Title: Easier
Author: Drovar
Email address: drovar@ix.netcom.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Krycek/Spender/Fowley
Website: The Ferret Cage
URL: http://www.area51/hollow/3190/ferret.htm

Things are so much easier when you have the key. I slide into the cheap motel room closing the door soundlessly in the darkness. My vision adjusts slowly, but my hearing knows what's going on right away. I can hear their breathing from here, course, deep, warm, broken by little forceful gasps as one moves against the other just right. It's a sweet sound, innocent, precious; I almost hate to ruin it, almost.

I step around the short wall dividing the tiny entryway from the rest of the room and let the senses I can still use make up for the lack of sight. Again I hear breathing, its pace quickening, she's closer than he is. I can hear the slap of skin on skin, and the tangled rustle of bodies entwined in sheets. The odor of sex soaks the air; it's alternately sweet and pungent, arousing.

I stand for awhile, smelling, listening, and almost imagining I can feel the subtle vibrations of their movements through the floor. Finally, my eyes adjust. They're moving smoothly together, sliding and thrusting. He's on top; his lean hips and ass barely covered by the sheet. I lick my lower lip and leer in the darkness, perfect.

Shedding my clothes is neither easy nor entirely soundless. So many little things aren't these days. I catch her eye peering over his shoulder, past the tight curls of hair. She moans twice, loudly, filling the small room with sound as I finish undressing, and slink forward, good girl.

He squawks mightily and tries to twist around when he feels the gun at the back of his head. I push hard, forcing the barrel into his scalp; he gasps and settles right down, good boy. A second push silences his demands for answers, whiney bastard.

He starts again as I get into the bed behind him. Her eyes just about glitter as I slide into place. She's enjoying this as much as I am. Boy-toy in the middle isn't. I can see that in the clenching muscles in his shoulders. They're broad and well defined, not bony and angular like I expected. I trail the gun down his spine, from the nape of his neck to the small of his back. I let it hover and then trace along his skin, moving slowly lower. I can feel the softness of his skin through the drag on the barrel. To his credit he only flinches when the gun nose snags the sheet and drops beneath, sliding through the cleft of his ass.

"Please don't," he says. I know what he's thinking and entertain the idea for a moment, enjoying it, before letting it slide away. We swivel together, hip to thigh, as I lean forward to whisper in his ear. A shudder runs through his smooth firm body as my hard cock presses against him.

"I don't want to hurt you," I lie softly. His eyes shift to the left trying to look at me in the darkness. I move to the right, letting my crotch grind into his ass as I turn, and set the gun silently on the floor. Her eyes follow my movements, tracking every detail, even now evaluating, and calculating. I'd swear she was the old bastard's spawn, not him. She has his eyes if nothing else, and I suspect she'll have mine on the end of a blade if I'm not careful.

I slide my hand, now free of the gun; up over his hip and then down between the two of them. I can feel him, still in her, large and still hard. I'm not surprised. Sometimes you can just tell what people are going to kink on.

He starts to protest when my hand slides back between his ass cheeks and probes for his opening. She's quicker, covering his struggling mouth with her own, swallowing his words in a flurry of tongue and lip. She wraps her arms around his chest and grinds against him. He twitches, breaks the kiss and groans sharply when I find the spot.

"Keep fucking," I order. He tenses, and trembles as I slither back up his body, letting my full naked weight fall on him. My lips press close to his ear, my words are more breathed than spoken. Words for him, and only for him. "There's more than one way to break a man's spirit." Suddenly his fight is gone, released and flown, like a caged bird. He seems to whither beneath me.

I lean over and take the lube from the nightstand. He turns to follow my hand; his eyes wide, and a little frightened. He should be. This is nothing, a prelude; much greater buggery lies ahead, for him, for her, for the world, and in the end for me.

Her hands move up his back to stroke the nape of his neck, it's a gentle, simple thing, calculated though it is. I apply the lube. His skin around the tight muscle is smooth and unmarked, a virgin. He shudders as one finger enters. She is whispering to him now, lover's words, just loud enough for me to hear. The second finger draws a gasp and then a moan as I begin to thrust. The long, rangy muscles in his back flex with each stroke. I lean down and kiss and bite at each as it moves.

She pulls him close again, her lips brush his once, and then devours them. It's a sweet and bitter victory when he begins to respond to me. I enjoy my conquests, but I prefer them on my terms, in my own time. Sometimes assassin, sometimes whore, I'm not sure which makes me feel less human. Still, when his moans begin to escape their pressed lips I smile, I know he's ready.

I place myself at his entrance and press, hard, just to show him that I'm still in charge. He whimpers as the taut muscle stretches and resists. There's something oddly sweet about a man when he finally gives up that most precious part of himself. I apply more lube and push again.

He cries out and buries his face in her neck, moaning sweetly, when I finally penetrate. He's tight, even more than I expected. It almost hurts us both. His lean body shudders, as he spreads his legs trying to reach some accommodation with my intrusion, I doubt that it helps.

"Please," he whispers against her skin, his voice thin and reedy. "It's too much, I can't . . . "

She cradles his head against her breasts, a smile gracing her over-full lips. She's enjoying this. It's something she'll regret. Having that black-lunged bastard for a sugar daddy doesn't make you invulnerable, just easier to track by the stench. She's a user, a whore for power, ruining herself and anyone else she can in her climb to that pinnacle. I know the breed well. I was the one who left her an opening, in the old bastard's graces and in his bed.

I lean down, wishing we were alone.

"I'm sorry," I tell him and oddly, for once, it isn't a lie. I move against him again, feeling soft tissue spread under protest. He stifles a scream when something inside gives. It's never easy the first time for a man; it wasn't for me. It isn't for him.

He gasps again, as I finally trust in completely. I run my hand over his shoulders, kneading and smoothing, urging him in whispers to relax. I listen to his soft muffled cries each time I move inside him. He's all the things you'd expect of a virgin, hot, tight and sweet, I'm damned with each stroke, damned and lost. I keep telling myself that it's my job, I keep telling him that I'm sorry.

It seems like hours that we move together like this. My body plunges into his, his body writhes beneath and around me. Her body, all angles and slack skin, moves beneath us both. She's grinding in syncopation to his smothered cries, rocking her hips against him, hard. Eventually her head files back as she gives out a silent open-mouthed gasp. Not much of a show really.

She quickly slides out of the bed, winks at me and saunters into the bathroom, he hardly seems to notice that she's gone. I fold myself over his body, letting him support us both, I have no other way, and reach around for his cock. It's still hard, and long, and slides easily in my fist. I pull back drawing the foreskin tight around the head and get the first gasp that I don't think is from pain.

I pump his cock gently at first, enjoying its considerable heft in my hand. There's something incredibly erotic about the sheer weight of it. Longer than mine, and thicker. I wonder for a moment if he has to keep the damn thing strapped to his leg to keep it out of the way. I wonder if Mulder ever noticed.

He shifts and raises his hips; it's a little easier with her out of the way. I encourage him with licks, small bites, and words of sweet smut whispered into his ear. He moans loudly as I begin to pump his cock in earnest, no longer stroking into his ass, just kissing the back of his neck and whispering the most obscene things I can imagine. It seems to work.

He moves against me slightly, encouraging me to continue. He'd never allow himself to actually ask for it, he will, in time. I stroke in to him slowly, trying to be gentle. He's moaning again, softly, in small expelled gasps, moaning for me, and with me. Our pace quickens, as the world in my thoughts dwindles down to just us, no conspiracy, no power games, not even the woman's anger driven lust. There is only us, and the soft thresh of skin on skin, eased by blood and sweat.

His moans become louder as he approaches his climax. Stretched muscles inside contract and squeeze around my cock. I stroke furiously, both of us ignoring his pain as we rut together. Finally with one more gasp and a string of profanity he explodes into my hand. Thick ropes of semen cascade out and around my hand. He quakes beneath me as I continue to pump him through his orgasm. The extra pressure finally sends me over the edge as well.

We lay like that, bonded together, until she returns, fully dressed. Her eyes are cold, and appraising, as she looks us over. Apparently satisfied she turns and scuttles out the door. She's off to make her report no doubt, the bitter resentful son humiliated and put in his place at last.

I pull the sheets over us and yank him back when he tries to pull away. I'm not ready to let go of this, not yet, maybe never.

* * *

Later, I wake as I feel him climb back into bed. He hasn't run. hasn't tried to kill me. I'm not surprised, I can always tell that about people, kinks are a specialty of mine. I reach for his cock and stroke it to hardness. He doesn't shy away. I can feel him looking at me in the darkness; he lays there propped up on one elbow for a long time, as I stroke.

"Why?" he asks, his voice full of wonder as I roll onto him, slick myself with lube, and straddle his hips, guiding his hard cock to the sweet breach of my body.

"Because," I say as I press my weight against him.

"The first one was for him." I gasp, and smile when I impale myself.