Watched

Date finished: July 8, 2001
Title: Watched
Author: L.C. Sulla
Rating: NC-17 for language, violence, non-con, and graphic m/m sex in
general.
Categories: M/K, slash, non-con (kinda)

**********WARNING**********
Contains non-consensual sex. Well, in a way. Don't read this if that sort
of stuff disturbs you. You have been warned.
**********WARNING**********

Summary: A drone for the Syndicate finds something a little different in
his usually boring work...


WATCHED by L.C. Sulla


When the Syndicate man retrieved the tapes from the closet
hidden in the bowels of the Hoover building, he was not in a good mood. He
saw stretching before him yet another night of perusing endless hours of
useless footage.

He couldn't really figure out why his superiors even bothered surveilling
the lower parking garage of the FBI's main building. All that was ever
captured on the tapes were the coming and going of nondescript sedans, the
appearances and reappearances of suited men and women on their way to and
from their offices. Nothing spectacular. Hell, nothing in the slightest
bit interesting.

And now, here he was with a week's worth of videotapes staring him in the
face, almost taunting him with the upcoming crippling boredom. The worst
thing was, he never even really knew what his superiors were looking for.
'Anything out of the ordinary'. 'Anything different'. 'Anything that
catches your eye'. These were the phases hurled at him.

The man snorted quietly to himself. There was *never* anything different or
out of the ordinary. The cars were the same. The people were the same.
Their clothes were the same. Hell, even the way they walked and tossed
their keys in their hands was always the same. He had never known of a more
boring group of people.

So the man sat down with a thump and a dramatic sigh in the little apartment
that served as one of the many Syndicate viewing rooms. He'd better get
onto it. He popped the first tape into the VCR, and pressed play.


******************************************************


It was well into the fourteenth hour and the sixth tape before
anything actually did catch his eye. And that was a first. But when he saw
the two men approaching each other in the carpark, his eyes squinted in
concentration. It couldn't be. No way. It couldn't.

The man leaned forward, which really did nothing to enhance the
footage. Actually the footage was incredibly high in quality; modern
technology had banished the days of the grainy black and white surveillance
tapes. They had been replaced by the full-color, sharp-resolution format
that he now had before him. But the reason he leaned forward was not to
question the image before him, but to question his own eyes. That
dark-haired man in black with his gun drawn *had* to be Alex Krycek.

He himself hadn't seen Krycek for years; he had just been
inducted as a new addition to the Syndicate's workforce around the time that
Krycek had first defected from the old men's powerful clutches. But he knew
a face when he saw it. That *was* Krycek.

The other man was obviously that permanent thorn in the
Syndicate's proverbial paw, Special Agent Fox Mulder. Now, him he knew from
personal experience. He had spent many an hour in surveillance of Mulder's
apartment, so he wouldn't miss that man anywhere.

He could see the slight sneer on the agent's face as he
approached Krycek. Yeah, there was a hell of a lot of animosity between
*these* two men all right; the Syndicate man had heard the stories. He knew
the details of the deception and betrayal, the history of the fights and
beatings. Far more interesting, though, were the whispered rumors that had
circulated among the Syndicate workers of sexual interest between the two
former partners.

The Syndicate man could see now, though, that any spark between
the two men was more than likely long gone, if there ever had been one in
the first place. Doubtful. The said sneer on Mulder's face was gaining in
altitude, and Krycek's mocking smirk spoke volumes. Then Krycek opened his
mouth, and began to address the surly agent before him.

When he saw this on the screen before him, but heard no sound,
the Syndicate man lunged forward to hit the volume controls. No way in hell
he was gonna miss this. When he could hear the murmurings of the man in
black clearly, he jumped to the side, grabbing his ever-waiting but
never-used pen and logbook, poised to transcribe anything interesting that
was said. His eyes glanced to the date and time display on the corner of
the screen. Three days ago, very late at night. No wonder Krycek was
willing to risk appearing there. It was unlikely any other agents would be
present; only a workaholic with no life whatsoever, like Mulder, would stay
at work past midnight on a Friday.

So the man ran the tape back for several seconds, to be sure not
to miss anything, and settled back, pen in hand, to take it all in.

******************************************************


Krycek stood silently for a few moments, seeming to wait to see
if Mulder would speak first. But as the seconds dragged into minutes, and
the agent's raised upper lip soared to new heights, he decided to begin
himself.

"So, Mulder, glad you could come."

The agent snorted. "Sure, whatever, Krycek. So glad you have
to point a gun on me when you said this was a business meeting. Are you
scared I'm gonna *hurt* you Krycek?"

This last sentence positively dripped sarcasm.

"Hardly," Krycek replied, shifting his grip carefully on the
Glock he held, pointing it loosely in the direction of Mulder's groin.
"This is indeed a business meeting, but I didn't say what kind of business
meeting, did I? And, well," he continued, his voice dropping subtly to a
low, sensual growl, "it isn't the kind of business you're expecting.

Mulder's eyebrow quirked up slightly, but he didn't respond.
Silence reigned. Seconds ticked by. Then Krycek spoke again.

"Take off your pants, Mulder."


******************************************************


The Syndicate man almost jumped in his chair. What the fuck?
Well, that was fast... His pen lay in his hand, forgotten, as he stared
intently at the two figures on the monitor before him. What on earth was
Krycek planning? He waited with baited breath, a strange mix of dread and
anticipation warring in his mind.


******************************************************


Mulder scowled. "What the fuck are you talking about, Krycek?
You haven't gotten that desperate, have you? I mean, loosing that arm may
make it hard to get laid, but it shouldn't prevent you from going out and
getting yourself a rentboy. They'll fuck anything, well, if you pay them
enough."

The corner of Krycek's lip twitched, the only motion or hint
that any emotion whatsoever lurked behind his generally immobile features.
Then in a split second the gun was gone, and he was on Mulder, spinning him
around, digging out his handcuffs, and clasping the agent's hands together
behind his back.

"Fuck, Krycek!" Mulder yelled, and Krycek's fist slammed into
the side of his head.

"Shut up," replied the younger man, dragging the hapless agent
over to the nearest available car, which happened to be Mulder's own. He
bent the man forward over the hood with his body, pushing Mulder's cheek
hard against the cool metal with his fingers carded through the thick brown
hair.

Krycek held Mulder face down against the car for several
moments, appearing to be considering his options. Then the hand on Mulder's
head was gone, and his belt was being wrenched open, and his pants pulled
down to his knees. His boxers followed shortly thereafter, baring his ass
to the cold air.

Mulder gasped as the chill bit into him. "Krycek... Krycek don'
t. Don't fucking do this. Don't."

Above him, the man in black grinned lewdly, but this was out of
Mulder's line of sight.

"But Mulder," the younger man purred, "you don't even know what
I'm going to do!"

The prone man didn't respond, but his panicked gasps could be
heard throughout the empty carpark. He was being held against the car by
Krycek's body, and his cuffed hands prevented him from getting enough
leverage to lift his torso off the hood. He was pinned.

Except for the sound of the air leaving Mulder's lungs over and
over, silence reigned. Krycek stood motionless above him. As time
stretched on inexorably, and nothing further happened, Mulder began to
visibly relax.

One beat, then two, and then a hand flew down on the agent's
bare ass, slapping him hard. Mulder yelped despairingly, as the fire spread
across his abused flesh.

"What the *fuck*!"

The only answer was another slap, harder than the first,
followed by a volley of blows that seemed to go on for hours. Mulder's
breath sobbed out of him as he jerked involuntarily at each and every
impact. Finally Krycek stopped, and stared down at his handiwork, face
carefully neutral.

Mulder's ass was bright red, and the flesh quivered visibly as
the agent braced again and again for the next slaps that never came. He was
taking long, shuddering breaths, desperately attempting to regain his
composure. Suddenly Krycek's hand dove between his legs, and the man
grinned at the tight hardness he found there. His hand circled around
Mulder's cock, giving one long stroke from root to tip, pausing at the
engorged head to smear the drop of precum over the sensitive flesh. The
agent gasped, almost sobbed, mentally flailing, almost drowning, in his own
humiliation.

"...yeah, Mulder," Krycek growled, almost inaudibly. "I've
found something you like, haven't I."

It was said as a statement of fact rather than as a question,
and it went unanswered. Krycek brought his hand out from between Mulder's
legs again, and quickly worked at his own belt, sighing quietly as he
lowered his zipper. Krycek's cock sprang from its confines, ruddy and
diamond hard, oozing his own pre-ejaculate from the slit.

Below him Mulder tensed yet again at the zipper's ominous sound,
and began to shake. "No, Krycek...fuck..." he whined, his voice trailing
off at the end.

Krycek raised a finger to his mouth, sucked on it
contemplatively for a short moment, and then reached to spread Mulder's
cheeks one-handed. The agent gasped again, tensing all over, clenching his
anus tight. Krycek smiled sweetly at the movement of that tiny pucker, and
an expression of anticipation painted his pretty features.

He waited a few moments for Mulder to relax minutely, and then
without any preliminaries, he gently worked his index finger into the tight
hole, clearly enjoying the feel of the agent squirming and clenching around
the digit. Mulder began to moan quietly as Krycek started to work the
finger in and out of his ass.


******************************************************


By this time, the Syndicate man was positive that he had lost
his jawbone somewhere on the floor. He had been shocked as Krycek bared
Mulder's ass, and had watched avidly the flurry of blows that rained down on
the agent's reddening skin. The detail of the surveillance tapes was really
exquisite, he thought.

When Krycek paused, the man stopped breathing, wondering what
the assassin would do next. His hand dropped to the hardening bulge in his
pants as Krycek sucked on his fingers, and he moaned aloud when that finger
was dug into Mulder's ass.

He looked around furtively, as if to reassure himself that no one was there
to see him, and then the Syndicate man pulled out his cock and began to
stroke.


******************************************************


When the agent relaxed a little more, Krycek leaned over and
spat directly onto his finger and the puckered flesh around it. He then
inserted a second finger, not so gently this time, and started to pump the
fingers vigorously into the tight channel, working it, stretching it open to
make way for what was surely to come.

After several moments of this, Krycek retrieved his fingers from within the
agent's ass to the sound of the prone man's whimper, and spat in his hand.
He lubed up his bare cock with it and his precum, and then moved to place
the blunt end of his erection against Mulder's twitching anus. He thrust.

Mulder cried out sharply, and Krycek's eyes moved to the man's face. Mulder
's eyes were squeezed tight shut, his mouth twisted into a grimace. He
stopped for a moment, evidently to give the man some time to adjust. Then,
unable to wait any longer, he plunged his cock the rest of the way into Fox
Mulder's tight rectum, right to the hilt.

"Take it, bitch, yeah..." Krycek growled through the lewd grin that graced
his face, and twisted his hips viciously at the apex of the thrust. Mulder
cried out again, weaker this time, as his whole form shuddered against the
car with the impact of his enemy's body.

Krycek began a blistering pace. He hammered relentlessly into Mulder's
still, prone form, milking his own cock with the agent's tight channel. He
moved without thought, based purely in instinct, almost mechanically.
Suddenly he leaned slightly, and sought out Mulder's cock once more, seeming
to delight in its rigor.

He never faltered in his brutal pace, drilling himself continuously into
body of his enemy. "You like this, don't you bitch?" he sneered, beginning
to pant with exertion as he took up the agent's cock and stroked it in time
with his own thrusts. "Yeah, Mulder, you like my cock up your tight FBI
ass. You want me to fuck you. You...ah...you've always wanted me to fuck
you. I'll rip you open and...unh...lay you bare, bitch."

Below him, Mulder's face was flushed red, his eyes still screwed up tight,
and his mouth with its pouting lips open in a silent cry. Three more
strokes of Krycek's hand, and Mulder began to convulse, gasping and grunting
with both the impact of his attacker's body and that of his own orgasm.
Thick ropey steams of semen splattered the hood of his car and his jacketed
chest.

Krycek continued to skewer Mulder through the clamping convulsions on his
cock. His force increased mightily, to the point where it seemed something
would have to be breaking inside the agent's stretched and reddened ass.
Then finally his thrusts became erratic, and he arched his back and came
with a loud grunt, digging his fingers into Mulder's hips as he shot his cum
deep into the prone man's rectum.

Krycek only paused for a moment before straightening and pulling out of
Mulder with a slick squelching sound. He quickly and efficiently tucked
himself back into his jeans, and, this done, quickly uncuffed Mulder's hands
and then slapped his ass lightly, provoking a yelp of pain.

"Get up, Mulder. You don't want to lie around all night like this, do you?"

The man lying in his own cum on the hood of his car shifted slightly,
craning his head around to take in the rogue agent with a scowl.

"You son of a bitch."

Krycek smirked anew. "Yeah, yeah, you like it, baby. You know you do."

Mulder slowly stood up, reaching for his pants, which were now puddled about
his ankles. Ignoring the trickle of Krycek's cum that was moving slowly out
of his anus and down the inside of his thigh, Mulder pulled the cloth up
over his softening cock.

"Yeah, whatever buddy."

The two men shared a look, and turned as one to stare at a small dark crack
in the ceiling, both grinning ear to ear. Krycek winked before turning back
to Mulder.

Then they both turned away, each going to one side of the car; Krycek on the
driver's side. Before he got in, Mulder addressed the younger man across
the roof.

"Next time, *I'm* on top."


******************************************************


The Syndicate man sat hunched in his chair, softening cock in
hand, jacket splattered with his cum. His mouth gaped. What the fuck? It
had all been a...

"Son of a *bitch*!"

Well, he guessed the cover for *that* camera was blown...

******************************************************
The end.

Feedback for a thoroughly useless piece of mindless smut to:
lcsulla2001@yahoo.com