Discipline, by Sebastian

Discipline

by Sebastian

Disclaimer: This is done for love, not money. And they belong to Chris Carter.

Rated: A

Author's Notes: Inspired by Toronto, and "The history of corporal punishment" by George Ryley Scott. Thanks to Karen-Leigh for finding the bookshop, and to Dr. Ruthless for beta, and most of all, to CJ for buying the book

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"Reading that stuff will make you blind, Mulder."

Soft, a voice in suede, shocking. Look back, a startled spin, trapped against the bookshelf behind and Krycek is in his face. Plucks the book from Mulder's hand. Riffles the pages, grin that's a motive for murder. An eyebrow lifts.

"Discipline, Agent Mulder?"

Drops the book, and Mulder's pinned in the corner. Shelf edge digs into his ass, his back. "Discipline?" he repeats. His forearm's across Mulder's throat, a sinewy hand grates the bones in his own. The smile twists to a black vow.

"I can give you discipline."

Pecks at Mulder's lips, and Mulder is lost. He was going to get his gun, going to grate out an insult, going to arrest the fucker, but he won't. His cock is hard against Krycek's hip.

Eyes roll wildly. Here's a store. Stack of books; an aisle, open either end. Customers. Krycek's lips are here, they're against his lips. Mulder opens like a flower to the sun. Opens to a tongue that's brought him nothing but lies. He can feel the truth here, though. Krycek hard against his thigh, too. No lies.

Flesh grinning at him from everywhere. Men, muscled, smooth, black, white. On dust-jackets, posters, fridge magnets. On videos and postcards. Glimpse of the storekeeper. Mulder shuffles. Pulls back. Krycek's here. Bodies touching. He's here in this store. Mulder is in a gay bookstore and Krycek is kissing him.

Chattering voices. Clatter on the steep stairs. Women troup in, giggling, gazing. They've passed the doorway. Krycek's still. Mulder's holding breath. And they've gone. Up to the floor above.

"Public discipline, Fox, or private?"

Breath burns his ear. Lost. Lost and gone. All resistance lost and gone, Mulder croaks, "Private."

Krycek knows a place. Shabby door - flyers, posters. Rattle of the handle. His coat seized and he's bundled through. Krycek shoves him, hard. Mulder's sprawled on spunk, on cocks, on studs and sun-bronzed skin. The magazines slide under his legs, his shoulders.

There's a man here. It's Krycek. It's the man, the man he wants. His man.

His man shuts the door with a click. A gentle click. A precise click. Krycek is precise. Mulder has asked for discipline. Krycek will provide it. That's precise.

Krycek's shoulders. Broad, leather-covered. Bracing the door. He's trapped. Trapped in the bookshop storeroom. Trapped, shivering. Hot and cold. Lust coils, squeezing his chest. He has no air. He waits for a command.

Krycek's mouth. Krycek's mouth weaves a smile. A smile that knows he's Fox. Krycek's Fox. Alex's Fox.

Fox.

Your Fox.

At your feet and it's really fine.

Perfect.

He sees Alex roll his shoulders. Door hard at his back. Muscles tight under his skin. Muscles that are hot and hard. Like his ready cock. The cock that Mulder, Agent fucking superior Mulder, the Mulder with all the integrity, all the justification, wants.

"Crawl to me, Mulder."

He does.

On hands and knees. "Leather Hunks" and "Studs with Studs" slipping under his palms. Sweat sticks to the paper. His head hangs. Over the asses. Pert, round asses. Muscled. Dimpled.

Scuffed boots crease the pages before him. He stops.

"Kneel up, look at me, Fox."

This is discipline. He needs discipline. Look at the pictures. Not at Krycek.

"Do it, Fox."

The voice is gentle. There's a hand. Touching his hair. He's going to come. Right there. Right then. Nose inches from Krycek's boots, with Krycek's hand in his hair.

Deep breath. Terror will stop it. He won't come if he looks up. He knows this. He's scared., so scared. This shouldn't be happening. But he knows, and his man knows. Maybe never again, but today it's happening.

Pushes up. Gazes up. Krycek is tall. Looks so high. Fills the storeroom. His man fills the storeroom. The pictures are nothing. Men fucking. Men in harness. Men drinking piss. Mulder doesn't see them. He sees Krycek.

"Suck me off, Mulder."

That's what Alex wants. The lips. The soft, sweet mouth. The soft mouth with a talent for insults, for ranting. A talent for pleasing cock, too? Alex wants to know. He's going to know. Right here. Right now.

Mulder waits. He wants instructions. Precision. Unzip me Fox. Take off my jeans. Lick my balls first. Precision. Instruction. But he asked for discipline. He's got it. Krycek gives it. Now Mulder must use it. Use it to discipline himself. Self-control. He's been ordered. He must obey. Discipline.

"Do it, Fox."

The signal to start. The kneeling man slips fly-buttons from their holes. He pauses to lay his cheek against Krycek's shaft. He kisses it through the cloth. It's wet. Wet cloth. Wet with Mulder's spit. Krycek's skin shows dark beneath. Krycek sighs. Shifts.

Mulder slips a finger inside Krycek's briefs. Pulls, stretches. Eases the jeans aside and the ruddy cock springs out. Brown-purple. Cords of dark blood under the skin. They feed it. Throb for Krycek's jet-black heart.

Sweat trickles down Mulder's back. Down his sides. Pants tight around his cock. Needy. Needs discipline. He won't come. It won't be allowed. Krycek won't allow. Mulder won't.

The slick head is under his nose, now. Deep red and swollen. Foreskin peeled back. Forced back by the blood because Krycek needs Mulder.

There's a smell. A smell of print and damp paper. And there's Krycek. Krycek's smell. In his nose. In his mouth, now. Mulder has tasted him. Has licked that shiny, naked skin. He has stroked his tongue over Krycek's flesh. He has teased the tiny slit with its tip. He has discipline.

He opens his lips. The lips that Krycek wants. The cock slides in. So easy. Over his tongue. Fills him. Flesh. Krycek's flesh in his mouth. His hands tremble. Reach forward. Palms forward. Inching forward so slow. Brush the jeans. Clutch the thighs. There's a cock in his mouth. Pressing against his tongue. Silk; smooth skin on his tongue. He leans. Leans on Krycek's thighs. Takes him deep. Down into his mouth. Down into his throat.

There's nothing now but this man.

Mulder's man.

"Do it, Mulder. You know what to do."

The voice startles him. He's sucking now. Licking. Moves his hands to Krycek's balls, Krycek's shaft. And Krycek's rocking. Rocking into his motion. Setting Mulder straight. This is how I want it. How fast I want it. Discipline.

Hot; hot all over. Aching knees in agony; balanced, braced. He needs to touch. Touch himself. He tingles, throbs. Moves his mouth over the cock. Fat, hard flesh.. Hard in his mouth. Teeth grating. Teeth pushing against the shaft. Suck, stroke. Face full of Alex. Evil fascination. Here and now. Do it and forget. It didn't happen. Mulder couldn't do this. Agent Mulder of the FBI couldn't be here on his knees. On his knees in front of Alex Krycek.

Showing discipline.

Nails scrape on wood. Footsteps coming downstairs. There's a strangled gasp. Krycek's coming. Hot cream in his mouth. Sweet, thick cream. Krycek's cream. So good. So good to be disciplined. So good to ache, to tingle. So good to feel the pin-pricks in his groin. The heat in his cock. Mulder's cock. Wanting, throbbing. So full, so ready.

But he won't touch. Mulder has discipline now. Discipline to watch and wait on his knees. Wait as Alex slides his cock back though Mulder's lips. Discipline to look into Alex's eyes. To look at his demon's smile. To let his need for Alex show, show for that brief moment before Alex has gone.

When he gets back into the shop, his book has gone, too. He asks the boy at the till if there is another copy.

But the women have bought the last one.

End

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