Extreme Measures (2/?)

by Sagittarius325

Title: Extreme Measures - Chapter Two

Author: Sagittarius325

Email: Sagittarius325@hotmail.com

Part: 2 of ?

Season: Five - Post The End/Pre Fight the Future

Spoilers: Deep Throat, Tooms, Ascension, Apocrypha, Little Green Men, Memento Mori, Pine Bluff Variant, Folie a Deux, Patient X, The Red and The Black, The End, Fight the Future, any Krycek episodes

Rating: NC-17 most definitely

Pairing: Mulder/other, Mulder/Krycek

Warnings: This fic depicts extremely graphic m/m interaction, rape, non-consensual sex, violence and bad language. If any of these subjects offends you, if you are underage or the laws of your country prohibit you from reading such material, then go no further!

Summary: When interests converge, the Consortium goes to extreme and horrifying lengths to destroy Mulder.

Disclaimer: The characters Mulder, Krycek, Scully, Skinner, Cancer Man, Well Manicured Man etc are the properties of CC and other fortunate people. No infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: Ok, just an added warning - there is a graphic rape scene in this one, so skip to chapter three if that disturbs you and I'll explain from there...

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CHAPTER TWO - Taking...

A low, faint thrumming soothed the man into a gentle waking. Warmth surrounded a body that trembled and shook with weakness, a dry, aching thirst scouring his throat with every breath he took. A hand touched his face, took his chin in a light grip, and he cried out silently in fear, unable to move, to open his eyes, to see...

Something damp was brushed gently across his face, in a soft, encouraging motion and a moment later a cool rim was pushed insistently to his lips.

"Drink Fox. I know you are thirsty."

And he obeyed, letting the sweet liquid trail down his throat in relief. Sluggishly, he opened his eyes, then quickly lowered them to mere slits as the world about tilted crazily. Arms pulled him against a warm, hard body, anchoring him and he was grateful.

"Just rest, Fox. Sleep," he was urged.

And he did.

---

Hands, insistent and unsolicited, gripped his arms, dragging him out from a deep slumber. His head lolled backwards and he saw a sky, overcast and gray, before someone took his head and supported it.

"Be careful," a voice chided. "Gently now."

Slowly, he was delivered from the darkness, the blanket around his shoulders slipping into a puddle at his feet, the cold metal of the car door rapidly cooling his burning skin where it touched. Gravel crunched loudly underfoot, a large bulk moving inwards, a strong arm coming up under his knees, behind his back, lifting.

The sky spun, darkening, and his left arm flopped uselessly, out-flung. Someone caught it and tucked it against his chest and he shivered in the cool air.

"Take him inside. Quickly now, before he chills."

Lumbering steps crossing the gravel, then the sky gave way to a cool, marble ceiling, a warm rush of air that made him drowsy.

"Upstairs, Eugene."

More movement that tired him; an ascent, footsteps echoing loudly on wooden stairs, across a wooden floor. Then he was sinking into a cushioned warmth, grateful for the respite, the rest. He allowed his head to fall back against a cool pillow, too weary to do little else. Another warmth covered him, wrapping around bare skin where his thin T-shirt failed to cover. Something plucked at his feet, removing his heavy boots and he sighed, stretched and drifted.

---

A voice, male and accented, murmured quietly above him, questioning, appraising. Fingers ghosted through his hair, touched his face, his cheeks, his mouth. The gestures were uncomfortably intimate and he shifted, shrinking back as warm lips brushed his forehead.

"It's alright Fox, my Fox."

Fox, he thought. My name. Yet no recognition stirred within, no memories to accompany the peculiar designation.

The disembodied fingers continued their exploration, stroking, touching, caressing and he shivered, opening his eyes. A man was perched at his side, watching him with avid interest. Dark, gold-flecked eyes set in a strong, tanned face; late fifties, with short, black hair smoothed back into a widow's peak; a suit that looked expensive...

The man smiled indulgently at this focused scrutiny, then reached out to smooth the quilt away to bare one arm. "Fox," he repeated, slowly trailing a hand down its length.

Fox's eyes left the man to take in his surroundings, hungrily filing away every part and parcel of information that came into his line of sight. To the right, large, clear doors displayed a dark, night sky beyond, but little else. The bedside lamp had been considerately dimmed at some point as he lay sprawled on the bed, but a thin sliver of bright light spilled in from a half-cracked doorway. The bedroom to which he had been brought was opulent, with dark, lavish furnishings that spoke of unaccountable wealth and unashamed decadence. It held an unmistakable masculine quality, showing no signs of the small, feminine touches that betrayed a woman's presence.

Fox's circular investigations eventually brought his focus back to the man, whose burning touch was now trailing across his chest, the barrier of soft cotton the only thing preventing contact with skin. Something in that touch wasn't welcome, wasn't...right, and Fox forced sleepy muscles to push himself upright and away from the too-familiar handling. The man rocked back, then stood, the mattress groaning as it was relieved of his weight.

Fox swung long legs out from under the thick cover quilt and across the other side of the bed, planting his bare feet unsteadily on the carpeted floor. "Where am I?" His voice was hoarse and plaintive, and that of a stranger. 'Who am I?' might have been a more appropriate question, but one he didn't voice aloud. He didn't look back towards the man, but plucked at the quilt, feeling the tiny weaves running through its pattern, as he was given his answer.

"You are in my house, my little pet. My home. My name is Hans Brueller and I am your owner."

At those words, Fox threw a look over one shoulder and finally met the other man's eyes. "My...owner?" he repeated, blankly. Something was wrong, something that curled in fear inside him. A person couldn't be owned, could he? Yet memories, vague and intangible, stirred at the back of his mind. A woman, red-haired and angry, with fierce blue eyes that had turned to a spitting cobalt...

You knew about this...you knew about this the whole time!...

"Your mistress has sold you, Fox," Brueller was saying. He moved silently round the bed, reaching down and stilling Fox's distressed fingers with a warning pressure. "She has sold you to me."

His mistress, with blazing hair, a fiery temper, calling his name. Not Fox. Something else. His whole body began to shake, pain lancing at his temples as he struggled, unable to recall...

"You cannot remember." Brueller's words could have been an order or a statement of fact. "Something terrible happened, my pet...it is best that you don't remember."

With that, Fox sagged in release. He didn't have to remember, he didn't. Brueller said he didn't. And Brueller was his master now. He glanced up once more at the larger man, stilling instinctively as Brueller's grip on his hands tightened possessively.

"You are mine," the other man said, clear and strong, permitting no room for challenge. It was almost as if he expected one.

Suddenly, Brueller moved back and raised his head. Another man appeared at the silent signal, stepping around the bed, and Fox stifled a murmur of surprise. He hadn't heard the other enter the room, guessed that he was one of Brueller's servants.

Brueller turned to look at Fox, sitting hunched on the bed and reached out to draw the cover away from the younger man's body. Fox slid his hands up to his arms, unconsciously hugging himself as he was exposed, skin rippling into gooseflesh.

Brueller straightened and stepped back, perching one hip against the dresser behind. "Stand up Fox."

Legs protested the movement, muscles strained to comply, but Fox obeyed, weaving slightly, his balance uncertain.

"Remove your clothes."

The command was unexpected, demanded refusal. Fox didn't dare raise his eyes as he balked at the order.

Brueller sighed impatiently. "Daniel, help him."

The other man moved, tall and thin, but with whip corded muscles that shifted purposefully under dark skin. Hands grasped the hem of Fox's T-shirt and tugged it over his torso, took hold of each arm in turn and manoeuvred them through the sleeves, then slid the shirt up and off.

The servant moved round and pragmatically began unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, before pushing them downward with practised ease. The pale boxers followed and a moment later Fox found himself naked before the two clothed men, all too conscious of the bed behind him. Brueller's gaze roamed freely, hungrily, and Fox's hands jerked in an urge to cover himself.

Daniel appeared indifferent as he gathered the discarded clothes and headed out of the room. Fox watched him leave, wanting his clothing back, wanting the blanket and the earlier haze back. He started when he found Brueller before him. He hadn't heard the other man move.

Close now, Fox could see into Brueller's eyes, watching them smoulder like slow coals on a fire, dark and intense with heat. Brueller reached up, ignoring the rigid stance of the younger man, and caressed Fox's jaw, stroking the off centre mole with his thumb, then moved round to touch his lips.

"Beautiful," Brueller breathed, then tilted his head, replacing his fingers with his mouth.

The intimate gesture caused Fox to pull away and, without warning, his new owner grabbed the back of his head and forced their mouths to mate, deepening the kiss, ravishing the other without regard for pain or air. Then just as abruptly, Brueller released him and took a step back to regard his handiwork.

Fox stumbled slightly, catching his breath. He reached up without thinking and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, trying to erase the taste of the other man's saliva. Instead of taking offence, Brueller simply smiled.

"You were always coy, Fox," he said, conversationally. "I used to observe how you flirted with those around you, men and women alike, though you were never conscious of it. Yet as soon as anyone took notice, you took flight. Like a frightened...little...Fox."

With those last, punctuated words Brueller backed Fox against the bed, the mattress closing in from behind.

"No." The word came out of Fox desperate and wild. He didn't want this, didn't want this man touching him, kissing him...

"Yes," Brueller countered, reaching out to grab a tense arm. "You belong to me, Fox. To me."

"Don't." This time it was a plaintive plea.

But Brueller's hands caught him, held him. He felt their warm, sweaty palms slide down his naked back, his chest, his ribs, his abdomen. It became hard to breathe, as the caresses became more private, more...intimate. A hand circled his flaccid cock, gave it an experimental stroke, moved down to cup his balls, weighing them, then drifted upwards to rest on one chilled hip.

The rasp of Brueller's clothes against his bared skin raised more goose bumps and Fox gasped. He was turned in the other man's arms, the hands on his hips sliding down to his buttocks, caressing, kneading, spreading...

He lunged forward, away, but Brueller grabbed the back of his neck. His new owner's strength alone was terrifying and Fox found himself slowly forced to his knees. Brueller pushed him forward, face first into the bed's mattress and he dug his fingers into the sheets as the rough explorations continued.

Something slick and blunt entered between his buttocks, and Fox jumped and bucked, panicked.

"Easy," Brueller murmured, his voice close to Fox's ear. The thing probed him, finding his opening. "Breathe, Fox."

Then it was pushing into him, breaching the tight muscle, entering his anus and he cried out in confusion at the unfamiliar, uncomfortable sensation.

"Ssh, it's just a finger," Brueller continued, unmindful of the distress he was causing.

His hand was firm and steady against Fox's neck, his thumb coaxing the tender skin behind the younger man's ear in some grotesque parody of gentleness. Fox felt the other man shift, working to press the thick digit further into him, and when he was silently begging for the intruder to go no further, it suddenly halted its advance.

Brueller leaned in closer, his breath hot against Fox's neck. "You've never been with a man before, have you my pet," he said, huskily. "I always wondered, always thought..."

Then the finger was withdrawn with painful abruptness and Fox slumped forward, hands curled into half fists. When he finally recovered enough strength to push himself upright, he sagged back onto the bed, naked and shuddering, a puddle of frightened, humiliated flesh.

Brueller stood before him, wiping his hands on a cloth. "You belong to me Fox," he said, his expression unreadable. "And there are certain things I expect from my property."

Fox didn't raise his eyes, couldn't move, could barely utter, "W-what things?" in a stutter that wasn't caused entirely by the cool air.

"You will obey me. You will do whatever I require of you, without question. Understand?"

No, Fox thought, miserably, then blanched as the servant, Daniel stepped into view. How long had he been there? Had he seen what Brueller had done? No matter that this was the man who had undressed him in the first place, Fox covered himself with his hands, ashamed now by his nakedness.

Whatever he might have observed, the servant ignored Fox, attending instead to the master of the house. With careful deliberation, the dark man began to strip Brueller of his clothing, unmindful of modesty, taking his time with the expensive suit, the silk shirt, the gold cufflinks.

Watching, Fox felt a sudden tilting surge of vertigo, of other worldliness, that what was happening wasn't real somehow. He blinked slowly, sensing himself as if from a great distance, apart from the scene unfolding before him.

It was the emergence of Brueller's huge, blood filled erection that snapped Fox from the engulfing haze. This was what he had been sold for. To spread his legs, to whore himself for his new master. To do whatever was required of him, because he belonged to Brueller, and Brueller could do whatever he wanted...

"You may go," Brueller, now stripped, was telling his servant and Daniel departed.

Then the golden gaze fell on Fox, the lidded eyes revealing heated desire, Brueller's thick cock swaying for attention. Unclothed, the older man looked different, less cultured, less civilised, his physique speaking of a man used to gaining what he desired by brute force. The undisguised hunger in Brueller's eyes was that of a lion on the prowl and Fox closed his eyes.

Whatever life he had once enjoyed, this was the nightmare he had been reborn into. He was Brueller's, to do whatever his master demanded, to be whatever his master required. The thought was at once both strangely liberating and terrifyingly wrong, grating against his new found sense of self.

Fox shook his head in denial as Brueller's weight descended on the bed, shifting the mattress. *It isn't me, this isn't me.* Fox repeated the litany as he was covered by the heavy, masculine body and pressed down into the covers, but found he was unable to dislocate, to detach himself enough to escape back to that momentary 'other'.

Brueller captured his lips, tasting them, then running a rough tongue over their silken surface, a big cat scouring its meat in preparation for consumption. His hard, wet erection pressed into Fox's hip as his tongue became more insistent, probing at the clench of teeth. Fox felt his jaw grasped, pried open by strong, bruising fingers, and then the insidious tongue invaded his mouth, wet and thick, tasting of coffee and the unfamiliar breath of another man.

It was too much and Fox gagged, pushing futilely at the strong shoulders, needing to breathe, needing to be somewhere, anywhere else. Brueller shifted slightly, grabbed Fox's wrists in one powerful hand and pinned them above the pillow.

"Do you know," Brueller said softly to the squirming man beneath, "how many times I have fantasised about these lips, this mouth...this ripe, suckable...fuckable...mouth." He groaned as he leaned down for another, fuller taste, then slid away. He continued his explorations, trailing upwards along the jaw-line, burying his nose into the soft, brown hair above the ear, before moving down to suck on one lobe.

Fox gasped aloud, strained briefly against Brueller's cruel grip, then subsided in exhaustion. The heavy body covering his responded eagerly to his movements and his master slid one large thigh between Fox's, spreading his legs, nudging his flaccid cock.

"You want this," Brueller murmured into his ear, blowing cool air onto the warm, wet skin. "You've always wanted this."

No, Fox shook his head silently.

If Brueller saw, he gave no sign, instead moved his attentions downwards, tasting Fox's skin as he went, his free hand roaming, caressing the younger man's trembling flank in long, possessive strokes. When he took one nipple in his mouth and nipped, Fox cried out and arched into the heated body above, then flopped back down with a whimper as Brueller licked the dusky nub.

He hissed and threw back his head as Brueller's callused hand found the other nipple and pinched lightly. The contrast of a warm mouth and rough palm were too much for Fox and his own cock twitched rebelliously in appreciation. Brueller, sensing the change, sighed out his own pleasure as he stole a glance at Fox's flushed face.

"Slut," Brueller whispered, darkly, and his hand left its task to wind slowly down the trembling body, slipping underneath to cup one rounded buttock.

His touch translated into sudden fear, and Fox stilled beneath that kneading hand. Brueller moved his body upwards, grinding his hard length against Fox's, before lifting his head to stare into his newest acquisition's eyes. "Roll over."

He released Fox's wrists and shifted his weight aside, his hand falling to Fox's bare hip, nudging, pushing insistently until Fox complied. And suddenly Brueller was on top of him, quicker than Fox had given him credit for, pinning him face down among the pillows. The younger man was unable to even struggle and his breathing hitched into short, horrified gasps.

"Relax," Brueller commanded, rearranging himself so that one knee was planted between Fox's thighs, and one hand was gripping the scruff of the younger man's neck, pushing his face into the pillows. "I will not hurt you unnecessarily, Fox. Relax and it will go easier."

*Oh god, no,* Fox thought, desperately, hearing a snap, before something slick and cold was squirted between his buttocks.

"It is alright," Brueller said, softly, leaning forward, stroking his bare back, fingers tracing each knot on the slender spine, moving on an unerring, downward course. "I am just going to open you up a little first."

And then the finger was back between Fox's buttocks, sliding in with less resistance this time, quickly making a place for itself. The second finger was more difficult to take, but Brueller waited until Fox's muffled yells had died down before scissoring the digits to stretch and loosen.

"You are so tight," Brueller grunted from somewhere above. "I do not think I can...I want you..."

The probing fingers were suddenly pulled free and Fox heard foil tearing, then a wet slapping sound, had only a moment to wonder, before Brueller's weight descended once more on his bare back and thighs. Strong legs inserted themselves between Fox's own and ruthlessly pushed them apart, spreading him. His wrists were trapped and pinned above his head, before Brueller insinuated an oiled hand between their sweat-slicked bodies. He used it to part Fox's buttocks, and a thick, blunt presence eagerly forced its way between. Someone cried out in the darkness, as Brueller's cock was nudged against the tight core of heat that marked the entrance to Fox's body.

"Take a breath, Fox," came the panting demand, then Brueller draped his body more firmly over Fox's and thrust.

The pain was incredible, punishing. Fox felt his anus stretched to accommodate the huge, slick mass, felt as if he was being ripped in two by it. His scream as he was opened by another man's cock was muted only by the pillows. He wanted to close his legs, to pull away, but Brueller was too strong and heavy, and he was too tired and weak to fight back.

Stop, he tried to say, *you're hurting me.* But he had lost whatever air was in his lungs with his shout of pain.

Helplessly, Fox could do nothing but gasp for breath and feel as Brueller grunted again, and began pushing deeper, insistently inside him. There was a momentary lull in the agony as the swollen cockhead moved passed his sphincter, and then a thick, relentless slide began.

"So tight," Brueller was panting, hoarsely. "So tight..." He grunted with effort, meeting resistance, overcoming it with the simple expediency of overwhelming force.

Fox squeezed his eyes shut, choking in distress. He howled once more when Brueller ground his hips downwards in an attempt to force himself all the way in and finally succeeded in sheathing his cock in the tight channel, his swollen balls pressed against the tender skin of Fox's buttocks.

Long moments passed, both men heaving as if having run a race. As the pressure and pain faded to an almost tolerable degree, Fox became aware of other discomforts; prickly, pubic hair scratching at his anus; the fierce grip Brueller kept on his wrists; the searing stretch of his rectum as he was filled by Brueller's cock.

"Good...good...so good..."

Brueller's passion filled sigh made him start, then cringe as a hand began to stroke his hair.

"You are doing...so well...so well..."

Brueller trailed off, and he shifted his hips, his breath a hot, steady stream against the back of Fox's neck. The hand left Fox's hair and ran down his flank, sweaty skin against chilled flesh, then clamped down on one hip. He felt Brueller begin to withdraw a little way inside him, a lessening of the filling pressure, of discomfort.

Before returning as his master began to gently thrust. The hand on Fox's hip tightened, holding him in place as Brueller moved, opening him up, using the natural tightness of the rectum sheathing his cock to stimulate and pleasure. The man above started grunting and panting in time to his shallow movements, the sound loud over the unmistakable slap of flesh on flesh.

Rutting noises turned to low, guttural cries, as the painful movements became harder, quicker, mindless in the pleasure of a building, imminent orgasm. Fox's wrists were abruptly released as Brueller's hand joined its companion on his other hip, bruising fingers gripping as the man above gave one final, convulsing thrust, pulled Fox tight against him, and came with a triumphant shout.

Then slumped forward, catching himself on his hands before he could crush the man beneath. There was a gasping interval of some seconds, then Brueller carefully withdrew, holding the condom he had used firmly in place. He threw it aside, then collapsed beside Fox, absently pulling the covers up over both of them, giving his possession an incongruous kiss on one bare shoulder.

"Thank you, my pet. That was lovely."

Eyes wide and wounded, the pupils dilated to swallow pigment, Fox shook silently. He felt Brueller move to gather up his trembling form, and stiffened, before surrendering to the strength of his rapist's arms. Brueller held him all the tighter, murmuring soft, calming endearments and, gradually, the drugs and exhaustion and sex took their toll, and everything fell away as Fox slept.

END OF CHAPTER TWO

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