Lots of Author's Notes for this story; it's a radical departure for me as a
writer, so I feel compelled to explain some of it to you first.

THIS IS SLASH!  A graphic depiction of sex between members of the same sex.
That's what slash means, folks, remember it!  Loving detail,
less-than-loving motivations and actions.  This is a real crotch-grinder,
and may offend the sensitive reader (even if the graphic details and
homosexuality don't!).

Fourth season "Tunguska" spoilers?  Not really.  If you didn't notice the
huge throbbing heaps of  sexual tension in this ep between Mulder, Krycek &
Skinner (and later Scully & Skinner, then Mulder & Scully, but we won't go
into that), you are blind, deaf, and unable to smell.  All I'm doing is
filling in the blanks with the activities that our sick little minds are
convinced took place.  Yes, sick; if we interpret men hitting each other as
sexual, what's next? Passionate pugilism? Erotic football? Amorous ice-hockey?  

Summary: Skinner/Krycek/Mulder slash.  Missing scene from Tunguska.  Mulder
takes Krycek to Skinner's apartment in Crystal City for safekeeping.  They
interrogate him, but somehow forget to ask any questions.  Surprise, surprise.

None of this belongs to me except the sex, since CC would NEVER condone such
a scene in the show.  For obvious reasons.

Many thanks to Nicci (visit her at
http://members.aol.com/nicci73813/nicklea.htm) for her encouragement and
discussion of all things Rat.  Without her help, you would not be reading
this story.

Special note for Brenda Antrim fans:  FYI, I did not read her recent story,
"Missing Scenes from Tunguska" until AFTER this story was finished.  I
didn't want to risk unintentional plagiarism.  Brenda, you are such a
fabulous slash author, I almost gave up on this story when I saw your
posting; I figured you'd have the definitive story, so what could I offer?
Yours is the first slash I ever read, and it remains the best.  Consider
this story a tribute to your skill; your work converted a straight-vanilla
slightly-shy reader into a wanton slash-author.  Just don't tell my Mom.

This story is NOT repeat NOT part of my Year of the Rat series.  This is
kind of a strange detour I took in my writing, and this Krycek isn't related
to the Krycek from that sequence.

PC Readers Beware!  This is a "zipless fuck" story.  Don't look for safe
sex, condoms, verbal consent, or even any real meaning.  It's meant to
arouse, not educate.

Comments/critiques welcome at ccbailey@facstaff.wisc.edu.  OK, enough
natter, on with the naughty bits!


Crystal City Scenery
by Colleen C. Bailey

*********

"He'll be safe here."

Skinner backed up and waited while Mulder pushed Krycek into the apartment.
Hot anger rose in his throat as he looked at the man Mulder thrust through
his doorway.  This was the traitor who endangered his agents, betrayed his
oath of fealty to the Bureau, worked for the Consortium and, incidentally,
played a coward's game of three against one in a hospital stairwell,
depriving Skinner of his leverage and his self-esteem in one bout.  He had
never felt so naked as when he had to face that nicotine-stained bastard,
with his omnipresent coffin nails, bluffing for his life and his agents'.
That hit had stayed with him for months. And now he had the chance to take
it all back.

Skinner came up smoothly behind Krycek.  He felt the cold air clinging to
the man's jacket against his naked chest, and a rush of anger gripped him.
Turning and flexing in one movement, he drove his fist into the unsuspecting
man's gut.  Krycek went down hard, bellowing in pain. 

"Relatively safe."  Damn, he shouldn't enjoy this so much.  He had just
ambushed a handcuffed subject, and the power trip he felt watching a grown
man writhe in pain was obscene.   He couldn't resist.  Leaning down and
gripping Krycek by the scruff of the neck, he pulled him to his feet,
leaning in to whisper, "We're not even yet, *boy*, that's a start."  Oh, he
could get used to this power.

*********
Mulder stood impassively by the door, watching Skinner's brutal attack,
seeing Krycek crumpled on the floor, moaning in pain with Skinner's powerful
frame poised above him, almost daring him to try anything.  He should feel
something.  All he could remember was Hong Kong, the tension and fear
radiating from Krycek's body, straining beneath him during their
confrontation in the airport.  Anger and violence were all he knew for this
man; hatred and fear

//and envy and lust//

for this betrayer, this killer

//this patriot//

"Gimme the keys."  Distracted, Mulder fumbled briefly, tossing them to his
boss.  He could feel his blood pounding in his veins, but there were no
emotions attached.  Skinner had only done what he himself had done; used
unnecessary force on a defenseless man.

Mulder pushed hard at his thoughts, banishing them to the hole in his belly
where he stuffed everything he couldn't afford to feel.  He watched as
Skinner half-dragged a moaning Krycek onto the balcony, throwing him roughly
to the floor.

*********
The pain was unbelievable.  Krycek had been hit before:  school, Quantico,
as an agent, and as a fugitive.  Hell, even the militia traded blows amongst
themselves; it was a macho thing, a way to establish dominance.  As if he
could be in any doubt where he stood, even without Mulder and Skinner both
whaling away on him.  Absurdly, he wondered how the hell his hat managed to
stay on; shit, it felt like that one blow would've been enough to knock his
damned pants off, belt and all.  He suppressed that thought quickly.  The
last thing he wanted was to be naked and vulnerable around two aggressive
men who felt they had something to prove.

*********
Skinner jerked him by the arm, latching the empty cuff securely to the
balcony railing.  His captive squirmed against his hands, trying to break
his grip, snarling, "You can't leave me out here, I'll freeze to death."
Skinner grabbed him by the edges of his coat and shoved.  Krycek sat down
hard, and he pressed in on him, enjoying the view of the rat bastard
cringing at his feet in submission, scared and trying to look angry.
Krycek's face was just level with his crotch, and a kaleidoscope image
flashed through his mind 

//lips on skin//hands gripping crew-cut hair//cold wind on his
thighs//liquid heat on his cock//

Skinner quickly crouched beside him, denying the images that proximity
aroused.  He rubbed his nose, hiding behind his hand until he could recover
from his momentary loss of composure.  "Just think warm thoughts." Angry
green eyes glared back in silence.  Rising abruptly, he left.

*********
Shit, they're really going to leave me out here.  Krycek tugged hard at the
brim of his cap, wishing he'd worn something heavier.  The chill breeze
slipped through the front closure of his jacket, drawing cold fingers
lingeringly across his chest.  His nipples hardened painfully, and he
shuddered involuntarily.  The cold concrete beneath him rasped against his
jeans as he sought a more comfortable position, drawing his knees up into
his embrace, wishing he could at least lower his right arm enough to protect
his side.

He snatched his hat off in frustration.  This was going to be one hell of a
night.

*********
Once inside, Skinner turned to Mulder impassively.  "So, are you going to
tell me what the hell is going on?"  Concentrate on the work, he reminded
himself.  The urges of the body cannot be allowed to distract from the work
of the mind.

Mulder shook his head slowly, a flicker of doubt crossing his
usually-expressionless face, subduing his hazel eyes even more so than
usual.  "Sir, if I had an idea, I'd tell you."

Skinner wrinkled his brow, staring at his troublesome subordinate.  "By
coming here, I assume you want to keep this situation out of official channels."

He watched as Mulder relaxed slightly.  "If we make his whereabouts known to
anyone at the FBI, he'll be dead by morning.  We need him alive, sir, he has
information we need."

Nodding, Skinner stared out at the cowed figure on his balcony.  A wild,
forbidden thought fought its way to the surface of his mind.  "Then we
should consider the most effective way to extract that information."  He
allowed himself the brief fantasy, then shut it off abruptly.  He could
never allow Mulder to witness what he had in mind.

He turned back towards Mulder grimly.  "And I think I know what that is.
But it won't be easy."  He waved him towards the door curtly.  "There are
some things you'd be better off not knowing, Agent Mulder.  I'll contact you
when I learn anything."  He swiveled on his heel and headed for the balcony
door, setting his jaw and steeling his will.

The cold air contrasted with the warmth of his vengeful visions, and he
wondered if maybe this would be easier than he first thought.  Or, as the
case may be, harder. 

*********
Krycek's legs were killing him, his stomach ached and he needed to take a
piss.  Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself upright, gasping as he stood to
his full height, leaning against the railing.  He unbuttoned his jeans to
ease the waistband, then stretched forward, grabbing his ankles and
grimacing as the long muscles in his thighs gradually unknotted.

He stood up straight and considered his third problem just a gust of wind
hit him broadside, staggering him slightly.  His wrist pulled painfully at
the tight cuff, and he scowled.  Fuck'em.  Unzipping his jeans further, he
awkwardly slid himself out left-handed and pissed over the edge of the
balcony, sighing at the release.

"Need some help with that?"  The sarcastic voice behind him caught him
off-guard, and he reeled, jerking ineffectively against the restraint of the
metal bracelet.  A strong hand unexpectedly steadied his shoulder, the other
reaching around beneath his left arm to grip the front of his coat.  It also
blocked him from lowering the arm, and he blushed hotly as he realized he
was trapped, with his pants about to slide down around his knees and a
strong breeze trying to facilitate the process.

His mind raced for a suitably cutting reply.  "Back for a kiss goodnight,
Skinner?"  Oh, shit.  Bad idea.

The rough chuckle that answered scared him all over again.  "Kissing wasn't
what I had in mind."  Warm and callused, the hand slid further down his
front to pause, hovering, over his bellybutton.  A single finger traced the
narrow trail of wiry black hair that ran south from that point, and Krycek
gasped, feeling a stirring beneath that gentle touch.  In spite of the
frosty air, he could feel his cock responding.  

"Not exactly standard procedure, Skinner."  Damn, his balls were cold.
Despite himself, he wished the hand lower.

The steely voice ignored his comment.  "I always wondered if you wore
underwear.  Usually, the question is boxers or briefs, but after seeing you
scrambling around a few times, I should have guessed you wouldn't bother
with either."  The hand quested further, and Krycek tensed, his breath
puffing out in clouds of frozen smoke.  What lengths would Skinner go to in
order to get the information he wanted?  When he had taken classes at
Quantico on how to cope with hostage situations and maintain silence under
hostile interrogation, this had definitely not appeared on the curriculum.

The roving hand released him, moving back up towards his chest.  Krycek
exhaled, then exclaimed as his jacket was roughly pulled from his shoulders.
His free hand imprisoned by Skinner's iron grip, the sleeve was peeled off,
and the whole affair was tugged to one side, hanging from his cuffed wrist.
The cold shot through his thin shirt like a bucket of ice water; he shivered
violently.  Through chattering teeth, he sputtered, "Not enough to beat me
up, you've decided to freeze me to death too?"

A hand grabbed the back of his neck roughly, and he tensed for a blow.
Instead, a sharp jerk and the sound of tearing cloth; suddenly he was not
wearing a shirt.  Gooseflesh broke out across every exposed inch of his pale
skin.  Skinner's voice was low and hoarse.  "I think we'll keep warm enough."

*********
Standing in the doorway, reaching for the latch, Mulder was concerned.  This
looked more like a seduction than an interrogation.  Slowly, quietly, he
stepped back across the night-dappled floor and let himself down onto the
couch, elbows braced on the backrest as he settled in uncomfortably to
watch.  He couldn't leave now.  This was the first thing he'd seen all night
that inspired an emotion in his empty, aching chest.  

His boss had stripped their prisoner with an efficiency that frightened him,
as much as he was alarmed by the fact that Krycek's bare back and strong
arms drew his attention.  Had Skinner done this before?  Had Krycek aroused
him this thoroughly when they were partners?  Is that why the betrayal had
hurt him so much?  Is that why Krycek's pleas of innocence had staved off
his certain death not once, but twice?

His head was spinning and he shifted on the couch, continuing to stare out
the patio window.  Unnoticed, his hand crept to his collar, loosening his
tie and slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

*********
Skinner slid his right hand down the smooth plane of Krycek's back.  His
flesh was hard, with solid muscle lurking beneath the soft skin.  He
marveled at the architecture of his captive's body.  He had never known
Krycek well; if he'd known he was built this nicely, he would have made a
point of lurking in the weight room at the Bureau gym when he had been an agent.

He would never admit it, but Skinner spent so much time working out because
it gave him the chance to peek at the bodies of other agents, male and
female.  He'd been a voyeur for years, but never had the nerve to
proposition anyone; his position was too delicate, too easily compromised.
Here was the perfect opportunity; anyone who captured Krycek would surely
kill him before he could expose Skinner's secret.  And the thought of this
virile young man, completely at his mercy, helpless to stop him, was more
arousing than he would have thought possible.

Halfway down, he curled his fingers and dug his nails into the tender flesh
along his captive's right side.  Krycek inhaled sharply at the pain, pulling
his head back and bumping into the body poised behind him.  Skinner smiled,
and the hand continued down, onto his hip, across his thigh, ending at the
inside of the younger man's knee.  He had to move forward to follow the
motion, standing closely behind and crooking his elbow to follow the curve
around Krycek's body.

He stopped there, the front of his body as close to Krycek's exposed back as
it could be without touching; he could feel the heat rising from between
their bodies.  It swelled out from between them, filtering through his thin
pants and warming his bare chest.  He leaned in, layering himself onto the
other man's skin.  "You have information that is vital to the safety of
other agents, Krycek, and I intend to wring it out of you, one way or another."

*********
Krycek froze.  He was handcuffed to a railing, staring down at a 17-story
drop, stripped to the waist, his pants were falling down, the wind was
whistling around his ears, and now a large, half-naked man who would just as
soon see him dead was standing inches behind him, leaning against him so
that he could feel him along the length of his body, feel his hand on his
knee, feel his breath on his neck, feel his crotch pressed up against his ass...

OK, maybe if he pretended to go along, it wouldn't be so bad.  It's a
control thing, and control freaks want a power trip, right?  Maybe I can
spoil that trip for him.

He leaned back against Skinner's hairy chest, feeling it tickle his shoulder
blades.  Twisting his head over his shoulder, he whispered, "If I'd known
you felt this way about me, Skinner, I would have come to visit sooner."

A sharp pain wrung a cry out of him; Skinner had taken a nipple and twisted
it cruelly, forcing his attention back to his predicament.  A harsh voice
breathed in his ear, "If you'd known I felt this way about you, *boy*, you
would have run like hell and never looked back."

The tickling of Skinner's breath on his neck shot a bullet of unexpected
lust down his spine.  He bucked sideways, suddenly panicking.  His free arm
whipped up and back, grabbing for Skinner's face, desperately trying to
disable his captor.  Skinner was prepared for this, however, and wrenched
his wrist down, then back up behind his body, trapping it between them.  His
right hand never moved from its grip on Krycek's knee.  He thrust his own
leg between Krycek's and shoved left while pushing his body right;
off-balance, Krycek staggered, and Skinner used that opportunity to push his
other leg in between his.

Now Krycek was spread-eagled, and the struggle had pushed his pants down
around his ankles.  So much for the idea that a man's brains were in his
penis; that stupid appendage was standing at attention, unlike his much
smarter testicles, which were trying to crawl back up into his body cavity
and away from that damned wind. He had to lean his chest against the railing
to keep from falling over completely; the view from this height spun crazily
beneath him, and he squeezed his eyes tightly, wondering if a single
handcuff would support him if he fell.  His left arm was still trapped
behind him.

The Assistant Director tightened his grip, and god as his witness, whatever
Skinner was up to, he had a guilty feeling that they would *both* enjoy it.

*********
Mulder was kneeling, facing the back of the couch, watching the scene
developing on the other side of the glass.  He heard a sound and froze, then
belatedly realized it was his own soft moan.  He couldn't help it; watching
his former partner's body so thoroughly controlled by Skinner was really
turning him on.  He had been thrusting his hips against the sofa cushions;
he could feel a small wet spot starting to form at the tip of his erection,
and knew that he had found a fresh fantasy to replace his latest
bump-n-grind video.  And it even served double duty:  he could imagine being
top to Krycek, or bottom to Skinner.  He started to unbuckle his belt.

*********
Skinner wondered if this was just another intense wet dream.  Still gripping
Krycek's wrist between them, he turned it fractionally.  The younger man
beneath him gasped, then shifted to accommodate the pain, twisting his
shoulder back and spreading his legs wider.  Skinner smiled, and leaned
forward slightly.  "Feel this?" he murmured, pushing his crotch into
Krycek's palm.  His captive moaned what was probably an affirmative, and he.
pulled the hand higher.  "Unbuckle my belt," he ordered.  Fingers flailing,
Krycek complied.

*********
Krycek wondered if this was just another shameful-yet-arousing wet dream.
By sense of touch, he flipped the belt tab out, then fumbled for the
crosspiece.  Pulling on the end, he managed the catch, then reached for the
button.  Popping that easily, he slid the zipper down and, breathing hard,
groped inside.

Immediately he felt stiff curls, hot flesh, and a drop of moisture.  Without
thinking, he grasped Skinner's erection and tugged, inadvertently brushing
it against his own ass.

Instinctively, the older man thrust forward at this heat source, shoving his
newly-freed cock between his thighs.  Krycek could feel pre-cum smearing
messily, lubricating and chilling simultaneously.  A flush of hot, guilty
pleasure rose on his face, and he pushed back against Skinner, wanting him
to continue, but afraid to say so.

*********
Mulder wondered if this was just another repressed homoerotic wet dream.  It
was too perfect.  His shirt was unbuttoned to his waist, and his pants were
in a heap around his knees.  He stroked his stomach with one hand while
gripping his own thigh with the other, still thrusting against the sofa
cushion.  He couldn't peel his eyes off the men on the balcony. 

*********
Krycek's erection was now demanding attention, and he awkwardly twisted his
cuffed hand around, reaching for it.  His hand was pushed away, and he heard
Skinner murmur, "That's my property, *boy*. You don't touch it unless I say
so."  Then, the AD stood straight, breaking the full-body contact they had
shared but maintaining an iron grip on his trapped left wrist.
 
Krycek froze at the sudden change in temperature, and Skinner brought a flat
hand down hard on his ass.  Krycek shouted and jerked forward, but he had
nowhere to go.  Skinner hit him again, and he tried twisting to the side,
but to no avail; he was pinned tight.  Again and again, he felt the sharp
sting of a hard hand smacked against his bare cheeks.  All he could do was
lean against the railing, squeeze his watering eyes shut, and anticipate the
next slap.  His whole body was tingling, he could taste blood in his mouth,
and his backside felt like it was on fire.

*********
Skinner wanted to fuck the boy, right here and right now, but he knew he had
to be more patient than that.  He gripped the reddened flesh before him and
aggressively slid his length back and forth against the crack, sliding on
his own lubrication.  Krycek groaned and thrust his hips back against him.
The rough sensation forced a cry from him; the notion that Krycek was not
only helpless but willing and eager to be subdued flooded his nervous system
with hot lightning.  

He paused in his motions, leaning over the younger man's back, panting for a
moment.  Krycek swiveled his hips, grinding them against his erection,
tossing his head with impatience.  Skinner took a deep breath, then another,
gathering his wits about him.  Now to fuck with his mind.  Releasing his
wrist and leaning around to the left, he reached for Krycek's cock.

*********
Krycek gasped loudly as the tip of his chilled flesh was suddenly enclosed
in a hand warmed from his earlier discipline.  Dipping into the pooled
moisture there, it lazily swirled around and down, gradually covering his
entire length.  The fist glided easily back and forth, made frictionless by
his own pre-ejaculate.  Another hand drawled along the thoroughly frozen
right side of his body, dipping down to massage his balls, rolling them
singly, then together.  Oh god, Skinner had big hands.  He dropped his
forehead, dewed with cooling sweat, onto his crossed arms and lost himself
in the sensations of fire and ice.

*********
Skinner glanced briefly over his shoulder.  He needed to fetch a few
supplies from his bedroom, but didn't want to have to start from scratch
when he returned.  He had the drop on Krycek now; if he left and returned,
the boy would have a much better chance to defend himself.  Not that he
would try very hard, he reflected; he certainly seemed to be enjoying this
as much as he was.  He looked back at the patio door again, wishing he had a
solution.

Rhythmically Skinner began stroking him, and Krycek responded, rocking
between the fist before him and the stiff cock behind him.  Licking his
finger wetly, Skinner reached down to where their hips connected and felt
for the tight rosebud of flesh between the younger man's muscular cheeks.
He probed experimentally, and Krycek shouted and flung himself forward, away
from the questing finger.  The fist and the railing kept him from going very
far, however, and Skinner followed him down, pressing his advantage,
thrusting the penetrating digit further and further, working it in time with
his hips and hand.

*********
They didn't call him Spooky for nothing.  He had plenty of practice reading
Scully's body language; he wasn't nearly as intimate with Skinner, but under
the circumstances, he had a good idea what he wanted.  Rising from his
position on the couch and pulling his pants up over his aching hard-on,
Mulder trotted up the stairs quickly to Skinner's bedroom, betting that what
he was looking for would be in the bed-side drawer.  Ah, two for two.  He
ran back downstairs, almost stumbling in his haste to return to the scene of
the crime.

*********
Krycek no longer cared about the cold.  He barely noticed the pain in his
wrist, and couldn't care less about the awkwardness of his stance.  All he
cared about was the fist fucking his cock and the finger fucking his ass.
He was breathing in ragged gasps, feeling the adrenaline in his veins
flowing in towards his belly, congealing there, preparing to explode out
through that tight grip.  He was ready.  It was almost time....

The patio door slammed open and he and Skinner simultaneously twisted around
in shock.  Both hands flew away from his body, and the sudden rush of damp
cold had an immediate affect on his libido.  Reminded that this was
November, he groaned and covered himself, turning towards his cuffed arm and
trying to hide his legs behind the drape of his forgotten jacket.

*********
Skinner thought he might pop a vein in his forehead.  Just when he had
decided to frustrate Krycek and abandon him moments before he came, in order
to run upstairs and grab some lube, Agent Mulder came trotting out looking
like the cat that ate the canary.  How was he going to explain *this*?

"Agent Mulder," he began, then paused.  Mulder's shirt was unbuttoned, his
face was flushed and he had failed to zip his pants up; an erection was
visible, thrusting his boxers out through his open fly.  He focused on the
outstretched hand.  Mulder was offering him a tube of KY jelly.  Oh my god.

Mulder grinned his coldest shit-eating grin.  "Here, sir, you looked like
you could use some of this."

"Were you planning on joining the party, or waiting for your turn?"

"Well, sir, I figured that since you had the situation well in hand, I would
merely assist in whatever way I could."

Skinner eyed him cautiously.  Obviously, he had seen the whole thing.  A
wild thought occurred to him, and he tested his theory.  "The subject has
been rather noisy during the interrogation.  Perhaps you could keep him
quiet for me."

*********
Krycek winced at Skinner's hand gripping the back of his neck, but didn't
have the strength to resist the downward pressure.  Falling to his knees, he
pulled the jacket underneath him to cushion the hard surface.  It wasn't
until the hand let go and a body moved in front of him that he fully
realized they had company on the porch.

He looked up into Mulder's stony gaze, and wondered if this were living
hell, or a dream come true.  Then he saw his huge erection standing out from
his unzipped fly, bobbing at eye-level.  Licking his lips, he decided it was
both.

*********
Mulder stared down at the dark crewcut below him. His blood pounded in his
veins, he estimated his respirations were double their normal rate, and his
skin tingled as if caressed with bare electrical wire.  He knew about
reaction-formation.  He knew about misattribution of arousal.  He kept
hitting Krycek because his mind couldn't accept wanting to fuck Krycek.  His
body knew, and his mind misinterpreted the signals.  Well, not any more.

He reached out and touched his head, feeling the stubbly texture of the
severe haircut beneath his palm.  Was he leaning into the contact, or trying
to evade it?  It no longer mattered.  

Curling his fingers, he gripped the back of Krycek's neck, digging his
fingers into the skin and muscle there. He knocked the stupid-ass baseball
cap off with his other hand, then reached for the fastenings on his pants.

*********
Krycek was frantically trying to remember how this had all started.  He had
gone from militia member to federal witness to love slave in a matter of
hours, and his head was spinning.  Good thing Mulder had a grip on it,
otherwise he might just keel over and pass out.  And now here was this
beautifully-sculpted cock, waving around in his face.  

He reached for it with his lips only to be jerked backwards by the hand on
his neck.  He tried again, and was once more restrained.  

Frustrated, he rocked forward on his knees, only to feel strong hands at his
hips pull him backwards.  His ass connected with something cold and hard and
he jerked forward fast, exclaiming in surprise and bumping his nose on
Mulder's hipbone, but the hands pulled him back firmly, wedging that
hardness between his cheeks, gliding it back and forth, wet and warming
quickly between them.  His groin turned to jelly and he shut his eyes
tightly, suppressing a moan.

 "Look at me." A hand slapped his face, hard.  "Look at me, dammit!" 

He looked up at Mulder's expressionless face, dark eyes sparkling with steel
in the city lights.  His crotch was inches away, he could see the tight
curls of pubic hair, smell the warmth, the secret mustiness that lingered
there.  Mulder's hand was fisted around the cock that nested there, moved,
and he felt a warm stickiness drag itself across his left cheekbone.

*********
Mulder slid himself along Krycek's face, watching in disconnected
fascination as pre-cum left a gleaming trail across the raspy skin.
Swiveling his hips, he anointed his other cheek in a similar fashion,
watching the small muscles of his captive's face writhe with conflicting
emotions.  He wondered idly if his own face were reacting similarly.

*********
Skinner glanced up at Mulder, wondering what he was thinking that his face
would be so blank.  He felt the boy's muscular ass press against him again,
felt the low moan in him vibrate through his hands.  Smiling, he slid them
down onto the tops of Krycek's thighs, massaging them firmly, hip to knees
to inner thigh, working them further up until both hands cupped the
heaviness of his balls.  He rolled them in one strong hand while the other
circled the tip of the straining erection it found.  

Pressing forward with the strength of his thighs, he stroked hard down the
boy's full length, and was rewarded with a muffled shout, a deep cry that
wavered between fear and passion.

*********
Mulder felt Krycek press forward into his crotch, felt his hot breath
against his thighs.  He flushed, and felt the urge to hit him again, hit him
hard, make him feel... make him feel...

He lifted his cock and slapped Krycek's face lightly with it, feeling the
sting of beard stubble on the sensitive flesh.  The shock of pain mingled
with the shock of pleasure, and he slapped him again.  The younger man
whimpered through moistened lips and tried to capture it in his mouth, but
he pulled it away at the last moment, savoring this tantalizing game.

Mulder slid it along his chin again.  "Ask for it, Krycek."  He pushed the
tip of his erection oh-so-barely against his willing captive's lips, rubbing
it back and forth, feeling the warmth of his pleading breath.  A trace of
moisture from his questing tongue wet the veined underside for a brief
moment, and the heat of that small contact reverberated throughout his body.

*********
Krycek couldn't pull away; the hand at his neck was deliberate, controlling.
The dueling sensations of fear and arousal, the teasing blows to his face,
the hot warmth against his ass, oh, I'm a slut, he thought, they could kill
me in an instant, no one would ever know, and all I want is for them to fuck
me NOW...

*********
Skinner glanced up from the tube of KY, hearing Mulder's words.  He watched
the tense drama, saw the slap and smack of Mulder's cock against Krycek's
face.  Heat burned a trail down his spine into the base of his cock, and his
nostrils flared as he observed Krycek struggle to draw Mulder into his
mouth.  Oh, yes, willing and eager.  He smeared a dollop of lubricant into
the crack of the boy's ass, thrusting two fingers deeply within him,
rewarded by the tremble and twitch of his reaction to this rough
penetration.  He moved his other hand to a firmer hold on his captive's
hipbone and waited, wiggling his fingers gently.  Soon.

*********
Krycek breathed shallow through his nose.  The voice drifted down from on
high and he rocked his pelvis against Skinner's grip, ashamed at his
helplessness, excited by the strength of his subjugation.  A brief piercing
pain in his ass quickly transformed to bliss and he shuddered, aching for
release.  The cock loomed before him, every vein detailed, pink and purple
with a need he echoed, inviting, daunting, and he shivered, pushing his face
towards it as far as he could.  Just give it to me, dammit, he thought
raggedly.  I can't just say that.  Not like this.  I want it, but I can't
say it.  But the desire wouldn't go away.

*********
A movement distracted Mulder; Skinner was staring at him across the
sweat-slicked expanse of Krycek's back.  He saw the twin rounds of his ass,
with Skinner's well-defined chest just above, saw light glinting off the
lubricant smeared into the crack, and felt a surge in his cock as the sight
excited him further.  Skinner was about to fuck Krycek, and he had a front
row seat.  Then he felt wet lips grasp his very tip before he could snatch
it away, and the enormity of it hit him.  They were both about to fuck
Krycek.  On Skinner's balcony.  In downtown Alexandria.  And he didn't think
he could hold back much longer.

*********
Krycek felt the soft flesh of Mulder's glans touch his lips and leaned in,
stealing a wet kiss before Mulder pulled it away again.  The bitter taste of
semen appeared on his tongue, and he moaned wordlessly, wanting that erotic
pressure again, feeling the strength of the hand at his neck, the cold wind
on his balls, the slick sensual tightening in his sphincter.  Oh, god, this
was killing him.  Do it.

He shook his head away, down as far as he could reach, eyes squeezed shut,
and gasped, feeling the tension in his knotted jaw dissipate as he drew in a
deep breath.  The cold tickled his lips and tongue, tingling in the back of
his neck, and he swallowed, gasping again as Skinner's fingers tilted within
him, turning and stretching and exciting him.  

********* 
The man at his feet gasped for air, then looked up, straight at him.  Mulder
thought distractedly that he'd never seen more beautiful eyes, male or
female.  They glowed with passion and panic and anticipation, and he felt
his anger melt in their green heat.  

He waited, his thumb lightly caressing the nape of Krycek's neck.  He wanted
him to say it, wanted to hear his admission of desire.  He could not kill
this man; after all that had happened, he still had never been able to pull
the trigger.  He was not a murderer.  And he was not a rapist.

"Say it, Alex," he whispered, and the long lashes dipped low, bright eyes
dimming as they focused on a much closer object.

*********
Krycek felt as if he might float away.  His cold skin, his aching wrist
eased into the background of consciousness as heat and desire and tension
roared around him like a whirlwind of sensations that did not belong to him,
could not be his, but were; and the shame, the pain, the fear, all fell away
like ashes from burning paper; and he looked straight up at the most
beautiful man he had ever seen and said

"Please..."

*********
Mulder felt himself drawn in by warm, tight lips.  Dizziness and tight moist
heat gripped him, and he dropped both hands to Krycek's shoulders, leaning
into him, thrusting himself further.  

His hips trembled as Krycek tongued him wetly, murmuring incoherently,
looping fervently down and around and up and over and down again.  Then the
shock of strong suction, and the back of his head lit up like a Christmas
tree.  His knees buckled and he sagged backwards against the railing,
clinging to it with all his dwindling strength.  Oh, this was good.

*********
Oh, *Christ*, this was good.  Krycek nuzzled deeply into the warmly-scented
brown curls at the base, deliberately slacking his smiling lips so as to
glide, frictionless, along this sweet, slick flesh.  If his mouth had not
been otherwise occupied it would have been endlessly forming the word, the
magical liberating word.  Please.  Please.  Please.

He released him for a moment, feeling the tightening of muscles and
fractional shifting as Mulder felt the cold on him.  Smiling, he laid soft
kisses in the delicate trough where the torso meets the leg, occasionally
flicking his tongue out to moisten the skin there, a minute torture to
prolong the agony before he was inexorably drawn back to take his fill of
the bitter-salty sex that belonged to Mulder.  Teeth and tongue expanded and
his jaw strained; mmmm, not a snack but a full meal, this one.  The pressure
against his throat vibrated throughout his bones and he swallowed, bearing
down on the stiffness in his mouth and feeling a giddy rush as his victim
groaned approval.

*********
Skinner watched as his second-best agent melted in the mouth of his
second-worst enemy.  His imagination supplied the sensations Mulder was
experiencing, and his cock bobbed eagerly in response. Driving with his legs
and pulling with his hands on Krycek's hips, he thrust the tip of his aching
cock into the boy's tight opening.  The ring of muscle clutched at him like
a vise and he lost his equilibrium for a moment, falling forward to feel his
sweat and warmth mingle with Krycek's.  Breathing deeply to dispel the fog
of euphoric sensation, he waited as long as he could, then *pushed*...

*********
Krycek had died a horrible death, and found himself in heaven.  Split open,
filled to capacity at both ends, nerve endings tingling with pain and fusing
into pleasure, he felt Skinner's furry chest against his back, Mulder's warm
crotch against his face, and strained to push himself in two directions at
once.  The hot presence in his ass moved and he made muffled sounds against
the smooth flesh in his mouth.  Then, simultaneous strokes - one within him,
one rippling down his cock.  Eagerly, he sucked hard, swiveling his hips in
anticipation.  It was a race to the finish, and he was determined to lose.

*********
Skinner won.  The feel of another man in his hand, the sight of Mulder's
erection disappearing between Krycek's swollen, eager lips, and the
all-enclosing warmth and pressure on his own cock sent him spinning over the
edge and he came with a low animal groan, muscles tensing as he fought for
balance.  He laid his chest against Krycek's back, stroking him with both
hands now, and waited for the world to come back into focus.

*********
The force of his movement pushed Krycek forward violently, but his cry of
grateful protest was muffled in Mulder's crotch.  His right arm was still
pulled too far for him to use it for balance, but his left hand gripped
Mulder's ass for dear life as Skinner pumped relentlessly into him.  He used
the momentum to push Mulder deeper into his mouth, feeling the tickle of
hair against his face, again and again, timing his breathing, not caring
that his every exhalation was a moan of desire.

*********
His boss had just fucked Krycek.  Fucked him, and enjoyed him, and he had
enjoyed watching.  What was the world coming to?  Warmth and pressure and
the scrape of teeth.  Mulder could feel his self-control begin to crack, and
twisted his face up tight, trying to deny the rush of emotions that his body
wanted to echo.  But the mouth upon him was merciless, and he felt the
scrape of fingernails across his ass, and knew that he, too, was lost.

*********
If there was a God in heaven, he was looking down on Krycek tonight.  He
was, at this moment, intimately connected to two beautiful men, one in his
mouth and the other in his ass.  He could feel the aftershocks in Skinner's
body as they rocked together, could feel his breath as a slightly-less-cold
patch on his shoulder.  The tension and longing focused between his legs
were echoed in the fingers desperately gripping his hair, the strong hands
fondling his thighs, and he could feel his skin tightening in anticipation.

*********
Strange, how odd thoughts can creep into your mind at the most unlikely
moments.  Mulder found himself remembering the first time he swam in the
ocean.  He was a small child on the Vineyard, paddling happily in the
shallows at low tide.  Sun, sand, sea.  The splash of salt water on his
legs, the familiar sting in his eyes as the spray hit his face.

The breaker had come out of nowhere, crashing down on him like a falling
building.  Swept away, knocked off his feet, old enough to be afraid and
young enough to be exhilarated, he had experienced the wave as a rush in his
body, the suspension of normal time and space as the undertow pulled him
beneath the green and gold surface and dragged him to darker depths.  Fear
did not stir in him; it was driven out by the absence of sound and gravity,
and the electric tingle of rough water across his skin.

Then, a great splashing and shouting broke through his awareness, a huge
shadow looming above him, and strong hands on his small body, lifting him,
breaking the surface of the water, bursting the sound barrier as hearing and
sight and weight and fear rose up in him all at once and he cried, as a
little boy will cry, delighted and ashamed and afraid and relieved.

Mulder did not cry out; his throat was too dry.  But his blood ran brightly
with the same excitement, the same dread and elation and guilty pleasure as
his muscles twitched and his eyes rolled back and he came with a shock that
was almost explosive.  Rolling his head, he dug his fingers into Krycek's
back and thrust his cock deeper into his welcoming mouth, re-experiencing
that crashing wave, and the deadly undertow that accompanied it.

*********
Some slight change in the rhythm of Mulder's hips rocking against his cheeks
alerted him, excited him, and Krycek felt himself rolling towards the edge,
gathering speed, his synapses locking up as his need took the wheel and
drove him into the abyss.  Warm semen filled his mouth and he swallowed,
struggling for breath, even as his own climax took his grasp of reality and
shook it like a terrier worrying a rat.  His hand on Mulder's ass was all
that kept him from shouting.  Skinner's hands around his waist were all that
kept him from collapsing.

And then it was over; the presence behind him was gone, and even Mulder was
moving away from him, eyes distant and bright in the reflected illumination
from the urban glitter around them.  Krycek rolled to his side, ignoring the
cold and discomfort for a few blessed moments more.  Oh, god, whatever
happens next, I think that was worth it.

Then he sighed, and sat up, and pulled his clothes back on.  Sentiment was
wasted energy, and it was going to be one hell of a cold night.

*********
Skinner breathed heavily, wearily eyeing the vapors that rose with every
exhalation.  He rose to his feet, pulling his pants up around him.  His gaze
softened as he watched Mulder disengage himself from their captive's
embrace, staggering slightly against the railing as he moved out of reach.
There was obviously more here than a simple vengeance-wish.  Maybe it could
work to their advantage.  

He looked out at the bright cityscape before him, the twinkling points of
light, the movement on the busy street below, his gaze eventually returning
to the two men with him.  But what a deadly secret to keep.

*********
Mulder wanted to leave.  He wanted to go home and find comfort in familiar
things, the comfort of his convictions, his beliefs, his pure intentions.
He wanted to submerge his feelings in his work, as he had always done.  But
the fabric of his jeans rubbed painfully against the parallel scratches in
his ass, and he knew that he would never achieve the same mindless devotion
to The Truth again.

*********
Scully glanced at her watch, wondering where Mulder was.  He knew they had
an appointment out at NASA-Goddard, and she didn't want to be late.  The
mystery of the rock needed solving, and the longer they held Krycek the more
danger they were all in.

She gave up for the moment and decided to sort through the morning's mail.
Inter-D, inter-D, blood drive notice, parking assignments, training, memo,
what's this?  The manila envelope was unmarked save for her name in neat
hand-lettering.  She flicked it open quickly and shook its contents out on
her desk. 
Who was sending her photographs?  She turned over the stack to see what they
showed.  Dark, grainy, obviously shot from a distance at night.  They...oh
my God, that's appalling!  Her hand fell involuntarily and the images lost
focus, but even as they blurred, she was drawing them closer for a better
look.  Nothing happens for no reason around here.  She peered again at the
shadowy figures.  Wait, wasn't that...

"Morning, Scully."  The dark blurry pictures fell from nerveless hands and
scattered on the office floor.

END Crystal City Scenery

Colleen C. Bailey
ccbailey@facstaff.wisc.edu

"The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the
difference between lightning and a lightning bug."
 - Mark Twain