Training for P

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

The first chapter of "P's Training"

trembled. Pendrell struggled, but to no avail; the straps on his wrists were tightly bound. A blindfold covered his eyes, blocking out everything, not even the faintest light. He couldn't clearly perceive his surroundings. It was no surprise he was trembling; since regaining consciousness, he had found himself naked like a newborn baby. He felt as if his body was beneath a wooden plank—cold, hard, smooth, waxed plank.

Suddenly, a low, continuous series of voices came from very close by, causing him panic. He turned his head towards the direction of the footsteps; it sounded like a large, open space.

His bound arms were yanked sharply, causing him to gasp in pain, but he quickly forced himself to treat it as an insignificant touch.

"What do you want to do to me?" he asked weakly. But opening his mouth was clearly a mistake—a metal crossbar was thrust across his mouth, and then a rope was tied behind his head.

He felt a surge of panic, but he quickly suppressed it. He was an FBI agent; he knew someone would come to his rescue, no matter what. Even if… a small, rebellious voice said: You're just a lab freak.

A huge hand slapped his backside, urging him forward. He flinched, but obeyed. He'd heard any resistance would be met with additional beatings.

The wooden planks beneath his feet were cold, but as he was pushed forward, he found himself standing on a rough wool carpet. Scattered applause came from the unseen audience, stinging his skin with humiliation.

“Gentlemen, you may begin bidding,” a cultured voice called from his left.

Bidding? What was going on? If it weren't for the gag and the blindfold, he might have suspected it was all a prank.

“I’ll pay $200.” It was a woman’s voice, cold and weary. “He’s not Mulder, Wagner. You promised us it was Mulder.”

“Mulder will only enjoy it.” It was another woman, her voice equally bored.

“This one’s cuter, really, and perfect for being hung up.”

“Turn him around, Wagner,” a male voice with a very slight British accent commanded. “Yes, his physique is certainly suitable for being hung up.”

Pendrell’s skin burned. Jeeeeesus Christ, what was going on? These people knew Mulder… Goddammit, he knew he shouldn’t have agreed to let Mulder analyze that damn chip, it was all Mulder’s fault!

“He’s quite good.” Another voice chimed in, also male.

“Is he a virgin, Wagner?”

“I think so.” Wagner’s voice made him jump; it was so close. “I can check.”

Panic gripped his mind again, and he nodded frantically, hoping they would understand his message.

“It would be quite amusing to see this pale skin whipped red,” one of the women said again.

“Redheads have very fine skin.” The voice was male and sounded somewhat familiar. “You wouldn’t want to hurt him.”

He searched his memory for that voice… Oh, Jesus Christ, this… this couldn’t be, but it was indeed the voice of Alexander Krycek, Mulder’s former partner.

His legs trembled, and he couldn’t help but want to back away, but Wagner’s hand relentlessly pushed him forward.

“He has very lovely skin.” Krycek moved closer, and he could almost feel the heat of Krycek’s body.

A fingertip caressed between his breasts, then slowly moved down his chest to his lower abdomen, hovering at his base… Oh God, his penis.

Krycek was in front of him, Wagner was behind him, and he was sandwiched like a sandwich, with no way to escape. He was forced to stand there, aware that hand was grasping his scrotum and gently shaking his testicles. This was something he utterly loathed, yet his body reacted—his penis twitched and began to swell.

“They all say redheads are sensitive,” Krycek murmured, a thoughtful glint in his eyes. “I’ll offer $5,000, Wagner.”

Silence fell, but no one else bid.

Krycek continued to caress him. “Mine, mine, who would think that?” Krycek whispered, “one cultivator, not a whole bunch. What a lovely surprise.”

Shame and humiliation burned his skin; he felt as if he were in a furnace.

Krycek’s fingers roamed freely over his body, and suddenly, he jumped—the fingers had pinched his nipple hard. He wanted to cry out, but his voice was muffled by the gag in his mouth.

“I only take cash,” Wagner’s voice sounded apologetic.

“Cash?” Krycek asked. “Don’t you trust me, Wagner?”

“Not just you, Alex,” Wagner told him with a hint of amusement. “It’s in a businessman’s nature. I can’t accept checks, what if you die tomorrow?”

A low laugh.

“Fine. I happen to have cash on me.”

The result of the bargaining was that he was sold to Alexander Krycek.

Pendrell couldn’t keep up with what happened next; he was just trembling uncontrollably until Krycek touched him again.

“Come here, Pendrell.” Krycek’s breath was warm on his shoulder and ear. “I won’t hurt you, not much.”

He started trembling again, letting himself be slowly dragged to hell.

A rough wool blanket was wrapped around him, and then Krycek pushed him forward. He smelled the asphalt after the rain.
Under his feet was a potholed sidewalk.

He still couldn’t speak, couldn’t ask what that bastard wanted to do to him. Rumors portrayed Alex Krycek as a wicked devil, a man involved in the abduction of Agent Scully…

Despite being wrapped in a blanket, he felt the cold outside.

Krycek roughly grabbed his arm, then opened a car door and shoved him inside.

He stumbled in, his shin hitting the doorframe. It was absurd that such a small impact could bring tears to his eyes more easily than anything else. It was just a minor humiliation, but he had to blink quickly to hold back the tears.

“Damn it,” Krycek muttered, then spent a moment adjusting his blanket again, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The blanket was warm, at least he was grateful for it, at least…
before .

Slowly, the cold subsided, and he remained lying there, but no longer shivering. He tried not to guess what Krycek was thinking; his body remembered clearly.

The car drove for a long time.

To his surprise, he had actually fallen asleep, only to be jolted awake when the car suddenly stopped.

The engine stopped. The driver opened the door, got out, and then slammed it shut.

The door opened above his head, and his body stiffened. He was still in shock when the blanket was pulled back.

“Come here, Pendrell.” Krycek suddenly reached out and gently, effortlessly helped him sit up.

But as he slipped his hand into his warmth, his skin trembled again, and the blanket was pulled back.

Krycek led him into a cramped space, perhaps a foyer. He wished he could see, he wished the blindfold would be removed; just that would be enough to give him a little comfort.

“Lift your leg.” Krycek told him as he stopped, and he tentatively lifted his foot to put it on… the stairs.

He took each step carefully, relying on Krycek's hand for balance. Finally, after a few more steps, he stood on a soft carpet.

Suddenly, Krycek reached out and shoved him against a wall, unexpectedly grabbing his penis. He gasped for breath in the gag, shaking his head against the wall, trying to escape.

"You're really attractive, Pendrell."

Heat radiated from his skin, and no matter which way he tried, he was pushed back, and he began to tremble again.

A soft laugh…

Krycek placed his hand behind his head, and with a soft click, the gag was removed.

He moved his jaw to ease the pain.

Krycek's hand slid down to his chin and roughly pressed his lips to his, coldly probing with his tongue.

He couldn't pull back; Krycek's hips pressed against him, his clothes rubbing against his skin. His penis throbbed again, fascinated by the stimulation.

Suddenly, Krycek released him again.

He could only gasp for breath. He felt Krycek's weight pressing down on him, and he stifled a scream as Krycek gently bit one of his nipples.

A mixture of pleasure and pain surged through his groin, and he unconsciously began to thrust his hips toward Krycek.

Krycek released him, and his body went limp, only then realizing how much his arm ached.

Then the teeth moved to his other nipple, and he gasped again.

Let it go!!

"You react easily," Krycek whispered again, then gently chuckled as he pulled away.

He could feel his penis bouncing in the air, burning hot from the embarrassment and the reaction.

"It's time for a bath," Krycek told him gently.

Pendrell licked his lips and swallowed hard. "If you could let go of my hand..." he said humbly.

"Not yet."

Water suddenly roared from a tap, the scent of sandalwood tickling his nostrils.

Krycek stood there, then suddenly squeezed his nipple again. “What a good boy, Pendrell,” he said, his voice cheerful. Then he left him, silently stepping onto the carpet.

Turning his head, Pendrell tried to figure out which way he went and tried to guess which way the door was. He assessed the odds of escape… Christ, who was he trying to fool? His hands were tied, and his eyes were blindfolded.
Yes, he told himself painfully, but Mulder might be able to do it. In other words, Mulder would very well break a joint to do it; his clumsiness was well-known, an old joke in the FBI. And he, if *he* could find or create an opportunity, he would get out unharmed. But, unfortunately, he had to admit that the chances of success were slimer than climbing to heaven. At least for now.

Krycek returned with a buzzing sound, and Pendrell turned his head, tracing the source of the sound.

“Turn around,” Krycek commanded.

“Why?” He was glad his voice didn’t tremble.

Warm breath on his face, Krycek’s hand on his chest. “Don’t tempt me to hurt you, Pendrell.” His voice was still silky smooth. “You know that old saying? ‘Accept the inevitable trials, and try to enjoy them.’”

He really, really hadn’t thought to understand what that meant.

In his adrenaline rush, he tried to push Krycek away with his shoulder, but failed when he bumped his nose against Krycek’s shoulder. Krycek grabbed him and pinned him against a cold,
marble-like object.

The chill seeped into his skin.

“I assure you, you’ll regret it.”

He already regretted it. A hand roughly rubbed his buttocks. He cried out in pain when something, something cold and slippery, pierced him.

“That’s it,” Krycek told him, making a satisfied sound.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, this isn’t real. He writhed in vain, feeling the nozzle penetrate deeper. “No,” he groaned, “Jesus Christ, Krycek, what have I ever done to you?”

Warm water rushed in, his insides felt like they were being twisted together, and he unconsciously clenched the nozzle.

“You’re a virgin,” Krycek muttered, sounding very pleased.

More water—at least he hoped it was water. It warmly filled him, kept filling him…

He whimpered. “No, I can’t—”

“No, you can.” Krycek licked his back with his tongue. “Believe me, Brian, you don’t want me to punish you, do you?”
A pinch landed on his left buttock, bringing an almost intense pain. “I can be very creative when it comes to punishment.”

He was afraid of that.

The nozzle was finally withdrawn. Something thicker replaced it, something that almost made him suffer was shoved inside him. Panic returned. “What is it, Jesus, please, I can’t—”

“Clamp it.” A savage voice came, and Krycek slapped his buttocks hard.

He jumped up. He couldn't help but cry when he felt the water trickling down his inner thighs.

The roaring water stopped.

Krycek started humming again.

Pendrell remained lying on the sink, clenching his anal muscles. In his hazy state, he remembered something he'd read before—that by tightening the anal muscles, a man could experience double the orgasm. He focused intently, then counted from one to one hundred…

When Krycek removed the plug, leaving him curled up on the bathroom floor, the relief from the pressure nearly made him drip. And anger and shame made him dizzy. He didn't want him to be telling the truth. He was afraid Krycek was really as creative as he claimed.

Then, cruelly, he was pulled back in, filled again, and penetrated again.

"Krycek, you bastard!" It flowed out, and he couldn't call it back.

The leather instrument slapped his buttocks hard, and for a moment, he couldn't even breathe.

"Beautiful, fair skin," Krycek said gleefully, "accept a nice mark. Don't be too tense, Brian, it won't even leave a scar."

This time, Krycek made him wait much longer. He bit his lip to stifle any pleas, even closing his eyes behind the blindfold.

He hated everything Krycek did to him.

Then, the pain lessened…

the water seemed too hot, and it seemed to make him even dizzier.

He stubbornly remained silent, determined not to provoke Krycek's temper, determined not to beg or threaten. He was an FBI agent; someone would notice his disappearance, that person might even be Mulder. Mulder had said he would check the results at the lab before going home. And the lab was the last place he remembered.

Soapy hands eased the tension in his skin. Ignoring his resistance felt good. It was almost comforting; he was battling this relaxation that betrayed his will, but the water was so warm, and he suddenly felt exhausted.

Krycek's hands slid down his shoulders, to his chest, twisting his nipples until they were erect. Then they moved across his abdomen, down between his legs…

The touch brought him back to reality. A slippery finger slid inside him, and he gasped, unable to remain silent any longer.
As the intrusive pressure melted into something akin to pleasure, he bit his lip again. He felt like he was about to climax.

“It’s a very beautiful penis,” Krycek commented, then poured water on it. “Very cute, Brian. I never imagined it would be like this.”

Something warm landed on his swollen tip. He gasped again when he realized it was Krycek’s tongue. It had only patted his lower body at first, but when Krycek’s mouth took it in, he almost groaned. It focused on his tip, sucking him relentlessly until he was almost out of control…

Krycek released him, chuckling as he gently patted his erect penis with one hand, making him cry out in pain. This shocked him more than the pain. “God, you deserve full marks, Brian.”

He didn’t know why Krycek wanted him; he had always thought Krycek wanted a mulder. He wondered if Krycek had ever been a mulder, but when he realized he was imagining Krycek naked, his mind went blank with horror.

“Let me help you up.” A calm voice, calm without a trace of concern.

This time he obeyed. He knew all too well the rod-like object slapping against his lower abdomen, all too well the slapping.

“Did you call me, sir?” a listless voice asked, with an English accent.

“Yes, Robbie,” Krycek said, sounding… sounding pleased. “I’ve given him a bath, cleaned him inside and out. But, you know what the next training is.”

“Yes, sir. Do you want his hair cut?”

“Just a short trim, no shaving.”

Pendrell blinked behind his blindfold—were they going to cut his hair? Clearly, Krycek had gone completely mad, stopping halfway through…was he planning to send him away and then do it with his hair?

A warm mouth brushed against his lips. “I’ll see you soon, Brian.” Alluring, almost like a lover. “Then I’ll begin your training. Just like I do, and you’ll enjoy it.”

He didn’t have that expectation. But he couldn’t be sure his body wasn’t behaving that way. He forced himself to pretend it didn’t matter.

His body was rabid.

It was just a standard physiological reaction; it would happen to anyone. Even Mulder.

That so-called Cocksman, that man who had never appeared before, had actually appeared, and was actually having sex with anyone.

After only ten minutes with Robbie, he realized that Krycek was more insane than he had imagined—"Ah, so smooth and silky." Krycek's hands slid across Pendrell's perfectly smooth arms. Robbie had stripped all the hair off him, oiled him, and grabbed his hair, cutting it like a fresh-faced Navy recruit!

Pride kept him silent.

Krycek was applying oil to his stomach and brushing over his genitals. Meanwhile, Robbie's hands were busy behind his head.

Then, the blindfold was pulled off. The sudden light made him blink rapidly. He turned his head around, trying to take in the scene in the room, trying to memorize it.

His hands were now bound in front of him with a pair of finely crafted sheepskin-lined handcuffs. It began to burn, feeling the blood supplying oxygen to its hungry body.

Krycek was only draped in a loose silk robe, his semi-erect penis clearly visible. He grinned at Pendrell like a child, “Cute.”

Pendrell writhed. He thought more about it—the plug inside him shifting incessantly, Robbie’s attention in the bathroom had already made it semi-erect.

They looked like they were in a living room.

A luxurious living room.

Through an open door, he saw a bedroom, similarly fully equipped.

He began to tremble again, despite the room being very warm.

Robbie had dressed him—a brass penis ring, a leather strap separating and lifting his testicles, a black choker around his neck, completely binding him.

Krycek held him in one hand, a stemmed glass in the other, and sipped the champagne inside. Within minutes, Krycek had become even harder. “Really cute.”

He swallowed hard, then looked over Krycek’s shoulder. He saw a… Jesus, a strange thing, that looked like an antique doctor's chair, except—it was decorated with some soft, tumor-like things.

As Krycek led him over and forced him to sit, those things began to rub against his buttocks. His hands were tied high above his head, his vision restricted to the chains binding his wrists. His legs were lifted and spread apart, his feet placed in stirrups and handcuffed.

Then the chair was reclined.

He began to tremble, because it was so warm, almost heat. Dizziness…

“I just used a little gram,” Robbie told Krycek.

“What’s gram?” he asked desperately, thinking of drugs, the drugs he loathed.

Krycek took another sip of champagne. “Just like always, Robbie, good job. Thanks. Bring the others over when they arrive.”

The others? His mind went blank for a moment, only snapping back to reality when Krycek deliberately twisted the stopper, arching his hips.

“Don’t worry about anything, Brian, it’s just a little anesthetic.” A calm smile. “It’s to help you relax.”

Relax? Relax? But as Krycek twisted the stopper and pushed it in, he groaned, feeling a surge of heat spreading through his body, slowly enveloping his lower abdomen, his stomach. “Ooooh, Jeeeesus, this isn’t real.”

Krycek laughed again, pouring some champagne onto his collarbone and then licking it down, the champagne flowing down his chest, down to his penis. He was now naked and smooth, like a little boy. Warm lips sucked at the base, as if rooted there, pushing against it—he didn’t want to, but he couldn’t resist.

“Oh God, please.”

The plug was turned again.

“Please what, Brian?”

He didn’t want to beg, he couldn’t beg.

So Krycek moved to his nipples again, sucking on them alternately. Until he could no longer control his body, he writhed in his shackles, making sounds like pleading.

Krycek pulled out the plug and went between Pendrell’s open legs, guiding himself against Pendrell’s anus,
spreading it open.

Hot, hard, and, oh God, it was killing him, without lubrication, it suddenly tore him open, filled him. As Krycek sank all the way in, he screamed again.

He could feel Krycek’s scrotum against his buttocks. Panting, he stared at the ceiling. The anesthetic oil had been completely absorbed into his stomach, he told himself calmly that he was drunk, and when people are drunk, they do strange things. What about them?

“Oh, God,” he groaned, “please, please, please.”

Krycek leaned closer, the loose silk draped over him, tickling Pendrell’s thigh. “Please what, Brian?”

He shook his head frantically. Refusing to beg. Until Krycek began to push in inch by inch, then pulled out that lovely yet hateful thick thing…

“Oh, Christ, please fuck me!”

Krycek thrust in violently again.

He screamed, pushing his ass into it, enjoying the pain, melting in pleasure. Again and again, oh God, he would die, Krycek was going to kill him, if he didn’t get relief soon, his heart would explode…

He heard someone making frantic noises. A part of him recognized it was himself and felt ashamed of his need. He acquiesced to Krycek’s depravity. But, damn it, this hurt was so good.

He thrust his hips, again and again, feeling the intense orgasms pierce him like lightning, tormenting his nerves, overturning everything he had previously considered reasonable. They were right, he thought from afar. Then he screamed again. Screamed. Screamed…

something hot and slippery shot under his chin.

They were right. Never mind that you're a man, tightening your anus can give you double the orgasm. It was such a fascinating statement, he thought as he regained consciousness, and planned to investigate it when he got back.

Krycek thrust faster and harder, and when he reached the peak of collapse, a sound like Russian came from his throat.

In a way, he could still barely breathe.

Every nerve in his body was excited, and he felt an unimaginable stretch, fullness, and smoothness.

Krycek licked his chest.

He seemed to be about to faint, and he felt his buttocks involuntarily tighten.

Krycek groaned and gently nibbled and tugged at his nipples.

He gave him a sullen look, then looked behind him, towards the direction of the bedroom.

The bathroom was probably there, he thought groggily, then closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

As something warm and moist touched his skin, something thicker than a plug slid inside him.

Krycek pinched his already limp penis. “You have to do better than this, Brian, we have guests coming to see you.”

A malicious smile.

“Coming, coming, coming.”

With a choked groan, Pendrell fainted.

Chapter Two

Pendrell’s eyelids fluttered weakly, something spicy was wafting under his nose, he turned his head from side to side, but couldn’t escape.

With a groan, Pendrell tried to move, but found himself still fixed in the chair, “Oh, God.”

“He looks really good.” A woman’s voice said, “Don’t you think so, Arthur? Seriously, Alex,
I really like what you did to him.”

Oh God, it was all real, not just some decadent and morbid hallucination in his head, not just a nightmare after a high fever…

Krycek was smiling kindly at him, “Better?” Better

? Better? Better?!? He opened his mouth to retort to Krycek, but found Krycek's hand gently squeezing his balls—the timing seemed inappropriate. And it felt good. He twitched, realizing the large thing was still inside him. He turned his head and saw an elderly man with snow-white hair, an elderly blonde woman with a stunningly beautiful face on his arm.

"He looks very…suitable for this, Marita," the English accent rang out again.

He recognized it as the voice from the auction.

Scarlet nails lightly grazed Pendrell's nipples, making him twitch again. A surge of pleasure made his still lifeless penis twitch under her gaze.

"Very smooth," she agreed. "I never imagined he could be so lovely, so silky smooth."

Her fingertips slowly moved to his abdomen, and he trembled uncontrollably.

Her index finger traced the tip of his penis, and he bit his lip.

It was just then that it became erect again, and he heard Krycek chuckle softly.

“He responds easily, Marita. But he’s mine.”

“Oh, I know, Alex, I just wanted to…” He sighed, his crimson lips pouting, “I just wanted to test the merchandise.”

“I’m curious to see how far you’ve taken him since this morning,” the old man said with a smile, but his eyes were dark.

“Not far. It only took a short while.” Krycek’s smile carried a… lazy threat, “But he’s been quite well trained. Just a little bit disobedient at times, hmm, Brian?”

He swallowed hard, trying to determine which answer was the safest.

“Lift those legs,” said the unnamed Englishman. “I want to see his stuff.”

Krycek chuckled again. He adjusted the chair, and Pendrell slid down, almost painfully pressed into it, his legs rising, rising, until they were nearly perpendicular to his body.

“Robbie,” Krycek whispered, “give Sir Arthur a glove.”

A glove? Looking up, Pendrell saw Marita release her grip on the guard’s arm and stand beside Krycek.

Sir Arthur walked between Pendrell’s legs, looking strangely ominous. “Alex, I told you, you have to develop them fully. This is useless; it’s not thick enough.” A mild reproach.

The dildo slid outward, causing him to gasp. Not thick enough? These people are crazy. He was glad he was still dazed, at least a little.

Robbie appeared with a latex glove. Sir Arthur snapped it into his mouth, then gave him a horrifying
smile . Robbie smeared something on his gloved hands…something that looked like lubricant, more lubricant. What was about to
happen suddenly became clear.

“Hey, wait a minute!”

“Very disobedient.” Sir Arthur rubbed his gloved fingers together, making a disapproving sound. “Alex, really!”

With a sigh, Krycek left for a moment, then returned with a narrow leather strap. “Brian, anyway, I warned you…”

He futilely tugged at his arm, which was tied above his head. “Oh, look, I’m sorry, I just…” nonsensical words, silly rambling, “I was just a little surprised, that’s all. And you know, it still hurts down there, and I don’t think I can take it again, Krycek, that’s all.”

The strap slapped against his thigh. “Sir,” Krycek told him irritably, “you should call me sir, Brian.”

Damn it, if that was what Krycek wanted, he could call him the Queen of England. “Yes, sir.” Very humbly. “I’m sorry, sir.” He could swear that what flickered in Krycek’s eyes was not anger but a mischievous flame.

“Brian, I’m starting to think you’re deliberately disobeying.” Krycek leaned closer, pinching one of his nipples sharply, then the other. “Deliberately, just to get my attention.”

“Maybe he’ll get there faster.” The dry voice belonged to Sir Arthur. “It’ll take them weeks to understand that
.”

“No, Brian,” Krycek grumbled, then leaned closer, sucking hard on his lower lip, his tongue.

A hand—whose hand? He didn’t know, he was a little dizzy—was pampering, caressing the base of his penis.
The kiss made him even dizzier. He felt an aggressive finger slide inside him, squeezing his—that might be my prostate—he thought hazily, unaware that he was returning Krycek’s kiss, and quite passionately at that. That finger gave him pleasure, then he felt another finger slide in, then another…and another. Expanding him, more intensely than Krycek had done to him so far. And the pressure was almost bizarre, making it impossible for him to distinguish whether it was pure pleasure or pure pain.

Sobs filled Krycek's mouth; he felt pleasure and pain for them. God, a knuckle passed through his circular muscle… Oh Christ, it hurts, but it's so good.

He didn't know if he wanted to know these things about himself. He only knew his penis was getting harder. A mouth took it in, and Krycek kept kissing him. He didn't know who was sucking him, he didn't know if he cared.

Another knuckle suddenly passed through, and he cried out in pain, a near-suffocating cry. Krycek's fingers pinched his nipples,
at least , he thought it was Krycek's fingers, but he wasn't sure.

A third knuckle, and he arched his back, screaming, pulling hard on his arm, unable to decide whether to welcome it or try to escape it.

Finally, Krycek released him, allowing him to breathe heavily, his eyes fixed on those green eyes.

"Very good, Brian," he whispered.

The chair was suddenly flipped back, and his head slumped. He thought coldly, wondering if it was possible to stop when all the blood in his body rushed from his shoulders to his head. But there seemed to be no need to worry about it.

A fourth knuckle suddenly plunged into him, and he screamed, feeling himself being pulled open so much, even more exposed than when he was naked.

Krycek's penis was at his lips.

"Nnnno," he sobbed, writhing in his shackles, "pppplease, no."

"Oh, yes." Krycek's fingers stroked his cheek, "open your mouth, Brian."

Oh, almighty Jesus Christ, he forgot about the thumb, the thumb that was spreading open his last part, and he closed his eyes in pleasure and pain, screaming, screaming... swallowing Krycek's thick member almost greedily, tasting the flavor that came with it, pushing his hips
against something like a damn fire hydrant.

"Ah, God." He heard Krycek groan as Krycek's hips moved rapidly downwards, almost suffocating him.

Whatever was spreading open, it suddenly shrank. Some shy yet wholesome part of his mind made him realize that the man's hand was completely inside him, his anus tightening at the man's wrist. Regardless,
the image ignited him, and he frantically and clumsily sucked on Krycek, finding that Krycek was trying to establish a rhythm—each time the fist thrust in, he would quickly withdraw from the warm mouth…

"I want to see if he can orgasm without direct stimulation," the BBC-accented man said.

"Oh, fuck you," he thought roughly, sucking harder on Krycek, swallowing it deeper, until Krycek's hand gripped his head, until Krycek's hips pounded faster and harder with groans…

He was groaning too… Oh Christ, it was in agony wanting to be released, it wanted to come out, but, oh Jesus, Jesus—
Suddenly, he wanted to scream in agony, Krycek cried out and withered with satisfaction, the salty, sour, slippery filling filling his throat, his body convulsing like a fish out of water as he came, came, came, came…

He went limp in his shackles, whimpering as the hand slowly, painfully withdrew.

"Your choice is good, Alex. Congratulations." The white-haired man smiled, but the razor-sharp edge was still terrifying. "He should be exceptionally trainable."

Pendrell closed his eyes. A hand, still glistening with semen, possessively caressed his lower abdomen, causing him to jump.

"I think so too," Krycek's voice was hoarse.

He jumped and whimpered again as the hand moved up and pinched one of his nipples.

"I think Brian and I would do very well together."

Very good. Pendrell thought, panting. He'd been kidnapped, humiliated, raped, but it was better and more than any sex he'd experienced in the last six months… God was punishing him for something. If he could figure out why, he might be able to pull through and escape. Though, more likely than murder, a heart attack.

The voice faded, his consciousness drifted, and he dozed off.

Robbie shook him awake and flipped the chair back into place. “Time for a bath, young Brian,” he told Pendrell, a hint of pity in his voice.

“Again?” Pendrell asked wearily. “Can’t I just take a shower?”

“I suppose only the master is allowed to shower,” Robbie informed him, “though sometimes Master Krycek can take you with him.” Robbie’s words took a slight turn, foreshadowing a little good.

Whatever, at least he'd be clean. Letting himself be led into the bathroom, he resigned himself to fate. The hot water revived his spirit, the relaxation even allowing him to unleash a final burst of energy.

Robbie led him back to the bedroom, where Krycek was sitting on the edge of the bed. Really, even Krycek couldn't bring it back to life. Could he? He almost sobbed; morally, *he* certainly couldn't… Damn it, he couldn't stay here for another week or longer, long enough to forget the stool in the lab.

Krycek by the bed seemed to be rolling up something like bandages—no, something Krycek was playing with, looked like… silk. Pale, almost translucent.

Krycek smiled at him, without a trace of malice, but… unreal. “Is he all ready, Robbie?”

“Yes, sir. He's quite clean inside and out; he's been urinated on, and I've fed him.”

Krycek's smile widened. “Good. Come here, Brian.”

Huh? He fumed in vain; he wasn't a damn dog! Even if Mulder and Scully might think so…

he obeyed anyway. Before he knew it, his feet had carried him forward. Clearly, his body was dazed, communicating with Krycek in a new and pleasant way. Oh shit, maybe Krycek was right, he should relax and enjoy it.

But inexplicably, Krycek simply led him to the bedside and fastened a chain to his collar. The chain was attached to a hook on the wall, and then his hands were finally freed.

A gentle hand massaged his arm. “Are they cramping? No? Good. You did well in the bathroom.”

Somewhat confused, he nodded.

Turning to Robbie, Krycek reached out and took the roll of milky-white silk fabric.

He looked at it, bewildered. Krycek picked up one of his hands and began to bandage it, each finger, his palm, then his thumb, his wrist. Panic gripped him. He yanked his hand away from Krycek, screaming incoherently. Just as he tried to break free of the chains and Krycek, the blow came.

Robbie pressed down on him with all his weight, despite being far from lightweight. He probably weighed over 200 pounds of pure muscle, Pendrell thought, and terror and rage made him dizzy. He struggled, but couldn't move, couldn't escape at all.

Once Krycek regained his composure and wrapping, he continued. His forearm disappeared, his shoulder,
Robbie shifted position, his feet disappeared under the milky silk. His fibula, his thigh, his other arm… As Krycek began to wrap his remaining torso, Robbie pressed his knees firmly against his legs, pulling his body slightly off the bed so that his remaining torso could also be wrapped.

He began to cry when his throat was covered. His mouth was also gagged. He began to panic when everything below his nose suddenly disappeared. His tears seeped through, soaking the silk.

Krycek grabbed his cheek. “Brian, Brian, you can do it. It’s thin enough to let you breathe. You can even see through it. Make yourself do that, take a deep breath.”

He tried, whimpering, and surprisingly, looked into the green eyes. Then he tried to slow his breathing.

“Take a deep breath,” Krycek murmured. “Like that, my Brian, deep, slow breaths.”

He calmed down. Now, the only parts of his body exposed were his groin and buttocks. Something thick and hard pushed inside him, and he whimpered. His arms were crossed and bound to his chest. A warm mouth closed his, teasing him back to reality. Strangely, he felt more unguarded, and a wonderful…freedom. He had no face. Unrecognizable,
unidentifiable…

He met Krycek’s movements with a dizzy thud. Damn Krycek’s mouth, Krycek was fucking him, though he was using very little force. Krycek twisted his penis inside him, pushing him upwards. Despite the unavoidable pain and expansion, it worked—an excited orgasm shot down his spine like lightning, and he thrashed helplessly. Krycek's mouth immediately began a gentle sucking, his fingers lightly dragging his scrotum, carefully rolling each testicle.

Then, while he was still recovering, they lifted him up. To… an object that looked like a box, no, like a coffin.

“Don’t be afraid.” As he began to panic and began a silent struggle with them, Krycek comforted him, “Brian, we won’t put the lid on.” Krycek suddenly hugged him tightly, “Don’t be afraid, Brian,” he reassured, “I will never put the lid on. Unless you disobey. I will never want to hurt you, Brian, but if you disobey, I will have to punish you.”

He trembled convulsively.

“But you did very well tonight. Yes, after all, it’s only your first night of training, and you’re allowed some mercy.”

But this didn’t reassure him; instead, it made him even more discouraged.

This box… was made like a sarcophagus, but once inside, it was surprisingly comfortable.

Helpless, he lay down, listening to the pounding of his pulse, his eyes fixed on Krycek’s. Maybe he really needed to trust Krycek, maybe… maybe, if he did very, very well, Krycek would never need to put the lid on the sarcophagus.

He felt the pressure of Krycek’s lips on his forehead, and when Krycek pulled back, he began to cry.

“Shhh.” Krycek put a finger to his own lips. “You need to sleep, sweet Brian, rest, we’ll play more tomorrow.”

Despite his terror, he could feel the throbbing of his penis. With a groan of shame, the light went out.

He heard movement, soft laughter, the rustling of the sheets, and the sound of the bedroom door closing.

Then, he was left in the darkness by someone, his only companion the sound of his own heartbeat.

Chapter Three:

Pendrell awoke when someone touched his face through silk.

“Good morning, Brian.” Krycek’s voice was gentle.

“Oh, why are we here?”

A fingertip traced the tip of his morning erection, and he groaned.

A warm mouth covered his, and he stopped sobbing.

He was overwhelmed by the pleasure and could only lie there perfectly until he could no longer hold on.

A hand slid down his hips, twisting the dildo inside him. He sobbed again, silently begging. He couldn’t remember if he had ever felt this pleasure before. Had he ever felt it? He couldn’t remember, couldn’t think, the pleasure almost suffocated him, and he thought he was going to die of a heart attack. The pressure on his prostate made his penis rise like a bursting column of mercury, which was amazing… Then, as Krycek twisted the dildo, as Krycek swallowed him, he exploded, letting out a surprising, chaotic, bird-like scream.

When he was *able* to *breathe* again, he heard Krycek’s satisfied voice, “Good. That way you can hold on longer later.”

Later? His dazed mind couldn't make out what it meant. He sighed as Krycek lifted him from the sarcophagus and untied the restraints on his head and face.

Green eyes, like a cat's. And Krycek was looking at him with a cat-like smile. "Did you sleep well?"

He hesitated, unsure which answer was correct. "Well, more or less."

Krycek raised an eyebrow. "More or less?"

He swallowed hard. "It's a little hard to get used to." He admitted humbly.

Krycek's eyes flashed. "You must always be honest with me, Brian. Otherwise, I'll have to punish you."

He trembled at the thought of the sarcophagus. "Yes, sir." Cowardly.

Robbie came in carrying a tray, placed it on the small table by the fireplace, and then came to help Krycek lift Pendrell from his… 'bed'. He gave it a fearful glance over his shoulder, finding it larger than he had felt in the darkness battling a dizzying panic.

The silk was easily undone, and he was then re-hooked and handcuffed.

“I think this is the first necessity,” Krycek said lazily to Robbie. “Then breakfast.”

“Yes, sir,” Robbie grasped the chain. “Come here, Brian.”

A feeble urge to resist surged within him, but the pressure on his bladder was enough to dispel it.

“I’ll see you again soon, Brian,” Krycek told him, his voice carrying a malicious provocation. “Then I’ll feed you breakfast.”

Pendrell’s eyes were blindfolded again.

He… was washed, and Robbie led him out of the bathroom. His trembling had subsided slightly, and he let Robbie lead him, then he was pushed into a mattress, panting heavily.

“Bend your body up,” Krycek’s voice was cold.

He then found himself bent over on the mattress, his face pressed against the sheets, still warm from Krycek’s body and smelling of his skin. He inhaled the scent, feeling a mixture of anxiety and awakening.

A slippery finger was probing him, the lubricant making him let out a small, unpleasant sound. He was still aching like hell, and he was lucky if he could even sit up… His teeth were gnawing at his buttocks as something thicker than a finger was pushed against his circular muscles.

“Relax, Brian, it’s not thick. I know you’re still a little sore today.” A smug voice.

A little sore? He bit his lip, trying not to groan. A tongue was exploring his balls, wet and warm, and involuntarily, he arched his body to meet the exploration.

“Beautiful and smooth,” Krycek murmured, his hand replacing his tongue as he rolled Pendrell’s balls in his palm, then chuckled, “We’d better feed you something to keep your strength up.”

He felt the plug slip as Robbie helped him to his feet, and he bit his lip again.

“Get into bed, Brian,” Krycek commanded.

He obeyed, clinging nervously to Robbie’s arm.

“Your knees, yes, like that. Now, sit on your heels.” Krycek’s voice held a hint of amusement.

As he sat down as instructed, he couldn’t help but hiss. He couldn’t find a spot that wouldn’t put pressure on the plug, which was probably Krycek’s main purpose. His penis twitched slightly, responding with pleasure.

“Open your mouth, Brian.” Krycek’s warm breath brushed against his ear.

He cautiously opened his mouth, feeling something cool touch his lips, something sweet on his tongue. Melon? Certainly some kind of fruit, and he was starving.

As he chewed, Krycek’s fingertips reached his nipple and gave it a sharp twist. The moment he twitched, the plug immediately intensified its impact on his nerves.

Another bite. Egg?

Warm lips came to the tip of his penis, teasing it roughly…

more fruit went down his throat. Something with a unique flavor, something he couldn’t quite identify.

His nipples were covered in warmth, squeezed, until they hardened like a shrunken penis.

More fruit.

His buttocks were caressed, a warm finger roaming between them, playfully twisting the plug. He began to harden like a rock, and didn't care at all about reaching orgasm faster. He was truly and obviously aroused, and unconsciously wriggling on the plug.

Another bite of egg, accompanied by licking and sucking on his navel.

He no longer knew what he was eating; he was just waiting for those torturous touches.

Fingertips, lips, tongue, and teeth…

he made a faint sound, wanting that touch. His penis was stiff and erect, vibrating incessantly.

Krycek smeared something he suspected was mayonnaise on it, and then he began to suck on it.

He arched his body, pushing his hips forward, feeling the plug squeezing against him, igniting a flame of desire that reduced his rationality to ashes.

A warm tongue traced his shaft, and then his tip entered Krycek's mouth. Krycek's lower lip rubbed against his sensitive spot, sending a pleasurable current up his spine...

teeth nibbled at his collarbone... The meal was driving him wild; he no longer felt hungry, but Krycek kept
feeding him, muttering nonsense. Even that nonsense was driving his temperature higher and higher...

“Beautiful penis.” Krycek squeezed his tip. “Lovely skin.” A caress landed on his lower abdomen. “Such beautiful ass.” Fingers parted his buttocks. “You’re so beautifully stretched and taut, and so pink.” The plug throbbed.

He was driving him crazy, and the plug remained firmly pressed against his heels until Krycek thought he’d had enough.

A soft laugh, then he felt the mattress shift as Krycek got out of bed.

“That’s much better.” A rough, aggressive kiss. “I’m afraid I have to go out for a bit, Brian. But I’ll be back soon.”

Something? Back? It slowly settled in his mind—Krycek was going to leave him like this!

Krycek twisted his ear. “You’re not allowed to touch yourself, Brian, and you’re not allowed to cum until I get back.”

His jaw nearly dropped, then, almost pitifully, “You can’t just leave me like this!”

“No, I can.” Firmly.

He almost cried. “Please, Krycek, this isn’t fair!”

“Fair? I’m your master, I don’t need to be fair…” a sharp tone.

He immediately shut his mouth.

The chain was loosened, then suddenly tightened again, and he fell face down onto the bed.

“You must call Master Alex ‘Sir’,” Robbie’s voice was stern. “And you can’t make decisions about anything.”

“I think I’ve been too lenient,” Krycek’s voice sounded annoyed. “I’m afraid I have to change my methods. Let’s start by giving you a name, a name that will liberate you from your former self.” A warm tongue licked his back. “It’s necessary for a pet.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but his words were cut off by a leather strap across his buttocks. He cried out in pain, trying to get up, but was pushed back down.

Crack! The strap stung, but the impact of the sound was far greater than the result.

Time and again, he felt that strange, erotic sensation on his exposed buttocks, a stinging pain from the plug filling him and the beating.

Ten, he thought groggily, not quite sure.

As Krycek's racket pounded his buttocks, the plug was pushed violently, and he cried out again, as if driven by something equally violent.

"You're not allowed to cum," Krycek warned him, his breathing a little rapid. "Only good pets are allowed to release."

He didn't know if that was his choice. Groaning, he pushed his burning flesh toward Krycek's penetration. Faster and faster, until he was sure it was no longer his choice, he was going to cum, and he would be punished, but if he was lucky, he could come again.

Oh, Christ, that's what he hoped for. But in fact, before he even had time to think, he had already exploded, his muscles clenching tightly around Krycek's rod, causing him to wince in pain…

Krycek roared, slamming into him forcefully, gripping his buttocks tightly, bruising them. Then, he filled him, he could feel the heat inside his intestines, and the rain of moisture that accompanied each thrust…

As Krycek withdrew, he was still panting, “Bad pet,” he cursed, “Very well, I’ll deal with you later, but for now, I have an appointment to keep.”

“Would you be happy if I did something special to my pet, sir?” Robbie’s voice was hoarse.

“Of course, why not.” Krycek laughed again, “Fuck him until his ears bleed, Robbie. But under no circumstances should he come out, I think the gates of hell will be open for trickery.” “Of

course, sir.”

Pendrell lay flat on the bed, eyes half-closed, the gates of hell, he thought silently. Then, his mind suddenly cleared, and he transformed that into what might happen! …Robbie pressed him down, making a disapproving sound.

Then came the warm, damp cloth, the cool metal and leather… He was stuffed into something, something that felt like… a ring?, warmly wrapped around his balls, tightly gripping the base of his penis—even when it softened.

“In that kind of place, it has to be done,” Robbie’s voice sounded satisfied.

A door opened and then closed, and Pendrell heard the sound of the shower.

He gasped again as Robbie pushed his knee up against his chest. And, oh Jesus, something
much larger than what Krycek had stuffed in was being inserted into him.

He groaned, arching against it, still very sensitive.

Just by hearing Robbie’s honorifics towards Krycek, one could imagine how seriously he would carry out Krycek’s orders—quickly and violently, he soon discovered.

Robbie teased him cruelly, cruelly enough that he actually became erect again, but the ring pressed firmly against his already oversensitive body, tormenting him. Until he was awakened by this—the ability to gladly accept the cursed scully, even though it was clearly something no one wanted.

Then, he was led to another room, still blindfolded, the chain still around his neck. Beneath him was a soft mattress and a soft blanket. Then his hands were released again.

The plug tormented him, the ring drove him mad, but Robbie simply removed his blindfold.

A plain room, devoid of any luxuries, just a low single bed and a comfortable mattress.

“The bathroom is here, pet, you can relax.” Robbie turned on the light and pointed to an open door. “I’ll check on you later.”

Pendrell nodded and waited until the door closed.

He began to examine the chain, quite long, in fact, long enough for him to move around the room.

A bookshelf caught his attention.

He quickly scanned it, feeling his penis twitch again—it was full of pornographic books. But clearly, he could no longer seek any more psychological stimulation.

To his surprise, he found a safety pin in the bathroom cabinet.

Raising his hand, he touched the back of the collar, and slowly, a smile spread across his face.

A small padlock. He didn't know if he could manage to open it. But he had to escape, before he could stop…

Twisting the collar, moving the padlock to the front, he stood in front of the bathroom mirror and opened the safety pin…

But staring intently at his reflection had an unfortunate effect—his penis began to throb uncontrollably. He reached down, stroking the sensitive flesh through the collar, and clenched his buttocks, feeling the plug inside him…

Oh Jesus, without a doubt, he had to escape, before he could stand and think about it any longer…

Staring at the mirror, opening the safety pin, he began his attempt.

Chapter Four

It took him nearly an hour for the small padlock to click open.

Pendrell didn't know whether to be happy or scared.

The door, of course, was locked, and the windows were heavily guarded as well. But, after all, he was an FBI agent…

The pin hadn't worked on the lock, but he'd somehow managed to find a police pin tucked between the doorframe and the floor!

God must hate him. Just as he finally heard the click after his relentless efforts, the door behind him suddenly opened. It made him realize with absolute certainty—God had never been on his side.

Krycek's expression was indifferent. "Smart, pet," he said to Pendrell, his voice flat. "But, I'm afraid not smart enough, or fast enough." Krycek's lips twitched. Then, with a swift movement, he abruptly pulled Pendrell back to his feet. “Robbie,” he called without turning around, “I think some additional training is necessary. Bring me the belt.”

Pendrell, blushing, tried to push him away and back away. “Krycek, don’t do anything worse, don’t make it worse, okay?”

Krycek smiled slowly. “Sir, pet. To you, I am sir.” His fingers tightened around Pendrell’s wrist.

A sweet shiver ran through him, sending shivers down his spine. Krycek’s eyes held a heat of…threat and pleasure, like a predator locked on its prey.

Robbie appeared behind Krycek, seemingly utterly enraged. He grabbed Pendrell’s other wrist and, together with Krycek, dragged him back into the room.

He didn’t even try to struggle. His wrists were tied to Krycek’s bedpost. Robbie pinned him down, his face pressed tightly against the sheets, his buttocks lifted up… Then, a sharp whistling sound of a belt tearing through the air filled the air. It tore at him, made him jump, made him bite his lip tightly. Oh, shit, Krycek was really using all his strength this time.

Crackling sound! Again and again, until even biting his lip couldn't stop involuntary tears from streaming down his face. He writhed helplessly, trying to escape the beatings, but this only intensified the movement of the plug inside him.

His buttocks turned red rapidly with each strike, but what terrified him even more was that it was quite effectively making his penis quickly aroused. By now, it had quietly soaked the wool blanket beneath him and stood high against his lower abdomen.

They unlocked the handcuffs from the post, put him down, and let him kneel limply on the bed.

Krycek also sat down on the bed and gently pulled him over, letting him lie on his muscular thighs hidden under his work clothes. He wept silently, tears falling onto Krycek's legs. He gasped as the plug was pulled out.

Krycek stroked the back of his neck, his rough hand caressing his balls. "Your ass is a beautiful color, pet." Krycek's voice was barely audible. "Don't you think so, Robbie?" He unbuttoned his jeans, freeing himself.

"I'm always charmed by your decorative stripes, sir," Robbie chimed in with satisfaction.

"Most men can't grasp the nuances; they just keep going and going."

Pendrell's penis jerked when he saw Krycek's fully erect member. He had little time to consider whether he wanted to protest—undoubtedly, he didn't. He wanted to feel the intense heat of this torture—Krycek pressed his head down, and he opened his mouth to swallow the swollen rod.

He heard a sigh above him. "Suck me, pet."

He obeyed. At first, he seemed a little clumsy, but soon he remembered the rhythm they had established the night before.

Robbie's penis pressed tightly against him and pushed into his lubricated passage. Combined with the decorative stripes of Krycek, it brought him an unusual pain, but this pain seemed to dissipate in the pleasure that Robbie's tight grip on his penis gave him.

"Fuck him hard," Krycek said to Robbie, his voice hoarse, "I want you to spread him open for me, let me see how tight he is and how pink he turns."

It was too late; by the time Pendrell realized what they were about to do, the gates of hell had already been opened for him. He became harder, and the rings grew hotter until they were firmly embedded in his sensitive flesh, blocking him... He thrust his hips back wildly and sucked desperately on Krycek's penis, hoping to temporarily relieve the pain... A small, unconscious moan escaped his throat. He pushed his penis into Robbie's fist and pressed it against Krycek's thigh like a shameless, lustful beast.

He couldn't wait any longer. This time, he managed to swallow Krycek's entire penis into his mouth without choking, frantically swallowing it as Robbie began to thrust into him more violently. Harder and harder, harder and harder… and he still couldn't get relief; it looked like it was about to explode, especially when Krycek left him and watched Robbie finish.

"You're really bad," Krycek told him ruefully. "I'm afraid I have to find a way to make sure that even if you run away, anyone who finds you will know to return you to your master."

Robbie's thumb cruelly rubbed the tip of Pendrell's swollen penis and sighed as he slowly pulled it out. "He's lovely, sir."

"Isn't he?" Krycek's smile was unusually sweet.

"And he's dripping." Robbie's voice sounded satisfied.

"I hope, pet, this has taught you a lesson."

He cried.

Krycek sighed, touching his limp penis. “Good. Dress him up and handcuff him. I think he’ll be handcuffed to the tiles over there in the corner.” A low, warm chuckle brushed against Pendrell’s neck, an obnoxious chuckle.

“Oh, you’ve angered young master Alex, pet.” Robbie snapped his fingers in annoyance.

He sobbed again, letting himself be lifted up. Oh God, his ass was still burning…

mercilessly, work clothes were shoved over his naked body; they were definitely Krycek’s jeans, and they were way too long for him. He looked miserably at Krycek, but it was clear Krycek was unmoved. He was still gently stroking himself as he watched Robbie hang Pendrell from the wall.

The marble tiles were cold. He curled his toes, his feet shifting incessantly. It was ridiculous, but he felt he should apologize to Krycek. Shouldn’t he? But he wanted to. Oh dear, tears blurred his vision.

"Has he already had lunch, Robbie?" Krycek yawned. "Feed him before you give him a beer. I don't want him to throw up."

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out.

Krycek blinked. Then, with a gentle smile, he rolled off the bed. He came to Pendrell, grabbed his cheek, and gave him a long, aggressive kiss, licking his palate and sucking on his lips…

“I know,” Krycek released him, then kissed the tip of his nose. “I know you are,” he said gently, “but I’m afraid we still have to make sure you never forget your mistake, pet.” Another kiss, a long one.

He arched his back against Krycek’s hips, squeezing helplessly, unable to move due to the weight of the ring and the heavy work clothes.

Krycek traced his back and caressed his face. “I’ll be back soon. Robbie will feed you lunch, and,” a brief, wicked smile, “something to drink.”

He began to groan, “Please…please, sir.” He suddenly realized, “Please don’t leave, sir.”

Krycek chuckled. “I’ll be back soon, pet.”

Then he lay back down on the bed, giving an almost fake smile as Robbie entered the room. “Make sure he drinks his fill, Robbie.”

Robbie grinned. “I will, sir.”

…………………………

When Krycek returned, Pendrell felt like he was dying; his bladder had been rapidly filled by Robbie’s relentless perfusion. The throbbing pain forced him to constantly shift his feet to distract himself. "Please, sir," he pleaded with Robbie, using every ounce of strength, "please, sir, I need to use the restroom." Robbie

, engrossed in a book, glanced at him, then clicked his tongue dismissively and shook his head. "No, wait until your master returns, pet."

So, before Krycek finally stepped inside, he prayed fervently…

Robbie smiled again and went out.

Then, Krycek opened a beer, sipped it, and looked thoughtfully at Pendrell.

Pendrell pleaded again, even more cowardly, his feet hopping incessantly.

Krycek's eyes were thoughtful. "No." Krycek pulled up a chair and sat down opposite him. Then, he leaned back lazily and took another sip of beer.

Pendrell blinked, then blinked again.

“I own you,” Krycek said softly, “every little part, from head to toe. And, frankly, pet, that includes your pee.”

Pendrell stared at him, utterly stunned. “But you can’t,” he began, then hastily shut his mouth.

Krycek’s eyebrows rose slowly. “I can’t?” he said incredulously. “What can I do with you, pet? It’s obvious you’re not paying any attention.” With a sigh, he stood up and took a leash from the closet.

Pendrell’s heart pounded sadly. “I didn’t mean that, sir,” he said in a very, very small voice.

It was no different from before, oh no, there was one small difference—his buttocks weren’t bare. But, on the other hand, he was afraid he would have to pee terribly, because his mental control would soon crumble…

The first blow came with a startling sound, a tearing sound…

“Who owns you?”

Tear…

“It’s…it’s…it’s…you,” he stammered, desperately clenching his legs.

Oh, Christ. Another strike landed precisely.

"What can't I do?"

"Wh...wh...wh...nothing." A hint of madness crept in.

The belt was tossed aside, and Krycek moved closer, his warm breath tickling his ear. "What if I asked you to do something, pet?"

"I'll...do...do...it." He was sweating, feeling utterly terrified; he'd never been so frightened before. He didn't know how he could possibly pee, even if it would get the ring off… He figured freezing would be necessary, he was sure.

"Then pee yourself." A silky voice, warm breath. Krycek's breath carried a faint citrus scent, though
he didn't know what kind of cologne he was using.

Pee yourself? He blinked hard, not bothering to ask if he'd misheard. And he was afraid to ask if he'd misheard. It was difficult, but his body had certainly had enough; the desperate resistance to do it was making him cramp. "

Pet?" "A warning tone.

He suddenly burst into tears, let it be. In an instant, hot liquid filled his pants and streamed down his legs...

sobbing uncontrollably...

Krycek was whispering something to him, words of comfort, but he didn't know what he was saying.

Then Krycek unlocked his shackles, let his arms down, and helped him pull off his soaking wet jeans, throwing them into the urine on the floor tiles.

He had never been so humiliated in his life, but as Krycek held him, all he could do was cling to Krycek and sob uncontrollably.

"You're a good boy, pet," he whispered in his ear. "You should be happy now."

Then Krycek began kissing him, licking his palate with his tongue, deeply, wildly, until he could no longer stand, until he forgot why he felt humiliated, until he was hard again inside his ring, shamelessly squeezing against Krycek…

sobbing… Krycek

squeezed the tip of his penis, twisting and pulling it, then pushed him back onto the bed and continued, until he started crying again, until he felt he was about to ejaculate… slowly, painfully, as if he were in heaven…

He fainted, or nearly fainted.

He lay limp on the bed, and when he could see and breathe again, Krycek was idly stroking his balls, gently dragging one, then the other.

When Robbie returned, he bent down and looked at Krycek questioningly.

“Take a shower,” Krycek told him in a remorseful tone, “and then call Tony to clean that up.”

Robbie glanced in that direction.

Pendrell felt a burning shame and closed his eyes again, focusing on the sensation of his testicles being gently rolled between Krycek's fingers.

"Then, we'll need the penetrating tool, Robbie." His

eyelids snapped open, panic making his heart pound. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, and closed it again. Finally, at great risk, he uttered a small sound, "The penetrating tool, sir?"

“And tattoo needles,” Krycek added lightly.

He sobbed.

Krycek separated his testicles with his thumb and forefinger. “One decoration here, I suppose,” he said thoughtfully. “And I have some cute little gold rings for my nipples.”

His penis twitched, even as he felt panic creeping towards him.

“Don’t worry, it won’t hurt that much,” Krycek’s eyes burned with possessiveness again. “And my name, Cyrillic, will be tattooed here too.” A finger stroked his groin.

He trembled, staring intently at those green eyes. As Robbie helped him to his feet, he trembled again, forgetting everything except the heat in those eyes…

“First, a bath,” Robbie said cheerfully.

“Then… we’ll go from there.” A low chuckle.

Protests were futile, and he obediently followed Robbie. After

Chapter Five

was cleaned up again, Pendrell was tied to Krycek’s bed with leather straps.

Beneath him lay a pristine white sheet, his hands and feet bound to the four corners in the shape of an eagle at Krycek's command.

He felt a wave of dizziness wash over him again. Robbie and anesthetic oil… perhaps it was just a gesture of kindness, seeing him still trembling with terror… excitement.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Krycek caressed his face. “Don’t be afraid, it will only hurt for a moment.” Gently.

He looked up, blinking repeatedly. “Please.” He wasn’t sure what he was asking for—a reprieve? Or his rights?

Krycek bent down and kissed him, lightly, deeply. “Brian, you will only feel pain for a moment. And you will become so beautiful.” Another kiss, his tongue tracing the contours of his mouth. “If you are a good pet, I will give you a diamond ornament.”

This kiss ignited a new wave of desire. He writhed, trying to lift himself up and press himself against Krycek, but it was no use; the restraints were too effective.

Another person entered, a younger man, a man with long, dark hair.

“This is the victim?” he asked, his eyes gleaming.

“Shut up, Tony,” Krycek snapped. “Let’s begin.”

“Do you want the piercing first, or the tattoo first?”

“The piercing,” Krycek instructed. “He needs to generate some endorphins for the tattoo first.”

Pendrell trembled again, futilely clutching the restraints. “Please,” he pleaded weakly.

Krycek placed a hand on his forehead, pressing it firmly. “First the nipples, Tony.”

He really didn’t want this; his nipples were already sore enough, but they still stood erect like tiny penises, proudly erect, and Tony was squeezing them even harder. He felt a sharp, piercing pain, a sharp, stabbing pain.

Gold gleamed, piercing through the hard tip and forming a circle.

Another tightening, a sharp sting, another wave of pain, and the second nipple was also pierced through a tiny gold ring.

He gasped for breath, blinking rapidly as he fought the pain and the sudden surge of endorphins. He clenched his hips tightly, hoping Robbie hadn't leaked the plug.

"Robbie, help me separate his balls," Tony muttered, reaching for the bottle of alcohol.

The coolness on his balls sent shivers down his spine again, half from fear, half from the awakening.

Krycek kissed him again, and then he felt a fiery spear pierce his flesh, making him groan in pain. He gasped in Krycek's mouth, feeling the endorphins, the anesthetic oil, and the dizziness from the impact.

Tony's fingers gently inserted the ornament.

"Oh, very good," Robbie said with satisfaction.

"Clean and beautiful," Tony agreed. He absentmindedly patted Pendrell's leg. "I think you should put his leg up, Alex, if that's really where you want to get your name etched."

Dizzy, Pendrell turned to Tony, blinking repeatedly.

Krycek's expression was thoughtful. "A sling might work."

Tony shook his head. "That's not stable enough. You could turn him around and stick his ass up." He suggested. It was as if they were just discussing...the weather.

Krycek's fingertips gently ran through his hair. "Brian, are you alright?"

He felt a strange mix of heat and cold, excitement and fear. He turned to face Krycek's
thigh . "Yes, sir." Krycek

was smiling sweetly at him, sweeter than he could ever imagine Krycek could do. But the question didn't give him much time to think about.

His ass was flipped into the air, and his face fell below. Then Robbie lifted his balls, bringing pleasure as much as the humiliation they brought.

He buried his face between Krycek's legs, and Krycek generously released himself, allowing himself to be sucked. Pendrell did it, and quite greedily at that.

A distant part of his mind was stunned by the frenzy of his focus, but it was dispelled by the sting of the tattoo needle. His nipples throbbed with pain, feeling the weight of the gold pendant. It made his sphincter tighten, and he could still feel the lingering pain from the earlier stretching—from being fucked.

He swallowed chunks of Krycek's flesh, swirling his tongue around the swollen tip and piercing the cleft with the tip of his tongue until Krycek arched slightly, digging his hand deeper into Pendrell's hair.

He felt slightly choked and wanted to vomit, but the reaction force made Krycek... Krycek penetrated deeper into his throat. The tattoo needle burned him, stinging, a fiery sensation. Completely exposed, more naked than nudity, everything about him was laid bare before their eyes.

Smooth skin, adorned with gold, bearing the name of his possessor… He was a erotic toy.

The part buried deep within him, stirred by desire, wanted to revive; he felt himself growing larger, harder. He felt his penis rise against his lower abdomen, felt his balls sinking, though Robbie was gently tugging at them…

Finally, Krycek pushed him away at the last moment of his climax, and he whimpered, lifting his head to look pleadingly at Krycek's smile.

“Soon, Brian,” very gently, “I want you to see yourself.”

“Well done,” Robbie commented again.

“First-rate, actually. I’ve never tattooed the word ‘cyrillic’ before.” Tony shrugged. “It actually adds to the difficulty of typesetting, I think—this crooked font paired with a crooked body.”

Krycek moved down and made an approving sound. “You’ve surpassed your previous level, Tony.” A soft tone.

“Yes, those are all people of status. Thank you, we’re the best.” His fingertips lightly traced the curve of Pendrell’s hips. “He’s really handsome.” Tony commented, then sighed and turned to gather his tools. “Whenever he needs training, I’m sure I’d be happy to come here.”

A soft chuckle. “You’ll have your chance.”

Pendrell, his buttocks still raised in mid-air, trembled uncontrollably, pressing his burning face tightly against the white sheets until Krycek lifted him, dragged him off the bed, and pulled him to his feet. The sight reflected in the full-length mirror made him turn away in shame after just one glance—he felt incredibly embarrassed.

“No.” With a firm tone, Krycek grabbed his chin. “Look at yourself.”

He tried to obey, but his gaze still only swept over the naked man in the mirror. Krycek’s tongue traced the outline of his ear, and he found his eyes almost involuntarily following it.

Krycek’s dark skin clung to him; Krycek was tanned, not as fair as him.

“Look at yourself, Brian.” A possessive hand caressed his penis, squeezing its rosy tip and gently tugging. “Look how lovely you are, you’ve never looked so lovely.”

He risked a glance and saw a man he didn’t recognize.

Awakening…

a mouth sucking on Krycek’s penis, half-closed eyes, almost somber, mysterious. A swollen penis, the tip purple, the lack of hair making it appear even longer. Smooth, pale skin, shining like ivory under the light, almost glowing. Krycek was hungrily licking his throat, his penis pressed against his bare buttocks…

He looked down at his reflection in the mirror, suddenly unable to look away. He didn't know if Krycek would let him watch him take him there… Maybe he could sit in a chair, facing the mirror, and lift his legs. Spread them open and expose them as Krycek thrust inside him… The image made him tremble uncontrollably, and he met the heat of Krycek's lips and tongue.

The gold on his nipples reflected the light, emphasizing their presence. It was mesmerizing, pleasurable. Before, no one had ever thought of him as sexy, erotic, not even himself. He was just a conservative oddball, clumsy, and unsociable. But the man in the mirror was… unforgettable eroticism, extreme sexiness, as beautiful as Krycek claimed. He, Brian Pendrell, was beautiful.

He arched forward, panting, as Krycek's hands slid between his thighs, probing, pressing on his anus, the pressure sending waves of pleasure through him. Oh yes, he was now undoubtedly a puppet of lust, but in turn, it made him feel powerful, strong, and sexy. He wasn't a victim; he was a victor.

This thought seemed to erase the last shred of his restraint. He spread his legs, letting Krycek's fingers slide inside him. He gasped in pleasure and pain as he was penetrated and stretched.

Krycek dragged him back onto the bed. He lowered his legs, watching anxiously, seductively, and longingly as Krycek hastily stripped off his clothes. Then he raised his knees, exposing himself, and stared hungrily at Krycek. God, that penis, he wanted that penis, he wanted it deep inside him, to the very depths. Krycek looked at him, and he stroked himself, stroking his erection, sliding his fingers down, pressing against his bulging ring muscles. He knew all too well the heat, the desire in Krycek's eyes.

Then Krycek came on top of him, kissing him wildly, but that only made him feel stronger, more powerful. He played with it, kissing and sucking on Krycek's mouth. He lay there passively, not taking any further action, not doing anything more than kissing and arching his body against Krycek.

He swayed under Krycek's weight, pressing upwards at the right spot, Krycek devouring him, biting and licking his flesh like
a child, until he thought he would die like this.

He stroked the brown hair with his fingers, wondering why it felt so good.

Moving down, Krycek licked and rolled his thighs and the juncture of his limbs, sucking hard, leaving marks, then he slid two fingers inside him and pressed down.

He groaned, arching upwards. Krycek…Alexander Krycek, a god of sex, had taught him about himself… “Oh, God!” It was torn apart, Krycek’s tongue flicking between his buttocks, his hands stretching him, exposing him, while that warm, wet tongue explored him.

This was something he had never even dreamed of. Alex, God, Alex. The last barrier in his heart had been overturned; he belonged to Alex, his flesh said so, didn’t it?

That wicked tongue opened him up, melted him, turned his bones into a puddle of water, and turned his penis into stone.

He felt a finger tracing those words, and he wished he could see them. The burn from the tattoo still lingered, continuing to radiate waves of pain, but it was welcome; it surrendered him completely to his flesh, to Alex. He now belonged to Alex; his past life was over. That Pendrell would never be worshipped like this, Krycek's mouth twisting inside his ass, adoring him with a passionate and natural fervor. That Pendrell of the past would never be a devotee of Cupid.

Smooth, ivory skin, gleaming faintly in the light, bore the marks of sucking and Krycek's possession.

He placed his hands on his nipples, rubbing them, and gently pulling on the gold rings, feeling the pain. He squeezed them with his fingers, feeling a pain that almost made him cry out, and he whimpered. He was melting, being melted into liquid by the heat of Krycek's mouth…

Suddenly, Krycek pulled him up. “Tell me, what do you want, Brian?”

He looked into those green eyes, shining like polished emeralds. “I want you,” he said honestly. “You are my master, I need you.” Like most people need air, he needed Alex.

Krycek's face seemed to flush, as if filled with blood. His usually elegant features were now contorted with a swelling, animalistic desire, like his penis, which pressed against Pendrell's anus...

He arched against him with pleasure, crying out in welcome, welcoming the stretch, the heat, and... all of it. He didn't care if it would tear him apart; he just wanted it inside him, to possess him, to fill him, to embrace him...

Krycek kissed his lips again and again, hungrily, greedily, sucking until they both ached, until he felt the approach of an intensely exciting climax.

He gasped for breath, “Sir, I’m almost out.” He gasped, “Should I wait?”

“No.” It was as if the sound came from his throat, “I want you to come out with me. I want to see your face again, Brian, I want to hear you scream.”

This intense thought, and the strong desire in Krycek’s hoarse voice, drove him higher. He spread his knees as wide as possible, letting himself be plundered, deeply… When the lightning struck him, he screamed fiercely and persistently, screamed without shame and clenched tightly, which also drove Krycek to break the boundary.

His muscles tightened on Krycek’s penis, and he felt the smooth heat as Krycek’s semen filled him. He tightened his legs around Krycek’s narrow hips and screamed again…

Then, Krycek bent down and kissed him more deeply and tenderly, caressing his shoulders and his body, “You are mine.” Tenderly, possessively.

“I am yours,” Pendrell agreed in a hoarse voice.

More kisses…

Then, Krycek pulled away, sighing, “I know you’re perfect.”

He straightened up, his soft penis reflecting the light, gleaming. He stroked himself again, and his anus. “All of me is yours.” A dreamy tone… and made Krycek look at the curves of his body.

His master slowly smiled, “You are beautiful, you’ve never been so beautiful.”

He propped himself up on one arm, raised one leg. “I know,” he said humbly, “you made me beautiful.”

Just as he hoped, Krycek covered him again…

Chapter Six
That night, he no longer had to sleep in the sarcophagus. Away from it, he slept beside Krycek, his face nestled against Krycek’s thigh, and Krycek’s glans in his mouth.

His nipples, his scrotum throbbed, his buttocks ached… but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered except the scent and taste of his master—Alex’s.

He woke up, a warm hand calling him awake. Krycek pressed heavily against him, gazing at him passionately. He arched his body at the touch, swaying seductively, and closed his eyes to savor the sensation.

Suddenly, he was pounced onto the mattress, Krycek pressing down on him. “I’m going to fuck you under the shower, Brian.” Warm breath brushed against his temples, a wet, hot tongue touching his earlobe.

“Oh, yes,” he whispered, trembling with pleasure…

laboriously dragging his feet, he obediently followed Krycek. He reached the splashing hot water, awaiting his master’s instructions.

“Wash me,” Krycek told him with a smile, handing him a bar of soap.

“Oh, yes, sir.” He knelt down, starting with Krycek’s feet.

He lathered the soap on his hands, then tenderly stroked those firm calves, letting the water wash them clean, and secretly stealing the scent of the clean skin as he worked. Boldly, he gently spread Krycek's legs wider, washing the inside of his rather long thighs with soap. The ball of flesh hung loosely in the hot water. He washed them and took one into his mouth. Looking up,

he saw Krycek's head tilted back, the muscles in his neck taut, the outstretched tendons clearly visible, so erotic in the shimmering water. Krycek's penis was rose-colored and already swollen. He gently washed it, teasingly, and inserted its tip into his mouth, tracing the outline of the head with his tongue…

Krycek remained still. He might be made of marble, but marble would never be so active, so full of life. Blood rushed through his veins, warm and supple…

He took the rod into his mouth, into his throat, but finally Krycek withdrew.

Looking up, he held his breath under Krycek's intense gaze, raising his hand towards him and the rose-colored object. He lathered his hands with soap and began washing Krycek's body again, his nipples turning into pebbles under his tongue.

Krycek's hands slowly moved down the curve of his back, caressing his skin. He trembled again and moved to the other nipple.

"Ah, God." Suddenly, Krycek moved, interrupting his worship. He spun his body against the side wall of the shower. He gnawed at his neck and back, not gently, but violently thrusting into him.

He gasped, opening up for the heat. He felt Krycek's scrotum slap against his buttocks, arching gently, pulling out, and then thrusting in with a savage thud.

Krycek's hands gripped his buttocks tightly, hard enough to leave marks. "Don't move." A hoarse voice.

He trembled again, every nerve in his body fighting against the command. He wanted to move, needed to move, a faint sound escaped his lips. He tried, oh God, he tried so hard to obey, but it was just too much… He shifted, then a hand released his hip and slapped his right buttock hard.

“Do it right!” a hissing voice said.

He sobbed, struggling…

then Krycek pulled out, leaving him empty, abandoned… but only for a moment, before thrusting back in forcefully. Pendrell’s penis rubbed against the bathroom wall incessantly. Hands slid, circled, and pinched his nipples on his ribs until they pierced him with pain.

He almost screamed, the pain blurring into the pleasure. He painfully pressed his penis against the shower wall, needing a touch… then received another twist. “You’re cheating.” Krycek’s breath reached his ears.

“Oh, please, oh, please,” he stammered.

He closed his eyes, and Krycek straightened up and thrust forward again with all his might. A crimson light flashed across his eyelids, and he cried out, “More, oh God, please, more!”

“Christ, you are so tight.” Krycek’s breathing began to turn into a savage rhythm, “So beautiful.”

He pressed his cheek against the wall, nodding blindly, and swaying his hips slightly with that rhythm—not excessive enough to earn a reprimand, but enough to dispel his emptiness.

Until Krycek withdrew again, turned him around again, and pressed their bodies tightly together. “Put your arms on my neck,” the hoarse command said.

He obeyed, almost unable to stand. As he was penetrated again, he felt his weight shift to the wall, felt his legs lifted, and felt the squeezing of Krycek’s penis. Rough, violent insertion. Krycek’s mouth caught his, stealing his breath. But he didn’t care; he sucked it in, let it in, and tightened his legs to grip that thin buttock.

The sounds spilled from his throat, pleading, begging, pleas, while Krycek bit his lower lip, bit his chin, groaned, and finally ejaculated violently, then stopped there.

He could feel it, could feel Krycek's penis swelling inside him, unimaginably hard, and felt that heated silk entering him. It pushed him to the edge, he came, came, came, until he couldn't breathe, couldn't see, could only hang there…

Finally, he could hear the sound of running water again, and Krycek's heavy breathing.

Krycek kissed him again, passionately, sucking his tongue and lips, then he released him, "God, you're really beautiful," he croaked, "worth every damn penny." Another half-pump, then Krycek groaned as he slowly pulled out, his penis red and smooth.

Pendrell's legs slid down limply, he maintained control, but was completely unable to move. With a gasp, he regained his breath.

Krycek kissed him again, tasted him, consumed him, like a fire he wanted to burn to ashes… Compared to that, his other life was pale and dull, tasteless, so lacking in passion. For the first time in his entire life, he felt warmth. It was as if he had been born blind, and now he could finally see all that light and color.

Krycek was still breathing heavily. “Once I can, I will possess you again.” Short words. “I will fuck you until you can’t sit up anymore, Brian. You haven’t been fucked enough, have you?”

“Never enough.” He gasped, realizing that no one had ever fucked him before, and no one had ever fucked him like this, made him burn, made him give.

Krycek’s hand stroked his cheek. “Today, I will fuck you all day.” As if confiding something very ordinary to him. “As often as I can.” His fingers tightened, bringing a brief pain. “Then, tonight we will go outside, together, and I will dress you. What will you look like, my, my slave, my toy?”

He sobbed. “Yes.”

Krycek’s mouth was undisguised. “My slut.” Still very hoarse.

His penis twitched, and he sobbed again, “Yes.”

Krycek kissed him hard and pinched his nipple… then he reached for the tap and turned it off. “Go, back to bed,” he commanded, “and don’t move.”

He obeyed, still wet. It was a little cold, but some of the warmth from the night before remained on the bed.

Krycek emerged from the bathroom, wearing a red silk robe and carrying a small bottle.

He trembled involuntarily at Krycek’s intense gaze.

Krycek smiled, opened the bottle, and sat down beside him, pouring some… something that looked like oil into his palm. With slow, graceful movements, he rubbed it into his stomach and chest…

He arched like a cat at the touch, begging to be caressed.

The oil smelled like almonds. Krycek’s hands were gentle—chest, abdomen, and arms, even his hands, down to his fingertips. His penis, his thighs, and then the movement landed on his stomach… not a word, just those hands, and those touches.

He felt the heat spread from his stomach, all the way to his penis. He pressed himself against the mattress until Krycek's hand slapped his buttocks hard. He stopped abruptly, a plaintive sound escaping his throat.

Still no words…

More oil, warmed by Krycek's skin, smeared on him, strong hands working on his back muscles…

He was melting, sobbing, wanting more.

The oil trickled into his buttocks, fingers smearing them, probing him. He tried to move, only to be slapped again, still perfectly still.

He turned his head to one side. Red silk rolled against the floor, weight shifting above him, probing him again.

He moaned in gratitude, but dared not move.

Slow insertion, filling him again. Then Krycek lay down above him, stroking his arms, his hand covering his.

“Tomorrow night, if you behave well, we’ll sleep like this.” A warm whisper reached his ear, “like this.”

He trembled, clenching his inner muscles, and heard Krycek panting. Oh, he'll be alright, he'll be alright, he swore to himself.

Krycek rubbed his nose against him, nibbled at the back of his neck and his shoulders, and moved his hips slowly in a circular motion.

The feeling was… incredible. Calm, yet exciting, slow and frustrating, but God, satisfying.

Suddenly, Krycek shifted position again, pulled out, and lifted his hips, burying his face in the pillow.

He let out a pleading sound, and then a sigh as Krycek thrust in again violently.

More violent thrusts, and he began to slap him with his palms, alternating, landing on each buttock.

He groaned, tensing under the intensity, trying to lessen the force of each slap. The heat from his skin and his ass traveled to his penis.

“What a good boy,” Krycek encouraged him, sounding a little breathless.

Deeper and deeper, until he was sure he was about to split, about to be torn in two. His skin burned from the slapping, his penis throbbed with thirst, dripping—he could feel it.

It lasted a long time, Krcyek unhurried. When Krycek's fingers closed on him, he felt as if he were about to explode. Skillful caresses, until he, really, exploded.

A scream into the pillow, pleasure/pain/pleasure, he vaguely imagined his head would explode. Physically impossible, but undeniably a pleasurable sensation. Lightning shot down his spine, all the way to his nerve endings. The latest development, the latest training, the latest transcendence!!

Afterwards, as he curled into a fetal ball, Krycek returned to the bathroom, hearing the distant sound of running water.

Touching himself and beginning to sob.

Krycek returned and skillfully cleaned Pendrell, touching him like a nurse. “You must get up, Brian.” A soft voice said. “It’s time to go back to your own room.”

He sobbed. “Please don’t make me do that.”

A sigh escaped. “Brian, don’t test my patience.” A sharp voice said.

He pulled himself up sadly, and Krycek gave him a smile, stroking his cheek. “It won’t be long. You need to rest and have breakfast, and I have some calls to make.”

The collar was put back on, and after a few minutes of careful consideration, Krycek apparently decided against using the plug and scrotum harness. “Tony will check the piercings later,” he told Pendrell, fastening the chain to the collar and leading him back down the hallway into what was clearly his room.

He curled up on the mattress, and after the door closed, he noticed a wall-mounted television screen on the other side of the wall. He looked up at it curiously for a moment, then lost interest, lay back down, and closed his eyes. His master was right, he was indeed exhausted… This thought accompanied him into sleep.

Some time later, a voice woke him. He looked up, stared blankly, and realized the voice was coming from the television.

The face on the screen looked familiar… so familiar! He climbed out of bed, walked to the end of the chain, and stood in front of the screen. Oh, God, it was Mulder! Mulder and… his stomach clenched painfully… Mulder and his master—Alex Krycek.

Damn Mulder. Well, but that wasn't what was happening. On the screen, Mulder was sucking Krycek's penis, with obvious pleasure with every thrust. Mulder, Christ, is there anyone Mulder cannot have? Is there?

He stared at the screen, kneeling on the floor, unable to look away from his pain. And now, it was as if it were mocking him—Krycek was fucking Mulder, slapping him, in the same way.

He buried his face in his bare legs, not wanting to see any more, any more Mulder. He swallowed a wet breath, wherever he went, that damn, son of a bitch Fox Mulder.

But when Mulder complained about the slapping, he couldn't help but look up again. Was that man crazy? What was he thinking? Of course, this man was crazy. He suddenly had a feeling… Mulder would be a terrible slave. He was an asshole, he had no idea how to please another person… He was a disaster between people, a typhoid in social circles.

But Alex's first choice was him, he had to admit. Had he ever told him how beautiful he was? Had he ever marked him to prove he was truly his? He hadn't seen any declarations on the screen, only sex, and complaints.

But as he crawled back to bed for warmth, his heart still ached. He was still sullen when Tony came in with his breakfast. And he was still unhappy when Robbie came in with his lunch. It wasn't until Krycek finally reappeared that he calmed down.

It was almost evening, and the whole room was shrouded in the dimness of dusk.

Krycek sat down on the edge of the bed and buried his face in the pillow.

"What's wrong? Are you angry?" a humorous tone asked.

He wanted to refuse to answer, but the words slipped out involuntarily, "Why do I have to watch those images all day?"

a low chuckle rippled through the room. "I thought you'd enjoy seeing Mulder get fucked again and again, Brian."

He refused to look at Krycek. "You wanted him. They got the wrong person, didn't they?" He blinked hard, but all he could see was the white linen pillowcase.

"I don't know what the original plan was," Krycek told him. "Besides, if you can forgive that look, you'll know it's just because of some soreness in your ass." A hand stroked the curve of Pendrell's spine. "In any case, I'll bid for you and win." a reasonable tone. “Don’t make me angry, Brian, we still have to go out.”

He propped himself up on his elbows, then turned to face Krycek. “You didn’t come back.” He said hesitantly.

“I had some unexpected things to deal with.” Alex smiled charmingly, and gave him a brief caress on his cheek. “Get up, Brian.”

He bit his lip, hearing the sharpness in his voice, and then he got up. He waited until Krycek unchained him and followed him back into the hallway.

On the table were some clothes: a white t-shirt, thin, satin-like blue jeans, and socks—that was all.

He obediently raised his arms for Krycek to put the t-shirt on him and pull it over his head. It was tight, tight enough that the gold rings on his nipples were clearly visible. Before putting on the jeans, he had to put on the black leather harness anyway, to hold in a plug that was noticeably thicker than the one he had worn the night before.

Kneeling before him, Krycek adjusted the harness until it fit snugly against his body. He pulled the leather scrotum separator tight, slipped on a latex penis ring, and adjusted it.

Pendrell stood there motionless the entire time, completely submissive. Mulder might only have a slight soreness in his ass, but his was quite painful. And he was doubting himself, no longer certain, afraid he wasn't good enough, that he was just a second choice…

The jeans were warm, the harness and the ring pushing his genitals out, and Krycek calmly adjusted his penis, looking up at him with a toothy grin. “Left or right, Brian?”

He blinked foolishly. “Um, I don’t know.”

“You’re honest.” Krycek adjusted him, buttoned his jeans, then stepped back, looking at him with satisfaction, which greatly eased Pendrell’s unease.

Socks and boots completed the look, a brown leather jacket, just a little too big… Krycek led him to the mirror, then stood behind him again, smiling… “Look at yourself, you look like the human embodiment of sex.”

He blinked, seeing a stranger again, seeing his own sensual nature radiating to everyone who looked at him.

“Beautiful,” Krycek whispered, licking his ear, “Don’t worry, Mulder, Brian.” He nibbled at his earlobe.

He blinked hard again, resisting the soft feeling under his feet, resisting the doubt. “

You are beautiful.” A whisper, and Krycek released him, “Let’s go.”

He followed Krycek down the hallway, down the stairs, and saw the house for the first time.

Robbie was sitting in the kitchen reading a book. He looked up and saw the two of them, clearly surprised. “Are you taking him out? Isn’t it a bit early?”

Krycek grabbed the back of his head. “Brian will do a good job,” reassuringly. “Besides, we’re going to the club.”

A faint, flickering smile. “Drive carefully.”

The club? Pendrell stared at Robbie's face, searching for clues, but Robbie returned to his book and sipped his coffee.

In the car, he mustered his courage and asked, "What club?"

"A private club," Krycek smiled mysteriously. "You'll like it, Brian."

He trembled involuntarily; he was suspicious, but Krycek revealed nothing more.

Chapter Seven:

The club was first-rate, luxuriously furnished, with a quiet atmosphere. A private club catering exclusively to the wealthy.

The only discordant element was the half-naked or fully naked slaves sitting beside their masters or mistresses, most of them seated on the floor, on their own heels.

Pendrell trembled uncontrollably. He didn't know why Krycek was dressing him, and he wondered if it meant… he wasn't quite what his master wanted.

But no, they were led to a table. He knelt beside Alex, his eyes fixed on a woman on stage bound by her mistress, her breasts heaving with her cries. Lovely breasts… He swallowed hard, then leaned closer to Krycek, the man absently scratching the back of his head.

A man joined Krycek, and they spoke rapidly together—in Russian. He caught a few words: 'goods,' 'vaccine.' He was an FBI agent; he should be watching closely… but the woman on stage was being penetrated by a dildo, the size of which was… horrifying. He swallowed hard again, resting his cheek against Krycek's thigh, and received another absent caress. Krycek's conversation continued…

The other man stood up, and Krycek followed suit. “Stay here quietly, Brian. I'll be back in a bit,” a stern voice said.

Was Krycek going to leave him here alone? The throbbing in his ears made him want to scream. He gave Krycek a pleading look.

“It’s alright,” Krycek told him impatiently. “I won’t be gone for long.”

He’d heard him say that that morning too… Blinking frantically, he felt it was unfair. He sat back down, glad to be in the shadows.

The performers on stage had changed, now a slender woman displaying a male slave. She wielded a rather impressive-looking leather whip, and as she swung it, red stripes appeared on the slave’s back and buttocks. No blood, just marks. And the slave… unexpectedly, was enjoying it. His penis swelled, tightly bound by a penile ring, rising uncontrollably…

A woman’s shadow appeared in front of the table, abruptly drawing his attention back. A tall, slender blonde… Marita, that was her name.

He stared at her, almost with awe—a black leather corset that just revealed her nipples. Leather trousers, taut skin…

“Brian,” she whispered, turning her head, “David, it seems he is indeed Alex’s prey.”

A man appeared, his dark skin strikingly handsome, a black leather jacket, strong muscles bulging high beneath his jacket and tight vest. “He looked so ordinary at the auction,” Marita was saying, “but he’s so charming now.”

A black hand lifted Pendrell’s chin, and he found his eyes fixed on the man’s groin, unable to lift his head any further.

“Krcyek has good eyes,” the man reluctantly agreed.

Finally, daring to raise his gaze, Pendrell saw a handsome face, a savage beard covering an intelligent and ambitious one.

“I find it strange why Alex left him here alone,” Marita said, her nails ruffling the short hair at the nape of his neck.

“Because he’s an idiot,” David told her, chuckling gruffly.

She smiled slyly. “It would be fun to teach him a lesson.”

Pendrell’s heart pounded as they sat down at the table, one on each side of him, before finally regaining its normal rhythm.

“You must have seen him that night,” Marita murmured, pinching one of his nipples through his t-shirt.

Pendrell groaned, arching his back against it.

“He was definitely overdressed,” David told her, his eyes narrowing.

“He certainly was,” Marita agreed. She turned Pendrell’s head, lifted his chin, and bent down to kiss him, her tongue passionately entwining with his. It was stunning, yet exciting and pleasurable—they thought he was beautiful too. He returned her kiss hungryly.

A larger hand lifted him, stroking his erection through the soft cotton fabric, and he felt the buttons being loosened. Then Marita stepped back a little, pushing his head under her breasts. He found one nipple and began to suckle it…

Now, he was almost painfully hard, his erection suppressed under the cotton fabric. The hand massaged it while releasing it. Marita's nipple hardened under his tongue, and he tenderly moved to the other, sucking it…

His penis was released and caressed. His jeans were pulled down to his knees, and he felt the cool air against his skin. He trembled uncontrollably as the plug was twisted inside him. His glans was squeezed, and a thumb smeared the dripping semen onto it. He groaned as he arched into that hand and desperately sucked on Marita's tender flesh…

“Brian, you've disappointed me so much.” Krycek's voice froze him on the edge of powerlessness and hardness.

Marita released him, then chuckled softly. “He’s a disobedient boy, Alex.”

“Yes, I see.” Krycek’s expression held a hint of resignation, but his grip on the collar was almost savage.

Pendrell squeaked and found himself being dragged onto the stage. But just seeing Krycek’s tightly pursed lips was enough to stop his resistance. Besides, he found, strangely enough, that he felt comforted, even a little bit pleased. He was warmed by Krycek’s reaction, even when he was strapped to the leggings, his bare buttocks trembling in the air.

The leather straps shrieked, tearing at his skin. He groaned, arching his body to meet it, pleasure/pain/pleasure, the straps slapping against the harness, vibrating the stopper. He arched and swayed with each beating, groaning between pleasure and pain. Whatever else had happened, Krycek was… jealous, angry that he enjoyed the attention of others. This made the whipping not only bearable but welcome.

His penis grew harder and dripped with excitement. He found himself anticipating the whipping would end with Krycek's rod-like member being inserted into him…

but when Krycek lowered him from the leg brace, he pursed his lips and reached straight up to pull up his jeans. Then he found himself being dragged out, to the car, without uttering a word. The

silent drive back to the house.

As they came in, Robbie looked up. “Didn’t take long.”

Krycek immediately laughed. “Shorter than I thought.” He yanked on his belt. “Come here, Brian.”

Robbie raised an eyebrow.

In the bedroom—Krycek’s bedroom, not his, he found—which was a great comfort and pleasure. He was handcuffed to the bed frame again, his arms spread wide at his sides. His jeans were pulled down again, forcing him to stand there, almost only able to maintain his balance on his toes, and then he was bound again. This time he groaned loudly.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry," he pleaded for forgiveness.

A cracking sound.

"Don't let anyone else touch you unless I allow it," came the stern voice.

A cracking sound.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I won’t, please, sir, I’m so sorry, I love you.”

The next blow didn’t come; instead, the harness was stripped off, the plug pulled out. Then, to his delight, Krycek entered him, deeply entered him, savagely thrusting, frantically marking him as his territory. Arms wrapped tightly around him, fingers pinched him, caressed him… shattering the desire for release, that pleasure… He rose and fell with his master, emitting a reassuring and helplessly joyful noise.

His buttocks were bruised and aching, and Krycek’s flesh was like a painkiller, even though it was so hot… He shamelessly yielded to him, like a slut, a whore, a toy. Loving that stretching, filling him with its thickness…

Krycek gasped in Russian, then thrust harder, faster.

He found himself sliding along every nerve ending to the brink of explosion, and screaming in fragments as he lost all control. He was coming, he was coming, he was about to faint, the color disappearing from his eyelids.

Krycek's hands and hips embraced him, squeezing his penis hard as he ejaculated. Then Krycek growled triumphantly in his ear, thrusting in forcefully.

He felt what he wanted, Krycek's pleasure. Hot, wet, thick, burning him, satisfying him. He thought he was really going to faint, his head resting limply on Krycek's shoulder, a small, weak moan escaping his throat.

Krycek's breathing was heavy, Krycek's mouth fiercely biting his throat, his chin, "Who do you belong to?" a hoarse demand.

"I belong to you," he said weakly, happily. He wished he could put his hands on Krycek's hands, he pulled hard on the handcuffs.

Krycek turned his head and kissed him, and more gently, "Looks like you remembered, Brian." A tender, lover's kiss, long and gorgeous.

He felt dizzy, dazed with happiness. "You, sir, I belong to you." Still fully extended, he didn't want anything more to remain than this. "Only you."

Krycek gave a faint smile and gently laid him down. "A bath, I think, then sleep." A kiss landed on the back of his neck. "But I'm afraid you're not worthy to sleep with me tonight." A frustrated voice.

He sobbed in resignation, feeling the emptiness after Krycek's penis left. "I'm sorry." He sought forgiveness with his eyes.

"Me too." Krycek touched his face in annoyance, then sighed and reached out to unlock the first pair of handcuffs. "We'll see how you do tomorrow, Brian."

Oh, he would do well, without further doubt, as well as he could. Well, perhaps most of the time, there would be a little bad, because he had fallen in love with the fire and heat that the belt brought.

But instead, they were now soaking wet, and Krycek was carefully washing him.

But when they went out, Robbie was standing there with the silk.

He tried not to care, not to resist, but tears still soaked the silk. And there was no stopper, nothing to satisfy him. Never again, he swore to himself, he would never give Krycek a reason to punish him like this again. He longed to sleep on that big bed again, to be enveloped by the warmth beneath the sheets and the dark cocoon of flesh beneath his tongue. But… blinking rapidly, he knew he shouldn’t blame anyone but himself. But he didn’t, until the two of them left him in that sarcophagus, he realized how wicked he had been. No, until a shadow swept past him… until darkness enveloped him.

Then, against his good will, he screamed silently, fear turning the blood in his veins into sludge. Oh God, don’t cover it, please, don’t cover it…

“Brian,” he heard Krycek’s voice in the distance, “Brian, stop, you’re scaring yourself.”

He forced himself to listen, sobbing, blinking, and saw small holes, tiny openings of light.

“There’s plenty of air, just breathe slowly.” Krycek’s voice was like a lifeline.

He grabbed it, tears blurring his vision, took a deep breath, and felt calm slowly returning to his body. There was only the faintest light and plenty of air, and he could hear Krycek’s voice patiently comforting him. The fear gradually dissipated.

“We’ll let you out in the morning,” Krycek’s voice was gentle. “You have to learn, Brian. My patience isn’t—it’s not a special gift from me. I won’t let you test it.”

“I won’t,” he tried to say, but the wrapping was too tight, and he could only utter a muffled sound.

Krycek… Krycek still took some time to calm him down, and he had to see him completely calm.

He heard their voices move away a little, reminding him that he hadn’t gone far from the big bed, and Krycek was nearby. But a long time still passed before exhaustion took over.
The noise woke him, and he didn’t know how long he had slept.

“FBI.” Someone shouted, “Drop your weapons!”

He blinked in horror, waiting. Oh Jesus, no, anything can happen, but not this. Oh God, Alex is in danger, please, God, don’t let this come true.

“Where is he?” A piercing voice, he recognized it, oh Christ, it was Dana Scully.

“He’s not here.” The voice was unfamiliar.

But the next one…

“Help me.”

Anger surged through his veins like adrenaline, damn Mulder!!!

He blinked as darkness was replaced by light.

“Jesus Christ.” It was Mulder’s voice, full of gratitude, “that son of a bitch.”

He uttered an angry sound, wishing he could put his hand on Mulder’s neck.

“Where the hell is he?” It was Skinner’s voice, roaring in fury.

“He’s not here, sir.” Scully spoke again.

He wished he had a gun, he would shoot all three of them.

A hand was groping his neck. “He’s alive!” Mulder cried. “Jesus, Pendrell, hold on, we’ll get you out of here soon.”

Still furious, he processed Scully’s last words, feeling his heart leap into his throat—Alex wasn’t here. He’d escape, oh, please, God, don’t let them find Alex.

Mulder clumsily lifted him, tearing at the silk, without even trying to untie him first.

Damn it, he fumed silently. His face was freed, then his arms, still wrapped in silk, but his hands were free, and he tried to push Mulder away.

Scully’s face appeared before him. “Relax, Pendrell.” A false sense of reassurance. “You’re alright, we’ve found you.”

He wondered how she would react if he broke her nose. But his upbringing stopped him, and instead, he punched Mulder hard enough to send him sprawling backward and clutching his jaw.

“Agent Pendrell!” Scully cried out in alarm.

She grabbed his arm, but he shoved her away forcefully. “Leave me alone. Jesus Christ, I’m fine, I’m not hurt.” He climbed out of the sarcophagus and found Skinner staring at him with a strange look, as if he had three heads.

Behind Skinner, someone was calling for paramedics.

“You’re overreacting, Pendrell,” Scully said, her lips pursed in concern. For the first time, he didn’t find it charming; he thought it looked like a shrew. But he couldn’t hit a woman, so instead, he kicked Mulder in the ribs.

Then he found himself blocked by a very angry, very burly AD.

Staring into his furious eyes, “Agent Pendrell, I know you’ve been through some very serious injuries,” he said through gritted teeth, “but you’ve gone way too far.”

“Oh, fuck,” he grumbled at Skinner, noticing the old man’s eyes widen slightly.

Indeed, Skinner was quite charming for an old man, he thought from afar. Then he glanced at the bed, deeply grateful Alex hadn’t been caught.

“If I wanted to be rescued, I’d send a damn carrier pigeon back.” Stubbornness and anger, and bluntness.

Skinner blinked.

“Stockholm syndrome,” Mulder gasped on the floor. “He’s been brainwashed.”

“Very likely,” Skinner said.

But by then, the paramedics had already entered with their medical equipment.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he gritted his teeth. “I don’t need a doctor, I’m fine.”

Skinner pressed him down, narrowing his eyes at him. “Sit down, Agent Pendrell.”

He almost refused, but compelled by some kind of compulsive obedience to his adjutant, he sat down, his face grim.

Scully cautiously approached him, beginning to untangle the silk, oblivious to her impulsive partner being tended by a paramedic.

“I’m fine,” Mulder said.

Pendrell wished he would kick harder.

Standing up, Mulder looked warily at Pendrell. “I’m sorry it took you so long to find you, Pendrell,” he began.

“Get out of my way, Mulder,” he hissed. Then he heard Scully gasp and looked down at the gold rings on his chest. He glared at her, then turned back to Mulder. “Don’t give me that. I know everything about you and Krycek.”

The room fell silent.

Skinner looked at the two of them, his eyes…shrewd and with a certain curiosity.

Mulder's entire face turned crimson. "Pendrell…"

he gave Mulder the middle finger, now that one of his hands was free.

Scully, clearly, was stunned. She stared intently at his body, a gaze that might have been considered a compliment a week ago—eyes wide open at his smooth skin and the ornaments Krycek had given him. She gasped again as the paramedics continued removing the remaining silk; clearly, she had seen the clasps.

He couldn't help but give her a smug grin. "The best time I've ever had, baby, and don't forget it."

Her jaw dropped. She looked at Mulder, whose face was still flushed, and the other ADs, who were also staring intently at them. The doctors were also watching him with a certain interest, especially when he stood up.

Mulder's gaze involuntarily fell to his groin before awkwardly looking away.

He gave Mulder a forced smile. “I may not be as good as you, Mulder, but I have my merits.”

This time, Scully’s face turned crimson, and she looked away as the paramedics wrapped him in a blanket.

He refused to be put on the stretcher, and Skinner gave him a long stare. “You’re going to the hospital, Agent Pendrell,” he stated clearly. “And I’m afraid some mandatory psychological counseling will be necessary. Agent Mulder, go get some ice.”

Mulder glanced at Skinner, then his face turned crimson again, and he nodded.

He looked at the two of them, wondering if Mulder would continue working for AD, then he gave up. If he could, Pendrell had a slight doubt; Mulder would be spending a long time in the basement, in the basement, perhaps, he was such a bastard.

This thought and his anger accompanied him for the next few days, especially the three days Skinner forced him to undergo a psychiatric evaluation. A week later, he returned to his office and unleashed his murderous rage on Mulder, Scully, Skinner, and J?dggar Hoover. Fortunately, he wasn't usually issued firearms.

A few weeks later, he found himself mired in deep depression. His life had become colorless, stagnant, and devoid of enthusiasm again, as lukewarm as the glue in the library. At least working in the lab gave him a chance to reminisce, even though his work was almost entirely mechanical.

They had taken his treasures, but he quietly went to the Dupont Circle to retrieve them, and with a defiant pride, wore them under his FBI uniform.

Days passed, autumn turned to winter, and his life turned ashen.

More depression…

One day, he worked late, returning to his apartment around midnight. Thinking that he needed at least a pet, not a fish, and a dog was too lonely…

he left the living room and turned off the light—which only made it harder to see the outlines of his living room furniture from a distance—and headed to the kitchen, idly wondering if cats needed care like dogs.

Suddenly, a force slammed him to the floor, and he cried out, “My wallet is in my coat pocket!” he told the mysterious attacker.

Tears stung his eyes. God… what had he done to God that God hated him so much? Letting him see heaven and then shattering it, and now, damn it, letting him run into a burglar. What luck! They'd kill him.

His hands were twisted behind his back and bound with something that looked like a clothesline. Loose, it didn't hurt at all. Instinctively, he categorized it as fiber. He thought ironically that if he really was murdered, he hoped it would be Mulder and Scully who were sent to investigate it; he wanted them to bear the guilt.

Warm breath brushed against the back of his neck, and a familiar voice complained, "I don't want your damn wallet, Brian."

他呆住了，他的心脏重重地敲打在他的胸膛上，“alex？”微弱的声音。

突然，他被拖住脚，并且被拖过走廊拖到了他的床上，然后一条腿用力地插入他的膝盖间，他的脸被压进了床罩里。

喜悦的，他试图转过他的头，“alex，真的是你吗？”

他的脸被紧紧地压在了床上，一个温暖的舌头舔过他的耳垂，“我听见了你揍mulder。”温暖的声音。

他的脉搏快乐的加速，“是的，先生。”他愉快地说。

“好男孩。”

他的裤子被拉了下来，他的衬衫被撕扯着，差一点被撕裂开来。钮扣四分五裂的掉在硬木地板上，而他也已经像石头一样硬了。

Krycek's fingertips found the gold ring on his nipple, and he felt a sigh on his skin as he wriggled happily. "They took something you gave me."

"Poor honey," Krycek whispered, stroking his belly tenderly. "I've brought you something else."

He could feel Krycek's penis pressing against the crevice of his buttocks. "I can feel it," he told Krycek happily.

A low laugh. "Something else."

His face was released, and he turned his head to receive a kiss—deep, magnificent, a lover's kiss, a master's kiss, reclaiming his rights.

After an incredibly long time, Krycek released him and grinned at him. "This." He held a small, black velvet box in his hand, and then suddenly opened it.

A diamond clasp.

He looked at it, blinking repeatedly. "Please don't leave me again."

A low laugh, another kiss. "I didn't mean to. I'm taking you with me."

Another kiss…

When this kiss ended, he looked at Krycek. "Really?" A hopeful tone, a plaintive voice.

"Why do you think I'd change my mind?" A pleased expression on Krycek's face, he pinched his nipple. "When Scully sees this, he'll be devastated."

His face flushed inexplicably.

"And I heard Skinner spent two days interrogating Mulder about his relationship with me." Krycek's smile was malicious. "Brian, you're amazing."

He grinned, allowing himself to be pushed onto the bed again, and swayed his hips seductively. His hip curves were kissed, a warm tongue caressing him thoroughly. Oh, he thought, his mind had been torn apart by pleasure, and he pulled it back. Thank you, God, thank you…

He sobbed as Krycek slowly slid inside him and began to move. In a craning motion, a sudden, terrible thought froze Pendrell. “Alex, what if they try to rescue me again?”

A kiss landed on the back of his neck, then another on his shoulder blade. “Sweet Brian,” a deep voice said. “An internal organization within the bureau will arrange for us to go abroad.”

“I speak Russian,” he told Krycek, then met a thrust and groaned in pleasure. “But I’m a little rusty.”

Krycek’s arms wrapped around him and held him tightly. “I know you’re extraordinary,” he groaned. “And I’m glad I was right.”

All of this was said before he left, and before he left to continue things better between lovers.

…

“It looks like he left for good,” Scully said, feeling a little annoyed.

“No signs of struggle,” Mulder agreed, investigating the bedroom. “It looks like he left voluntarily, and the handwriting on this note is his.” He shrugged.

As he walked toward the door, Scully turned to him, looked at him, and slipped the note into an evidence pocket. "Mulder, I want to know something."

He had already reached the door. "What, Scully?"

She narrowed her eyes. "To be precise, what is your relationship with Alex Krycek?"

Mulder stormed out.

Good, there'll always be a way to find out what she needs to know, she thought, and decided to talk to the Gunmen.

(The End )

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