Night Homecoming

by fuzzi cat

M/Sk/K, NC-17, Mild warning for kink, major warning for schmoop.

For Hooly, who asked nicely.

The man in black crept through the rooftop window like a shade.

He paused just inside the room threshold, a tall slim figure, his upper torso bulked by wellworn, creaking leather. His eyes, cat-green and glittering, scanned the entirety of his surroundings without necessitating the slightest turn of his head. When he was satisfied, he began to move across the thick carpet in a sequence of dance-graceful sidesteps, his gaze pinpointed on the mound of covers on the bed which occupied the center of the room.

He approached slowly, melding with the shadows, attuned to any shift in movement or irregularity of sound that might signal the occupant's awareness. There was nothing, not a breath. His eyes took on a feral, triumphant gleam as he drew even with the side of the bed and reached his right hand towards the spread.

His fingers never reached it. A muscular arm came out of nowhere and caught him around the throat, snapping his head back. His right hand instantly lifted itself to claw at his captor's sleeve, black spots dancing in his vision. Blood pounded in his ears, his airway reduced to the diameter of a drinking straw through which his panicked lungs sucked air. His assailant had not emitted so much as a grunt of sound. Alex could feel the warmth of the man's wellmuscled body behind his own--and something else. The unmistakable cold hardness of a gun, jabbing into his kidneys hard enough to leave a bruise.

His right hand continued to dig at the man's forearm in a desperate attempt to loosen the grip on his throat. His left hung uselessly at his side. A moment's frantic struggling, and then he felt the gun glide higher against his shirt, under the jacket. "Stop," hissed a familiar voice in his left ear. "Hold still. Do you understand?"

Alex nodded as best he could, his face a grimace of anger and pain. The arm relaxed around his throat, although the gunmuzzle did not waver. Alex gulped air, trying to stifle the pathetic sounds he was making. His assailant's hand paused to caress his jaw, moving lower, over his neck, along his sternum as his chest heaved with gasping breaths. He felt the adrenaline rush coursing through his veins, every instinct he possessed screaming at him to whirl around and knock the pistol loose, to set upon his tormentor with fist and boots. Or to simply bolt for the safety of the night; to return through the window and become one with the shadows in which he lived.

He did neither, the gun muzzle and the man's hand on his body effectively paralyzing him in place. The fingers drifted over his taut stomach, tracing each knob of muscle. "You're shaking," the voice said unexpectedly. "Excited?"

Alex clenched his jaws together and said nothing. The hand slid lower, brushing the waistband of his black denim jeans. He felt his captor's hips bump up against his from behind, and realized with a sneer that the man was sporting an erection behind the flimsy fabric of his pajama bottoms. "Hey, looks like you're the sick one here, buddy."

"I'm not the one sneaking into strange men's bedrooms at three in the morning, pretty boy," the voice said sardonically. "If you're here after my Rolex, I hate to disappoint you but it's a Casio that always runs five minutes fast. But maybe that's not what you're after." The hand whispered over his groin, and Alex closed his eyes at the expected smug chuckle of reaction as his own rockhard arousal was discovered. "No. I don't think you're here after the family jewels. Well..." Another infuriating husk of laughter. "Not the kind you'll find in my wall safe, anyway."

The sound of approaching footsteps in the outer hall made both men turn their heads. A moment later, the door swung open and a wallswitch was snapped on, flooding the room with excruciating brilliance. Alex squinted in reflex, slitting his eyes at the newcomer who stood watching them with a decidedly grim expression, his substantially muscled arms folded across his broad chest. He wore a white tee-shirt, goldrimmed glasses, and lightweight gray flannel slacks. Typical senior G-man. Alex felt his lip curling into a sneer again.

"Hey, Walt," said the man behind him. "Look what the cat dragged in."

"Christ, Mulder, is that the best you can do?" The gun drove cruelly into his flesh and Alex cried out, but managed to get out a gasping laugh. "Talk about fucking cliches..."

"Shut up." Mulder stepped back and Alex felt curiously as if he might lose his balance and topple backwards without the other man's presence. "Turn around, slow. What do you think, Walter? What should we do with him?"

"I vote for throwing him back where he came from and getting to sleep," the older man said in a bored tone, his brown eyes flicking contemptuously over Alex from head to toe. Alex stood facing Mulder, hands at his sides, the right one a little extended. His breathing had steadied, and his gaze shifted from one to the other of the men, his eyes measuring. Mulder stepped towards him again, still pointing the gun.

"You came here unarmed?" A curious lift of eyebrow.

"No," Alex said sullenly. "Ankle holster."

And like lightning he made a grab for it, jackknifing his body and lifting his left foot. He actually managed to get his jeans hiked up, his fingers seeking, before the hard steel of the muzzle was back, directly against his chest. Mulder's left hand closed around Alex's right arm, his grip painfully strong even through the leather sleeve. "Oh no, pretty boy. Feet on the floor." He gave the arm he held a slight push, and Alex felt himself grow unsteady. Without the counterweight of his left arm, he was entirely dependent on his own center of gravity to maintain balance.

He straightened up as Mulder lifted the gun higher, its warm barrel tracing the line of his throat. Alex swallowed, chin up, his eyes dilated pools of glittering fury--and something else.

"He is pretty," Walter commented, striding over to them and regarding Alex as if he were an applicant for the job of personal harem boy. He reached out a broad, strong hand and cupped Alex's crotch. "Packing considerable iron, too--and not in his ankle."

"You two really are a coupla sick fucks--" His eyes squeezed shut as abruptly Walter's hand on his genitals was a hairsbreadth away from too tight. For a moment all three of them were frozen, Alex almost afraid to draw a breath, and then Walter let go of him and stepped back. "Take off your clothes."

"What?" Alex lowered his chin as Mulder withdrew the gun, and looked from one to the other of them.

Mulder gestured with the muzzle. "You heard him, beautiful. Undress."

Cautiously Alex reached for the lapel of his jacket and pulled it open, easing it off his shoulders. It caught on the prosthesis for a moment, then he shrugged the leather free and let it drop heavily behind him. Beneath it, his black cotton tee was damp with nervous sweat. Mulder had stepped back and perched himself on an ottoman, the gun pointing vaguely in Alex's direction. And Walter was nearby, arms folded again, watching him with expressionless chocolate eyes.

Alex licked his lips, their scrutiny and his own defenseless position raising erotic shivers along his spine. His cock pushed against the confines of heavy denim, craving attention. He reached his right hand up behind his head, gathered the fabric of the tee and pulled it upwards, peeling it off his body. It ended up wrapped around his motionless left shoulder and he slid it down the smooth plastic of the arm.

"Do you need help with that?" Mulder inquired as if he were offering to help Alex carry something heavy.

"No." Alex's jaw set stubbornly. His right fingers deftly slipped the buckles; a shrug and a dip, and the heavy appliance was free. He bent over and dropped it to the thick carpet.

"I'll take it from here," Mulder said. Alex straightened up, frowning in confusion. Mulder rose from the ottoman and handed his gun to Walter. Then, abruptly, he dropped to his knees at Krycek's feet.

Alex stared down at him, his fist clenching. Mulder held his gaze, his right hand slipping around Alex's ankle, gliding up under the jeans to the velcro fastening of the holster. Deftly, he slipped the small pistol free and sent it flying under the bed with a careless flick of his wrist. Taking hold of Alex's black leather, lowheeled boot, he gave a simple tug and the footwear came off in his hand.

Mulder slid both hands around Alex's lower leg and began sliding them slowly upwards, over the rough denim. Alex felt his muscles tensing at the caress; he strained to keep his body still. Mulder rose onto his knees, his hands at Alex's thigh now, massaging and stroking. Their eyes met once again, and Mulder slipped his left hand over the rigid, bulky hardness at Alex's crotch.

Alex's stomach muscles twitched and he drew a sharp breath. A faint metallic sound from Walter's direction made him lift his head; he saw that the big man had put the gun down on a small endtable and folded his hands in his lap.

"I hope I won't need to pick that up again," Walter said in his dry tone, his eyes unblinking behind the lenses.

"You won't." Mulder had both hands at Alex's waistband now, the fingers slipping inside teasingly, then withdrawing. "Will he, Krycek?"

Alex swallowed and dropped his eyes to Mulder's face again. Mulder just smiled at him and ran his hands once more over the trapped hardness, making him flinch. "Black jeans, black boots," Mulder murmured. "Black tee shirt. You're becoming way too predictable, Alex."

"Yeah, well. If you've finished stripping me at gunpoint you can go ahead and give me a fashion makeover, Mr. GQ."

"I haven't finished," Mulder said, shifting back to sit on the floor at Alex's feet. "The jeans next. Come on, pretty baby, unzip."

"Fuck you," Alex said just because he felt like it, and unbuttoned his fly. His fingers caught the zipper, and he looked briefly into each of their expectant faces before deliberately spreading his legs apart and pulling the zipper down in a smooth, slow stroke. He could not suppress a smile of satisfaction at the sudden startled look in Mulder's eyes as he took in the flash of shimmering scarlet cloth at Alex's crotch.

Alex slit his eyes in Skinner's direction and almost laughed aloud. The man was sitting forward, mouth slightly open in artless surprise. No, they hadn't expected this, either of them. He gripped the waistband and began a gentle bucking shimmy, easing the tight denim downwards over his hips.

Mulder licked his lips and shifted back, giving him room. Alex bent over, sliding the jeans all the way down, toeing out of his remaining boot. He pulled them off and stood before them, gloriously naked but for the flamecolored satin boxers. The smooth fabric had been creased and wrinkled by the tightness of his jeans, and clung to him in caressing folds.

"Did I say you were getting predictable, Alex?" Mulder said, and Alex felt his chest fill with triumph. "Color me wrong."

And he leaned forward, hands reaching for Alex's hips, and buried his face against the silky red fabric of his groin. Alex gasped, his newly-achieved confidence shattering at the incredible sensation of Fox Mulder actually nuzzling at him, brushing those pouting lips over his shaft as it pulsed against the cloth. His right hand shot out and hovered over Mulder's head, his fingers itching to plunge themselves into the man's hair. His eyes shot sideways again, and Walter cleared his throat.

"Go ahead." Husky tone. Alex didn't hesitate. He slid his fingers into the thick brown strands and pulled Mulder's head closer against him, bucking his hips slightly into the warm, mouthing caress. Mulder rubbed his face against him, inhaling deeply, muttering and nipping. He drew back to lift a lazy, glassy-eyed look into Alex's flushed face.

"You know, Krycek...for a backstabbing, triple-timing, lying, thieving, murderous, traitorous, amoral assassin, you smell pretty damned fucking incredible."

Alex found himself at a loss for a sufficiently cutting reply. His cock jutted against the tease of satin, twitching with the loss of stimulation. He stood watching them, eyes uncertain, and then suddenly both men rose to their feet and advanced on him, in perfect choreography, as if it had been planned and rehearsed. He got out a strangled "hey!" before Walter's hand closed around his upper arm and began hauling him backwards, forcing his feet to stumble back to keep up. Mulder was at his other side, ready to lend a hand if Alex should show signs of being recalcitrant. The three of them moved towards the bed, and they all but hoisted him up and onto it, dropping him onto his back on the rumpled spread.

They released him and stood up, both immediately beginning to strip off their own clothing with swift, practiced movements. Skinner's tee shirt was neatly folded and dropped into a chair, quickly followed by his slacks. His spectacles were placed on top of the small pile. Mulder shucked his silly striped pajamas with equivalent speed, not bothering with the careful folding routine.

Naked and not smiling, they advanced. He gave a half-nervous moan and scrambled back, encountering the pile of humped-up bedclothes that had lured him in the first place. He sprawled out awkwardly on top of it, and they climbed up on either side of him, reclining on their sides.

They did not touch him.

He lay there a moment, breath rapid, looking from one intent face to the other. "Well, are you just going to stare? I do have places to be tonight--"

"Other bedrooms to visit?" Walter placed one large hand squarely in the center of Alex's chest. He began to move his palm in slow, pressing circles, gliding over one nipple, squeezing and caressing the shape of Alex's pectoral muscles. Alex's cock jumped at the sensation, his hips canting upwards. He hissed in breath as Mulder suddenly closed one hand around his inner thigh, millimeters away from his balls.

The two of them began a slow, electrifying pattern of caresses. Walter's fingers dusted over his ribs, tickling faintly, whispering over his quivering belly, returning to tweak at a bronze-pink nipple. Mulder massaged his thigh with probing strokes, his touch lifting itself under the satin shorts to just barely tease at his drawn-up balls. In minutes, Alex was lifting his hips involuntarily, mewling sounds of need in his throat. Walter's big hand glided up to his neck, his fingers warm against the frantic pulse that beat there. "Relax, Alex..."

He couldn't relax. His arousal throbbed and burned, its fluid leaking. He reached down with his right hand and grabbed himself firmly through the ecstatic slipperiness of silk, rubbing and pressing.

"Stop that, Alex," Mulder said calmly, still gripping his thigh. "We'll tell you when you can touch."

Walter's hand closed around his neck, still sensitive from Mulder's bruising throatlock earlier. Alex let go, groaning, and dropped his hand to his side. They resumed their torturous stroking, fondling every inch of accessible skin until he thought he would scream or go mad. He looked into Mulder's face, and the man slowly eased himself closer until their faces were almost touching. Alex licked his lower lip, panting, and Mulder slid downwards, his head drooping to Alex's chest to wrap those luxurious lips around his left nipple.

Alex cried out and arched off the bed, feeling Walter's hand slide down his side and skate over his right hip. It went no further. Inflamed, he reached for himself again, getting a good squeezing grip. He was already close.

Mulder lifted his head, then shifted back and sat up on his knees. "Walter," he said in a rather parental tone, "he's playing with himself. Make him stop."

Walter rolled over and pulled out a drawer in the bedside table. Alex felt himself tense all over, half-expecting a gun. Skinner took something out of the drawer and then rolled back to face him, his right hand shooting out to grab Alex's wrist and yank his arm back, at the same time shoving at him, forcing him onto his stomach. Alex shuddered, biting off the curses in his throat. He took advantage of his new position to hump his aching hardness against the piledup bedclothes, his efforts earning him a predictable slap on the ass from Mulder. "Last warning, Krycek." There was an edge to his tone and Alex almost sobbed in frustration.

He felt Skinner's big hand close again around his wrist, and then the sudden, shocking chill of metal snapping around it. Before his mind could register what was happening, his arm was pulled forcefully upwards and the other cuff was fastened to the metal headrail. He let out a growl of humiliation and anger, twisting his head over his shoulder to aim blazing green eyes into their faces.

Mulder looked not at all perturbed. "You'll get your hand back when you learn to control yourself," he said absently, his eyes roving over Alex's muscled back. He put out a hand and stroked the boxers where he had slapped Alex, soothing the slight sting. "Up on your knees, Krycek."

Alex grunted and tried to comply, but he had no leverage without the use of either arm. Mulder made a gentle tsking sound. "Walter..."

"Up you get, Alex," Walter said gruffly, slipping strong hands under Alex's hips and helping him lift his weight. Alex drew his knees up under him and braced himself, trembling. Mulder scooted up alongside him and leaned over until his face was inches from Krycek's own. Alex stared back at him, breathing heavily, eyes narrowed defensively, his color high.

"Ratbastard," Mulder said musingly.

"Cocksucker," Alex spat back.

Mulder broke into a grin. "In your sweaty, panting, sticky wetdreams, baby."

"Stop calling me that, Fox. AAAAHH!!!" He screamed, cords standing out on his neck. Skinner's powerful fingers had embedded themselves in the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh, digging, his knuckles all but buried in Alex's tender balls. Five seconds of pure agony and then he was released, gasping, tears on his hot cheeks.

"Be a good boy, Alex," Mulder said mildly. "We can play nice, if you do."

"What fucking makes you think," Alex panted, trying for a snarl, "that I want to play with you in the first place?"

"Oh, you just wore those boxers to give your nextdoor neighbor with the binoculars a thrill? Tell me another one, beautiful." His smile was momentarily tender, and Alex felt a ripple of unwanted confusion at the endearment. He turned his face away and waited, tense. Skinner's hand was now teasing at his genitals, lightly tracing the shape of his balls beneath the fabric. One finger stroked a line up his twitching shaft. Alex fought the urge to thrust himself against the caress, knowing it would be futile. He could feel the damp patch of silk at the head of his cock, the fabric soaked and clinging.

"You're fucking hot, Alex," Mulder commented, lazily working his own erect cock. Alex could not see him, but he could tell by Mulder's softly panted grunts what the man was doing. "I could jerk off just watching you, you know that? Shoot all over your pretty back. Or ass. Or face....decisions, decisions."

Alex ground his teeth together and said nothing.

"I'd have to go for the ass, myself," Walter rumbled. He got up on his knees, towering over the both of them, his rampant arousal jutting straight out, thick and veined. He hooked his strong fingers in the waistband of the boxers, sliding them downwards to expose Alex's white skin. The sticky fabric caught around Alex's shaft and Walter gently lifted the straining cock free to slap against his belly, pulling the shorts down to his knees.

"Mulder?" Walter stroked Alex's ass, one thumb darting briefly into the cleft. Without further instruction, Mulder reached over and groped in the drawer, withdrawing a tube of gel. He handed it to his lover, watching as Walter squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers. For a moment both men watched Alex silently, neither touching him. Krycek tugged at the chain with a clanking sound, and turned his head again, his expression an odd mix of truculence and pleading.

Walter slid a thick, heavily coated finger into him. Alex struggled mightily to hold back a gasp of pure pleasure, but a faint, clearly encouraging sound escaped him. Walter smiled grimly and added a second finger, pushing his knuckles one at a time past the tightness, feeling Alex clench his muscles around him and begin to rock back involuntarily into the stimulation.

"See, I told you we could play nice." Mulder's droll voice in his ear. "You like that, don't you, pretty slut? That's what you need."

Alex groaned and shoved himself back against the satisfying fullness, crying aloud as the movement caused the tip of a finger to brush against the sensitive gland inside him. A bolt of ecstasy rocked him, making him strong, lifting his chin and putting a glint in his eye. He looked directly into Mulder's sardonic face and panted, ""

That delighted grin again. Mulder moved to slip himself beneath Alex's upstretched arm, lifting his face so they were nose to nose. He leaned in close, his breath fanning Alex's cheek. "If you're very, very, very, very good." And then he kissed him.

Hot, deep, panting, wet. Alex thought for half a nanosecond about resisting, but then Skinner shoved a third finger inside him and all rationality fled, his body consumed by fire. He thrust his tongue into Mulder's mouth, their teeth clashing, a strangled groan from one of them in his ears. It seemed to go on for minutes, his need for oxygen beginning to scream at him, and then abruptly Walter withdrew his fingers, leaving him bereft and achingly hollow. Alex broke the kiss with a cry of frustration, and Mulder drew back gently, soft murmurs of comfort on his lips.

Alex stared at him, sucking in hiccuping gasps of air, his cock drooling and jumping. Mulder reached upwards for his hand and Alex was momentarily panicked, but then the cutting sting of metal around his wrist was released and his arm dropped heavily downwards, the muscles crying their relief. Mulder was watching him almost tenderly. "Which one of us do you want, Krycek?"

For a moment he could make no sense of the whispered words, and then he got his arm under him and lifted himself, turning to look at Skinner's impassive face and then into Mulder's warm eyes. Understanding washed over him and he struggled for voice. "Oh, Jesus...I don't care!"

Mulder frowned and his eyes grew a shade harder. "Tsk, tsk. Walter, he doesn't care."

"Oh, fuck," Alex panted. "Just--"

"Don't worry, Alex," Skinner intoned. "We've got something you'll like. Mulder, tell him what he's won."

"Naahh, it's a surprise." And he all but climbed over Alex to grope in the drawer again, pulling something out to brandish under Alex's startled eyes.

It was about eight inches long, narrow and slim, bright pink, hard and shiny. The handle end was thicker and sported an ominous looking switch.

"Oh Christ," Alex said in a panic, rearing back. A strong hand caught him in the small of his back and shoved him onto all threes again.

"Relax, Krycek," Mulder's smile was teasing. "This won't hurt a bit."

Alex shuddered, forcing himself to hold still. Sweat trickled down his face; his heart thudded in his chest. Mulder handed the device to his lover and shifted to Alex's side, watching them both. For agonizing moments, there was nothing but the sound of Alex's harsh breathing; and then at last he felt the cold press of the instrument against his hot, gelsmeared ass. He lifted his head as Skinner eased the object inside him inch by slow inch, its temperature rapidly warming as his own body heat conducted through it. It was not nearly as satisfying as Walter's fingers had been and he moaned, pushing back, trying to get more of it inside him. Walter complied, pressing the ungiving length forward, its blunt shape a lifeless mass within him.

Mulder reached out and rand a hand along his chest and stomach, making the tiny hairs rise up. Alex shivered, releasing short rhythmic pants. The urge to rock back against the penetration was tempered by its unyielding hardness and slimness, its shape somehow not entirely right for the fullness he craved.

Walter leaned forward, almost draping himself across Alex's back. "Are you ready, Alex?"

And he thumbed the switch.

Pulsating, vibrating sensation thrummed through his very core, sending lancing bursts of pleasure from belly to throat. His head came up, his back arched like a bow, his knees spreading themselves of their own accord. His balls had drawn up instantaneously, sensation coiling within them, his cock bobbing and swaying with his own movements.

"Can you come now, Alex, do you think?" Mulder asked calmly. Alex turned his head in disbelief. The man was up on his knees beside him, one hand wrapped indulgently around his own purple, swollen shaft. He was stroking himself in slow, luxurious rhythm, hips pressing forward and swinging back, balls lifted. He tilted his head at Alex's incredulous face. "What's the matter, ratboy? Not enough for you?"

Alex growled and lowered his head, driving himself back. He felt Walter's own pulsing hardness against his left buttock as he thrust back, heard the stifled moan of pleasure from the big man's throat. Walter began to rub himself against him as he worked the dildo in Alex's ass, the two of them finding a rough rhythm as Mulder made panting, squeezing, caressing love to himself beside them. Alex no longer cared about the sounds he was making, allowing his sharp cries to release themselves with each shaking breath. The pleasure was excruciating, but something was missing.

In desperation he shifted himself beneath Walter's thrusts, canting his hips back. Nothing helped. His cock ached, tingling with need. He lowered his upper body, face to the mattress, and reached back with grasping fingers.

Mulder caught his wrist.

"Oh for Christsakes Fox, please!!" The forbidden name was out before he could help it, the words all but wept into the sheets.

"Shhhh, Alexlove." Infinitely gentle tone. Alex's stunned ears rang with the whispered words.

And then Walter shifted the angle of the instrument inside him, its buzzing pulse touching off an ecstatic, torrential wave of pleasure. He shouted aloud, senseless with it, unintelligible words of anger and need and desire pouring forth, a broken mix of English and Russian and profanity. He drove back, again and again, cursing and groaning and half-screaming, feeling the inevitable sensation build.

Mulder was jerking himself with hard, rapid rhythm, hips bucking forward; Walter ground his own throbbing thickness against the soft curve of Alex's buttocks on every stroke. The big man leaned over, murmuring into Alex's ears. "You still think you need to play with your prick, Alex?"

Alex swore viciously at him, at them, and then got his arm underneath him again and lifted his face. "No."

Walter's hand closed tightly around Alex's shaft. "That's okay, baby. You deserve it."


Alex drove forward into the slick, hot fist, felt the pulsating device deep within his center. Everything let go at once, great spurting waves of hot fluid, a nuclear reaction of orgasmic release. He dimly heard an answering growl behind him and felt Walter's erection pulse and spatter against his ass; a second later, Mulder screamed one broken word at the ceiling and sprayed his sweatsheened back with his own liquid heat.

Alex collapsed forward onto the bed, hips tilted back, the device still thrumming inside him. Immediately, Walter switched it off, easing it back and out of his tender flesh. Alex drew shuddering breaths, realizing to his horror that he was nearly in tears again. He felt the big man spoon himself up behind him and gather him into strong, unhesitant arms, pulling him back against the chest that meant security, safety, haven. Mulder dropped down beside him and reached a trembling hand to brush Alex's matted hair off his forehead, his shouted cry of "Alexei!!" still echoing in Alex's head.

Alex lay there, covered with semen and sweat, the soaked, wrinkled boxers twisted around his knees. His mind fought for clarity, his ingrained survival instincts striving to pull their tattered shreds together and focus. He was drained, spent, exhausted--and confused. What the fuck had just happened?

He had come here every several weeks over the course of the past year, since the two men with whose lives Alex's own seemed helplessly entangled had bought this house and Alex had found himself drawn like a moth to its warm confines, peering into the windows, fascinated and repelled at the same time.

The first time had been an errand for his masters; the delivery of some clever red herring to lead Mulder further down the dead-end garden path they had mapped out for him. The two of them had gut-punched him, and wrestled him to the floor. Three minutes later, they were fucking like rabbits.

The second time, six weeks later, he'd made up his own flimsy business excuse and returned, half-hoping and half-dreading he'd get the same treatment. He had.

By the third time he'd stopped even pretending he had any reason other than the erection that would inevitably be bulging his jeans before he even made it into the room.

By the fourth time, they stopped bothering with the beating, sufficing themselves with a few shoves and slaps while getting his clothes off.

He returned every four to six weeks, when the nervous, darkly thrilling craving could no longer be controlled or put down, when it started to interfere with the focus essential to his very survival. Sometimes he stayed an hour after they'd all collapsed, indulging in a parody of casual and friendly conversation, his nerves strained and frayed by longing and fear and resentment. Sometimes they offered him a drink and he took it and stayed longer.

Usually he got the fuck out as soon as his legs had recovered enough strength to stand.

The sex was always shattering, each round seeming to build on the one before it, each peak higher than the last. And tonight--this had been eerily like something out of his most cherished fantasies. How had they known?

Something else was strange about it. On none of the previous occasions had Mulder ever called him "beautiful."

Let alone "Alexlove."

They were playing some game. This whole past year may have been an elaborate trap; one that had effectively softened and made him vulnerable.

He pushed himself to a sitting position and looked at them warily. Skinner kissed the curve of his unmaimed shoulder, making Alex flinch. The older man gave him a gentle smile. "Did we get it right?"

Alex stared at him; and then he felt Mulder's fingers slipping into the hairs at the nape of his neck. "Come on, Alex, say something. Was it like you hoped it would be?"

He swallowed a dryness in his throat, completely poleaxed. They were looking at him expectantly. Part of his mind bracing itself for the blow he knew must be coming, he gathered his voice and spoke. "I got what I came for."

Mulder chuckled at him and reached out a hand to touch Alex's chin and turn his face gently towards him. Alex began to breathe rapidly again, his nerves singing with fear. "Relax, Krycek. I just want to know if we got the details right, the way you wanted them. The handcuffs; the vibrator. You may find this hard to believe but I'm not that knowledgeable about sex toys. I hope we bought the right kind."

Alex closed his eyes, his mind spinning. Had they somehow implanted a transmitter directly into his brain, relaying his hottest, most private thoughts?

"Alex, take it easy." Walter's voice. "Remember that night about three months ago, we kept you up with a bottle of Finlandia and you passed out?"

He did remember, and his eyes flew open in shock. It was the only time he'd allowed himself to lose consciousness in their presence. He'd awakened about an hour later, still dizzyingly drunk, his stomach roiling. Blind panic had taken hold; he'd scrambled into his clothes and fled, not bothering even to cover the sounds of his passage. The two of them had been snoring in each other's arms on the bed and had not stirred.

"We got into the subject of fantasies and you told us this one--including the rough stuff at the beginning," Mulder went on conversationally. "I was too shitfaced myself to remember a word of it, but Walter has a memory that rivals mine sometimes. And he can hold his vodka."

This information did little to ease his confusion. "But you--how did you know I was going to show tonight?"

"Mulder didn't," Walter said steadily. "In fact he's been worried sick. We haven't seen you in over two months." He drew his brows together as if that were somehow Alex's fault and he should be apologizing to them. Alex tried for a sardonic twist of his lips.

"Gee, I'll make a note to send you a postcard next time I'm gonna be away for a while."

"You had me scared, Alex," Mulder said, and Alex almost wrenched himself off the bed at the genuine emotion in the man's eyes. There was no mistaking it, and it terrified the shit out of him.

"You did," Walter confirmed. "But I told him you'd be back tonight."

"But how did you fucking know?" He was panicked. They were stealing his very soul.

"Simple, Krycek. The date." Walter looked into his face. "It's exactly a year since the first time you came."

Abruptly Alex's heart was thudding. He hadn't even realized that! Or...or had he? He had just somehow known he would be there tonight. It had felt right. The time had just come around again. "So you--you set all this up for an anniversary present?" He laughed bitterly, but a wild burgeoning feeling was trying to flutter itself out of his chest.

"Not exactly. We have something else in mind for that." Walter leaned sideways and rummaged yet again in the nightstand drawer. He held his hand out, the fingers curled around something, and waited until Alex had hesitantly lifted his own hand, palm up.

A set of housekeys on a plastic fob that said "Welcome to Washington, Our Nation's Capital" dropped into his outstretched fingers. Alex blinked at them, and then a real laugh escaped him. "Since when do I need keys to get into this place?"

"We know you don't need them, but they're yours anyway," Mulder said, nuzzling the thick, ropy scars on his injured shoulder.

"What's the matter, tired of repairing the windowlocks after I jimmy them open?" He was desperate, unable to stamp down the blossoming glow of warmth in the region of his heart. Mulder's only answer was a chuckle.

"He still doesn't get it, Walter. You better show him."

"Come with me, Alex," Skinner said, getting up in a graceful motion and taking Alex's wrist in a no-nonsense grip to haul him to his unsteady feet. "It's just down the hall."

"What is, the holding cell for Consortium spies?"

Walter lifted an eyebrow at him. "You might say that." He led Alex down a short, carpeted corridor and paused before a door. Releasing Alex's wrist, he looked into his eyes with an expression of affection before turning the knob and giving the door a gentle push. He put a hand on the small of Alex's naked back and propelled him forward.

The room was dark, but French doors at the balcony let in the shimmering stars. Bookcases lined one wall; against another stood a desk with a state-of-the-art computer system. In the center of the room was a queensized bed.

Alex turned to him, panicked again. "You're going to keep me here?"

"We'd like to." And Walter's eyes were warm.

Alex felt his lips curling into a snarl. "Personal rentboy? Sorry, not interested. Buy your boyfriend another fucktoy." He braced himself against the leveling knockout blow he knew would follow.

Skinner actually chuckled at him, his teeth white in the darkness. "Guess again, Alex."

"I'm tired of trying to figure you sickos out. Get out of my way." Instead of standing aside, Skinner opened his arms and wrapped Alex's frightened, trembling body into the mother of all bearhugs. "What the hell do you want from me?" He heard tremors in his own voice and despised himself.

"We want you to stay. You need us, Alex. Your time in the Consortium is limited. You refused two assignments in the space of the last three months. How long do you think you can get away with that? You're not the man you used to be. We've known it for a long time; and they're catching on too."

Alex snorted. "You think I've suddenly turned into a lily-white, caring citizen? You have been smoking something." And how the fuck did they know that?!

"No," Skinner replied honestly, still holding onto him. "We have no delusions. But we want you here. I want you here."

Alex pushed back and locked eyes with him, his face a defiant mask. "Why?"

Skinner looked as if he were making a mighty effort not to smile. "Because, you fucking idiot, I'm in love with you."

Alex felt the color draining from his face; heard a high, far-off humming in his ears. The very next second, a white-hot fury slammed into his veins, knotting every muscle, balling his hand into a fist. He roared with it, arm whipping back to strike, knee lifting, seeking Skinner's unprotected groin. The bigger man was amply prepared for him, his arms tightening the embrace, forcing Alex so close he had no room to aim. Skinner's own thigh deflected Alex's upthrust knee and the movement caught him off-balance, forcing him to backpedal. Skinner followed him to the bed and dropped him upon it, covering him with his weight. Alex's sobbed curses of rage gradually subsided when it became apparent that no amount of bucking and twisting would dislodge the bigger man's body. Between ragged, exhausted breaths of air, he became aware of Skinner's voice, murmuring something against his neck. "No, no, no...shhh...stop fighting me, Alex. Shhhhhh."

Walter eased off him slightly, shifting his weight, lifting one hand tenderly to Alex's face, his fingers brushing the hot tracks of tears. He was smiling, the customary severity of expression completely fled, a disarming openness in its place. Alex had no strength left, no mental armor. He could do nothing but gaze back into the brown eyes, blinking away the stinging wetness in his own.

"We're tired of you just showing up every two months and not knowing where the hell you are the rest of the time," Walter went on. "It doesn't have to be that way."

"Maybe I am tired of living on the run all the time," Alex husked, summoning all his effort to inject a note of sarcasm into his tone. "Doesn't mean I want to start...wallowing in domestic bliss. Eating homebaked muffins every morning and arguing over the Sunday paper."

"You think either of us actually bakes? You have been smoking something." Mulder had appeared in the doorway. He walked over to them and knelt beside the bed, reaching a hand to Alex's feverish forehead.

Alex's few remaining defenses made their last-ditch stand. "I think you're both fucking insane."

"You know what I think?" Mulder said in a warm, conspiratorial tone, a sharing-secrets kind of tone. "I think you love me."

They had him, open and bare. There were no more secrets left.

Walter shifted back, allowing Mulder room to move onto the bed beside Alex and gather him into his own arms. Alex buried his face against Mulder's neck. "Mulder--"

Mulder pulled him closer, smiling, and whispered in his ear. "Fox." He met Walter's eyes over Alex's shoulder.

Alex gulped, but could not bring himself to dare the name just yet. "I didn't kill your father."

"Oh, for crying out loud, are we back to that again? You've told me that before, Alex."

"You never believed me!" A muffled, humiliating wail.

"Shh. Yes I did. I didn't want to accept it, for a long time. But I did. There are no secrets any more, Alexei. You and I have always had that connection. It's useless to fight it. We belong together, the three of us."

He lifted his head slightly. "If you think I'm going to join your silly crusade for the truth--"

"We're all fighting for our own truths. Nobody expects you to change your spots any further. We're telling you you have a place to belong, when you're tired of prowling the shadows. Neither of us expects you to be here every night. But maybe we'll get to see you more often than every six weeks, hmm?"

All of a sudden it was just too much, too surreal. He pushed himself out of the embrace and sat up clumsily, scrubbing his hand across his smeared cheeks. The two of them made no move to stop him, their faces wearing the same calm smiles. Alex got up off the bed, watching them. Then he left the room and headed back down the hallway.

He was almost fully dressed, shrugging the jacket back onto his shoulders, when they reappeared in the doorway. He tried to make his face a mask, attempting to leave himself at least the slight dignity of keeping them guessing, but something told him he had miserably failed. That the hope shining out of his eyes was like a neon light.

"It's not that simple," he said helplessly.

"Nothing ever is." Mulder was giving him a real grin.

"I can't be--exposed like this."

"You already have been, Alex," Walter said, and Alex took the words for the warning they were. Impossible to think his comings and goings to this place had gone unnoticed.

He moved to the window and lifted one leg through, pausing to turn his head in their direction. Mulder was standing at the bed; he held something up in his cupped fingers. "Alex. Catch."

Instinctively, his right hand came up and snagged the jingling keys as they arced towards him. He hesitated, then shrugged nonchalantly and slipped them into his jacket pocket.

"We don't bake, but we do stir-fry," Walter informed him matter-of-factly. "Mulder's doing sesame chicken tonight. Seven p.m."

Alex was through the window like a dark ripple, and as noiselessly. He reached back behind him and pulled it closed.

Hesitated on the roof outside.

Turned back, pushed the window open bare inches. Looked in at them. They returned his gaze, unblinking.

Alex cleared his throat, his hand tightening on the windowframe, his body poised for flight. He drew a breath.

"Easy on the garlic, okay? Gives me indigestion."

Then he was scaling the shingles, climbing up into the stars, one with the night.

The End.

This little bit of hackneyed fluff, a birthday request for Hooly, was not originally intended to see the public light of day. CJK asked for it as a contribution to the ever-worthy Sk/K cause of this archive, and I indulged her. Thanks for indulging me.

Send Fuzzi some feedback or peek at her web site (due South slash).