch?"
"Yes, Master," the young man panted through sobs.
It was the first time Krycek called him "master". It was weird but
pleasant. Skinner put his large palm on the man's trembling shoulder.
The poor creature flinched as if beaten and tried to curl up in an
even tighter ball. Skinner knew this pose—it was a man's last
attempt to feel safe, to return to the womb, where no one could hurt
him. Had this fucking traitor, this bitch, ever really been inside a
woman's body, waiting to come into the world? What kind of woman
could give life to such a bastard?
Probably a beautiful one. He grabbed Krycek's hair and pulled his
head back. "Give me your ass, bitch! On your knees. Open up for me!"
Krycek wept. He barely moved to fulfill the AD's orders and swayed on
his knees.
"So, no more objections?" Skinner asked, getting into position behind
Krycek, "Don't want to refuse me something?"
"Fuck me, Sir," the ex-assassin whispered in a small, cracking
voice "Do anything you please, Sir. Do it. Please."
"Yes, I will," Skinner pulled the butt plug out of the bruised body
to make room for his own demanding cock. The large, spread asshole
opened for him. It was weird. He had never seen an ass like that, it
seemed damaged; the deep, strange darkness tempted him with a
challenge and made him feel uncomfortable at the same time. He had
never taken anybody here. Still he couldn't show his confusion to the
man whom this used asshole belonged to. The whore could laugh at him.
He had been living with that for years.
But Krycek didn't feel like laughing. Skinner's large, thick, cock,
invading his body, made him weep even stronger. A man he respected—
a man he actually loved—was killing everything in his heart. Alex
was hurt by the delight Skinner got from torturing him but it didn't
take away the hope; he was tortured for Cancerman's delight before
and knew that could be mixed with desire. Even killing could be mixed
with desire. But this brutal rape, and Skinner's derision which came
with it, let the young man to explore all his cold hatred, which
killed the slightest hope. The gutter creature Krycek was, he still
wept, understanding clearly, there was no escape, no comfort, no
warmth for him. He was just a dirty, despised rat for Skinner. Dirty,
despised rat, whose asshole the AD was fucking, maybe trying to
forget that it belonged to a man called Krycek.
The little slut's asshole was unbelievable. Whether it was revenge or
just pure delight that filled Skinner, he felt like he was
approaching nirvana and almost roared from the intensity of his
feelings, sliding the cock back and forth in the tight, hot, wet
guts. He understood why the man was used as a fuckboy. He was created
for being taken. Skinner had never imagined that, but now he
understood that he was going to take this bastard with him. To use
him. As a toilet, footstool or stress reliever, but for sure as a
fuckboy.
Skinner pounded hard. Krycek could not remain on his knees under the
brutal assault, and fell to the floor. The next moment Skinner
followed him, pressing the younger body down under the weight of his
muscles, and rammed into Alex's ass even harder. He dug his teeth
into the smooth neck.
Screams filled the room again. Screams of pain and agony, and a roar
of delight—Cancerman loved this mixture. He expected that from
Skinner. A tough guy—he was capable of torturing the teddy boy for
an hour before taking him. If he only knew what Krycek was being
punished for.
Curled up in a tight ball, the bruised, bleeding body lay on the
floor. He was silent and still, just bad shivers running through the
tortured flesh. Skinner stood at the window, looking out of it. He
had come wildly and shot all the sperm into the obedient body under
him. And now he felt empty.
He turned to Krycek. The young man raised his head a bit, when the AD
approached. He didn't even try to crawl away or protect himself. It
was fate in Alex's bleary eyes; it seemed he was looking through
Skinner, not even seeing him. Silent tears rolled down the ex-
assassin's cheeks. Then he lowered his head to the floor again. The
body braced itself, and just the ribs, seen through the thin layer of
flesh, were rising a bit while he breathed softly.
A sudden chill ran through Skinner. He recognized this. He had seen
it before. The eyes of his wounded friends. Lost hopes, unbearable
pain, despair, and no help. This silent and submissive giving-up.
Vietnam.
Skinner blinked and looked once again at the body at his feet. It was
waiting for the next torture, gathering its last strengths to endure
it, while its owner was silently bleeding somewhere deep inside. A
cruelly tormented, curled up human body. Trembling. Barely breathing.
Skinner knelt near him and put his hand on the man's shoulder, for
the first time trying to avoid touching red welts. Krycek flinched.
"Poor boy," the AD whispered, going to take the naked body in his
arms. Alex glanced at him; green eyes were filled with distress, fear
and despair to the very depths, tears trembled in the long, thick
lashes. He looked so innocent and vulnerable,—like a tormented
child. Delicate, bitten lips moved a bit as if to say something, but
no sound came. He flinched and tried to get out of Skinner's arms,
although he should have understood his weak attempts made no sense.
The poor creature expected pain, humiliation, derision, everything
except pity. He trembled really badly and swayed on his knees.
Skinner felt something warm and wet in his palms. Blood.
Blood he drew from this body, which had already been tortured for
weeks. Flesh he had lacerated in a mad thirst for revenge, not
punishment anymore, forgetting Krycek was a human being, too. A
tortured, bleeding human being, begging for mercy and finding nothing
but horrible suffering.
Skinner couldn't feel hatred anymore, only pity. After all, whatever
this man had done to him, this terrible punishment made up for
everything . It was even admirable that he was still alive. Skinner
took Krycek in his arms. "Calm down, Alex. It's over. I won't hurt
you any more. I won't let anybody hurt you any more," he whispered in
the young man's ear. Krycek still trembled. Although each little
movement drew a groan of pain from him, he still attempted to get out
of Skinner's tight embrace. Then he stilled. Big, green eyes looked
in the AD's face.
"You will kill me?" he asked in a small voice.
Skinner swallowed. Like killing a child. What would have to be done
to a man to break him like that. Only after a while it occurred to
him that Krycek was still waiting for an answer. Silently, just
staring at him.
"No, I won't," Skinner pulled Krycek closer to avoid the stare of
those awful, desperate eyes. "I won't kill you. I will help you," He
caressed Krycek's moist, dark hair and placed a soft kiss on his
forehead.
That worked like an electric shock on Krycek. He raised his head at
Skinner. Looked in the man's face. No hate. No derision. No disgust.
Pity. He blinked. Then tears began to run down Alex's face again. He
crouched at Skinner's feet, pressing his trembling, bleeding body to
the strong, muscled thigh as if it were the last refuge, and cried,
desperately, not able to stop. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Sir.
Please... Please... I will be your slave, your bitch, Sir... Please,
Sir... I..."
...love you, Sir, he ended in his thoughts, not daring to say it
aloud, afraid of being punished as always for the words he had said
wrong. He couldn't do that. He had to preserve the shadow of
happiness in his life, deep inside, safe. Relatively safe. He pressed
closer to Skinner's body. This man couldn't be like everyone else. He
was different. An Assistant Director with the FBI. Mister Walter
Sergei Skinner. A beautiful man from the light, broken in the closed
heart of an exhausted , hurt one existing in darkness. For the first
time in years he was pitied. Held. Solaced.
Skinner looked at the lacerated flesh on the floor and felt a stab of
guilt at his own limitless anger. He shuddered. It was too easy to
imagine all the scenes that had taken place in this room. How the
desperately resisting Krycek was stripped and tied, how the first
blows came on smooth, velvety skin... then cocks and dildos ramming
in his unprotected ass, whip swishes and painful screams filling the
air; tears, sweat and blood dripping on floor. And he was one of
those performing the inhuman torture on him.
He gripped Krycek's shivering, weak shoulders, seeing as the man
flinched, although the AD tried not to squeeze the wounds too much,
and pulled him into the embrace. Krycek lay his head on Skinner's
chest and curled tightly in his arms. It felt so strange. Alex seemed
so obedient, so fragile, so childish. Skinner never felt like this
with any man. Not even with a woman. A warm, live, beaten body
seeking comfort, wet, sweaty head pressing tightly at Skinner's broad
chest. He bent his head and dropped another kiss on Krycek's damp
forehead. As the young man raised his face, the look in the green
eyes glancing up through the long lashes bewildered him. A bloody,
cold palm touched his rough, stubbled cheek in a ghastly caress. For
a while they looked at each other. Then Krycek's eyes shut and he
slid his head down to Skinner's chest.
"Alex?" Skinner asked. The question was left hanging in the air.
Walter woke up from a horrifying scream. Still sleepy, he turned
around. There was Alex Krycek in his bed, on his elbows and knees,
bleary eyes snapped open, horror in the beautiful face.
Skinner touched his arm, but the naked body began to shiver badly.
"Alex," Skinner called him in a soft, low voice, "Alex, boy, it's
okay. Come to me, boy," He reached out his hand again and met
startled, confused eyes.
Krycek breathed deeply, coming slowly to himself after the vicious
return from the world of dreams. He was still trembling a little.
Skinner moved himself closer to the young man; Krycek flinched a bit,
but let the older man touch his body. Slowly he calmed down and
dropped his head on the handcuffed hands, attached to the bed.
o you want Alex Krycek?"
