Title: CAMPING (1/1)
Date: July 29, 1999
Rating: NC-17 (Yap! At long last!)
Archive: ArchiveX, Gossamer. Any others if you ask:
just so I know where this is travelling to. Comments: email@example.com
EXPLANATION: Order of these: EATING, MAIL, THE CONFERENCE, THE CONFRONTATION, EATING II.
DISCLAIMER: These are the property of CC, Fox and 1013, but let's not forget that imitation is the greatest form of flattery.
He'd been right about Krycek.
During the fifteen minute drive to the camp site, he'd kept one eye on the road, the other in the mirror, watching Krycek concentrate on driving. When he'd gone to dump his sleeping bag in the tent, Skinner hadn't been too surprised that he hadn't come back out. He lay face down on his spread out sleeping bag, sound asleep.
It was dark when Krycek came out, yawning, stretching. Skinner sat propped up by the fire, reading a book by the light of the camp lantern he had set up nearby. The smoke from the camp fire was fairly successful in keeping the bugs at bay.
Krycek shook his head.
"There's beer in the cooler," Skinner offered.
Krycek brought him one, held his between his knees, twisted the cap off. He'd removed the prosthesis. Skinner found himself wondering how Krycek had managed to stay alive so long with just the one arm and hand. How much use could that plastic and metal thing be?
They said nothing. Let the quiet, the night soothe nerves, tension.
Skinner put his bottle to one side, shifted position so that he could watch his "guest". Krycek sat cross- legged, playing with his beer bottle, looking out over the water.
After a while, Skinner took a deep breath. Now or never, he thought.
"When I first met Sharon I was overwhelmed by her." Krycek stilled, sat just listening, staring at a ripple in the stream caused by a large rock. "She was bright. Beautiful. Had a pile of friends just like her. They went to concerts, art galleries. Could spend an entire evening just talking about a picture they'd seen that afternoon."
"I never understood how she could be interested in a jock like me. I mean, she had to make all the first moves because I couldn't pick up the signals she was sending out. No, not true. I did pick them up. I just couldn't believe that she was sending them out to me."
"I'm okay in the field. I know what to look for, how to handle the information that comes my way. My success rate was one of the reasons for my promotions. But when it comes to personal skills, it's difficult. I don't seem to find the words. It's what finally broke up my marriage to Sharon."
Skinner made himself look at Krycek. "I don't say the things I should say because I'm not sure they're the right words to use. Do you understand?"
Krycek had put his beer down. Now he effortlessly rose to his feet, came over to Skinner who was watching him intently. He straddled Skinner's thighs, slowly knelt, all the time holding onto Skinner's eyes. Carefully watching for reactions, he bent his head and kissed him. Used his lips to nudge open Skinner's mouth. Tasted him.
Skinner didn't react. His eyes open, he waited until Krycek pulled back. Krycek's head came up. His mouth grimaced into a sort of smile. "I guess I didn't understand."
As he went to move, Skinner's hands gripped his face, held him in place. "Who was that for, Krycek? For those old men of yours, if there are any left?"
Krycek's eyes went hard. "No." He mocked himself. "That was for me. Only for me."
"Good." Skinner pulled Krycek's mouth to his, slowly courted the closed off face.
His mouth stroked Krycek's lips. Moved slowly along the jaw line. Nipped at an ear lobe, gently sucked at the bite. Found the soft spot just under the jaw. Teased it with the tip of his tongue.
Krycek closed his eyes, stayed very still even when the hands moved off his face to settle on his shoulders. The mouth and tongue were playing along his throat, nipped and soothed his adams apple. He raised his chin, allowing Skinner to make his way to the other side of his face. Past the other soft spot under his jaw that was even more sensitive than the first.
This time his mouth opened beneath Skinner's and he passively allowed himself to be tasted, to be examined. Carefully, he permitted his mouth to respond to Skinner's touch.
He was too used to rejection, but this man's had left deep scars. He didn't think he could take it if this turned out to be Skinner's idea of revenge. So he waited.
Skinner pulled back to find the wariness he had sensed in Krycek reflected in his eyes. He brought up a hand, brushed fingertips over the stubbled cheek. "Do we move this inside the tent, Alex?"
Krycek was aware that Skinner had never before used his first name. He had wanted this man for so long that he was now afraid how much it meant to him that Skinner had called him Alex.
He nodded once.
"What do you use to shave, Alex?" Skinner asked with the hint of a grin.
Krycek was lost. Shave? He had to think. "Shaver."
"Good," smiled Skinner. "Why don't you go and use it while I put out the fire and settle the camp for the night."
There was the slight glimmer of a smile on Krycek's face. He passed his hand along his cheek. Even his palm rough and calloused as it was registered the bristles.
Krycek had left his things in his truck. He shaved there, consciously not thinking of anything. He watched Skinner put out the fire, make certain the food was locked up in his rental.
Skinner was dipping another pail of water from the stream when he saw Krycek at the door of the tent, taking off his boots, a knapsack in his hand. "Alex." The man paused. "Don't take off your clothes. I want to do that."
Krycek found it hard to breathe. Felt his body react to the soft promise in Skinner's voice. Finally he nodded, went in.
Skinner found him arranging the sleeping bags over the mat he slept on. Both it and his sleeping bag were double-sized: he needed the space and, even if he were camping, his bones reacted badly to sleeping on the ground.
He realized that they were both wary, not too certain where to put themselves. He had stashed the gas lantern in his vehicle, taken out the battery powered one. He hung it from the hook at the top of the tent. Answered Krycek's unasked question. "I want to be able to see you."
He took off his glasses, folded them, safely stored them out of the way.
He knelt next to Krycek who, for some reason, suddenly reminded him of a wild animal. Semi-tamed. Still afraid of touch. Why was that?
Krycek closed his eyes as the big hand cupped his now smooth cheek. He turned his face, rubbed into the palm. "Better?"
Skinner grinned. "Yes. Thanks." And used his tongue to recourt Krycek's face.
Skinner raised his head from the ear he was nibbling on.
"I'm clean," Krycek repeated. Watched as Skinner finally caught on.
"It's Walter. And I'm clean too." He reached over to his knapsack, opened a pocket, took out lube and condoms. "But just like the boy scouts, I'm prepared for any emergency." Watched a slow grin spread from Krycek's mouth to his eyes.
Skinner placed his hands on either side of Krycek's face, tilted it back so his throat was exposed and played his mouth over it.
Krycek co-operated, turning his head first to one side then to the other, letting the heat of Skinner's mouth warm him. Maybe this was for real. He had jerked off so often to his Skinner fantasy that he was almost afraid of the real thing.
He brought his hand up, finally participating. He cupped Skinner's head, holding it in that spot that seemed directly linked to his cock. Realized that sometime in the evening, while he had slept, Skinner had shaved.
Skinner's hands had slipped to under his t-shirt, were slowly stroking his ribs in a sort of circular motion that made it difficult to breathe. The action slowly raised his top, bunching it up around his shoulders. He tried to turn his body so that the stump of his left arm was less visible. He usually kept it covered if he could, but Skinner would have none of that.
He carefully uncovered the stump, made a small sympathetic grunt and bent his head to the mass of shiny scars, calloused skin. He remembered Krycek trying to explain how it had been for him, in the forest, wondering if he were going to bleed to death or just die of the pain.
For a moment he wondered if there were too many scars between them for this to work. Then he remembered how deeply he had felt betrayed by this man. Too deeply for a casual relationship.
Skinner tossed Krycek's shirt to one side, realized that Krycek had been busy unbuttoning his shirt. He sat back on his heels and let the man finish. He'd have to remember Krycek had only the one hand. Have to compensate for it. So he sat back, holding his arm out so that Krycek could slip the sleeve off.
Krycek turned to toss it onto the knapsacks and momentarily lost all sense. Skinner's mouth had clamped onto one of his nipples. It took him by surprise just how sensitive they were to another's touch. They never felt this way when he played with them. Why would another's mouth affect so differently? Or was it just because it was Skinner's?
Skinner let his hands roam over the wiry body. He could make out by the low light of the lantern the pale markings of old scars, the pinkish tinge of the newer ones. He didn't like that one on his neck. Moved his mouth back to it to soothe the pain away. Heard a soft sound that made his cock harden. Funny how parts of the body responded so well to certain stimuli.
Like right now, Krycek was sculpting his collarbone with his mouth. Why would that affect his cock so much?
Skinner moved closer to Krycek, gently lowered him down to the bed. He had been turned on by the soft surprised sound Krycek had made when his mouth teased his nipples. So he went back to them, all the while letting his hand work its way lower to the waistband of his jeans.
The fingers brushing over Krycek's abdomen made him gasp, allowing Skinner's hand a pathway to the cock that was demanding more and more attention. He pushed his hips into the hand that cupped him, used his leg to hook Skinner's and draw him closer. Skinner, he decided, was taking too long in undressing him. Maybe a hint...
His hand went to Skinner's fly, opened his jeans with just a bit of difficulty -- God, the man was big, difficult to move. His hand slipped under the waistband of his shorts, found something else big to deal with. Managed, because he knew that Skinner was suddenly only aware of the hand on his cock, to turn the man to his back, so that now he was on top.
Skinner took advantage of that to divest Krycek of his jeans and shorts. He co-operated enough with him to raise his hips so that the rest of his clothes joined Krycek's.
Krycek's mouth worked its way down Skinner's body. Past old scars. He knew Skinner had been in Vietnam. Did these date from that time? His tongue bathed the newer one on his abdomen that Cardinale had caused. Wished, oh so hard for the space of a breath, that he had been the one to arrange Cardinale's death.
He was taken again by surprise when he found himself on his back, Skinner over him. There was a momentary flash of fear, a fear from long ago. Of other big shoulders. Big hands that had delivered so much pain. But these hands were gentle on his body. Slowly exploring him. Slowly rousing him. Paying attention to his reactions. Not the usual hip-grinding, token stroking, mouth or ass. This exquisite slowness was new to him.
He couldn't remember if anyone had ever taken this amount of time over him, attending to his pleasure.
"Please, Walter. I want you in me."
Skinner let his hands slip under Krycek's hips, raise them. His mouth slowly teased a path from navel to the fold where thigh met torso, enjoying the reactions he was getting. He smiled at the twitching cock, its glans reddening, leaking fluid.
A man's body was so different than a woman's. Smelt different. Tasted different. Reacted different. He had forgotten.
"Alex. It's been a while. Tell me if I hurt you. I don't want to hurt you."
Skinner pulled Krycek's legs over his shoulders, reached for the lube. He was quickly aware that Krycek was no novice, but he was careful just the same. He quickly rolled a condom over himself, positioned himself, hoping he could go slowly enough. All he wanted was to bury himself deep within Krycek.
Krycek waited until he felt Skinner's cock begin its entry then he moved his hips so that Skinner no longer had to think about being careful. And Krycek had what he wanted: Skinner's cock deep in him.
And not just that. He also had hands stroking his cock, his body, fingers brushing his skin until all he was was sensation. His entire being was centred on the cock pumping into him, riding him into senseless pleasure. He met Skinner rhythm for rhythm, move for move until he could no longer hold back the scream that came out of the core of him. He barely heard Skinner's grunts, growl as he followed Krycek.
They lay entangled together, wrapped around each other.
Skinner became aware that most of his weight was resting on the smaller man beneath him. He carefully pulled out, removed the condom, tossed it into the paper bag at the door of the tent.
He spooned Krycek to him, managed to pull the open sleeping bag over them. The nights were cold.
Sleepily nuzzled Krycek's neck and shoulder. Got a sleepy sound of contentment in return.
Something woke Skinner.
In the grey light of early morning, he saw Krycek silently getting dressed. Obviously preparing to sneak off.
Skinner propped himself up on an elbow. "I thought," he startled Krycek, "you said you weren't in a hurry to go anywhere. I know it's been a while, but I didn't think last night went *that* badly."
It was a long minute before Krycek answered. He didn't look back. "No." His voice held no emotion whatsoever. "It was fine."
"I see." Skinner's voice cooled. "But you got what you wanted so now you're off."
"What did you think was going to happen?" Krycek still had his back toward Skinner.
That irritated him.
"Well, not a one night stand. Personally I'm not very fond of those." Skinner was finding it hard to keep his disappointment under control.
Krycek made a small sound. "That's pretty much most of my experience." He move a bit closer to his knapsack. Skinner finally realized that something was not right.
"Alex. What is it, really?"
"Really?" Krycek turned, his face bleak with hopelessness. "Shit, Skinner. You're an Assistant Director at the FBI. I'm..." he shrugged "an ex- Consortium assassin. An ex-Consortium whore. What the hell are we doing here?" He bent over his own body, as if enduring a spasm of pain. "God," his voice low, rough, "you'd think by now I would know better than to want something I can't have."
He began moving to his feet, was grabbed from behind, pulled down. Skinner quickly rolled his body on top of Krycek, let his weight hold him down. Krycek struggled a bit, almost too discouraged even to try. Skinner held his arm down, waited till Krycek lay, eyes closed, throat exposed like an animal in surrender.
It dawned on Skinner, stunned him, that Krycek was expecting to be hurt.
He let go of Krycek's arm, placed his hands on either side of the man's face. "That's where we're different, you and I. I don't want much, but when I find something I do want, I go after it."
Krycek's eyes opened.
"I want you, Alex. And I don't see any reason I can't have you."
Krycek felt frustration rise in him, along with a faint hope. "There are things about me..."
"Alex." Skinner put as much honesty in his voice as he could: Krycek would need that. He chose his words carefully, hoping they would be enough. "We both have pasts. We'll deal with them when the need arises. *If* the need arises. And if it doesn't, then let it be, Alex. Let it be in the past."
"Unless, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe all you did want was a one night stand. Somehow I got the idea in San Antonio that we were making our way to something more than that."
"Alex, I would like to see if we're more than a one time fuck. Would you?"
Alex whispered "Yes."
And let loose his hunger.
It was not last night's love making. It was not even sex.
It was a mating, a claiming of territory.
At first, Skinner was overwhelmed, felt he was being stormed. But slowly he let loose his own restraints. He was with a man who could meet him bruise for bruise, mark for mark, strength for strength. He may have been smaller, but he was as strong.
There were no soft words, soft sounds. There were grunts, growls, occasional exclamations of pain. All unheard. All ignored.
Krycek regained enough sanity to roll on a condom, to take the time to prepare Skinner for penetration. To allow him time to adjust to his cock in his ass. Skinner was on his hands and knees, Krycek behind him. Neither of them needed the consideration they'd shown each other the previous night. Their hips pumped roughly into each other, seeking only their own pleasure, their own screaming need for release.
Though, towards the end, when Skinner shifted his weight so that he could reach down to his own cock, Krycek slumped onto Skinner's back, propping himself on his stump, reached below and slapped Skinner's hand away. "Mine!"
They collapsed onto the sleeping bags, Krycek still on top of Skinner. Slowly caught their breaths, listening to the pounding of their hearts lessen.
Finally, Krycek moved, disposed of the condom, settled on his left side next to Skinner who moved to face him.
Skinner licked the sweat off Krycek's face, like some sated, lethargic big cat grooming another.
Krycek, green eyes still heavy with arousal, licked Skinner's mouth.
Skinner's hand pushed the sweat soaked hair off Krycek's face. "Alex."
Got a rumbled purr in answer.
"Alex, I don't share."
Krycek forced himself to pay attention.
"Do you understand? I don't share."
Krycek cupped Skinner's jaw. Thought very seriously. "Do I?"
"No. Is that acceptable to you?"
The smile belonged to the man he had played pinball with in San Antonio. "Yeah. Very acceptable."
Skinner pulled Krycek partially onto him, off his left side. Krycek snaked his arm back around his shoulder.
Cyrus came around the bend, grumbling to himself. If it had been anyone else but Beryl who had told him to check up on his FBI man, he would have laughed at them. The FBI man came here for peace and quiet, to be left alone. All Cyrus cared about was that the man paid him for use of the site, that he left it just as he had found it.
Man couldn't ask for more.
But Beryl had informed him that she wanted a report before she would feed him tonight.
The two men were by the stream. The FBI man was showing the man with the knife how to cast. He wasn't doing too well. So the FBI man moved behind him, placed his hand on the other's and led him through the traditional 10-to-2 clock motion.
The man turned, said something, rubbed himself suggestively against the FBI man's body. The suggestion seemed to be appreciated.
Cyrus pursed his lips. So it was like that.
He turned to return to the path, passed the big Sports Utility Vehicle that the FBI man always rented at the airport. He spat on the ground near it.
Behind it was another vehicle. Cyrus stopped to inspect this one. It was worth inspection. A Chevy pickup. Black. Not new. Battered and repaired. Well tended. A real truck with real use. Not one of those sissified city toys like the SUV. He hated *those* things.
His dog come out from under the truck, sniffed his way over to the back tire, raised a leg and pissed on it. Jasper never did that to the FBI man's toy. Apart from an initial sniff, more of a sneeze really, the dog never went near the FBI man's toy.
Both man and animal looked at the truck with approval. Cyrus listened to the sound of laughter coming from the stream.
He shouldn't have teased Donnie so much when that computer whiz grandson of his had shown up with the pale blue BMW. Ever since then, he'd had to put up with Donnie's ribbing about the sissified city toy that pretended it was a real vehicle parked in his camp spot.
Nope, he thought, feeling quite relieved, he doubted he would have to put up with that any more.
He slapped his leg calling Jasper to him. Gave the workhorse truck a gentle pat as he walked by.
Wondered if he could talk Beryl into a glass of that prime stuff Ellie distilled.