The Game
Chapters 7 - 12

by Noirceur



Chapter 7

Skinner dropped the last file on the living room floor by his armchair. He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes hard. The only things he was getting out of this promotion were an ulcer and a possible case of blindness. He found himself thinking more and more these days about retirement.

Hell, he'd put in more than his twenty years, and the way things were changing at the Bureau -- all those new interns to replace the agents who had disappeared, been arrested or forced into quitting/retirement. God, the average age of the average agent had to be high twenties. He was feeling *his* age these days.

He put his glasses back on, examined the man mainly responsible for all the changes at the Bureau. Krycek was in what he now referred to "isolate-mode", in position, completely cut off from sight and sound, adorned, partially erect.

He was having limited success in having Krycek accept this as punishment. Two nights ago, he had come home to find that the restlessness he'd sense in the man had come full front.

"Please, sir," he'd whispered, "please, make it hurt."

Krycek had almost looked relieved when he'd told him to go wait downstairs, that he'd come down when *he* felt like it.

He'd strung up the boy like he had in the past, but this time used the suede cat on him. Pain and pleasure. He'd taken the boy roughly, not allowing him to reach orgasm. Then he'd ordered him upstairs, to wait in the kitchen, warning him that he did not have permission to touch himself. He'd made him wait a good hour before allowing him to masturbate, in front of him, then ordering him to bed.

After that, he seemed calmer. More willing to accept this new form of game.

Skinner crouched in front of the man, wondered what world he had put himself into, in his isolation.

He reached out with a finger and stroked the bare cheek under the gag. Krycek started a bit, caught himself.

"What the hell could a ten year old boy have done," Skinner asked the deafened man, "to deserve punishment? Especially that kind of punishment? And to feel he actually deserved it?"

His finger moved along the jaw, down the throat to trace the dog collar.

"Because this is what this is, isn't it, boy? Punishment you feel you deserve. But why now? Not like you've spent the time between university and now looking for punishment." The finger traced the hollow at the base of his throat, moved along the collarbones.

"Mind you, it might explain why you're so accepting of things that happen to you. Like that Oilian possession: I don't know many people who could have tolerated that as well as you have. The diver and his wife certainly haven't."

The finger was now tracing a pattern around clamped nipples. Krycek's breathing was more audible.

"You didn't bitch much about that night on my balcony, though it certainly wasn't one of the warmest we'd had that fall. And your arm."

The finger traced the webbed scarring caused by fire and blades. The muscle in the upper arm twitched. He'd never touched the arm unless it was to put the harness on. Now he investigated it, looked at the muscles that seemed smaller than it had when these games had started. Of course. He wasn't using it: it was atrophying. He'd better get him on an exercise program and soon. He'd need whatever use he still had with the arm in the future.

"You didn't strike any of the team debriefing you as someone who needed 'punishment'. They may not have liked you, boy, but a couple of them feel some sneaking respect for what you did, for your attitude."

He left the arm for the chest, tracing a middle line to the belt holding the other arm behind his back. He teased the navel, smiling at the slight sound that made its way past the gag. The boy was just a bit ticklish at that spot.

"So what happened, boy? Was it the picture? Why would the picture make you react like that?"

He moved past the shaved groin to stoke the finger along a now full erection.

"And what the hell made you come to me, Krycek? You certainly picked the wrong time to do that. I'm still angry, but it's more under control now. Then, dear God, did you have any idea of what I might do to you? Yeah, I supposed you did have: if only for the nanocytes."

He passed the finger lightly under the man's balls making them twitch, then moved behind them, gently stroking the perineum, teasing the tight muscles around the anal plug. Krycek's hips bucked.

"And now, we're both caught in this little game we started, aren't we? If I end it, you'll go and find yourself someone who just might end up killing you. Is that what you wanted, boy?

"Well, you're not going to get that here. I don't mind using the cat on you, but I hope that'll be enough. The crop may have done my ulcer a lot of good, but it didn't do much for my conscience."

Skinner's watch beeped. He smiled. "Football. A good way to spend a Saturday afternoon, eh boy?" He grabbed the remote from the coffee table, turned the set on. Went and got himself a large bottle of apple juice from the fridge, added a bowl of pretzels and set everything up by the couch.

"Got a good game going here, boy. Two teams that need to score big to make it into the Super Bowl. Should be interesting."

He went to stand behind Krycek, removed the headphones -- this game would be too good to miss -- placed his hands on his shoulders and nudged him to his feet. Directed him over to the couch, pushed down till he got the idea of sitting down on it. Skinner had piled a bunch of small pillows against the arm of the couch, made Krycek lie back on them. Took his right leg and placed it up along the back of the couch. Left the other foot flat on the floor.

While he watched one game, Skinner kept the second one going by paying occasional attention to the display next to him. He knew that several times Krycek was close to orgasm, especially since he'd removed the cock ring some time ago. But he'd already made it clear when he'd started this new stage of the game that Krycek had to wait for permission to come.

So far, he hadn't had to devise a punishment for disobedience. But today, he had to admit he was pushing hard, so when he felt it necessary, a tight squeeze to the base of the cock, a sharp pulling on the balls helped the boy stay out of trouble. Occasionally hips would buck and then a slap to the side of the nearest thigh got the message through that that behaviour was not acceptable. Once, he placed the cold bottle of juice against the boy's groin, to help him cool down.

He wondered if sexual frustration rated as high a punishment in the boy's mind as a whipping.

When the game was over, he directed Krycek into the laundry room. At the back end of the room was a double washtub that stood on metal rods that were adjustable for height. He made the boy lie down, attached the ankle bracelets, one to each rod so that he lay legs spread apart. He slipped one of the smaller cushions under his hips, so he would have some support for his back. And left him there.

Periodically, throughout the evening, he would come and check, offering a helping hand to keep him erect. But never satisfied. Finally, at bedtime, he unsnapped the cock ring, released Krycek's legs, turned him over and satisfied himself: Krycek wasn't the only one who had spent the evening hard and frustrated. It didn't take either one of them long to climax. He'd pumped Krycek's ass only a couple of times when he felt the inner muscles of the man grab him tight, heard the muted scream of a man long waiting for release. He came only moments later, grunting his orgasm against the nape of Krycek's neck.

They both lay still and then Skinner rolled off Krycek, got rid of the condom, helped the man to his knees. He stripped him, pushed him toward the bedding on the floor where he still slept. And went to bed.



The next time, he pushed the notion that sometimes no punishment *is* punishment.

He had Krycek waiting by the kitchen table that evening, while he sat there, plowing through yet another incompetent report. He knew there was something he was missing in this one, but he was tired and he'd read it through twice already and hadn't found what was bothering him about it.

He looked at the man who was sitting still, head bowed, lost in some world of his own making. What the hell, thought Skinner. He poked Krycek on the shoulder. "Here, you read it. See if this makes any sense to you."

Krycek slowly raise his head, not seeming to understand what was being asked of him. Skinner playfully tapped him on the head with the report. "Earth to Krycek. Are you in there?"

"Sir?" Krycek hesitated, then looked at him.

"Read this. There's something screwy about it, something I should be picking up and I'm too tired to find it. See what you can do with it. Well, take it. And sit down properly. You'll find it easier to read. On your ass, boy."

Out of the corner of his eye, as he was working through yet another report, he watched Krycek begin to read. After a page or so, he gave his head a little shake, as if he were quick starting some brain function, trying to get it to connect. Started over again.

He didn't seem to be having an easy time of it. True, thought Skinner, for the past six weeks, he'd done absolutely nothing with his brain. And that report needed blue-pencilling in a bad way. Still, he realized that on his second complete read-through Krycek was flipping back between pages as if searching for something. Skinner waited until Krycek closed the report and set it down on the floor. "Well?"

"The guys at VCU are covering up for the SAC. But they're got him in two different places at the same time. Here, " he pointed to a page in the report, "they've got him supposedly supervising in Virginia, but four pages later he's in New York City at the same time, dealing with the cops. Considering the precinct, I'd say he was in New York paying off some loan sharks or dealing with his bookie. Maybe even taking care of VCU business."

Skinner took the report from Krycek, verified the information. Nodded, made a few notes. He added the file to the others, stood up, stretched. Krycek was back in position, head down. He missed the speculative look he got from Skinner.

The next evening, Skinner came home carrying a box topped with a bag of what was obviously take-out.

He changed into jeans and a henley, nuked the spicy Thai to the right temperature. Krycek was in position by the laundry door. "Get in here."

Skinner fixed two plates with food, but instead of giving one to Krycek for him to handle whichever way he could, he placed the plate on a kitchen chair, handed him a fork. He tackled his with chopsticks.

Krycek didn't eat right away. He watched the chopsticks and then looked at the fork. For a second, there was a flash of the old Krycek, ready to give his opinion about eating Thai with a fork, but he caught himself and ate. Skinner hid his smile behind some noodles.

After they finished eating, Skinner removed a handful of files from the top of the box, then dropped it to the floor next to Krycek. He went into the living room, and returned with a cushion from one of the armchairs. Dropped that next to Krycek, too. He grabbed a chair for his feet, made himself comfortable. Smiled down at Krycek.

"See all those files in the box?"

Krycek nodded.

"Read them. I haven't got the time to read them all, so you're going to do that for me. When you're done each one, I want you to sum it up for me. Only the salient points. In one sentence or less would be nice. Let me know when you're ready with the first."

"Oh, and get comfortable on the cushion. You're in for a long night. These all have to be done before we can get some sleep."

Skinner picked up the first report on his stack, pretended to ignore Krycek's confusion. After a minute, the man sat cross-legged on the cushion, slowly picked up the top file in the box. Across it, in large red letters, was its level of security clearance. Krycek looked even more confused.

"Sir?" He waited till he had Skinner's attention to point to the lettering.

"Boy," smiled Skinner, "you're going to find that you're familiar with most of the contents anyway. Most of these are fall-out from your little information dump. See if you can find anything new in any of them."

By the end of the box, Skinner appreciated that Krycek had taken his request to heart: each oral report had been brief, succinct. Better yet, he was relaxed, his eyes actually looked alive.

"You did that well, Alex. Very well."

Krycek said nothing, just lowered his head.

Skinner reached out and stroked the side of his face. "Alex, what do you say when someone offers you a compliment?"

Krycek looked up, surprised.

"Thank you. Sir."



Chapter 8

Skinner tossed the report -- God! yet another report -- at the pile spread over the foot of the bed. He'd had Krycek read another load this evening, but these were of a vastly different variety, one that he himself had to pay attention to. He stretched his body, wondered if his back would one day pop and freeze him in that position.

God, he was tired of all this shit. It made him long for the days of the X-Files. Now Dana Scully was teaching forensic investigation at Quantico and Mulder was being farmed out to any investigation that was dealing with the Consortium.

He got up, scratching his stomach. Maybe a warm cup of milk would soothe the ulcer and help him get to sleep. Krycek probably wouldn't hear him if he went down to the kitchen. He'd gotten one of those soliflex exercise machines and made Krycek work out on it several times a day. After all this time of not really doing anything, he'd found that an hour on the machine in the evening helped Krycek sleep soundly. That left arm was already beginning to look a bit better.

He had taken to leaving Krycek with a daily schedule of things to do. Not just exercising, but dumping more of those files on him. Kim was very impressed with the fact that the backlog of files was potentially dropping down to a manageable level. Skinner smiled. Krycek was beginning to appreciate just what the consequences of his actions were. Even made bold to comment that it was sad that so many trees had given up their lives for so much bull-shit.

He also seemed to be very accepting of the fact that there was a lot less game-playing apart from the normal everyday stuff. There had been no return trips downstairs since he'd started him on the reports. Maybe they were punishment enough in themselves. Skinner snickered at the thought. He certainly found them so.

He was pouring milk into a mug when he realized there was a whimpering sound coming from the laundry room. Krycek?

It was obviously a nightmare. Skinner went in to try and wake him when Krycek began speaking. Almost in a child's voice. Skinner felt the hair on his arms rise. He crouched to listen before deciding whether or not to rouse the man.

The words were difficult to make out. The speaker was panicky, afraid. The word "please" was easy to understand: it was being repeated over and over again. Then, more clearly, "I didn't do it."

Skinner leaned over, carefully placed his hand on Krycek's shoulder. The voice spoke louder, desperately. "Please. I didn't do it. I swear I didn't. Please tell momma I didn't do it. Ask her to let me come home. Please!" Louder, more panic, "You're hurting me! Please! I didn't do it!" Almost a scream.

"Krycek! It's all right. Wake up, boy!"

But the dream had Krycek too deeply in its claws and he just tried to pull away, now screaming, "I hurt! Please, I hurt!"

"Danny!" Skinner spoke in tones of authority. "Stop it, Danny! Do you hear me? Stop it."

The noise dropped in volume, screaming replaced by soft moaning.

"You didn't do it, Danny. I know that. It's all right. Danny." Kept on repeating the same words and watched as Krycek slowly settled back into quiet. He kept his hand on the shoulder, waiting until he was certain that Danny/Krycek was soundly sleeping.

The hand gently stroking the side of his face woke Krycek. "Sir?" His voice was thick with sleep.

"Alex. Who's Danny?"

"Danny?" Krycek sounded confused, still half-asleep. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't know any Danny. Did he write one of the reports?"

"It's all right. Go back to sleep. I was just checking up on you. I thought maybe your left shoulder was hurting tonight."

Krycek settled back down. Closed his eyes and yawned. "No, it's just tight. Sir."

Skinner sat in the kitchen, sipping his milk. Did Krycek really not remember having a nightmare or was he just pretending?

Either way, Skinner felt he had better find out just who Danny was.



Chapter 9

Skinner let the phone ring twice, then hung up. He redialed the number, let it ring until this time it was answered.

"Krycek?"

"Sir."

Skinner was attending a series of meetings out of town. Krycek was home alone.

Before leaving, Skinner had set up a pretty intense schedule for Krycek to follow. A couple of boxes of reports to read: some of them only included to fill up the man's time. This time he had requested a written report on each. More time-consuming.

Then there were the times for exercising. Eating. And he'd even scheduled in sleeping time. And every night at nine o'clock, he checked in to be sure Krycek was still there.

"How are the reports coming along?"

"They're coming." Krycek's tone was disparaging. "Who let these kids out of Quantico without making sure they could use Spellcheck?"

Skinner laughed. "Patience, grasshopper. They come from a different time. We'll get them trained eventually. Have you got any blue pencils left?"

"Yes." Then very quietly, "Sir? When are you coming back?"

Skinner hoped he wasn't hearing the possibility of Krycek's disappearing. In a colder tone than he'd used till then, "It's Wednesday today. I should be back very late tomorrow night. Don't wait up for me."

"No, sir."

Skinner had a feeling of unease. He had had to take these meetings, hadn't been able to get out of them.

"Boy. Who do you belong to, boy?"

He heard a sound like a small sigh, then almost relief. "You, sir. I belong to you." There was a pause. "Sir? You *will* be back tomorrow night?"

"I will be back at the house tomorrow night, boy," he promised, comforting.

It was almost midnight when the Bureau car left him at his house.

"Sorry, sir, but since the storm hit last evening, this whole area has been without electricity. Are you sure you want me to drop you off here, sir? Your house will be freezing by now. Especially with this cold front Canada sent us."

"I have a fireplace, Agent Edison. Thank you anyway."

"Your security men aren't here, sir."

"No. I had them dismissed some weeks ago. There's better use for them elsewhere. By the way, I noticed that the lights were on west of here?"

"Yes, sir. Seems their electricity feed comes from another location."

The house *was* cold. Before leaving, apart from the kitchen and the laundry room, he had turned the thermostats down low in the rest of the house. He hoped that Krycek had had the good sense to put clothes on. He hoped Krycek was still here.

He found the man asleep, huddled under his bedding, curled up in a tight ball.

"Alex?" Skinner shook him awake. "Come on, Alex, wake up, boy!"

Krycek moved, raised himself up on his elbow. "Sir." The relief in his voice was slight, but it was also on his face. Skinner shook his head, not believing that Krycek would still be obedient to the point of freezing rather than putting on clothes.

He got up, went to the cupboard where he'd stored the man's clothes, unlocked it and handed him the prosthesis, the gym bag with his clothes. The reaction he got took him completely by surprise.

"No!" Krycek scrambled to his knees. "Please! No! Please...tell me what I've done wrong. Don't send me away. Please, sir!" He sounded like he had the night he had been Danny.

Skinner crouched, awkwardly reaching for the man. "Alex. Stop that! I'm not sending you away. Shit sake, boy. Get a grip!" He grabbed Krycek by the shoulders and literally pulled him to his feet. Shook him.

"Listen to me, boy. Are you listening to me? Boy."

Krycek nodded, head bent, body trembling.

Jesus Christ, thought Skinner. Carefully he pulled the man close to him, wrapped his heavy coat around them both. Stroked his hands up and down the tense muscles of Krycek's back.

"Alex. I am not sending you away. I am not angry with you. You haven't done anything wrong. Got that, Alex. You've done nothing wrong. The house is cold and I haven't eaten supper yet. It's midnight. There's an all night diner over where they still have electricity. You're going to get dressed. We're going to the diner to get a hot meal. Then we're coming back here. We can make a fire in the fireplace. For the rest of the night. Have you got that, Alex?"

He pulled away enough from the man to see his face. Even in the dark he could make out the fear. He cupped his head and drew him close again. Waited till the trembling was more or less under control. "All right now, boy, get dressed."

The diner was a fifteen minute drive away. Skinner worried all the way there about Krycek's reaction, thought about it through the meal he had to make Krycek eat, did some more worrying about it on the way back.

At the diner he had to tell Krycek to keep the scarf he'd wrapped around his neck on so that the dog collar wouldn't be seen. It made him realize how much part of Krycek it had become that the man wasn't aware he was wearing it. Ten seconds after the kitchen door had closed behind them, that was all Krycek was wearing again.

He made him move into the living room, got a fire going. There was enough wood for a couple of days, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Krycek was wrapped in a couple of blankets, a lump huddled against the front of the couch. Skinner decided not to force the issue tonight and let him stay on the floor. He waited until he sensed Krycek was calmer, then went and felt his forehead as if checking to see if he were fevered. Krycek flinched as if expecting a blow of some kind. He ducked his head; Skinner left him alone.

He made himself a bed on the couch. He was tired: the conference had been a waste of time for someone like himself who hated the politicking required by his position as DD. And he found it very stressful being polite to idiots who had no idea why there had been shake-ups in so many government departments.

Krycek's nightmare woke him up. The Danny dream again.

Skinner slipped to the floor, dragging his bedding with him. He covered himself and Krycek before he began bringing the man out of whatever terror Danny was facing.

Kept repeating, "You haven't done anything wrong. I believe you."

Krycek was quiet a long time after he awoke. Skinner yawned. Checked his watch. It was after four a.m.

"I'm sorry, sir." Krycek was back to his normal voice.

"It's okay. Alex, what's the dream about?"

"I don't know. I know I have it. It leaves me feeling ...I don't know...hungry for something."

"For punishment?"

Krycek shrugged. Skinner pulled him close, spooned himself behind the man. Went back to sleep. After a some time, Krycek brought his hand to rest on top of Skinner's.



Chapter 10

Skinner looked up from the budget proposal he was trying to decipher and accepted the report Alex handed him. He scanned the pages, snickering over the comments Alex now added to his editing.

*He* enjoyed the comments: he wasn't sure the writer would. Still, he appreciated them not just because they were right on, but he knew Alex added them to make him laugh.

Alex was watching his reaction from under his eyelashes.

Skinner finished reviewing the report, tossed it onto the others they were both working their way through. "Does it seem to you that the more of these things we get through, the more of them there are?"

"Maybe you shouldn't keep them together in those boxes. Close proximity and all that."

"Encouraging reproduction you mean? God, who knows? That's as good a theory as anything I've heard." He pulled a thick one out of the box. Opened it up, read the title page, grimaced. After a thought, he pulled off the top sheet and handed it to him.

"Here. Read this and just circle the salient points."

He kept an eye on Alex during this one. Watched with growing amusement as the man's level of frustration grew. He flipped back through the report often, frowning, trying to find something. Was pleasantly surprised to hear him muttering to himself: Alex never made noises while reading. Watched him scratch his head with the pencil he held in his hand.

When Skinner laughed out loud, Alex looked up. "Is this for real?"

"Oh, yeah," Skinner grinned. "Real real." He handed Alex the title page.

"Spender! What the hell is Jeffrey Spender still doing at the Bureau?"

"Writing massive reports that kill more trees than the spruce bud worm." He snorted at Alex's expression of disgust. "We had to keep him, Alex. He was shot on Bureau property while on duty and some felt that it wouldn't be fair to him to make him pay for his father's transgressions. But they have put him behind a desk where he's quite happily producing these things. Where he's of no potential danger."

"Except to my sanity," muttered Alex. He sighed, went back to work.

Skinner rummaged around in his briefcase. He waited till Alex muttered something again. "Alex? Close your eyes and raise your head. Now, open your mouth."

He could tell the exact moment when Alex's taste buds signaled chocolate to his brain. There was a moment's surprise, then it was as if his entire body went boneless. He made a soft little sound in the back of his throat, closed his eyes even tighter.

Skinner was reminded of a character on a cartoon show he remembered seeing with his kid brother: Quick Draw McGraw's tracking dog. The only way Quick Draw could get the dog to track the criminal was to offer him a dog biscuit. The dog then went through contortions of ecstasy, ending with a levitation into the air and a feather-like floating down to the ground.

He grinned, brushed his fingers over Alex's cheek. "Does that help?"

Alex just nodded in sheer bliss, eyes closed, savouring the very expensive chocolate melting in his mouth.

Skinner rubbed his thumb against Alex's cheekbone. "I'm glad. There's the second half of that piece for when you're finished."

The chocolate helped with the report, but not with the nightmares. They were coming with more frequency. Skinner had added a monitor to the laundry room and had its double in his room so that he could hear Alex when he was having one.

And they weren't all Danny-dreams. The ones where he was caught in the silo, or having his arm cut off were more prevalent too. That one intrigued him: Alex didn't dream of the actual cutting off of his arm but of the arm itself after its amputation. Lying alone in the forest, ants and other insects crawling all over it, the hand twitching in supplication, in silent screams.

Often, after the worse of the dreams, Alex would wait by the downstairs door, silently asking for punishment. Skinner gave it to him -- they seemed to make him more easy -- but never with the cruelty of their first games. And whatever games they played, he now made certain Alex climaxed before leaving him.

He watched the man sleeping under the blankets, peacefully this morning. No nightmares last night. He bent over and poked him. "Alex? Get up." Watched as Alex stretched out, twisted with that little gesture he did, almost like a cat. He enjoyed watching Alex wake up.

He was about to put all that good feeling to a test. He handed Alex a cup of coffee, watched him take it warily, sip it.

"Good?" he inquired.

Alex nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome. Problem is that's the last of it." Waited.

Alex looked up from under his lashes, still sipping the coffee.

"And we're out of lots of things." Waited again.

Alex finished the coffee, placed the mug on the floor.

"Problem is," sighed Skinner, "I haven't got the time to get the stuff we need today. And I certainly am going to want more coffee before the day is over."

He could see Alex beginning to understand where he was headed. He jumped in before he could react. "Seems to me the best solution to this problem is for you to put some clothes on, take my car and go run the errands that need to get done."

He crouched, passed his hand over the dog collar. "Wrap a scarf around that before you leave."

He got up, tossed the cupboard key onto the bedding and left the room. He waited in the living room, with the ubiquitous report in his hand, for twenty minutes before Alex hesitantly come out of the room dressed. And armed.

Skinner looked up casually. "You'll find the list on the table along with some money. I drew you a map of how to get to the nearest shopping centre. Oh, and Alex, try not to take more than a couple of hours, will you? I'll need the car this afternoon."

He waited until he'd heard the car keys being picked up before calling out. "Oh, Alex, the list says ice cream. Get me some of that butter pecan thing Ben & Jerry's make. And pick yourself one of the chocolate things they concoct."

From the time the car left to the time it arrived one hour forty-seven minutes fifteen seconds later, Skinner wondered if he had done the right thing. Maybe Alex hadn't been ready to go out on his own. The night they'd gone out to the diner, it was just he hadn't clung to him.

He went back to his chair, pretended to be working, letting Alex bring in all the groceries by himself, even put them away. He waited till he was almost done before joining him. He said nothing, just picked up the coffee and made a fresh pot.

Alex handed him back the change, went into the laundry room and took his clothes off. Took his position waiting by the door. Skinner made some sandwiches, handed Alex's to him and went off to change for his command appearance at some afternoon do with the Director.

Alex was quiet that evening and the next day. Too quiet. Skinner found Alex's eyes tracked him around the room, even when he was sitting, his head down. He couldn't decide if Alex was depressed or afraid. Definitely apprehensive.

By Sunday afternoon, he decided some reassurance was in order. He waited until Alex had finished yet another report -- he was ready to challenge Kim with the notion that he was being given not just his reports to read, but that of the whole damn Upper Floor.

"Alex. On the table."

He'd picked up the table at a garage sale someone moving down the street had. It was round, low, made in the days furniture was made with real wood and craftsmanship.

Its height meant that Alex was more conveniently placed for casual attentions, and its solidity assured safety for the more active moments. Besides, it meant Alex was more on display and Skinner was honest enough to admit that Alex made a beautiful picture whenever he looked up from work. Delayed gratification was a good incentive for getting through reports that were irritating him more and more.

He kept the toys down to a minimum these days, gradually leaving them out. The only things he used today was the belt to keep Alex's hand behind his back and the blindfold.

"Who do you belong to, boy?"

"To you, sir."

He held Alex's face in his hands, stroking the cheekbones with his thumbs until he heard Alex sigh and felt him relax into the mind-set for the game.

Skinner took his time arousing Alex. The boy started when he took a nipple into his mouth -- a first in these games, he usually only used his hands -- and tongued the nub into hardness. He tested its rigidity with a flick of a finger, eliciting one of those little sounds Alex made at the back of his throat. Skinner smiled. Pleased to get another of those little sounds while he worked on the second nipple.

He moved his mouth slowly down, crouching, teasing the ticklish navel. He had to hold Alex's hips, keeping them still while he worked lower down. He played around the hardening cock and the heavy balls without ever touching them.

He had to admit that this was easier to do with Alex shaved, but the bareness of Alex's body was beginning to bother him. He realized that the thrill associated with this was the pre-pubescent look, but Alex was not a boy, was a man. Still, it was nice to play around like this and not end up with a mouthful of hair. He'd have to think about this some more.

While his mouth had been busy, his hands kneaded ass, stroking and lightly running over sensitive skin. Alex was particularly reactive to the tips of fingers barely skimming along the skin of his inner thighs. Nice vocalizations as well.

Skinner sat back on his heels and looked at the erotic picture he had composed for his own pleasure. Alex had his head back, throat revealed as if in submission. Skin flushed a pale pink from groin to throat, and not as a result of the cat. His hips bucked now and then, as though he couldn't control their desire for touch. His cock had thickened and was riding high, twitching for attention, the glans leaking pre-come.

Skinner rubbed a hand along the erection beginning behind his jeans, sighed and pulled his hand away. There were still some things he wanted to do before he attended to *that*.

He went into the kitchen, rummaged around a bit, knowing that Alex could hear him and would be wondering. Alex no longer slipped into that world isolation had given him. Didn't seem to need it as much any more except for the times he needed to deal with the dreams.

It seemed to Skinner, the "better" Alex was getting, the harder the dreams hit. The Danny ones left him anxious, almost frantic. He wondered how Agent Madison was coming along with her research.

He stood in front of the table, stroked Alex's lips till they parted. "Nice, Alex. Keep them that way." He dipped a finger into the preparation he had been concocting in the kitchen, smeared it thickly over Alex's lips, dipping just the barest touch into his mouth. Then he sat back to watch what Alex would do about the chocolate on his lips.

He hadn't ordered him to leave the chocolate alone, but he also hadn't given him permission to lick it off. He almost missed it when the show began. Just the barest hint of pink as a bit of tongue flicked into a corner and pulled back in.

Skinner put down the report, sat back in his armchair and waited. With bare, tiny cat licks, the chocolate began disappearing off Alex's lips. Just the tiniest bit of pink drawing back with an even tinier bit of chocolate.

Alex's tongue appeared here in the corner, there at the upper lip, then at the lower. He never once brought his lips together; just a gradually clearance of chocolate and the reappearance of lip.

After twenty minutes, Alex's lips bore only a chocolate outline and Skinner's erection was beginning to demand attention. Instead he went back to Alex, dipped his finger into the chocolate and held it close to his mouth. Alex's tongue shyly came out to investigate, ready to pull in should this not be acceptable.

Skinner let him lick his finger clean. He dipped it again in the chocolate, gently placed it inside Alex's mouth. And had his finger seduced by Alex's tongue. All he could think of was the play of that tongue on his cock. And he knew Alex was very aware of that. The way his tongue played with his finger, cupping it, slowly drawing the tip along its lower side, giving it little flicks, gently sucking until Skinner pulled the finger out. Skinner placed his mouth over Alex's, rubbed hard, smearing the last of the chocolate over both their lips.

Alex's face became marked with chocolate, his throat, even his nipples bore some stain. The soft sounds that accompanied his explorations went directly to Skinner's groin. His hands skimmed flesh, causing their own reaction until Alex's whimper kept time with his bucking hips.

At that point, Skinner reached up and pulled the blind off. He wanted to see Alex's eyes, their expression when pleasure wiped out all conscious thought. Quickly he unsnapped his jeans, pulled them down.

Alex began rolling over, ready to support his weight on his shoulders, presenting his ass for penetration. Skinner grabbed his hips to prevent it. "On your back, Alex." Alex hesitated: this wasn't their usual position. Skinner pushed against his hips, got him on his back and raised his legs so that they now rested over his shoulders. He grabbed a pillow, shoved it under Alex's hips. Found the lube where he had placed it at the beginning of the game and spread it on his fingers.

Alex's head bent back exposing his throat as the first finger entered him. When he added a second finger, Alex gasped loudly, raised his hips to meet the penetration. Skinner slowly fucked Alex with his fingers, smiling at the gasps of pleasure whenever his fingertips stroked Alex's prostate. Watching his cock deepen in colour, pre-come weeping over the glans. He didn't touch it, knew Alex couldn't, not with his hand still bound behind his back.

He pulled his fingers out. Alex keened their loss, face in a tight grimace. Skinner rolled the condom on himself, wiped the lube off his fingers onto it and holding tightly onto Alex's hips, slowly entered. When he was fully in, he clutched Alex's cock by the base, using his grip like a cock ring, denying him completion. Drove himself to his own.

Alex almost wept. It had been weeks since he hadn't been allowed to orgasm in their encounters. Skinner almost smiled at the sounds of frustration and disappointment that Alex couldn't prevent. He raised his head, dared to glare at Skinner who now did indeed smile. Kept on smiling as he slowly raised Alex's hips higher and then dropped his mouth on to Alex's cock.

He placed his hands under Alex's ass, fingers gripping as the tight muscles flexed in reaction to his sucking, to his playing with Alex's cock as Alex had played with his finger. He raised his head enough to see Alex's body arch, resting only on the shoulders, hips still. Frozen in time. Then Skinner could feel the first taste of come in his mouth and Alex screamed.

Skinner waited until Alex's cock softened before giving it a last suck. He lowered Alex's feet to the floor, leaned over Alex's still panting torso and kissed him. Heavy-lidded green eyes were watching him when he raised his head. Skinner rested his hands on either side of the body under his, smiled. "I've got to feed you chocolate more often."

He reached behind Alex, removed the belt, the restraint. Alex raised his hand, hesitated a moment then settled it on Skinner's shoulder. The tip of his tongue came out and passed over his lips. Skinner's eyes followed the action. "I'd like that," Alex admitted.



Skinner glared at the clock by the bed. He'd only slept a couple of hours. Now, he was awake, restless. And the cause was probably sound asleep on his bed in the laundry room.

There were no sounds coming from the monitor so he assumed Alex was sleeping soundly, untroubled by nightmares. Maybe it was time for some warm milk. He pulled his bath robe on, headed downstairs.

Alex was sound asleep. He could make out the top of the tousled head from under the blankets. Because of the nightmares, he left the bathroom light on so that if Alex woke up, the presence of light helped him orient himself more quickly. He slouched against the kitchen entry, not going in, just wondering what the hell he was going to do with Alex Krycek.

Whenever they played the game, he always began with having Alex state that he belonged to him. A form of ritual. Except that it had become more. Alex did belong to him. Was his to play with as he pleased. His to enjoy.

But had also become his as a responsibility. Someone to take care of. Someone to protect.

Alex raised himself on an elbow, turned to look at the man watching him. Skinner kept on looking for a minute, then slowly came into the room, crouched by the man so seriously meeting his eyes.

Skinner pulled the covers off, examined the body laid out before him. Alex lay down on his back, arm away from his body. He waited as if in surrender, as if in anticipation of some judgement.

Skinner bent, took his face between his hands and kissed him. Not in judgement. Not in a show of mastery. But as a lover would. Gently, eliciting a response, waiting for that response as permission to continue.

Alex brought his hand up Skinner's arm, stroking what skin he could reach under the sleeve. Raised his head to facilitate their kissing. Skinner one-handedly removed his robe, tossed it to one side, never losing contact with Alex's skin. His hands shaped the body beneath him, his mouth aroused it.

Alex rubbed his body against Skinner's, used his mouth to taste whatever portion of Skinner's body was close, reveling in being allowed to touch as much as he was touched.

Skinner had the advantage: he already knew where to touch, how to arouse. Alex learned quickly.

Skinner blindly sought his robe, dug into its pocket and found the lube and condom he'd put there some time ago. Alex took the condom from him, tore open the pack with his teeth and expertly rolled on the latex. Skinner pulled him into his arms, mouth devouring, his fingers preparing Alex. Then, slouching against the wall, he positioned Alex so that the man's knees were on either side of his lap, so that Alex could control his own penetration. Alex smiled as he gripped Skinner's cock with his inner muscles and watched Skinner's reaction to that manoeuvre. Skinner's hand in turn duplicated those actions on Alex's cock. Alex came first, his orgasm sending Skinner over the edge.

Alex sagged into Skinner's arms. Skinner slowly slid flat to the floor. After a while, Skinner managed to slip off the condom, to drag the bedclothes over them.

Alex settled his head over Skinner's heart, rubbed the side of his face against the slickened skin. Skinner's hand came up and cupped the back of Alex's head; he rested his cheek on it.



Chapter 11

It was later than normal when Skinner got home the next night. For once, he wasn't carrying any reports but he did have something which he tossed onto the couch.

From the laundry entry, Alex was quietly waiting in position. Usually the two men exchanged greetings of some kind when Skinner got in, but tonight neither man spoke. In fact, both of them were particularly tense.

Skinner tossed his coat on the armchair, turned on the lamps by the couch. "Alex, would you come in here, please?"

Alex flinched as though he had been hit. Skinner realized he didn't usually *ask* Alex to do something. Added to the tension with, "No. On your feet, Alex."

Alex slowly walked into the room, almost braced for...what? a blow, thought Skinner. He sat down on the couch, signaled Alex to kneel between his knees. He began by stroking the hair off Alex's face. It had been long for Alex when he'd arrived here. Now three months later, it was almost too long.

He moved his hands to Alex's throat, down to his shoulders. Alex's eyes had held his all the this time.

"Alex. I'm taking the dog collar off."

And watched pain lace through those eyes. Followed by panic. Skinner gripped him hard, pushing down at the same time as his knees tightened around the distraught man.

"No, please, don't." He tried hard to pull away from Skinner, but Skinner just tightened his hold. His voice rose, panic obvious in its tones. "Please, sir, no. Please don't send me away! Please!"

Then he just suddenly stopped struggling, let his head drop to Skinner's chest. The voice was Danny's when he begged, "Please, please, let me stay."

Skinner wrapped his arms tightly around Alex, held him close, made soothing noises. When he thought Alex would listen, he tried to continue. "Alex, look at me."

Alex shook his head against Skinner's throat.

Skinner almost had to force his head up so that Alex would look at him. Alex's face was bare, his eyes dark with despair. Skinner winced at the effect of his words, soothed the tight face with his thumbs as he held Alex's face in a gentler hold.

"Please, " whispered Alex, turning his head, trying to kiss the hand holding him. Skinner leaned over, rubbed his cheek against Alex's.

"Alex. Pay attention. I want you to look at something. I need you to translate something for me. Will you do that for me?"

Alex finally nodded slightly. Skinner released his head, reached for the package he'd tossed on the couch when he'd gotten in. It was a jeweler's box. He opened it, took out a thick silver chain. There was a medallion hanging from it.

Skinner held it so that Alex could read what had been etched into the back of the medallion. "It's in Russian. You do read Russian, don't you, Alex?"

Alex nodded, almost tiredly.

"I'd like you to read it, tell me what it means in English."

Alex's eyes tracked to the medallion, read. Read it again. He looked up at Skinner, a frown on his face.

"What does it say, Alex?"

Alex hesitated. Then, "I belong to W. S. Skinner."

"Is that what you want, Alex?"

Alex slowly nodded, his eyes needing reassurance that this was not some game.

"Better check out the front before you decide if you want to wear this."

Skinner turned the medallion around, Alex waited a moment before looking. Skinner watched the beginning of a small smile, a wary smile, but a smile.

"Nice whiskers," said Alex.

"Fine whiskers. I thought it was appropriate," agreed Skinner. He placed the chain on his lap, carefully unbuckled the dog collar. Alex flinched, forced himself to stay still for it. Skinner placed the chain around Alex's throat, clamped it. He passed his finger over the medallion, over the etched rat with the fine whiskers. "It stays on all the time, Alex. Even in the shower."

Alex closed his eyes in relief. Nodded. Slowly, he sat back on his heels, rested his head on Skinner's lap. Wrapped his arm around Skinner's waist. Skinner dropped a kiss on Alex's head, stroked the tension out of neck and shoulders.

After some time, he raised Alex's head, smiled at him. "Who do you belong to, Alex?"

"You, sir. I belong to you."

Skinner cupped his face with his hands. "My name, Alex. Say my name."

"Walter."

Skinner stroked Alex's mouth with a thumb. Alex opened his mouth, let the thumb in, sucked on the side of it.

"Who do you belong to, Alex?"

Alex smiled. "To you, Walter. I belong to you."

Skinner got up, pulled Alex to his feet. He passed his finger along the chain, smiled at the man in his arms, kissed him gently.

"Come on." Skinner took Alex by the hand, headed out of the living room. In the foyer, it was obvious Alex was heading was the laundry room. Skinner tugged his hand. "Upstairs, Alex."

Alex looked once into the direction he had been going, then turned and went with Skinner upstairs into his bedroom. Skinner turned on the light, took Alex's face between his hands and began the delightful chore of arousing him.

At one point, when they'd dropped to the bed, Skinner pulled away from Alex long enough to say, "This is my side of the bed. Sorry, but you have no say in that. You're just going to have to be happy with the other side."

Alex laughed.



Alex wasn't laughing the next morning.

Skinner woke to find himself being examined by a pair of seriously wary green eyes. Alex was propped up on his elbow, looking down at him. Skinner closed his eyes. He knew they had things to discuss. This might be the correct place and time to do it.

He reached up, rubbed the palm of his hand against Alex's stubble. Alex's face turned into the hand, eyes never leaving his own.

Skinner sat up, piled a couple of pillows behind him, made himself comfortable against the head board. Alex stayed as he was.

"We need to talk about the new rules," began Skinner.

Alex took a deeper breath, nodded.

"The game stops at the bottom of the stairs, Alex. It never comes up here, It doesn't have a place in this room, never in this bed. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Does this mean," Alex seemed to be feeling his way, "that last night will happen again?"

"I'd like to think it will happen most nights. Well, maybe not most nights. I don't spring back like a kid any more. And I'm at an age where a bed is often used for just sleeping, Alex. Will that disappoint you?"

Alex looked down at the bed, a slow smile suddenly appearing. "So," he said cautiously, "those stories about baldness and higher levels of testosterone are just that, stories." He looked up. "Is this what you're telling me. Walter."

Ah.

Welcome back, Alex, Skinner thought.

He smiled and nodded ruefully.

"Just for sleeping." Alex continued.

"Sometimes the two of us just sleeping," agreed Skinner.

"But the two of us?"

Skinner nodded.

"I'd like that," Alex offered, almost shyly.

"Now as for the game."

Alex grew still.

"From now on, clothes, Alex. Beautiful as you are, distracting as you are, from now on, get dressed." He held up a hand, stopping Alex from talking before he even began. "If I'm in a mood to play the game, I'll tell you to take your clothes off. If you're not in the mood, you don't. Got that. We've both got to be in the mood together or there's no playing. I won't kick you out if you say no, Alex. It's a game. We play it for pleasure, both of our pleasures.

"And, if you're in the mood, you'll let me know by taking your clothes off. Either way, you pick out the toys. You know where the key is. I reserve the right to pick what I want to use from among your choices, or not to use anything at all. And if I'm not in the mood, I also reserve the right to say no. Is all that agreeable to you, Alex."

"Yes..."

"But? Ah, but what about the times you want to be punished?" Because Skinner knew that wasn't going to go away, maybe not until the dreams were settled, maybe never. He let his voice hardened a bit. "Then, you will do just what you have already been doing. You will strip. You will assume the correct position by the basement door. You will wait for instructions. And you will obey them. Is this understood?"

Alex looked relieved. He nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Skinner reached for the phone by his side of the bed. Hit a speed dial button. Listened to some voice mail message. "Kim, Walter Skinner. I won't be in today so see what you can do to re-arrange my appointments. You might like to offer the ones that you can't to Jana Cassidy. If anyone asks, I'm running away from home and therefore will *not*...got that Kim?...*not* be available even by cell phone. Thank you, Kim."

Skinner watched Alex smile, then as a lock of too long hair dropped on his face, he grimaced, pushed it back behind an ear.

"Why don't you just get a haircut, Alex?"

Alex looked taken aback. "I thought you wanted me to wear it long."

"Well," Skinner seemed to be thinking about it, "it's your hair, Alex, if you don't like it long, do something about it. Just so it isn't one of those stupid-ass haircuts that seem to be so popular these days. You can take care of that while we're out today."

Alex's wariness was back. "Out?"

Skinner moved out of bed, stretched properly, turned in time to see Alex's eyes darken. He was surprised and pleased to find that Alex reacted to him the same way he reacted to Alex.

"Out. You need clothes, Alex. And we'll have to pass by a bank."

"I have money," Alex followed him out of bed, did his own stretching routine, carefully checking that Skinner's eyes were following him.

"Do you?"

"In the bottom of the gym bag."

Skinner stopped what he was doing, questioned that with a raise of an eyebrow.

"Well, I don't use banks much, except for safety deposit boxes." Alex seemed uncomfortable again. "Walter. I *can* pay my way."

Skinner decided that Alex's finances were none of his business. Well, not those of the past. He didn't think he'd have to worry about future sources if his plans worked out. So, over his shoulder, on the way to the bathroom, "Good. You get to buy lunch."



Chapter 12

"I understand that congratulations are called for, Agent Madison. SAC Spencer reports that you went over and above the call of duty."

"Thank you, sir." Agent Madison seemed to be quite unemotional in her acceptance.

"That your actions probably saved your partner's career. Should I offer my commiseration for that, Agent Madison?"

Agent Madison sighed. She sat down in the chair indicated. "Is this meeting off the record, sir?"

Skinner nodded.

Her dutiful FBI mask dropped. "The man is such an idiot. Just because I'm new...and a woman..."

Skinner grinned. "You've got to understand, Agent Madison, that the men attracted to this kind of work are not Sensitive New Age Guys. I doubt, if push came to shove, you would want one of those covering your back. Give us time, Rachel. When I started here, women were only the secretaries. Now we've got one in line for the Directorship."

Agent Madison smiled. Strange that she felt she could vent here safely. This was the DD. But it *was* off the record, as was the report she handed him.

"I'm sorry it's taken so long, sir. And I'm afraid it's not complete."

Skinner looked at the unlabelled dossier in his hand. "Perhaps you'd like to sum it up for me, Agent Madison." He wanted to hear how her mind worked; he had plans for Agent Madison.

Daniel Aloysha Gorshok was the son of Nicholai Alexandrovitch Gorshok and of Zaneta Ilaria Bazarov. He was born in Chicago, 1964.

On September 28, 1975, the boy came home late from school to find his father in the garage dead of a shotgun blast to the head. The death was ruled suicide.

"But..." Skinner wondered, wasn't disappointed.

The man was left-handed, the shot had come from the right.

As for the boy -- because this was about the boy, wasn't it? -- when they tested the shotgun, his were the only prints they found on the weapon.

"He picked up the gun," said Skinner

"Obviously."

He'd come home, found his father's head blown off, blood and brain tissue all over the back of the garage. Of course he would pick up the gun. And of course his prints would be on the gun.

That wasn't quite the way the story went. She had interviewed some of the neighbours.

Skinner was pleased that his hunch about Agent Madison had been correct.

The neighbourhood was one where the people bought houses after marriage, raised their kids and then retired to them. Some of the neighbours had lived in the area for thirty, forty years. Some of them even remembered the Gorshok affair.

According to them, the boy had been in shock for several days, but no one seemed to be taking care of him. "She", and the neighbours never referred to her by name, just "she", held centre court the entire time. Had no time for the boy who had found his father. His much loved father.

These same neighbours remembered both the boy and his father by name: Danny and Nick were an item in the neighbourhood. The man spent his spare time with the boy, organized all sorts of activities for the kids. Street hockey, baseball. Once he piled the car with kids and took them all to the circus. Most of them had gotten sick when they'd come home, because of the junk he'd let them eat, but some of them still remembered the outing fondly.

And Nick didn't keep guns around the house. Well, maybe his work had called for them, they hadn't known exactly what it was he did, but not around the house. No way, said the neighbours, that Danny would have, could have killed his father. Even by accident.

No matter what "she" hinted at. Because that was what she had suggested, often, after the boy disappeared. For his own good, she'd said, sighing like some soap opera diva. Of course, she herself was soon gone. Not a month after Nick's death. Just like the boy. There one day, gone the next. Good riddance. But it was sad about the boy.

"I'm sorry, sir. I haven't been able to trace either one of them down. The boy just seems to have vanished, and I managed to track down the woman's family, she still has a sister living in Chicago, but she hasn't seen or heard from her since Nicholai Gorshok was killed. The only lead she could give me was someone named Davey, no last name. I just can't seem to get a lead on Zaneta Bazarov Gorshok."

"Try Jane, or any variant on that. That's what the anglicisation of Zaneta would be." Skinner offered.

Agent Madison nodded. "There's a photo of the boy and his father at the back of the file. One of the neighbours still had it in her collection."

Skinner flipped to the photo. It wasn't very large, just black and white. A small boy, laughing happily, leaning confidently against the father crouched next to him, arm protectively holding the boy close. Also laughing. Father and son looked very much alike.

"No one had a picture of the mother. No high school photos, she didn't finish high school."

"Thank you, Agent Madison. I would appreciate it if you keep on trying to locate the woman."

"No problem, sir." She stood to leave, hesitated. "The boy is Alex Krycek, isn't he?"

Skinner looked up from the photo. Nodded.

"For what it's worth, sir, I don't believe Danny Gorshok killed his father, even by accident."

"Neither do I, Agent Madison." He watched her leave. Went back to staring at the photo. "Question is did Danny believe it? Does Alex?"

To last part