In Deep

In Deep

by Sagittarius325

Title: In Deep
Author: Sagittarius
Email: Sagittarius325@hotmail.com
Part: 1 of 1
Season: One
Spoilers: Deep Throat
Rating: NC-17 for adult themes...sex in other words
Pairing: Mulder/Krycek
Warnings: Why, slash of course. If that offends you or you are underage then go no further.
Summary: Consortium agent Alex Krycek stumbles across a drugged and captured Fox Mulder for the very first time.
Disclaimer: The characters Fox Mulder and Alex Krycek etc are the properties of CC and other fortunate people. No infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Since I've had so much fun slashing X-Files episodes, I decided to try another one. Well, with a title like Deep Throat, how could I resist : ) Many, many thanks to Vyper, whose expert corrections proved invaluable.

With a negligent flick of his wrist, Alex Krycek tossed the file back over the desk and leaned back in his chair to stretch out long, jean-clad legs, ignoring the withering glare the languid action earned him as the man opposite scrambled to gather up the spilled pages.
"I doubt your employer will appreciate that attitude, Krycek," the man snapped, shuffling the folder into order before scooting across on his chair to place the precious burden into the filing cabinet.
Roused from boredom, Alex frowned at the poorly veiled threat. Who did this pencil-pushing asshole think he was dealing with? "I'd worry less about me," he advised the man across the desk, "and more about your own skin, Moore."
The other man jerked at that, for a moment unable to conceal the constant, driving fear that he might fail, that he might become expendable to the project after so many years of loyal service.
"What the fuck would you know, you little prick?" Moore spat back, pressing sweaty palms onto the table in anger as he half rose from his chair. "You don't know shit about this project." He took a breath to calm himself and smiled unpleasantly. "Now why don't you run along like the errand boy you are, Krycek, and inform the real players that everything's running smoothly and according to the timetable..."
"You call the presence of two FBI Agents smooth running?" Alex countered harshly, stung, despite himself, by the errand boy comment. Sure, that was in essence what Smoky was using him for, but Alex was young and cunning, and possessed of a ruthless ambition that even his cancerous employer admired. It wouldn't be long before men like Moore would be practicality begging for the privilege of kissing his boots.
"It's being taken care of as we speak," Moore replied, somewhat smugly, shattering the brief, but pleasant illusion.
"How?" Alex demanded, straightening, praying the man wasn't as stupid as he appeared. The murders of two FBI Agents would cause a furore that none of them could afford at the present time.
"Agent Mulder broke into the base and trespassed on a sensitive area," Moore informed him. "He observed one of our craft out on maneuvers and was taken into custody," he paused to check his watch, "around two hours ago. We're well within our rights to detain him, no matter what channels his superiors might go through obtain his release."
Alex was about to question why the man hadn't simply been shot on sight, a legitimate recourse that would have solved the problem easily, when the name Moore had spoken came back to him. Mulder. Agent Fox Mulder. Of course.
Alex had spent many an hour enclosed with the old men who spoke of nothing but the intractable FBI Agent, bemoaning their inability to correct the young man who remained protected and untouchable. For to eliminate him would be to risk a father's wrath, a man that, having lost one child, would have absolutely nothing left to lose should the other be taken as well. A man who already knew enough secrets to become a credible threat to the Consortium should he choose.
"What are your plans for Agent Mulder?" Alex asked, more from curiosity that any real purpose. He'd seen the man's file which bespoke of a brilliance sadly wasted on such a hopeless cause. And a picture that had been enough to fuel several leisurely jerking off sessions under the spray of the shower when the comfort of having a warm body in his bed had been temporarily unobtainable.
Moore had relaxed back into his chair now, seemingly satisfied that pecking order had been established with himself emerging on top. Alex would allow the illusion if it meant learning more of the aptly named Fox Mulder's fate.
"We'll have to take the memories of tonight, of course," Moore was explaining, his finger's steepled as he peered thoughtfully into space, one man clinically planning the dissection of another. "But since this opportunity has arisen, your employer has seen fit to inform us that a little re-education wouldn't go astray for Agent Mulder. Something to make him a little more pliable, a little more susceptible to certain orders that the Consortium might choose to make in the future."
"You're gonna rewire his brain, in other words," Alex interrupted. "Turn him into some Consortium lapdog...if you don't turn him into vegetation first."
Moore scowled, obviously displeased at the mention of his recent failures. "As I explained to your employer, the procedure is delicate, not something that can be forced. We discovered that mistake with McLennen. Buddahas, however, was more successful, would have been perfect if those Agents hadn't shown up and forced us to release him early."
"So you're planning on keeping Mulder here for some time," Alex said, wondering selfishly if he could somehow get to see the man in person. If a sterile, FBI-issue picture could send him into a sexual frenzy, what could the real thing do for him?
"It's perfectly legal and within the military's jurisdiction," Moore continued. "Once we've sent his partner scurrying back to Washington, it will be weeks before a hearing can be convened, but by that time, it won't matter."
Weeks, Alex pondered, suddenly presented with a plethora of delightful possibilities regarding his healthy infatuation with the FBI Agent. If Spender had sanctioned Mulder's `re-education' then that meant someone would be assigned to report back to him on the Agent's progress. Someone, perhaps, like Alex.
"So," Moore said, interrupting the delicious train of thought, "you've seen what you came for."
Not yet I haven't, Alex countered, silently, as he rose, taking heed of the imperious dismissal. Before he left for the New York offices, albeit temporarily, there was one thing he intended to do. Using every devious measure, every resource at his disposal, he was going to meet this Agent Fox Mulder and fuck him.
As he left the office, he heard Moore's mocking voice call, "Be a good boy, Krycek and hurry on back to your employer. We wouldn't want to keep him waiting now."

The cell they had brought the prisoner to was sterile, the walls a whitewashed gray, a typical, nondescript military jail. The only aberration to the bland perfection was the two-way mirror which allowed those outside to monitor the man on the bunk.
Alex stood behind the shoulder of the one of the guards, observing Fox Mulder, the golden boy of the FBI's profiling unit and sometime scourge of the Consortium, empty the contents of his stomach into a plastic bucket. After the third, empty heave, Alex decided it was time they got to know each other a little better.
He turned to the two other men and nodded his permission. They didn't linger as they abandoned their post and strode out into the corridor, booted footsteps fading as they left Alex to his own devices with the prisoner.
It hadn't taken much to bribe them. A little currency, a few promises that could be called upon in the future should they have need. Besides, neither man was overly concerned by the prisoner's welfare. As long as Alex didn't damage him too much.
Alex chuckled to himself at that as he moved over to the cell door. Damaging the man inside was the last thing he intended, not if he wanted to play with him some more again at a later date.
He straightened up, ran a vain hand through his slicked-back hair, and entered the cell. Agent Mulder was sitting on the bunk, hunched over in misery. He glanced up through bleary eyes at Alex, and then, to the younger man's surprise, let out a bark of laughter.
It was not the response Alex had expected and he was forced to conceal a frown, failing to understand the source of the agent's amusement. Snagging the lone chair with one foot, he dragged it closer and sank down, finally eye to eye with his captive.
With a weary sigh, Fox Mulder leaned back against the wall, hands draped loose and relaxed over his thighs, his eyes now closed.
"Can I ask," Alex began, "what you find so fucking amusing?"
Keeping his eyes closed, the prisoner merely smirked at that, and despite feeling pissed that the answer continued to elude him, Alex found his gaze drawn instantly to that mouth. With the curved upper lip, the plump lower, it was a mouth that was just begging for dick. Maybe Alex's, if he played things right.
"You're the guy they've sent to interrogate me?" the agent asked, still with that maddening smile playing about his lips, but now his eyes were open, squinting in the harsh light.
Alex refused to answer with a habitual lie, because just maybe, this man who had once hunted serial killers and psychopaths would detect it. Instead, he allowed the silence to speak for itself, for Fox to jump to false conclusions all on his own.
"They can't be serious," Fox said, almost to himself, closing his eyes once more. When he spoke again to Alex, it was with a weary amusement, "Look, why don't you run along kid and ask one of the grown-ups to come in here instead?"
Ah, so that was the reason for the humor. Little did Agent Mulder realize that the `kid' that now sat before him had been a killer since his teens, an assassin for a secret government that had lied, deceived, kidnapped and murdered with impunity. It was a common mistake, Alex knew, to confuse his youth with innocence. He was constantly underestimated because of his altar boy looks, yet not once had that been to his disadvantage.
If he could fool this man, the intuitive genius that was Fox Mulder, into believing the illusion of a nave kid, then he'd have a greater chance of getting the man into the sack willingly. And observing Fox's pale, dirt smudged features, Alex resisted pointing out that the Agent looked like a young street urchin himself. With his hair in disarray, his shirt hanging open at the collar and cuffs, and the hazy, still-tranqued expression, Fox appeared entirely too fuckable at that moment.
Alex had to tamper down on the sexually heated mist that was clouding his mind, for beneath the irascible exterior, he could see the fear that Fox was struggling to keep a rein on. After what had happened to McLennen, Alex didn't blame him and he doubted that, were their positions reversed, he would be able to maintain such a pretence of calm indifference.
Strangely, Alex found himself impressed, endeared and aroused all at once by the agent's bravado, the tenacity that had brought him thus far. Then swore silently as the pleasurable pressure in his groin began to grow and knew he'd have to make his move soon before his time ran out or he ended up raping the poor bastard.
It never occurred to him to deny himself the pleasure should the prisoner refuse. From childhood, Alex Krycek had learned to take whatever small pleasures a brutal life had to offer and there was no way he was leaving the air base with the hard on he was sporting without at least making some effort to appease the little beast.
Reaching down awkwardly, aware he was almost painfully crushing his erection, he moved the pail of water he'd brought in with him closer to Fox, lifting out the plastic cup and offering it to the despondent prisoner. Fox eyed it and him warily, yet Alex simply waited as common sense and the need to rinse away the foulness slowly won out.
He allowed Fox to take the cup, watched him rinse and spit twice, then drink as if his life depended on it.
"Slowly," Alex admonished, half-rising in his chair as he itched to take the cup from the man. He didn't want Fox throwing up again. That kind of thing tended to be a turn-off, especially for what he had planned.
Fox finished and languidly tossed the cup back into the pail without looking, turning a bright, hazel-eyed stare on his benefactor. "Thanks," he said, at last, his voice low, curious now.
For a moment, Alex found it hard to meet that penetrating gaze as it clove straight into his soul, feeling for all the world as if it was rooting through all the dirt and the lies that he kept hidden there. To dispel the illusion, he cleared his throat, trying to appear slightly abashed as he took the opportunity to look down at his fingers, still curled loosely in his lap to hide the tell-tale bulge there.
"You're welcome...Fox," he replied, testing the name and instantly loving the way it sounded.
Across from him, Fox rested his head against the wall with an audible thump, weak and washed out from the drugs. "Just Mulder," he corrected, softly, deflating Alex's sudden joy.
There was a pregnant silence and Alex saw an opportunity to quickly fill the gap.
"I'm Alex. Alex Krycek."
With barely a thought, he held out his hand to the other man. Fox, or rather Mulder, appeared amused once more, his eyes lighting up despite the shadows behind them, the pupils dilated but not so much to hide the hazel hues that surrounded them. Odd, Alex thought, that the file had reported them gray.
Even as Alex began to withdraw, sensing he had made a mistake in his unaccustomed enthusiasm, Mulder suddenly leaned forward and took the proffered hand. It was a ludicrous moment. Anyone looking on might have believed they were meeting at the office or over a business lunch, not ensconced in a prison cell deep inside a secret, military base.
Alex squeezed the cool hand in his own, warm and callused one, unable to help himself, wondering how that smooth, soft skin would feel caressing his body, how it would feel beneath his own hungry touch. For a moment, he allowed the fantasy to play out in his mind, and realized he had given something away when Fox pulled back, eyes widening slightly, a blush tingeing pale, dirt-streaked cheekbones.
Damn, was the man telepathic? Alex cursed himself, wondering how it was that the arrogant, cocksure assassin seemed to vanish in the proximity of Special Agent Fox Mulder, to be replaced by some hopeless, love-stricken puppy.
Mulder, for his part, appeared to have recovered his equilibrium and had sprawled back on the bunk, his back to the wall again, arms folded.
"So," he began, lightly enough, though Alex thought he detected a new wariness, a scent of suspicion in the tone, "what exactly did they send you in here for, Alex? To find out what I know? What I saw tonight?"
Alex found himself nodding, unconsciously licking his lips. He saw Mulder's dark eyes - hadn't they been hazel a moment ago? - take in the action and felt a small thrill. Mulder wrested his attention back with noticeable effort to continue.
"I saw it all," he confessed, quietly, sounding elated, victorious. "The craft, the way it moved...it's part alien, isn't it? Some kind of technological hybrid."
Alex heard the hushed reverence with which Mulder spoke, a holy man uncovering the grail. Perhaps, in a way, that was exactly what this man had found. And they were going to strip it from him.
"I just..." Mulder faltered for a moment, then gathered his courage, "I just needed to know the truth, Alex."
Hearing the child-like anguish that had been born one fateful night in 1973, for once in his life Alex was all too willing to speak the truth, "It's true, Mulder. All of it." Then realized with a pang that soon it wouldn't matter to this man anyway.
As he spoke the words, Alex saw a tremor run through the man before him, saw those incredible, changing eyes close for a moment, before Mulder regained enough composure to look up again.
The Agent swallowed once, before speaking simply. "Thank you."
The heartfelt sincerity was enough to make even Alex's black soul give a twinge of guilt, knowing he'd given this man nothing that wouldn't be taken away, knowing it wouldn't prevent him collecting on the price.
Yet perhaps he could offer a somewhat fairer deal in recompense. One in which they both could benefit, take an equal pleasure.
When Mulder shifted and winced, pressing a hand to his side, Alex knew it was time to make the move. He was aware the arresting soldiers had bruised the Agent's ribs as they had subdued him and it presented the perfect excuse that Alex had been searching for.
"Here," he said, solicitously, sliding over to sit at Mulder's side, reaching for the buttons on the loose shirt. "Let me take a look."
"It's nothing..." Mulder began, but Alex batted away his protesting hands, brooking no argument.
Alex tugged back the shirttails to see an ugly looking bruise staining the skin of Mulder's side and cursed the soldiers for their thoughtlessness. He reached out to gently touch the wounded area, hearing Mulder hiss in pain, but decided nothing had been broken.
"You're gonna have some great shades there," Alex informed him, from habit mostly because the man would soon wake up with no memories of how he'd been injured in the first place.
With his fantasy so close, Alex couldn't resist, knowing it was now or never if was ever to know if Mulder would be receptive to a male's advances. He trailed a hand carelessly over warm, satiny skin, so soft that women would kill to possess it, then over flat abs that sucked in as Mulder gasped reflexively.
Growing bolder, moving further downwards, the skin beneath his touch growing warmer, more furred, he suddenly felt Mulder's hand atop his own, frustrating his search.
"I don't think there's anything down there that's broken," he heard Mulder say, slightly breathless with astonishment, unwitting arousal and a little fear combined.
"Maybe not," Alex heard himself reply, his voice husky. "But I think there's something that might need fixing." Then flushed. Great, instead of just falling on the man and taking what he wanted, Alex was playing doctors.
Wetting his lips provocatively, he slid gracefully off the bunk to kneel at Mulder's feet, pressing both palms to the inside of Mulder's thighs to shove them forcefully apart. His thumbs dug into denim as he looked up to gauge the reaction that awaited him.
Mulder's eyes were wide now, the pupil dilated to swallow almost the entire iris. Alex's actions were definitely turning him on, and despite the vulnerability that had flared on the man's face, Mulder's breathing had quickened, his lips glistening with tell-tale saliva where he had swiped them with his tongue.
Alex found himself stroking Mulder's thighs the way he would a skittish animal, soothing and cajoling until he saw the tension seep from taut muscles to replaced by a whole new kind of tension, the best kind in Alex's opinion.
"I'm going to suck you dry, Fox," Alex promised and thrilled at the needy sound that escaped Mulder's sensual lips. He'd take advantage of that particular part of the man's anatomy another time. But for tonight, he would assuage a conscience that hadn't seen the light of day in years and give the best head of his life...before slinking off to New York with a bad case of blue balls.
Hands that were rock steady during assassinations and near-misses were trembling slightly as Alex reached for Mulder's fly, unzipping, reaching in to pull out a beautifully erect penis that was already yearning for the moist heat of Alex's mouth. Wiping a finger through the seeping fluid, Alex brought the digit to his mouth to taste, finding the flavor so much like the man himself; exciting, exotic, addictive.
"Oh god, Alex," Mulder murmured, watching through lids lowered to half-mast, his breathing turning increasingly erratic. "Please."
The begging word instantly erased any thoughts of foreplay and Alex guided the head between his lips, opening up with the ease of practice, for once a more than willing participant. He heard Mulder's head strike the wall with a thump as the man arched beneath him, could feel the thrumming tension running over his captive's body like an electrical current, nerve endings sizzling with a pleasure only Alex could deliver.
And Alex knew exactly how to play the man, knew precisely when to lick, when to suckle, almost through sheer instinct. He grabbed Mulder's hands as they attempted to entangled themselves in his hair and brought them down to the Agent's side, pinning him. He wouldn't give up control so easily, not when he had the man at his whim and not when he needed to do what he knew would finally bring Mulder off.
"Shit, shit, shit," Mulder was crying out like a mantra, as Alex expertly deep-throated him, desperately lifting his hips to impale himself in the sweet, hot mouth.
Alex allowed him that small measure of control, swallowing around the organ, closing his eyes as Mulder cried out one last time, shouting nonsensical words that rang in Alex's ears, and came. Alex felt the liquid hit the back of throat, felt his own, trapped cock ache with envy as Mulder's prolonged orgasm ended, the agent falling into a shuddering silence.
Alex pulled back, letting Mulder's wet and glistening cock slip from his mouth, licking his lips to capture every single droplet. Mulder groaned again, this time in distress when Alex's fingers hurriedly tucked his sensitized penis back into his pants and zipped him up.
Checking his watch, Alex realized how fine he had cut it. A minute more and the guards coming in to collect the prisoner would have had themselves a private peep show.
It was with rare regret that he reached into his pocket, carefully keeping concealed the object that he withdrew.
"Alex," he heard Mulder whisper, and glanced up to see lazy, sex-addled eyes staring down at him in confusion.
The agent's color was still high and Alex could almost see the brain cells attempting to fire up after having been fried by an orgasm, a testament to his oral skills. It was a shame things were about to end so abruptly.
"Honeymoon's over," Alex told him, cryptically.
Before Mulder could resist, before Alex could change his mind and commit suicide by smuggling the prisoner out of the base, he quickly plunged the needle through the denim covering Mulder's thigh and injected the contents.
Mulder yelled at the pain, tried to twist away, but it was too late and there was no where to go. Already, Alex could see the drug beginning its work, made easier by the effects of whatever they had given him earlier. Mulder collapsed to hands and elbows, shooting Alex a furious, betrayed stare.
"Rat bastard," he spat, unable to come up with anything more creative in the wake of the drugs clouding his mind once more.
Alex rocked forward on his heels and ran his fingers gently over the mole on the left side of the prisoner's face, almost tenderly. It was better this way, he told himself, better to spare Fox Mulder the indignity of being held down by the guards and forcible sedated.
When the guards finally returned, Alex was waiting in the observation room, watching the prisoner. With no signs of a struggle, no damage to the man on the bunk, for all they knew Alex had spent the whole time just looking.
Alex found himself running his tongue over his lips, tasting Mulder there, as the guards loaded their comatosed prisoner onto the gurney to wheel him away for brain surgery. Alex momentarily regretted the fact that he'd never get to know the real Fox Mulder, never work with a man whose brilliance had earned him the nickname 'Spooky'.
Then he shrugged and dismissed the thoughts from his mind. No one had ever said working in the Consortium would be easy.

Moore was yelling so loudly that Alex could hear him two corridors away. It was clear Mossinger was getting a real ass kicking, Moore desperate to pin the blame on someone other that himself for letting the red headed FBI Agent force them into releasing Mulder prematurely.
Now there was a real firebrand, Alex had thought, as he observed the exchange from the shadowed safety of the transport van. He had watched Mulder stagger through the gates with a shuffling walk that was almost painful to behold and heard Red tell him to get in the car, her gun still pointed through the gates as if the tiny weapon could somehow be effective against the men with automatics.
Still, they were permitted to drive away. The events of the night had been wiped from Mulder's mind, though that was all. The other, more insidious plans had been scrapped and Alex was eager to inform his employer of the failure to implement them, never failing to take pleasure in wiping the smile off Smokey's smug face. He'd also make sure to mention Moore's failures as well, in depth and detail.
As he flashed his identification to the guard at the door, he couldn't help smirking at the fact that Mulder had actually escaped...albeit without his Holy Grail - his truth. But there would be other opportunities, other grails. And Alex would watch and wait, as silent as the Russian wolf on the hunt, ready to give his right arm...well, maybe his left one, to be at Mulder's side when he found them.
THE END

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