3rd Place Winner for Outstanding Skinner/Krycek story, plus Honorable Mentions for Outstanding Novel-length Fiction and Outstanding Skinner Characterization.

Exigency: Surrender
(ek-'si-gen-see)
noun: urgent requirements, exacting want or pressing needs.

Starring:
Zoe Takashi as Alex Krycek.
Louise Wu as Walter S. Skinner.

S.W. Washington, D.C.
Thursday, 11 March 1999
9:30 P.M.

One dark alley bleeds into the next while I search for a likely place--a private place--to stop. I'm running so fast it is difficult to hear above the sounds of my feet striking the pavement and the blood pounding in my ears. I need to distance myself from the body, as quickly as possible, without being seen. I haven't seen anyone, but I'm moving too rapidly to be certain no one has seen me.

I'd be easy to describe--black hair, leather jacket, blood soaked T-shirt, and there's something not quite right about the left arm. What the hell is wrong with the damned thing? It keeps bouncing strangely against my left hip. I suppose I'm lucky to still have the over-priced piece of plastic. I could have easily lost it in that tussle back in the alley. That would have been... inconvenient.

I estimate that I'm about seven blocks from the alley where the bloody body lies--far enough away to stop and make myself less conspicuous. I see a colorfully-lit gas station up ahead, decorated with absurd little orange and blue flags. Beyond that, the dark residential area slowly gives way to a more commercial--and better lit--district. Time to stop. I don't see anyone at the back of the building, but I pause at the corner and look around carefully. Nobody at the side of the building either. I slip into the restroom and lock the door.

My arm comes off with my jacket. Damn.

The lights in the bathroom are dim, but a quick assessment in the mirror reveals I'm messier than I expected. My white shirt is liberally splattered with blood and my jeans, while less noticeable, have streaks of blood where that unfortunate young man must have slid down my body. All the blood appears to be his as I cannot locate any gaping wounds. What a fucking mess... me and the situation. Back in the days when I had two arms this would have gone down much better--and neater.

The blood on the shirt is too obvious so I use it to wipe down my hand and prosthetic arm, leaving it in the trash--to the horror of the next patron, no doubt. Ah well, you have to take pleasure in the little things. Like manipulating Mulder into taking me to Russia and then leaving him in at the gulag. My enjoyment of that memory fades as my prosthetic arm mocks me; that situation didn't exactly turn out well.

In any case, the forensic evidence I'm leaving behind is somewhat irrelevant. I don't think it would be possible for the FBI to want to find me any more than they already do. Unless, of course, that body in the alley belongs to them. Certainly a possibility, but not much of a concern. Should the FBI become an issue, I have my ace-in-the-hole... so to speak.

After cleaning up as best I can--blood is such a bitch to wash off--I strap my arm back on and pull on my leather jacket--sans shirt. My sleazy hotel apartment is only two blocks away but, odds are, my mystery man's employer already knows where I'm staying. How the hell did they find me? And who are 'they' this time around? FBI? If so, who was pulling his strings? Mulder? Probably not. If he knew where to find me, he would never bother with another agent... he'd just show up and bash my face in. Again. Was the guy working for Skinner? That certainly seems more plausible--Skinner must be feeling a little anxious since our little chat in his car.

It's possible that the body stiffening in the alley was another minion of my own employer. But not likely. If my employer felt a reason to distrust me they would have killed me some time ago. FBI is the most likely. The guy didn't look like a killer for hire.

I first observed my stalker at 6:35 this morning. I was sitting in a dark corner of a coffee shop, with a clear view of Skinner's apartment building, when I noticed my little friend across the street. Very clean cut and trying too hard to blend in. After my third sighting later in the day, it was clear he was following me. I waited for my opportunity, and cover of darkness, to catch him by surprise and find out who sent him. Damned unfortunate that I had to kill him before I could get any information. He had his gun out when he rounded the corner and managed to knock my gun out of my hand in the subsequent tussle. A few minutes of scrambling around and I had him with my knife--not very tidy, but apparently sufficient. It was too dark to find either gun quickly so I vacated the alley to put some distance between me and the body.

The whole situation is a mess and my plans are totally screwed.

Well, I can't spend the night in this fucking bathroom and my hotel is out of the question. Time to find a sanctuary for tonight--perhaps even tomorrow. I need to salvage as much of the plan as possible. My whole purpose here is to watch and wait for orders to activate the next phase in our little conspiracy. A phase for which we've carefully groomed Walter Skinner.

The lot is vacant as I leave the bathroom. Under good light I still look gruesome but in shadow I should be inconspicuous. First, a phone call and some insurance. Then a visit to my nemesis. And former lover.

Crystal City
10:17 P.M.

I slowly lower the phone and move out onto the sidewalk. New strategy approved. It's more volatile than my employers realize. They are unaware of my past with Skinner and I prefer to keep it that way. Skinner was always the best choice for the nano experiment but someone else would be on point if they knew I had been his lover.

I look up--17 floors--at A.D. Skinner's balcony. The balcony. What fond memories I have of that charming vacation retreat. Damn him.

His lights are still on. A little late night work eh, Walt? I think I'll wait until he goes to bed.

11:02 P.M.

I step out of the shadows and cross the street as the lights in Skinner's apartment blink out.

Once inside the building, I decide to skip the elevator and take the stairs. My body has begun to ache--and I need a shower--but endorphins are starting to flow. I roll my shoulders a few times and the pain recedes as I reach the 17th floor.

I position myself where he can clearly see me through the peephole, then pound on the door.

**

I'm trying to break the habit of bringing work home. I work twelve or thirteen hours a day anyway. Isn't that enough? It never is. I can always imagine some remote connection between my dreaded paperwork and the safety of my agents or citizens. Tonight, at least, I leave my work in the briefcase, but then find myself going to bed at a reasonable hour because I don't have anything else I want to do.

I'm going to have to find a hobby or something. This is pathetic.

I peel off my remaining clothing and slide under the covers of my king size bed. What I really need is someone in the bed with me, but I loathe dating. And the last time I slept in the same bed with someone, I woke up with a corpse lying next to me.

My cock is a little twitchy wondering if I'm going to jack off tonight. I reach for it and give it a few friendly strokes, still trying to decide if we're in the mood or not.

Then I hear an obnoxious pounding from downstairs. I get up with a groan. Pulling on my jeans, I wonder who or what is invading my privacy this time. Statistically, Mulder's the best guess. I have 286 agents under me, but Fox Mulder alone is responsible for fully half of the late night visits.

I go down the stairs barefooted, stopping at the hall table to retrieve my Glock. I look through the peep-hole and see the face I least want to see tonight. Or really any night. Krycek.

Do I really want to open the door? No. Is it worth dying for? Probably not.

I open the damned door, still holding my handgun, and glare at the little bastard. He's a mess. His hair is flat on one side and standing straight up on the other. He's sweaty and grimy. His jeans are splattered with what looks like fresh blood. He's not wearing a shirt under the leather jacket, leaving a vertical strip of his chest on display. Part of me that's not smart enough to remember what this man is still wants to touch him.

I have nothing to say to him. If he wants something from me, he's going to have to ask for it.

**

The silence seems to stretch for hours. My equilibrium fled as soon as he opened the door. I try to tell myself it's fatigue, but I know better. I've always felt a little off balance around this man. It's a feeling I don't care for, and perhaps the reason I've been so violent to him at times. It doesn't help that my cock has been semi-hard since I first set eyes on him. A side effect of Skinner's presence I have intentionally forgotten. The body remembers.

I give him a once over, deliberately pausing at his crotch and openly staring at his bare chest. He looks slightly startled for a very brief moment. Good. No reason why I should be the only one unsettled by this encounter.

He looks good. The casual observer might say he looks stoic or impassive, but I know Walter well enough to see the warring emotions--rage, suspicion, fatigue. The experience with the nanos has taken its toll. He still looks good. Damn, I wish he had put on a shirt.

Distractions.

Skinner is still pointing the Glock at me. It's completely pointless. Without a word said, he's fully aware of the ramifications of killing me--his own death.

Enough of this little drama.

I deliberately move directly toward him. His eyes widen slightly, then he moves back and to the side just before we're close enough to touch. I walk past him and enter his apartment, moving forward until I reach the balcony doors. Focus on that night on the balcony--keep the other memories at bay. I'm here to do a job and that's it. That he once was my lover does not matter.

Now that the first few moments are past, I can feel my composure returning. I turn to face him. He hasn't lowered his gun and his expression is wary. I lean back against the balcony doors and stick my hand in my front pocket.

"Put down the gun, Walter. We both know you are not going to use it."

**

The little bastard just makes himself right at home.

He's right, though. I'm not going to use the gun. It would be far too unsatisfying to kill him with a bullet. Bodily contact is definitely required.

After securing the front door, I set the safety on the gun and store it carefully back in its drawer. He sees me do it, but the man doesn't need a gun to kill me. It seems pointless to worry about it.

He's standing across the room, posed like a rent boy, just looking at me. I'm trying to keep my body from responding to his insolent green gaze.

"What do you want, Krycek?"

"A shower."

"You think this is a hotel?"

"Yes. I hear the accommodations on the balcony are top notch."

I grimace at that memory and missed opportunity. If only...

Krycek's posture is a bit stiff and he's holding his left arm a little funny. My glasses are by the bed, so I can't tell exactly what's wrong.

"Don't be pissy, Walter. I could just make myself comfortable in that cream-colored arm chair--that's new isn't it?--but think of your cleaning bill. No, I think I'd rather shower."

I sigh heavily and rub my eyes. "Fine. Take a shower. As you may recall, the guest bath is halfway down on the left. May I offer you some evidence bags for your clothes?"

"Hmm... tempting but I think I'll just borrow your washer and save you some trouble." Krycek starts toward the hallway leading to the guest suite. "Actually, I wouldn't recall. As I'm sure you know, my only visit to your new abode was limited to the drafty areas." He stops in the doorway, looking around. "So, I'm relegated to the guest bathroom. I'm crushed, Walter, really crushed."

Krycek starts down the hallway and then turns around. "Just so we're clear--I do not have the nanocyte control panel with me. Your nanos will remain inactive, for now, provided I check in by 5:00 P.M. tomorrow."

"In that case, watch your step in the shower."

He tosses me a less-than-amused grin and disappears into the hall.

So now what? I've got Alex Krycek in my shower. I'd like to go to bed, but it seems unlikely that I'll get any sleep with him in the house. Waiting for him is even less appealing. I head upstairs and turn into my office. Retrieving a few reports I've been dreading from my briefcase, I return to the bedroom.

I take off my jeans and put on a T-shirt, briefs and sweats. I leave a pair of loafers by the bed. I want to be ready for anything. Switching on the bedside lamp, I prop myself up on the bed and try to read.

I'm under a death sentence.

I loathe the waiting. Waiting to see just what the little bastard has in mind for me... I've got my limits clear in my head. I won't do just anything he asks. I'll pick and choose carefully and only do what I can live with. It's really quite simple; I'm willing to die rather than betray my beliefs beyond a certain point.

I read the first paragraph of the report at least nine times before I can move on.

**

I close the bathroom door not bothering to lock it. I doubt Skinner would come in here of his own volition, and I'm not concerned about what he would do if he made an unexpected appearance. Suddenly, I feel completely drained, and sink to the floor with my back pressed up against the door. This is harder than I had imagined. My encounters with Skinner since my defection--he would say betrayal--have been brief and, more often than not, violent. I found myself fighting the urge to cross the room and run my hands over his chest. Ugh... it's going to be difficult to keep my mind clear when I get a hard-on every time he looks in my direction. There's only enough blood for one head.

I don't know why I thought I could do this. I had to blow my cover with that whole Duane Barry mess because I was close to screwing everything up.

First things first. I need to figure out what's wrong with my arm. The last thing I need is another disadvantage. It was difficult to see anything under the dim fluorescent lights of the gas station bathroom. I scramble up off the floor and shed my jacket, noticing dried blood I had not seen before. Have to remember to clean that, too.

I pull off my arm... shit. It's totally screwed up. Slightly bent at a strange angle near the 'elbow' and several cracks in the upper arm. The structures under the thumb and index finger feel smashed.

"Well, this is completely useless." All it's good for now is covering my stump. Fan-bloody-tastic.

I grab a washcloth and start cleaning my arm. Next, the jacket--I leave it hanging on the bathroom door. I strip off my jeans, kick them in the corner and climb into the shower.

The water is almost scalding. Perfect. I've always loved too-hot showers. As water saturates my hair and runs down my body, the pooling liquid around the drain turns a reddish-brown color. There goes the last of the mystery man.

I can't help but think of other showers. Walter never liked the water temperature super-hot so the water was cooler but the action was always very hot. Inevitably, when we showered together, I'd get on my knees and suck him off then soap him from head to toe, delivering a full body massage in the disguise of a bath. After we finished bathing, Walter was always hard again and ready to fuck. Those showers were as close to servile as I ever get. In point of fact, my whole interaction with Walter was uncomfortably submissive. I've intentionally never put too much thought into that.

I'm suddenly aware of my raging hard-on. It's almost painful. That little trip down memory lane was not productive. Focus, Alex, focus!

I finish up my shower, completely ignoring my errant dick, and wrap myself in one of Walter's dark blue bath towels. I don't have any clean clothes, so the towel is it. My prosthetic draws my attention--to wear or not? I don't particularly want to wear the aid in front of Skinner but I'm less comfortable with not wearing it.

Wear it.

Gritting my teeth, I put the arm back on and set out in search of my reluctant host. My own mental gyrations seem to have tamed the savage beast and my cock has settled down.

He's not on the first floor, which leaves upstairs or out of the apartment. I sincerely doubt he would leave, so I head upstairs.

I find him sitting on a king size bed in a large bedroom at the top of the stairs, pretending to read something in an FBI file.

I lean against the doorframe and wait.

**

Acutely aware of having the little bastard in my home, I feel a pang of anxiety when I hear the shower turn off. Fifteen minutes later, during which time I've read about five words, he saunters into my doorway, wearing only a towel. His left arm is... Christ, it's not real.

The left arm has been amputated and a prosthetic arm is strapped on in its place. Fuck. It wasn't even cut off neatly. There's a mass of scar tissue around the junction where flesh meets plastic.

My jaw is hanging open. Impossible to imagine the pain of whatever happened to his arm...

Krycek's glowering at me, his voice terse as he snaps, "Morbid curiosity isn't an option. Ask Mulder."

Mulder? And then I remember the agent's report on Tunguska. After escaping the gulag, he was found by Russian peasants who wanted to amputate his arm to save him from the tests. Shit. Looks like someone didn't give Krycek a chance to say no.

For a moment, I hurt for him at the sight of that beautiful body marred by the truncated arm. And then I remember just who and what this man is. Maybe he deserved it.

I shake my head and try to forget about the amputation.

Again, Krycek has nothing to say, leaving me to wonder what his intentions are. It galls me that he has infected me with these damned nanocytes and won't just tell me what he wants.

The way he's hanging around is suggestive of earlier times. My leg twitches as I avoid the instinct to rise and haul him to bed.

I toss the reports on the bedside table and sit facing him.

"Stop playing games, Krycek. You obviously want something. And with your little device, you might have enough leverage to get it. So, dammit, start giving your orders and we can both find out if I'm going to obey them."

Krycek moves slowly into the room, glancing around, finally stopping approximately three feet from the end of the bed. "Yes, I do want something--many things, in fact. But don't look so worried, Walter. I'm not going to ask you to kill anyone."

Krycek gives a little dismissive gesture before continuing, "Let's talk about this later--I'm not in the mood to talk shop right now. So, how've you been, Walter? You look... tired."

The goddamned infuriating little bastard... Before I know it, I'm up from the bed, accosting him. I shove him face first into the bed and grab him in a headlock as he falls.

"So tell me again. It's a hypothetical question. What happens to me if I break your neck?"

I allow my forearm to press into his throat, hard enough to tell him I'm serious about ending his miserable life, but not enough to completely stop his air flow. I doubt he can speak, however.

"This may be just a nasty joke to you, but I'm not in the mood to hang around and chit chat with a man who has a gun to my head. So if there's a point, let's get to it."

I throw him on the bed and stand back, listening to his gasping breaths.

Krycek's towel has come loose. After his breathing slows, he rolls over and the towel falls away. He's quite unabashedly erect and flashes me an evil grin.

"What happens if you break my neck? You already know the answer to that question. Except this time, there's no coming back when the nanos are finished with you. It's likely that your strategic value is higher than mine but, if you kill me, it becomes apparent that you cannot be controlled and that would necessitate your demise."

Krycek sits up a little and braces his weight on his arms. The prosthetic is unsteady and he loses his balance, but quickly rights himself and balances on one arm. His voice becomes hard, "Do you want to know the reality of the situation, Mr. Skinner? I don't have the gun to your head--never did. Whether you live or die is not a decision I get to make. It doesn't truly matter what you do to me, but, if I don't walk out of here and check in tomorrow by 5:00, they will assume you killed me and then you will die. Your choice. Not mine.

"As for what will happen if you attack me like that again? Well," Krycek glances down at his crotch, "we both know the answer to that, too, don't we?"

He sits up straight and leans forward slightly. "You're the only one who gets away with that kind of shit, Walter."

"Lucky me." It is not the least bit reassuring to learn that Krycek's masters are in control of my fate. At least I know him.

In spite of the threat to my life, I desperately want to beat the crap out of the little cocksucker. I pace and fidget, trying to keep my keyed-up body off his, which is still naked and vulnerable on my bed.

"You still didn't answer my question. What the fuck do you want from me, Krycek?"

"What are you really asking, Walter? What do I want or what do my employers want?"

I squeeze my fists, pressing them against my thighs. I take a long deep breath. "What do you want, Krycek. Why are you here?"

**

What do I want? Good question. I haven't had much clarity on that point since I was in the shower--perhaps since Skinner opened the door. And, apparently, I've lost all sense of reason as well. I should have just told him what he had to do and slept in the guest room while Skinner wrestled with his demons in private. But I've never had much common sense where Walter Skinner is concerned.

I would never have started an affair with him if I had an iota of sense. After our first time--that unexpected, hurried fuck in Skinner's garage with his wife in the house--I conveniently persuaded myself that continuing the affair could yield blackmail material when my duplicity was inevitably uncovered. Yet, I've never told a soul. My capacity for self-delusion is probably only eclipsed by my lack of regard for... anything.

It's obvious he wants to beat the crap out of me--not a particularly appealing idea. But I have effectively delivered myself into his hands. I left my good judgment at the door and told a man who would probably love to see me dead, that he can do whatever he wants to me--provided he doesn't kill me. Sometimes I surprise myself with my colossal stupidity. Should he go over the top, I can make his life truly miserable--I may not be able to kill him but there's a great chasm between 'just fine' and dead. Payback is, after all, a real bitch. I know that better than anyone. Before I walked into this room I would have said tackling and trying to strangle me would be a bit over the top. My very obvious hard-on bears evidence to the contrary. I just can't help that I get turned on no matter how he touches me.

I can't afford to let him get under my skin. I have a job to do and I can't let this get personal.

Uh-huh... So why am I in his bedroom?

The silence is thick and heavy. Skinner looks increasingly tense with each passing moment. It's never my intention to torture him but that's just the way it goes--intentions don't count for shit.

I realize that as much as it's possible for me to care for anyone, I care for Walter Skinner. I don't love him--what the fuck is that anyway--but he makes me feel... something... anything. And that's such a novelty for me.

I would still put a bullet in his brain if ordered.

Definitely no sense, so why break an impressive streak now? I sigh heavily and bring my knees up to my chest, resting my head briefly. I glance back up at Walter and he looks--I don't know--I've never seen that look before and I don't know what it means.

"Do you remember the first few weeks of our relationship?" Now he looks positively murderous. Like I said, I have no sense, but I continue on like a man walking off a cliff. He probably will kill me. "The third time we were together seems like the actual beginning. Those first two times were so furtive and hurried we barely had time to fuck and then acted like it never happened. But that third time--in the sleazy, flea-bag motel--was..." My voice fails me and the barrage of memories are making my head hurt. I start to rub my forehead, as if that will push the memories back. Was what? Special? My downfall? An obsession? "...the beginning--of our affair, of where we are now, of the end.

"I sucked your cock for the first time that day." The memories are so powerful I feel a tickle in my throat. I continue on, thinking out loud. "I've debated which I like more, sucking your cock or having you fuck me. That day was the beginning of an addiction. But it didn't change who I was or what I had to do--and it never will."

I drop my legs off the side of the bed, stand up and walk around the bed stopping about a foot in front of Skinner. I must be suicidal. He could easily strangle me at this distance. "So, what do I want?" I shrug my shoulders. "What am I here for? I'm here for you."

**

Well, nice job, Walter. You made him say it. Are you happy? His body told you the truth from his first suggestive pose in front of the balcony door. Somehow making him say it was supposed to make you feel better, humiliate him or something.

But instead it just reached that part of me that wants the little bastard. Now my cock is hard, too. I can only hope my sweat pants are loose enough to conceal the evidence.

There are many things I could say to him, but what comes out is what I have to say. "I'm fighting for my life here, Krycek. And you wanna get laid? I'm worrying about whether I'll be alive next week at this time, and if so, who or what I'll have to betray to stay alive. And you're trying to decide if you want to suck my dick or bend over and spread your legs? Is this some kind of sick joke?"

Krycek becomes very still and then starts to laugh--a rarity for him. "Perhaps." He pauses for a few seconds. "Perhaps it's a sick joke on both of us, Walter." He turns and sits on the end of the bed, looking up at me. "I guess we all need our illusions--yours appears to be the notion that you were ever not fighting for your life."

"Don't get all metaphysical on me, boy. Until your employers infect you with nanocytes and they have a Palm Pilot with your name on it, you haven't got the right to talk to me about illusions."

The worst of it is that Alex Krycek is still a beautiful man. Who thought to put such a diseased soul in that body?

I'm tense and I'm frustrated and I don't know what I'm doing any more. When Krycek showed up, I was prepared to defend my principles against his demands, but now I'm not even sure what I'm fighting for.

"So what if I say no? I refuse to let you blow me. I won't fuck you. Am I to die for that? I've been a soldier and an officer of the law; this wasn't how I expected to go."

Krycek looks positively annoyed. "Come off your moral high-horse, sir. Has it ever crossed your justice-obsessed brain to wonder why I allow myself to be on such a tight leash? Forget that." He makes an abortive gesture with his hand, as if trying to cut off the flow of words. "What you do, or don't do, to me--or allow me to do to you--has no bearing on your chances for survival. You'll live or die based on your willingness to meet their demands--just like the rest of us. So, don't start feelin' all self-righteous."

I resist the urge to laugh. Only next to Krycek could I look morally superior.

Krycek gets up and paces the room. "By the way, it isn't how anyone plans to go." He stops and leans against the wall, looking down. "You'll do better with the choices before you when you learn to not care who wins or loses, lives or dies."

But I do care who lives or dies. I want to live. And, if I'm honest with myself, I want him to live. Some part of me can't stop seeing the boy who slept in my arms, thick lashes quivering as he dreamed.

I wanted this encounter to be about principles and integrity, but it's not. Just two hard cocks and a pair of morally damaged men who don't want to admit that they want each other.

I'm confused and aggravated, but Krycek is agitated and angry, so I must have done something right.

I don't know what to say to him. It's not as if we're going to actually resolve the issues between us. I shake my head and sit down on the bed a few feet away from him. "Now what?"

Krycek sneers at me. "Now what? Well, as unpleasant as it may be for you, you're stuck with me until tomorrow. So, the question is, what do you want, Walter? Shall we continue to discuss my moral turpitude at annoying length?"

No point in fighting with him all night.

"Discussing morals with you, Alex, reminds me of the Mark Twain saying about administering medicine to the dead. And, speaking of the dead, can you at least reassure me that you didn't bring the entire crime scene into my home? Where's the weapon? Do we need to burn your Levis?"

Krycek seems nonplussed, then sighs heavily and sinks to the floor, his back still against the wall, long elegant legs bent in front of him. "That seems eerily akin to being burned in effigy and I can't very well walk out of here bare-assed. And no, I didn't bring the entire crime scene--you don't see a body, do you? My gun is, regrettably, in an alley with the body and the knife is..." He pauses as if trying to decide whether to tell me. "... in my jacket--your guest bathroom." He sighs again and rubs his eyes. "And don't call me... that."

"It's your fucking name, you little bastard. Oh, fuck it, I don't even care. So, boy, is this body anyone I know? Will someone be coming to my door to chat about it? Do you need to dispose of the knife? Christ, I can't believe I'm giving you lessons in crime 101."

"Fuck you, Walter."

Every time I lower my standards in order to tolerate his presence, he asks me to reduce them even further. We're getting nowhere. I still don't really know why he's here or what he wants. If he has a plan, he's never going to tell me what it is. I give up.

I'm so fed up with him that my cock is only half hard, even in the presence of a naked Krycek.

"Did you notice the guest room across the hall from the guest bath? The bed's already made." I throw his damp towel at him and offer him a grim smile. "Pleasant dreams," I offer sarcastically.

Krycek struggles to stand, suddenly wavering and groping the wall for support. He walks out the door, leaving the towel on the floor, muttering, "I'll be right back."

He's obviously stiff and sore. Since he left his gun at the scene, I guess things got out of control and he's hurting. Not my problem.

After a minute or two he returns, looking very unsteady. He walks over to the bed, still ignoring the towel, and tosses a knife on one of the pillows. "Do what you want with it." He rips the bedspread off and turns toward the door trailing it behind him. "I'll sleep on the couch... wouldn't want you to leave before we finish our business."

It takes only an instant to recognize the knife. I'm certain that Krycek is enjoying my ire that he's killed with that knife. I gave it to him when we were lovers. As an agent, he lost his knife trying to apprehend a suspect. I purchased a beautiful Solingen for him. It's the ultimate 'fuck you' to bring it into my home as evidence of his murder.

He turns back slightly as he reaches the doorway. "A question for you, Mr. Skinner. Did you send someone after me?"

Fascinating. It sounds like even Krycek doesn't know who he killed. "No. I'm grateful to say I didn't send anyone after you. Must have been one of your other ex-lovers."

Suddenly, Krycek's fist is in my face and, by instinct, I grab his wrist before it connects. I'm about to pull it behind his back and shove him into the wall, but something stops me. Instead I hold his wrist firmly at his side, careful not to harm him, and wrap my other arm around his waist, pulling his naked body to mine.

I try to gentle my voice so he understands that the question is serious. "Are you injured? You're testy tonight, even for you. Were you hurt?"

Krycek's eyes widen in shock. "Yes... no... I don't underst..." He starts struggling and all the color drains out of his face.

He's scared, and I don't want him to feel trapped. I release his wrist slowly, my guard up in case he strikes again. His body stills. The hand around his waist is loose, unthreatening. He feels so vulnerable in my arms. I force myself to remember who he is and who he's not. Our past is much prettier and it's so easy for me to go there.

"Tell me, Alex. Talk to me, for once. Just cut through the bullshit and talk to me."

Krycek is silent for a few moments and when he does speak his words are halting and quiet. "I chose this life, Walter, and I wouldn't change my decisions--even if I could but..." He falters and his tension increases. He looks away and continues, even softer than before, "I didn't choose this situation. For you or for me." He exhales slowly and almost seems to deflate. "I don't like confidences and I'm not redeemable, but I wanted... needed you to know I didn't want this."

I'm astonished, not just by his words, but also by the fact that he allows me to keep holding him. Uncertain how to deal with what he's just told me, I allow my lips to briefly touch his temple. How can this man take me from homicidal rage to... to... whatever the fuck I'm feeling now?

"Are you injured? Do you need a doctor?"

He looks at me for several moments--his eyes questioning and a bit leery. "I don't have any fatal injuries. Unless I'm dying, you know I cannot see a doctor--probably not even then."

He moves his hand up, pauses, and then drops it back to his side. He looks past my shoulder, staring blankly for a few seconds and then closes his eyes. His voice, when he speaks, sounds weary and resigned. "Why, Walter? What difference does it make if I'm injured?"

"I'm reasonably competent at first aid. If that's not adequate, I can call Scully."

Krycek looks appalled.

"She owes me a few favors. If I tell her to keep silent, she will. Or I can phone her for advice. I can patch up minor injuries myself. Just tell me what you need, Alex. What's wrong with you?"

It feels so good to touch him. I don't want him to know how he's affecting me. Fuck, I don't want to know myself.

"I don't want Dana Scully anywhere near me." Krycek's voice is loud and very adamant. His whole body tenses and then slowly relaxes, his voice quiet again when he continues. "You are what's wrong with me. I don't understand you and I don't know what... to do." He looks appalled again. "Oh fuck... I probably have a broken rib, Walter but it's not bad... I've had worse--just forget about it."

I can't fathom what he's feeling that makes me the problem. It defies everything I know about the man. But I focus on what I can do something about.

"Get on the bed, Alex. Let's take a look at your ribs." I slide my hand reassuringly down his bare back. "I'm going for my emergency kit."

He pulls away from me and backs up a couple of steps, looking wary and almost scared. He starts to say something, stops and begins to pace. He stills and almost collapses, sitting at the end of the bed with his head in his hands. I can hear him mutter, "Do whatever you want."

I return from the en suite bathroom with my supplies. Krycek is stoic as I palpate his chest. It seems he has only one rib injured in the lower back. It's bruised and swollen, but he lets me tape it without complaint.

"I'm... I'm sorry I got rough with you. I didn't know."

He eyes me sullenly, but says nothing.

"Any internal bleeding? Other injuries?"

"No." He looks away. "It doesn't matter, you know. I don't even notice pain most of the time." He glances at me briefly. "Your courtesy is... well, thank you."

I sit down next to him on the bed, resting a hand on his good shoulder. "You want to talk about what's eating you up? Or whatever?" I wonder if anything I say can get him to tell me what's on his mind. Now I know how Sharon felt all those years. By contrast, Krycek makes me seem eager to talk about my feelings.

He turns toward me slightly, his brow furrowed in concentration or thought. He stands up slowly and makes a few abortive pacing motions, finally stopping in front of me.

"Why I had to come here is eating me--and why I can't just tell you and leave. This is a bad way to start..." He cuts himself off and sinks to his knees, resting back on his heels. He shakes his head as if trying to clear it. "But I don't want to talk about it... I can't dissect it for you, Walter." He rises back to his knees, his face slightly below mine and about six inches away, resting his hand on my knee.

I can't deny that I like it when he touches me. I resist the urge to run my fingers through his short, sleek hair.

"If you want to know something specific, I'll tell you--if I can--if I'm permitted." He pauses as if trying to find the next words. "But I can't just unburden my soul... I just can't."

I'm surprised that he's told me as much as he has.

"Who do you work for?"

Krycek looks almost defeated and leans back slightly. "I can't tell you that but," he stops, trying to decide how much to tell me. "Their intention isn't to... well, it's not what you might think considering my involvement." He stumbles over his words. "I realize you believe I would only be involved in something... nefarious, but I'm actually not working for them by choice. Oh Christ... I can't answer this question, Walter."

"How do they want to use me?"

He's starting to look almost ill. He already told me he didn't want to discuss this now. I feel his hand clench on my knee. "They want information. The kind of information you would have readily available." He removes his hand and rubs his forehead. "I will be your handler--for lack of a better term." He drops his hand and it rests lightly on my foot. He looks back up at me. "I'll contact you with the information you need to provide and you'll provide it to me. That's all I know for now. It could be more but, well, that's what I know."

I want to ask him why he's here tonight, but I've already tried and I haven't gotten any kind of meaningful answer. And I don't want to think about what I'll be asked to do. I'll deal with it when I have to, but, for some reason, I am inclined to warn my handler about what lies ahead.

"You realize there are things you may ask me to do that I won't do. There are limits to who or what I will betray. I am not afraid to die."

Krycek looks pained. "I have no control over this situation--from either side. You'll do what you must and so will I."

I will do what I choose, but I don't feel a need to argue with him about it. Not now.

"I can't tell you any more about my employers or what you'll have to do. So, what else, Walter?"

"Are you infected with the nanocytes, Alex?"

Krycek sits back on his heels again and sighs. "Yes--before you."

So, that raises obvious questions. Is he really infected? Did he infect me because he had no choice? But I'm not sure I want to know the answers. And would I know the truth if I heard it?

"And will you do anything they ask to stay alive?"

"I have rarely seen a place I was not willing to go, Walter--for some reason or another. Fighting to stay alive seems like a better motive than anything else."

"I don't often understand you, Alex, but in this I think I do." I don't like the idea of him being controlled that way. Alex has always been free. Reprehensible, perhaps, but acting freely on his own obscure agenda. Me, I've compromised so much and so often that it doesn't seem the same.

"Are the nanocytes transmittable? If I kiss or fuck someone, do I put them at risk?"

"Not in the way you mean. It's possible someone could pick up your nanocytes but they could not be harmed by them. The nanocytes are encoded for each individual--necessitating a separate control frequency for each person--based on their DNA. A blood sample was used to encode yours--which were actually encoded before mine. Quite a long time before, I understand."

He seems to be trying to tell me that he didn't want to infect me. Why should he care, really? Surely not affection, as he'd already betrayed me several times.

"If you develop a plan to get free of these things, we could... cooperate." I meet his green eyes, to make sure I'm communicating. "I don't trust you, Alex. I can't. Not anymore. But I might work with you. You know more than I do about the nanocytes. If you see a way, count me in."

Krycek looks away and gives a nearly imperceptible nod. He looks back at me. "I can't do this anymore. Not now--I'll answer anything else you want later but it's too... difficult."

He begins to reach toward my leg and then drops his hand back to the floor. "If it means anything, I'm s... umm, I regret... no, ah, I wish this didn't have to be, Walter."

It is more of an apology than I ever expected from him.

"All right. No more questions tonight." It's more of an acceptance of his apology than I ever expected to give.

Krycek leans forward, reaching his hand up to my face. He touches his fingertips to my temple and trails his fingers down my jaw line. He freezes and pulls back, almost falling over, then closes his eyes for a second. "Thank you."

I reach out to steady him, my hands finding his shoulders. "Are you sure you're okay? Do you need something? Pain medication? Tell me what you need, Alex."

"I don't need you to take care of me..." His voice trails away and he suddenly leans forward, closing the short distance between us, placing his hand on the back of my neck. He pauses for a fraction of a second, then pulls me forward and kisses me.

I wrap my arms around him, mindful of his bandaged rib, pulling him in between my legs. My tongue invades his mouth, tasting what I have missed... that spicy flavor that is Alex.

A moan emanates from deep in his throat. I feel his tongue move against mine and his body push against me, as if trying to increase the physical contact. His shoulders tremble as our kiss intensifies.

Krycek releases my neck and pulls back, enough to break the contact of our mouths but not enough to break my hold on him. He's breathing rapidly and his eyes seem to burn. "I need you, Walt--I have since I met you." He sighs and shakes his head. "I'm so exhausted, I can't think, but I don't want to leave."

"It's a terrible idea for us to do this." My hand explores the smooth skin of his back. "It's too risky for both of us. Our lives are already complicated and interconnected in dangerous ways." My lips wander from the side of his face down to the side of his neck.

Krycek suddenly breathes deeply, like a man who has been suffocated, and leans up toward me, moving closer. His hand glides up my leg and around my hip, pulling at my shirt until it slides up my back. He seems hesitant at first and then turns his head and nips my earlobe, trailing his lips along my jaw line. I hear him murmur, "Things can't possibly be any more complicated than they already are. Or difficult."

"As long as we're in agreement... come to bed, Alex." I rise slowly, helping him to stand next to me. With an arm around his waist, I guide him to the side of the bed that isn't my side.

Krycek turns toward me, my arm still around his waist. "What?" He looks puzzled in a very sleepy way. It's almost cute.

I turn back the sheet and blanket. "Get in the bed. Or I'll put you there myself."

He tenses and tries to pull away, looking confused. He stumbles and bangs into the nightstand, trying to catch himself on his prosthetic arm.

I gently nudge one knee out from under him so his balance shifts toward the bed and catch him as he falls, easing him down where I want him.

Krycek looks a little panicked and reaches for his prosthetic, muttering, "I can't sleep..." He trails off, looking like he's trying to piece his thoughts together, and whispers, "doesn't matter." He's obviously fighting his body's need to fall asleep but looks up at me. "Why?"

"I missed you." I pull the covers over him.

In the bathroom, I pour a glass of water. By the time I've returned to offer it to him, he's already snoring softly, his arm up by his head, which is turned toward the middle of the bed. He looks deceptively peaceful. I leave the glass on his bedside table.

There's an evidence bag in my first aid kit. I retrieve the knife from my pillow, touching it only with the plastic bag. It's clean of blood, but it must have his prints on it. He shouldn't have given me this. It would be so easy to turn in the evidence and arrest him. But I don't even consider it. At least not tonight. I take the bag to the hall closet and conceal it inside a roll of paper towels. I'll deal with it later.

I strip off my clothes and join him in the bed, scooting to the middle, just to be close. I watch his eyelashes twitch.

Sleep seems miles away. Alex is in my bed again.

I replay the events of the night in my head. He gave up so much of himself. I made him admit that I mattered to him. His green eyes burned so brightly as he awkwardly confessed to vague and uncomfortable feelings... My beautiful passionate Alex...

This is the Alex I might have left Sharon to be with. But it is dangerous to feel anything for him. God help me, I'm more afraid of my feelings for him than I am of his damned nanocytes. But it's more than lust...

Alex always wanted to be taken from behind, on his belly or on all fours. One night I pinned him on his back and tried to fuck him face to face. He fought and squirmed and hid his face in my armpit. I think he knew how much I cared for him and was afraid to see it in my face with my cock inside him. Maybe he had something to hide, too.

It takes me over an hour to calm my thoughts enough to sleep.

**

Friday, 12 March 1999
4:35 A.M.

A sense of panic brings me suddenly awake. Something is wrong--I can't remember anything. Years of training and instinct keep me still and my breathing even. I can hear someone breathing softly near me but no other sounds. A quick physical inventory reveals that I'm sore and stiff. The fractured rib in my back isn't as painful as it should be--the nanos must be doing their work. And that is going to be a bigger problem for me later--hopefully not sooner.

Why the hell is my arm on? I never sleep with it on because it hurts like a son of a bitch in the morning--and it really fucking hurts now. And where are my clothes? I don't normally sleep naked because I often have to leave in a hurry. What the hell?

I can feel something resting against my left hip. It's definitely skin, so it's not my prosthetic arm. Where the hell am I and who is with me? I glance around, without moving, first looking to the right. It's still dark outside. I don't have any concept of time... could be late at night or early morning. I slowly look to the left. Oh my god.

Walter is on his back, turned slightly toward me, apparently in a deep sleep. His right arm is extended slightly and the back of his hand is touching my hip. My prosthetic arm lies on top of his wrist. He's covered to the waist with blankets but his chest is bare. It takes about two more seconds before the events from last night cascade through my brain. Oh, Christ. Someone get me out of here. So much for proving that I can handle the situation.

I very slowly start moving off the bed, careful not to touch Skinner at all. The pain and stiffness make it slow going, but I manage to get out of bed without waking him. I stand at the side of the bed and stare at him for a few seconds. "I missed you." That's the last thing he said to me. No. I must have been delirious. My chest feels constricted and I'm starting to feel panicky. I need to get out of this room.

I slowly and quietly exit, pulling the door closed but not shutting it. Skinner is normally a moderate sleeper but I have a feeling he'll awaken easily tonight.

I creep downstairs trying to decide what to do. I suppose I can leave if I want. I did give Skinner the information I came to deliver. The memory of that interlude makes me cringe. I was on leave of my senses last night. What could I possibly have been thinking?

The urge for flight is so strong it almost doesn't seem rational. I need to calm down and figure out what's happening. Why do I feel so panicked? One step at a time, Krycek. I need to piss--that's urgent. Inside the guest bathroom, I see my bloody jeans and boots on the floor. I quickly review other details from the day before.

I grab for my jacket and start feeling the inside pockets, finding only my knife sheath. What the? Oh, I gave it to Walter. Jesus, I am such an idiot. I don't know why people have this perception that I'm a competent all-around-bad-guy. Apparently I'm a blithering idiot. I gave an Assistant Director of the FBI a murder weapon. I just couldn't deal with his pompous 'don't you know anything, boy' attitude. Not that Skinner can do anything with the knife, but still. It actually pains me that it's gone. I've been dragging that knife around with me since our relationship ended--it was the only thing I had left. God, that's pathetic. I might think I was starting to go soft. Ha! This is one of those things in my life that I've accepted not thinking about. But I wish I could get the damned knife back.

I turn to the toilet to finally take a piss and glance at my jeans. What am I going to wear out of here? Have to deal with that later. I finish pissing and rummage around in the medicine cabinet. Hmm. Tylenol and a generic anti-inflammatory. I take double the recommended dose of both with a handful of water, then splash more water on my face.

I pull off my prosthetic arm. It's an instant relief and then everything starts to sting. I look at my shoulder and what's left of my arm in the mirror. Lots of small cuts on the stump--none of them bleeding anymore. Damn! More injuries distracting the nanos. I run my fingers along the prosthetic--the damage created some sharp surfaces. No wonder the stupid thing has been hurting so much. Every time my shoulder twitches I get a small cut--but there's not much bleeding so it's hardly terminal. Shit, I have to put the stupid thing back on. I've got to remember to keep my shoulder still.

Next I assess my rib. The swelling has gone down and it's just sore. There's some blood pooled in strange places that suggest the pull of gravity. Hmm... subcutaneous bleeding. Also not very bad. The nanos have been very busy. Fuck.

Next most urgent thing: need to eat. I can tell by how my body feels that the nano-decay is approaching problematic levels. Shit. I hope this doesn't get out of control.

I poke around in the kitchen trying to find something to eat. There's not a lot--Skinner must go out all the time. I finally find some left over chow mein (which won't be very helpful) and a cabinet full of protein powders and supplements for body-builders and athletes. I certainly do appreciate that Walter spends so much time at the gym but I wouldn't be able to eat this crap. Except today. This seems like the best choice. I don't want to make a lot of noise, so I eat the protein powder dry and wash it down with water.

I continue to poke around the kitchen while I 'eat' trying to block out what a gagging experience this is. I open one of the drawers and nearly have an orgasm. Valrhona chocolate. Oh my. One of my weaknesses in life.

The sudden, violent trembling in my hand brings my mind forcibly to a place I didn't want to go. I'm not going to be able to prevent this. Shit. Looking back over the last 24 hours, there were about a dozen things I could have done to mitigate this problem--not the least of which was telling Skinner what could happen if I didn't rest and eat. Yeah, right. We've never been strong on confidences.

When I attacked him, he grabbed me and shocked me by holding me still and asking if I was injured. At first, I thought he was trying to determine how badly he could beat me up, but then he seemed concerned and I panicked. My only worry was the cellular damage caused by the nanos, but I couldn't tell him that. But he kept pushing and I finally told him about the fractured rib--which wasn't a problem because of the nanos. Except that it was a problem because they weren't doing their real work. Shit--this confuses the hell out of me sometimes.

The trembling is starting to worsen. I try to focus on something else. Kissing Walter. The only thing I don't cringe at the memory of. Why did I have to be so fucking tired? The rest of the night was just, well, damned embarrassing.

My knees start to buckle and I grab at the counter to try to make my descent to the floor as quiet as possible. The trembling is horrible and I can see my veins standing out in relief against my now too pale skin. Oh hell, this is going to take a couple of hours to pass. I lean back and try to block out the pain. Maybe Walter will stay asleep until it's over.

**

As I awaken, I'm aware that something unexpected has happened, but my sleep-fogged brain can't quite figure it out. I stretch and roll onto my side and notice that the bedcovers are opened.

Krycek.

Oh, shit. He was here and now he's not. It's frightening to consider what that could mean.

I get up and pull on my jeans. I remember doing the same thing last night. I opened the door wanting to kill him. He hijacked my body and my free will with his damned nanocytes.

I scan the room finding no sign of him, other than a damp towel on the floor and the bedspread in a heap by the door. I hang up the towel in my bathroom and take a quick look at myself in the mirror. Still an old fool? I felt something for him last night besides hate. Something I'd be much better off not feeling, so I won't.

Absentmindedly, I toss the bedspread on the bed and go looking for him. As I pass by, a quick glance rules out my office. Downstairs, he's not on the sofa, so I try the guest room. Empty. In the bathroom across the hall, I see his bloody jeans and boots. His leather jacket is on a hook on the back of the door. There's a smear of dried blood on the wall over the towel rack. It reminds me that I must never allow myself to trust Alex. Whatever happens, my trust can always be betrayed.

I quickly go through the pockets of his jacket. SIG Sauer. No surprise he carries a spare. I leave it. Sheath for the knife. Sunglasses. Wallet. Driver's license and credit cards in the name of Erik Lewis. A couple hundred dollars. No phone numbers or other possibly useful information. In another small pocket I find one of those plastic hotel keys and a small brass key, held together on a plain silver ring.

Retracing my steps through the living room, I pass into the dining room. Empty. The kitchen looks empty, too. Maybe he had spare clothes or found something of mine to wear, but it seems unlikely that he'd leave without his wallet and jacket. Running out of options, I head toward the laundry room and almost step on him.

Alex is unconscious at my feet.

Shit. I drop to my knees. He's breathing. His airway is clear. At his throat, I take his pulse with my fingers. Too rapid. His skin is a bit clammy and an unnatural shade of white. His veins are all clearly visible--some on his chest and extremities are distended. He's trembling violently but he's not having a seizure.

I don't want to move him, because I might further injure his rib, but I can't leave him here. I scoop him into my arms and carry him to the couch. He starts thrashing and murmuring, "Don't tell anyone," over and over.

Suddenly, he opens his eyes, agonized and scared. He focuses clearly on me with a horrified expression. "It passes. Go away and forget this." His eyes close and he starts to mumble, "Don't tell anyone." Just as suddenly, he passes out again.

Forgetting this is an impossibility. He's in excruciating pain and my body tenses at the memory of my own nanocyte-inflicted agony, still too fresh in my mind.

So it looks like he was telling the truth about his own nanocyte infection. It's strange to consider that he might be as trapped as I am. Fuck, could we be on the same side?

He's so pale and his skin is cold and clammy. It's hard to resist calling Scully, but I know he doesn't want that. And, from my own experiences, I have good reason to believe she won't be able to help.

I run upstairs for a pillow and a light blanket. I do my best to make him comfortable, but that's all I can do. I sit on the chair next to the couch, watching him twitch and moan. He shifts around quite a bit, but doesn't become alert again. I get a warm washcloth and wipe his forehead every few minutes.

I telephone my admin to say I'm home with a sick friend. Friend? He was my friend once, at least I believed so. What is he now? My tormentor? And yet I'm caring for him. I do care, even though I don't want to.

After almost an hour, he's settling down a bit. I leave him long enough to make coffee. My mega-muscle powder is on the counter and there's a chocolate bar on the floor. I pick it up. Valrhona was his favorite. I've had one every now and then since we were lovers.

I take my coffee mug back to the living room. He's still out, but the veins look a little more natural. I sit next to him and pick up an investment magazine to try to occupy my thoughts.

I hear his voice and kneel beside him. He's trembling again and trying to speak. "Nanos aren't working on the right... 's okay, Walter's asleep won't... no, can't tell..." After a minute, he stops shaking and seems to sleep more calmly again.

I sit on the floor and return to my magazine.

Again he starts muttering. He's thrashing around. "Don't want Scull...don't tell anyone. Should have told Walte... is ugly--messed up." He seems anxious, but his eyes are only half open.

I wipe his forehead again. "It's okay, Alex. Just rest. I haven't called anyone."

The next time it happens, I can clearly hear him say, "You mean they're dying? How, what... doesn't make sense. Will it kill me or... Is it safe for... No, I don't want to do--I can't... what will you..."

It doesn't make any sense, but I try to soothe him with my words. "You're safe here, Alex. Just rest."

After another hour or so, he calms down and sleeps more peacefully. He's still very pale.

**

My head is pounding. Ugh. It feels like someone whacked me on the back of the head with a sledgehammer. I can't seem to open my eyes--my body feels--oh shit. The nanocytes! I should have done something last night to prevent this. At least Walter didn't see... wait--I'm not on the kitchen floor. Memories of Walter carrying me and setting me on the sofa return with embarrassing clarity. Could things possibly get any worse?

If I didn't let enough slip last night, he just doesn't need to know about this. Maybe he won't ask any questions, because I sure don't know if I can explain. Fuck, Krycek, could you have screwed this up any more? Well, yes, now that you mention it. Shut up.

I finally open my eyes and look around. The sun is up but it's still very early. Skinner is in a nearby chair with some papers in his lap but he's looking out the window. I see a muscle twitch in his tense jaw.

I struggle to sit up. His head jerks around and he stares at me. He starts to rise. I shrink back against the couch; I don't know how to interpret his expression.

His face goes tight, reacting to my flinch, I suppose. He kneels beside the couch, brown eyes open, and draws a cool washcloth across my forehead. "Do you need anything?"

I think on that for a second. He doesn't seem angry but I'm not inclined to lean on anyone--especially when I'm not fully in control of myself. But my body's demands outweigh my need to be independent. "Something for pain." My voice is a croak.

He nods and darts up the stairs.

Good lord. What's wrong with him? My brain suddenly zeros in on an important detail. Skinner would know what a nano induced illness looks like. Shit. That had to push some buttons.

Skinner returns with a pill bottle. "Demerol. Okay?"

Hell yes. More than okay. "Yeah, fine. Thanks." I reach out my hand and accept one of the pills. He hands me a glass of water.

I swallow the pill and close my eyes for a second. Then I look back at Skinner. "How long?"

"A couple of hours." His eyes are tired, worried. "If you would like anything else, just tell me. I won't ask you any questions until you get past the pain. Just trust me enough to tell me if you want or need anything. Okay?"

I hand him back the glass. "Fuck the pain, Walter." I realize that sounded harsh and soften my voice. "It passes quickly, even without pain killers. The headache is the real bitch. Uh... thanks for umm, everything.

"As for your future questions, if I told you that this won't happen to you--that it won't be a symptom of your nano infection--will that satisfy you? Would you drop it?" I might as well make an effort to try to get out of explaining this while he's a little off balance.

Skinner rearranges his long legs, so he's sitting on the floor, facing me, just watching me intently. He's wearing nothing but jeans. Christ, he's sexy. This is an outfit he should wear more often. A ridiculous thought floats through my brain--if I were inventing a world, there would definitely be a law that Walter never gets to wear a shirt. The thought is so absurd I almost smile. I'm acutely aware that the blanket covering me is thin, and probably does not conceal the evidence of my erection. I need to think about something else... like why the hell is he staring at me?

Neither of us speaks for a long time. "Okay, Alex. At least until you get better."

Why is he coddling me? I do not understand this man at all. "I'm not sick, Walter. My head hurts... it's not terminal."

"I thought I was a bad patient." He shakes his head in disgust. "I'm going to make myself a protein drink. You want something? I have eggs, bread. I could go out and buy something."

"No. Don't leave." Christ, I need to stop blurting things out. "I mean, I think I ate enough protein powder to keep my kidneys busy for a few days. I'm fine." I wave the offer away. "By the way, Walter, I'm sure you're a terrible patient. But I'm not sick so the patient business is moot. Let it go." I don't want him to keep looking at me like I'm going to break. Damn.

Skinner doesn't reply, but offers me a dubious leer. After a moment, he goes to the kitchen.

I re-assess my physical situation. Everything feels pretty good. Uh-oh. I'm starting to get that Demerol euphoria. I should have thought of that before I accepted the pill. I hope I don't start giggling...

Walter comes back with a large glass containing a thick, unnaturally colored beverage and something in his other hand, which I can't identify. He sits on the floor again next to me. I'm about to object to his hovering, when he opens the chocolate bar. He breaks off a few chunks, holding one near my mouth. My lips open automatically.

He places the Valrhona on my tongue and I capture his finger with my teeth, sucking as if trying to remove melted chocolate. This type of chocolate doesn't melt quickly but why blow an opportunity? I let his finger slide out of my mouth and savor the taste of the chocolate. Demerol, Valrhona and Walter. God, let me die now.

Walter's looking at me with a tight lipped face I recognize as a suppressed smile. "I think you're getting stoned on the Demerol, Alex."

"Probably, Walter." Shades of the time we used to spend together... Except our positions were reversed. Walt sat on the couch and I sat on the floor. He would stick bits of Valrhona in my mouth and I'd slowly suck his fingers. Of course I'd suck anything Walter stuck in my mouth.

He looks stunned. What the devil? Oh dear lord. I realize I just said that whole thing out loud. I moan, close my eyes and put my hand over my face. "Please don't ever let me take another one of those things."

I hear a strange sound from Walter and I glance back at him. This time he can't suppress the smile. Fucking lovely. Well, at least it didn't piss him off. Most of my references to our prior relationship have hit a nerve that made him look like he wanted to throttle me. Enough lying around--I need to prove to Skinner that I'm not about to expire.

I start to sit up more and twist to face Skinner but my prosthetic arm gets caught and I feel a sudden sharp pain. I gasp and flinch. So much for proving I'm able-bodied.

He starts to give me assistance, but I give him a glare that leaves no doubt as to my desire for independence. I'm relieved I can still manage a stern look--I feel anything but stern. I do know I don't want him messing with my arm. He backs off and watches me get comfortable again. As I'm shifting around, I get a clear view of his crotch. He's definitely hard.

When did that happen? My erection moves up the scale from noticeable to almost unbearable. Skinner can turn me on faster than anyone I've ever met. I think about past times when we were alone. I never hesitated to touch him. Frequently. Constantly. In those days, if I saw him sitting on the floor in nothing but a pair of jeans with a huge hard-on, I would have been touching him almost before the facts registered in my brain. I'd touch him anywhere I could reach, struggling to get his jeans open so I could caress his cock. I'd probably be on my knees, pulling his cock into my mouth while he... uh, this is not productive. Unfortunately, he's too much of a gentleman to take advantage of me while he thinks I'm incapacitated.

I look up at Skinner. My breathing is more rapid and he looks concerned. He sets his glass off to the side and reaches out as if to check my forehead.

I bat his arm away. "Dammit, Walter, I am not sick." I rapidly change my position, almost balancing on my side, and reach out for him. I grab the back of his neck and pull his lips to mine. He stiffens for a few seconds as if he might push me away but then softens his lips and lets my tongue slide inside. I move my tongue under his and taste his mouth. I can feel, more than hear, the growl in his throat. He reaches around me, carefully avoiding my injured rib. I should probably tell him it's almost healed. Later.

Our mouths break contact and the blanket slides away as he carefully pulls me down off the sofa and half onto his lap--the movement makes my head spin. He's staring at me as if trying to decide if I'll break. I want to start screaming, 'don't coddle me.' Fuck it. I lean up and lock my mouth on his neck. I slowly move my lips down his throat occasionally nipping the skin and then sucking it lightly. My fingers slide along his waist, seeking the opening of his jeans, popping one button open at a time.

I can feel Skinner's hand and arm pass over my ass as he adjusts my position so my hip is pressed into his crotch. His hand moves over my hip and up my side, pushing my prosthetic arm out slightly. The pain isn't horrible, just unexpected. I gasp against his neck and pull away.

Skinner grabs my good arm and pulls me around to face him. He gingerly lays his other hand on my left shoulder. "What's wrong with your arm, Alex?"

One part of my brain knows that I won't be able to do much more of anything with the prosthetic on. So, why not just take the damned thing off? The other part of my brain, the part I work with most of the time, doesn't want Walter to see this particular wound. "Nothing!" My voice sounds hard to my own ears. I try to get up but Skinner tries to keep me still. I start to struggle and manage to bang my arm a few times. He lets me go and I scramble to my feet, wavering slightly due to the Demerol effect and the post-nano hangover. Skinner reaches out as if to steady me, but I sidestep and flash him a don't-touch-me look.

I turn around and walk to the bathroom, still a little unsteady. I push the door shut and drop my forehead against it, taking a few deep breaths to try to clear my head. I turn to face the mirror. Shit, I look awful. That kind of pallor can hardly inspire lustful thoughts. Ugh. I just shake my head--this situation is about as bad as it can get.

Slowly, I remove my arm, then jump forward so the blood can run into the sink. I set the prosthetic on the counter and try to assess the damage. The cuts still aren't bad, just more of them. I must have thrashed around a lot when I was out of it. I'm actually surprised my body has any blood to spare--it all seems to be in my dick. I drop my head again. This is so fucked up. I almost had my hand on Walter's cock and this fucking arm had to become a problem.

My arm is barely bleeding anymore. The nanos will begin healing soon and the bleeding will completely stop, but I can't put the arm back on and I need to cover up the cuts for a little while. I look around for a first aid kit. There isn't one in here. Shit.

I'm becoming unpleasantly accustomed to having limited choices.

Raising my voice enough to be heard through the door, I call out, "Walter, I need a first aid kit."

A couple minutes later, he taps his knuckles on the bathroom door. I open it a few inches and take the kit. I'm immensely relieved that he doesn't offer to help.

I fumble with bandages for a few minutes, trying to decide how to cover the cuts. There are a few dozen of them, in various stages of healing, primarily on the outside bottom portion of what's left of my upper arm. I cover them with a couple of gauze pads, and rather clumsily tape them onto my arm.

What now? I can't put the arm back on and I sure as hell don't want to go out there now. On the other hand, it seems awfully absurd to stay in the bathroom. This would be easier if I weren't naked but the only thing I can put on is my jacket. Now that would just be stupid. Jesus. Note to self: Never visit ex-lovers you've infected with nanos after you've been injured.

The only real thing to do is go back out there and act like it doesn't bother me. Which is... totally transparent because if it didn't bother me I'd have taken the damn thing off before my arm was lacerated to hell. My decision making abilities have apparently been severely damaged--no doubt by Walter's presence.

I turn to leave the bathroom and catch sight of the tape on my ribs. That's probably not necessary any more. I carefully peel off the tape. My back is stiff and sore but all the swelling and pain are gone and the bruising is lighter. The nanos are certainly efficient--really good on broken bones. Too good actually. I cringe, remembering what their efficiency cost me today.

I find Walter in the living room. His eyes flicker very briefly to the bandaged stump of my arm and his face hints at a grimace, but in a moment it's gone. He comes to me, wrapping a hand around my shoulders and pulling me into his body. He reassuringly rubs our groins together, so there can be no doubt he's still hard. I think my leaking cock is staining his jeans.

"Christ, Alex. You always make me these impossible offers. You want me to fuck a sick man with a broken rib who's stoned out of his mind? I suppose I should be grateful that you don't work for me any longer."

"It's not like I'd have ever charged you with sexual harassment, Walter." He baffles me. I can't seem to predict what he'll say next, but this is where I've wanted to be, so I might as well make the most of it. I lean toward him and capture his mouth. This time his tongue aggressively enters my mouth and my mind starts to go numb.

His hand wanders to my ass, squeezing my cheeks and teasing my crack. For the first time since our affair I can sense how much he really wants me. I've done enough to Skinner that he would want to kill me and yet... the lust blows my mind. My cock feels harder than I can ever remember. I imagine I could come just under the power of his desire.

His unshaven face is scraping against mine. We're both going to end up with beard burn if we're not careful. His lips trail across my cheek and down the side of my neck, seeking out that extra sensitive place beneath my ear. He hasn't forgotten how to play my body.

"Your body still turns me on..." He nibbles my ear lobe. "Massively," he whispers breathlessly into my ear.

His words suddenly make me feel aggressive. All this teasing is too much. I turn my head and bite at his shoulder while my hand moves back to the waist of his jeans. There's only one button left and I quickly slide it open, my fingers brushing across his hard cock. I move my hand around to his ass and grab his cheek. I feel his body tense and his breathing becomes erratic.

Skinner's mouth finds mine again and a hand slides down my flank. Then the telephone rings. The fucking telephone. He pulls away reluctantly and goes to answer it.

"Skinner."

I can't help but listen. I'm only three feet away from him, so at least he knows I'm listening.

"What is it, Kimberly?" His face suddenly goes cold with dismay. "Oh, fuck." He listens for a long time. Those brown eyes offer me a disdainful glance. "Does anyone know what he was doing? ... Get Rodriguez on the line." A long pause. "I'm sorry about your partner, Agent Rodriguez. ... What was he doing last night?" He gives an audible groan. "Have you spoken to Mulder? ... Don't talk to him. I'll do it. ... Has anyone told the family? ... I'll do that, too. ... I don't want you on the case. ... That's an order, Agent Rodriguez." That A.D. voice makes me want to shiver. "Why don't you take the rest of the day off and we can discuss it on Monday? ... Give it a break, Agent. ... Can you send me back to Kimberly?" Now he won't even look at me. "Yes. I need you to find Mulder. I'll be there in a couple of hours and I have to talk to him. ... Handcuff him to his desk if you have to. ... No, I'll take care of it. ... Yeah." He hangs up the phone.

My brain is rapidly trying to make sense of the small fragments of conversation. Mulder? The last thing I need is to be anywhere near him. Whenever he turns up, there's trouble.

Skinner glances at me dismissively. "God damn it, Krycek. Did you have to kill one of my agents?" It must be a rhetorical question, because he's headed up the stairs before I can respond.

I consider following him--for about two seconds. Fuck him. I move over to the sofa and prop my hip against it and wait for him to return.

Well this is fucking perfect. I must have really offended the gods in my past life for this much to go wrong. What am I talking about? I'm sure I've offended them plenty in this life. Remorse is completely beyond me, but I certainly didn't want to give Walter another reason to want to kill me.

About ten minutes later, when he comes back down the stairs, he's in full corporate attire. His glasses are on and he's carrying a leather briefcase. Oh dear. The official Walter Skinner. I'm not inclined to explain, even if he asks, but his appearance keeps me completely silent and my expression impassive.

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye and opens his mouth as if to say something, but then just gives a heavy sigh. His hand reaches for the doorknob and he's gone. I'm relieved. This isn't a good time for a confrontation but I know I can't avoid it forever.

My brain is still a little foggy but I need to get out of here. I run upstairs and try to find my knife. Ten minutes of looking reveals nothing. Shit. What did he do with it last night? I need to leave, but I can't put on my bloodstained clothes. The jeans Skinner had on are kicked to the end of the bed. Why not? It will probably piss Walter off. I pull them on--the length is okay but they're too big. There's a damp spot in the crotch. From him or from me? No time for stupid distractions. After a couple minutes I come up with a belt and T-shirt. I also find a small duffel bag in the closet.

I quickly put on my socks and boots, and stuff my arm and blood-covered jeans in the bag. I pull on my jacket and head out the door.

**

I step into the basement office. Scully is absent. Mulder is sailing CDs, like Frisbees, into his trashcan. I'm certain it's all part of his creative process but, at the moment, it ratchets up my anger to the homicidal zone.

"Agent Mulder, get your jacket. We're leaving the building."

I watch his lighthearted face fall as he accurately detects my mood. He follows me silently until we're at the fishpond behind the Bureau, which is away from prying eyes and electronic recording devices.

"Agent Mulder, exactly what was Agent Landis doing for you?"

"Landis?" His face passes for baffled. Maybe he is baffled. He probably didn't expect me to find out.

"Answer the question."

He hesitates with a wince. "Looking for Alex Krycek."

"Why?"

"Because I believe Krycek is behind your nanocyte infection."

So far I've managed to resist touching him, but my arms twitch with the desire to wrap my hands around his throat. "Didn't I tell you to leave that alone, Agent Mulder?"

"Yes, sir, but I felt that you needed our help."

"When I want your help I'll ask for it."

"Sir, someone is blackmailing-"

"Shut up, Mulder."

He obeys, eyeing me with equal parts curiosity and trepidation.

"What did you tell Landis?"

"I gave him a photo of Krycek and told him to stake out your apartment. If Krycek showed up, he was to follow and report on his movements."

"Why didn't you do this yourself?"

"Krycek would recognize me. I'd never be able to track him undetected."

"Did Landis find him? What did he report back to you?"

"He didn't. I'm still waiting for his callback this morning."

"It's going to be a long wait, Agent Mulder."

"What?"

"I just came from the Landis house, where I had to inform his wife that Agent Landis had his throat slit in an alley off L Street last night."

His jaw falls open. "Shit."

"Your meddling in this situation cost Agent Landis his life."

"He must have found Krycek," Mulder replies, his overactive mind already trying to assemble the pieces.

"Did you hear me, Agent Mulder? You're responsible for this man's death."

At least he has the decency to look ashamed.

"And because this was not an official investigation, unless I lie to the Bureau--which I'm going to do--the Landis family will not even receive his life insurance benefits."

"Assign me to the case, sir. Maybe we can finally get Krycek."

"No, I will not assign you the case. In fact, if you so much as go near this case, or anything related to my recent health problems, you will find yourself in the unemployment line."

He starts to open his mouth again.

"Mulder, you've interfered, disobeyed, broken rules, broken laws, fucked up cases and made a complete nuisance of yourself for years, and I've backed you and protected you. But this is personal. And if you disobey me on this, someone else is going to die."

It finally dawns on me that I'm blaming Mulder so I don't have to blame Krycek. No question that Mulder fucked up. Landis probably did, too. Krycek's not a joy killer. But the truth is, it's easier to find fault with Mulder.

"Mulder, you know I respect you and your work, but I need you to stay out of this matter. I need that more than I need anything else right now. If I see a way you can help me, I'll ask, but you have got to butt out. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," he replies. He's doing a good fake of meek, but his eyes give him away. I can see the resistance.

"I mean it, Mulder. I will fire you, and Scully, too."

He nods curtly.

"You're dismissed."

**

11:57 P.M.

As I approach Walter's doorway I feel an eerie sense of deeja vu. It's only been twenty-four hours since I last beat on his door. I have my own clothes again--clean this time--and a new arm.

One of our men has been watching Skinner's apartment all day--there's no one here but Skinner and he arrived about ninety minutes ago.

I set down the duffel bag and bang on the door.

In a few minutes, he's at the door again, this time wearing only his sweat pants. Again he does not invite me in, but he doesn't kill me on sight either.

"That's not happiness to see me, Walter."

Predictably, his face turns surly as only Walter's can.

"Considering how unpredictable your agents are these days, I think you'd better invite me in before someone turns up and attempts to arrest me. Think of how difficult it will be to explain when you have to get me out."

Skinner steps aside, I enter and he closes the door, muttering, "Most people don't have to resort to lethal blackmail just to get invited in."

"If it weren't for the lethal blackmail, is there anything that would prevent you from killing me right now?" My tone is sarcastic, but a twisted part of me is sincere. I don't seriously expect him to answer. I toss the duffel bag at his feet.

He looks at his watch. "It's after midnight... Agent Landis would have been 28 today. Unfortunately, he's unable to celebrate his birthday this year. His wife will be planning a funeral instead. The good news is that his two pre-school-aged children are young enough that in a few years time they probably won't remember him at all." At this point in his speech he stalks over to me, standing a mere foot away, scanning my face. "Do you have any remorse at all, Krycek? Or is this just another dead body in the course of a day's work?"

Skinner seems almost unnaturally calm. My inclination is to move away from him, but I stand my ground. "I've never been strong on familial sentiment, Walter, and I've never... rarely, felt remorse. But if I could undo this situation," I pause because I can't believe I'm saying this, "I would."

I shake my head and look him squarely in the eye. "People don't follow me for benevolent reasons."

"Yeah, well, I've already had a go at Mulder's ass for that." He turns away from me and lowers himself into the chair. The same chair he sat in this morning while tending to me.

Some pieces of this morning's conversation start to make sense. "Why in the world was Mulder having me followed?" I continue on, almost mumbling to myself. "I immediately discounted him..."

I can almost see him wondering if he should share information with me, since I've been less than forthcoming with him. Finally, he does answer. "The nanocytes... He was trying to rescue me." Where I've been expecting his anger, I now see him lapse into a more gloomy mood.

Oh fuck. How nauseatingly noble and twisted and--Mulder, you fucking moron. Why would that idiot take the notion in his head that finding me would help Skinner? Surely he doesn't think I'm hiding a PhD in molecular biology? Mulder gives me too much credit for being the source of all evil in the world. I wish he'd stick to crop circles... my life would be so much easier.

It seems like anything I say would only make the situation worse but I feel compelled to warn Skinner. "If..." I pause not quite knowing how to phrase what I want to say. "...someone else should decide to try to 'help' you, it would be in everyone's uh, best interest, if they didn't pull their gun." I'm not trying to defend myself but if he doesn't want to lose any more agents they need to think twice before pointing their weapons at me.

He rolls his eyes. "Thanks for that scintillating piece of wisdom, Krycek. Would you like to give a seminar to my agents?" Skinner's apparently not mad enough to really go at me. The man does anger so well, it makes me wonder what's eating at him.

I shake my head and wave the comment away; I'm not going to let him bait me--yet. For some reason, I don't want to be a threat to him. Anymore than I already am. I move to the other side of the room, far away from Skinner, and take off my jacket, dropping it on a table. I pull out my gun, engage the safety and set it on the jacket. I move around to stand about three feet in front of him. "I expected you to rip my head off, nanos or no. What's..." My voice trails off. I don't know how to ask him what's bothering him.

"I'm too busy ripping my own head off."

"Good god, why?" I rarely feel guilty about the things I do, much less something someone else did.

"Have you come to give me my first directives? I'm up to my ass in moral failures already, it would be a good time to ask me to do something heinous."

Hell. I hadn't planned on bringing this up yet. "Okay, Walter. You are officially directed to divert attention away from this investigation as quickly as possible and notify me of any evidence you receive. You'll receive a phone number in the mail--anonymously--tomorrow, where you can contact me." I should have made something up and put this off until later. Nano directives do not seem tactically advantageous right now.

"Fine. I'm already concealing the murder weapon. Might as well go all the way." He rubs his fingers over his eyebrows, as if combating a headache. "However, it's a waste of perfectly good nanocytes, since I'm already protecting you. Will that be all, Mr. Handler?"

I shake my head in bemusement. Every time I think I understand this man he presents a whole new side. Is he trying to imply that he would not arrest me if he weren't infected with nanos? That's, well, absurd. "Yes, that's it--for now." I turn back toward my jacket but decide to leave one warning. "Our communication via the phone number will be monitored. If you have any questions that you can't..." I find myself hesitating. "Well, you need to ask me now."

Skinner stares off into space, appearing for all the world as if he hasn't heard me. I put my gun away and slip my jacket on. As I reach the door something flashes through my mind. "I need the knife." Actually, I want the knife.

He nods absently and goes to the stairs. Impulsively, I decide to follow him. When I get to the top of the stairs, Skinner is reaching into a closet halfway down the hall. When he turns around and sees me, he looks slightly startled. I approach him. The knife is in an evidence bag. My eyebrows shoot up and I flash him a questioning look.

"It did cross my mind to turn you in, Alex." It obviously hurts him to say it, but I've no idea why. "I'm not like you, I won't do anything to stay alive. It's only a matter of time before your masters ask me to do something I won't. I'd have died to prevent what happened to Agent Landis, but it's too late..."

My chest feels constricted. I don't like the idea of this easy willingness to give up his own life. I went through so much to make sure this didn't kill him--unless he chose it--and it looks like he's resigned to choose death. I don't really understand anything he's said, but I nod my head, refusing to meet his eye. I reach out for the knife and he hands me the evidence bag.

His voice gets softer, almost tentative. "You never knew why I gave you a gift that day, did you?"

I feel as if the world has tilted. I did not expect him to bring up anything related to our past. And I don't think I can deal with there having been any significance in that gift. I quietly murmur, "No."

I can't read the expression on his face as he says, "It was my way of saying I wanted to take our relationship to the next level."

I close my eyes. It feels like something is falling apart. My choice of employment destroyed any chance we had before we even met, but I wanted Walter more than I've ever wanted anything. However, until this moment, I never knew he wanted me for anything other than a good fuck. Does he mean that he would have left Sharon to be with me? Not possible. It can't be.

And then his tone grows cold. "Imagine my reaction, three days later, when Mulder told me you killed Duane Barry and Kimberly informed me that your phone had been disconnected."

"Well, I did half of that," I mutter to cover the silence while I try to recover from the blow he's dealt me. I turn my back to the wall and rub my hand over my face. "I'm not going to try to explain... it would be pointless--and I know you don't want to hear it--but I don't think you understand why I've carried that knife all these years." I feel like I'm telling him too much. "It's not the most convenient weapon for a man with one arm." My tone has become self-deprecating. "Maybe we both understand too well."

Something very dark passes over Skinner's face. A firm hand on my chest puts my back against the wall. His lips descend and he kisses me with the fervor of a dying man's last kiss, his entire body pressing hard against mine, his hard-on rubbing against my groin. I feel the evidence bag slip out of my fingers. I'm grateful he's no longer handling me like a fragile object. It's a possessive kiss with a lot of anger in it. When he breaks the kiss, he eyes me fiercely. "You son of a bitch." He shakes his head and pulls away from me, just observing me.

I feel like I can't get enough air into my lungs. Myriad emotions cascade through my brain setting up a pulse behind my eyes that makes it hard to focus. Lust, anger, pain, regret, sympathy, affection... I close my eyes against the last one trying to push it away--push them all away. I grab at the wall behind me, as if holding onto something solid will help keep my head steady.

"Do you have any idea how high a price I'm paying for wanting you? The first time I put my marriage and my career on the table. Now I have to sacrifice what's left of my integrity and my life."

I won't be able to kill him.

The thought is suddenly so profoundly clear I feel panicked. I open my eyes and stare at him. No matter what the stakes, I know for absolute certainty I will not kill him. I never could. I feel like I'm being choked and take a halting step to the side.

He sees the look on my face and something in his changes. He gets it, I think. We're both compromised beyond anything we could have imagined. With a knowing glance, he speaks again, "Alex, if you want to be a good thug, and live a long, healthy thug life, you need to take that knife and walk out of here. Now."

Like an automaton, I lean over to pick up the evidence bag containing my knife--Walter's knife. The knife has sliced through the bag. Extricating it from the plastic, I move to stick it in my jacket and find myself staring at it blankly. In a daze, I slide the knife into its sheath. What's going on? I feel like I'm being strangled and the urge to run is almost over-powering, but it's too late. "It's too late." It's too late.

Walter slowly extends one strong hand toward me. Those warm brown eyes capture me and tell me everything I need to know.

I gape at him blankly for a second before giving him my hand.

His strong fingers close around mine and he leads me to the bedroom. He reaches for the lapel of my leather jacket. I shrug it off my shoulders and he catches it, laying it across a table. His hands slide under my shirt, gliding along my chest.

I've never craved anyone's touch like I crave his. I reach under my own shirt, brushing my hand across his--the smallest touch is so sweet--then pull the shirt over my head. I toss it away and step back a couple feet. I turn around and quickly detach my arm and set it with my jacket. I face him again. Walter is staring in the general vicinity of my ribs, with a slight frown. I move back to him and he glances at the remainder of my left arm looking slightly puzzled. Not wanting him to think about it, I slide my hand up his chest and around his neck.

Walter wraps a hand around my left shoulder giving it a gentle squeeze. His way of saying it doesn't matter, I suppose.

I place several light kisses along his neck and jaw line before capturing his mouth. I feel his arms surround me while I move my tongue along the inside of his lower lip. A warm hand slides down my lower back, into my jeans and grips my butt. His other hand gropes my waist and starts unfastening my fly. Everything feels surreal and I'm overpowered by lust. I expected some awkwardness but it feels like we never stopped... touching, fucking.

My hand moves to help him, and soon my pants are hanging around my knees. His fingers find my cock, squeezing and teasing, before moving down to caress my balls. My body has waited years for this touch and I fight the urge to come. He takes his mouth away. "You feel so good, hard and ready for me."

I moan against his throat and work to get my pants down. I kick off my shoes and step out of my jeans while I move my hand around Walter's waist and into his sweats to cup his ass. I knead the flesh and I feel him bite my shoulder. My breath catches in my throat and I begin to push his sweats down. He moves as if to help me and I knock his hand away, pulling his sweatpants down slowly, leaving random kisses on his chest, abdomen, hip and finally, thigh. I'm on my knees on the floor, holding his sweats so he can step out of them.

I lean back on my heels and look up. I find every part of his body intoxicating. His size and definition turned me on the first moment I saw him. He's so much more masculine than the androgynous boys I usually fuck. He stares at me intently and his cock looks painfully hard. After everything, it seems impossible that he could still want me, but the evidence is right before me. My hand moves up the inside of his leg, stopping to caress his balls and then stroking his cock. I move up so my mouth is within a few inches of his straining erection. I look up at him--those intense brown eyes seem to radiate heat. I take the head of his dick in my mouth and feel his body twitch. I pause briefly and then take him all the way down my throat. I hear him gasp and feel his fingers squeeze my shoulder.

When he speaks again his voice is shaky. "God...No one... does that like... you do...." His hand finds the back of my neck and he begins to fuck my face, but gently and at the rhythm I've set.

He could say anything--just the sound of his voice turns me on more than I thought possible--but his words nearly kill me. I fiercely need to give Walter something he doesn't get from anyone else. I reach my arm around his hip, for balance and to allow me to play with his ass. I run my hand down his crack and push with my thumb until I'm applying pressure on his anus. I feel his whole body jerk. I apply more pressure to the underside of his cock with my tongue and increase my suction. My throat spasms around the head of his dick and I feel his hand bite into my shoulder. His arousal makes my cock throb.

Walter lets out a deep groan and pulls my face off of his cock. I expected it, but I'm still momentarily disappointed. He drops to his knees and kisses me on the lips again, then down the side of my jaw. "You know I want to come in your ass..." Something I've wanted for years.

I was fucked in the ass when I was 17 and never again until I met Walter. And not since. I've never analyzed why I only take this submissive position with him--and no one else--but I want it more than I want to keep breathing.

I move my arm to his back and drop my head down, sucking and nipping at his shoulder. "I want you to fuck me, Walt... so badly... please."

He winces like he's about to come and his hands find my waist, looking at me solemnly. "So beautiful, Alex." One hand traces across my body as his eyes follow it. From my chest to my shoulder to my neck along my jaw and up to my cheekbones. "You're so fucking beautiful." The words are painful. Who is he seeing?

Walter rubs his cheek against mine. I feel the bristles of his evening beard. I'd forgotten how much I missed his hyper-masculinity. I kiss the side of his neck, holding him tightly to me with my arm around his shoulder.

Breaking away, he rises to his feet, guiding me up with a hand at the small of my back. Soon we're both on the bed, lying side by side. Hands everywhere, he rolls over me, careful to support his own body weight, then rolls me on top of him. He gnaws on my neck, finding all the tender spots, and I'm starting to make embarrassing sounds. His hands massage my ass and tease my upper thighs.

I brace myself on my knees and tightly grip his hips between my legs while I pull myself upright. I need a few minutes to touch him. I trail my hand up his chest, wishing I could touch him with two hands. I caress and massage everywhere I can reach. I love his chest. Leaning forward, I kiss and suck at his muscles, capturing his nipples lightly between my teeth. I feel his hands moving on my thighs. I could touch him all day, but I need his cock desperately.

I lean over to kiss him, and his tongue immediately invades my mouth while one of his hands clamps onto the back of my head. The other grabs my ass hard. I struggle to pull back slightly but his grip is too firm. I caress his jaw. He releases my head and starts kissing my neck again.

"No more teasing, Walt. I can't stand it--I need you to fuck me."

He smiles wickedly. I'm not sure I've ever seen him look at me like that. "I know what you like, Alex. And what you don't." He hesitates. "I want you on your back."

I freeze. Walter insisted on this once and it was almost impossible for me. I'm not sure I can go back there, but I'm not sure I can say no. I break eye contact and turn my head away. This situation is already more intimate than I can handle. I feel like I'm drowning, but I close my eyes and nod my head.

He puts a hand under my chin and my eyes open. Looking so deeply--too deeply--into my eyes, he says, "Thank you."

My defenses have deserted me and I desperately want them back. But I'd do anything to please him.

I slide off him as he pulls away and moves to the edge of the bed. He opens a drawer in the bedside table.

"Alex?"

"Hmm?" I have a perfect view of his well-shaped, muscular--and very sexy--ass. It's such a distraction.

"We've always used condoms. Is it safe for us to go bareback?"

He has my complete attention again. The intimacy implicit in the question makes me feel light-headed. I'm not sure how much more I can take in one day. Since the nanos it's actually more than safe--something I can't very easily explain to him. I'm silent for so long he gives me a puzzled look. It's more than a question--he's asking for consent.

"Yes, it's safe." I pause again. "And we can if that's what you want."

He returns to me with a bottle of lube and a hint of a smile. He straddles my hips and runs his hands up and down my flanks. For the moment I lie passively, feeling very overwhelmed... I'm normally a very active participant when we fuck. He hovers over me and kisses my neck, working his way down my chest to my nipples. I can feel teeth on the tender nubs, but he's being gentle. The sensation goes straight to my cock, but I need to be fucked and he knows it. I'm not going to beg... unless I have to.

Before I completely lose my mind, he shifts down further and his tongue swipes the tip of my leaking cock. Christ. My back arches up off the bed and he's grinning up at me, obviously very pleased. Bracing himself on one arm, he cups my balls and squeezes them just hard enough to feel good without hurting. I gasp and my body tries to retreat into the mattress. He's driving me crazy as his tongue continues to slurp at the head of my cock. I reach out to try to grab his arm but can't quite reach, settling for stroking his jaw and the side of his face. If he doesn't move on quickly, my groans will become whimpers. He knows.

Shifting off of me for a moment, he lifts under my knees. My ass exposed, I'm so damned vulnerable to him. I want to scream and run out of the room, but I need him so badly. I move my arm up behind my head and grab a handful of sheet. He gives me a gentle smile and opens the lube. Two wet fingers find my anus, which he massages and teases before easing a finger inside, quickly followed by a second. It feels tight--it's been a long time since anything's been in my ass. Scissoring his fingers inside me, he opens me up. I close my eyes and turn my head to the side, grabbing the sheet harder. Quite deliberately, he drags those fingers across my prostate.

I gasp and feel my hips buck toward, then away from those tormenting fingers. I'm a heartbeat from coming. "Don't, Walt. I don't want to come 'til you're in my ass." My breath is coming in short, ragged bursts. "I need your cock... please, just fuck me."

Walter doesn't take further advantage of my desperation. He stills, draws in a deep breath and I realize he needs it as badly as I do. He lifts my legs onto his shoulders and moves forward until his cock is slipping along my crack. It's still not where I fucking need it. He braces my legs and reaches to position his cock. The nudge of it against my opening makes me shake with need. His eyes flicker closed for a moment just before he pushes it into me. The brief flash of pain is irrelevant. I need this more than I've needed anything.

"Oh, god," he moans as he slides deeper into me. His normally serious face is distorted by what looks like pain, but surely isn't. Those eyes meet mine and I can see his desperate hold on his control as he sinks inside me.

I feel my ass stretching to take him in and he stares at me, watching my reaction.

In all the times we've fucked, we've never had this. We've never looked at each other while Walter had his cock buried in my ass. I now know why I always avoided it. It's like being punched in the gut. I can see how much he needs me and I know that he's seeing the same from me--god help me--possibly more. I can't take it and turn my head to the side, closing my eyes.

I feel him withdraw and, as he pushes back in, I hear his voice near my ear, "Look at me, Alex. Don't turn away." It feels impossible but I look back and meet his intense gaze as he pulls his hips back. He captures my mouth as he thrusts forward, harder this time, pushing his cock into my ass as far as it will go while he invades my mouth with his tongue . I pull my arm out from under my head and hold him to me. I try to force his mouth to stay connected to mine.

In between kisses, he emits a raspy sound that might be, "Yes." He's biting my lips and frantically tongue fucking my mouth. My moans are lost in his kisses. I savor the delicious feel of the weight of his body slamming into mine. His cock is stretching my ass and grinding against my prostate. My cock is being smashed between our bellies. Struggling to breathe, he pulls out of my grasp. The look on his face is intense concentration. I remember it from before. He's trying to hold back his orgasm. I doubt he'll last long.

My hand slides down his shoulder, along his flank and onto his front. I brush against the thick fur on his chest, sliding lower and touching where his body joins mine. I am unable to resist any longer, so I reach for my own cock.

Deadly serious, he shakes his head and his eyes issue a warning. "That's mine." Just hearing him say it is almost enough to bring me off. With a whimper, I withdraw my hand and bite my lip, pleading with my eyes.

He tries to suppress a grin, but he's losing it fast. He braces himself on one arm and reaches for my desperate hard-on.

He wraps his hand around my cock and I can't breathe. He jacks me once. Twice. I feel myself explode. "Walt!" He covers my mouth for one last violent kiss. My body is shaking and I'm gasping with brain-liquefying pleasure. He pulls away from the kiss, gives a growl from deep in his chest, and I feel his entire body go rigid. He allows his weight to cover me and thrusts furiously as he shoots deep inside me.

As my breath slows, I reach up to touch his face, then lean up to kiss him.

**

I'm barely aware when Alex's tongue finds my mouth again. So fucking sweet. He tastes so damned good. My body is pleasantly buzzed, my softening cock still inside him.

I smile and gradually relieve him of my weight. Flopping onto my stomach next to him, I examine my debauched Alex. Do I look so well fucked? I run my fingers across his belly through the tracks of his semen and hold them to his mouth.

Laser-green eyes flicker and his head turns, as if he's trying to hide but, after a moment, he reaches out with his mouth and licks my fingers clean. The sight is almost enough to make me hard again.

Alex leans over to kiss me and I can taste the semen on his tongue. He runs his mouth down the side of my neck and nibbles at my nape. Balancing on his left side, he slides his hand down my back, kissing my shoulder. He massages my ass while resting his forehead against my back. I can hear him murmur, "You're so fucking amazing, Walt."

Soon, his hand falls away and I hear his breathing change. He's asleep.

I'm lying here wondering why I bothered to have sex with anyone else in the years since we were together. The simplest fuck with Alex is raw and pure like sex could only be in my imagination, but impossibly real.

I believe I've felt every emotion known to man in the past two hours. I need to go over it in my head, to sort myself out, but I drift off, too.

Saturday, 13 March 1999

When I wake, Alex is still sleeping, with his butt pressed against my hip. I can see one side of his face. I always did like to watch him sleep. It's a refreshing change from the keyed-up man he is awake. I like having him in my bed. He'll never belong to me--Alex is a wild animal--but even the illusion is sweet. I roll onto my side and creep in closer, sneaking a kiss to his exposed shoulder.

Alex twitches slightly and his eyelids flutter. I hear him moan in his throat and he rotates his hips back, coming into contact with my crotch. After a few blinks, his eyes stay open. He glances around, looking a little confused until he sees my face. I can see a variety of emotions flit across his features and finally settle on something like disbelief. He rotates onto his back, looking me squarely in the eye, then reaches out and strokes my jaw.

I capture and kiss his fingers. "Last night was good. Really good."

He looks very vulnerable and turns toward me, resting his head a few inches from mine. He closes his eyes, then his hand travels down my flank and over my hip. He draws it back up over my abdomen, lightly brushing my cock on the way, then caresses my chest. Finally, his fingers move across my lips.

We lay together for a long while, not speaking, just touching. I finally ask the question I was afraid to ask before. "Why were you infected before me?"

Alex is not surprised. He's been expecting it.

He pulls back slightly and stares at me for several breaths. "Are you sure you want to know this, Walter. It's not... um, easy."

"What do you mean not easy? Not easy for who?"

"I don't know." He shakes his head.

"I think I need to know, Alex. Why are you afraid to tell me?"

"Because I don't know how you'll respond... what you'll think. You've surprised me quite a bit in the last two days."

I shake my head. "You killed one of my agents. I helped cover up the crime. Can it get any worse?"

Alex shrugs. "It's a little complicated, so bear with me."

He pauses as if he doesn't know where to start. "Some time ago--I don't know exactly when," he waves the detail away as if it doesn't matter, "several strategic people were selected to be infected with the nanocytes. You were at the top of the list. As I told you yesterday, they had a sample of your blood and had encoded nanocytes for you. But they needed a... hmm... test case--for lack of a better word." He stops abruptly, staring vacantly before continuing, "It would have been disastrous if they went to the trouble to infect you and there were any problems. A test case was necessary to make certain the nanocytes were a) successful and b) effective. If something went wrong it would have been tactically, uh, disadvantageous.

"I was working for their ene... uh... competitor at the time and wound up in the right place at the wrong time. Or the wrong place at the wrong time. Or whatever." He's starting to babble and pauses for a few seconds. "So, I was detained and infected with the nanocytes. There were... experiments that went on for a while before they determined that the nanos would be an effective control mechanism."

The idea of Alex being used like that is ghastly. I shove away the image to stay focused on my questions. He may talk to me only this once. I have to take advantage of the opportunity.

"And this 'they' you speak of would be?"

He looks weary but quietly replies, "Walter, I'll tell you as much as I can--as much as you want to know--but I can't tell you that. If it makes any difference, my first task was to betray that black-lunged bastard, Spender. Their interests are in direct opposition to his."

"The alien resistance then?"

He sighs. "Draw your conclusions. I can't go... there."

"Okay. I find it hard to believe that Spender is working for the benefit of mankind. If I were to accept that the end justifies the means, are you at least working for the right side of the war?"

"Spender is working to make sure his ass is covered no matter what happens. It doesn't necessarily follow that he's working for the wrong 'side.' But in this case, I do think my current employers are on the right side of the battle. But don't confuse that with any kind of regard for humanity."

Regard for humanity? An absurd expectation in this situation... I'm just afraid that I'm going to be used to destroy the very things I work every day to protect.

I'm asking hard questions, but I'm being gentle with him because I don't want him to shut down. "Who else have they infected?"

"Most of the people infected are now dead. There are a couple still alive but I can't give you names." He stops for a second and then adds something, almost as an afterthought, "I don't know the names of everyone on the list but the next target will be hit in about three weeks. You'll know who it is provided you follow unusual medical cases in the Washington area."

"But you can't tell me who?"

"It will be someone in a position similar to yours--in another government agency. Walter, please don't push this question further."

"What would happen if you told me something you can't tell me?"

"A few days of... experiments. Maybe more." His lips thin at some memory. "But that's not the part that matters. Consider the position you'd be in if you knew the next target. Would you really be able to not act? And if you acted..." He lapses into silence.

He's right, so I nod. "When were you infected?"

Alex is quiet for a second. "Ah, I received the first nanos a few months before you."

"The first nanos?"

Alex suddenly struggles to sit and turns away from me. Only part of his profile is visible when he begins to speak in a quiet monotone. "I think the plan was to kill me once they had determined the efficacy of the nanos to be given to you. But, for reasons unknown to me, they decided to keep me around. Sort of a general amoral handyman. A useful toy to have if you can find one." He pauses, a muscle twitching spasmodically in his jaw. "If I wanted to live I had to betray my then current employer. My most recent assignment was to infect you."

I interrupt him. "How did you infect me?"

"Umm... I contaminated a few bottles of water delivered to your gym. Since they're encoded to work only with your DNA, they wouldn't hurt anyone else who received them."

"And the first nanos?"

"We discovered a problem with the original nanocytes." He pauses again, his body completely rigid and his face devoid of color. "They have a little tendency to spontaneously decay causing damage to any cells they happen to be near when they 'die.' The effect is much like what you saw yesterday but the damage to vital cells leads to illness and, eventually, death.

"They decided to use another test case to see if the problem was specific to me. It wasn't. It was actually worse for the other guy. His nanos decayed much more quickly than mine and he... well, anyway..." His voice trails off and he drops his face into his hand. He's quiet for several breaths and appears to be struggling with his emotions. "They began working on a modification of the nanos that would not self-destruct. And, after a time, they came up with something. There were several other test cases, but when the new nanos were ready I was fortunate enough to still be alive so they could continue their experiments. They infected me with the new and improved nanocytes--the same type you have. The new ones have all the 'benefits' and none of the drawbacks. And one interesting new feature: they can rejuvenate, or repair, cells as well as destroy them. But it all depends upon how they are programmed. My second set was programmed to constantly repair the cellular damage caused by the first. Unless of course, they need the nanos to uh... never mind." He waves dismissively.

"Am I hearing you correctly that the nanos can heal? Is that why your back got better so quickly?"

"Yes."

"Is this effect turned on in my body?"

"Your nanos can do it, but the effect is triggered from the control device, as needed. If there's ever a situation where your health interferes with your orders, this feature could be activated and you would rapidly become well."

"So what happened to you yesterday?"

"The nanocytes cannot distinguish between cellular damage caused by the decaying nanos and, say, injuries. Broken ribs--or, in fact any bone--aren't normally a big deal. Nanos handle broken bones very well but beatings are a real bitch. They cause so much micro damage to so many systems, it just overloads everything. The upshot for yesterday was that new nanocytes were busy with my other injuries and not repairing the cellular damage quickly enough.

"Result: what you saw... it goes on until the second batch of nanos catches up."

"Is there anything you could have done to prevent this?"

"Perhaps. If my own body's immune response is weakened by lack of sleep, food or whatever, the nanos have more to do. Considering how long it lasted, I don't know that I could have prevented it completely, but I could have made it... easier, I guess."

"Are they still running tests on you, Alex?"

"Who else? The others are dead. I'm sort of a walking nano experiment." His voice drips cynicism.

I'm almost numb from the horror of it.

I get up and walk around to the other side of the bed and sit on the edge, facing him. I make deliberate eye contact. "Assuming that what you've told me is true, you're being used in a hideous way that's even worse than what's been done to me. No one deserves that, Alex."

He looks troubled. His voice is quiet but very hard when he says, "Don't ever feel sorry for me, Walter. I want you to know why this situation has come to pass but not so you can pity me."

"I know, Alex, but... You and I don't agree when it comes to moral issues. I just wanted you to know that I... that I don't consider this is what you deserve." I kiss him lightly on the lips. He doesn't respond, but he lets me do it.

Alex looks at me for a few seconds and then rubs his forehead as if trying to push away the conversation.

"So are we well and truly caught? Is there a trick? A way out? Someone else we can sell ourselves to for a cure? What?"

He looks at me as if I've gone insane but then his expression goes blank. "I don't know... something I've thought about but it's very improbable and... well, extremely risky." He stops and gives me a measured look. "It occurs to me that studying the decay of the first nanos might yield some insight into weaknesses that could be exploited to destroy the new nanocytes without destroying the host. I'm certainly no scientist, and I could be blowing smoke, but I've wondered about it.

"There has to be a way to reverse engineer the damned things. The first nanocytes were much less complex but still the building blocks for the second. The information your doctors never had is the first nanocyte sample." He shakes his head.

"I've got a little money. We could hire a scientist."

Alex shakes his head again. "If they find you studying these things, they'll know there is only one place you could have obtained them. Lord knows the FBI can't hold on to any secret information and it's almost impossible to tell who's compromised to one side or the other."

"I know. Anything involving the Bureau would be suicide. I'll investigate how to conceal it--maybe we can set up a dummy foundation with an anonymous grant? I warn you, I won't just give up."

Alex nods, then closes his eyes and rests his head on his hand. He''s tired and troubled. I am, too, but I'm also rejuvenated in a way.

We're both lost in our private thoughts for a while.

Then I turn to him. "Lie on your stomach, Alex, I'll rub your back."

He looks like he's going to protest, but then sighs and adjusts his position so he's lying prone on the bed.

I'm a brutal masseur, but he already knows this. I work on his kinks and knots for a long time, listening to him make tiny sounds of pleasure, until I realize he's fallen asleep again. After pulling the covers over him, I head downstairs seeking coffee.

**

When I wake, I'm immediately aware that Walter is gone. At some point during the last day, I've become very attuned to his presence. I listen for a few seconds and am relieved to hear faint sounds from downstairs. I focus on my body, feeling incredibly relaxed but a little sore. Walter's massages are usually pretty rough, but so very effective. I tune in on another area of soreness--my ass. Empathy is not one of my strong suits, but I find myself wincing slightly when I remember all the virgin asses I've broken in, many times roughly, over the years.

I'm fleetingly grateful that Walter isn't as rough on me as I've been on some of my boys. But in the next breath, I feel a little bit of disappointment. There's no pleasing some people. I think it would have been easier for me if he had been rougher.

Walter and I never negotiated our roles--it just sort of happened--but it was a complete reversal for me. I don't think he ever knew that. He just assumed he'd be the sexually dominant partner--cocky bastard--and I was so hard for him, all the time, that when he bent me over his work bench my protest was brief and shockingly insincere.

Thinking about sex with Walter always makes me hard. I allow my mind to lazily wander over his muscular, well-formed, powerful body. My cock gets noticeably harder thinking about all those fabulous muscles. I roll over and reach down to stroke myself a few times. A smile--something that feels so unfamiliar to me--finds its way to my lips when it occurs to me that Walter probably wouldn't like the idea of me jacking off without him. With a sigh, I remove the offending hand from my cock.

Inevitably a niggling sense of unease draws my mind back to this morning's conversation. The direction of my thoughts quells the rampaging hormones controlling my erection. It was much more difficult than I had thought--reliving those months of imprisonment and torture.

Walter had asked me if the tale would be difficult for him or me. I guess the answer was me. I revealed more than I wanted to and found recounting the experience to be impossibly painful. Expecting anger from him, I received something close to pity, then tenderness. I've never been able to accurately predict how Walter will respond. The pity infuriated me but the tenderness was my undoing. Part of me--the part that's kept me alive all these years--wanted to escape and never come back here, but his touch helped chase away the conversation more than flight ever could.

Except that I still feel... raw. I've been so damned vulnerable to him since I walked in the door the night before last. The vulnerability feels like a black hole that could destroy everything. If there's anything in my life I've ever needed to fear, it's this. But I won't consider that now.

I roll out of bed and go in search of Walter.

**

It's a sunny morning, so I drink my coffee on the balcony while reading the morning paper. I'm feeling calmer than I have in over a month. With more information, I'm better prepared to take on the battles ahead of me. And Alex has provided a sort of sustenance that I've sorely needed.

I hear a sound behind me, and turn to find him standing naked a few feet inside the balcony doors, his expression tight.

I gesture to the chair next to mine. "There's coffee in the kitchen. Find a pair of pants and join me."

He shakes his head. "That doesn't seem like a good idea; it's not certain that we're free from watchful eyes."

"I'll come inside, then." I gather up the paper and my mug.

Alex follows me to the dining room. I select a chair and he stands at the foot of the table, looking down and lightly tapping the surface. He seems anxious and very uncommunicative. I guess he's trying to avoid thinking about the odious problems before us. He's quiet for a while, then walks over to me. "I want to take a shower. Will you, uh... join me?"

I can't help but smile at the memories his invitation evokes. I nod my assent.

Before I can get up, he steps in front of me, leans down and kisses the side of my neck, trailing his hand up the inside of my thigh. Then he moves back and walks toward the stairs.

How can I not follow?

Once inside the master bathroom, Alex ignores the large tub and moves to the separate shower stall, turning on the taps. If memory serves, it will be warmer than I like, but nowhere close to the boiling temperature he prefers. He returns to me and slides to his knees, pushing my sweats down so I can step out of them. Rising back to his feet, he pulls me to him for an aggressive kiss. A brief battle of tongues, and I win the right to invade his mouth.

Without breaking our kiss, he steps backward toward the shower. I follow him into the stall, grateful for its spacious size.

Alex removes his mouth as he slowly backs me up under the shower spray, then joins me under the water for another long kiss. The hot water is sluicing off of our bodies. Kisses trail down my neck and a hand cups my ass. His mouth moves toward my ear while he strokes my cock a few times. I'm fully hard, but I'm merely cooperating, just enjoying the experience of finding out what he has in store for me.

He turns me around and kisses a path down my spine, aggressively rubbing my shoulders and my lats. It feels good to let go of the tension.

I can tell he's on his knees when I feel his teeth lightly nip my ass. The playful side of Alex is so rare and so sweet. He rubs the area he just bit, and leaves small kisses all over my ass and upper thighs. His tongue slides down my crack, and he pries at the cheeks of my ass, tongue playing at my anus, before he pushes inside. No one has done this to me since the last time Alex did it. It's such a wonderful feeling--the gentle sensation of his wet tongue. It almost feels like nothing, and yet it's such a fantastic, tingly nothing. I groan my appreciation.

Eventually, he leans back and indicates he wants me to turn around. Almost immediately, he takes my cock in his mouth--in the way that's uniquely his--all at once. I meant what I said last night. No one does it as expertly as he does. He swallows it all effortlessly, eyes half lidded, as if he's getting high. I've never felt more appreciated. I stroke his cheek softly as he works my cock. I could come in an instant if I let myself. The one time I did, I recall he was more disappointed than I was.

Alex varies his rhythm, alternately increasing and releasing pressure. He kneads my ass, and varies his position so my cock is sliding down his throat at a different angle. His throat spasms are more frequent like this, but it doesn't slow him down. He applies more pressure with his tongue, while caressing and fondling my balls. My knees feel weak.

As I near the point of no return, he lets my cock slide out of his mouth, moving to caress and lick my balls with his mouth and tongue. His hand slides into the crack of my ass, his thumb applying pressure to my anus as his mouth returns to my cock. This time he focuses on the head, tongue playing with the sensitive tip and applying suction--almost more than I can stand.

I love the way he's lavishing attention on me and my cock. I'm grateful for the antiskid surface of the shower, or we'd both end up on our butts.

I can tell when he's serious about making me come--he takes my whole cock back down his throat and applies more pressure to my anus. I gasp for air. He settles into the rhythm that drives me crazy. No amount of trying not to come will help me now. I struggle to relax my hands, so I don't injure his shoulders, but I'm losing it fast.

"Oh, Christ," I mutter, then I'm gone. My cock is throbbing and I'm coming in his throat, gasping at the raw pleasure. He doesn't stop sucking until I lean back languidly against the shower wall and mutter, "I think I'm done."

He releases my cock and smiles up at me. Alex smiles less often than I do, but it's a gorgeous sight with his shapely lips and white teeth. I try to memorize him like t