AUTHOR: Isa "Yes, I'm a dumb ass" Hunter
He never heard the other opponent say "Stop."
Seven minutes and several blows later, they were still trying to drag Mulder off the man's bloody, limp body. His manic rage collapsed in his chest, withering away as he stood back and surveyed the damage. Not only the broken man on the floor, but the fellow contestants--all of whom were glaring in his direction. He'd broken the rules of Fight Club. Since the last time it happened, to a man they hadn't seen or heard from since, no one dared testing the barriers.
But that had never been his intention. Every time he hit an opponent, he saw Krycek's face. He had to get that bastard out of his mind.
Drenched with sweat, squeezing his right eye shut against the blood that dripped down his face, Mulder met the leader's gaze with sullen defiance.
"Whatever you're going to do, finish it."
Crushing his cigarette under a bare foot, the leader walked closer, stopping with his nose just inches from his target. With barely a subtle flicker of movement, he slammed his fist into Mulder's face and sent him careening backwards. Caught by two other contestants, he heard Tyler Durden tell them to take him into the back room. He'd been expecting that. Punishment was never made public.
His head lolling to the side, ears ringing and nose surely broken, he let them drag him out of the ring and toss him like a heap of garbage into the back room.
He landed on the concrete floor with a thud, his wrist slamming painfully and skidding across the slick surface. The door closed behind him and he looked up to catalog his surroundings. Aside from a dirt-filmed window and a mattress on the floor, the room was bare. Unless, of course, you counted the iron rings halfway down the cinder block wall. He was pondering the many uses of them when the door opened again and he was faced with...nothing.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. A man in black stood in the open doorway, but his face was shrouded, his body entirely hidden, becoming nothing more than phantom. The door closed behind him, and as the long trailing length of leather rolled onto the floor, Mulder realized he was carrying a whip.
Fuck. He started to climb to his feet, to rush the man, when the whip cracked and blazed a fiery trail across his arm. Jumping back, he stared down at the welt growing on his skin.
His voice little more than a whisper, indistinguishable, the phantom said, "We can do this the easy way, or the painful way. It's your decision."
Reluctantly submitting, Mulder nodded. "The easy way."
Stepping forward, the man raised the whip...and when Mulder expected to be lashed again, he was surprised when the length of the whip was used to bind his hands behind his back. Dragging him over to the wall, the masked man tied the handle end of the whip to the rings in the wall with an awkward knot. With the angle of his arms behind him, pulled up so high he could barely stand it, there was no way he could untie the knots.
Standing in front of him, the man grabbed his chin and tilted his head up. No doubt searching his gaze through the mesh shroud he wore. Again, with his voice barely audible, he talked to Mulder as he unbuttoned his tight jeans.
"Now, you're going to suck my cock, and I swear if you bite me or even give the indication that you're thinking about it, I'll slam your head right through this wall. You got that?"
No wonder the previous offender had never been heard from again. Disgusted, yet unable to justify the sudden tightness of his pants, he nodded in agreement.
When he found himself staring, very intimately, at another man's cock, he had to suck in a steadying breath. Whomever he was, he was circumcised. At the very least eight inches in length and thick enough to make Mulder nervous. He hesitated for a moment too long, and suddenly found himself shoved towards the wet head as the masked man became impatient.
Salt. Hot tangy flesh. He closed his eyes, wrapping his lips around the turgid length, trying to think of anything else but this moment. Still, when he heard those soft moans leaving the other man's throat, and felt his own cock twitch in response, he couldn't help the lazy swirls his tongue made across the pulsing surface. Adding a little bit of suction, feeling the pull all the way down to his own balls. Moving his head back and forth, tugging at his restraints with the need to stroke himself. Helplessly shifting his hips back and forth in mindless rhythm, not giving a damn anymore about what he should or shouldn't be doing...needing nothing more but desperate release.
And when he felt the bulbous head bumping against the back of his throat, felt the solid length of the man's cock sliding back and forth against his tongue, he sucked even harder. The man's fingers clenched in his short hair, pulling him hard against his groin, shooting salty semen down his throat. And swallowing was all Mulder could do to keep from choking to death.
Pulling away from his mouth, the masked man lazily let his arm drop away from his head before lifting it up to the hood that covered his face.
"Jesus, Mulder...if I'd known you could suck that good, I never would have left the bureau."
And as Krycek pulled the hood off his head, flashing his former partner a satisfied grin, Mulder felt his stomach clench. Rearranging himself and zipping up his pants, Krycek laughed at the string of obscenities that left Mulder's mouth.
Crouching down before him, Krycek took hold of his chin. "Come now, Mulder. This was your punishment. You didn't expect wine and roses, did you?"
Before he could say what was really on his mind, Mulder's mouth was ravaged in viciously tender kiss. Tongue sweeping against tongue, tasting, exploring, surely meeting the spiciness of his own come in his mouth. As he pulled away, Krycek released his lower lip with a little suctioned pop.
"Till next time."
Watching him walk away, hating him for making him want even more, Mulder couldn't ever remember a punishment so sweet.