Lockdown by Nonie Rider
Author: Nonie Rider
Keywords: SA, slash, * rape *
Summary: Another ugly one, folks. Bitter!Krycek decides to drag Mulder off his pedestal. This is extremely dark m/m slash: not only rape, but intent to destroy. Serious verbal squick.
Acknowledgement: Thanks to my patient and helpful betas, Katja, Palinurus, and Spike. And thank you, Great Queen Te, both for "So Minimal" (http://strangeplaces.net/te/aw02.txt) which showed me how well monologues go with blades, and also for not shooting me for being cruel to your pretty pretty boys.
And yes, for you language purists, the term "boychik" is a bilingual amalgam.
My stories are also archived at http://www.avalon.net/~nonie/slash.html.
by Nonie Rider
Hold it right there, Mulder. No, don't move or I'll blow your fucking head off. God, I can't believe you were stupid enough to come here alone just to meet some mysterious informer.
You ARE alone, aren't you, Mulder? If that red-haired bitch or Big Baldy is here, tell me now, and I'll just lock them up. No, really, Mulder. But if they interrupt me later, I'm going to feed them in pieces to the sharks, and you're going to watch.
So, how do you like Alcatraz? Cozy out here, isn't it? You ever been in prison, Mulder?
No, don't bother expecting help. No tourists on the island tonight, and the usual night crew all think someone else is on duty. They don't patrol this derelict cell block anyway. We're alone here.
Stop that! Damn it, I told you not to move. Hope you don't need that kidney, Mulder.
All right, let's get on with it. Take your gun out--carefully!--and set it down. Now your backup; yes, I know you have one. And that stupid cell phone. Now kick them over the edge. Do it!
Nice sound, isn't it, when they fall three stories onto concrete. Hope you're not afraid of heights.
Imagine what this place must have been like when it was in use; rack above rack of prisoners yelling and banging-- No, not that kind of banging, Mulder, though you can imagine that too if you want.
Now the handcuffs. You motherfucker, get them out. Now!
Yes, Mulder, I might not be able to handle you with one arm if I didn't have the gun. But I do.
That's enough. You're going to cooperate, Mulder, or I'll have to disable your arms the hard way. Pity your partner missed the main nerve cluster when she shot you, or we'd be a matched set.
Now, face me and back up until you're touching the gun rail. That's it. Now lock your wrists around it. DO IT!
Good. And now for a little payback.
Unh! You like that, Mulder? You son of a bitch, you like being hit as much as you like hitting me? Well, too fucking bad. And here's one I owe you for Hong Kong, you bastard.
All...right... Let's just take a moment to catch our breaths, shall we?
You don't mind if I smoke, do you? Of course not. Always tastes good after these special moments together.
That rail does creak nicely; think of all that open space behind you. Think of the drop. You better hope that rail isn't rusted through--pretty damp here, isn't it.
All right, Mulder, I think we're ready. See? I'm even putting the gun down. Isn't that nice of me?
You like this? It's a British commando knife. Designed as a bayonet, but it turns out to throw real well too. Versatile, like me. Isn't that blacked blade lovely? Makes you think of black ops, and black oil, and all those black secrets. But don't miss the lovely glitter on the edge. I wouldn't want you to think it wasn't sharp.
You know, Mulder, I must be sentimental. No, really. This was my father's knife.
Or at least that's what my mother said, as if she could know.
God, you're always the profiler, aren't you? I could see your eyelids tighten when I said that. Don't worry, nobody's gonna hold a surprise quiz.
Let's take a look at you. No, don't move, boychik! Look at that. Such a nice suit. And the way that shirt's snagging on the blade, it must be silk. Asshole.
Aw, is the little punk messing up your pretty pretty clothes? Such nice outfits, and all they cost is blood and death. And you call me a killer? Where the hell did you think your father made that money, Fox-cub? Do you like to think of that when you spend it? Here, let's get a little of your blood on this shirt just to remind you.
Yeah. I like you with blood running down your arm. Reminds me of our happy times together in the Old Country. No, hold still, or I'm going to nick your wrist when I cut your sleeve away.
There. Let me take a look. Is this where she shot you to save me? Pissed you off, didn't it. And these scars over here? No, I don't think I need to know; nothing to do with me.
Belt next. What, you thought I was gonna stop? Oh, no, Mulder. You've been pretty free with your fists on my body; now I'm going to get a good look at yours. Nice shape you keep yourself in. Some people have time to hang around the swimming pool; the rest of us have to get our exercise on the job.
All right, you can kick your shoes away. Do it, Mulder, or I'll cut them off too, and you know such expensive leather is tough enough I might slip and take a toe. That's better.
Christ, silk boxers? Hell, you probably have them hand-woven by virgin Armenian peasants or something. You always did have a knack with the serfs, you high-handed bastard. Of COURSE you talked those Russian half-wits into leaving your arm alone. They're still Czarists at heart, always willing to be ruled.
Me? I'm just another peasant, so they did me like the rest of them. Oh, yes, Mulder, I'm bitter. I remember you and your nose in the air every time I have to fumble around one-handed to do some stupid little job any asshole could do better.
God, you always were a sucker for guilt. Here, let me show you, that'll make you happy. Give me a minute; it's hard to get this jacket off these days. I suppose you don't like my ratty old T-shirt? Sorry I'm not in your fucking Armani class.
Clever little straps, aren't they? And such an ugly plastic turd to drag around. There you are. No, Mulder, look at it. Isn't it pretty, my little stump? Here, feel it under your chin. Heads up. Doesn't it make you feel even more superior to be whole?
You've always been superior, Mulder, without even trying. Prick.
I've hardly had your advantages, but I'm sure you don't care. Here, Mulder, one more thing before we get on with it. Don't move!
No, looks like I can't give you a cheap haircut with only one hand. Pity; I figured it'd be nice to see you in an uglier cut, something that didn't cost as much as a third-world country. But no. I guess I'll just have to pull a clump loose if I want a souvenir.
Are your eyes tearing up? Aw, that didn't even rip your scalp. Here, Foxy, let me wipe your eyes with the remains of your boxers.
I'll have to make my mark on you some other way. Now, hold VERY still. That's it. Feel the point against your carotid? Don't move, fucker, or I might slip. Don't move. Oh, yeah. Tha'sh ih.
God, Mulder, I like hearing you scream. Don't worry, I didn't actually break your collarbone; I just left a couple of toothmarks in it. Gonna scar pretty nicely, though. See this on my tongue, Mulder? That's a piece of you. You like it? Feels good in my mouth. Watch me swallow it now, Mulder. I said WATCH ME! Yeah, you'd almost forgotten that knife, hadn't you. Don't worry, I missed the carotid on purpose. But you are going to watch me.
There, that wasn't so hard, was it? I bet you like seeing me swallow. Close your eyes now, Foxy, I'm going to leave you a nice bloody lip-print on your eyelids.
Don't gag, now. If you throw up, I'll make you clean it up with your tongue.
That's it, just breathe deep and keep it down. Hey, now I've got aristocratic blood in me too. Isn't that something.
Now I want you to know a few things about me. Don't misunderstand me, Mulder. I don't want your sympathy, or your bloody condescension. I just want you to know how deep a shitpile you've let yourself fall into. You'll never wash yourself clean of me again.
This knife? Mom said it was my father's, but I don't know how she could know. He could have been anyone. Anyone with some money, or some secret she was supposed to get. Hell, it could have been your father, Mulder. Or the Morley-sucker. Wouldn't that be nice?
Did you know you saw my mother once, Mulder? Oh, not alive. But you must have seen her autopsy photos when you profiled the whole case. Me, I was sixteen. She'd sold me to a pimp and a spy years before, but I still saw her sometimes. Don't remember her? Marya Sheshkova. Actually, she was Irina Arntzen, but I don't think you ever knew her real name.
Yeah, that's the case. That serial killer who liked to stick nails through their eyes. Were they pretty pictures, Mulder? She used to be pretty.
I hope you appreciate the irony, I really do. All those years working both sides, KGB and the fucking Consortium, and who took her out? Just a fucking murderer who liked to kill whores.
Did you even care about the victims, Mulder, or was it just a brain game for you? Nobody cares about whores getting killed; the cunts are disposable. Did you think that, Mulder? Or did it turn you on, looking at the bodies and imagining what they'd been used for?
Don't give me that scowl, Mulder. You think I don't know you're kinked? You're the sick fucker who got hard when you were going to shoot me in Hong Kong.
Hell, of course I noticed. You were almost grinding against me, and I KNOW you didn't have a gun in your pocket.
Look at that twitch. Oh, God, Mulder, what a blush. If you live through tonight, you can hit me or shoot me, but you're always gonna know I saw you get hard tonight.
But you're out of luck. You're never laying hands on me again. I've had enough of that all my life. You think I didn't feel your eyes crawling over me back when I was with the Bureau? Made me sick, feeling that slime trail. Everybody thinks they own my body, nobody cares what I want, and I've had enough.
See this, Mulder? In the hollow under my left arm, under my stump? That's the signature of my pimp. The one my mother sold me to when I was twelve, when she got tired of pimping me herself. Hell, he said he loved me; he said that once I'd earned enough, we could run away together and leave all the spy shit behind. Last fucking time I believed in love.
But lust? Sure, I believe in that. I've had it shoved down my throat and up my ass and into a whole lot of places you don't even want to think about. I've given it away, sold it, traded with it, lost it at gunpoint, and had it beaten out of me. And I got caught for burglary once; rather than draw attention to what I was supposed to be stealing, my bosses let me take the rap.
I'd love to see you in a real prison someday, Fox. I don't think you can begin to imagine what those boys could do with a rich little snot like you. Hell, you ever end up behind bars, I'll do what I can to get there too. Something to look forward to.
This ruined old prison, it's nothing. But you can imagine it if you want to.
And now, Mulder, I'm going to touch you. Yes, there. Pretty little handful. You Jewish, or did your parents just believe in the hygiene theory?
Oh, you don't like the touch of my hand? Good. I'm sick of taking it up the ass and watching you sweep on by like your feet didn't have to touch ground. You can damned well feel me touching you. I want you to know what it's like to have another man's hands on you, especially when you hate him.
Don't bother getting hard, Mulder. I'm never going to turn a trick again. God, you make me sick. Maybe you'll settle back down if I squeeze these just a little harder...
Oh, yeah. I like that strangled scream. You get hard on me again, and I'm gonna let you play nice with Mister Knife.
I'm sick of all of it. Men's eyes, men's hands, men's dicks, and that godawful taste of cum. Makes me retch. So don't get your hopes up, Mulder, I'm not here to seduce you.
I'm here to fuck you. Just for me. Fuck your mind, fuck your body, fuck your soul. And you're never going to feel clean again. You shoot me, and you can damned well imagine my dead rotting dick up you for the rest of your life.
I don't know why you're such a snotty prick anyway. I mean, either your father is William Mulder, the scum behind Project Paperclip and some worse things I may tell you about someday, or else you've got cancer in your genes. You like that idea, Mulder? I can just see it, that black-lunged bastard sticking it up your mother. You like that? No, I didn't think you would.
Fascinating vocabulary you've got there, Mulder. Guess I hit you where it hurts. But you know, English obscenities just don't have the force of a nice guttural Russian curse.
So you don't like the idea of his stinking dick up your mama's wet hairy little high-class cunt? Too fucking bad. Hell, maybe I've got pictures. Maybe I'll send them to you someday. His hands digging into her tits, and his tarry black tongue in her mouth, thrusting---
Oh, Mulder, what a nerve I've hit. Here, let me help you imagine it further. You know what a smoker's mouth tastes like? I'll show you.
No, I'm not going to let you bite me. Thumb and finger at the back of your jaw, and you're going to open up for me like a horse taking a bit. But this is just for me. If I feel your tongue move, I'm going to cut it off.
Oh, yeah. Yeah. Such a sweet little mouth, Mulder. Taste the smoke on my tongue. Bitter, isn't it. Here, I'll wipe it around your mouth, give you all the flavor. That's what the old fucker must have tasted like.
Hold it in, Mulder. You really don't want to throw up on me right now.
Besides, could be worse. Could be diesel oil. Christ, I wish I had that fucking alien back in me just for the pleasure of vomiting it all out into your mouth and watching it fuck you in the eyes.
But let's get on with it. I don't have all night. Some of us actually have to work for a living.
God, I love it when you flinch. Regretting all those times you laid hands on me, Mulder? Well, now it's my turn. Christ, such soft little baby skin. Bet your buttcheeks bruise real well; let me give you some fingerprints there you can take back to your partner's lab, shall I? Oh look, my nails are actually drawing blood. Shoulda stopped on the way for a nice manicure, and maybe some expensive aftershave so you wouldn't have to smell real sweat. Sorry about that.
But we have a little problem now. I don't want you face-to-face like this; too close to old times for me. And I'm not fucking stupid enough to unlock you now; I know you'd tackle me even if I killed you for it. So I guess you'll have to sleep a little while. Oh yeah, Mulder, there we go. I always wanted to get my fingers into your throat. Remember when you half strangled me in Hong Kong? But you didn't bite me like this while you were doing it. I like this, your jaw and cheekbones and eyebrow ridges--no, I'm not even going to tear a chunk off again, I just like to gnaw on these--hey, you're the one who called me a rat, Mulder--and taste your sweat while you struggle so hard against me. I could get to like this. There you go. Just a few more seconds...
...heavy son of a bitch, aren't you, Mulder? Took a lot of trouble to get you like this. Don't hurt your pretty face on that chainlink now. Hey, I bet that brings back nice memories of Tunguska, doesn't it? And now you can get a better view of that three-story drop.
Yes, you did piss yourself, Foxy. How gauche. I'm shocked.
But I'm not done playing rat yet. Let's see if I can leave some nice bitemarks on your back and shoulders here. Oh, yeah. Sweet. Sweet... Ribs, too, and I didn't even bring my barbecue sauce. Don't struggle like that, Mulder, or you're going to dislocate your shoulder, and I'd need two hands to re-seat the bone.
You ever been marked like this before, Mulder? Ever had a man leave bruises on you that made you want to throw up every time you saw them? Well, it's time you learned what it feels like. I mean, you're the great profiler; think of it as research.
And I'm gonna leave a nice clear handprint on your hip here, boychik. Something else to remember me by.
Now let's see. I could really use some slick for my own comfort. But blood's a good lubricant, isn't it? Quit struggling. I think it's time you met Mister Knife again, just so he doesn't feel left out. I'll just sign my name on your shoulderblade. AK will do nicely. Did you know the letters are the same in both Russian and English?
Pretty. Oh, very pretty. Let me taste this--mm, blue blood. Sure looks red to me. You like my tongue on it? But the bleeding's slowing; I'll have to cut it a little deeper to slick myself up.
Oh, no, Mulder. I'm gonna ride you bare. Assault with a deadly weapon, maybe. Anything I've got, you're gonna get, 'cause I'm gonna come up your torn ass so hard... I don't know which would be better, your finding out that I gave you the skinnies, or your having to keep checking. No, I'm not gonna tell you which, Mulder. Let's keep it our little surprise, shall we?
Hey, I bet 50-weight diesel would make good slick. Aliens up your ass, wham! But this blood'll do to get started, and you're gonna give me more when I split your pretty hole.
Oh, yeah, feels so good when you fight me like that. Do it again. Like the feel of me between your cheeks? And now I want you to bellow for me, Mulder. Let it all out, or you're going to die from the pain of it when I...do...this!
Oh, yeah. Fuck, yeah. You're so tight, and when you struggle you clamp down on me so good... You screaming or swearing, Mulder? I like it.
You want the Truth, little fox? This is the truth. My cock up your ass, and how much it hurts. This is the real world, Mulder. Uhn-- Yeah. Oh, God. This is the real fucking world I've been living in all my fucking life. You like it? God--
I want you to remember this, boychik. I hear you got an eidetic memory. Uhn-- I want you to remember all of this, every thrust and scream and how fucking helpless you are, Mulder. Welcome to the real world. God, yes--
--Yes, oh yes-- Oh fuck, yes-- I'm gonna come in your ass, Mulder, right now-- God! Oh, God! Yesss---!
God, you feel so good. ...Let me just finish here, give you the rest of it... Oh, yeah... There.
Feel my come in you? Come and blood together, so hot. I'm slipping out now, Mulder. Yeah, I hear you grunt. I bet that hurts a lot. Well, it feels pretty damn good to me.
Oh, God, yeah. Give me a minute to catch my breath. I'm sure you won't mind if I rest against you; not like that could make it worse, could it. Oh, yeah.
Sweating on you too--I like feeling your back move when you heave like this. Yeah... So sweet, Mulder, just for me? You shouldn't have.
And now, Mulder, listen to me. I've got a couple of presents for you too. Here's the handcuff key; let me tuck it between your fingers so you can use it in a minute. But don't drop it, okay? You'd have a lot more explaining to do. Hell, there's probably some coats over in Lost and Found, so you won't have to shock the tourists in the morning.
And here's my other present, Mulder. This envelope contains evidence that's gonna let you save some lives in the Miller case. Yeah, I know you. If I just walked out of here, you'd do something stupid like kill yourself.
But I'm not kind enough to let you do that. You're the only one who can make sense of this evidence, and it's probably gonna take a week or more to solve the case. And by then, you coward shit, you'll have gotten used to living again.
Feel free to prove me wrong, of course. But if you pull that trigger or tighten that noose, you'll feel me inside you in hell. I'll read about it in the paper and laugh, and wipe my ass with your obituary, Mulder. You've lost.
You know, when I set this up, I was thinking about taking some souvenirs with Mister Knife. But I don't need to do that, do I, Mulder?
I've got your balls and your guts and your brains now.
And you're always gonna know they're mine.
Title: Lockdown II: Release
Author: Nonie Rider
Code: SA, m/m slash
Feedback: anything but full flames appreciated. I love detailed criticism when available, so I can make the story better.
Summary: A somewhat milder sequel to "Lockdown." Five months later, Mulder's response to Krycek, who brutally raped him in Alcatraz.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to my helpful betas Palinurus and Katja, with help from Te.
My stories are also archived at http://www.avalon.net/~nonie/slash.html.
Lockdown II: Release
by Nonie Rider
Hey, Krycek, you coming around? Actually, I guess I should call you Alex, since this IS our second date.
Don't panic about not being able to move. Ran into that muscle relaxant in an odd case in Seattle. I really don't share your love of handcuffs, so I thought this might be a good idea.
Scared? You should be. You hurt me pretty badly, you fucker. So right now I'm not giving you another chance at it.
I don't know whether the muscle relaxant lets you focus your eyes, though they do seem to be tracking somewhat. But you wouldn't recognize this place anyway. This is a friend's cabin in the Berkshires, and it's a little after sunset on Tuesday. He lent it to me for the autumn leaf viewing season. That a fair trade for that derelict prison you tricked me into back in May?
You son of a bitch.
So, let's do some viewing. Don't worry, you won't be too cold when I pull the blankets back; can you smell the wood smoke from the fireplace? These, by the way, are old linen and eiderdown. You sounded pretty resentful about the privileges of the rich, so I thought I'd share them with you.
Oh, yes, you do look nice that way. Mind you, you lack a certain something without that perpetual wary tension, but it's nice to see you utterly relaxed. I bet you'd look like this after sex, if you ever let yourself.
Yes, you're already stripped. I don't think you'd bathed for a week. But it's hard to get the full impression while wrestling a wet corpse in the shower, so I thought I'd take another look.
What an amazing number of scars, and that's just the ones that show. Must take a lot to stand up to that much pain; are you the captain of your soul, Alex, or just a timorous cowering beastie? Seeing you like this does remind me of the poets.
Here. I'm going to touch all your scars, feel them with my fingertips. Does this hurt, physically I mean? I'll be gentle.
Interesting texture, this stump. Looks like you needed several follow-up surgeries, which is hardly surprising. One of the benefits of America, comrade: better medical skills. Hmm, the shoulder isn't atrophying, so you must still use those muscles for the prosthesis.
And this must be that pimp's signature you were talking about, this combined E and S. I hope he's dead now? And all these bullet holes: my, my. You must be a survivor, or possibly a pasta strainer. What are these, knife or razor, or broken glass? But I know you can't answer me yet.
Fuck, those are cigarette burns on your shoulder, aren't they. Shit!
Oh, Alex, your poor knees. That's not just from sliding your bike a few times, is it. God... And that cut must have just missed the tendons in your foot. Your feet are cold, Alex. I'm going to warm them in my hands for a little while.
Here, I'll tuck the blankets back over them after I've turned you over. There we go. No, Alex, I'm not going to rape you. That's your game, not mine.
I'm going to make love to you. After a while, that is. And don't think I'm being kind; you handed me all your weaknesses on a platter in Alcatraz, so I know it's the cruelest thing I could do. Think about it as revenge, if you want. Or not.
Right now, though, I'm only looking. 'Whenas in black my Alex goes...' Sorry, I can't think of a poetic term for your leather jacket. Nice jacket, by the way; it's always suited you. I sent it to the cleaner, since your enemies could have tracked you from several blocks away just by the smell, and all the skunks in this valley were coming to mate with it.
This must be the exit wound from one of those bullets. How in hell did you survive this? And all those bite scars on your neck and shoulders; I rather expected those, after your comments in Alcatraz. Looks like they set pretty hard. I wonder if they infected, or if you doused them with hydrogen peroxide and lost another layer of flesh.
My bitemarks are all right, since you ask. (I'll assume you asked.) I doubt I'd have gotten around to getting help, so I'd probably have succumbed to various infections--God, Alex, you really tore me up inside. But when I finally got the handcuffs off, I took your advice and checked out the Lost & Found, and managed enough clothing that I wouldn't be arrested for indecent exposure on the boat back.
But not enough to entirely conceal what you'd done to me. One guy who came over on the first boat saw the facial bruising and the way I moved, and he turned around and took me straight onto the boat and said he was going to get me to help. He was gay, you know? Worked in a community clinic and an AIDS hospice, and knew what he was seeing. Hell, in San Francisco, I guess that's hardly coincidental.
It's a sad indictment of our society that some groups are so disenfranchised they find it necessary to band against the same system that provides the rest of us with the privileges they seek. But I suppose that's hardly news to you.
He and his lover took me in for a couple of days; I was too tired to even argue. So they stitched me up and gave me a cornucopia (a pharmacopia?) of antibiotics, kept me off the record, and generally pulled me back together while I read that file on the Miller case and made some phone calls.
And no, I don't appear to be HIV-positive. I assume you aren't either, and were just trying to scare me? I wonder how often you used to yell "Fire" in a crowded theatre when you were a kid. Or did you prefer "My snake got loose!"
I didn't tell Scully what you did to me, in case you're wondering. I told her you'd beaten me unconscious, which is pretty well true, and she apparently decided that was enough to account for the visible bruises and my mood. Moods. Yeah, I was pretty depressed and angry, just like you wanted. But I needed to finish the case. You son of a bitch, you planned that one just right.
But I've been talking for a while, and you're probably getting chilled. Here, let me pull the blankets back up; I can always admire your body art some other time.
You need to sleep. And I'm going to join you. No, Alex, I'm not going to do anything except hold you. Fully dressed. I hope you're not allergic to wool? Here, let me get an arm around you and settle you onto my shoulder. Are you crying?
Shh, shh, it's all right. It's all right, Alex.
Good morning, sunshine. Sorry the needle woke you up; you slept through last night's shot completely. I'm aiming for a lighter dose so you can regain a few voluntary motions, but I know better than to give you a chance to recover yet. You'd certainly kill me.
I'm afraid it's time for, how would you put it? Mister Bedpan. Look, I'm not trying to humiliate you here, and I promise it's better than losing control later. Believe me, I don't like this part any more than you do.
So let's see, some light conversation might be in order.
Hmm. You know, Krycek, even I find it hard to come up with witty repartee without a conversation partner.
I could recite the entire script of Godzilla Versus Mecha-Godzilla, but I gather from your expression that you'd prefer slow death by evisceration. What else can I think of? Usually I don't do soliloquies except when delivering reports.
Reports, that's a good idea. You're probably wondering how I tracked you down.
That crack you made back at Alcatraz about going to work told me that you'd come by a private boat rather than the tourist ferry, so I had three friends check out boat rentals. I can't believe you actually rented it rather than just stealing one; are you slipping, or did you want to be caught? But the ID you used matched up with some other information, and they were able to track a lot of your movements since then.
Monday, you checked into a cheap motel in Baltimore with the same ID. Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when we apparently get too tired or suicidal to deceive. But I suspect you were half trying to be caught. I don't know how you've kept yourself going since May; that must have left you with even less to live for than I had.
Here, let me empty this damned thing and clean you off. Never thought I'd end up as a valet.
I'll be back in a minute, Alex. I've got some soup warming on the stove, since I thought you could use some breakfast.
I'm back. This is clam chowder; you should be able to swallow the broth if we're both careful. Silver spoon to complete the decadence. There you go. There you go. Yeah.
Don't drool, Alex, or I'll have to get you a bib. Hey, that's a good glare. You must be recovering at least a little bit. I'll have to watch that.
So, where were we? I told you how we found you, but not why. You see, one of the reasons I survived what you did to me is that you gave someone besides myself to think about. No, really.
You really shouldn't vent in front of a supposedly brilliant profiler like myself unless you want to be analyzed. So, did you?
I don't believe you're stupid enough to envy me. Jesus, Krycek, couldn't you pick someone worth it? Would you REALLY have wanted my father, or my sister? Hell, if you want to envy someone, I could suggest enough better candidates to fill a phone book.
But no, you picked me to hate. Was it your mother's murder that started that, the fact that I solved it when you couldn't? Or something later, in the FBI? Or just my conversational brilliance and natty collection of baseball cards?
You told me too much even while you were raping me, Alex. You told me how lonely you are, and how desperately you want to love and be loved. And you made it clear how obsessed you are with everything I do. You fucking idiot, why didn't you just ASK? Did it ever occur to you that it might have been mutual? I could hardly make the first move on a junior agent without some sign of interest. But no, you'd rather go for rape. You fucking asshole.
Not very bright, either. You try so hard to play the tough guy, and then you show me how much you're hurting.
You know why we reacted so strongly to each other from the beginning, Krycek? Alex? It's because we recognized each other.
We'd never met, but we both knew that pain when we saw it.
I don't mean you didn't fool me at first; you're really quite good at deception. But even when I still thought you were an eager young rookie who worshipped the halls I walked in, I wondered who had put those shadows in your eyes.
You want to know how I survived Alcatraz, Alex? It's because every bruise and tear you gave me was a yell, maybe not for help, but for me to hear you. And I did.
Don't misunderstand me. I didn't like being raped, or even handcuffed and beaten. But all along I could see the subtext, and it gave me a puzzle that pulled me through.
So you can treat this as an answer, or as revenge. I'm going to give you what you want most, which is also what you'd kill to avoid. Tough luck, Alex. It's my turn to call the shots.
Alex? Stop pretending you're asleep; I've got to get some liquids in you. --Let's skip the jokes, shall we? Hope you don't mind slightly lukewarm cocoa, but I didn't want to burn your mouth.
That's good. No, don't try to move; I'll hold the cup steady. Here.
Let me just set this down. It's time for me to have a taste, and not just of cocoa.
God, Alex, so soft-- I thought your mouth would be hard like the rest of you, all muscle and grit. Jesus.
Are you kissing me back, or trying to bite me? Just feeling your lips try to move is making my hair stand on end. God, Alex--
I didn't know it would feel like this. Yeah, Alex, go ahead and laugh, or is that a snarl? But I've never kissed a man before. This is all new to me-- well, except for the usual teenage handjob, and one extremely drunken grope at Oxford.
And here you made my first real experience a particularly brutal rape. Fuck, Alex, you really know how to show a guy a good time.
No, I'm not kinky enough to have enjoyed that. It was months before I could even stand to see myself in the shower, and I still can't--can't touch myself. I'm sure you're gloating, but remember: I'm the one in charge this time.
But through all the hate I saw the need in your eyes. And you told me--I hadn't known, but I believed you immediately--that when I was hitting you in Hong Kong, my... my getting hard wasn't just because of the violence.
And now I can't get you out of my head.
But I don't forgive it, Krycek. Not the rape, not my father's death, none of it. So this isn't about love; this is a counterpunch to the gut. I'm gonna hurt you more with kindness than any of those scars hurt when you got them.
No mercy, no quarter.
Hey, Alex, that shower felt pretty good. You want one yourself if-- Alex?
Jesus Alex how did you get your head under that pillow did you slip or were you trying to kill yourself O God you were--Alex!
Breathe. Breathe, you son of a bitch.
God DAMN it, Alex! Don't ever--
You fucking idiot! I don't think it's even possible to suffocate yourself that way, but--
Jesus. Yeah, that's it, breathe in. Again. Again.
That's better. Here, let me prop your head up again, take some of that strain off your neck. That better?
Damn it! I can't-- I--
I just can't--
...All right, Alex, you win. I give up. I just can't do this any more.
Satisfied? Yeah, you're a better rapist than I am. Hope you're proud of it. Damn you! I wanted so badly to pay you back for Alcatraz, but I just can't do it. Fuck!
I give up.
What the hell am I going to do with you? It'll be several hours before this morning's dose wears off, and you probably won't have your full strength back until this evening. Damn it, I want to put one bullet right through your head, for my father and for what you did to me, but I just can't do it. Not when you're helpless. I'm not you, Alex.
So you win.
And I--shit, I don't know what to do with myself either. I just-- There's no point-- Oh, hell, Alex, I don't know if I can stand to go back and--
I am NOT crying. It's that goddamned smoke. I'm--
Still there, I see. All this pacing, and I still don't-- I can't--
You were right, Alex. I don't even have the guts to end it. For either of us. But I don't know how to keep going, either.
Hell, I'll just leave it to you. Take it as an apology. What was it you said in Hong Kong, "Finish it"? Well, now it's my turn. Finish it, Krycek. Kill me and get it over with. I won't even try to stop you. Not unless you try to hurt yourself instead.
It's gonna be a long afternoon waiting for you to get your strength back. Here, I'll leave you my gun; that should make it easier.
And until then--
I'm gonna be cruel or kind or whatever it is, one more time. I'm going to lie down and hold you until then, skin to skin, and share a little illusory warmth before the end. No rape, no sex, just clinging like a frightened child, or as though you were the child, and feel a human touch one last time.
It's been so long since I held someone, or was held. Even now, this feels so good.
And you, Alex, can you even remember the last time you let yourself feel? Go ahead, feel me holding you. There's no threat, Alex. Even drugged, you're stronger than I am. You're in charge.
Is that a smile, Alex? It's hard to see. I didn't mean to cry in your hair. Oh God, your hand--
Title: Lockdown III: Seven Gates
Author: Nonie Rider
Code: SA, m/m slash, possible character death. DARK
Feedback: hell yess!
Summary: Seven possible endings to Lockdown II: Release. Hey, I told you there wouldn't be a sequel, but I didn't promise there wouldn't be some speculation... <dark grin>
This is actually about a year old; it's been sitting on my hard drive because I originally thought there would be twelve gates, not seven. Finally realized it was already complete.
My stories are also archived at http://www.avalon.net/~nonie/slash.html.
Lockdown III: Seven Gates
by Nonie Rider ()
-- Don't call me that. Uh...
=Idiot. All we've done to each other, and you complain about words?
-- What else is there?
=This, Fox. And this.
-- Oh... Oh!
=Did you really expect me to kill you? No, don't answer that, stupid. So it was mutual, huh. Really? Even that long ago?
=Call me Alex. Aleksei, Alyosha, Sasha, whatever. Krycek's not even my real name.
-- So now the words matter to you too, huh?
=Oh, shut up. Shut up and kiss me.
-- Yes. Oh, yes....
Old Mattie had gone up in the hills birdwatching, but even as the sunset light faded from the highest golden branches, she was in no hurry to head back. The moon was apple-yellow on the horizon, the cicadas were singing, and she could see the flicker of zigging bats even though it was many years since she could hear them calling. The faint smell of leafsmoke was pleasant on the wind.
She thought it was a hunter, when she heard the shot.
"Nyet! Nyet, Mama, pazhal'sta... Prastitye, Mama, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please don't hurt me.... Nyet!"
"Alex. Alex! Wake up. It's all right. Wake up."
"Kto ti-- M-Mulder?"
"It's all right, Alex. You're gonna be okay."
"Mulder...? What-- Shit, Mulder, what are you doing in my bed? Wait, this isn't... What the fuck?"
"Where are we? What are you-- Why are you here? Jesus, Mulder, didn't you get enough in Alcatraz? And how the hell did you find me?"
"Krycek, don't you remember this last couple of days?"
"Uh... Is this Baltimore?"
"Not exactly.... I must have miscalculated the dosage."
"Of what? Mulder, if you're running fucking tests on me I'm gonna kill you. I'm not your goddamned lab rat."
"Okay, let's start over..."
Got you! Don't bother fighting; from this angle you can't get my fingers off your throat in time. Bye-bye, sucker. I don't believe you were stupid enough to fall for that fake suicide attempt with the pillow. Aw, did I make widdle Mulder feel all guilty-poo? Too bad.
I knew you couldn't go through with this; you've always been too weak. And I've never been weak, Mulder. That's why you're the one who took it up the ass.
I don't know why I bothered to let you live the first time. Goodbye, Fox William Mulder; give my regards to your fucking daddy in Hell.
Meanwhile, since you're going to be out of the picture, I think it's time to pay a little visit to your bitch-girl Scully. After all, she's expendable now. And I can tell her all about Alcatraz while I take my time with her. Won't that be fun?
But he crouched beside Mulder's cooling body until a sudden gust of wind rattled the shutters and brought him to himself. Then, empty, he reached for the bedside table.
Walking up her porch steps, Old Mattie heard the shot.
Shhh. Hush, love, it's all right. I'm here.
Archived: 19:10 03/15/01