ICKLE ALEX MEETS HIS MATCH
By Sergeeva [August 2001, 11k]

Pairing: Sk/K (Alex wishes!)

Rating: A soft R for violence and implied m/m interaction

Category: Oh, humor all the way <g>

Disclaimer: Much as I wish Skinner was mine he isn't. Nor Krycek. They are the creation and property of CC, 1013 Productions, Fox Broadcasting, Mitch Pileggi and Nick Lea and bravo to 'em! I'm not making any money from the use of these characters here, or anywhere.

Archiving: Please not unless you ask first.

Summary: Just my response to the cries of outrage after "Existence"

Note to Krycek fans: just teasing, really! Seriously - I can't believe how often we've been told it's all perfectly all right that K has tortured and tried to kill Skinner, but let Walter kill K in desperation and in order to save other lives and suddenly Skinner is a monster! Not here.

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F.B.I Headquarters,

An autumn afternoon.

Someone had thoughtfully switched on all the lamps in his office when Skinner returned from the strategy meeting. Well, not someone – he knew exactly who it was. His shadow, his nemesis.

"We wouldn’t want the video cameras to miss anything, would we?" He allowed himself the weary, ironic comment as he moved to his desk, shedding his suit coat and draping it on the back of his chair. Krycek was lounging on the black leather sofa in what he undoubtedly imagined was an irresistibly provocative pose – top fly-button undone, one knee cocked, the artfully-placed rip across the front of his t-shirt allowing one pert nipple to peek out. Skinner sighed resignedly, started rolling up his sleeves.

"Unfair, Walter – you always think the worst of me! You never let me explain why I had to shop you and the Gruesome Twosome to my bosses – they were threatening to dock my vodka allowance! But I didn’t hand the tapes over until I’d freeze-framed through all your bits quite a few times… god, your growl makes me so hard!"

Shuddering visibly, Skinner rounded the desk and prowled menacingly toward the reclining man, fists clenching involuntarily. "Now listen here, you two-faced…"

"Ooh, we are in a bad mood, aren’t we? Let ickle Alex take care of his big gruff grizzly, you know you can’t resist me!" Krycek was undulating his hips and fingering the next button on his gaping fly while batting his eyelashes at Skinner. It was all Walter could do not to pound him into the leather cushions, but the slut would probably enjoy that too much. He consciously relaxed his bunched fists and his tight jaw and stepped close to the couch, looming over his gadfly.

"Let me get this straight. You consider asaulting me, arranging to have me shot, infecting me with fatal nanocytes and using them as blackmail for the life of a dying agent and an unborn child, just a particularly cute form of flirtation, right?" Krycek moved a training finger from the waistband of his jeans up under the edge of his t-shirt, baring more of his pale chest.

"Well, you have to admit, it got your attention, Slugger." His tongue slicked across his parted lips, moistening the already glossy pink.

"Don’t call me that! What do you want, Krycek. What will it take to be rid of you?"

Mascara’ed eyelashes fluttered winsomely. "You don’t really want rid of me, Walter? We could be so goooood together. You need to loosen up, stop worrying about the rules so much, live a little."

"That’s proven a tad difficult with you switching on the nano-critters every time you feel like it. You don’t give a shit, do you, Krycek. Loyalty, legality, humanity – they just pass you by."

"Bor-ing. I’m a free spirit, living life in the fast lane." He sat up, hiking up the much-abused t-shirt to reveal both rosebud nipples. Slowly, he spread his legs wide and dropped a hand to caress his own groin. Skinner made a final roll to his shirt sleeves.

"Okay. Convince me, let's hear your side of it. You and your thugs attacked me in the stairwell because...?"

"Oh, well, that was such a turn-on, seeing you cornered, feeling those muscles as I slammed into you..." He lifted his arm in a mock punch, green eyes glittering. "And I could have killed you, you know."

"Well forgive me if your generosity escapes me. You were saving that treat for another occasion, weren't you? That thug of yours was all lined up, the moment I refused to drop the Melissa Scully investigation." Skinner deliberately set his hands on his hips, fighting the urge to batter the renegade agent's smirking face to a pulp.

"That was a peach of a plan, if I do say so myself." Smugness slithered around every syllable. "Cardinal couldn't believe you'd go for the maiden-in-distress ploy, but I knew you, Walter - ever the gentleman, always so protective, so self-sacrificing... I guess Luis was so amazed you fell for it that his aim was off. Still, it suited my purposes that you survived."

"Your purposes? You risked innocent people for some despicable plan of your own?"

"Oh stop whining, Walter. All you lost was a couple of feet of intestine. I had to terminate my buddy Luis to shut the squealer up."

"And did Scully have to lose her sister? Or Mulder his father? Were they part of your plan?"

"It's a war. People die. And if we're comparing scars..." Krycek's had shifted from teasing flirtation to manic bravado. He brandished his prosthetic arm in Skinner's face, almost hissing.

"Of course," Skinner sounded tired, suddenly, "that would be my fault too. Nothing to do with your own actions."

"Live fast, die young." He shrugged with chilling nonchalance.

"That last part can be arranged," Skinner growled.

"You think you’re so strong, Walter, but you can't fight me, you want me. I can see it in your eyes." Again the tongue flicked out and Krycek bucked his hips in a crude invitation.

"Just how desperate do you think I am, or can’t you conceive of anyone being able to resist your cheap charms, Alex?" Skinner stepped up close to the couch, so close he could have crushed Krycek’s toes with his big shiny shoes. "What you can see, boy, is my fuse running out." And he picked Krycek up by the scruff of his neck and shook him like a seriously pissed-off lion letting an uncooperative gazelle know that it was lunch. Krycek’s arms and legs flopped around, flailing against the sofa, his face was getting red and his eyes bugged as the powerful man tossed him back and forth as if he weighed less than nothing.

Car keys, a money clip and a roll of breath mints flew out of Krycek’s pockets. Still Skinner shook him.

"Ugghh, ugghh, ugghhh," whined Krycek as his teeth rattled in his skull.

"Actions. Have. Consequences." Walter’s face was almost serene, his voice soft and very dangerous. "Ask Mulder, if you find that concept hard to grasp." Unbelievably, he stepped up the radius of his swings, crashing Krycek’s dangling legs against each end of the leather sofa. Coins, lip-gloss, a wire garrotte and a small black box arced out of his captive’s pants pockets.

"Ah." Skinner’s voice was the purr of the tiger now. He dropped the goggle-eyed, gasping Krycek onto the carpet and picked up the black box. The palm pilot. "Smash it." Such a reasonable tone, so deeply scary.

"Wwwww… " Krycek couldn’t get a word out. He tried again, "Wwwhhhaaa...?" His brows had risen so far into his hairline they'd disappeared.

"You heard me. I want you to destoy this... device. Here. NOW!" After the quiet, controlled tone the last word lashed out like a whip cracking. Krycek flinched. He tried to stand and fell back slackly against the seat of the couch. Skinner solicitously reached down and yanked him to his feet by his good elbow. While Krycek stood whey-faced, his eyes darting from the palm pilot to the door, Skinner waited.

"Ssssss…" Shameless still, Krycek was attempting a shaky sneer. But one false eyelash had come adrift and his chin was wobbling. The effect was less than impressive. He gulped, and made one final attempt. "We’ve both done things, taken orders. Things weren't so simple for me. It wasn't... I never... I didn’t…"

"No, you never do anything, do you, boy? I’m so tired of you." Skinner tossed the palm pilot to the floor between them and then slowly cracked the knuckles of each massive fist. "Well?" He infused a tone of utter disinterest into his words and that, finally, seemed to deflate Krycek's bluster. With a bitter savagery, he stamped down on the black box, shattering it.

"Good boy." Impossible to analyse the meaning in those two uninflected words, but the calculating light was back in Krycek's eyes like a mad fire. As sly as a mongoose, his hand shot forward and cupped Skinner's groin. The big man chopped down with both hands, slapping the unwanted caress away.

"Bad timing? I'll take a rain check, then, shall I?"

"You'll take your sorry ass and walk out of my life and as far away from me and my agents as you can scuttle." This time the big hands closed around his throat and Krycek found himself marched backward to the office door, choking and spluttering.

Even from his disadvantageous position on the discreet grey federal carpet Krycek was incorrigible. "Does this mean we're through, then?"

"Give me strength" groaned Skinner, drew his gun and shot him.

THE END