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Disclaimer: one word...mine. Until Chris Carter decides to let Alex have some fun.
Rating: very NC-17. **Non-consensual sex** between two men.
Summary: PWP set between Apocrypha and Tunguska. How might Krycek have joined the militiamen? No, I don't know how he got out of the silo either...
Many thanks: to Demi-X. You give great beta, Demi!
Feedback: feed the rat at email@example.com
INITIATION (1/1) November 4, 1999
Alex Krycek stumbled over a frozen patch of ground and nearly fell. The skin of his face and hands was still tacky with oil, and his knuckles bled from pounding on the silo door. He had no memory of escape. One minute he was lying on concrete, the next he opened his eyes to the wintry landscape of North Dakota.
Thirst scratched at his throat like wool against skin. He dropped to his knees and clawed at the earth, trying to find a few drops of water. Gouging out a promisingly damp clod, Alex shoved it into his mouth. The bitter taste of the dark earth gagged him, and he doubled over, coughing and spitting before collapsing in a tangle of misery.
There was not even enough moisture in his eyes for tears.
"Hey! What we got here?"
At first Krycek thought he was hallucinating the twangy voice. Then a pair of scuffed up boots came into his line of vision. He looked up bleary-eyed at the man to whom the boots belonged.
"Where'd you come from, friend?" the man asked.
Krycek tried to speak, could only manage a hitching gasp. The man frowned and bent down to get a better look. Krycek coughed harshly, and a trickle of oil escaped from the corner of his mouth and dripped onto the ground.
"Give me a hand, guys."
He heard more men approach, then he was lifted by strong arms and slung over somebody's shoulder. As they carried him away, Krycek succumbed to the dark throbbing between his eyes and slipped once more into unconsciousness.
Alex woke to the odd feeling of being in a womb. He was surrounded by warm water, and hands were touching him everywhere. He opened his eyes and saw immediately that he was in a large tub. Several men wearing quasi-military khakis knelt around the edge with their sleeves rolled up, helping wash the oil and grime off their new "guest".
"Look who's awake."
Alex recognized the familiar drawl. The speaker walked around to the end of the tub, directly facing him. No, Alex amended, he didn't just walk, he strutted. The man was short but wiry, with close-set eyes and a shock of bright red hair. Like many men his size, this one made up for it with a cocky attitude.
"Give him a drink, Joe."
One of the others left and came back with a glass of ice water. Krycek took it in trembling hands and managed a couple of swallows before he had another coughing fit.
"Enough. Don't want you getting sick."
The redhead looked Alex up and down. He could feel those intense blue eyes crawling over his skin.
"What's your name?"
"A-Alex...Arntzen," stammered Krycek, hoping his maternal great-grandfather didn't mind him borrowing his good name.
The redhead nodded. "Okay, Arntzen. You might have guessed, I'm the leader of this group. Terry Edward Mayhew, at your service." Mayhew smirked. "You hungry?"
"Yeah," croaked Krycek.
Mayhew gestured, and another militia member stepped out of the shadows with a bowl of soup. Krycek reached out a tentative hand for it, but Mayhew shook his head.
"Better get you dry and dressed, I think. Won't take long."
Two of the men put their hands beneath Krycek's armpits and lifted. They maneuvered him over the side, where he clung to the edge of the tub for support. Krycek glanced up, saw the leer on Mayhew's sharp features and suddenly he was very aware of his own nakedness.
Mayhew watched as Krycek sat on a cot and put on similar khakis with help from the group. Alex looked all around himself, anything to keep from having to meet Mayhew's eyes. He saw a functional cinderblock room furnished with cots, a scarred wooden table, some vintage 1950's lamps and, of course, the tub. Krycek guessed that this bunch lived in a minimalist fashion.
The soup was returned to him, and Krycek ladled some into his mouth. He knew he should eat slowly, but the hunger gnawed deep. Inevitably, his stomach rebelled, and a gout of soup and oil spilled out of his mouth onto his clothes.
Mayhew sighed and grabbed a wet washcloth. Krycek took it and cleaned himself as best he could.
"Maybe you'd better try food again later," suggested Mayhew.
Krycek nodded. The warmth of the room and the little bit of food he'd managed to keep down were conspiring to make him drowsy. He didn't protest when Mayhew peeled the shirt off him again and swung his legs onto the cot. In moments, Krycek was asleep.
The sound of gunfire startled him awake. Alex sat up suddenly and immediately regretted it when his head began to pound. Sitting there alone in the room, Alex's stomach growled out its dissatisfaction. Just as he started to rise, the door swung open and Mayhew stepped through.
"Hey. Feeling any better?"
"Not much." Krycek's voice sounded rusty to his own ears. "What's going on?"
"Oh, that?" Mayhew shrugged towards the door. "Target practice. Nothin' to worry about."
"Could I get some food?"
"Sure. Hang on, there's cereal if you think you can handle it."
He went into another room that Krycek had not noticed before. Mayhew returned a minute later with a bowl of oat bran and a carton of milk. He sat on the cot next to Krycek and watched him eat with a concentration that made Alex nervous.
Krycek handed him the bowl without speaking. Mayhew set it aside and stood up.
"Come on outside. We'll join the rest."
Krycek followed Mayhew up a set of wooden stairs and through a door. He was surprised to see that it was dark outside. He had no idea if it was still the same night he'd been found or the next.
"Come on over here, boys," Mayhew yelled. "This here's Alex Arntzen. He wants to join our group."
The men offered shouts of encouragement and a few catcalls. A couple of them grinned at each other in a way that made Alex nervous. They were all dressed in different variations of the same basic khakis, several of them with a rifle slung over their shoulders.
"Hey Little Mac," someone yelled. "What night is it?"
"Little" Mac, who weighed around two hundred and twenty pounds by Krycek's estimation, laughed.
"It's initiation night, you know that. At least it is for Arntzen here."
Before Alex could react, he was being pushed towards an open space beneath some trees. The militiamen circled around him, cutting him off from escape. He fought hard to keep cool, figuring this was some regular prank the group played on newcomers.
Mayhew separated himself from the crowd and joined Krycek in the middle of the circle.
"Okay, Alex. Don't let these assholes bother you."
The men around them chuckled, not at all put off by the epithet.
"Umm." Krycek cleared his throat. "Initiation?"
"Yeah, well, for lack of a better word. We usually let the new guy pair off with the partner of his choice. But you're too good looking to waste on these lowlifes."
Krycek blanched. Mayhew's smile was vicious.
"I--what do you mean?"
"I'm offering you protection. The chance to be my personal...companion," said Mayhew, sneering.
Krycek swallowed and tried to look tough.
"What if I say no?"
"Then I give you to the group. Whenever and wherever they want a piece of you."
One of the larger men stepped forward, cradling his rifle casually. The message was not lost on Krycek.
"Uh-huh." He nodded at Mayhew and managed a smile. "Well then, let's go."
Mayhew shook his head slowly. "Right here."
Krycek's voice came out in a harsh rasp. He resisted the urge to look for help among the others. There would be none anyway.
"You heard the man."
Little Mac produced a weapon seemingly out of nowhere. Not a hunting rifle, but a fully automatic Kalashnikov. He touched the muzzle to Krycek's throat, then made a show of skimming it lightly down his chest to his groin. Krycek began to sweat. Several men in the crowd snickered. Little Mac laid one beefy hand on Krycek's shoulder and pushed him down to his knees.
"All right," gasped Alex.
Mayhew stepped up to him. With elaborate slowness he unzipped his pants and tucked his fingers inside. He pushed the material down, exposing the root of his cock, which was surrounded by gingery hair. Mayhew wrapped a fist around the shaft and pulled it free, inch by inch. Krycek's eyes widened as Mayhew popped the last of his enormous cock out of his fly. The shaft immediately lifted and thickened as if exposure to the air had given him the semi-erection.
"No." Alex spoke calmly, but his heart was in his throat.
Mayhew raised an eyebrow. "Yes," he snarled.
The Kalashnikov reappeared, its muzzle laid against Krycek's head just above the right ear. If it were to go off, his brains would scatter over the entire circle. A fine sweat broke out over his forehead. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes involuntarily.
When he opened them again, his vision was filled by Mayhew's cock. It danced before his mouth, the head an angry dragon spitting pre-come. Krycek steeled himself. //I am a survivor// he repeated like a mantra, and opened his mouth wide.
Mayhew jutted his hips forward, sliding the fat head of his prick over Krycek's tongue. He withdrew and thrust again, controlling his movements so that only the crown itself entered Krycek's mouth. Alex began to relax as Mayhew kept his thrusts shallow. He sucked at the shaft and prodded the slit with the tip of his tongue, paying special attention to the sweet spot on the underside of the crown.
Mayhew hissed his appreciation of this treatment and stroked a little deeper into Krycek's mouth. Alex felt the gun barrel move away. In return, he put one hand on Mayhew's lean hips and used the other to massage his scrotum. From the corner of his eye, he saw several of the men jerking themselves off frantically.
The militia leader kept this up for another couple of minutes. Krycek sensed the impending orgasm and moved his hand to the base of Mayhew's cock, meaning to help him to completion. Mayhew slapped the hand away with a curse. He grabbed the back of Krycek's head and pushed forward roughly.
Suddenly Alex was choking. He screamed around the thick meat in his throat, but it came out as a gurgle. Mayhew held tight and pounded even deeper. Little Mac held Krycek's arms against his sides as Mayhew pulled on his hair and tilted his head for easier access. Tears of pain poured from Krycek's eyes. He struggled uselessly against the rigid column of flesh battering his windpipe.
Mayhew grimaced, stiffened, and came. He pushed forward yet another inch into his victim's throat, his cock pulsing so much bitter semen that it began to spill out of Krycek's lips. Alex squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on breathing through his nose as more come filled his mouth and throat. When Mayhew finally released him, Alex bent forward, coughing violently to rid himself of Mayhew's foul taste.
Krycek lifted his head and stared up at Mayhew.
"Satisfied?" he asked defiantly.
Mayhew's lip curled slowly. He hefted the length of his cock in one hand, running his fingers lightly over the veined shaft. To Krycek's dismay, the massive organ remained hard and throbbing.
"Not quite," sneered Mayhew.
Rough hands pinned Krycek to the ground and tore at his clothing. He struggled as Mayhew and Little Mac peeled the jeans down to his ankles and exposed his ass. One of them smeared some gel on his anus, then the blunt head of Mayhew's cock forced its way inside.
Krycek bit his lip so hard it bled. He would *not* scream. Mayhew withdrew, then slammed forward until Krycek was certain that the delicate skin of his perineum had been torn. He kept his head down, but none of the militiamen were paying much attention now. From the grunting sounds that came to Krycek's ears, they were all too busy getting themselves off.
He suffered through the assault stoically. After all, Mayhew had called this an initiation. Maybe this was the group's way of making sure each newcomer could take pain. Then Mayhew skewered Alex so deeply that he shattered his philosophical thoughts into a million pieces; he howled in agony like a madman.
Krycek's scream finally set Mayhew off. He spewed more come into his victim's bruised ass, thrusting even harder with each spurt. When Mayhew pulled out, Krycek yelled again and barely kept from fainting.
It was over. Suddenly Mayhew was lifting Krycek up and slapping him on the back as if they were the best of friends. He helped Krycek pull up his jeans, then he and Little Mac supported Alex and walked him through the cheering throng towards the bunker.
"Hell of a good sport," laughed Mayhew as if he had just played a tennis match, not fucked a man into the ground.
Krycek bit back a nasty comment. He even managed a smile.
"Yeah. Does this mean I'm in?"
"You bet. No more lessons today, though. You need your rest."
"And a hot bath," Krycek added.
"Yep." Mayhew wound an arm around Krycek's neck and leaned close to his ear. "You're okay, Alex. I'm looking forward to screwing you every night."
Krycek offered a sickly grin. Inwardly he vowed to betray this piece of scum and every other member of this ridiculous militia.
All he had to do was survive.