Choices, by Glacis. X Files characters owned by Chris Carter
and 10-13 productions, no copyright infringement intended. CAUTION: ADULT
CONTENT RATED NC-17 Contains scenes of both
consensual and nonconsensual male/male sex, harsh language and graphic
violence. MINORS NOT ALLOWED.
It had simply gone on too long. His chain-smoking superior was no
more, brought down by his own unhealthy habits. He was
the one with the 'little bit of power' now. And the situation did not look good. The FBI was beginning to lend more
and more credence to the duo of Agents Mulder
and Scully, and the web of subterfuge protecting their operations was growing
too dangerously thin. His predecessor had attempted to control the dangerous pair's investigations over the past six
years, but Agent Scully's abduction, while yielding interesting medical
data and providing some entertainment for the elite as they witnessed
Mulder's breakdown, had not been nearly
successful enough. In the years since then they had merely grown
stronger, their intent undiminished. The
Consortium was backed against the wall. It was
time to rip out the weed in the middle of their
particular shady garden. Time to kill Mulder.
He even had the right tool.
The sweating, disheveled young man tried to curl
himself into a tighter ball, even though it was physically
impossible. The last thing he remembered was hiding out in a little
town in rural Alberta, a wide spot on the road where no one would find
him, no one would remark on a quiet stranger who kept to his apartment,
smiled and answered politely when they attempted to chat with him. No one
would get too close, no one would report him.
And no one had. No one needed to. They had
managed to track him down anyway. Middle of the night, at least five of
them, all in black, hidden faces, no time to
react, nowhere to hide, no time to fight...
The memory brought a fresh wave of nausea-inducing
pain through his head. Long, trembling fingers rubbed at the back of his neck, pressing at the tiny straight scar,
the mark he'd thought was a mole and couldn't believe he'd been so stupid
as to discount.
He didn't remember them putting the implant in his
neck, either.
This one was different, he thought muzzily through the constant waves of pain. He didn't think
the one they put in Scully could do this to her.
Or else why wouldn't they have used it? This
implant was weird. It wasn't just some sort of human
version of an ear tag. He stopped trying to disappear
into himself as that thought struck him. If the chip he assumed was under the scar really was some sort of
transceiver, why hadn't his old boss used it to track him down? His eyes
widened at the thought. When had they done this
to him? And why? And what did
they want from him now?
The metallic slide of a door clanging open distracted him, and he tried to straighten to face the new threat. A
new wave of fire lanced through his head and he
instinctively dropped back down, whimpering and covering his head with
his arms as if to somehow block the pain. Stupid really, when he knew it
came from inside himself, but he could no more
stop the movement than he could voluntarily cease to breathe.
"Mr. Krycek. Alex. Stop fighting it.
Don't struggle, and I'll make it go away."
The cold, mellifluous voice flowed over him, and he
stopped trying to push the pain away in order to try to make
sense of the words. A shiver rippled through his body as he slowly dropped his arms, willing himself to stay
still. The pain did subside, then, to a
manageable level. He took a shaky breath and
stared up at his captor, a well dressed, handsome Black man in his
forties, with the coldest eyes he had ever seen.
"What ... what do you want?" His voice sounded small, reedy. Frightened. The man
looked down at him, and smiled slightly, and his
fear grew stronger.
"It's time for your final performance, Mr. Krycek.
One last task for you to perform and you will
finally be free."
Alex pulled himself slowly along the wall, using its
support against his back to lever himself upright. "I thought I was free," he whispered fiercely.
"When did you do this?" His hand swept up to point unsteadily
at his neck. The other man blinked, and
considered the question. Alex thought he'd never
seen a human look so much like a snake in his life.
"When you first entered our service, Mr. Krycek,"
he finally answered.
"Then why didn't-" Before he could finish the question the man cut him off.
"My predecessor didn't have intimate knowledge of all the aspects of our field operations." He
paused, and ran his gaze dismissingly along
Alex's sprawled body. "I did. It wasn't necessary
to waste your talents by allowing him to kill you. Now, he is dead."
Alex started, then controlled himself when the
movement sent blinding pain through his skull. When he
was able to concentrate on his surroundings again he realized
that his captor was still speaking. "-neural
technology. It is, in effect, a
controlling device hardwired into your nervous system. You will do as you
are ordered, or you will suffer. Your own subconscious
will be the trigger for your punishment. If you
knowingly disobey a direct order, you will die. Painfully.
Slowly. Do you understand me?
Alex stared mutely up at him, patently confused. The
other man sighed briefly. "Let me put it simply. You'll do as
I tell you. I will take you to a place, and
bring a man to you. I will give you orders and
leave. You will follow those orders, even without
my presence, because if you do not do so you will feel this." One
strong, dark hand disappeared into the outer pocket of his
overcoat, and Krycek screamed with the
sudden sensation of every nerve in his body catching fire. It was gone as
swiftly as it came, and the aftermath left him
shaking, with tears running down his face and the acrid scent of urine in
the air where he had wetted himself. He gasped for air and looked up into
the implacable face of his new enemy.
"I'll do whatever you tell me to," he rasped. The other man nodded.
"Yes. You will."
Mulder looked at the stacks of paperwork threatening to
create a landslide off his desk and sighed unhappily. Scully wasn't around to keep him on track, and even after
only two days, her absence was strongly felt. She'd been unexpectedly
tapped for a two week assignment to teach a
forensic pathology seminar in
It had been three days. He'd been fed, and allowed to wash, and dressed in clean clothes. All of his weapons
were gone. No one would tell him a damned thing.
The Black man hadn't come back, and he was
grateful for that. But the waiting was getting on his
already shot nerves. When they came for him, he tried to ask where they were taking him, but it was as if they were
deaf, or he was mute. They didn't even look at him. When they stopped,
one forced him into a small room on the back
side of a rural motel, and ordered, "Stay there."
He stared at the dingy walls of the seedy motel room where
they had deposited him. One stood at the door, patently guarding against escape. What they didn't know was
that he wasn't going anywhere. He didn't know
what the hell the thing was in his neck, but it
worked just like the man had said. When he automatically
started mapping escape routes, a warning wave of fire had lanced
through his body. He stopped thinking about doing anything but 'staying there,' and the pain went away. So he sat
there, and shivered, despite the heat of the
August night.
A small gray sedan pulled up, and the guard came to
attention. He opened the door to allow the man in the dark suit to enter the room, followed closely by two men
dragging a tall, limp form between them. Krycek
stared with complete disbelief mixed with any
number of other emotions as they dropped Fox Mulder's
lanky body at the side of the bed. Alex was too tired
and too far out of his depth to even try to shield the play of
emotions across his features. Shock, that they had decided to be so open and finally attack Mulder himself, fear,
at what the consequences would be, apprehension at what they would order
him to do to his old ex-partner, hatred of the whole situation. He
stared at Mulder, who groaned slightly and began to stir. Strong fingers
moved to cup his face under his chin, forcing him
to meet deep, frozen brown eyes. Those eyes studied him
for a long moment, ignoring the small sounds issuing from the
prone figure between their feet, taking in the emotions writ large
in stormy green eyes.
"Now you can do what you always wanted to do, Mr. Krycek," he almost whispered. "Take care of Agent
Mulder. In your own inimitable style." A
louder groan from the floor interrupted his
little speech, and he nodded at the guards to leave. Mulder had one hand
braced on the floor and was starting to rise
now. The older man looked as if he wanted to say
something more, but instead, he dropped Krycek's face
and headed for the door. Alex watched him go, and realized
two things. He was supposed to get rid of Mulder. Permanently. And everyone else in the entire group
wore gloves except him. A hand clutched the bedspread next to his leg.
Well, him and Mulder. Which meant if he did kill
the agent, he would take the fall.
"That was the plan, no doubt." At the suggestion that he might not follow orders, the pain began.
Hastily, taking a deep breath, he concentrated
on his intended victim. Mulder was leaning
against the bed, shaking his head gingerly, trying to focus. The blow had
been a strong one, but he'd had worse. And luckily he had a thick skull.
At least that's what his partner was always
telling him. Before he could get his eyes to cooperate
he felt himself yanked up by the thick hair at the back of his
head. He found himself bent backward over hard thighs, his hands clawing innefectually
at the hand in his hair, overbalanced and unable to kick or punch out to
free himself. The grip brought tears to his eyes.
Another hand came to close strongly around his
throat, but to his vague surprise the fingers didn't close around his
windpipe. Instead, he was held in the back-breaking
position for long moments as his eyes finally cleared.
He almost wished they hadn't.
"Hello, Fox." Alex Krycek's face
was pale, sweating slightly in the heat, with a
flush across his cheekbones and a strange, almost manic glitter in his
eyes.
"Oh, fuck," Mulder squeezed out. Nothing like having your nightmares visit you in the flesh. Oddly
enough, Krycek froze at the exclamation, and stared at him for the
longest moment. Then he smiled, with what looked strangely like relief.
"Yes," he hissed, and lowered his mouth viciously to cover Mulder's parted
lips. The other man was frozen with shock, still
unable to move or fight back, not quite able to believe that his nemesis
was kissing him, hotly, wetly, carnally, thoroughly. Mulder was wondering
if he shouldn't be gagging or something, instead
of feeling vaguely aroused and completely confused. It really had been
too long if this was turning him on, he thought,
then Krycek broke the kiss and gulped for air. Mulder lay with his mouth open, lower lip slightly
swollen from the force of the kiss, and watched Krycek
stare off into the distance. He instinctively
looked over to see what the other man was staring at, but all he saw was
the closed door. "It just ... might ... work."
Mulder looked back at Krycek, who was now
peering at him intently. The manic gleam had, if
anything, intensified, but there were other
things there too. Fear. Desperation.
Pain. Arousal. The last
was given added emphasis by the unmistakable bulge
of a rapidly hardening cock pressing into his left bicep. He
stared, mesmerized, at the emerald eyes staring back down at him.
"What the fuck is going on here, Krycek?"
he challenged him, ignoring the fact that he was
not exactly in a position of strength. A fresh wave of pain took
dominance over the other emotions in Alex's
eyes, and the younger man winced for a moment before shaking it off. Then
he leaned over and put his mouth next to Mulder's ear.
"Will you listen?" He waited an interminable moment for the almost imperceptible nod from his
captive, then continued with his whispered explanation. "Got a chip in my neck. Discipline thing. I do
what they say or it hurts me. I disobey, it
kills me. They ordered me to 'take care of you' in my 'own
style' -- 'do what I always wanted to do to you.' Then I take the fall, you're out of their hair. But it had to be a
direct order." He pulled back and stared at Mulder's
pale face and wide hazel eyes. The expression of a man expecting his executioner. "We got an edge." His voice was jerky now, trying
hard to keep the thread of the conversation before
pain took him over. "I know what they want.
Hurts to disobey but I have to, sort of. I'll ....
take care of you, all right. My style ... is a little
rough. I always ... wanted to fuck you, hard and deep until you couldn't move." Mulder's
eyes widened even further, and a strangled protest
caught in the back of his throat. "Not quite what ... he had in mind." The strain was beginning to show on Krycek. "Please .... please
don't fight me. If you fight me ... I'll do what he
really wants. Please."
Mulder's mind was reeling.
Krycek wanted him to
participate in his own rape. If he didn't, he would die. Or, if he played it right, he just might escape. He bit
slightly at his lower lip, wincing a little at
the tenderness there. He had to try. Besides, his
legs and his back were killing him. Maybe if he went along for a little while Krycek would
let him out of that bloody back bend he was in. He nodded, feigning
concerned acceptance. "I won't fight you, Alex."
The other man's eyes closed for a moment, and he sighed
with relief.
Krycek gently
disentangled his fingers from Mulder's hair, shifting his hands under Mulder's
armpits and half lifting, half sliding him onto the bed. Taking a deep
breath, he began to pull at the buttons of his
shirt, trying to remain calm, trying to ignore the trickle of fire
running all along his nerves that reminded him that what he was doing was
not precisely what his boss had had in mind. He clamped down as tightly
as he could on the errant thought and the pain it
created, and concentrated on the long body lying quiescent beside him.
His breath was coming in short gasps, and it
wasn't just from the exertion or the pain.
He had wanted Mulder for months, since the first time he had
walked up to his desk and seen him with the
headphones on, mouth working on sunflower seeds, eyes hooded in a tired
face. The desire, strictly sublimated, had only
grown, even as he was betraying the man. By the time Mulder had thrown
him up against the bank of telephones at the Hong Kong airport and used
his body to hold him down, he'd nearly come in his jeans at the contact.
Luckily, Mulder hadn't figured it out. And he'd
had a lot of time since then, in the silo and
during the long months since his escape, to fantasize about what he would
do to this man if he ever got the chance. As his mouth closed over one
bared nipple and his hand began to work
frantically at the zipper of Mulder's slacks, those
thoughts played through his mind in an endless, dizzying loop.
As the rough hands tore at his shirt and the dark head
lowered to his chest, Mulder wrenched his thoughts away from
the unexpectedly arousing sight and feel of his ex-partner. This would be the best chance he would get for escape,
now, while Krycek was caught up in his passion.
Mulder shoved his arms under Krycek's
torso with a quick, strong move, flipping the other man off of him and
following the flip with a strong right cross to Krycek's
jaw. It connected with a satisfying crack that left
his fingers numb, but it had the opposite effect than he expected. Krycek howled, like a wolf with his paw caught in a trap,
and lunged at Mulder. The ferocity of his attack
overwhelmed Mulder, and the younger man threw him across the side of the bed to
land with stunning force against the far wall.
The back of Mulder's head
thudded dully against the plaster wall, and the force of the
concussion knocked the shade off of the light fixture. Still
groggy from the previous blows to his head, this one sent him
into a half-conscious state, and he was in no condition to fight
off Krycek any further.
Alex caught Mulder as he started to slide down the wall, and threw him face first onto the bed, snarling
unintelligibly as he stripped the shirt and pants off the weakly resisting
agent. Shoes and socks joined the pile of nearly
shredded garments beside the bed, soon joined by Krycek's
own jeans and tee shirt, boots and socks. Mulder tried to pull himself
off the bed, but the younger man straddled him
and put a hand to the back of his neck, forcing him to stay in place.
There was a sudden pressure, material burning against
his waist and hip as Krycek ripped his boxers from
his body, the soft cotton no match for his anger.
Mulder gasped as Krycek dropped to lay his entire weight against his back,
pulling his head back to arch his neck and growl in his ear. "You
motherfucker, I warned you. I DON'T want to kill
you. I just want to fuck you. It HURTS! It hurts, goddamnit. You shouldn't
have tried to run. You said you wouldn't fight." Krycek's
voice was slurring as he fought the almost
overwhelming urge to break the neck under his hands, to follow the
underlying orders as well as the spoken command. Adrenaline and arousal
mixed with pain from the implant until he seemed
barely human. Mulder shuddered at the heat
radiating from the body pressed so tightly to his. This, he
just knew, was really going to hurt.
Krycek was spreading his
ass, kneading the muscles, forcing his legs
apart to roll his testicles roughly from side to side, pulling at his
sac. The pressure was painful, but he knew it
was nothing compared to what was coming. Forcing his mind
to concentrate on nearly forgotten encounters with his roommate
at
He buried his face in the pillow, tears
starting at the sheer helplessness of his position and his unwanted,
unwilling arousal. The fingers were unceremoniously
pulled from his ass and he inhaled with the shock of relief, only
to lose the breath to a gasp as Krycek forced
his rigid cock past the ring of muscle, taking the path his fingers had
loosened. Mulder whimpered under the assault,
and Krycek bit him once more on the side of the
throat, making him feel the sting of his teeth as he sank to the balls
into Mulder's body. Resting, as far in as he could
go, he laved the tender spot with his tongue, licking a trail from the
side of his throat to his ear, across the exposed cheek to the corner
of his eye, pausing to dab at the tears there with the tip of his tongue.
Then Alex drew up, running his hands along Mulder's
arms to rest his palms firmly against the backs
of Mulder's hands, pinning them above his head,
holding him in place. Shifting to plant his knees
more solidly between Mulder's parted thighs, he
channeled the fiery pain from the implant, the frustration of the past
several months on the run, and his long-buried desire for Mulder into a
punishing rhythm, pushing in as far as he could go, withdrawing almost
completely and slamming back in until they were skin to skin, his
balls slapping against Mulder's perineum, ignoring
the strangled gasps and moans being torn from his victim. Over and over,
in time with his thrusts, he muttered,
"Hurts. Shouldn't have fought. Hurts
so much. Do you. Hurts."
Mulder couldn't help but agree. After what felt like a
lifetime, he felt the rhythm speed up, and the intensity of Alex's
thrusts grew, hard as he found that to believe. He just wanted it to be over with, wanted the pounding to stop, wanted
to come, to relieve the aching fullness of his own cock, to drive his
erection into the bedsheets and have it be
over, never have to admit the extent of his body's betrayal. With a
sudden moan, Krycek slammed all the way into Mulder's ass, and he felt the pulse as the other man
came, shooting twice, three times, deeply into him. The sensation nearly triggered his own climax, but his
horror at what was being done to him and the pain from Krycek abruptly withdrawing his softening cock from
his abused ass took the edge off his own need for orgasm. He was still
hard, but now, at least, he could think.
He was utterly surprised when strong arms came around
him and hugged him tightly to the slick body laying along his
back. He couldn't quite make out the sounds Krycek
was making. The other man had buried his face in
the nape of his neck and ... suddenly the shaking movement in the body
behind him made sense. Krycek was crying. He
froze, shocked into immobility by this
unexpected reaction. Before he could figure out where
this was coming from, Alex was shifting again, and he felt the
sensation of thin, scratchy toweling as the other man gently
cleaned up the sweat and semen from his ass and the tops of his
thighs.
The tenderness and intimacy of the action revived his
erection, and he groaned, feeling his pelvis jerk in small thrusts
as he tried to get himself off against the sheets. He heard a small sniffle behind him, then another, then those
muscled arms were turning him over, settling him gingerly against the
rumpled sheets. Wet dark eyes like drowned spring leaves stared into his,
and he caught his breath as the other man leaned
over him and sought his mouth again. This time there was less frenzy in
the kiss, and it was both deeper and sweeter, as
Krycek took his time and explored, using his
tongue, his teeth, his lips to seduce Mulder's mouth
as thoroughly as he had just taken his ass. One hand snaked down
between the two close-pressed bodies to grasp Mulder's
erection firmly, rubbing up and down, circling the sensitive head with a
thumb, milking it with a steady pressure from clenching fingers. Mulder's breath began to sound more and more like sobs, and
Alex withdrew, taking in the shell shocked
expression in the wide hazel eyes.
"It was this or death, Fox Mulder," Krycek
murmured. "Did you want to live?" The shame in the shadowed
eyes below his own answered the question without
any words having to be spoken. "I do too," Alex added, then
slid down the sweat-drenched body and replaced
his grasping hand with his mouth. Mulder threw his
head back at the first shock of Krycek's mouth
closing over the head of his cock. He pumped into the welcome heat,
panting as the younger man slid one hand
carefully between his thighs and soothed the sore tissue around his anus,
the gentle touch almost unbearably stimulating in concert with the
movement of Alex's tongue on the sensitive head, the slight rasp of teeth
along the column of erect flesh, the pulling caress of the lips. Krycek
alternated licking the length of Mulder's
cock with strong sucking, then flicking the tip of his tongue into the
weeping eye at the tip of his cock.
By now, the sensations were making Mulder thrash
against the sheets, one hand tearing at the cheap cotton, the
other buried in Alex's hair, his pelvis thrusting forward as he fucked
Alex's mouth mindlessly, his head tossing from side to side on the
pillow. With one last inarticulate scream he climaxed, pumping
down Alex's throat, coming so hard spots swam in the darkness in
front of his eyes under tightly squeezed lids. The aftermath of the climax left him nearly unconscious.
Alex pulled himself along the bed, gathering Mulder's relaxed form
into his arms and holding on tightly. Breathing deeply,
he was shocked to realize that for the first time since he had been
captured, the pain was gone. He reached an unsteady
hand up to feel the spot at his neck and was shocked to find that
the scar was hot enough to burn his fingertip. His bitten-off curse roused Mulder, who stared at him distrustfully.
"Mulder," he began, then stopped and licked his lips.
Looking around a little wildly, he spotted a utility can opener next to the cracked plastic ice bucket on the
dresser. Unwrapping himself from the other man,
Alex slid from the bed and shakily stumbled to retrieve it. Approaching
the bed at a near run, he thrust it out toward
Mulder. The agent started back, then stared at
him as if he'd lost his mind. "No time. They'll be back soon, or else they'll send the cops, expecting to find
your corpse here and my fingerprints all over the fucking room."
Mulder took the can opener, continuing to stare
at him in disbelieving silence. "Take it out!" Alex commanded.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Mulder responded.
"This is a damned can opener, Krycek!"
"Do you see anything else around here that could be used?
Hurry, damnit! The, our, shit-" he was
stumbling over his words, trying to explain, not
wanting to waste precious time to do so. "Orgasm seems to have
disabled the implant temporarily now will you
please open the goddamned can opener and take this fucking thing out of
my neck?!"
Mulder swallowed at the rising edge of desperation in
Krycek's voice, and pulled open the
curved hook at the end of the can opener. Licking his lips nervously, he
clenched his jaw and used the sharp tip to cut
into the flesh at the back of the young man's neck. Krycek
whistled softly between his tightly clenched
teeth, but made no movement. Mulder felt the hard round
pellet in the layer of subcutaneous fat and scooped it out, for all the
world as if he was removing a huge sliver with a scoop shovel. Grabbing
the edge of the sheet and swiftly tearing off a
strip, he wadded it into a semblance of a pad and pressed it against the
small, bleeding cut. Alex reached up and held it
against himself, and Mulder rolled carefully from the bed, reaching for
his clothes as swiftly as he could.
Krycek watched him slip
the pellet into his pants pocket, and got up to
reach for his own clothes. Dressing as efficiently as
he could with a wad of cotton clamped to the back of his neck,
he stared at Mulder. The other man had washed up a bit, scrubbing
his hands, splashing water into his face, keeping as far from Alex as he
could. Alex took a deep breath and tipped his
head to the side, indicating the wound from the removal of the implant.
"Thanks. Now, I have a chance, at least."
The agent nodded. "I don't know whether to thank
you for not killing me or kill you for..." His voice trailed
off, and he stared at the floor.
Krycek bit his lip, and
walked over to stand in front of him. "I'm
sorry," he offered quietly. "It ... I didn't know
what else to do. And I had to make the pain stop. Had to do something-"
"Obey the letter of the law," Mulder interrupted.
"Well, I guess in this case I'll just say the two cancel each other out, then." He looked angry, and
confused, and strangely vulnerable before he
clamped down on his emotions and the familiar calm mask descended.
"What will you do now?" He wanted to
take him in, for Scully's sake if not his own. But he
knew if he did Krycek would never live
to see trial. And he wasn't sure he'd be able to
take him, even if he tried.
"Start over," Krycek replied,
studying Mulder's face
intently. Slowly, moving softly, he reached out and traced the slight cleft in the older man's chin, then let his
finger rest gently against his full lower lip. "I never meant to
hurt you. But I had to make my choices, and I had to take my
chances." He let his hand drop, then stepped back and regarded Mulder with a modicum of professional distance that
should have seemed out of place under the circumstances. For some reason it felt right. "I'd better leave now. I
got the impression the cops were next on the
agenda, and I really don't want to be here when they show up." As if
on cue, the faint sound of sirens disturbed the
night. Krycek gave a ghost of a smile, and Mulder couldn't help but return it. Then he continued
seriously, "You chose life, Mulder. Hold on
to that."
Mulder stared at him as he slipped out the door and
disappeared around the corner of the parking lot, suddenly and
completely exhausted. Had it been a choice? He supposed, in a very limited way, it had. All he knew at this point
was that it had been another near escape from
the machinations of those who would see his quest for the truth stopped,
and it had been the hardest night of his life. His nightmares now had a
new dimension.
End