Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the television program "The X Files" are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.

Archive: MKRA/MSSS: Yes Gossamer: No Usenet: No
(Can be distributed to mailing lists, which require age statements.)

Cert: NC-17, contains description of homosexual sex.

Notes: Yet another *AU* 'how Krycek got out of the silo' story. For those who've read my other pieces, this teeters on the serious - you have been warned. (I'm trying to work up to angst, bear with me. ) As usual I shower many thanks on Spooky in the Basement for her editing and this time in token of my gratitude I named the story after her

The little bit of russian later in the story means "Should I stop?" Many thanks to Tanya for letting me know the correct phrase.

Feedback: If you would care to offer some feedback then send a note to pollyanna@tifling.demon.co.uk

Insatiable But Patient
by Pollyanna

Some of the corridors were lit and some were not, so he kept the light in his caving helmet switched on, and ignored the dancing shadows that appeared and then vanished along the walls. This was the forty-second silo he had tried. He was beginning to think that it would be the one hundred and ninety-eighth before he found anything, or even more likely that all two hundred would be empty, but he was not the type to give up.

Stopping at the door, he went through his usual routine - look at the plans, cross off the number, check and re-holster the flare gun, which he had decided was his best weapon against something that was mostly oil. Then open the door, place the wedge under the door, look into silo... and then he saw it. He had been scanning all the silos carefully for a human figure, but this was not human. It was large and dark and utterly alien, not even the barnacles and dank sea smell could make this anything of Earth.

He stood watching it for a moment, fear coiling in his guts, but also an excitement of boundaries broken, unacknowledged dreams made real. Then, prosaically and a little regretfully, he turned his eyes away and began scanning the walls of the silo. Huddled against the wall at a point furthest from the craft was what looked like a bundle of rags. He sidled around the walls keeping half an eye on the craft until he reached the figure.

He checked the neck for a pulse, his fingers sticking on the oil that covered the skin, there was a beat so he gently shook the shoulder.

"Krycek, can you hear me?"

The figure stirred and the eyes opened, then shut again blinded by the light on his helmet, so he removed it and placed it to the side to provide illumination. The eyes squinted open and then focused on his features with a distinct lack of welcome.

"Oh shit! Skinner."

"Great to see you too, Krycek. Still things could be worse."

He was answered by an eloquent shudder that said things had been worse.

"Can you stand? And walk?"

Krycek lay still for a moment and then pressing a hand against the wall levered himself upright. Skinner placed an arm around his waist, and pulled him to his feet, for a moment he was supporting both their weights but then Krycek leant a little away and balanced on still shaky legs. Skinner replaced his helmet and they slowly made their way to the door, Krycek refusing to look at the dark presence in the middle of the room, but Skinner gave it one last lingering look, trying to capture the belief to take with him.

When they got through the door, Skinner propped Krycek against a wall, removed the wedge and closed the door, bolting it again. Then turning to Krycek, he held up a water bottle for him to drink from. Krycek gulped down a couple of mouthfuls and would have drained the bottle, but Skinner only allowed him a few swallows before pulling it back.

"That's enough for now, or you'll just be sick."

He was pleased to see the glare he got in return, it looked like his captive was not only compos mentis, but still had enough spirit left to be of use. Looking down at the fuming green eyes he remembered an old line of poetry *My head is bloody, but unbow'd.*

"All right, we have to do a bit of walking to get out. We'll take our time because I don't want to have to carry you."


"Because you're dirty, you smell and I don't want to strain my back."

"I meant, why are you here?" Krycek snarled, not appreciating his humour.

"We have unfinished business." The smile that accompanied this was enough to silence Krycek. They moved off down the corridor, Krycek leaning on the wall for support, neither of them seeing the concealed camera that had been recording all movement at the door marked 1013.

Krycek had lapsed into sleep or unconsciousness on the four hour drive to the cabin. They stopped a couple of times and Skinner allowed him some more water but he did not rouse when they arrived at the cabin, so Skinner ended up having to carry him after all. He had picked him up in the travel blanket that he had used to protect the seat of the truck, and dropped him onto the floor of the bathroom using the same blanket as a rug.

He wanted to keep Al's stuff as clean as possible. Al was too good a friend to worry about such things, but the oil might be difficult to explain. He had known Al for ever, or at least since they were boys together. There had been a falling out when Skinner had enlisted and Al had dodged the draft by going to Canada. But when Skinner returned he had made a point of finding Al and acknowledging that perhaps he had been right, and the friendship was renewed when Al had said 'Perhaps we both did what we thought was right'. They had kept in touch since then and when they met up it was as if they had seen each other just the day before. When Skinner had called and asked for the loan of this cabin, Al had been happy to let him have it, teasing him about going away for a dirty weekend. Skinner looked down at the filthy figure at his feet. *If Al only knew.* He began to run a bath, since it did not look like Krycek would be able to stand up for a shower.

As the bath ran, he began to strip the clothes from Krycek, not an easy task since the oil had dried in places and stuck the clothes to the skin. He went into the kitchen and found a jug which he filled with bathwater pouring this over the stiff cloth to loosen it. Finally, when everything was removed, he turned off the water and checked the temperature - hot, but not scalding. He lifted the body and lowered it into the water. Krycek had lost a lot of weight, which Skinner put down to the dehydration. His hands were bruised and crusted with blood where he had probably been beating at the door but there were no other external injuries. He probably had a few sore muscles from lying in the cold for so long, but the heat from the bath would help those. Skinner supported Krycek with one hand and reached for the shower gel with the other, then lathered Krycek's hair, using the jug to rinse it off. Then he moved down the body, and as he worked Krycek's eyes flickered open. He looked at Skinner with some puzzlement, as if trying to work out how they had become so intimate all of a sudden.

"Can you sit up by yourself?"

A nod, and a slight shifting of balance, and then Skinner was able to use both hands to spread the gel over the body and work it into grey suds. As Skinner impersonally washed his genitals, Krycek stared straight ahead, probably embarrassed but determined not to show it. Skinner let the filthy water run away and used the hand shower to rinse Krycek off. Then with a sigh, he decided that one of Al's washcloths was going to have to be sacrificed, and he refilled the bath and began again. By the time he had finished the second rinse Krycek was looking presentable if not exactly pristine, and the heat of the water had bought a flush to his skin giving the impression of health.

"Stand up, and step out."

Skinner led him into the bedroom next door and stood him in front of the fire, briskly towelling down the bony limbs, then wrapping him in a bath sheet and telling him to sit down. He threw a couple of logs onto the fire before going into the kitchen. He was glad he had thought to buy a supply of invalid drinks on the way, since Krycek did not look up to anything solid at the moment. He boiled the kettle, and carefully measuring out the powder, made up the drink, and carried it into the other room. Krycek wrapped his hands around the mug and drank it with an appreciation which Skinner had never thought to see applied to Original Flavour.

Krycek sat for about ten minutes looking into the fire, then made a choking noise and bolted for the bathroom, where he threw up comprehensively. Skinner followed him in and was worried to see that the vomit was flecked with black, perhaps it was just the oil from the alien but if it was bile then Krycek might have some internal injuries. Krycek cursed and moved to the sink to wash his mouth out. Skinner handed him a glass of drinking water, which Krycek sipped tentatively, and then they returned to the bedroom.

Krycek had complained bitterly when Skinner handcuffed one wrist to the bed, but no matter how weak he seemed, Skinner was not letting him free during the night. Skinner had dozed on a chair in the bedroom, keeping an eye on his prisoner. Krycek had barely slept, as soon as he seemed to drop off he awoke with a jerk, pulling against the metal of the handcuff, only settling back again when he saw Skinner's eyes gleaming in the firelight. A couple of times Skinner had released him to go to the bathroom and had given him some more water at the same time. Skinner was feeling a little happier since Krycek seemed to be able to keep the water down, so it was probably just the oil mixing with the food that had caused the vomiting previously.

Krycek did not look very rested when they got up in the morning. Skinner was tired as well, but knew from previous experience that he could keep going for a few more days with little sleep.

"Can I have something to wear?" Krycek asked, a trifle sulkily.

Skinner had given him a pair of boxer shorts to sleep in, since the fire kept the room quite warm, and there were plenty of blankets on the bed. But he guessed Krycek would feel a little unhappy about parading around in a pair of shorts all day.

"OK, let me get the coffee going." Skinner said, and walked into the kitchen.

Krycek followed him and sat on one of the chairs, scanning the kitchen as Skinner moved around. Then Skinner returned to the bedroom and unlocked the trunk in which he had placed his belongings, not wanting Krycek to be able to get at them easily. As he rummaged about he listened carefully and was not surprised to hear a small scraping sound in the kitchen as the chair moved. Bare skin on wood made little noise but it was there if you knew to listen for it, so he was able to pick the right moment to spin round and knock Krycek's legs from under him. Krycek came down hard and humiliatingly on his rump, but twisted around, still trying to brain Skinner with the frying pan he had picked as his weapon. Skinner's hand caught his wrist, and just held it, not bothering to twist it to make Krycek drop the pan. Krycek tried to pull free, but even when he was at full strength, he would have had a problem trying to break Skinner's grip. Skinner reached over and took the frying pan away from him.

"I don't think you're quite recovered enough for the fried breakfast special."

Krycek furiously threw a punch with his free hand, but Skinner quickly moved the pan and all he got was a set of bruised knuckles for his pains. Skinner let him go and placed the pan to one side then reached into the trunk and removed the sweat top and trousers he had picked out and dropped them on Krycek's lap, then locked the trunk and stood up.

"Do you want to try some coffee ?"

The only response he got was a vicious green glare, but he was almost whistling as he went back to the kitchen, carrying the pan. On the whole he had had worse starts to a day.

Krycek returned to the kitchen dressed in the sweats. It was just as well the trousers had a drawstring, since he looked like he had borrowed his big brother's clothes. He sat down, a little gingerly after his recent encounter with the floor.

"How do you take your coffee?"

"Two sugars and lots of milk." Krycek muttered.

"Well, I think I'd better leave out the milk, since that doesn't do much for a weak stomach, but the sugar's a good idea."

Krycek again wrapped his hands around the mug, as if trying to warm them, although the heat from the stove was making the kitchen even warmer than the bedroom. He sipped at the coffee, obviously enjoying the taste. When he finished, he watched with some envy as Skinner polished off scrambled eggs on toast, but did not ask for any, realising that he had little chance of keeping it down. When they had both finished and it looked like the coffee was staying with Krycek, he felt up to asking Skinner a question.

"What unfinished business?"

"You mean, apart from matters arising from our last little meeting in the stairwell?"

Krycek grimaced, it had probably been a mistake to look quite so pleased when he had joined in that melee.

"Don't worry. I'll wait until you can stand for more than ten minutes, before I discuss that with you. No, what I want is information."

"I don't know anything." *Drat, that had come out with a whine.*

"I think you know things that I want to know. After all, just about all my acquaintances, smokers and non-smokers, have been looking for you for the last week or so."

"Yes, and if I speak, some of your acquaintances will make sure I have a very unpleasant ending."

"More unpleasant than being locked in a silo?"

Krycek swallowed convulsively a couple of times, and managed to get the coffee to stay down.

"I can be patient Krycek. I'll let you rest and build up your strength a little, but you're going to tell me everything you know, and you had better hope that it's what I want to know."

Krycek was eyeing the handcuffs with revulsion, the feel of that cold metal kept bringing back memories of another metal object. Skinner was watching him and perhaps reading his thoughts, since he placed the handcuffs on the bedside table.

"Get into bed."

Krycek slipped under the covers, and then watched with some worry as Skinner stripped down to his boxers and moved round to the other side of the bed.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you, and since you don't like the handcuffs I need to be close enough to know if you're up to something. Don't worry, your virtue is safe with me, Krycek."

Skinner climbed into bed, and then laughed out loud.

"I can't believe I just used virtue and Krycek in the same sentence."

"Ha. Ha. Hilarious."

Krycek moved further over to his side of the bed and turned his back to him. Skinner kept to his half of the bed but reached out and laid his hand on Krycek's hip. Krycek lay tensely for a while but Skinner stayed still and at last Krycek let himself drift into a doze. He awoke again almost immediately but felt only the softness of the sheets and the heavy warm weight of Skinner's hand, so he relaxed and let himself sink deeper into repose.

Skinner lay awake a little longer; as he had hoped the simple human contact had given Krycek enough reassurance to sleep at last. As he waited for Krycek's breath to lengthen and deepen he thought back to other nights in the jungle. When he had recovered from his wounds he had been posted to another unit, since his own no longer existed. Although he was only a few months older than the other soldiers, they regarded him as a veteran, almost a father figure. When things got really bad for one of his comrades, he would make a point of lying close to him during the night, and just the knowledge of having another human at hand would chase away the terrors of things seen or done.

To survive the silo Krycek had to be tough, both physically and mentally, but he had faced horrors that were inhuman. During the day he still had been unable to take any nourishment, and he needed a good night's sleep to help him to recover. In the dark, even the hand of an enemy could be enough to keep the shadows at bay.

Krycek awoke with a start. It was light, not the thin light that had filtered into the silo from the corridor, but honest to goodness sunlight. As he took that in, he felt a movement next to him. His mind raced for a moment, it had been so long since he had wakened with a lover still in his bed, that he could not even begin to think of a name. And then he relaxed, chuckling silently to himself. Well, Skinner was hardly his first choice as a bed partner, he preferred something leaner.

Skinner got out of bed and came round to his side, then unceremoniously grabbed his wrist and handcuffed it to the bedpost.

"What the fuck... ?"

"I'm going to take a shower and I want you still here when I get back - preferably without a frying pan."

Krycek decided that an injured look was probably wasted on Skinner, so lay there patiently, luxuriating in the sunlight and the warmth and day-dreaming. Although Skinner might not be his first choice he was not unattractive. *All that toned muscle.* He indulged himself with a pleasant fantasy containing Skinner and a pair of handcuffs while listening to the water running in the bathroom. He was stretching when Skinner returned and wincing at the numerous aches, particularly in his overused stomach muscles.

"Sore? I'll see if I can do something about that later."

Skinner unlocked the handcuffs and shepherded Krycek to the shower where he kept an eye on him in the mirror as he shaved and cleaned his teeth. Krycek was feeling so relaxed that he was tempted to put on a show as he caught Skinner looking at him. But in the end decided that Skinner would not appreciate it, he looked more like a watchdog than a voyeur.

Seated in the kitchen again, Krycek's stomach rumbled at the rich smell of the coffee, and practically sat up and begged as Skinner prepared his own breakfast.

"Do you want to try the chocolate flavour? That might taste as good coming up as going down."

Krycek regretfully accepted the offered mug. Actually it did not taste bad, he had always had a liking for chocolate, or anything sweet for that matter, and hunger did wonders for the taste buds. He kept a fond eye on Skinner's plate, but when half-an-hour had passed and the chocolate was still with him, it went way up his list of favourite foods.

They went into the lounge where Skinner unlocked his briefcase and sat down with a pile of papers. Krycek idly scanned the bookshelves, taking down some books and flipping through them. It looked like either the books had been left by everyone who had stayed there over the years, or the owner had very eclectic tastes. Finally he picked out a copy of Walter Lord's "The Miracle of Dunkirk". He liked books about last minute escapes, and any book whose closing sentence was 'He was a hero to someone, after all' had a certain appeal for him.

After a couple of hours, Skinner gathered up his papers and then locked the case. He went into the kitchen and then the bathroom, finally ending up in the bedroom. Krycek pretended to be engrossed in his book, whilst keeping an eye on his movements, Skinner reciprocated by glancing towards him every thirty seconds.

"Krycek, come in here."

Krycek unfolded himself from the chair and walked into the bedroom, a couple of bath sheets were spread across the bed covers and Skinner was holding a smaller towel and what looked like a bottle of olive oil.

"Take your clothes off and lie down."


"I'm going to give you a massage, it will help with those sore muscles."

"I think I'd rather have the sore muscles."


There was enough of a warning in that voice to make Krycek sigh and pull off his top and trousers, and reluctantly the shorts. Skinner threw him the towel which he quickly wrapped round his hips and then motioned to the bed.

"Lie down on your back."

Skinner started on the legs, and soon Krycek began thinking that this was not a such a bad idea after all. *Who would have thought Slaphead would be so talented.* He was not quite so happy when Skinner reached his stomach, since the strong strokes seemed to swing between pain and pleasure, but as they continued, the relief began to win out. Skinner finished with the front and told him to turn over; he went back to the legs, and kneaded up to the towel, then moved past it onto the back and shoulders. Krycek felt as if he had sunk into the bed covers, he was so limp. He was not even concerned when Skinner removed the towel and began to stroke and rub his buttocks. *God, that feels so good.* And then with a sinking heart he realised that it was a little too good, and he tried to wriggle away from the hands.

"That's enough, I feel fine now."

"Sure all your muscles are relaxed enough?"

Skinner was definitely laughing at him, and with one quick movement tipped him over and onto his back. Krycek ardently wished for the towel back, but it would have been pretty useless to hide his firm erection.

"Now, there's a muscle that's still a little stiff."

And before Krycek had a chance to voice a protest, Skinner's hands were on him, and as he had already had a chance to find out, they were very talented hands.

Skinner smiled as he looked down at Krycek, his head was thrown back and he had grabbed two handfuls of towel, perhaps in an effort to anchor himself to the bed, since his hips were thrusting rhythmically. Skinner was not planning to drag this out too long, since he would undo all the good he had done to the stomach muscles, but a little exploration seemed in order for future reference. One hand moved down and gently teased the firm balls and he was rewarded with a muffled curse from Krycek. The curse seemed familiar somehow, and an idea crossed his mind; he worked hard on the shaft until he could see the balls drawing up and then slowed down to a pedestrian stroke.

"Mnye prekratit'?"

"Nyet, nyet!"

So it seemed the little rat was fluent in Russian, and not just childhood memories if it sprang to his lips that easily. Skinner speeded up the stroke again and Krycek suddenly convulsed under his hands pumping his seed out onto his stomach and chest, then he lay gasping and shuddering. Skinner went into the bathroom and returned with a washcloth, with which he cleaned up the cum.

As he was doing this, Krycek's eyes opened and he looked up at him, a little ungratefully he felt.

"What was that little stunt about?"

"It's an old saying, Latin originally I believe - 'Get them by the balls and their hearts and minds will follow'. Do you want to try the chicken flavour for lunch?"

The next two days passed in a similar fashion, except that Krycek resolutely refused Skinner's teasing offers of another massage. When they had gone to sleep that night Krycek had moved so close to the edge of the bed that he had almost fallen out, but Skinner had made no other moves.

They settled into a routine during the day, of Skinner working at his papers and Krycek reading his way through the bookshelves. There was almost a holiday atmosphere in the cabin, Skinner rarely had the chance to work peacefully like this, and Krycek relished the reprieve from being always on the run. Of course, there was the small problem of Skinner biding his time for him to make a recovery, so he played up his weakness to the hilt.

For the evening meal of the second day Krycek had managed a bowl of soup, which had seemed to him like a gourmet feast, even though Skinner's cooking ability was of the most basic variety. They were sitting in the lounge afterwards and Krycek was pretending to read a book, but the pages of the book never got turned as he tried to work out what version and what percentage of the truth he could tell Skinner.

He would have to make his story convincing, or Skinner would follow the exact letter of the law, and put him in prison, and they both knew he would not survive for long in there. Also he would need to provide something sufficiently interesting that he could bargain for his freedom with it.

He realised that the scratching of Skinner's pen had stopped and when he glanced up he found Skinner watching him, and realised that Skinner probably knew exactly what he was contemplating.

Skinner woke up feeling chilled, the arm lying outside the quilt had goosebumps. He glanced at the clock, it was just after five. Krycek was lying curled up beside him, with only his dark hair showing outside the quilt. Skinner leant up on one elbow and checked the fire. There was only a faint glow visible, so Skinner quietly climbed out of his side of the bed and went to tend it.

He was placing some kindling on the embers to get a flame before placing on the larger logs when he heard a sound behind him. He spun quickly but found that Krycek was merely heading for the bathroom, his white teeth showing in an amused grin as he passed Skinner. Skinner built up the fire, and kept an eye on Krycek as he yawningly returned to the bed.

After a few minutes he was satisfied that the fire had caught up again and would burn for a few hours, so he returned to bed. Left to himself Krycek had rolled over and was facing towards the middle, instead of his usual position with his back to him. He had already dropped back to sleep. Skinner considered him for a moment and then with a calculating smile that would have worried Krycek if he had seen it, he made a few preparations and then stripped off his boxers before slipping into his half of the bed.

Skinner lay on his back, his hands behind his head, a few inches away from Krycek and waited. Krycek's hand came questing across the sheet and when it found the warm skin, he moved to snuggle against Skinner's side. Skinner grinned in satisfaction and bought his arms down cautiously to hold Krycek closer, without waking him.

Krycek came awake slowly, a luxury that was rarely allowed him, but he was warm and safe in the arms of a fellow human. His mind paused and went back to consider that last thought again and then came awake a little more to register his position.

He was on his side, pressed against another more muscular side, his arm was across somebody's chest, his head nestling on the same chest just below the shoulder. The somebody's arm was around his back and the other hand rested on his hip. His upper leg was entangled with the other's legs and as he concentrated on the lower half of his body, he realised that he had an erection. *Oh shit.*

He tried to gently pull away from the encircling arms but they just tightened. So with a sigh he opened his eyes and raised his head to meet Skinner's amused glance.

"I need to go to the bathroom."

"No you don't, but you do need something." as he spoke Skinner's hand trailed teasingly from his hip up along his side and Krycek's erection firmed in response.

"I can manage by myself." Krycek's attempt at independence was spoiled by the gulp he gave as Skinner's hand stroked along his back and slipped inside his boxers, a finger sliding down into his cleft.

"Let's take a vote, shall we?" asked Skinner, the amusement still evident in his voice. His hand slid over the front of Krycek's shorts and caressed his erection, which responded by butting enthusiastically against Skinner's hand like an abandoned puppy.

"I think the majority have it."

Skinner's fingers slipped inside the waistband of Krycek's shorts and snapped it gently.


Krycek considered objecting, but found to his surprise that he trusted Skinner not to hurt him, and although he had put on a good act of innocent outrage at the time, that massage had been sublime. So, with a small grumble, just to maintain some appearance of reluctance he rolled onto his back and lifted his hips, carefully working the shorts over his erection and then skimming them down his legs and dropping them on the floor.

Skinner's hands found his wrists and pressed them back on either side of his head, and he had a small moment of panic. But then Skinner's mouth found his and shortcircuited all his survival instincts, except for the one which told him he had to breathe and that only remembered to cut in after what seemed like several small eons.

He lay gasping, trying to gather together some semblance of a thought, but Skinner's mouth had moved on to explore his jaw and neck and then down onto his chest. Every square inch of his skin seemed to have acquired a separate life, either lamenting the passing of that mouth or setting up a clamour of 'Me next, me next!' And then the mouth found his again and he strove to devour it all for himself, his tongue twisting and duelling with Skinner's, until the mouth removed itself again.

"Hmmh, I think it's now unanimous."

Skinner threw back the covers and knelt, one leg on either side of Krycek's thighs, their erections just brushing in passing which caused Krycek to groan and thrust reflexively. Skinner reached forward, under his pillow and bought out a tube of K-Y, which he dropped onto Krycek's chest.

"How convenient." Krycek's dry tone acknowledged the planning that had gone into this apparently spontaneous coupling. Skinner ignored the irony.

"Lube me up."

Krycek squeezed out some lube onto his fingers and reached for Skinner's cock.

"No. Inside me."

Skinner leant back a little supporting himself on one hand to give Krycek access. Krycek's eyes narrowed and then glittered, and he grinned with a malicious delight.

"You're going to let me fuck you?"

"You're going to be inside me Krycek, but make no mistake, I'll be the one in control, and you'll be somewhere I can keep an eye on you."

Krycek reached forward and delicately stroked Skinner's anus. Skinner gritted his teeth and tried not to move. This was the one major problem with this position, it gave Krycek too much of an advantage, in the beginning at least. Krycek pressed against the hole and Skinner tried to relax as much as possible, then the finger was past the tight muscle and sliding into him. Krycek moved it a few times and then withdrew it, to replace it with two fingers. The two fingers moved in and out and stretched him, then pressed upward. Skinner had been waiting for this but realised he was not quite prepared for it as he gasped and his hips bucked of their own accord. Krycek did not let up and it was a few seconds before Skinner could come out with a coherent sentence.

"OK, Krycek, I'm ready, it's your turn now."

The fingers continued ruthlessly, and there was a definite smirk in Krycek's voice.

"Are you sure? You really seem to be enjoying this - been a while has it, old man?"

Skinner had an intense desire to spin Krycek around and fuck him until he howled, but he wanted Krycek in a receptive mood, and that would require a little more finesse. So he just leaned forward and pushed Krycek's hand away, and then reached back under the pillow for the small foil package. He carefully tore it open and removed the condom, rolling it down the hard eager shaft in front of him. Then taking the lube from Krycek he smoothed it slowly and carefully over the condom, and although it was not necessary, he rubbed a little on the balls, being rewarded by a 'Shit' from Krycek as he jerked away.

Skinner grasped the cock and moving forward pressed down against it. The green and brown eyes meeting and refusing to look away as the intense sensations rippled through both their bodies. Skinner let himself sink slowly down, savouring the filling and the control, and the fire flickering in those eyes, until he could go no further.

With his hand he reached out to the V at the base of Krycek's throat and let a finger slide down through the hair, across the chest, and stomach, finishing where their two bodies joined. Reaching up with both hands he placed fingers in the hollows between collarbone and shoulder and trailed them back down, circling and brushing against the nipples on the descent, he smiled as he felt Krycek's cock jerk within him.

"Are you just going to sit there all fucking day?"

"I'm an old man, I have to take my time."

Krycek was not the patient type, his hands reached towards Skinner's cock, but Skinner caught them by the wrists.

"There's a perfectly good pair of handcuffs on the table there, and I'm quite happy to use them, boy."

Skinner released the hands and they fell back onto the sheets where they clawed and fisted as Skinner resumed his torturous tracing. When Skinner leant forward and found Krycek's mouth with his own, the hands came up to hold his head close, and Krycek's tongue twisted and jabbed trying to urge him further. Skinner's cock jumped and throbbed where it was caught between their two bodies and he pulled back panting deeply.

"Move, fuck you, move."

"Perhaps I need an incentive... I know, how about some answers."

"What!" It came out as a shout, and Krycek's eyes flew open wide in disbelief, seething with fury and lust.

"Give me the names of the people in my department that I can't trust."

Krycek managed to pull his reeling senses together and deliver his prepared answer.

"I was never told that kind of information."

"But I bet you found it out."

And the hands began moving again, fingers reaching from his sides up to his navel and then down. Then turning and the backs of the fingers trailing up the muscled chest to rub across the hardened nipples. Krycek growled deep within his throat. Then one hand reached back and down to torment the sensitive balls, lifting and rolling them, stroking the delicate skin beneath. Krycek tried to buck abortively, but could not move, could not dislodge the weight or escape the unscrupulous hands.

He gasped out a list of names.

"So many." Skinner stared into the distance, absent-mindedly continuing to roll the tender balls in their thin sac.


It was almost a scream, it was at least loud enough to attract Skinner's attention, and he began to move. He used his hands to grasp the top of Krycek's hips controlling the pace, and fucked Krycek surely and sweetly. As he saw the tension build he reached for his own aching cock and stroked it faster and faster until he came and brought Krycek with him.

They lay entwined, Skinner lying half on and half off Krycek's chest, where he had been pushed after collapsing on the smaller man. He was still close enough to feel the pounding of the heart, and the pumping of the lungs. Then he felt a breath drawn in as Krycek spoke.

"That's a hell of an interrogation technique. I don't remember that from Quantico."

"The benefits of age and experience, Krycek. Wait and see what you get when you try to lie to me."

Krycek decided that silence was his best answer to that.

Krycek was handcuffed to the bedpost again. They had finished lunch and Skinner had just marched him into the bedroom and locked him up, then gone outside. Krycek heard the truck starting as it was backed away from the lean-to, and then the engine stopped and the kitchen door opened again. Skinner came in and unlocked the handcuffs, he dropped a length of chain and some leg shackles on the bed which Krycek eyed warily.

"Take those sweats off."

Krycek decided not to argue, since he was beginning to realise the futility of that with Skinner. Meanwhile Skinner attached one end of the chain to the foot of the bed, and when Krycek had removed his trousers, he snapped the shackles onto his ankles. They were tight and cut into the flesh a little. Skinner padlocked the other end of the chain around the middle of the shackles link.

"OK, Krycek, I'm going into town to get supplies, I'll be about four hours. There's water on the table there, you've got enough chain to get to the bathroom and if you get cold you can get into bed. If you do manage to get out of that chain, you have to find some clothes, since it's pretty chilly out there, and then you have to walk about thirty miles to the nearest habitation, which will probably be empty anyway. I will see you later - understood?"

"Crystal clear." Krycek waited until Skinner was at the door before calling. "I could murder a steak."

The door slammed shut, with enough force to rattle the mugs in the kitchen cabinet.

Skinner had been gone a couple of hours and Krycek had shuffled into the bathroom. He hoped that Skinner was not going to do any window shopping, since the metal was really digging into his ankles. As he clanked back into the bedroom, feeling like Marley's ghost, his heart almost stopped. Sitting quietly in the chair that Skinner had used the first night, was an elegant grey-haired man, studying the rumpled bed; standing by the door, holding a revolver, was an inelegant goon.

"Ah! Mr. Krycek. I don't believe we've met?" The voice was as languidly elegant as the figure and had a distinctive English accent.

"I don't think we've had the pleasure. Mr. - ?" Krycek astonished himself with the calmness of his own voice.

"Smith. Yes, I think Smith will be sufficient. No, we haven't met, but we have a mutual associate who's rather fond of Morleys."

Krycek could suddenly hear a thundering in his ears, and he threw a hunted look at the doorway, where the gunman just stared stoically.

"It seems you've been leading him rather a dance. Tsk. Tsk. I think you should be rather relieved that I found you first."

"What do you want?"

"Information. Like our estimable Assistant Director."

He withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket, which Krycek could see was covered in Skinner's writing.

"This was on the table in there, a very interesting list of questions. It makes me wonder if perhaps our Russian colleagues in the Consortium are getting a little restless, or perhaps some other agency? Anyway, I'm sure you'll be eager to tell us."

As he finished speaking he raised ice-cold eyes from the paper to Krycek, whose mouth went dry. This man made him think of an epee - slim, deadly, steel.

"When do we leave?"

"How sensible. I think right away is best, I don't want to have to kill Mr. Skinner. Unlike our smoking friend I don't believe that death brings silence; there are some dead bodies which shout their message from the roof-tops."

Smith gestured at the thug who came forward and unlocked the irons, and then at another gesture took off his overcoat and handed it to Krycek. Smith rose and led the way from the bedroom with the gunman bringing up the rear, as he reached the door he turned and looked back at the bed.

"If I were you, Mr. Krycek, I would avoid future meetings with Mr. Skinner. I have the feeling he will not be pleased to see you again."