Author: Ratwoman
Title: The Tempest
Fandom: The X-files
Disclaimer: Chris Carter invented the X-files.
Pairing: Mulder/Krycek/Skinner. For Ursula, who encouraged me to write another threesome. 
Series: Maybe. 
Summary: Mulder and Skinner catch Krycek in a cabin in the woods.
Please feed me with feedback!
Author's note: I have no idea whatsoever about Tunguskian geography, forgive me any inaccuracies.
Author's homepage: http://www.geocities.com/ratwoman2001/index.html

THE TEMPEST
By Ratwoman
ratwoman02@yahoo.de


Mulder stared gloomily out of the window of the truck. Skinner had insisted on driving and maybe it 
was better that way, because, admittedly, Mulder did not act at all sensible where it concerned Krycek.
 On the other hand, Mulder would at least have the feeling of having control over the situation, if he 
was at the steering wheel on the way to the place where according to their informant, Alex Krycek was.

Mulder tried to imagine what would happen if they really found that rat bastard in the cabin in the 
Tunguskian Mountains. He'd love to kick into that pretty face, smash that beautiful body, returning the 
pain of all his lies and betrayals. And he was afraid that he would do just that.

Maybe Krycek would not be there at all. Someone could have warned him or his survivor instincts 
could have told him to flee. Or maybe his survivor instincts had left him and he was dead. This was 
one possibility Mulder did not like at all.
*

Skinner stopped the car about one mile before the hut. "We better walk the rest." He said. Krycek 
would see them if they approached by car, they had a better chance to catch him unprepared if they 
walked.

Still, Skinner wondered what they would do when they got Krycek. The correct thing would be to 
arrest him, bring him to Washington and deliver him to the courts without delay. Skinner just was not 
sure if they could follow the accurate ways. There was something about Krycek that always made him 
do the wrong thing despite better knowledge. First starting that threesome when Krycek was still in the 
FBI. It had been stupid and dangerous; if anyone found out, all three men's careers would have been 
over. Nevertheless they could not help but meet each weekend in some anonymous hotels.

Then that night before Mulder's and Krycek's trip to Tunguska, when Mulder had brought Krycek into 
Skinner's apartment and they had forced him to have sex with them. Well, not exactly forced, but they 
hadn't asked him either.

A few minutes after they had started walking it started to snow. The snow got heavier soon, the wind 
blew fiercely and Skinner pondered the possibility of having to stay overnight.
*

Krycek stared sullenly at the half-empty bottle of vodka. He did not feel pain anymore, but he didn't 
know for sure whether it was because his arm-stump was healt or because he had stunned the pain with 
alcohol.

He didn't remember much of the days after the attack in the woods, but somehow he had survived the 
loss of blood. The loss of his arm. Krycek swallowed another gulp of vodka, savouring the heat 
radiating through his body. 

All the pain he had gone through was not really the worst of it; he suffered more from the loss of a part 
of himself. It made him feel incomplete and restricted. Crippled. 

Simple things like putting on his clothes took longer now, reminding him of his loss.

Krycek had gone through a lot of crap, often thinking that he had reached the end. Until now he had 
survived everything, but he didn't know how to make it in his profession with only one arm.

One thing he thought was certain: he couldn't reach his goals anymore by offering sex. As much as he 
had despised himself for selling his body, the thought that he would be rejected now because of his 
mutilation was even worse.

However, Krycek's survivor instincts were still intact; he jumped up when he noticed a small noise 
coming from the hall, took his gun from the table and moved silently as a cat towards the door. 

Holding his breath Alex heard steps coming nearer. Someone from the Consortium, maybe? Whoever 
it was, Krycek wouldn't let him get him. He removed the safety lock from his gun and jumped into the 
corridor; ready to shoot whomever it was who were only a few steps before him.

It was Walter. Wrapped it layers of isolating clothes because of a winter colder than anything he was 
used to in the States, weapon in his hand, the unmistakable brown eyes in a handsome, male face. They 
stared at each other for a moment, then Krycek remembered that he was in the advantage of pointing 
his gun at the other man.

"Drop your weapon." He said with feigned calmness. When Skinner didn't react, he added: "I would 
really hate to shoot you, but if you leave me no choice, I'll do it."

He doubted the truth of his own words. 

Luckily he didn't need to find out whether he would be able to kill Skinner, because the older man 
lowered his weapon and let it fall to the floor, his eyes never leaving Krycek's. 

"Now, push it to me with your foot." Alex ordered. Skinner obeyed promptly this time. Alex was about 
to bow down and pick up the gun when he remembered he couldn't. He held his own weapon with his 
right hand and his left arm - cut off with nothing but a heated knife.

For a weak moment Krycek wished to drop his gun and throw himself into Skinner's arms, seeking 
comfort and safety. But he knew, seeking comfort from the pain was as futile as jumping from a tree in 
order to learn how to fly. Skinner would arrest him and bring him to prison. And no appeal whatsoever 
that it would be hard to fend off all the sick perverts in jail with just one arm would make Skinner 
change his mind.

Keeping Skinner in check with his gun, Alex slowly backed away along the corridor in order to escape 
through the back door. Just as he wondered how to open it without dropping his gun, the door 
magically swung open, hitting him at the back and making him stumble forwards. Krycek cursed as he 
lost his weapon, seeing it scuttle across the floor, but in an instant he turned around and simply overrun 
the man standing in front of the door. This man was no amateur either; Krycek felt a violent jerk as the 
man grabbed his ankle and tugged so hard that he fell into the snow. 
*

Mulder had been about to open the door when he'd heard through the wood Krycek giving Skinner 
orders. Mulder had waited until Krycek was at the door before slamming it open - almost a complete 
success. Krycek had lost his weapon but was professional enough to just run him over. Nevertheless, 
Mulder, not an amateur either, had managed to catch the rat when he had jerked his ankle, then thrown 
himself on the man lying in the snow.

To make sure he didn't escape, or maybe just out of pure spitefulness, Mulder hit the back of Krycek's 
head with his gun, knocking him out cold.

Mulder sat up and looked at the man lying beneath him, forbidden images floating through his mind. 
Images of Krycek lying like that underneath him, with no clothes on. Mulder shook his head and 
reached for the handcuffs, closing one of them around Krycek's wrist, then he reached for the left wrist 
to find only an empty sleeve. Mulder stared horrified at the unconscious man underneath him. Who 
had done that to Alex?

Then Skinner crouched down beside him, shouting, because of the howling wind, something about 
having to get Krycek back into the house before the storm was getting any worse. 

Mulder looked at the dark sky. It was a deep grey, almost black, with fats moving clouds. Snow was 
falling in heavy flakes; no way they could leave the hut before tomorrow. Gazing down at the 
unconscious man beneath him, Mulder noticed that he was already covered with a thin layer of snow. 
Almost unwillingly Mulder rose to his feet and helped Skinner to carry Krycek back into the hut.

It was much warmer there, so the FBI-agents hurried to shed themselves out of their isolating clothes, 
dropping jackets and trousers to the floor into small puddles of melting snow, only leaving on their 
long underwear. Krycek, whom they had dropped on the floor, was still unconscious; the snow on his 
clothes was melting, turning jeans and sweater into a wet fabric clinging to him like a second skin. 
*

Skinner knew how wrong it sounded when he said they'd better get Krycek out of his clothes before 
he'd catch himself a cold. And he knew where undressing Krycek would lead to, eventually.

Skinner started shedding Krycek out of his shirt while Mulder was tearing off his jeans. His belly was 
as flat as he remembered, his chest as firmly muscled. 

Skinner sharply inhaled when he pulled the shirt over Krycek's head, seeing that his left arm was gone.

Horrified, Skinner examined the fresh scars on the stump. It didn't at all look like done with a laser 
scalpel in a clean, modern hospital; it rather reminded him on the crudely done amputations he had 
seen in Vietnam in provisional field lazarettos.

Skinner gazed frowning at Mulder. The younger man looked quite shocked at the scarred man between 
them. Krycek stirred and moaned slightly; glad to have a reason to take over the initiative, Skinner 
ordered Mulder to help him carrying Krycek into the next room. It turned out to be a cosy living- and 
sleeping room: a bed, rather large for one person, a table with a couch and two chairs, a stove with a 
crackling fire, keeping the room warm.

They lay Krycek down on the bed, sitting down at each side of him. Skinner wasn't really surprised 
when Mulder closed the open end of the handcuffs around the brass rails in the headboard of the bed; 
he was rather concerned about the mischievous gleam in Mulder's eyes as he let his gaze travel over 
Krycek's naked, lush body, that lay so openly presented to their desires. And Skinner certainly felt 
desire for that pretty young man; from the first moment he had seen him in his office all Skinner 
wanted to do was shedding him out of his clothes and consume him. Skinner watched the Adonis like
 body writhing and his thick lashes flattering, before green eyes opened, looking at them in confusion.
*

When Krycek awoke the first thing he saw were two very familiar faces. Alex looked at them with 
more scrutiny: they were only wearing long underwear, as in deep winter, and they were staring down 
at him with greed and lust. Krycek realized that he was naked and when he tried to move he found out 
that he was chained to the bed.

He saw Mulder smiling wickedly, then shivered as he felt Mulder's fingers move over his chest. Then 
Mulder bent down and licked along Krycek's throat. Alex moaned and stretched his neck to give 
Mulder access to as much skin as possible. So he was with his lovers again. Abandoning himself to 
their lust, yet sure that they would give him pleasure in return.

Alex closed his eyes and moaned softly. Skinner joined in now, stroking his thighs, a tongue flicking 
his nipple.

Yet he felt that there was something wrong, something he had forgotten. Krycek tried hard to 
remember... smoke, the Smoker, all the wrong decisions... hatred in Mulder's eyes, Skinner's angry 
gaze... the woods in Tunguska, weird people, holding him down while someone cut off his arm...

"No!" Krycek called. What was going on here? He was crippled, he wasn't attractive anymore, so what 
were Mulder and Skinner up to? Toying with him in order to leave him frustrated? That was too cruel!

"Don't...!" he begged.

Then exactly what he'd been afraid of happened. Mulder jumped up and walked silently across the 
room. Damn!
*

Krycek was like a drug. Mulder couldn't resist, overwhelmed by lust, by addiction, all he wanted was 
to consume Alex, to get intoxicated by him, to devour him. Then the drug started protesting. 

It would only lead to feelings of guilt if he just took what he wanted against Alex's will. No matter 
what an evil monster Alex was, it was wrong. 

So Mulder forced himself to keep his hands to himself and crossed the room, stopping at the window 
and staring out into the storm. All he could see were snowflakes, swirling around in such a thick cloud 
that it almost looked like a white wall.
*

Skinner heard a small, whimpering noise escaping Krycek's throat, saw him gazing after Mulder with 
needful desire in his eyes. An expression of desperation flickered over Krycek's delicate features while 
Mulder stared out of the window with his back to them. 

Skinner observed Alex thoughtfully. What exactly was it he was afraid of? Obviously not of them as 
Mulder was thinking, or else Alex would not have looked so desperate when Mulder jumped off. 
Besides, Alex was just a slut.

Could such a beautiful creature be afraid of rejection? But fear of rejection had nothing to do with 
beauty; it was a matter of self-esteem. 

Krycek hadn't had a problem of self-esteem the last time Skinner had seen him; but a lot of bad things 
had happened to Krycek in the meantime.

Sadly Skinner moved a hand along Krycek's left shoulder and down the stump. Krycek shivered and 
tried to withdraw, looking aside.

"Alex, look at me." Skinner ordered. Krycek ignored his request, staring into thin air. Skinner sighed, 
then said: "Alex, I really wanna fuck you. However, if you have any objections, I won't do it. Just say 
no and I'll leave you alone. I might even remove the handcuffs." He added with slight amusement.

Krycek's head was still turned aside, but Skinner could observe that he was frowning suspiciously. 
"Anyway, I think your anxiety derives more from a fear of rejection than from a fear of the terrible 
things Mulder and I could do to you."

Skinner noticed Mulder turning around and staring blankly at them. Skinner bent down to lick Alex's 
throat. "I usually don't reject people who I tie up first." He murmured as he nipped along Alex's jaw 
line.
*

Alex hoped desperately that Skinner told him the truth, but even though some rational part of his mind 
told him that Mulder and Skinner shouldn't reject him for missing a limb, more likely for any other 
reason, he couldn't really believe it. For, what could have drawn them to him in the first place except of 
his good looks? There was not and never had been anything else he had to offer; so since his body was 
not as pretty anymore, shouldn't they lose interest?

However, Skinner was still nipping his jaw and unless this was some kind of sick game he was playing, 
like arousing him to leave him the more crushed, this meant that Skinner didn't find him disgusting.

Krycek closed his eyes and tried to relax, trying hard to forget his doubts and just enjoy it.
*

When Mulder heard Skinner's words, he reclined from staring out into the storm and turned around. He 
could clearly see Krycek's face, suspicious, disbelieving.  But when Skinner started licking his throat, 
Krycek closed his eyes, his features smoothened in careful enjoyment. Maybe Skinner was right. 
Maybe Krycek was just insecure about his loss. 

Krycek moaned softly when Skinner tongued his larynx. Smiling wickedly, Mulder approached the 
bed. He wouldn't just stand by and watch.
*

Skinner looked up when he felt the bed shifting, noticing with satisfaction that Mulder had joined 
them. Mulder, in a smooth movement swaying over Krycek's body, attacked him gently with teeth, lips 
and tongue. Following his voyeuristic streak, Skinner just watched as Mulder travelled his way down 
Krycek's flat stomach, lingering a bit to tongue his navel before he reached his groin. Skinner 
swallowed hard as he watched Mulder's proceeding. Mulder was very good at this, he knew. Now he 
was awakening Krycek's cock to life by licking first along one side, then the other, front, along the 
vein on the back, finally driving Alex mad by swirling his tongue around the head of his cock. Krycek 
frenziedly raised his hips to get more contact.
*

Krycek felt like drowning, drowning in a sea of pleasure. Mulder's tongue was lapping gently at his 
most sensitive parts, moist, soft, sensuous, licking here, lapping there... He must have died and gone to 
heaven. Yes, so must heaven be, forever being licked by the expert tongue of Fox Mulder. Or maybe it 
was rather hell; it was too good. He was not made for receiving so much pleasure. It would kill him, it would burn him from the inside, it would tear him to pieces. 

Krycek didn't realise that he was weeping silently until Skinner gently wiped off the tears. "Let it go, 
Alex." He whispered, before he descended to lick the sensitive skin on his neck in time when Mulder 
swallowed his rigid cock. Finally, taken past the edge, Krycek screamed and came, writhing and
 thrashing about as his semen shot out in a never-ending ejaculation.
*

Mulder was hit by Krycek's right lick and pushed off the bed as he was thrashing about like a bolting 
horse. Mulder fell hard onto the floor, but was rather surprised and very proud of his skills. Sitting up, 
he looked questioningly at Skinner, who was seated on the bed.

"Krycek?" he asked.

"He's out." Skinner answered. 

Climbing back on the bed, Mulder gazed at the unconscious man lying next to his boss. Alex was just 
gorgeous, looking like a sleeping Adonis. 

Reminded on his own hard, aching cock, Mulder asked frowning: "And what shall we do now?"

"69?" Skinner suggested.
*

When Skinner woke up he felt disoriented for a moment. He was in a strange environment, a heavy 
weight on his shoulder. Looking aside, he realised it was Krycek's head on his shoulder. Krycek 
looked angelic, innocent when he was asleep, inevitably awakening Skinner's protector instincts, 
making him want to provide a safe place for Alex, a place where nothing would hurt him anymore. 
What he would have to do was quite the opposite: in a few hours they would have to get up, drive to 
the next airport and get a flight to Washington, to deliver Alex to the courts. It seemed so hard to do 
now.

Skinner looked up when Mulder cast his shadow onto the bed. Mulder's mischievous smile promised 
nothing good. Or maybe it did, in some way.

"We're snowed in." Mulder said.


***



To be continued???