Category:  Slash -- B&D
Pairing:  Krycek/Pendrell
Rating:  NC-17
Disclaimer:  Don't own 'em.  Chris Carter does.
Spoilers:  Some for "The Training of P" by Kassandra.  None for the
show.
Archive:  Nowhere, thank you.

Note:  This takes place in the "Training of P" universe by Kassandra,
after the piece "Exit."  Warning:  Kinkiness and naughtiness abounds. 
If bondage and domination ain't your bag, please hit "Delete." 
Thanks.  :-)

Dedication:  A gift for my dearest Kass.

==========
TURNABOUT
by DBKate, 1998
dbkate@yahoo.com
==========

He hadn't planned it this way.

Nothing was supposed to have been standing between him and Krosvo
except a gun and a few seconds of pleading.  Which, of course, would
be ignored.

The policemen had never been part of the equation, nor the crowd that
had gathered behind them, gawking and mocking him as he tried to
explain his way out of certain interment in a Canadian jail cell.

It wasn't working.

The Canadian policemen listened politely to Krycek's excuses, even
nodded kindly at his air-tight explanations, but in the end, the
handcuffs where already jangling between their thumbs and forefingers
-- 

Waiting.

Krycek felt the unfamiliar tang of sweat burn his upper lip, and
considered his escape options.  There were none.  The crowd was dense,
Krosvo was grinning, and the policemen seemed to breed where they stood.

For the first time in a long time, Alexander Krycek feared for his
life.  A sweating, trembling, cramping terror filled him, and he
didn't know which way to turn.

Until a familiar silver car rolled up behind the cordon of officers.

Until Brian Pendrell slowly exited the car, tightly groomed, wearing
an immaculate suit, with slicked back hair, and a grim expression. 
Flashing his old Bureau ID badge at the cops, with just enough anger
in his movements to warn any close examiners to move aside.

He pushed his way through the cordon and stood in front of Krycek,
with what appeared to be murder in his eyes.

"Son of a bitch," he hissed, and Krycek said nothing.

Two hours before Pendrell had been underneath him, bound and gagged,
crying as he'd pounded into him mercilessly, both of them enjoying
every moment of surrender. There was no anger between them, even then,
only love, peppered with the sharp spice of dominance and the
enjoyment of their own dark games.

"I've been waiting a long time," Pendrell intoned malevolently to no
one in particular, his eyes never leaving Krycek's.  "You really
thought you could get away with this, didn't you?"

Krycek remained silent, as the Canadian officers surrounding them
began to look confused.

One of them spoke.  "Excuse me, Agent.  Do you know this man?"

"Yes, I do," said Pendrell, pulling out a pair of silver handcuffs and
roughly grabbing Krycek's arm, spinning him where he stood.  "I've
been looking for him for two years.  Son of a bitch..."

Cold steel clicked onto Krycek's right wrist.

"Oh," replied the officer.  "But, Agent, as you know, this is not the
United States.  We are the ones who have jurisdic..."

But a single stare from Pendrell stopped him mid-sentence.  "Thank you
for your help," he said softly.  A frosty stare.  "I'll inform the
Attorney General of the United States of your efficiency."

The second band of steel clicked onto Krycek's left wrist.  Colder
than ice.

"Come on," growled Pendrell to Krycek, who followed, willingly,
wishing he could take his lover into his arms right there and then,
but was willing to wait until they got home.

Krycek stumbled along meekly, even allowing himself to be placed in
the back seat as was ordained by all law enforcement instructive tracts.

The Canadian Officers just stared as the car peeled away, and slowly,
faded into the nighttime streets of Vancouver.

===========

The ride back to their house was silent.

For the most part.  Krycek shifted in the cuffs, trying to hint
quietly for Pendrell to pull over and take them off, but was ignored. 
He took it in stride, nearly laughing in relief at the passing scenery
and wondering what gift he would bestow upon his lover for this bit of
genius.

"Hey," he called up softly to Pendrell, who was driving at a steady
pace up to their hideaway in the hills.

There was no answer.

He bit his lip with slight consternation, and then, shrugged it off. 
Perhaps he'd slightly misjudged Pendrell's mood, but all that could be
taken care of later.  He wondered if his lover would enjoy a week
somewhere in Europe, someplace sunny and warm.

The house came into view, and Krycek relaxed.  He watched with faint
amusement as Pendrell stormed from the driver's seat, and with an
impatient tug at the car door, yanked it open.

And pulled Krycek from his seat, without so much as a kind word.

Krycek's mouth opened, then shut again, as he stumbled up the pathway
to the front door, Pendrell's hand clamped harshly around his upper
arm.  For a moment, a protest crossed his mind, but something kept him
from speaking out.

Perhaps it was the circle of fire in Pendrell's eyes, or just the
spark of curiosity that shot through Krycek's body at the rough
handling, the likes he'd never felt before.

The interior of the small house flew by, and Krycek soon found himself
in the bathroom, shoved against the hard rim of the marble sink, with
efficient hands at the waistband of his jeans, grappling with the hard
cotton and the steel of the buttons.

Krycek bit his lip, silently, and wondered at the sudden sound of
running water as his jeans fell, pooling at his ankles.

"Brian?" he asked softly, and jumped to feel a warm hand at the nape
of his neck -- a warm breath in his ear.

He heard a voice.  Smooth.  Unforgiving.  "Be quiet, Alex."

The hand pushed him further down, bending him in half over the sink,
the sound of the water growing louder.  Krycek could hear his heart
pounding in his ears, and nearly cried out when he felt a cool hand
between his legs, stroking upward.

Instinctively, he tried to spread open further, but the jeans held his
ankles fast.  He felt Pendrell's fingers at his opening, cool and
soft, covered with lubricant.  Biting his lip, Krycek stifled any
sound, as a finger, then two, opened him and stroked.

Krycek closed his eyes and moaned, not being able to even make a show
of resistance. The cuffs still bit into his wrists, the cold steel
unforgiving against the thin skin -- the slim bones.  His arms ached.

Hear the voice in his ear.  Again.  Unchanged.  "Good, Alex.  That's
very good.  You'd better relax, I don't want this to hurt."

-This-, thought Krycek.  What the hell...

The nozzle entered him quickly and smoothly, and he could only yelp as
the warm water flooded him.

"Goddamn it, Bri," he cursed, now struggling and shifting, but the
hand at the nape of neck refused to allow him movement.  "Bri!"

"Be quiet, Alex."  Again the quiet voice as Krycek groaned and tried
to squirm away, to no avail.  His cock was rock hard, and he winced
when it came in contact with the cold marble of the sink.

With a slight jolt of relief, he felt the nozzle being removed, but
yelped again as a large plug took its place.  The cramping started,
small spasms along his abdomen, and he groaned again -- this time
pleading.

"Bri," he gasped. "Bri... I can't... I..."

But there was no understanding in the voice.  "Keep still.  Hold it,
and don't you dare let it fall out."

As he writhed, groaning without words, Krycek wondered dimly if he'd,
indeed, created a monster. A monster who was now his lover -- no
longer his slave. The cramping was becoming painful and he felt his
eyes start to burn. Krycek groaned again ,and  for the first time in
his life, begging became an option.

But, before he could even start, Krycek felt the plug being removed,
and he found himself over the toilet, shivering with relief and
humiliation.  Trembling, he wondered if this was Pendrell's idea of
revenge, some sort of payback for what he'd done to him all those
months before.

Krycek's face burned. He looked up and saw Pendrell observing him with
a warm expression.  He heard the bathwater starting and felt the rest
of his clothes taken away, with whatever couldn't be removed because
of the handcuffs cut away -- discarded, before he was helped into the
tub.

The warm water was a relief, and Krycek sank into it, the aches in his
arms and legs slowly tingling away.  His eyes closed, he was nearly
falling asleep, as a soft cloth ran over his body, but a few moments
later, he felt himself being hauled up onto his feet and steadied by
Pendrell's grip.

"Get out," said Pendrell, in an oddly gentle tone of voice.

And, for the first time in his life, Alex Krycek obeyed without a
second thought.

Felt himself pushed to his knees, still dripping wet against the cold
tiles and his legs spread out as he knelt.  Felt the warm, invasive
tongue against his opening, and nearly cried out at the sensation, a
litany of fire and helplessness wrapped into one.

The merciless tongue worked him, from his perineum to his balls,
licking backwards and forward, paying special attention to the
sensitive ring of flesh in the middle.  He pressed his face against
the cold tiles, and became shameless, wanton, begging for more in any
language he could think of.

It made him feel as if he were dying, this constant fire, and it was
only Pendrell's arms around his waist that held him upright -- kept
him from collapse.

He was so close, closer than he'd ever been without being touched,
when Pendrell's ministrations stopped and he cried out at the loss.

"Get up," said Pendrell again, sounding breathless, pulling Krycek to
his feet.

Krycek's knees felt like rubber, but he obeyed. Part of him wanted to
scream at his lover, wanted to demand release, but something inside
stopped him.  A part that needed this as much as wanted it.

He let Pendrell drag him to the bedroom without a word of protest.

With some relief he heard the handcuffs click open, but before he
could even rub the ache from his arms, he was stretched out over their
bed, and restrained with the chains he'd used on Pendrell only hours
before.

A pillow under his groin.  Another one added, and he was on his
tiptoes, his ass high in the air.  Krycek squirmed, now with
apprehension.  He'd never been in this position before...

He'd never played the waiting game.

He bit his lip, fearfully, as he heard Pendrell's voice in his ear. 
"I don't -ever- want you to take a chance like that again," Pendrell
whispered, and Krycek's eyes widened as he felt the smooth wood of the
oiled paddle rubbing gently against his buttocks.

"Never -- ever, again," said Pendrell, and Krycek jumped as the first
slap of the paddle hit him, not brutally, but hard enough to sting.

The second slap was a bit harder, and Krycek yelped at the third,
which whistled as it descended.  Soon, the blows were raining down on
his ass, from every direction, making him cry out and squirm, at every
crack.  He bit his lip, trying desperately not to cry, but the tears
were rolling down his cheeks and he was helpless even to wipe them away.

The paddle continued to slap steadily against him, and he was panting
for air, his body instinctively trying to avoid the blows.  He sobbed
against the linens, the expensive cottons that he and Brian had
brought with them from Russia, and unsuccessfully tried to muffle the
sounds, his cock rampant against his belly.

But Pendrell was having none of it.  "Did you hear me, Alex?  Are you
ever going to do that again?"

Krycek shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut.  

"No," he gasped.

Another blow, this time, razor sharp.  "I didn't hear you, Alex.  What
did you say?"

"No!" Alex cried out, sure that he was on fire, and that his ass must
look like a flare at midnight.

A warm breath against his earlobe, and a hardness against his opening.
 Krycek's cock twitched at the sensation, and he groaned as he was
entered, smoothly, without preperation or thought.

Cried out Brian's name as he was pounded into the pillows and
mattress, his ass raw, hot, and wonderfully filled.  Tried to push
himself back onto Pendrell's cock, tried to impale himself, but the
restraints held him back.  He was a slave to Pendrell's rhythm, which
slowly built up to something as fast, as hard, as he so desperately
desired.

"Not yet," was the whisper in his ear, and he begged in both Russian
and English for Pendrell to touch him, to please, please, please touch
him and give some relief to the painful aching of his cock.  "Not yet."

Krycek ground his teeth, and tried to rub himself against the linens,
but was reprimanded with a hard slap against the painful welts that
burned along his buttocks.

"Not yet," came the hissed, breathless words, as Pendrell clutched his
hips and fucked Krycek harder, until he was seeing stars -- white,
shining bits of light behind his closed eyelids.

Helpless, Krycek gave up.  Gave himself over to the man who owned him,
and simply let him, body and soul.  He fell into the rhythm, ignored
the brutal ache between his legs and let go.  Let go to his lover, the
one who had saved him, over and over again, asking for nothing in
return.

Giving everything he owned.  

His body.  His heart.  Even his soul.

Krycek jumped as he finally felt the trembling fingers entwine his
cock, and he moaned his encouragement, with the heat and fire
emanating from every pore.  It was only a few quick pulls and he came
and came and came, crying out Pendrell's name, sobbing into the
bedding, and crying again when the warmth and wetness filled him. 

Slowly, Pendrell withdrew, gently removing the restraints from
Krycek's wrists as he rose.

Krycek watched breathlessly as Pendrell kissed those wrists, gently...
lovingly.  Nearly cried again when he felt the gentle kisses raining
down on his eyelids, his cheeks, his mouth.

He pulled Pendrell's mouth to his own, kissing him desperately,
realizing for the first time what danger he'd been in.

What danger he'd put both of them in.

"I'm sorry," Krycek whispered, and watched as Pendrell's eyebrow
arched over a sparkling blue eye.

"Uh, huh," said Pendrell, a smile playing upon his lips.  "I'll bet
you are."

He bent down and kissed Krycek once more, passionately, and Alex
breathed a deep sigh of happiness.  A sigh of relief. 

Of love.  "Well," said Krycek thoughtfully.  "Maybe not -that- sorry."

And he yelped once more as the last slap rained down and their
laughter echoed throughout the room.

==========
The End

As usual, comments are very welcome.
DBKate, 1998
dbkate@yahoo.com








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