Fluff-n-Fold by Jamie Joyce

Wearily, Alex sat slumped in the driver's seat for several moments just enjoying the cessation of movement. Even though the rig was parked and the engine off, he swore he could still feel the vibration of the road in his bones. Glaring out at the crisp fall night, brightened only by a thin sliver of moon, Alex sighed wearily. God, he hated arriving home from a field trial so late. After running dogs all day—with all the time on horseback that entailed, then packing dogs, horses and equipment onto the rig and driving home again—he was often so weary that it took everything he had to put the animals away and stumble into the house.

Somehow, moving on autopilot, he kenneled the dogs and led the two Walking Horses back to their stalls in the barn out back. By the time the horses were settled, the dogs were ready to come in from their runs and sleep for the night.

Having made sure that the kennel doors were locked, he pulled the rig to one side and parked alongside the building. Climbing out, he made his way into the house, wanting nothing more than a long hot shower and his bed.

He'd actually walked through the family room and into the kitchen before it hit him. The rising of the hairs at the nape of his neck that never failed to warn him that danger lurked.

Trying to keep his prickling suspicions out of his movement, Alex quietly opened the kitchen drawer wherein he kept a handgun. No matter how far removed he might be from his old life, he could never allow himself to feel safe and kept a variety of weapons secreted around the farm house and buildings.

"Don't bother, Krycek," an all too familiar voice growled from the kitchen doorway. "I already found that one—quite a collection of weaponry you have hidden around this place. One would think you had an enemy or two."

Alex turned and whipped his head to look up so fast he nearly pulled a muscle in his neck. He stared in silence, taking in the sight of Walter Skinner standing there with his usual implacable expression. Feeling a bit like a cornered mouse in the face of the older man's imposing physical presence, Alex's mind whirled as he tried to think how Skinner might have been able to track him down, here. After setting up that ploy with the clone and seeing the almost eager way Skinner had gunned him down, Alex had decided his only recourse was to disappear for good. At one time he'd considered "reappearing" when things had cooled down, but Skinner's coldly proficient murder of the clone had convinced him of the inadvisability of ever again placing himself in the path of either Skinner or Mulder.

"How—what—" He swallowed and tried again. "How did you find me?" He felt sick to his stomach. Now that he knew the assassin hadn't died in that parking garage, Skinner would probably finish what he had started. All this hiding and careful arrangements, all of this for nothing.

Damn. Alex had gotten comfortable, had allowed himself to enjoy his new life. Now it was time to pay. He could feel fine tremors coursing through his body, but he lifted his chin and tried to keep his composure.

Skinner grinned, a very unpleasant kind of a grin. "Purely by chance, Krycek. One of your dogs won Gun Dog of The Year—imagine my surprise apon seeing you and that dog in one of my hunting magazines."

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He'd known better—really, he had. Letting that picture go into an article had been a huge mistake. But, shit, how could he have suspected that Skinner—or anyone else from his former life—would not only read the article but look closely enough at that picture of Joey and handler Alex Michaelson to recognize him?

On the heels of Alex's momentary despair came a flash of irritated anger. Damn the man anyway. He may have Alex's back to the wall, but the ex-spy was damned if he was going to provide Skinner with the satisfaction of knowing it.

"Listen, Skinner, if you really have to talk now, can you wait until I've at least got some coffee in me? I've been driving since five this afternoon." Grimacing, Alex made a show of rolling his tense shoulders and rubbing at his aching left shoulder.

Skinner frowned, surprised by the attitude Krycek was displaying, but nodded reluctantly. "I could use a cup myself. You sit there," he ordered, hardening his tone as he waved to one kitchen chair with his gun. "I'll make the coffee."

"The condemned man had one final cup of coffee," Alex quipped with grim humor.

Skinner raised a brow at him. "Grab a chair." He watched as Alex slowly obeyed, collapsing his weary body at the table with a sigh. Reasonably certain the younger man wasn't up to anything, Skinner went to the counter and with one hand began to prepare the coffee maker.

Alex was on the verge of offering advice—after all, he'd had many more years' practice at doing things with one hand but he wisely elected to remain silent.

Skinner held onto the gun and kept Alex in the periphery of his vision, alert to his presence so Alex wouldn't think he'd be able to take his intruder by surprise—not this particular intruder, at any rate.

Consoling himself with the thought that Skinner would surely have shot him already if his intention was execution, Alex licked dry lips. "What do you want, Walter?"

Once the coffee was happily brewing away, Skinner turned to rest one hip against the counter, keeping the gun aimed unwaveringly in Alex's direction.

"What do I want?" He mused. "What the fuck do you think I want, Krycek? I want that damned Palm Pilot."

"And if I give it to you?"

"I just might let you live."

Alex snorted. "Yeah, right. You'll make sure the 'right' people know where I am and we both know what happens after that."

"Not my problem, Krycek."

With a final wheezing gurgle, the coffee finished brewing. Skinner grabbed two cups from the cabinet Krycek pointed at and poured them each a generous serving of hot liquid. "Cream?" He asked, in a parody of hostly concern. "Sugar?"

"Black."

Shrugging, Skinner put a small amount of the powdered creamer he'd found in the cabinet into his own coffee, then carried both cups to the table. He sat across from Krycek and slid his coffee over to sit next to his right hand.

"I'd thank you, but since this is my house, my coffee, my fucking life—I think I'll forgo that particular point of etiquette."

Skinner picked up the gun and his own coffee. He regarded Alex over the leveled gun and his own raised cup before sipping cautiously. "Interesting choice of words. We're both familiar with them. I seem to remember a time when I never knew when you'd show up or decide to activate those damned nanobots. My life was literally in the palm of your hand, so I really can't see how you can complain now that the shoe's on the other foot."

Alex glared back at him. "If you've come here to find the Palm Pilot, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to disappoint you. It isn't here. For security reasons—I'm sure you understand." Indeed, he'd feared the unlikely event that Skinner or someone might track him down. He was glad he'd had the presence of mind to hold onto it and hide it for this eventuality, but he really hoped that Skinner wasn't going to insist on a showdown. He didn't need to make the older man move in the right directions anymore—he needed it as security against Skinner's undoubtedly justified anger and desire for revenge upon him.

Skinner was staring back at him, calmly. Waiting. Alex took a breath. "I had no choice," he offered, quietly, knowing that there was probably no way that he could convince Skinner of just how true that was. Trying to apologize at this late date would not only infuriate Skinner but an attempt to explain why it had been necessary would also sound incredibly lame. God. Skinner probably regarded him as the Devil Incarnate. And now here was good old Walter, pointing a gun at him, a man who clearly hadn't hesitated to use it before in the execution of his clone...

Held at gunpoint...in his own kitchen, for chrissake. Fuck.

They appeared to just be sitting in the kitchen, sipping at mugs of coffee, but the tension was mounting and Alex found himself wishing Skinner would just...say something. Anything. It was almost a relief when the man finally decided to ask a question.

"So, tell me, Krycek, how IS it that you're still alive? I know my last shot was on target—you should be dead.

Krycek nodded and smiled grimly. "That was a clone, Skinner."

"A what?"

"You heard me," Krycek said calmly. "A clone—I wanted—needed—to be officially dead. So men like you wouldn't bother looking for me."

"Men like me?" Skinner asked scathingly. "You mean your enemies...people you'd hurt, betrayed...killed."

"Yes," Alex answered in a matter of fact tone.

Skinner was watching him with narrowed, sharp eyes. "So, how does it feel? To be waiting on someone's whim with your life in their hands, Krycek?"

"Faced it before...More times than you have," Alex countered, darkly. But he didn't move, merely sipped his coffee.

Something in Krycek's voice struck a chord deep within Skinner. Not for the first time, he wondered how such an intelligent and talented man had ended up working for...Hell, who knew just how many masters Krycek had been under the control of over the years.

Still..."The Palm Pilot, Krycek. I want it...or I will kill you where you sit."

"It's not here, I told you that," the younger man said with a smirk. "And, it's not easily accessible. I'd have to leave here for several weeks to get it. This is my busy time of year, Skinner. A dog show every weekend, a full kennel to keep up with, horses to train, and dogs to train. I can't just up and leave now."

"Then I'll just have to kill you," Skinner announced as casually as if rattling off a breakfast menu. "If it's that well hidden, no one else will find it. I win either way." He sat back in his chair, and sipped his coffee with a satisfied air.

For the first time during the encounter, that old blank and hardened expression covered Krycek's face. "Fine," he said flatly. "Kill me, then. Just make sure you see to my animals—and Cliff. He's mine, well, he's my responsibility. If you kill me, he becomes yours."

"Cliff? You mean that old black man I spoke with Friday?"

Krycek nodded. "Clifton Jones. Worked for my uncle when I was a kid—taught me everything I know about dogs. My years with them were...Oh, fuck that! My past isn't any of your business and it's hardly pertinent. Cliff's future though, is a different matter. He's old, Skinner. Has no family, nowhere else to go. If he ends up on the street because of you, I'll haunt you to your dying day."

Skinner considered Alex. "He's not my problem. You are. Maybe you should have thought about those responsibilities before getting involved with the Consortium and choosing such a dangerous lifestyle. 'Sides, I wouldn't put it past you to use him to save your own ass again. You have no scruples, Krycek. Why should I show any where you're concerned?"

Alex snickered quietly. "So much for integrity, huh? Yeah, I guess revenge is sweeter." He drank more coffee, adopting a slouched, relaxed posture. His eyes flicked back up to see Skinner looking a little more disgruntled despite the fact he had the upper hand in their situation. "Too bad. I sorta hoped you'd got it out of your system the last time you shot me. Well, my clone."

"I would be providing a public service," Skinner growled. "Don't try to push my buttons—you took it too far, before. Now where is the Palm Pilot? I don't have to shoot to kill, Krycek. I could just disable you."

Alex lifted his brows at him. "Oh? Torture, Walter? I didn't think you had it in you."

"Cut the crap, Krycek. Give me the fucking Palm Pilot and I'll be on my way."

Frowning down into his coffee cup, Alex sighed. "Fine," he said wearily. "Just, let me make some arrangements in the morning, put this place on the market, see my lawyer and have the proceeds from the sale go to Cliff. Call my clients and arrange to send the dogs home. I'll give the horses to the kids next door."

"Planning to run again, Krycek?" Skinner sneered.

"No, Skinner. Planning to die...Again. Now, I'd like to take a shower...If you don't mind."

Skinner aimed the ubiquitous gun at him again. "Right—I let you go in the bathroom alone and you're out the fucking window quicker 'n shit."

"Damnit, man. I'm tired, I'm dirty and I smell like a sweaty horse blanket. Check the bath yourself—no windows, no hidden escape routes. It's just a fucking shower."

"Fine. But where you go, I go. And wherever I go, this gun goes," Skinner stated, firmly.

"As if I could forget," Alex muttered, getting to his feet with a groan and walking slowly and wearily to the bathroom door off the kitchen.

Skinner followed him into the bathroom and Alex began to strip, almost brushing against the older man in a cramped space far too small for two. Stripping his shirt off, Alex tossed aside the grimy-feeling garment with relief, despite the ever-present gaze of the man watching him. Removing his boots next, and then his jeans, Alex could feel Skinner's eyes on him, could feel them almost like a physical touch. Alex looked back up at him. "Getting an eyeful, Walter? Enjoying the scenery?"

Skinner snorted, looking his now-naked body up and down with a dismissive expression. "Think much of yourself, Krycek?" Skinner let his eyes roam slowly down Krycek's body, then raised them to meet a defiant green glare. "Just get in the shower."

Alex smirked. "Whatever you say." He climbed into the shower and pulled the curtain. As he began to run the water, he heard Skinner sit down on the toilet seat beyond.

"I thought you lost your arm in Russia."

"Tunguska," Alex corrected him, raising his voice over the hiss of the water.

"Right. Siberia. Whatever."

"Got it back again," Alex stated, curtly.

"Obviously." Skinner's voice was dry. "Care to tell me how?"

"Jeremiah Smith."

"Smith? The alien healer?"

"Yes."

"Why, Krycek?" Skinner asked suspiciously. "Why would he help someone like you?"

"I'd been working with Smith—the whole alien resistance for years. Not that I expect you to believe me," he muttered under his breath when Skinner snorted with obvious skepticism. Increasing the volume of his voice again, he continued, "Where the hell did you think I got that clone for you to kill? You don't know anything about me, Walter. Not one fucking thing. You never did and you never will."

Shutting off the water, Alex climbed out of the shower and dried off, studiously ignoring his audience. Tying the towel around his waist, he arched a brow at Skinner. "Mind if I go get some clothes?"

With a shrug, the older man rose and followed Krycek back through the kitchen and down a hall into a bedroom. He stared around at the comfortable and welcoming feel of the room, noting the hardwood floors, four-poster mahogany bed and matching dresser and wardrobe while Krycek quickly donned a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

"This is your place, huh?" Skinner asked. "Did you buy it furnished?"

"No, the property was a wreck when I bought it. I spent two years rebuilding the house, added on the den and an extra bedroom. Built the kennel, repaired the farm buildings." Looking around, Krycek sighed. "I liked this house, Skinner. First home I'd had in—well, that doesn't matter. Whoever buys it will get it fully furnished, I guess."

Skinner shot him a sardonic look. "You can drop this self-pity trip—I'm not going to shoot you unless you make me. All I want is to be free, Krycek. Surely you can understand that?"

Pulling on a clean pair of socks, Alex replied in a tone surprisingly free of sarcasm, "Of course I can, Walt." He stood up and offered him a small—and seemingly sincere—smile.

Skinner drew in a breath. He hadn't been expecting that particular expression from Alex. Truth be told, that a smile transformed him, made Alex shine and lent him an innocent and approachable quality.

Alex continued, "Believe me, I know all about dreaming of freedom."

As quickly as it had appeared, the smile faded from Krycek's face, replaced with an expression of such weariness it made Skinner's heart ache. "Shall we, uh, move this out there? I want to get a meal—'m starved."

"Sure," Skinner answered, at a loss for anything else to say. He followed him out of the bedroom, back through to the kitchen where Alex retrieved a pair of well-worn slippers that sat by the door. Sitting down at the kitchen table once more, Alex pulled the slippers over his feet. Skinner found himself wondering why he preferred to see those mercurial, unexpected smiles flashed at him. The things those smiles did for the younger man's always handsome features were far too dangerous, he decided. Wouldn't do to forget just exactly how deadly this man had proven himself to be. Probably wouldn't hesitate to use the wattage of that grin to try to lull him into a false sense of relaxed security.

But Alex stood with a sigh. "Shall we eat? Condemned man requests his last meal."

Rolling his eyes at Krycek's dramatics, Skinner waved his gun hand, motioning that Krycek carry on with preparing the meal. He sat silently, watching as Krycek rummaged through the freezer.

"Ah, there you are," Alex announced triumphantly. "Beef stew okay? Lady down the street makes it—best stew I've ever eaten. She claims it's got something to do with using a pressure cooker but you'd never catch me with one of those damned things. Too dangerous."

More than a little befuddled by this Alex Krycek, a man he'd never imagined existed, Skinner merely shrugged. "Fine, whatever."

After Alex put the container into the microwave and set it to defrost, he pulled a loaf of bread from the same freezer and wrapped it in foil before putting it into the oven. "There," he said. "10 or 15 minutes and we'll have a dinner. And it's exactly what I'd have chosen for my last meal."

Skinner frowned. "Why do you keep referring to this "last meal for a condemned man bullshit." I told you I wouldn't kill you if you gave me the damned thing."

"So you have. But, what you don't seem to understand is that now that you've found me, others will follow. And I'm damned sick and tired of running. I settled down here, doing something I love, and was foolish enough to think I could live out my life in peace." He rose and opened the microwave, stirring the stew before restarting the machine. "I'm too tired to go on the run again. I just don't have the energy or the inclination; I'll make some stupid mistake, and they'll find me. So, I'll give you the Palm Pilot, and you can go your merry way. Or, you can kill me first." He shrugged, apathetically. "Whatever happens, whoever does it, I'll be just as dead."

"Cut the histrionics, Alex. You can't expect me to buy into that one," Skinner growled. "I'm not going to shoulder the guilt for leading anyone here—and, actually, I seriously doubt anyone will come. You've been out of the picture for too long, you're just not that important anymore. You're almost as suspicious as our mutual paranoid ah...friend. And, I'll tell you something, Krycek, whatever happens here, to you, you've brought it upon yourself with your own actions. Maybe you should have thought about the consequences before blackmailing me, killing me, and generally putting me through hell."

Alex had been moving about, setting out two bowls, spoons, glasses and other items and laying the table. As Skinner ran out of steam, Alex stood for a moment and regarded him...and the gun he still held. "Isn't that getting a bit heavy, holding that up all this time? Look, I'm hardly going to try anything while we eat. You can put down if you want to. I'm not going anywhere. Like I said, I have affairs to wrap up here."

"No sale. I'll just hold onto it for now. You've never given me any reason to trust you." Skinner held the gun unwaveringly.

Alex shrugged. "Suit yourself. But you might want to consider the fact that I do understand your reason for being here, for doing this." He rubbed his tired face with his hands. "Look, can't we come to some agreement, here? Talk this out?"

"What would be the point? From what you've said, you're already dead, whether I pull the trigger or not." Skinner threw his own words back at him with an almost bored tone.

Alex couldn't help frowning at the slight stabbing pain that went through him at the pure disregard in Skinner's voice and on his face.

Of course. How could he expect anything else from the man? He had pushed him hard. He sighed and put his hands on the back of the chair, leaning on it slightly. Thing was, he did still have the Palm Pilot in his possession and he could well understand Skinner's desire to neutralize the hold Alex had over him as long as that was the case. "Alright. Fine. We'll go get it in the morning. I'll need to make some arrangements first. I'm sure you understand."

Skinner said, "Damn it, Krycek. Why don't you just tell me where the fucking thing is; I'll go get it and you can sit here with your dogs and wait for whoever the hell you think is coming after you to show up. Why can't you give me that much?"

Alex regarded him thoughtfully. "What, do you think I'm a complete moron? The people I have it stashed with won't give it to anyone but me, in person. They see you, the guy I've already warned them about, they won't give you the time of day. Except maybe a bullet in the head, to match the one you gave my clone."

"What the hell did you expect, Krycek?" Skinner growled. "You were trying to kill Mulder, trying to get ME to kill him; or, IF you're telling me the truth, your clone was. You—he left me no choice."

Turning, Alex lifted the warmed container of stew from the microwave and set it on the table. The bread was retrieved from the oven and Krycek carried it to the table, sitting down with a sigh. He spooned a generous helping of stew into his bowl, tore off a chunk of bread, then slid both in Skinner's direction.

"Look, Krycek—"

Alex's spoon clattered to the table noisily. "Skinner, I don't want to talk—there's no fucking point. Just make up your mind; wait until I can take you to the Pilot or kill me now." Shoving his chair back from the table, Alex rose to his feet.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"I'm going to lay down, maybe even sleep. I've been up since 4 am and I'm tired. You don't like it, shoot me."

"Thought you were hungry," Skinner said in a surprised tone.

"Yeah, well, I seem to have lost my appetite."

Skinner was torn. The stew did smell delicious and his belly was rumbling. It would be a shame to let it go cold. But he stood up and followed in the other man's wake.

Alex had shut the door behind him and Skinner was gratified to find he hadn't locked it. Swinging open the old wooden door, Skinner looked in to see Alex taking off his slippers and his shirt. He didn't even look up at Skinner when he came in.

"Krycek," Skinner said, wearily.

"Don't. Just—don't," Alex bit out, his voice hoarse with emotion. Turning out the bedside lamp, he climbed into the big bed and pulled the covers to his chin, settling himself into the soft bedding with a scowl. He turned on his side, pointedly facing away from the door...and Skinner...and didn't move. In fact, he lay there completely frozen and for all purposes looked like he was indeed going to sleep.

Skinner sighed to himself and left the room, leaving the door open behind him. It was going to be a long night. He couldn't trust that Alex wouldn't run the moment an opportunity arose. But it didn't look as though there was anything he could say at this point. They were at an impasse. Damn Krycek for putting him in this position. He wondered how much his conscience would suffer if he just shot the lying bastard in his bed and left.

Fuck.

He went back to the kitchen and ate the stew, glad that it hadn't cooled too much in the time that it took for him to return to it. But the nagging feeling remained that he couldn't leave Alex Krycek alone—the man was far too cunning and resourceful to trust for an instant.

After rinsing his bowl and spoon and leaving them in the sink, Skinner picked the gun up again and returned to the bedroom door. The room was dark, but the light from the hall allowed him to see Alex unmoving in the bed, a shapeless dark form under the covers. Moving into the room, Skinner made himself comfortable in an overstuffed armchair that was located just inside the door.

Well, now it simply remained for him to try not to doze off himself—Krycek wasn't the only one who'd gone without sleep for a while. After a time, he realized that Alex wasn't asleep yet, just pretending to be. Hell, if he were in this position, with a man with a gun watching over him while he lay there, he'd not be able to rest either.

"Alex?" he asked, in a low voice. "I really think we need to talk about this."

Alex groaned. "Jesus Christ, Skinner, can't you just leave me be for a couple of hours? I'm so tired, so fucking tired."

Skinner waited in silence. He had a feeling—

"Besides," Alex grumbled, shifting in the bed to face him, "what's left to discuss? I'm the Devil incarnate, you're the knight in shining armor—it's your quest, to kill me, your grail is that Palm Pilot. You found me, I'll give you the thing and it'll be over. Finally."

Finally

Skinner mulled over the implications. Somehow he didn't think Krycek was referring to their connection. Krycek sounded like a man who'd given up. Most unsettling was the way Walter found himself starting to wonder about what Alex had meant with that low-voiced 'I had no choice' comment. The unmistakable understanding of wanting freedom. Had Krycek ever been free, he wondered. And, what did he mean by free—was that what that 'finally' had referred to? Did freedom equal death to Krycek?

And—working with the resistance? With Smith?

Removing his glasses, Skinner laid them, along with his gun, on his lap and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. He needed to think. To sleep—hell, he'd been up since early Friday, only the occasional catnap keeping him going as he waited for Krycek's return.

"Skinner?"

"Yeah?"

"You got your cuffs on you?"

Skinner frowned at him. "Yeah, why?"

Alex snickered. "You really came prepared, didn't you? Bring them over here." At Skinner's dubious look, he repeated, "Come on, bring them over and put one on me, and you can wear the other. That way we both get to sleep. Alright? Compromise."

Made sense, in a way. Slowly, Skinner got up and took off his jacket. He retrieved the cuffs from the inside pocket and carried them over to the bed. Alex docilely held out one wrist—his left. Skinner sighed and took off his shoes, his jeans and his shirt. Climbing into the bed beside Alex, he then snapped the one end of the cuffs on Alex and the other on his own right wrist.

Settling back, Alex yawned. "Feel better?"

"Yeah," Skinner replied with a slight grin. "This is just peachy. I'm cuffed to you in the middle of nowhere and I'm supposed to sleep easy. I'm just great. Thanks for asking."

"Norton."

"What?"

"It's Norton, not Nowhere," Alex sleepily corrected, his eyes closed and his voice already indicating that he was fading fast. "We're in Norton, Ohio. There really is a Nowhere and this ain't it."

"Whatever," Skinner rumbled, just to have the last word. But soon, sleep surprisingly overtook him and if Krycek spoke again, Skinner didn't hear his words.

Daylight was already brightening the room when Skinner awoke. He came back to his senses with a start. Krycek—in his bed—the Palm Pilot. He turned his head and Alex was lying there still beside him, seemingly dead to the world. Skinner looked down.

The cuff was still attached to his wrist but no longer to Alex.

Skinner lay his head back and stared up at the ceiling. How very interesting. Alex murmured something and stirred.

Skinner asked, amused, "What the hell did you pick the lock for?"

Alex opened one eye and looked at him. "Was uncomfortable," he replied, his voice rough from sleep.

Skinner snorted and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Blearily, he sat there, trying to clear his sleep-fogged mind. He desperately needed coffee and a shower. The logistics of making sure that Krycek wouldn't duck out while he showered, though—

Krycek stirred and sat up against the headboard. "Look, why don't we get the coffee going and you can cuff me in the bathroom while you take your shower."

"Yeah, and you'll pick the lock again and run," Skinner grouched.

A disturbing twinkle appeared in Krycek's eyes and Skinner just knew he wasn't going to like the next suggestion.

"You can cuff me to the towel rack and leave the shower curtain open so you can keep an eye on me," Krycek said.

Skinner sighed. It occurred to him that Krycek's idea wasn't entirely without merit, however—as long as he cuffed him in such a way that this slippery man did not have a way of picking the cuffs again. "You have a point."

Goodness. Alex looked almost surprised. Skinner nearly chuckled at the look on his face.

"I do?" Alex asked.

"Sure." He picked up the gun and held it steadily. "Get up. We're going to the bathroom; both of us."

Alex rolled his eyes and mumbled something under his breath. "Fine, fine." He yawned and rubbed his face with his hand, then ran it through his hair, brusquely. "Just let me get dressed."

Skinner slowly shook his head. Alex in a pair of shorts was easier to keep off-balance. "Nope. Just as you are. Makes escape less convenient. I'm sure you'll agree."

Alex gave him a sour glance. It was his turn to sigh. "Fine. Let's get on with it. I want coffee."

Skinner motioned with the gun for Alex to precede him and then followed him out of the bedroom.

Once in the bathroom however, Alex's irritating smirk was back. "And here we are again."

Skinner didn't bother replying.

The smirk didn't fade. If anything, it grew. "So, Walter, do you need a hand? Maybe I should join you? It would be the best way to keep an eye on me, after all."

Skinner gave him a withering look. "Uh-huh. I'm not as stupid as you seem to think I am, Krycek." The idea of standing naked beside Alex Krycek of all people, in the shower, was not only risky and rife with obvious scenarios of sudden shoves and leaps for freedom...It was also a little too close to a few scrupulously repressed fantasies for comfort. And that damned smirk was starting to really annoy him.

"Krycek, you are really starting to piss me off."

Alex batted his eyelashes coyly and continued to smirk.

With a growl, Skinner cuffed Krycek to the towel rack—making sure that the little shit was facing away from him—and shed his clothing. After adjusting the water temperature to his satisfaction, he stepped into the shower, and proceeded to wash himself quickly. All the while, he kept a sharp eye on Krycek.

And noticed that Krycek had turned his head so that he could watch as Skinner ran the washcloth over his body.

"Lookin' pretty good there, Walt," he said in a suggestive voice. "For a man of your age, I mean."

Choosing to ignore the innuendo in that statement, Skinner rinsed the soap off of his body and shut the water off. He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, drying himself efficiently. Once done, he hitched the towel around his waist and unlocked the cuffs.

"Coffee?" Krycek suggested. "I could really use a cup before heading out to help Cliff with the morning chores."

"He'll have to find a way to get it done without your help. I want that Palm Pilot," Skinner stated, picking up the gun. "Let's go."

Alex snorted this time and muttered something about Mulder's paranoia rubbing off on those nearest over the years. Skinner chose to ignore him and instead followed him back to the bedroom.

As they dressed, Alex started up again however. "Breakfast?"

It sounded appealing, and Skinner found himself hard-pressed to keep his enthusiasm out of his voice. "Yeah, of course. Can't do business like this on an empty stomach."

Alex gave him a strange look. "You realize if it weren't for that 'business' with the nanobots, you wouldn't now possess a full immunity against the Black Oil?"

"Is that supposed to change my mind about you, Krycek?" Skinner replied, unmoved. "I was hoping that you'd at least have the decency not to try to justify your blackmailing me."

Alex regarded him silently, thoughtfully, but he didn't respond. Merely let the customary blank expression settle over his features as he walked into the kitchen.

At the kitchen table, Skinner sat and watched as Alex prepared eggs, toast, bacon, hash browns and coffee. He nearly cracked a remark about Krycek making someone a good wife someday, except that in their current situation, he really didn't find it that funny himself and the humor would undoubtedly fall short, leaving him open for any number of return comments.

When a full plate was plunked down before him, Skinner regarded it with hunger and caught himself on the verge of thanking Krycek. Then he thought to himself, there was really no reason to push the man any further. He wanted to get his hands on that Palm Pilot and starting a fight with Krycek was hardly the way to get to it faster. "Thanks," he offered.

Alex brightened and turned back to him from the coffee machine where he was pouring them two mugs of coffee. "Hey, courtesy—wasn't expecting that from you, Walter."

"Go to hell, Krycek," Skinner replied mildly, tucking into the food.

Alex set the coffee in front of him and sat down at the table with his own plate. "You know, Cliff never did anything to you. He's a nice old man and there really isn't any reason to start arousing suspicions about us, here. He can't call the clients for me; I'll have to see to the animals myself. Besides, I'll need to put some things in order, like I said last night."

Skinner threw him a look. "I can't compromise myself by following you around with a gun."

"So put the hardware out of sight for a while. Look, I told you already, Walt, the game is up for me now. Whichever way we look at it, I'm the one who's compromised."

Skinner could feel himself starting to waver.

Alex saw it and went in for the kill. He adopted a pleading tone and he looked almost mournful. "Besides, I...I'd like to say goodbye to the animals. You know?"

With a heavy sigh, Skinner gave in. "Okay, okay—we'll go out and help Cliff—give you a chance to settle things here."

With a relieved sigh, Krycek tucked into his breakfast. "Thanks, Skinner," he said after swallowing his first mouthful of eggs. "I really do appreciate this. My animals and Cliff are the only family I have now. I'd hate to just disappear with no goodbyes."

Skinner grimaced. "I'm beginning to see that they mean a lot to you. So, you settle your affairs here and then we'll go get the Palm Pilot." He directed a warning glance at Krycek and continued, "But I'm not letting you out of my sight, Boy. Consider me your shadow—your armed shadow."

"Thanks, Skinner."

"Don't thank me—I'm doing this for the animals and Cliff."

Alex had no response to that and they finished their breakfast in silence. Alex put the dishes in the sink and looked at Skinner. He took a breath. "Shall we?"

Skinner shrugged. "It's your party, not mine. Get on with it."

Alex stared at him wordlessly and then turned away, going to the door and putting on his jacket.

Alex had to suppress the wince of bitterness that threatened at Skinner's cold, indifferent attitude. He waited for Skinner to get his own jacket and to pick up the ever-present gun and hold it in his pocket, barely concealed.

He wasn't looking forward to this. Saying goodbye. As they went out the door, Skinner on his heels, Alex wondered if Skinner intended to finish off the job he'd started with the clone. Once he actually handed the Palm Pilot over to Skinner, the man might very well decide to close this chapter once and for all and shoot him anyway—despite his promises to the contrary.

Strangely, he felt little trepidation at the thought, and realized in the next moment that the reason his mind was dwelling on such a morbid scenario was because he really, really, did not want to see the last of his beloved dogs, nor of Cliff, or this farm. His new life. His new, fresh start. But it WAS fucked now, completely. God, he hated being on the move. He should have known that one of the skeletons in his closet might come rattling back into his life despite his best efforts to bury them in the past.

As Alex led Skinner into the kennel, joyful barks and much leaping and panting greeted them. Alex couldn't help a slight smirk. He wondered if Skinner would be able to retain his cold, purposeful attitude in the face of all this unabashed doggie excitement. A pang went through him as he realized this was very likely the last time he'd see any of them again.

"Mornin', Cliff," Alex greeted the older man, hurrying over to help him lift a bucket of soapy water.

"Ah kin do this, Mr. Alex. You jest go ahead and give yer friend the tour."

Knowing that Skinner's expression must have been priceless, hearing Cliff call him Mr. Alex, Krycek carefully didn't look into his face. Somehow, he didn't think hysterical laughter was appropriate to the situation.

"Alright, Cliff. When you've finished in here come and find me—we need to talk about a few things." Alex carried the bucket of water with seeming effortlessness to one end of the kennel and nodded to Cliff. "I'll go down and see to the horses now."

As they left the kennel, Skinner shot him a sideways look. "Mr. Alex?"

Alex shrugged and grinned. "Cliff's from the deep south. His parents were both children of former slaves and raised him to fear the white man's power. I've tried and tried—he just won't drop the 'Mr.' Never hesitates to kick my ass when I screw up, though."

The overwhelming din of barking dogs receded as they neared the barn and the pained expression on Skinner's face eased. "Do those dogs always make so much noise?"

"No. They don't usually carry on like that except when I get home from a show or," he turned his head to look at Skinner, "a stranger walks into the kennel." He didn't bother to tell Skinner that one sharp whistle from him would have shut them up; Skinner's discomfort had been well worth letting them carry on for a while.

As they entered the barn, Skinner appeared to be more impressed with the horses. Alex greeted them with loving pats on their long faces. He gave them each three flakes of hay, while Skinner lurked in the background. As he grabbed up the old coffee can to scoop them a portion of grain, however, Skinner finally came forward to tentatively stroke the head and ears of the one closest.

Alex sighed. The twinge of pain at knowing he'd never see these creatures again was now nearly a physical ache inside his chest. Damn. Damn him for letting himself be lulled into believing his past wouldn't eventually catch up with him.

And damn Skinner for showing up, too.

Before the sentimentalism of the moment could undo his effort to retain a calm exterior, Alex turned on his heel and walked out of the barn. He strode quickly, not caring whether Skinner shut the barn door behind them or not. He heard it a few moments later but now the anger and the hurt was taking its toll. Skinner came up behind him and caught him by the shoulder. He twisted away from Skinner's grasp with a furious expression.

"What?! What more do you want?" he bit out, angrily.

Skinner stepped back, surprised. "Whoa, there, Krycek. Settle down."

"Settle down?" he said, tightlipped, coldly. "I'll never see them again. Not them, not the dogs, not Cliff...My life is fucked. Again. Happy now?" He continued on, blindly making his way back to the house.

He threw open the door and entered the kitchen, breathing hard.

Skinner came through behind him and shut the door after them.

Without pause, Krycek stalked through the kitchen into the den/office. He started flipping through the rolodex on his desk, pulling out cards seemingly at random. Skinner watched in silence for a couple of minutes then, when he realized that Krycek was going to ignore his presence, he went back to the kitchen and started another pot of coffee brewing.

As he waited, he sat on one of the ladder-backed chairs and tried not to recall the expressions he'd seen on Krycek's face while outside. Refused to remember the joyful greeting the dogs had met him with, wouldn't contemplate the respect—and yes, fondness—with which Cliff had looked at Alex. Neither would he think about the very apparent joy Krycek's face had displayed while greeting dogs, horses and human alike.

But in the end, being the painfully honest man that he was, Skinner had to admit to himself that there was far more than met the eye with Krycek. He'd had a wide variety of pets in his younger days, and knew full well that animals didn't give that kind of love to a man that abused them. And Cliff...what was that all about? Krycek was genuinely concerned about the old man's future.

He was getting a headache. Krycek, it seemed, was a mass of contradictions. His head pounded as he struggled to figure out why he suddenly felt like the bad guy in this scenario. Damnit, Krycek had killed him!

Of course, Skinner had—eventually—returned the favor. But still—

With a hiss, the coffee finished brewing and he rose to his feet, relieved to have something as mundane as caffeine to think about. He fixed himself a cup and then, not even stopping to think about it, he filled a second cup and carried it in to Krycek.

Krycek was on the phone, but he finished the call and put down the receiver as Skinner entered the room. His expression impassive, he turned and met Skinner's eye. His gaze then dropped to the coffee Skinner was holding.

Skinner considered him for a moment and then held the cup out to him. Krycek took it with murmured thanks.

Skinner took a sip from his own cup. "What are you doing?"

Krycek frowned at him. "What does it look like?" The scathing tone made it very clear to Skinner that, regardless of his surface calm, Krycek was still emotionally distraught. Apparently realizing what his tone of voice was revealing, Alex rubbed his face with both hands and let out a breath.

"I'm wrapping up my affairs," he replied in a more civil tone. "Calling my lawyer. Damn, I need to get hold of the real estate agent, too." He picked up the phone and returned to flipping through the cards before him.

Skinner's eyes narrowed as he realized Krycek was getting ready to sell the farm. "Don't you think you're jumping the gun, here?" Then wanted to bite his tongue for absently using that phrase. And then flinched as he realized he'd left the gun in the kitchen on the counter beside the coffee maker.

Alex gave him a withering glance. He looked down at Skinner's coffee, then at his other—empty—hand, which was noticeably devoid of the gun. "Like I said, why bother?" Alex replied, tersely, picking up the card to call the number.

"You're going to sell the farm?"

"No, I'm going to order a pizza and then I'm going to call the local bird-watching chapter," Alex said, sarcastically. "Yeah, I'm going to sell the farm. What, you interested? Looking for a nice place to retire after you finish off this final job, Walter?"

"Maybe," Skinner said, cryptically, sipping from his coffee again, meeting Alex's eyes.

Alex snorted. "Right. After you've run me off."

Skinner shrugged lightly. "I don't think Cliff can handle taking care of the animals all on his own, though. You might want to rethink your plans. Hold off on selling, for now. You never know, this place might come in useful."

Alex stared at him. "As what? A future death trap, if I get tired of living? No, thanks. I'm not going to bring my old enemies here. There are too many innocents who could get caught in the crossfire."

Setting his cup on the edge of Krycek's desk, Skinner paced across the room to stare out the window at the kennel and at Cliff, now busy hosing down the outside runs. Cleared his throat and turned to look at Krycek. "Alex...I told you no one knows I'm here, right?"

A terse nod was the only response.

"Okay, listen then. I...I may have, um, jumped the gun myself," he admitted reluctantly. "You said last night that you'd had no choice in the things you did. Maybe...maybe I'd like to know more about you—about how and why you got tangled up in the Consortium."

Alex snorted his disdain. "Uh huh. And when you've satisfied your curiosity?"

"I don't know, to tell you the truth," Skinner admitted in a low voice. "But I think there's a lot more to you than I ever suspected." His voice grew quieter. "I think, under other circumstances, we might even have been friends."

Krycek stared at him with the most fascinating expression: suspicion warring with hope warring with anger. "So, what, Walt? You gonna pick my brains and then decide whether I should be allowed to live, whether I'm deserving of your friendship?" He shoved his chair away from the desk and stood. "What if I don't want to be your friend?"

Skinner nearly growled an all-too-hasty 'fine—go to hell, then,' but something held his tongue. Something in the way that Krycek was just waiting for him to retract what he now realized was an olive branch.

He sighed deeply, and took another mouthful of coffee. He went closer to Alex's desk and put the cup down, took off his glasses and began to clean them, buying himself a few moments to think about the best way to try to calm this particularly high-strung creature. He knew he'd rattled the man badly the previous evening and then he'd kept digging at him, leading up to their current standoff.

What a joke, he thought, wryly; having to convince Krycek not to run. "Alex," he began in a low voice, "I'm suggesting a truce. Hell, I'm offering a white flag, complete with a big fat white dove...And I won't use the gun anymore to make my point. Cut me some slack, here. I don't want a fight with you. I don't want to destroy you. All I want is that damned Palm Pilot—if you can give it to me, then we can call it quits. And I know you don't want to leave here. You were practically sobbing on the horses back there—I'm not completely blind. Or insensitive." He put his glasses back on.

And took in the look of amazement on Krycek's face. "You—you actually expect me to believe this?" He wore a slight smile that bespoke major rounds of sarcasm building behind that familiar smirk.

Skinner folded his arms across his chest and lifted his chin slightly. "Where will you run to, Alex? Got another nifty hole to disappear into? Or should I be buying into this pitiful act of yours and just hand over the gun so you can eat a final bullet? I won't compromise your position if you don't compromise mine...And as for retirement, yes, to answer your question. This looks like the ideal spot. You beat me to it, actually. You've got a good thing going here. I don't want to take it from you out of spite."

Krycek glared at him. "This isn't very fucking funny."

"Isn't meant to be," Skinner replied, mildly.

"You actually expect me to—to buy this. From you. After that whole scene last night...and this morning. Damn it, Walter, you can't just switch from executioner to friend like that in one moment and expect the world to catch up with you. I have less reason to trust you now than I ever have before. Your reaction to my clone taught me that."

Skinner threw him a hard look. "You pushed me, Alex. You pushed me too far. And threatening Mulder like that...Working with Crane and Knowle—come on! You never gave anyone any reason to believe you, to trust you. And you kept me dancing to your tune for years. That's over."

Alex sat down heavily in his chair and looked up at him with a blank expression. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

"No, you don't. But you don't have to act like an asshole now, either. I'm offering you a truce. Take it, or don't. It's that simple."

"Give me one good reason why I should," Krycek shot back, lightening-quick.

"I'll give you several. You've been saying it over and over: Cliff, the dogs, those excellent horses in the barn outside...I'd say they're worth a chance."

"You killed me, before. How do I know you won't again?"

"And you killed me. Seems like we're even. Come off it, Alex," Skinner drawled. "Stop pussyfooting around. We have to start somewhere."

Alex shook his head. "I must be fucking losing my mind. But alright." He pulled a face, looking disgusted at his own gullibility. "I don't know why I'm willing to let you talk me into this." He began fiddling with the cards in front of him.

Skinner also wondered why Krycek would let himself be talked down so easily. He could sense it was more than the consideration of the animals, this farm, the people. He wasn't sure what it was, but the curiosity was slowly starting to replace the wariness inside, the fear that Krycek might still either bolt or turn the tables on him.

They finished their coffee in silence, then Alex sighed and pushed the rolodex cards aside. "Well, since I'm not leaving today after all, I'd best get some work done." He walked over to the door and paused, not looking back. "You coming, Skinner?"

"Sure," was the mild reply. "And make it Walt, please."

Alex appeared to be stunned by the request. He froze for a moment, then shook his head bemusedly and opened the door.

"What are we doing?" Walt asked as he followed Alex off of the porch.

"Got dogs to condition, pups to train. I usually give the show dogs a day off after a trial, but there are plenty of others to work with." As he talked, Alex led the way down to the barn. "You ever ridden a horse?"

"Yeah," Skinner answered. "Long time ago, though. More years than I care to count, actually."

"Well, I have Tennessee Walkers, so you shouldn't have any problem staying on—their gaits are smooth as glass."

"Uh huh," Skinner murmured doubtfully. "We're talking a lot of years here, Alex."

"Trust me, Sk—um, Walt. You'll see," Krycek reassured. "I'll even let you have George today."

"Why the horses? I thought you trained dogs?" Skinner asked curiously as he followed the younger man into the barn.

Alex snorted. "We'll be working each dog for about 30 minutes, Walt. I don't know about you, but I'm not running around that field all day. I work the s from horseback," he explained.

And he did. Dog after dog after dog. Skinner was fascinated by the process. Some dogs just ran for the half hour, Alex and Walt following on horseback. Other, more seasoned dogs were worked with birds. Alex would 'plant' a few quail in hedgerows or along treelines and damned if the dogs didn't find them every time.

Most interesting, though, was Alex's manner with the dogs. He never raised his voice, never hit them when they made a mistake, just patiently kept trying until the dog got it right. And the way he seemed a part of the flashy black gelding he rode—though the young horse was obviously a handful and required expert handling, Walter never saw Alex respond to the horse's infrequent fits of mischievousness with anything less than gentle calm.

By the end of the day, Skinner knew a whole hell of a lot more about dogs...and he'd become uncomfortably aware of muscles he'd forgotten the very existence of when Alex called a halt and they led the horses back to the barn.

Skinner stretched uncomfortably; he knew he'd have an interesting time working around the stiffness tomorrow.

Alex patted the big palomino on the rump as he turned George back into the pasture. Turning a wide grin on Skinner, he questioned, "City boy, huh, Walt?"

"I told you it's been years. What time is it anyway?"

Alex glanced at his watch. "Nearly seven. Let's finish up in here and we'll go inside. You okay having that stew again?"

"If you've got a cold beer to wash it down, sure." Then it occurred to him that the dogs would probably be starving after their exertions. "What about the mutts?"

Alex's eyebrows lifted, scandalized. "Excuse me, Walter, those are not mutts. They've all got pedigrees significantly longer than either of us can claim. And Cliff will feed them."

Skinner lifted both his hands. "Sorry. Didn't mean to disparage your pals."

Alex sniffed, the twinkle in his making it clear he wasn't really angry. "You're forgiven. This time. But, you call George out there a nag, and..."

Skinner grinned. "Sorry. Hunger makes me ornery."

Alex shook his head and began to lead the horse he'd been riding and another young horse out of the barn to the pasture on the other side of the yard, mumbling something about having yet another mouth to feed.

"Why the separate pastures?" Skinner questioned as they turned toward the house. "That field behind the barn seems plenty big enough for all four."

"Horses are a lot like people," Krycek answered somewhat cryptically. At Skinner's raised eyebrow, he continued, "Some get along better than others. It's just easier to avoid trouble than to fix a problem."

Good advice, Walter couldn't help but think as he watched the human mystery he used to know as Alex Krycek head up the porch steps. Too bad you didn't follow it yourself a long time ago.

Back in the kitchen, Alex began a mirror routine of the night before, getting out the frozen stew and putting it in the microwave. The smell permeated the kitchen almost immediately and Skinner's stomach clamored loudly.

Alex went to the fridge and took out two longnecks. He twisted off the cap of one and handed the bottle to Skinner.

"You've got a nice setup here," Skinner said. Taking the bottle from Alex, he took a long drink from it, thirstily.

Alex didn't look at him, merely began getting out two large bowls and the loaf of bread. "It's the closest to 'home' I've had in a long time."

"I meant what I said. I'm not going to run you off. But I will have that Palm Pilot."

"Yeah, you will. But you'll have to wait a day or so. If I'm not going to be leaving here, I'll need to arrange to have someone else take care of things for a bit. Cliff can't do it on his own."

"Alex, where is it?" Skinner couldn't understand why Alex couldn't just give the damned Palm Pilot into his hands. Despite his claims that those holding it would only release it to Alex himself, Skinner had a niggling suspicion that a game was being played. No doubt the Palm Pilot was somewhere close at hand, maybe even somewhere on the property here, stowed under a bale of hay in the barn perhaps.

The microwave dinged at them. "Saved by the bell," Alex commented. "I'd rather not talk about it while we eat. Do you mind?"

Skinner's stomach rumbled loudly and Alex chuckled. "I'll take that as a no."

Shrugging, Skinner finished his beer while Alex set full bowls of stew and a loaf of fresh bread on the table. "Where'd the bread come from?" he asked, mildly puzzled.

"Um, well, the new veterinarian is convinced I'll starve if she doesn't bring me food," Alex admitted, a faint blush coloring his cheekbones.

"I take it you're pretty popular with the single women around here," Skinner teased.

"Yeah, well..." Alex quickly bit off a corner of the piece of bread he held in one hand, thereby making any further response ill-mannered, if not impossible.

"Better be careful, Alex," Skinner cautioned in a light voice. "Shotgun weddings are alive and well in America—particularly rural America."

Krycek shook his head. "Not a chance, Walt. I'm not the marrying kind."

Raising one eyebrow, Skinner looked skeptical. "Why not? You have a nice place here, a good income from the looks of things...and you're not a bad looking man, as men go."

Alex swallowed carefully and regarded him thoughtfully. "I'd say you've got just as much to worry about then, Walt." He stopped and looked taken aback, as if he hadn't meant to say it. He sought refuge by busily digging into his bowl of stew.

Skinner chuckled quietly and picked up his spoon. "Why, thank you, Alex. I'll take that as a compliment."

Alex's blush intensified.

How...interesting, Skinner thought. And decided to have some fun. "But I'll take your point. I'm not the marrying kind either."

Alex looked up with surprise. "But—you—and Sharon—"

"Sharon was a very large part of my life. But she's gone. And I don't think I'm looking to settle down with a mail-order bride or country lass. I don't know, you could do worse than the vet, Alex. It's kind of predictable, actually. The locals will probably be expecting it. I'll wager that they've got bets on at the local watering hole. Unless you've decided the play the gay angle."

Alex choked on his stew and grabbed up his napkin, his eyes watering and then meeting Skinner's, accusingly.

Skinner raised his brows at him. "I take it you haven't used that one?"

Alex swigged from his beer, to regain some semblance of composure. "You are one hell of a pain in the ass, do you know that?"

Skinner calmly replied, "Are you propositioning me, Alex? I don't know. It seems a bit sudden, don't you think? Still, you could do worse."

"What?"

"The vet," Skinner answered, lifting his spoon and waving it to accent his point.

Alex nodded and began to eat again. His blush hadn't died though and Skinner knew he could probably get a few more rounds in. "What, you want to stick around, Walt? Be my 'beard'?"

"I could do worse," Skinner said, neutrally.

Alex put down his spoon and stared at him. "What the hell are you—"

"I could always get my gun. We could call it a shotgun wedding, if you like."

My, my. Alex looked positively flustered. Skinner would have chuckled but he didn't want to ruin the moment. It had been a long, long time since he'd put one over on this man...As innocuous as this little victory was, it meant a lot to him. It was a bit like dancing with a feral creature, though. Alex looked like he didn't know whether to try to find a way to turn it to his advantage or just put up his wall again.

To Alex's credit, Skinner had to admit, he rallied himself well. "I don't think so," Alex responded calmly. "But thanks for offering. You look better suited to the part of a farmhand, in any case."

Nice try, Alex, Skinner thought to himself. He picked up his beer and thoughtfully swigged. "Yeah, you're probably right. I guess it's the vet, then. Certainly better than the stories that might go around about you and George."

Alex snickered. "Poor George. Leave him out of this. I warned you about calling him names. He's sensitive about that kind of thing."

Ah-ah, you're not getting away now, my boy, Skinner thought. "You're right. We shouldn't sully George's reputation. But seriously, Alex, have you got the hots for this lady vet? Or are you trying to pretend that you aren't interested?"

Alex heaved a sigh and picked up his spoon again, obviously trying to gear himself up to attempt to eat once more. "Look, Walter, it isn't that I don't think you should stay. But I can't see you playing the farmhand to my master-of-the-plantation, somehow. I don't think anyone would buy it, and you'd probably put a bullet in me at the end of the first week."

Skinner lifted a brow at him. "I wasn't asking if you were interested in me, I was talking about the vet."

The spoon never reached Alex's lips. He sat with the look of a deer caught in headlights.

Score another for me, Skinner thought. He chuckled now. "Although I'll agree you have a point. Taking orders from you was never something I was good at." Skinner nonchalantly continued to eat his stew. "You know," he added, "It isn't a real stew unless you can eat it with a fork." Skinner looked up at him.

Alex sat across from him looking like he didn't know whether to laugh, get up and leave in anger, or just remain sitting where he was. Apparently inertia won because he continued to sit, his face still suffused with the blush that hadn't had a chance to depart. He blinked, those long lashes sweeping down as he looked back into his own bowl with a slight frown.

Skinner unaccountably wondered if he'd pushed it too far—his jeans were starting to feel tight and the look of defensive vulnerability on Alex's face right now was a little too alluring. He liked that look on Alex—it suited him. It made his hands itch to hold Alex's face between them, to hold him still, upturned so that he might...

What was he thinking? This was nuts. It was a game; that was all. No, he had to remember that the reason he'd started in on this was because Alex seemed to rise to it. Now why would that be unless there was a part of him that took it seriously enough to find it worthy of consideration? And it was all too fascinating that Alex had assumed Skinner had been referring to his staying on. He wondered how badly Alex had the hots for HIM. Jesus, there he sat, still, with those rosy cheeks. What the hell was he supposed to think—no one could fake a blush like that; past FBI lectures that he himself had given on body language and involuntary responses loomed in his mind.

The silence lengthened uncomfortably, along with Skinner's cock. Damn. And the accompanying visions from the previous night, of Alex in the shower, and undressed...Sitting in the bed...Rising from it clad only in his shorts...Skinner was about to move when Alex shifted in his seat.

A-ha. So he wasn't the only one finding this a little too interesting.

Alex cleared his throat, looked at his now-empty bowl—when the hell had he eaten the stew and why couldn't he remember—then drank the last of his beer. "I'll ah...I'll clean up while you shower, okay?"

With a knowing smirk, Skinner shook his head. "Nah, I'm not quite done yet. You go on and shower first, I'll clean up the kitchen."

Well, hell. Plan A went down in flames and Alex found, to his chagrin, that he had no Plan B. There was no way in hell Skinner would miss the erection that threatened to burst through Alex's jeans if he stood up.

Damn.

Proud of the fact that his hands didn't tremble revealingly, Alex sliced off another piece of bread and buttered it. "Maybe I'm not all that full. I'll um, keep you company while you finish your dinner."

That smirk on Skinner's face was going to drive him to murder any minute, Alex thought. Either that or he was going to beg Skinner to fuck him right here and now. Neither seemed a viable option, so he nibbled on his bread and thought cold thoughts—Siberia—ice—ice cream—whipped cream...all over Skinner's—

Oh shit!

He was in trouble. Big trouble.

Okay. Deep breath. Think bad things—the silo—losing his arm—Mulder...Yep, that did the trick. One mental image of Fox Mulder sneering at him, drawing back his fist to strike yet another blow...Oh yeah. That worked.

With a relieved sigh, Alex rose to his feet and headed for the shower. A nice warm shower. Where he would be alone with his thoughts.

Thoughts of Skinner.

No. No! Silos and peasants and beatings and faceless aliens and Black Oil—yeah.

Alex stripped hurriedly and climbed into the shower, under the hot spray. He washed quickly, debating seeking release right then and there. But he didn't want to...Hell, who was he kidding—he did want to. But not if Walt might hear. The constraint and risk of being heard was enough to make him harder than stone and he cursed, turning on the cold water. His gasp was nearly a yelp but it worked. He stayed under the icy blast resolutely, until he was shivering.

Finally emerging and wrapping a towel about himself, he stood and regarded his reflection in the mirror. God, he looked like a teenager again, with widened eyes. He dried himself off and went to the bedroom to get dressed. Skinner was in the family room.

As he dressed, he noted,as he'd passed through the kitchen, that Skinner had already done the dishes. He padded back out, feeling a little more resilient, ready to face Skinner once more, washed, cold-showered and dressed in clean clothes. "Hey, thanks for clearing up. The bathroom's free."

Skinner stood and stretched, obviously testing stiff and sore muscles from the day's efforts. He gave Alex a look up and down. "You clean up real well, kid."

Dryly, Alex said, "Thanks. Think you could drop the YMCA act, though? It's getting tiresome."

Skinner grinned at him. "So, I'm not allowed to compliment you, now? You're taking this rather seriously, aren't you?"

"And you're not taking it seriously enough," Alex rejoined, then realized how that sounded. He stopped, dead. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why the hell was Skinner playing this game with him, anyway? Fuck.

But Skinner seemed to see that he was struggling and for some godforsaken reason decided to have mercy on him. Skinner shrugged and said, "Okay, Alex. I'll go get a shower. And then you can explain to me why you have a photo album without any baby pictures in it. You seem to have a picture of every other occasion."

While Skinner showered, Alex hurriedly made up the bed in the guestroom muttering imprecations under his breath the whole time. "Bastard...Where does he get off...Hope he can't even walk tomorrow...prickteasing sonofabitch...Gotta get him out of here...give him the fucking Palm Pilot and kick his ass on down the road—"

"Are you talking about my ass, Alex?"

Jesus–fucking–Christ! Krycek jumped at least two feet in the air when Skinner spoke to him. He whirled around to face the older man, a dark scowl on his face. "fuck! You, of all people, should know better than to sneak up on me, Skinner."

"Walt," he was reminded gently.

Yeah, right. Like he even remembered Skinner's first name. Not while the man was standing there—Standing? No, lounging was more descriptive of Skinner's stance. And the bastard was wearing nothing but a very skimpy towel slung around his hips.

A very impressive erection outlined lovingly by the thin terry-cloth covering.

"Here." Alex shoved a pair of sweatpants at Skinner. "These are too big for me—should fit you just fine. I'll just go and ah, find a sweatshirt for you."

"No problem, Alex," Skinner rumbled, running one hand across his lightly haired chest. "I'm plenty warm. The pants are enough." Alex stared back at him, feeling like a cornered rabbit when the dogs had one trapped in a hole...That chest...Skinner always did have a fine build. In fact, he looked fucking ripped. How—how did—he must work out.

Alex wondered how he could expect to sleep tonight, let alone close his eyes.

"Alex?" Skinner prompted him. "What is it?"

Alex found his mouth working but nothing came out. To his dismay, he was completely at a loss for words. Shaking his head slightly, he left the room, leaving Skinner to watch him go with a puzzled but amused expression on his face.

He retreated to his bedroom, shutting the door firmly and debated locking it. He stood there cursing quietly for a while and then decided to leave it unlocked. Slowly sanity returned. It really wasn't that late in the evening so he couldn't really justify going to bed. But, there wasn't any reason for him to go back out there and keep Walter Skinner entertained, either. Particularly in the mood Skinner seemed to be enjoying. The man seemed to take a certain perverse delight in catching him off-balance and then keeping him there. And openly drooling over the man's bare chest, those abs and those strong arms didn't aid his position much, either.

Damn. Damn! He growled, pacing the floor, wondering how the fuck he was supposed to rest easy with that man in his house.

It was no use. He knew he couldn't hide from it. He had to face the music. Very well. He straightened and shrugged back his shoulders. Alex Krycek could take anything. He had survived the worst the world had to offer; he could survive this. Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened the door and forced himself to adopt a casual attitude as he walked back to the family room. There sat Skinner, notably shirtless, with the sweatpants on—outlining the man's groin very nicely. Skinner was flipping through the album of photographs Alex had collected of the dogs at various shows.

Skinner looked up at him with an inquiring eye. "So, where are the baby pictures?"

"At the back," Alex indicated with a nod of his head.

Sure enough, at the back were pictures of the dogs when they were adorable black and tan pups. Skinner smiled. "Cute little devils."

"Isn't this one of the dogs we ran today?" Skinner asked.

Cautiously moving a little closer, Alex craned his neck to see which picture Skinner was pointing to. He squinted his eyes, peering at the album from what he considered a safe distance. "Um, yeah. That's Gunner; he was the last one we had out."

"And this one?" Skinner pointed at another picture—a picture that Alex couldn't possibly see from this angle.

"I'm not sure. Can't see from here, hand me the album."

Skinner quirked an eyebrow in his direction and sighed. "Alex, why don't you just come over here and sit on the sofa with me? Then you can tell me about all of your dogs as we come to their pictures."

Oh hell. No easy way out of this one. Reluctantly, Alex walked over and perched on the very edge of the couch.

Skinner tilted the album in such a way that Alex had no choice but to move closer and sit back into the sofa. He looked at the picture and identified the dog in question as 'The Shootist'.

"Wasn't that a John Wayne movie?" Skinner asked.

"Yeah," Alex said, "the foundation sire for my line is a dog named 'Gunsmoke'. I try to keep up the western theme when naming them."

"I see." Skinner murmured, scratching at his chest lazily.

Just how it happened, Alex never could quite figure out, but suddenly he became aware of the fact that he'd leaned back into the couch and Walt had moved closer, was, in fact, sitting tight up against him, the photo album open across both their laps.

And, damn, Skinner was warm. Smelled good, too. Would he, Alex wondered, taste as good as he smelled?

His mind drifted, as Skinner looked through a second album, answering the questions automatically. Gradually, he found himself resting more and more of his weight against Skinner's side, wondering vaguely how and when that strong arm resting casually across his shoulders had come to be there. And more than a little alarmed at how right it felt.

The warmth and the comfort, the scent and the companionable closeness, all were taking their toll on his senses. He felt rather intoxicated. Damn—usually it took a six-pack to get him to this level of light-headedness. And Skinner's arm around him felt...It felt so damn good. Like it belonged there.

God, how long had it been since anyone had touched him, let alone someone he really—he caught himself short with that particular thought. What? He really what? Wanted? Cared about?

Skinner immediately noticed when he tensed up and tried to pull away. Tightening the arm that held him pressed to the big man's side, Skinner murmured in the same tone and volume they'd been using, without missing a beat, "So how long has it been, Alex?"

He blinked, considering the question. This didn't seem to fit into the discussion of the relative wisdom of using John Wayne and Gunsmoke themes over Spaghetti Westerns to name his dogs. "How long since what?"

Without looking up from the album, Skinner answered, "Since you last got laid?"

Alex held himself very still. His mind was whirling a bit and he couldn't even blame it on the single beer they'd had with dinner. He could hear his heart pounding and he realized he was breathing harder. Fuck All! He really didn't want to be having this conversation. Especially not right now. Skinner was playing with him again. Damn the man.

Alex swallowed.

Calmly, Skinner tightened his arm around Alex's shoulders in a gesture meant to convey, no doubt, comradely friendship and support. "Hey, don't fret over it. It's been a while for me too."

Jesus, talk about tearing down all the walls. "Am I supposed to take this as some kind of unorthodox ice-breaker, or something?" he asked, a little defensively.

"Sure. Walter-style. Come on, Alex. We've been circling around each other all night. In fact, since I got here yesterday."

"Doesn't mean we have to do anything about it." Alex was painfully aware that he was giving out clear signals about who was going to have to play seducer...and who was going to be the prey.

Fuck.

It came so unbearably close to the secret fantasies he'd allowed himself to entertain about this man in the past.

Skinner seemed to know how great the tension had grown though. "Alex?" He moved his arm off of Krycek's shoulders and rested it on the back of the sofa. "Have I read the signals wrong? Should I back off?"

"Yes...I mean, no...I mean—" Alex sat there, a frown wrinkling his forehead. He huffed out a breath. "What the hell has gotten into you, Skinner? Last night you were ready to kill me in my own kitchen and now you want to fuck me? If this is some new and twisted game you're playing—"

"No game, Alex," Skinner said quietly. "And, it's Walt, remember?"

Rolling his eyes, Krycek sighed. "What do you want from me?"

"From you?" Skinner repeated. "I want the Palm Pilot, Alex. You know that. But," he leaned closer, whispering in Alex's ear, "right at this moment I want you."

"Oh." He cleared his throat.

Why was this so awkward suddenly? His body was very clear about what was happening—in fact, both of their bodies...And Walter seemed to have already reconciled their differences within his own mind. At least, where sex was concerned. But there were still things in the way, things that made him wary, like the fact that he didn't want a quick fuck, only to hand over the Pilot and then see Skinner going out the door...

Skinner's mouth suddenly coming down on his bled Alex's mind of all further thought. He turned his face to meet him, pressing his lips upwards against Skinner's before he could stop the instant reaction to return this kiss. God, Walter's, Walter Skinner's mouth on his; Walter's tongue probing the interior of his mouth and sliding against his own tongue with a liquid heat that made his cock leap.

Skinner pulled back and stared warmly but concernedly into his eyes. "Too fast?"

"Jesus," Alex moaned. "If you ask me, it's long overdue. I just wonder if you've realized that—"

With a knowing smile, Skinner leaned over again and shut him up with another bone-melting, skin-tingling kiss. He sat back a little and said, "What, that this would be better to continue in the bedroom?"

Alex lifted his brows. "What's wrong with right here?" The thought of Walter in his bed—again—filled him with an unnameable anxiety. That really WAS too fast.

Skinner seemed happy to go along with it, however. "Hm. Has this couch of yours ever been christened, Alex?"

Alex grinned, unable to help himself. "Not to my knowledge."

Skinner caught his breath, staring at him, brown eyes large and dark in his face.

Alex stopped, torn between wanting to kiss him until they were both gasping for air and wondering what was going through that head of Walter's. "What are you looking at?"

Thoughtfully, Skinner observed, "I've always loved your smile, Alex. Makes you beautiful. Also makes it damned difficult to remember how dangerous you can be."

Alex frowned. "I smile plenty..."

"No, you smirk or you sneer," Skinner corrected. "I'm talking about a full smile. With teeth. We should give it a name: the Krycek Dazzler. Or—"

It was Alex's turn to interrupt, with a heated kiss planted passionately on the older man's lips.

Oh yeah, those full lips of Krycek's met every one of Walt's expectations. This might be a mistake—he knew all too well just how devious Alex could be—but, damn, what a way to go.

Walter had secretly noticed and admired the young man when he was a green, poorly-dressed rookie agent. He'd always thought of Krycek as sex on two legs. And how right he'd been! The man had him seeing stars by the time their lips parted. Gasping for air, Walt leaned his forehead against Alex's and closed his eyes, trying to bring himself under control.

"What—" he paused to clear his throat, then continued, "do you want, Alex?"

"You."

"Okay, I think that can be arranged." Skinner agreed easily. "But how? I mean—do you have any particular preferences?"

Alex pulled back and just...looked at him for a moment. "I want," he said hesitantly, "you—us—naked, you on top of me." He ran one hand across Walter's broad chest. "Covering me—keeping me safe. I want to feel all of you against me, Walt."

Christ—did Alex have any idea what that admission betrayed to him? It was as though Alex couldn't help babbling openly now what those big green eyes and vulnerable expressions had been saying ever since he arrived.

"Naked sounds good to me. But we'll have to lose our clothes for that." His hand went to snake its way up Alex's shirt and the other went to Alex's jeans. His fingers quickly began undoing the top button and working on the zipper while the other found a gem of a nipple beneath the shirt.

Alex sucked in a breath. "Your hands feel so good."

The sheer trust and openness in Alex's face right now was almost enough to make him come. Skinner realized that to have his longstanding enemy here in his power, even in the man's own home, was a salve on his own past wounds. But it was more than that.

He realized he could crush Krycek right now. Not that he wanted to, or even would. But the knowledge of this power—it gave him back a little of the dignity that Alex had stripped him of. Skinner decided to repay him by stripping him of these exasperating clothes, instead. They were a hindrance now. He pulled the shirt over Alex's head.

As his hands went to Alex's jeans, Alex scooted down and then lifted his hips to allow the jeans to be slid down over them. Alex was hard, too. Nicely so. He stood up and began to take off his sweatpants, smiling as Alex's eyes roved over him and noted the absence of boxers beneath.

"Were you planning on getting lucky?"

Skinner snorted and moved back to lean down on Alex's smooth skin, his arms going around him as he lay upon Alex on the couch. "Don't tell me you're surprised. We practically caused an electrical fire in the guest room earlier. Or didn't you notice?"

"Nah. Was too busy noticing THIS," Alex replied, with another arching of his back, lifting his hips up to slide his cock against Skinner's. Alex lifted his knee to wrap his leg around Skinner's, pressing against his left buttock.

"Jesus," Skinner whispered reverently. His right hand skimmed a path down Alex's torso, then closed around one hip. "Show me, Alex. Let me feel how much you want me—feel how much I want you."

With a gasp, Alex arched his hips upwards and tightened the leg he'd wrapped around Skinner. "Shit!" he moaned, as their cocks ground against each other. "Want you...always wanted you," he mumbled as he reached up to investigate the taste of Walt's neck. "Mmmm," he hummed happily. "'S good, Walt—so good."

Grabbing a fistful of Krycek's hair, Skinner pulled his head away. Alex whimpered his disapproval and Walt just smiled down at him. "Kiss me," he demanded, then groaned his satisfaction as his instruction was carried out with gratifying enthusiasm.

The kiss grew ever more heated and their groins moved against each other with increasing force. The need for oxygen made them break off the kiss and Walt looked down at Alex, catching his breath at the look in the younger man's eyes.

The trust, the need, the desire—all reflected back at him with an innocence marred only by years of disappointment. And now hope, too, shining out at him as Alex stared back up at him, nearly panting from the heat between them. Yeah, he wanted it. Alex wanted it bad.

Skinner grinned. And tightened his hold on Alex's arms, letting his weight pin the younger man beneath him, unmoving. "You know something, Alex? There's one word I haven't heard you use, in a long time. I'd really like to hear THAT coming from that pretty mouth of yours."

Alex swallowed, catching his breath and obviously thinking. "Yeah, alright. Walter, I want you. Please." He paused at looked back up into Skinner's eyes, meaningfully. "Please," he repeated, quieter. It was almost a whisper but the strained, suppressed and urgent longing that laced that one word, in the way that Alex said it...It was as though he were begging for a lot more than just some necking and frottage here on the couch...And it grabbed Skinner by his gut.

Skinner's answering growl was low and deep in his throat, holding Alex down under him, and Alex reflexively bucked up against him, brushing the silky, wet tips of their cocks against each other.

Skinner could feel his balls drawing up tight and close. He wondered if Alex would let him fuck him. Might be too soon, he thought. As he began to move, rocking against Alex, sliding against that lovely cock and the pale skin of Alex's lower belly, Alex caught his lower lip between teeth and emitted a muffled whimper.

The sound tickled throughout Skinner's insides, making him want to drive himself into Alex. No. He'd make do with this. He'd barely got this tentative and skittish creature into their current position; he didn't want to blow it now by pushing Alex too far.

Besides, he was so close that it wouldn't take much more of this hot, wet friction to make him come. Closing his eyes and biting his lower lip, Skinner concentrated on holding back his orgasm for just—one—more—minute—

With a shout, Alex wrapped both legs and arms around him, clinging tightly as his body convulsed in release.

It was too much—the shout, the desperate hold, the warmth that spilled between them..."Oh god!" Skinner practically yelled as his own orgasm poured from him in pulse after pulse of hot semen.

He collapsed on Alex, unable to move aside, despite the knowledge that his weight must be uncomfortable for the younger man. "Gimme a second," he groaned. "Seem to be paralyzed right now. Soon as my muscles start listening to my brain, I'll get off of you."

"No!" Alex held onto him with desperate force. "Stay here. 'm fine."

Walter was doubtful, but it felt so good and he was comfortably tired. "'kay," he agreed. "Just for a minute." Eyes closed, he nuzzled Alex's neck.

Of course, they both slid off into sleep.

When Alex awoke, it was with the mind-altering and life-changing realization that Walter buck-naked Skinner was still lying on top of him. It had grown uncomfortable though. He shook Walter slightly. "Hey, wake up, Walt."

Skinner lifted his head with a start. Their eyes met and a thousand things flashed between them, questions, answers and concerns all unspoken. Alex feared that this might turn into something ugly. Certainly he had no right even hoping that this was anything other than what it appeared; two guys getting off together on a couch out of mutual need for release.

But Skinner surprised him by suddenly smiling down at him almost benevolently. "You do have a bed, Alex. I think we should move in that direction." He didn't move, however.

Alex drew in a breath. "I don't know about that. You have one too, remember? In the guest room?"

"I see. And which one are you going to be in?" Skinner's voice took on a dry tone.

With a helpless groan, Alex lifted his head, raising his chin and closing his eyes. "Walt, are you sure about this?"

"That's the one thing about you I know is Russian, Alex. You're always so damned melodramatic. Come on," Skinner said, briskly. "I want to lay down in a real bed. This couch is fine but I'm already going to be stiff enough tomorrow without aggravating things by staying here." He began to gingerly pull himself up from Alex's body.

Alex felt positively decadent, what with the dried come and sweat and feeling of having rutted truly hard and well not long ago. He grinned up at Skinner who was a study in casual masculine body-sculpture above him.

"Are you just going to stare at me or are you joining me in your bedroom?"

Alex sighed. "Alright, okay; you can stay in my bed with me. But I want to say you're grabbing the mile after the inch I've offered."

He yawned and then took the hand that Skinner offered. Getting to his feet, Alex began to pick up his clothing. Arching his brow, he said, "Come on, get your things. We can't leave all this in here. It's indecent."

Skinner was chuckling as they made their way to the bedroom. "Indecent?"

"It's still my house, Walt." Alex went out to the bathroom, quickly sponged himself clean with a wet towel and then returned to find Skinner had already climbed into the bed. Somehow, the sight made him realize that he wasn't as tired as he'd been after their stint on the couch in the den.

Drowsy chocolate eyes tracked his movements, and just knowing that Skinner was enjoying his every move, made Alex slow his steps and added a slight swing to his hips, drawing out the moment. As he approached the bedside, Skinner grinned and chuckled in amusement.

"Second wind?"

And Alex blushed yet again. Good lord, how long had it been since he'd blushed? Years—decades, perhaps—and now, since Skinner's arrival Alex couldn't seem to control his helpless reaction to a lover's teasing.

Whoa...lover? How—and more importantly, when—had he started thinking of Skinner as his lover?

The heat in his face was quickly spreading down to reach hot, knowing fingers over the rest of his body as Skinner's frank appraisal of him raked his body up and down. Assessing him, enjoying him—making him feel like he was about seventeen years old. He climbed between the sheets, trying to ignore the obvious grin on Skinner's face at the noticeable bulge beneath the covers.

Nonchalantly he said, not looking at Skinner, "Get the light, will you?"

Skinner's quiet snickering as he leaned over the mahogany bedside table to turn off the tiffany lamp didn't lessen the heat in Alex's face one little bit.

Dryly, Alex asked, "Should I be grateful that I don't know what you're laughing at?"

"I'm not laughing at you," Skinner replied, the grin evident in the dark. "I'm enjoying myself—and anticipating."

Alex exhaled and tried to summon some dignity.

Skinner reached out a hand—so warm—to take Alex by the back of his neck and pull him in for a kiss. Muttering against Alex's lips, Skinner continued, "Anyone ever tell you you're cute when you try to stand on your dignity?"

"Not and lived to tell the tale," Alex replied indignantly, turning away from those smirking lips.

Which, predictably enough, only made Skinner, the bastard, laugh loud and long. When he finally wound down, Alex had worked himself up into a fully blown pout—well-justified, in his opinion.

Hell, he knew he was pouting. Was fully aware of the moment Skinner became aware. The stillness of the body next to him, told Alex that it was only by sheer dint of will that Skinner wasn't laid out on the floor having hysterics at his expense.

"Well," he huffed, mood gone now, "I'm going to sleep. See you," he pulled the covers up over his head and turned away from Skinner, "in the morning."

At first, the movement was almost imperceptible. Soon, though, Alex realized that his refuge was crumbling—or rather, his covers were being very slowly removed. He clutched at the blankets, but Skinner proved his will was stronger than Alex's temper tantrum.

A big warm hand on his back was sliding around to his arm, up to rest on his shoulder. Skinner moved closer to him and tightened the embrace. Warm breath puffed against the back of his neck, raising the fine hairs there. Alex clenched his teeth.

There was still entirely too much mirth in Skinner's voice but the smile was gone. "It's a fine line between laughter and tears, isn't it?" Skinner said, quietly, before leaning close to press a lingering kiss to the back of his neck, moving in close behind. Keeping a hold on Alex's arm to stop him from moving away, Skinner pulled him back against the warmth of his own body, revealing that Alex wasn't the only one who was ready to go a second round.

"You think I'm easy, don't you?" Alex carefully left any hint of needy whining out of his voice, stating it coldly.

"No, I don't. I think you're difficult as well as hard. Let's cut the bullshit, Alex. You want more than a tussle on the couch and so do I. Give me one good reason why we can't see this through, here. Best way to fall asleep, don't you think?"

But it was Skinner's hard cock pressing against the sensitive skin of his right buttock that softened Alex's resolve and he responded by pushing back against Skinner, drawing a breath from the older man. It sounded like he'd taken him by surprise. Good.

Turning back into Skinner's arms, Alex offered a challenging grin. "Only one reason?"

Carefully hiding the mixture of relief and humor that Alex's turnabout caused in him, Skinner nodded soberly. "Yep, only one. But," he warned in a mock serious tone, "it has to be a good one." He pulled the younger man closer and rocked their hips together. "A very good reason."

Then he waited.

It didn't take long. A few seconds of breathless silence and Krycek was all over him.

Skinner was gratified to find that once Alex had decided to take him up on his suggestion, it was with a decidedly no-holds-barred response. Alex's mouth was on his, then heatedly moving over his chin, across his face to his ear, down to his neck. Soon they were both panting and Skinner groaned aloud as Alex began to slide his body against Skinner's.

Deciding to take things into his own hands, Skinner shifted under Alex, rolling and quickly reversing their positions so that the younger man was beneath him, distracting him in the process with snatched, wet kisses.

Breathing hard, holding Alex under him, pinning him to the bed with his weight and relishing the delicious way that Alex squirmed slightly under him, he grinned down at Alex and said, gruffly, "Do you want me to fuck you?"

Alex went quite still. With an audible swallow, he replied fervently, "God, yes."

"Ah-ah, what's the magic word?"

Alex moaned. "Come on, Walter—don't play games. Just fuck me, already."

"I'm prepared to keep you on the edge for as long as it takes to improve your manners," Skinner teased.

Alex sighed, restlessly. "Oh, for—" He stopped abruptly as Walter's mouth fastened onto the sensitive skin of his neck.

Breathing harder, reduced to a melting puddle of lust, Alex said, "Okay, okay. Please fuck me."

Pausing to consider Alex's rushed and patently insincere 'Please', Walt decided that he'd simply not been convincing enough. He raised his head and waited until Krycek woke up to the fact that no further action was forthcoming.

"What?" Alex whined. "I said it, just like you wanted—'please'—loud and clear."

"Ah, but I don't believe you really meant it, Alex," he replied, quite seriously. "You didn't sound as if you really wanted me to fuck you. In fact, I got the distinct impression that you were just paying me lip service."

At that, Alex grinned and tried to slither down to do exactly what Skinner had expected him to do. That was not the kind of lip service he'd been talking about—well, not right now, anyway. No, he had other fish to fry at the moment. "Oh, no you don't." Firmly holding the slippery assassin in place, Skinner waited patiently for the next try.

Sure enough, arching up against him and writhing under him, Alex tried his level best to push Skinner past what he apparently thought was a teasing request. Warm lips nibbled one ear, and a breathy voice whispered with growing urgency, "Walter, c'mon—you're killing me here. I want you. You know that. What is the fucking problem?"

"Told you," Skinner said, firmly. "Your manners in the bedroom are somewhat lacking, Alex." Lowering his head, he kissed his way down the taut tendons of Krycek's throat, stopping to nibble at the spots that garnered the best responses.

"Ooh," Alex cooed. "'s nice. 's really nice, Walt. Please, I do want you. So much. Please?"

He begged so prettily, that Skinner couldn't resist holding out for more. His hand started a slow journey down Alex's sleek side, pinching and caressing a path all the way to one knee. Gently he raised that knee and started his fingers on a return trip through the delightful territory he'd just traveled.

Up the inside of Alex's thigh, all the way to the lightly furred balls and the eagerly quivering cock, until he reached up to grasp Alex's cock at the base.

Alex was shivering slightly. "Jesus, Walter."

Skinner wasn't moving his hand though. He was leaking precome so copiously himself that he knew they weren't going to need much lubricating for what he had in mind. Rising up on his knees and pushing Alex's other leg up, he asked, "Care to illuminate me on the possible sexual hygiene applications of having these nanobots in my bloodstream?"

Alex lay there, gasping, before the meaning of what Skinner was referring to hit his brain. "Oh. Yeah, you're fine. Clean, I mean. Um, I'm clean too. Go for it." This time, Alex didn't have to plead, the tone was already in his voice, clear and high, sending a thrill through Skinner at finally having this beautiful man at his mercy.

With a smile at Alex's eagerness, Skinner's fingers left Alex's cock and trailed down to his anus, to circle gently. Alex sucked in a breath at the touch, holding himself still beneath Skinner's attentions. Skinner leaned down now to lick lightly at the head of Alex's prick and then slid down along its length to mouth the balls that tightened under his tongue. With Alex's hands reaching down to hold his head, Skinner began to lave at the tender flesh beneath, slowly licking his way downwards to flick his tongue over the now fluttering hole. Alex's response was most gratifying.

Alex knew full well that he was the source of the embarrassing sounds filling the room. But, with Walter's tongue teasing at his opening so promisingly, he really couldn't find it within himself to care. He did, however, promise himself that come morning, the old man was gonna pay heavily for all of tonight's torture.

Then, finally..."Yes!" Alex yelled, arching up as that damned and torturous tongue entered him at long last. His fingers clenched on his own thighs, pulling them up, making himself more accessible to that wonderfully, velvety and warm touch. "Jesus, Walt...That's, um...that's—Oooh fuck. Please," he begged, practically sobbing. "Please, Walter, do it now. I can't—Don't make me, please don't make me wait any longer."

Once all coherency had vanished from Alex's words and the begging had degenerated into a fascinating mixture of needy sounds and nearly desperate noises, Walter raised his head and looked up at Alex. "Lube?" He asked simply.

It took a few seconds, but finally, his lashes fluttered open and he stared blankly at Skinner's grinning face. "Uh...um...drawer," he said weakly, motioning to the bedside table with one shaking hand. "There."

While Walt leaned over and felt around for the tube, Alex, swallowed heavily then wet his lips. As soon as he recovered, he promised himself, he was going too start planning his revenge. Damned if Walt was gonna get away with this scot-free.

But his plans for vengeance were abruptly shoved away as Skinner's sure and steady hand began smoothing lube at his entrance, followed by a single finger sliding slowly into him. Alex's heartfelt groan was answered with a muted chuckle and another finger joining the first.

The sensation of being filled was not enough, however. Trying to catch his breath, Alex said, "Ah, Walt? Anytime now would be good. I'm ready—"

Skinner, damn him, just kept moving his fingers in and out of his ass. "I'm sure you are, Alex."

Alex wriggled slightly in spite of himself. Haltingly, he said, "W–walt, come on. Do it."

Skinner moved even slower, letting his fingers press deep, and rubbing against his prostate. Alex bucked his hips with a strangled gasp.

"I thought I WAS 'doing it'," Skinner said, infuriatingly.

"For God's sake, Walt, what do you waiting for?" Alex panted. "Just fuck me, already!"

Skinner said, innocently, "You're forgetting your manners again, boy."

It was only by calling upon every ounce of willpower in his body that Alex managed to not KILL the fucker right then and there. In fact, he held his breath for several beats, mentally arguing the matter with himself, then, Skinner-that-bastard scraped one finger roughly across his prostate and nibbled lightly at the base of Alex's cock and—

"Fuck! Ohmygod...Please, Skinner—I mean, Walt. Oh JESUS—I'm begging, okay. Damn!" Alex gasped, writhing helplessly beneath the onslaught of sensations. "Any—unnngh—anything you want. Just please, PLEASE fuck me."

Skinner was chuckling lightly under his breath, obviously enjoying himself waaay too much. The bastard was going to pay. In the morning. But at last Skinner seemed to be done playing him like a musical instrument and got up. Slathering lube on his own cock, Skinner then grabbed Alex's legs behind the knees once more. Then Alex's world was reduced to the single sensation of that lovely, lovely cock gliding slowly into him.

With a breath that sounded more like a sob, Alex grabbed at fistfuls of the sheets. It had been so long, too long, since he'd been filled like this. And never by Skinner, never. Except for the fantasies. And this was so much more than he'd imagined. For a moment, his lungs hitched with a slight pain; he wondered if he'd ever have more than this.

Skinner bent over him now, playfulness gone and in its place was hot and harsh breaths, grabbing his hips to keep him in place and beginning a building rhythm that was sweet, so sweet—Alex found himself begging for something, he didn't know what. "Please, God, please, Walter, oh yeah, please..."

That voice, good god, that voice of Alex's—low and husky, begging him so nicely—Jesus! Clenching his teeth, Skinner shifted to support his weight with one arm, then leaned forward and put his free hand up to Alex's mouth, needing to touch, to feel those pretty lips moving, to let the warmth of gasped breaths wash across his skin.

He'd wondered for years if, beneath Alex's carefully controlled mannerisms, just such a creature of sensation might exist. To have his suspicions confirmed so graphically, though, threatened his own control in a way that he'd not experienced since his teenage years, when he'd been discovering the wonders of sex for the first time.

He slowed his thrusts, letting Alex's moans and sighs carry him along a path of pleasure he'd never expected to find again after all these years. A few moments of this, though, and Alex was winding up again. Variations on the begging theme, mixed with muttered imprecations and calls to assorted deities floated past his fingers.

"What?" he asked in a low growl. "Tell me, Alex—tell me what you want."

"T–touch me. P–please." Alex stuttered. "Need to feel—ah! Oh shit, Walt—I need you to touch..."

Skinner realized Alex was truly desperate and he decided to take pity on him, wrapping one hand around Alex's anxious and ignored cock. The change of tone in Alex's voice was astonishing.

"Jesus Christ, Walt, oh, fuck yes," Alex managed, writhing beneath him, impaled on his cock, assets firmly held in one strong hand.

They were sentiments that Skinner echoed, silently, and he began a punishing rhythm, thrusting harder into Alex. Slamming into that tight, hot silky furnace, his cock gripped by the endless sweet tunnel of Alex's ass, Skinner could feel the pleasure rising up inside of him, zinging through his lower belly. He didn't want to come before Alex did, however, and began a quick jerking on the cock he held firmly in one hand.

Which proved all too effective, Skinner discovered as Alex arched beneath him—strongly enough to lift their combined weights from the bed—screamed so loudly that he set the dogs to barking out in the kennel, and came, great wracking shudders shaking both of them.

Frozen by the almost overwhelming responsiveness of Alex, Walt hung, suspended with fascination and filled with the heat-stopping sensation of Alex's sphincter clenching tightly around his cock. Finally, pushed beyond the limits of his own shattered control, he pulled out and slammed back into that wonderfully silky passage, once...twice—and lost it. Completely and utterly lost it.

Dimly he heard his own hoarse shout as he emptied his balls into Alex with a series of pulses that threatened to render him unconscious.

The damp skin of Alex's chest was what brought him back to himself, as he sank down and simultaneously pulled out of Alex. Alex moaned disappointedly but wrapped his arms around Skinner, welcoming him down into the embrace. Skinner smiled in the dark, against Alex's skin.

A hand went to his cheek, to the side of his face. Quietly, Alex said, "Thanks."

"Jesus. Thank YOU, Alex." He raised his head in the darkness and grinned. "You're hot."

"And YOU are a damned prick-tease," Alex replied.

Laughing, Skinner raised himself up. "Got a towel?"

"Yeah," Alex muttered, his voice betraying a level of sated contentment as well as disgruntlement at how Skinner had pushed him, earlier.

Feeling around in the drawer, he discovered that sure enough, there was a clean towel. Grinning to himself, he realized Alex must keep it there for solo sessions. As he cleaned himself up, and then turned to wipe up Alex's belly as well, Skinner found himself musing on how he could arrange things between them. He unaccountably found himself wanting to make those solo sessions of Alex's redundant.

Pulling Alex into his arms, smiling as the younger man wearily draped himself along Skinner's length and sighed with contentment, Walt found himself quickly falling asleep. He rather suspected he'd need his rest come morning. Something in Alex's voice warned him that vengeance was forthcoming.

It had been worth it, though. Well and truly worth it, to hear all those desperate and needy sounds coming from Alex's throat.

Oh yeah.

Skinner awoke to the delightful sound of morning birds outside. Alex lay snuggled in close beside him, his arm over Skinner's chest and his head tucked under Skinner's right arm. The pressure in his bladder disturbed the contentment and comfort of having Alex's sleeping limbs draped on him, however.

He didn't want to move but it gradually became imperative for him to carefully slide out of the bed. He tried not to wake Alex in doing so. As he began to stand up, the pain hit him.

Jesus. All the riding yesterday had him so stiff and sore, he wondered if he'd be able to walk. Hissing and wincing, he limped out of the bedroom and made his way to the bathroom. As he turned on the shower, he contemplated the height of the tub. His legs were so sore that he wasn't sure if he'd be able to climb over it. Hot, hot water. Got to get under that shower, he thought. Then his muscles would relax a little.

Oh yeah, that was much better. The water streamed down over his aching body and he felt a little of the pain begin to leave. As he reached for the soap, the memories of the previous night swept over him and he grinned to himself.

Whoever would've thought: him and Alex. Alex Krycek...And the sounds Alex had made. Skinner felt his cock twitch just from the memory of those alone.

Distracted by his extremely pleasant thoughts, Skinner dropped the soap. Shit! Groaning, he glared at the offending object, contemplating exactly how he was going to manage the retrieval.

After several attempts had failed and he'd begun to think it was a lost cause, the shower curtain was abruptly pulled back. There stood Alex, a wide grin on his face.

"Having troubles there, Old Man?"

"Fuck you, Krycek! This is all your fault—well, yours and George's."

Krycek shrugged as he stepped in to join Skinner. "Hey, don't blame George. He's the most comfortable horse I have—he can't help it if you're old and creaky."

Carefully, Skinner moved back, making room for the other man in the small space. "What the fuck is all this 'old' crap, you...you..." Two warm hands settled on his shoulders, gently starting to massage sore muscles. Skinner groaned. "You have until tomorrow to finish that."

With a snicker, Alex continued the soothing motions of his hands, pausing to grab the soap and working up a lather before continuing. Skinner sighed and leaned into the massage. "Old huh?"

"Yep," came the cheerful reply. "Older 'n dirt, I'd say."

Skinner said, "I don't remember you complaining last night."

"Lucky for you, I like 'old'." Alex's hands kept moving; the soap-slick fingers working on more than Skinner's back, moving steadily downwards. There was a decidedly indignant tone to Alex's voice when he spoke again. "You made me beg. Wasn't very nice, Old Man."

"I seem to remember it was very nice," Skinner said, thoughtfully. And as an afterthought, he added, "Boy."

Alex shook his head and tutted at him. "Payback's a bitch, Walt." His hands had reached Skinner's butt, although Alex wasn't letting the way he worked over Skinner's sore muscles turn into anything more exciting.

Still, Skinner's cock was already rising. "Is that a threat or a promise?" he asked.

Alex only chuckled low in his throat, and reached down one hand to brush against Skinner's balls, and one soapy finger trailed up his perineum.

Just about the time Walt sighed with pleasure and carefully spread his legs, inviting further explorations, the teasing caresses stopped. Again, Alex picked up the soap, replenishing the lather on his hands. Then he knelt and began working on the tightened muscles of Walt's thighs.

"Oh, jesus..." Skinner groaned, tensing at first, then relaxing into the lovely touch. "Was beginning to think I'd be stuck in here forever. Don't think I could've climbed over that tub again, despite the warm shower. Thanks."

Alex grinned a very evil grin and directed Skinner to turn and face him. "Let me get the front, here."

His grin widened when the other man turned gingerly to face him, hard and leaking cock fully in evidence. Looking up from under his lashes, he raised one brow. "Oooh, why, you're just stiff all over this morning. Poor Old Man—what have I done to you?"

Walt groaned and grimaced. "I'm in big trouble here, aren't I?"

"Oh yes. Yes indeed!" Alex answered. "Make me beg, will you? I'm gonna make you scream before I'm done with you, big guy."

Skinner felt the first pang of misgiving at this. And then suppressed a grin. Something about this told volumes, somehow. He couldn't help wondering if they had reached a tacit agreement to sublimate their past frustrations with each other in a sexual context. If it could work, he was all for it.

And then realized it was exactly what he'd intended all along, from the first moment he'd noticed Alex's obvious interest in him and decided to act upon his reciprocal feelings. Quietly, he said, "Would that turn you on? Is that what does it for you?"

The silence between them suddenly reverberated with tension. Alex's reply was thick with it, a husky growl. "I'd say if the shoe fits, Walt. Seems like you've got a problem here. Need some help with it?" Alex's hand casually ran down Skinner's side, the slow glide a little too deliberate to ignore, coming to rest at his hip.

Skinner drew a breath. Alex was going to lead him a merry dance into hell, he was certain. Maybe he really shouldn't have pushed Alex so far last night...Naaah, it was worth it, every groan, every sob, every pleading word. He grinned. "Okay, kid. Let's see what you've got," Skinner said.

Alex chuckled quietly behind him, unable to help himself. "Walter, you are in such deep shit."

"I have yet to see any evidence of that," Skinner goaded.

Alex's other hand now dropped to Skinner's waist and he stepped up close behind Skinner. He leaned his chin on Skinner's left shoulder, beside his neck, saying in his ear, "You think you want this." He reached around a hand and encircled Skinner's cock loosely, not tight enough to do anything but tease.

Skinner couldn't help moving his hips forward slightly, into Alex's light grasp. But Alex stepped even closer in behind him and now Skinner could feel Alex's hard length poking against him. Obviously Skinner wasn't the only one moved by their current situation.

"I don't think, BOY, I know...I'll scream for it, if that's what you want. Hell," he groaned as the hand gripping him lightly moved down to cup his testicles, "I'll even beg—whatever you want, Alex."

"Mmmm," Alex hummed against one shoulder. Both, I think. Yeah...screaming and begging—that should do nicely."

"Well, then," Skinner growled, "get on with it."

"Ah-ah, Walter...manners, remember?"

"Fine. Please get on with it."

"Not very convincing, lover." Alex goaded in turn, his hand moving up to tweak Skinner's nipples. "You'll have to do far better than that."

Fucked—he was definitely fucked, Walt realized. Alex would settle for nothing less than complete and utter meltdown. Not that he really minded—no, fucked was precisely what he had in mind. The sooner, the better.

He swallowed, unable to help flinching as the wicked hand pinching him worked his nipples a little more roughly. And said, "Alex, come on. I want you."

Alex lightly ran the tip of his tongue over Walter's ear, then whispered hotly into it, "Not good enough, I'm afraid." His other hand began to trace over Skinner's lower belly, down to the skin of his inner thighs, then up to his balls. The tickling touch was so light that it was almost irritating.

Skinner couldn't help a squirm that had Alex chuckling again, the sound of it so wicked and yet promising that he felt his balls contract under Alex's ministrations. He gulped. He was almost proud of the steadiness of his voice. "You win. Okay? Please. Please fuck me."

"Lean against the wall," Alex ordered, stepping back. Skinner wondered what he was doing. A freshly-soaped hand ran down his stomach and held his cock again in a tighter grip, but Alex still didn't give him any satisfaction. A second hand began a thorough, slow circling motion on his buttocks, moving closer and closer to the crack of his ass. Skinner leaned forward against the wall, spreading his legs apart.

"Do it," he said, a rough note entering his voice.

But the knowing fingers just kept smoothing closer and closer, not quite reaching their destination. Skinner found himself hard-pressed not to start panting. Fuck. When exactly had he fallen over the line? When had the temperature in here jumped by twenty degrees? And how the fuck was he supposed to stop himself from wantonly pushing backwards on Alex's hand?

So far, so good. Well...Skinner had given in rather more easily than he'd anticipated, but, hell—that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. After all, the man was begging—as instructed. A little too quickly, he admitted to himself—but, there were still the screams, right?

Yeah, right. And something deep inside thrilled as he realized that said screams were probably not going to be offered so casually. No, he'd have to work for them. And he looked forward to every minute of it.

Removing his fingers, grinning at the disappointed groan Walt couldn't seem to hold back, Alex slowly lowered himself to his knees again. "Turn," he instructed gruffly.

Mmm—he really liked having the older man do his bidding so quickly—and so willingly. As a reward, he replaced his fingers inside of Skinner's body, then leaned in to run his tongue up the length of the cock that was now so perfectly placed for just such a move.

"Oh, shit. Yeah..." Walt gasped, moving his hips more urgently. "More? Please, Alex—your mouth...those lips—Please?"

Fuck! He wanted to drive himself into Skinner, wanted to suck on that beautiful cock like it was an ice cream cone. Hell, why shouldn't he? He grinned up at Walter for a moment, out from beneath his lashes, then dove down on Skinner's cock in one smooth gulp.

Skinner's accompanying strangled shriek was very satisfying indeed, but not so much as having that delicious salty organ between his lips, on his tongue...He began to suck, relishing the way that Skinner's hands went straight to his head for a death-grip in his wet hair.

He could feel the tremors and backed off instantly, disappointed at having to stop. One final loving lick on the underside of the glans and Alex was rewarded with a gasp of dismay from above.

"Fuck! Alex, come on, please, just please finish this."

He stood up, grinning. Leaning in to catch Walter's mouth under his, he slid his tongue in, darting quickly, then put his arms around the older man. "Much better. If you're ready for the next stage, you can turn and face the wall again, Walt."

Alex's cock leapt as the other man turned quickly, almost slipping on the wet porcelain in his rush to follow the instruction. Oh yeah—this was coming very close to soothing his ruffled ego after being brought to such an embarrassingly needy state last night. Very close, he thought, as Walt assumed 'the position', hands braced against the wall, legs spread enticingly.

"I begin to see why you enjoyed pushing me so hard last night," he purred. "This is...quite nice. I could really learn to like this, Walt."

With a groan, Skinner arched his back, shoving his hips back towards Alex. "Now...please, Alex. No screams," he threatened, "until you're inside of me."

"Oh, now Walter, is that really going to work, d'you think? I thought we'd agreed on begging and screaming—don't recall anything about threats." He moved closer, pressing himself up against Walt's broad back, letting his cock come to rest along the valley between tautened buttocks.

"Fuuuck," Skinner gasped. "You...you're right. 'm sorry—God, Alex, don't torture a poor old man any longer," he begged. "I'll behave. Promise."

Alex was glad for this capitulation so early on, although he didn't want Skinner to know it—he was grateful that the older man's back was turned. Alex licked his lips and said, "Nice. Very nice." He nudged his cock against Skinner's opening and was delighted to find Skinner pushing back against him.

The welcoming heat of Skinner's ass and the pounding of the water matched the gasps and the thudding of his heartbeat in his ears. Alex couldn't stop the whimper as his cock slid deeper into Skinner.

Lodged tight inside of the other man's body, Alex suddenly remembered why he didn't let himself indulge in this particular pleasure very often—it was far too addictive. Skinner's urgent movements against him only invited Alex to stay completely plastered up against Skinner, their bodies pressed tight and close. The sudden intimacy of their position rocked Alex and he couldn't help tenderly pressing his lips to the wet skin on Walter's back. He tongued the flesh, lightly, loving the taste of Skinner on his mouth, and answered Skinner's desperate surge backwards with a single thrust of his hips.

"Jesus," Alex murmured, hoarsely, reverently.

In answer, Walt-that-bastard tightened his anal muscles, nearly bringing Alex to crisis right then and there. Damn!

With a low growl, Alex pulled back just far enough to slap one side of Skinner's ass with the flat of his hand. "Behave!" He warned gruffly.

A shudder shook Walt's frame. "Sorry," he offered in an uncharacteristically meek tone. "I—ah!—Jesus, I won't do it again."

Not all too sure that he'd wanted this much submission, Alex frowned. "Don't go overboard there, big guy. Begging is one thing—that was a little too close to...Well, it makes me remember—"

Thankfully, Walt didn't wait for further explanation. Moving his hips encouragingly, he grunted. "Then get on with it...Boy!"

Alex snickered. Couldn't help himself—from one extreme to the other. Who knew Skinner was so...versatile?

He began a maddeningly slow rhythm, pushing into Walt and then pulling back a little, encouraged by the panting this caused.

It was hot, so very hot that Alex almost climaxed then and there; if he went ahead and just let loose right now, he'd come instantly and he wanted Walter to come first. He kept the pace steady; gliding in and out with finesse he was proud of under the duress of his own state, currently poised as he was on the edge.

Fuck, that tight clutching heat and the sweetness of it...He wanted to lose himself in Walter and never be found again. His heart was pounding and he had to keep his eyes open because he felt lightheaded. It meant too much and would be over too soon, and he felt that Skinner had given him a gift, this sensation, this act, this playful game, and yet again he was glad Skinner couldn't see his face. There weren't any words, just the slip-sliding motion of his cock inside of Walter, the man he never would've believed would give himself over to this act with Alex.

And as he reached around once more to grab Skinner's cock, the other man gasped and shuddered strongly against him, and began to come. Walter's seed flooded hot and creamy all over Alex's fist, the pearly fluid quickly lost in the storm of rivulets of water washing down from their bodies. The tight clenching of Skinner's buttocks and the internal muscles of his ass milked Alex's cock and the heartfelt, guttural groan of release from Skinner set him off.

Alex felt the orgasm boil from his toes, up to his knees, rising like a flash-fire flooding up to his lower belly and the skin of his scalp prickled as he began to come.

Finally, weakly, he collapsed against Walter's back. Had he managed to wring any screams from the man? Shit—who the fuck cared...

Eventually he regained a somewhat diminished measure of his early-morning strength and pulled back. The water was becoming uncomfortably chilly and he vaguely thought that a larger water-heater might be a good thing.

If Walt stuck around, that was. A pretty damned big 'if', actually. Sighing, he rinsed off and stepped out of the tub. "Hot water's running out," he said in an offhanded way.

"Something wrong, Alex?" Skinner asked, a confused frown on his face.

"Not a thing." He cursed silently, knowing that his reply was too glib and too cold. Walter would be alerted to his emotional shift now, and would undoubtedly home in on him.

Sure enough, Skinner said quietly, "Alex."

"I'm just peachy," Alex said, trying to keep the brusqueness out of his voice and knowing that he wasn't succeeding. He climbed out of the tub and grabbed up a towel, feeling annoyed with himself at letting his feelings show—let alone ruin a perfectly good afterglow.

Stronger, Skinner repeated, "Alex."

He sighed and looked over at Skinner who's brows were raised. Skinner said, "Mind helping me out, here? I'm not kidding—I really am stiff and sore. This tub is a bit high."

Alex wordlessly stepped back to the bathtub and held out his hands. Skinner grasped one of them and slowly lifted a sore leg upwards, over the edge of the tub and then the other.

"You going to be okay?" Alex asked.

Skinner held onto his hand though and didn't relinquish it. "Yeah, thanks. What about you?" He gave Alex a knowing, searching stare.

Alex flushed. "Look, Walter, I know I can't—that I shouldn't expect—"

Walter interrupted him. "Let's just take this a step at a time, alright? I'm not trying to push you. Let's just let it be whatever it turns out to be."

Alex met his gaze. Challengingly, he said, "What if I want it to be more?"

Well, now, this was unexpected. The sudden compassion and softness in Walter's brown eyes was a sight that Alex had never never expected to see turned upon him.

"What if I want it to be more? Let's just...take it as it comes, okay?" Reaching out, Skinner pulled Alex into his arms. "That was...you're amazing, Alex. And not just sexually—I'm liking what I've learned about you since I arrived here, Alex. A lot. And," his voice lowered, "I always wondered...what we'd be like together—always wanted you—even when I hated you, I wanted you." He sighed. "That made it all that much worse, you know."

With a tremulous sigh, Alex slowly relaxed against Skinner's warmth. He could live with that. Hell, he'd take just about anything right now.

Relieved at the lessening of tension between them, Walter pulled back and proceeded to dry himself off. "C'mon, I'm hungry. Us old folk need to keep our strength up, y'know."

Grinning, Alex followed suit and together they headed out of the bathroom. After hurriedly dressing, he headed out to the kitchen to see what he could rustle up for the 'old man'.

And, it seemed that oatmeal, a bagel and two eggs satisfied Skinner's hunger. Shoving his empty plate aside, Alex rose to his feet. "Time to get to work," he announced.

Skinner groaned. "You are trying to kill me, aren't you?"

But Alex only smiled secretively to himself and said, "Gotta see to those dogs. And George and the others need to eat, too."

Skinner snorted. But he said, "What do you want me to do?"

Alex's eyes slid down and away but his grin widened. "You can clean the johnny houses." He pulled on his boots.

Skinner's brow rose. "What's that?"

"Quails, Walt. You can see to the quails. Their roosts need cleaning. That shouldn't be too strenuous for someone as stiff as you are right now. Follow me."

Skinner accepted them dubiously. "Quails?"

"Yeah, out in the field—remember the buildings I got them from yesterday?" Alex explained, as they walked towards the kennel building. "Walt?" He waited until Skinner turned to him. "Be sure to clean under the boards on the second level. They'll need special attention." Alex opened the door and Skinner followed him.

Once inside the kennels, the dogs barked and howled, despite the fact they'd been introduced to Skinner the previous day. One sharp whistle from Alex, though, had them ceasing the uproar instantly.

Skinner began to laugh under his breath. "You bastard," he chuckled.

Alex realized he'd given himself away. "Well, served you right for barging in here like that, yesterday." But Alex's eyes twinkled.

He busied himself for a minute, gathering bleach, disinfectant and soap. After pouring a measured amount of each into a bucket, he added hot water. "Here you are. Come on back up when you need to change the water. Cliff'll help out with the measurements."

Shaking his head, Skinner sighed. "Alright. Where're these birds?"

Alex pointed out the open door to the large field they'd ridden in yesterday.

Cliff entered the kennels. Alex turned to greet him. "Hey, mornin', Cliff."

Cliff nodded. "Mr. Alex. And Mr. Skinner. Good mornin' to you."

Skinner said, "Hi, Cliff. 'Morning."

Cliff looked from Alex to Skinner, noting the bucket and disinfectant. He looked to Alex, who shrugged and said, "Walter's going to clean the johnny houses."

Cliff's stoic face gave way to amused humor. He moved off, laughing under his breath, dragging a bucket of water with him.

"What is so freakin' funny about this?" Skinner demanded of Alex.

Alex broke into laughter. "Good luck, Walt." He moved away to see to the dogs.

Oh, he was gonna kill Alex, Skinner decided. Yep, kill him—then kill him again. And again. Jesus, birds were disgusting creatures. Not only that, his water was positively black before he'd even cleaned half of the lower level.

The little fucker.

Groaning, Walt headed back up to the kennel. Cliff looked up at his entrance, stoic expression firmly in place. "Ready for clean water," he asked noncommittally.

Skinner nodded and grinned at the older man. "I will get him for this, Cliff. I promise you..."

With a quiet chuckle, Cliff started measuring cleaning liquids into the bucket. "I 'spect you will, Mr. Walter. I'll be lookin' forward to it."

Mr. Walter? Seemed that he'd somehow become part of the family, here. And, he liked it. A lot.

Accepting the newly refilled bucket of sudsy water, Skinner smiled at Cliff. "Thanks," he said simply.

"No problem. If y'all need any help, jest give me a yell," Cliff offered.

"Nope. I'll clean the damned things—need the time to come up with a suitable revenge."

After sharing a conspiratorial grin with the older man—damn, it was nice to have someone older than himself around—Skinner headed back to the field—and the motherfucking birds.

As he passed the barn, Alex emerged, leading a horse. Not George, Skinner was surprised to see. He'd gotten the impression that the palomino was Alex's favorite mount.

Seeming to read the question in Walt's eyes, Alex smirked. "Giving George the morning off. After all, he has to carry you around this afternoon—you're no lightweight, y'know."

"Oh...so, now I'm old and fat?"

Alex's smirk was transformed into what Skinner had called 'the Krycek Dazzler'. That gleam and the boyish look in Alex's eyes was enough to send a thudding dart of lust to thump through him. He found himself grinning back in spite of the birds, the stench, the age jokes...

Alex said, "Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of studly."

Skinner growled under his breath. "You just wait until I get you back in the house. I've had enough quail-shit to last me a lifetime. Thanks very much."

Alex gave him a curious look. "Um, don't forget to clean under the second shelf, too. Gotta make sure you clean the whole thing."

Skinner gave a forebearing sigh. "Yeah, yeah."

Alex didn't say anything, just led the horse away with that secretive and almost bashful smile playing upon his lips.

Skinner thoughtfully made his way back to the stinking quails. He was sure they were lovely birds...but he was beginning to wonder if his being lowest on the pecking order here meant he'd have to do this chore on a regular basis...

As he began to scrub the shelf that ran around the second level of the roosting area, Skinner felt something stuck to the underside of the shelf as he scoured the wood. Curious, he leaned down to have a closer look.

Taped under the shelf was the palm pilot.

He sucked in a breath and put down the brush. Wiping his hands on his jeans, Skinner leaned down once more to pull the pilot away from the tape that secured it under the shelf. Holding it in his hands, he realized Alex had meant for him to find it there.

He stood holding the device that for so long had controlled him, shaped his life into something of a horror, leaving him at the mercy of a man with inscrutable, mysterious and doubtful motives for so many years. Finally, pocketing the palm pilot, he continued to clean the rest of the johnny house.

And, every fifteen minutes or so, Alex rode past him. Every time, directing a shy and almost fearful look in his direction. Maintaining his silence, Skinner completed his assigned task. Rising, he lifted the bucket and emptied the disgusting contents onto the grass. Picked it up and started back for the kennel. Stopped. Watched as Alex disappeared into the brush again.

What the fuck? He'd been handed exactly what he'd come looking for, hadn't he? So...what was the problem?

Why was he hesitating?

Sorrowful green eyes, murky with doubt and longing appeared in his mind's eye.

"Fuck!" Grumbling all the while—calling himself everything but a child of jesus, Walter once again opened the quail pen and taped the pilot back into its original spot.

Once he'd returned the bucket to the kennel, carefully washed it and the nasty brush out, he walked back down to the field. Alex was arriving back, done with the puppies he'd just exercised.

"So?" The younger man asked, hesitation clear in his voice.

"So? So, I need a shower and lunch. I'll shower while you fix me a meal." Skinner turned and headed for the house, ignoring the gaping expression on Alex's face.

"Fucking quail...disgusting creatures...If I never see another one again, it'll be far too soon." Deliberately he made sure that Alex could hear his grumbling as they walked together up past the barn. "Least you can do is fix me some lunch—before you torture me with George."

Alex kept walking beside Skinner, although it was a wooden pace for him. He felt numb. In fact, he felt sick. It was obvious that Skinner hadn't found the palm pilot yet. Which meant that he couldn't have really, thoroughly, cleaned the quails' pen out...He shook his head.

When they got back into the house, he stopped by the kitchen table. Silently, he bent down to remove his boots.

Skinner stretched and yawned. "Damn. I can still smell quail shit. It's stuck in my nostrils, now." When Alex didn't reply, Skinner turned to him.

Alex straightened. And looked back at Walter. And licked his lips. He wasn't sure what to say. He couldn't ask, without betraying that it was there, without asking if Skinner had found it.

Recognition dawned in Skinner's eyes. "I left it there, Alex. Let's just leave it in with them, for now. It's probably the safest place for it," he pointed out, quietly. He snorted. "The smell alone ensures that no one would search very carefully, anyway."

Alex's heart was beating faster in his chest. Something constricted inside of him and he swallowed the lump that had developed in his throat. Roughly, he replied, "So, what....What now? I mean, why..."

Skinner sighed. "Look, let's have lunch, okay? One step at a time, remember?"

Alex raised his eyes to meet Skinner's again. Damn it. It really was late in the game to start hoping, now, wasn't it?

Skinner regarded him quietly, assessing. "You look like a man in need of a hug. Too bad that would only make you smell as awful as I do. Hold that thought, okay?"

"I..." Alex swallowed heavily, a suspicious pricking at the back of his eyes warned him that he really needed to be alone for a few minutes. "Yeah. Go on, take your shower," he said, careful to hide the need he felt for just what Skinner promised. "Lunch'll be ready soon."

Thankfully, Walt turned and left the room with no further comment. Busying himself with lunch, Alex suppressed his emotions. He just couldn't face the confused jumble of his thoughts right now.

It seemed as if only seconds had passed before Walt's naked body strolled casually out of the bathroom. Pausing, he waited until Alex slowly turned to meet his eyes.

Alex sucked in a breath. how did the man know just what to do to keep eternally off-balance?!

He stared back at Walt, wondering just when exactly it was that he'd fallen for Skinner. And so irretrievably. Actually, if he was honest with himself, it had happened a long time ago.

Walt stepped closer. And suddenly Alex found himself wrapped in the nicest possible arms, a naked embrace, and it was as if Walt had bared more than just his body, and the significance of this hug was far greater than Alex could have hoped for or wanted it to be.

Alex clung to Walter, his thoughts rushing too quickly, all the checked emotions threatening to spill over his defenses...Why would Walt decide to leave it there? Why was Walt still here? And his heart constricted inside his chest again. His eyes filled with tears, and he tried to blink to clear them, horrified, but they were too big and slid down his cheeks, to run onto Walt's skin where Alex's face was pressed against him.

Walter's arms tightened around him. Thankfully, though, he didn't say anything.

When Alex finally stirred, Walt slowly released his hold. Still silent, he turned and walked towards the bedroom. Not before running a gentle thumb across Alex's lips, though.

Oh damn. Tears threatened again. First blushing, then begging and now tears? What the hell was he coming to?

After blowing his nose, Alex set the table and put cold cuts, bread and salad out. Then he sat down, waiting for Skinner to return.

Feeling foolish, and mentally berating himself for being awkward and incredibly stupid—not to mention making himself vulnerable—Alex decided he was not going to look directly at Walt when he came out of the bedroom.

At the noise, Alex looked up and was lost.

Damn.

Those eyes. They seemed to see everything, looking right into him, right into the very heart of what he was going through.

Walter had the most interesting expression on his face as he came to sit down. But it was replaced with a grimace and a few winces as he sat opposite Alex at the table.

Alex said, with a lift of his chin, "It'll be easier tomorrow. "

"That isn't reassuring, considering what you and George are about to put me through," Walter grumbled, reaching for the salad.

Alex asked, "Cold beer?"

"Yeah. I have a feeling I'm going to need it. Maybe you should make that two."

Alex grinned in spite of himself. "Nope. That would irresponsible of me. You can have one and one only."

Skinner's eyes narrowed as Alex got up to go to the fridge. "What, you think I can't hold my liquor?"

Alex came back with two bottles, handed one to Walt. "Absolutely. At your age."

"Tell you what, let's make a deal. You give me a break with the age digs, and I won't keep up the cheap YMCA humor. Alright?"

Alex snickered into his bottle. Privately, he was overwhelmingly relieved that they were back to the banter. He wasn't sure he could stand any more emotional revelations at the moment. Or else he might let slip something too revealing and scare Walter off completely.

Like how much he wished this moment could be frozen, just the two of them there, in this place. Like how very much he wished that Walt was living here, already. Skip the preludes, get right to the heart of the matter. Consider himself more than a houseguest, however uninvited his presence had initially been.

For a moment, he felt he couldn't breathe.

The strain must have shown in his face though, for Skinner stopped with his hand on the bread and looked up at Alex, directly into his eyes. "One step at a time," he said, reminding him gently.

Curiously, it helped. He felt the tension drain out of him at Walt's words and he smiled easily.

Lunch was consumed in companionable silence. As they headed out to the barn, Skinner moved stiffly and Alex snickered. "Tell you what—I think I might have a slightly more comfortable saddle laying around..."

He located a nice—padded—saddle and tacked George up. Skinner reluctantly climbed aboard. Then, once settled, he turned an accusing glare on Alex. "You little shit—you put me in that torture chamber of a saddle yesterday on purpose, didn't you?"

Alex smiled demurely, released the anxious dog he'd collected from the kennel and rode off.

The afternoon passed slowly. The obvious discomfort on Walter's face when Alex watched him (which was embarrassingly too often and frequent) made him wish he had given him the padded saddle the day before. But perhaps, just perhaps, this would stand him in good stead. Alex caught himself grinning widely, evilly, at the thought of repeating the morning's activities. Only, in the bed instead of vertically in the shower. Yeah. Take their time. He forced himself to focus on running the dog. His jeans were suddenly cramped and tight.

After interminable hours later, and with Walter looking ragged around the edges, Alex waved at him. As Walter neared, Alex said, "That's it for today. Let's put them out to pasture."

By the time they'd both stumbled back into the kitchen and the light of the day was beginning to fade, Alex felt the excitement and anticipation that he'd been fighting all afternoon begin to take him over. He felt split down the middle: one part of him craved some kind of reassurance, emotional consolidation of their position...The other part of him—which included a decidedly erect part, actually—just wanted to be let out to play.

The way that Walt stiffly moved from the door to the bathroom though made Alex immediately contrite. Walter was stripping down, slowly, when Alex poked his head in the door. "Walt, you need a rubdown. Meet me in the bedroom, 'kay?"

"Aren't you gonna shower with me?" Walt asked innocently.

Alex grinned. "If I do, we'll never get to the rubdown. You know that as well as I do."

Grumbling halfheartedly, Walt walked stiffly into the bathroom. And, damn, that hot water felt good. Anticipation of the promised massage had him finishing his wash rather quickly and soon he stood in the bedroom.

Alex turned to him and smiled. "Looks like that helped a little."

Skinner grunted and headed over to the bed.

"Listen, I'm just gonna go jump in for a quick shower myself—You stay awake now. I'll be right back," he promised.

Groaning with every move, Walt gingerly lowered himself to the mattress. Despite himself, his eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep.

Only to waken to the wonderful sensations of warm hands smoothing heated oil over his aching back. He sighed happily and gave himself over to the gentle touch.

No words were spoken. None seemed necessary. Alex's soothing massage told him everything he needed to know. As did, he felt sure, his own acceptance of the same. Expressed in embarrassingly contented sighs and moans.

Alex's hands were warm silk, delicious pleasure leaking out of them and soaking into his body. And...would he?...was he going to have to ask...? Ahh, those hot hands were making their ambling and careful way down his back now to his butt...Walter couldn't help wondering as Alex's sure touches melted him down, boneless, if he'd be so kind as to...

Disappointment swept over him momentarily as Alex got up and then he felt Alex's hands on the soles of his feet. The disappointment was soon replaced with utter bliss. Even the spaces between his toes weren't neglected. And those fantastic, incredible hands were now making a warm path up his calves, easing the tense muscles there. Up to the more sensitive area behind his knees, and then up to his thighs.

He groaned aloud as first one thigh, and then the other was massaged, kneaded, handled so wonderfully. There was a sensuality to this that made other massages he'd had in the past pale in comparison. Probably had something to do with the nearly worshipful attention that Alex was paying to his body.

He'd just about decided that begging would be all too easy at this point—painless, even—when those delightful hands moved to stroke his ass. "Mmmm," he hummed, shifting, spreading his legs invitingly. "I know what you want, Walt. You just hush."

Okay, he could do that.

Oh yes, no problem, he decided as Alex gently spread his asscheeks and a generous amount of oil was used to ease the entrance of one, then two fingers.

Gently, Alex opened him up, then moved to press his lubed cock against the opening.

Gasping, Skinner accepted him easily. Heaven, thought a part of Walter's mind that was still coherent. This was a foreshadowing of what heaven must feel like, this incredible lassitude filled with a strangely intense pleasure. Alex's endearing moan as he leaned forward now to cover Walter completely with his own body, laying down against his oil-slick back, resting against him with his cock filling Walter's ass so fully, so thickly, Jesus...

Alex didn't seem to want to tease tonight, either. He immediately began to move, in and out with a deliriously abandoned rocking motion. The way Alex gave himself up to this act was enough to convince Walt that the boy was a closet hedonist.

Every bump and nudge, every thrust into him of Alex's cock woke him up until his prostate was practically making him crawl under Alex's weight.

Alex's breath was coming shorter and faster, hot and heavy against the side of his neck. Alex's hands gripped his upper arms, now.

So—fucking—good—

There wasn't anything to do but float, flying to some ultimate destination without moving, the pleasure swirling in his blood with every penetrative thrust of Alex inside of him.

And, simply—without even a warning—he was coming.

Alex gasped and jerked, following him over the edge into oblivion.

Easily, they fell asleep in that position. No thoughts of cleanup. Not even the vaguest desire to shift position. No, they just fell asleep as they lay. Walter sprawled loosely under Alex's weight, Alex's cock still inside of him.

It was...perfect.

Alex blinked in the daylight. And yawned so hard he could hear his jaw crack. And lifted his head. Walter was gone. Panic slid coldly into him, waking him up all the way now. Getting up out of bed, he rubbed his face and pulled on some sweatpants.

Padding into the kitchen, he heard the shower going in the bathroom. Relief filled him, replacing the fear that had coursed through him moments before.

He went back to get dressed. By the time he had repaired to the kitchen and was making coffee and breakfast, Walter came out, moving stiffly still, with a towel wrapped around his hips. "Coffee. Thank god."

Alex grinned at him. "Get dressed. It'll be here."

They ate breakfast and then went outside, without discussing it, almost as if they had always done exactly this. It was part of the routine, the unspoken schedule that helped to anchor them, or so Alex wanted to believe.

He wondered momentarily if Walt was just passing time before letting the blow fall. But when they reached the kennel, Walt greeted Cliff cheerily enough, and offered to help with the dogs.

Alex took a breath. "I'll go do the horses."

He turned and was about to leave the kennel when Walter said, "Alex?"

Just that; nothing more.

Well, shit.

Alex stopped, frozen. Then turned back to face Walt, feeling a little hurt, a little betrayed, a little hopeful, and not really sure where the fuck he stood with Walter Skinner at this moment. It would be such an easy thing for the man to just go retrieve that thrice-damned palm pilot and get the hell out of Dodge...Why wasn't he doing just that?

Something of the uncertainty must have been clearly written on his face, however, for Walt said gently, "After all, if I'm going to stay, I might as well learn the ropes from an expert."

Walt looked over at Cliff, whose face slowly transformed with a large smile, his eyes sharply going between Mr Alex and Mr Walter.

Alex waited, wondering when the other shoe would drop. But maybe it wasn't going to. Hell, he wasn't going to hold his breath. He cleared his throat; suddenly feeling exposed with Cliff witnessing this little...exchange. "Okay. Well, the guest room is still yours, then, I guess."

Walter grinned at him. Then turned to Cliff and began asking questions about the dogs.

Alex inhaled and turned to go. Making his way out of the kennel, he started towards the barn.

Pausing, Skinner turned to watch the younger man walk away. Damn, he thought he'd made himself clear...Obviously not, though. Not in light of that 'guest room' comment.

"Hang on a minute, Cliff."

"Sure thing, Mr. Walter," Cliff agreed with a knowing smile. "That boy needs a pow'ful lot of reassurance. He ain't never had a secure home, y'know."

With a nod, Skinner turned and followed Alex out into the kennel yard. He hurried to catch up to the younger man. "Alex," he called. "Wait up, would you?"

Shoulders held stiffly, Alex stopped walking but didn't turn back to face him.

Moving up behind Krycek, Walt pressed against his back, closing both arms around him. "Listen to me, kid. I know we have a ways to go—lots to work out—but, I'm not going anywhere. I meant what I said about staying. And," he added in a low teasing voice, "not in the guest room."

Alex released his breath with an audible whoosh and relaxed into Walt's hold. "You mean that?"

"Yes, Alex." Skinner tightened his hold for a beat, then stepped back, turning Alex to face him. "I mean every word. You're mine now. And I'm yours. For good or bad, you're stuck with me."

Oh—there was that 'Krycek Dazzler' again.

Oh yeah.

After pressing one quick kiss to Alex's lips, Skinner slapped him on the butt. "Get to work, boy. George is starved—and he'll need his strength. He has to haul me around while you teach me about these bird dogs, doesn't he?"

"Yeah." Although Alex's voice was suspiciously husky, Skinner ignored that. For now. Time for more reassurances later.

"Then get your ass in gear, lover. We only have all day."

pullin' back the reins
k.d. lang/Ben Mink

out of nowhere this gust of wind
brushed my hair and kissed my skin
i aimed to hold a bridled pace
when with love itself i came face to face
pullin' back the reins
trying to remain
tall in a saddle
when all that we had well
ran away
with a will of its own
i know your soul is wild and free
like this galloping inside me
tossed by instinct and where we land
is vast and certain of all that's planned
you know, i learned to break the run
and gently harness the love of someone
yes, and equal parts of wait and trust
is in control of the both of us

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