Washington, DC, in the summer was hot, humid and because of that tempers flared easily.

Being AD meant, among other things, that one had to maintain a cool image even if the temperature outside was in the high nineties with a humidex reading over a hundred. And even if the tempers level inside the Bureau was volcanic.

Mulder and Scully were at each other throats because of a disagreement over some forensic evidence. Two of his other field agents had been handed divorce papers on their return home. Another hadn't ducked quickly enough when some idiot went after his girlfriend with a baseball bat.

And Jeff Spender had spent the afternoon detailing a report that should have taken twenty minutes max. Every time he had tried to hurry Spender on, Spender felt it necessary to remind Skinner of all the reasons the report had to be so detailed. In the long run, he had just shut up and let the twerp get on with it.

So, when Skinner opened the door to his apartment, he was fighting off a headache of gigantic proportions. All he wanted was a cool shower, a handful of something for the headache and an evening of peace and quiet.

He knew it wasn't going to happen when he heard Miles Davis softly moaning on his trumpet.

He put his briefcase down along with his jacket as he drew his weapon from his holster.

A careful look-through the apartment told him that the balcony doors were open -- a slight breeze moved the sheer drapes -- when they shouldn't have been.

And that, on a table by the doors, someone had set up an ice bucket, a glass and an opened bottle of scotch.

A suspicion was forming in his mind. He let the weapon drop to his side and walked quietly to the table. There he put some ice into the glass, poured some of the scotch, swirled it around savouring the scent of peat bogs.

The first mouthful helped push back some of the headache. He refilled the glass and went out onto the balcony.

Krycek, wearing jeans and a thin white t-shirt, was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, just looking out over the city.

Skinner went and sat next to him.

Silently, the two men sipped their drinks, listening to Davis and the barely audible traffic sounds from below.

"You're looking well," Skinner finally broke the silence.

Krycek was looking well. The past four months had to have been less traumatic than the previous year. He looked fit, relaxed, angelic. He turned his head sideways to look Skinner over, green eyes filled with devilment.

"You, on the other hand, look like hell."

Skinner rested his head against the wall, closed his eyes. "It's been that kind of week. And it's only Wednesday." He sighed.

Later, when he was being honest with himself, he had to admit that he wasn't too surprised when Krycek moved to straddle his legs.

He kept his eyes closed while his tie was removed, his shirt was unbuttoned.

While Krycek's mouth played with his.

He couldn't call the tongue invasive when his own was exploring Krycek's mouth at the same time.

Neither man was in a hurry. Seemingly quite content with just tasting.

Then Krycek's mouth moved on and Skinner just sat there, his head tilted back. When the mouth moved to his chest, he demurred. "I need to take a shower."

Krycek ignored the comment. Moved on to his nipples, playing with the nubs with his tongue, gently biting, using his teeth to pull on them just to the point where the pleasure threatened to become pain.

Skinner put his glass down, brought his hand up to massage Krycek's nape, silently encouraging the man. After Krycek had built a fire in the pit of his stomach, he pulled the man's head back up to capture his mouth again.

Krycek rested his body against Skinner's chest, enjoying the play of Skinner's mouth on his face and neck. Skinner used his nose to nudge Krycek's chin up so he could get access to the soft under-throat. Krycek made a slight sound of approval, tipped his head further back so that his throat was fully exposed to Skinner's explorations.

"Alex." Skinner murmured between tastings, "I'm too old to make love on a floor, especially a cement one. And I need a shower. Let's take this upstairs where we'll be more comfortable."

"Can I take a shower with you?" Krycek's voice had hoarsened. He bent his head to run his tongue around the swirls of Skinner's ear.

"Hmm."

But neither of them made much effort to move from their positions. Skinner pulled Krycek's t-shirt out of his jeans and ran his hand up and across ribs and chest. Fingers found hardened pebbles, pinched and pulled. Krycek arched his back, grunted.

His own hand was busy freeing Skinner of his belt, slipping into his pants, under the waistband of his shorts to find his awakening cock. Skinner's hips bucked into the hand.

"Too quick," he protested to Krycek. He captured the wandering hand, dropped his own to Krycek's waist, held tight. "Shower."

Still touching, still tasting, the men made their way to their feet. Skinner pushed Krycek against the panel of glass next to the balcony door, tried hard to devour his mouth.

When they moved indoors, they nearly tripped over the bottom run of the sliding doors, causing them both to take a breath, and a breather. Krycek actually giggled a bit.

Skinner had a wide grin plastered on his face. There was no hint of headache now. Hand gripping Krycek's wrist, he tugged the man towards the stairs and up into the bathroom.

Undressing took a lot more time than it usually did. There were shoes and boots to toe off. Jeans and pants to remove, hands slowly stroking thighs and legs as they made their descent. Shirt to join them on the floor. T-shirt to be pulled off between kisses. A newer version of prosthesis to be unstrapped, reddened skin to be soothed with mouth and tongue. Skinner's glasses removed and stored safely on a shelf.

Skinner managed to manoeuvre them to the tub, bent over to turn on the taps, regulate the temperature of the water. Krycek's mouth was identifying each of the vertebrae, from his neck to the middle of his back.

Skinner turned his head to find Krycek's navel level with his mouth. The perfect occasion for his own exploration. His tongue dipped in, his teeth nibbled on the edge.

They made it under the spray with just the minimum of water getting on the floor.

Krycek took the soap from Skinner's hands, held it under the spray. "My turn to wash you."

Skinner stood still, letting Krycek rub the bar of soap over his chest, his ribs, turning when Krycek pushed a bit so that his back got attention.

Krycek dropped the soap into the dish. His hand slipped over Skinner's ass, massaging the tight muscles, slipping between the cheeks. A finger found the puckered muscle and teased its way in and out, around, slowly. Went away to the sound of a soft whimper.

Krycek dropped to his knees, rubbed his nose between Skinner's cheeks, until his mouth came to the asshole.

Skinner made a whimpering noise when Krycek's tongue began playing with him, pushing its way into him, mouth sucking on the outer muscle. He braced his hands against the front wall of the shower and hoped his legs would support him.

Krycek slowly stood, replacing his tongue with a finger. There was an instant's hesitation until the muscle relaxed and, head resting against Skinner's shoulder, Krycek slowly eased in first one finger then two. His own erection rested against Skinner's thigh as he moved his fingers back and forth, gently turning them so that his knuckles teased prostate. Skinner's hips bucked in reaction.

"Alex. Don't. You'll make me come too soon."

Krycek rubbed his face against Skinner's back. "You sound as though you only have one shot in you." But he removed his fingers.

He slowly dropped to his knees, his mouth descending Skinner's body, under the arm, till he knelt in front of him. Hand on the back of Skinner's thigh. Took his erection into his mouth.

Skinner groaned. Christ, it felt so damn good, that mouth.

Krycek swirled the tip of his tongue around the crown, sucked hard before pushing his mouth further down the thickening cock.

Skinner pushed with his hips, forcing it further into his throat.

Krycek began pulling up, using his tongue to pressure the large underside vein. Back to the crown. Brought his hand forward to grasp the base, squeezing and releasing. His tongue played with the slit on the head, he sucked hard as if trying to pull Skinner's come out.

Skinner thrust his hips forward, not caring any more if he came too quickly.

Krycek's hand grabbed Skinner's balls, rolled them in their casing, squeezed not that gently, rubbed his hand around and up the perineum, finger back to asshole. He inserted his finger, found Skinner's prostate again.

That was it for Skinner. He grabbed Krycek's head with both hands, held it steady while he thrust back and forth into that demanding mouth.

Krycek took a deep breath and swallowed shot after shot of hot, salty-gamey come while Skinner shouted his orgasm.

His cock slipped out of Krycek's mouth as his knees released him to the floor of the tub. He still held Krycek's head between his hands, rested his forehead against Krycek's. Licked the white residue off Krycek's lips.

Krycek opened his mouth, let himself be tasted. Let Skinner's tongue clean the remnants of his own semen from the man's mouth.

Skinner gently kissed that mouth. Moved to kiss eyes, worked his mouth down the nose to nip the tip with his teeth. Krycek's eyes opened, surprised by the teasing.

"Your turn. But not in the tub. Any longer and we'll both be too waterlogged to do anything." Skinner kissed the devil smile that appeared on Krycek's angel face.

Getting out of the tub, drying each other was a long involved business.

At one point, Krycek gasped out, "You need to know. I'm clean."

It took Skinner a moment to decipher that, his mind was still on the shower. He raised his head from the nipple he was tormenting, made the connection when he saw how serious Krycek was. "Me too."

He pushed Krycek till his back rested on the bathroom door. Slowly traced a path with mouth and hands to Krycek's demanding erection. Dropped to his knees and took it deep into his mouth. He wasn't as proficient as Krycek, not that Krycek noticed: he found that he had to brace himself against the door, to keep his knees from joining Skinner's.

Because he was less experienced in this, Skinner took his time, very slowly working in more and more of Krycek's cock into his mouth, from the tip of the head to the point where his gag reflex warned him it was enough.

All the time, his tongue played with the hard and hardening contents of his mouth. The tip teasing the crown, the flat pressuring the big vein that rose from root to head.

Skinner's hands had been busy stroking up and down the back of Krycek's thighs, kneading tightening ass muscles, coming around to the front to push knees a bit further apart so he could more easily access Krycek's cock.

Then, remembering how it had felt, he used a finger to stroke the perineum. His other hand to tease Krycek's balls at the same time. Felt them rise in their casing and thought he was prepared for Krycek's ejaculation.

Krycek was also better at swallowing than he was. Krycek had more to clean up than he had.

They finally made it into the bedroom.

Because the edge had been blunted, they spent time just exploring each other's bodies.

For Krycek, that was a novel experience. His sexual encounters were mostly business. Fucks to disarm contracts. A way of getting information. Usually quick, often brutal. His body had been well trained to show pleasure with almost anything done to it. But it was rare that he actually felt pleasure.

Even rarer that someone took the time to discover what really pleasured him. Had anyone ever bothered?

It hadn't been difficult to understand that Skinner was not overly experienced with men. After all , he had been married for seventeen years and, what he knew about the man told him that he had taken his vows seriously, at least until the end when there was that thing with the dead hooker Mulder had told him about.

Maybe that was why Skinner was taking such time with him: women were notorious for liking foreplay. The foreplay in his world was usually nothing more than some hip rubbing, a bit of yanking before the actual blow job.

And he was discovering that he liked all this touching and tasting stuff. Liked having it done to him. Liked doing it to Skinner.

Found that the soft noises Skinner made whenever he stroked or caressed the right spots added to the fire Skinner's hands, mouth were building in him.

When he'd come here, set up his seduction scene, he had expected it to be no more than fucking, a way of thanking Skinner for his rescue, a way of satisfying his own curiosity about the man.

Maybe, a way of relegating Skinner into the category of "client" rather than "jerk-off fantasy".

Instead he was the one being seduced.

And when his right spots were stroked or caressed, he found that the noises he made were not faked, were real.

Which, when he would have time to think about it, would frighten him.

But not here. Not now.

Now and here were for him. No outside involvement. No need to report.

He put his thoughts on hold and became just sensation.

Skinner was surprised to find how hungry he was for touch. How much he had missed it.

Sex with Sharon had not been plentiful towards the end. He supposed, before, they had had relations within the expected norm for a couple married as long as they had been, considering the job he had.

And since the divorce, there had been a few more encounters. One even with a man. But nothing seemed to pan out. He'd taken to masturbation rather than wake in a strange bed with a stranger who was going to remain just that.

He remembered his pre-married days enough to recognize a seduction scenario when it was presented to him. Maybe he should have just left the apartment when he'd seen the open doors, the scotch.

But he had been curious about Krycek. Not the Krycek who had betrayed the FBI. Or the one who had beaten him up in the stairwell. Not even the one he had cuffed to the balcony railing that cold autumn night.

No, the one he had wanted to know more about was the man who needed to be held to keep nightmares at bay. Who had trusted him to do that. Who played chess with delight, with his own weird strategies. Who enjoyed the same jazz that he did. Who, in his own fashion, paid his debts.

He watched that Krycek come to life under his hands, his mouth and found it exceedingly erotic.

"Please. Fuck me." Krycek found it hard to put his want into words, but right now he wanted Skinner in him more than anything. Wanted to know if the sensation of Skinner's cock up his ass would help put out the fire in him, the craving that was almost painful.

Skinner reached into the bedside table for condoms and lube, a left-over habit from his marriage.

He had trouble with the foil. It was hard to tear it open at the best of times, and right now, he was too busy tasting the difference in textures between Krycek's thigh and the bush next to it.

Krycek took the foil away from him, tore it open with his mouth. Eyes holding eyes, he sat up, expertly gloved Skinner's rampant cock. Spread a thin layer of lube on the latex. With some awkwardness, on his own fingers.

He lay back down, rolled over slightly, spread his legs wider and lubed his own asshole, all the time holding onto Skinner's eyes.

Skinner bent and took his mouth, tongues thrusting against each other. When he moved his mouth back down, Krycek arched his back, head tossed back, throat exposed.

Penetration was slow, not just because Skinner didn't want to hurt his partner, but because by now, the erotic flavour of slowness had permeated all their actions.

Krycek pushed his ass down along Skinner's shaft as Skinner pushed in.

All that Krycek wanted was centred in that shaft. He gasped aloud at the pleasure it built in him. He whimpered when he felt it withdrawing. Clenched his ass around it, to keep it from leaving him.

Skinner grunted at the sensation. He wasn't far from coming, but he wanted Krycek to come first. Wanted to see if those eyes would darken further. If the surprise he had already glimpsed now and then would appear yet again.

The knowledge that for Krycek some of this mating was new to him only added to his own sense of satisfaction. His hand gripped and released, stroked and caressed Krycek's cock in the same slow rhythm of penetration.

When Krycek came, Skinner grimaced in pleasure at hearing the scream that tore its way from the man's tendoned throat. The sound threw him over the edge, and soon his own loud grunts of completion filled the room.

They lay in a tangled heap, barely finding the energy to breathe. Eventually Skinner went to move off Krycek, worried his weight would be too heavy for the smaller man. Krycek's hand came up to hold him back. He whimpered a small complaint. So Skinner stayed where he was, head resting on Krycek's collarbone, Krycek's legs resting on the back of his thighs.

They stayed that way for a short while. Dozing.

Krycek woke to find his face being traced by a finger. He turned his head slightly, almost afraid of opening his eyes. Of what he might see in Skinner's. He braced himself: best get it over with.

Skinner was aware of the tensing, not fully aware of the reason for it. He smiled down at the serious eyes watching him. Slowly bent to take a soft mouth with his.

Krycek pulled him down for a serious kiss. The wariness in his eyes replaced by satiation.

They didn't speak, just slowly played mouths over faces, arms wrapped around each other. Skinner yawned first, pulled Krycek's head against his shoulder. Slept.

He was alone when he woke. Knew from the feel of the place, alone in the apartment. He rolled over onto his back, covered his eyes with an arm. Waited for his disappointment to abate.

He might have felt better if he had known that Krycek had left quickly because he was afraid to stay.

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End of Part 2
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