Title: Trick or Treat
Author: D.W. Chong
Pairing: K/Sk, K/O
Rating: NC-17
Dedication: to Lorelei, for her birthday

Summary: Krycek reminisces about Halloween's gone by, and celebrates anew.

Alex Krycek sat in the cab of the limo. Its windows were rolled up to spare him from the stench of the alley he had backed into. His eyes were on the doors of the hotel across the street. His quarry was within, attending one of the hundreds of thousands of masquerade parties being held across the nation in honor of Halloween, 2000, although the actual day was still three days away, on Tuesday. Tuesday night teeming throngs of tots and their guardians would stroll the residential districts in search of sugary booty. But here, tonight, the adults were playing at make-believe on a work week sensible Saturday.

Halloween was Alex's favorite holiday, and autumn his favorite time of year. Not for him the harsh bareness of winter with its unrelenting cold, its threat of starvation or icy death. Not for him the bug-infested summer, with its steamy, muggy nights that closed around you like a suffocating blanket, denying sleep. No, autumn was relief from the heat, the dying or hibernation of the bugs, still warm days, but cool nights. Perfect weather.

And far better than spring for a soldier, historic herald of war that it was. Of course, autumn was worse in one way: because of all the holidays. Halloween was the start of the holiday season. When families gathered together to make each other miserable, when those without families felt bereft and lonelier than at any other time of year. Which is what also made it suicide season. Ninety days of Blue Funk-o-rama. Take *that* Peace on Earth.

Still and all, Alex loved Halloween. Trick or Treating had been the major revelation of his young life. People he did not know would give him candy or money just for the asking. Because it was tradition. Didn't matter if he was rich or poor, happy or sad, abused or privileged, adopted or natural born, in a ready-to-wear costume or a homemade one; the treat was the same for all.

He would start trolling for treats at the hint of dusk, running from house to house until the last porch light flicked off. He had his route memorized, so he could cross his treasure stash at least three times. He would hide his booty, get a new treat sack, and head out for virgin territory. Furthermore, he never shared. Not one piece of candy, not one red cent. He hid it all in his special place. Doling it out to himself with the strictness of a pre-reformed Scrooge handing out coal to Bob Cratchit.

He always ate his favorite stuff and the perishable stuff, first. Chocolate. Popcorn balls. Fruit. He saved the hard candy for last. Because it would last. (Barring a natural catastrophe.) Taffy turned into jawbreakers, cookies got stale, stick gum went brittle and stuck to the wrapper, but hard candy lasted, virtually unaffected by cold or heat.

The kids in his class started dropping out of Treat or Treating as they aged. But Alex hadn't had a Trick or Treat until he was nine, so he kept going. Even when some of the adults started making comments about how old he was, hint, hint, he kept going. Right up till he was fourteen. That was the year he convinced Raoul to join him. They found some old suits of their fathers' and rubbed burnt cork over their faces and went as bums.

When Alex took Raoul to the garage, where he hid his stash, the first time, his friend was amused and intrigued, and Alex had to tell Raoul all about how he had come to establish his hiding place.

Someone had once lived over the garage, which had once had a full attic. There still were three dormer windows looking out over the back yard, but the stairs that had once led up to the apartment's door had gone rickety and had been torn down.

Alex had found the trapdoor while he was fooling around in the garage. All you had to do was climb up the shelving in the back, brace your foot against the spike in the side wall that held the extra garden hose, push open the correct square of ceiling between them, then hoist yourself inside. Half of the living space was gone, now. The toilet and bath had been taken out, and the flooring knocked out so boxes of junk could be inserted through the support beams from inside the garage and stored on the remaining flooring.

Working carefully, Alex had restacked the boxes to create a make-shift 'wall' along the side of the garage facing the back yard. He moved the stuff the family used every year, like Christmas decorations, to the other side of the garage, then made a secondary wall of interesting stuff that's main function was to give him plenty of things to entertain him when he did chance to hide away. Things like a marine foot locker with medals and pictures, old letters and a uniform; old fashioned jigsaw puzzles; comic books; a paper grocery sack full of old girlie magazines; and a steamer trunk filled with old bedding. He used the blankets and pillows to make himself comfortable, and used the steamer trunk as a table, and place to hide the personal items he'd brought to make attic life more liveable.

Alex had snuck up some gallon-sized glass jars to stash his candy in. He had matches and candles, to seal the metal lids and keep the ants out, and flashlights and batteries to peruse the girlie magazines and comics, or put together a jig saw puzzle. He knew stray beams from the flashlight or candles wouldn't give away his hiding place, because someone had stapled tar paper over the dormer windows. He'd cut some peep holes in two of the dormers, so he could keep an eye on the back yard and house when he needed to, but he'd taped posters of Farrah Fawcett and Steve McQueen, and the Star Wars movie poster with Luke and Leia swinging on a line over the tar-papered windows of the dormer farthest from the trapdoor, to make his 'nest' more homey.

By the time Alex and Raoul made it back to the garage from their second leg of his Halloween route, Raoul had been more interested in checking out Alex's hidey hole than in getting more candy.

Alex obligingly allowed Raoul to go up and check out his secret hiding place.

Raoul thought it was pretty neat. He thought the girlie mags were even neater. He convinced Alex to forego the rest of Trick or Treating in favor of checking out Miss November 1973. By the time Raoul had leafed through the layouts to the centerfold, he had unbuttoned his pants and put a hand down his briefs, but he was having difficulty holding the magazine and himself at the same time.

Alex, who had been glued to Raoul's side, holding the flashlight, offered to help his friend out.

Raoul thought about it, then allowed as how that would be all right. He took his hand out, and let Alex slip his hand in.

Alex rubbed his palm along the length of his friend's erection. It was short, but fat, and already leaking. Alex teased Raoul's balls with his middle, ring, and pinkie fingers, while he cinched his dick with his thumb and index finger. Then he stroked up, tapping his fingers along Raoul's length as he squeezed. Then he released Raoul's cock and grabbed it at the base again, worked his ring of fingers up to the crown, again. Then he grabbed Raoul's dick with his fist and started to pump. Pump, pump, pump, then swirl his thumb over the crown and pump, pump, pump.

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" Raoul shot his wad. "Jesus Christ, Alex! I am so jealous of your dick, man! That was the best!"

Alex smiled. "Shit, man, that wasn't nothin'. I could do you so good, you'd pass out."

"Oh, fuck, right! Big talk."

"There's only one way to find out. You man enough?"

"Shit, yeah! Show me what you got, man."

"Not so fast. I already got you off once for friendship, but if I get you off again, it's strictly for trade: I helped you, you help me, understand? And since you'll be two up, I get to choose the way you help me. Deal?"

"Fuck, no! That don't sound right."

"Fine. Let's get out of here."

"Yah! I knew you were full of shit!"

"Am not. You're the one who went chicken shit on me!"

"You're the one who got all weird, man!"

"Oh, me helping you to get off is OK, but you helping me to get off is weird, huh? Sounds pretty chicken shit to me."

Raoul chewed his lower lip. "Yeah. I guess, when you put it that way, it does sound cold."

"So, what'll it be, then?"

"Do it."

"Fine. Pull your pants down."

"What?"

"Bock, bock, bock!" Alex tucked his hands under his arm pits and flapped his elbows while he made clucking noises.

Raoul puffed up his thin, adolescent chest and tugged his slacks and briefs off in unison. "There! Rock my world, ass hole."

Alex smiled and licked his lips. He reached into one of his sacks of candy and pulled out a trio of pixy stix. "Apple, raspberry, or cherry?"

"You think eating candy while my butt's hanging out is going to embarrass me, or somethin'?"

"It stains, man. You want a green dick, a blue dick, or a red dick?"

"Jesus H. Christ! Red, man! No way am I explaining a blue dick to my old man!"

"Wise choice," Alex smirked as he handed over his watch. "Better synchronize our watches. Wouldn't want you claiming I moved the hands up. Set?"

Raoul checked the watch faces, then stuffed his watch in his pants and rolled them under him like a pillow. There was no way Alex would be able to get to his timepiece, now. "Yeah, man. Get on with it, already."

Alex tore open the wax straw with his teeth. "Prepare to die, dude." Alex went down on Raoul's dick, coating it with saliva, then pulled off to sprinkle his handiwork with red powder.

Raoul yelped with surprise. It was the first time anyone had ever swallowed his dick. But if there was a God in heaven, it sure wasn't going to be the last. "Oh, shit! Feels so fine!" The hot, wet mouth laved his dick erect, then pulled off. "Crap!"

The cold air of Alex's absence wasn't as pleasant. But, soon enough, Alex was back, taking tiny cat licks on the cherry-flavored dick. The tiny grains of sugar and citric acid abraded the tender skin and burned, making Raoul want to wash it clean, then Alex's saliva melted it all into a warm, oozy bath. Then he was sucking like a Hoover, while his tongue made like the agitator in a washing machine. Raoul moaned. This was good. Then Alex's fingers started rolling Raoul's balls like dice. Then those same spit lubed fingers started crawling back towards his hole. Then they were in his hole! Raoul jerked, trying to get away, but Alex held him down and sucked that much harder. His fingers wriggled insistently. Entering. Exploring. Then they hit something that made Raoul's head and dick explode on impact.

Raoul came to minutes later. Alex was smirking. He held up his watch in front of Raoul's face. "Check your watch, dude."

Raoul couldn't believe he'd been out for two minutes. He pulled his own watch out, in case Alex had advanced the hands, but no, the watches' times matched. "Shit. Where'd you learn to do that?"

Alex shrugged. "I just did. Now it's *my* turn."

"Yeah," Raoul said, his voice wavering as he finally understood that he was definitely going to be paying the piper, big time.

"On your knees,"

"Wh --what? No! I ain't no chica, man!"

"More like a welcher."

"It ain't right!"

"You promised! Besides, you liked having my fingers up your ass, didn't you?"

"...Yeah."

"Well, this won't be much different," Alex promised. "I'll make it good for you. You might be sore, I won't lie and say it's not going to hurt, but afterward it'll be OK. Trust me?"

"Yeah. OK." Raoul got on his knees. Alex sucked on two fingers, then worked them into Raoul's hole, scissoring them to open him up. He dumped the last of the cherry dust into Raoul's open hole, then pulled his fingers out and started to tongue fuck Raoul's ass. Raoul wriggled and moaned as Alex dove his tongue in and around Raoul's anus. Then, when he had Raoul good and hot, he spit his own penis slick and poked the head through the loosened sphincter. Raoul stiffened, but Alex shoved his dick further in, and back-tracked, and thrust forward. Back and forth, back and forth, till he bottomed out in Raoul's sweet cherry hole.

"Oh, man! You're so tight. So hot and tight and good. Jerk yourself off." Alex pumped, aiming for Raoul's prostate. Raoul bucked when Alex connected with his sweet spot, but, after a few more strokes, he managed to bring a hand back and stroke his own dick.

Alex grabbed Raoul's hips and rammed himself balls deep into Raoul's tight tunnel. In, out, in out. It didn't take long before they were cumming. Alex pulled out and bent down to suck Raoul's hole clean. Then he stretched out over the blanket and pulled Raoul to him for a kiss. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No. It was good, just like you said."

Alex drew a strand of hair over Raoul's forehead with a finger. "Rest, now. Hey, if you can get it up again before midnight, I'll let *you* fuck *me.* How's that?"

Raoul licked his lips. The next morning, they were both walking funny.

It had been the beginning of a sweet time, for them. A time that was over far too fast.

Alex sighed and shifted in his seat. Waiting was a bitch, and thinking about Raoul was a downer. Alex had been known to grab up a gang of underprivileged youths and 'supervise' his way into some Halloween loot --and not that that wasn't a fun thing to do in the right neighborhoods-- but he was a little too flush to bother, these days.

No, this year he had his sights set on more adult entertainment. If only his quarry would politely blitz himself in the next fifteen minutes and toddle home.

Alex remembered his first encounter with his quarry. Entirely accidental. And thankfully anonymous.

It had been the Halloween of 1995.Or, since Halloween had also been on a Tuesday, that year, more accurately, the Saturday previous to Halloween. He had gone to a masquerade being held in a little key club leather bar he knew. Very exclusive. Very private. He had gone in a home made version of the costume Sting had worn in David Lynch's Dune, namely the molded 'vee' briefs. Of course, Sting's 'vees' weren't cleverly disguised hilt and sheathes for a pair of leaf-bladed daggers, but person's in Alex's line of business had to feel protected, even during what amounted to a swimming trunk competition.

Alex had topped the ensemble off with a pair of silver high-tops and a floor-length silver cape to keep him street legal. A red wig and blue contact lenses completed the outfit --and further disguised his true identity.

He'd checked the cape first thing, then downed a Moscow Mule at the bar before working up some energy on the dance floor. Along about the third dance, there had been a break for the costume parade competition. The wait staff had circulated among the customers, handing out numbers. The customers who were given numbers were rounded up and marched around the perimeter of the dance floor, so everyone could get an eyeful --and there were some eye-popping leather straps and silk bandaids passing for costumes in the batch. Part of the parade route took them up onto the band stand, where their costumes were graded by applause in ten categories.

There were the usual party rentals: a Caesar, with his toga and laurel leaf coronet, a gladiator or two, a few centurions, a Zorro, a Tarzan, a Henry the VIIIth, a Robin Hood, a Batman, (the new rubber costume, not the old TV tights), and a few 'homemade' costumes as well, some of which looked very 'thrown together at the last minute:' mummies in varying amounts of gauze, ace bandages, duct tape, latex ribbon, or ripped bed sheets;'devils,' some with cloven hoof shoes and implanted 'horns,' some in red tights, some in red latex paint with provocative cod pieces. There were a gaggle of executioners in black hooded robes, some carrying nooses, some axes, some swords, and one with a knife switch mounted on a rectangle of masonite; similarly tricked out Grim Reapers, with skull masks, or skull face paint, or plain blacked out faces, and scythes; a Texas Chainsaw Leatherface, complete with an eight inch chainsaw; a Jason in Hockey mask; and one 'looks like we stripped the bed *and* the first aid kit' costume: Blind Justice, male version.

Justice had wrapped the white sheet over one shoulder so that it draped his chest provocatively, while white gauze bandaged his head in a wrap that cleverly allowed him to see where he was going despite covering his eyes. He had an ordinary pair of leather sandals on his feet. The final touch was a set of gold scales.

Last, but not least, was the fellow who had dressed himself in a floor-length, white latex condom, complete with reservoir tip, who claimed to be Moby Dick, and said: "Thar she blows!" a lot.

Prizes were handed out for best original, best professional, best movie, best theme, best couple, most humorous, most provocative, most effective use of found material, cleverest, and best of show. The latter was decided by lining up the winners in the other categories on the band stand and seeking applause.

Which is how Alex found himself with Blind Justice on his right, and Moby Dick on his left.

Best of show went to the red latex Devil with hooves, horns, and a Geiger "Alien" 'penis-tongue' penis sheathe.

Not that Alex cared or noticed. Not once his cool gaze penetrated Blind Justice's facade to reveal none other than Walter S. Skinner, Assistant Director of the F.B.I., and Alex's purported boss.

Alex actually took his orders from another, far more clandestine U.S. government agency, known officially as MJ-12, and informally as 'Majestik.' His real boss had sent him to the F.B.I. to seduce and control his immediate Bureau superior and field 'partner,' Fox William Mulder.

Alex had managed the seducing bit early on. It was the 'control' part that was proving difficult. At this very moment, Mulder was packing for a ghost-busting adventure in some rickety, 'haunted mansion' in South Carolina; a trip Alex had no choice but to soldier through manfully, for the sake of his assignment, despite the misadventure's landing on the witching hour of all witching hours, namely, midnight on Halloween.

It was Mulder's idea of a 'working vacation.'

It was Alex's idea of inhuman punishment, and it was what had prompted him to break with tradition --and his orders-- and step out tonight, sans Mulder, rather than restricting his partying to the 'real' Halloween, as was his preference.

It was probably an illusion of proximity, but it seemed to Alex that the movers and shakers in this town --who should have known better than most to mind their p's and q's, what with all the media attention cast their way-- had bigger appetites for sin than the worse criminals in your average hardcore prison. It was no coincidence that Washington, D.C. had more private sex clubs per capita than any other city in the nation.

Fortunately for Skinner, the A.D. wasn't his assignment, so Alex was under no obligation to pass on Skinner's 'kink' to his real bosses who, very much like J. Edgar, himself, greedily catalogued every fault, vice, and peccadillo of anyone they ever met at any time, anywhere, particularly if they had any influence inside the Beltway.

'Blackmail' was a popular parlor game in this town. Seeing who could get the most dirt on the biggest fish was the ultimate in one-upmanship. And Alex was nothing if not a quick study. The fewer people who knew about Skinner's kink, the fewer people who could play the A.D. If Alex were one of those few, he was one rung closer to the seats of power he often fantasized about occupying.

Since Alex's sexual preferences were the reason he was tapped for his current position, he had very little to lose if Skinner discovered his identity beyond the ultimate in awkward 'don't ask, don't tell' moments. But, once again luckily for Alex, he had only met Skinner three times during his stint as a Special Agent, and two of those times Skinner's attention had been focused almost exclusively on Mulder. Another few months on the job, and Alex was pretty sure that a mere wig and colored contacts wouldn't be enough of a disguise to keep the keenly observant Skinner from discerning his identity, but tonight he was unlikely to end up unmasked, so to speak, which suited Alex, because he loved to rush in where angels feared to tread.

Half the fun would be in remaining incognito. The other half would be in finding out --up close and personal-- exactly what Blind Justice packed under that bed sheet, Alex smirked as he checked his boss out. Skinner was in damned fine shape for a man his age. In fact, he was in damned fine shape for a man of any age. All those hours Skinner spent in the Hoover's gym --no doubt mentally punishing certain way-ward agents had definitely paid off. It had Alex salivating with anticipation.

"Well, always a bridesmaid, eh?" he asked in opening gambit as they filed off the dais. "At least they didn't give us anything tacky for prizes, like certificates, or little gold trophy cups." He waggled his free back room pass and two free drink tokens to emphasize his point. "Let a Space Cadet buy a cripple a drink, what say? Is Nancy whiskey calling your name? It's the right bar for it." He crooned a bit of the Irish standard into Skinner's ear, even as the live band reclaimed the stage and began their new set. "Whiskey, whiskey, Nancy whiskey, /whiskey, whiskey, Nancy-O."

"Justice isn't a cripple," Skinner opined as he edged to the bar.

"She's blind," Alex said.

"Only because someone blindfolded her," Skinner replied. "So she wouldn't be influenced by a person's looks."

"Oh? Is she that swayed by a handsome swain? But what about voices? There is such a thing as an unattractive voice. Or, haven't you noticed?"

Skinner snorted. "A voice might sound rich, but that's no guarantee the person who owns it *is* rich. There are damned few street bums wearing Armani."

"There are damned few CEO's being accused of Breaking and Entering, too. I should think an intelligent person could tell from the type of case they were adjudicating which social caste they were dealing with. Well, except for murder, of course. That seems to be an equal opportunity crime."

"Huh! Spoken like a true lawyer."

Alex, knowing full well that Skinner had law degree, even if he had never practiced, having joined the F.B.I. right out of law school, grinned. "Spoken like a true cop. So, may one arm of the law buy the other a drink?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" Skinner grumbled. He parked his ass on the nearest bar stool, struggling a bit with his 'robe,' then scanned the length of the bar for a decent snack since, in honor of the holiday, the bar had been lined with pumpkin and ghost Peeps, candy corn, and black and orange jelly beans, as well as the more standard Chex Mix, pretzels, and corn and beer nuts.

Skinner waved a bowl of corn nuts his way, in exchange for a bowl of marshmallow pumpkins. Alex contented himself with the black jelly beans. The bartender finally made it to their end of the bar, and Alex slapped his two drink tokens onto the bar in front of him. "One Maker's Mark and a Pernod, please." He glanced over at Skinner. "That OK with you?"

"Long as you get the Pernod," Skinner smiled, somewhat grimly.

"Don't like liquorice?" Alex asked.

"Not in my drinks."

"How about suckers? Do you like liquorice on your breath?"

"Oh, yeah. Sen-sen was all the rage in my day."

"Sen-sen-sational," Alex smirked. "Hey, Diddle-diddle, you wanna be a cow and jump my moon?"

Skinner snorted. "I'm more into plows than fiddles, boy."

"Consider me your field of opportunity." He downed his drink and slid off the bar stool. "Lady's first," he said, waving his arm in the direction of the upstairs 'back' rooms.

Skinner gulped down his bourbon and skirted the dance floor. He used his own prize token to 'book' their accommodations, and led the way up the stairs, key and complimentary towels in hand.

It was a basic room, with a complete set of foam ramps and wedges and cubes which had a rubber fitted covers under the regular cotton fleece covers. A shelf over the closet rail in the outer room held an empty ice bucket, a blindfold, and four cuffs which could be attached to the steel rings and leather straps of the lowest foam ramp.

There was a bathroom, with a sink and a shower, but no bathtub. There was a steel rack over the toilet to hold the two towels and two wash cloths. A medicine cabinet over the sink held individual foil packs of assorted lubes, a first aid kit, a box of assorted condoms, irrigation solution, an enema bulb in a sterile wrapper, and four plastic glasses.

Alex had crowded into the bathroom with Skinner, who had gone in to put the towels up. "Hmm. Maybe you should order from room service while I freshen up, OK?"

When Alex came out of the bathroom, Skinner was sitting on the ramp, knees up, his back leaning against the cube, sipping a Scotch. His sheet 'robe' was swathed around him like a giant shawl, while his balance scales and gauze blindfold were on the shelf above them. He still had his sandals on.

Alex smiled. He still had his red wig and contacts on, but he had doffed his shoes and molded briefs. He put them on the shelf next to the scales, then sashayed over to accept the drink Skinner held out to him, which had been sitting on the floor beside the A. D.

Alex took a sip, then straddled Skinner's knees and sank down till their penis's rubbed together. He ground his hips to get a little friction going, then settled onto his knees, leaning his back against Skinner's knees as if in a chair.

"Cold?" he asked, as he fingered the sheet.

"Not anymore."

Alex smiled and let his fingers delve lower, to Skinner's chest. He rubbed one pec, then the other. "Hmm. Feels good." He wriggled his hips some more. "Feels very good." He latched onto Skinner's mouth, tasting the perfume that was Scotch's hallmark, while he imparted the scent and flavor of liquorice to his partner.

Skinner put his drink down and grabbed the back of Alex's hair. Alex grunted in pain as the hair pins holding his wig in place tugged on his roots. But Skinner lunged at him, like a great white shark trying to consume his prey whole. Their tongues wrestled for dominance. Then Skinner pulled away. They panted, tasting each other, smelling each other, scent marking each other.

"You done?" Skinner asked.

Alex blinked. "Not hardly!"

"With your drink," Skinner elucidated.

"Oh. Yeah."

Skinner took the empty glass and set it on the floor with his own. Then he grabbed their cocks in his fist and tugged. Alex moaned.

Skinner lowered his legs. Alex dipped backwards a few inches before he caught himself. "Let's see that moon, boy."

Alex smirked and stood. He turned to let Skinner get an eyeful, bending over playfully to flash a glimpse of the dark side to the A.D.

Skinner grunted and stood, shrugging off the sheet. He rearranged the furniture, and bade Alex bend over it. He cuffed Alex's ankles to the foot of the ramp, then cuffed his wrists and attached them to the rings on the other end of the ramp with the leather straps. Then he spanked Alex's bottom till it was a hot pink. "That's for being such a prick tease."

Alex wriggled his bottom. "Come on, cowboy, jingle your balls till they jangle mine and stick that long spur up my hot ass."

Alex heard the crackle of plastic and the snap of latex. Then Skinner's glans was poised at his hole. Skinner kneaded Alex's ass then he grabbed his penis at the base and shoved it past the tight ring of muscle. He grabbed Alex's hips and pushed himself to the hilt into Alex's willing flesh.

"Oh, God!" Skinner shouted, the special shout of a man so long deprived that the actual sensation of the act was a revelation. "Oh, God, I missed this." He backed out and shoved himself in again, with long, leisurely strokes, grunting with each thrust.

Alex growled impatiently. He had not missed the significance of Skinner's remark, but he was insensitive to Skinner's need to enjoy his reacquaintanceship with male on male sex. He wanted to see stars! "Harder! Faster!" he demanded, and he squeezed his inner muscles to pass on his sense of urgency.

Skinner got the message. He speeded up. His thrusts became more forceful. In no time, Alex was wailing. Skinner bellowed and blew his wad, then ground to a halt, still grunting. "Oh, oh, ohhhh.... Damn. That was nice." He collapsed onto Alex's back.

"Hey. Hey! I think we've forgotten somebody!" Alex yelled. He bucked, trying to dislodge Skinner, but inadvertently rubbing his still hard penis against the front of the cube. "Oh!"

Skinner chuckled. "That's right, horsie. Gimme a ride." He thrust his hips forward, forcing Alex against the cube again, then backed off, although not enough to pull out of him.

Alex obligingly bucked, rubbing himself against the cube. Skinner reached around and grabbed Alex's balls. He rolled them awhile, then latched onto Alex's shoulder with his mouth.

Alex started to wail like a siren. Finally, he tipped over the edge and sprayed his belly and the cube with his cum. He let his head droop over the edge of the cube. Walter straightened and pulled out of Alex's ass. Then padded into the bathroom, leaving Alex strapped to the ramp.

"Hey! Hey! You keep forgetting me! You're going to give me a complex or something," Alex whined.

Skinner emerged from the bathroom chuckling. "I didn't forget you." He strode to the other side of the ramp, where Alex could see him. He held out a selection of condoms. "They're flavored. Which would you like?"

Alex hummed his surprise. Skinner was still sporting a boner. "Shit!"

Skinner barked a laugh. "Hell, if I'd known that I'd've kept the old one on!" he teased.

Alex made a face. "What goes with liquorice?" he wondered aloud.

"Mm, good question," Skinner replied, looking over the selections. "Probably vanilla." He broke open the wrapper and rolled the flavored condom over his erection. "OK, boy. One last job, and I'll set you free."

Alex snorted. "I've heard *that* fairy tale before," he said snidely.

Skinner regarded him. "Not from me."

Alex smiled. "Yeah. Come 'ere, stud."

Skinner stepped in so Alex could suck his whole length, then he backed away. "Should I move?"

"You'd sure the Hell better, since I can't," Alex told him.

Skinner nodded, and proceeded to fuck Alex's mouth. Alex started to hum.

"Oh, shit! So good!" Skinner moaned. He thrust faster, but no harder.

Alex started humping the cube again. Skinner came and sank to the bare floor, which put him in a good position to unlatch Alex's wrists. Which he didn't. Not right away. Instead he grinned at Alex and shifted to get a better view of him humping the cube. "Go, boy. Hump that leg."

Alex barred his teeth and snarled, but didn't stop till he popped. He sagged onto the top of the cube and rattled his wrist restraints wordlessly.

Skinner obligingly freed them.

Wrists free, Alex slid off the cube and plopped ass first onto the ramp. He unlatched his ankle cuffs from the ramp corners, then unbuckled the cuffs from his ankles. The din from downstairs hit a particularly strident note, and Alex hummed. "Must be the magic hour," he said. "The party will really heat up, now."

Skinner groaned. "I'm too old for this shit." He forced himself to stand up. "It was eye-opening, but all I want to do now is sleep for a week. Thanks for helping me get back in the saddle."

Alex pushed the cube off the ramp so he could stretch out. "Any time, cowboy."

Alex licked his lips. Yes, indeedy, Halloween was not just for Trick or Treaters, anymore. He resisted the temptation to 'adjust his pants,' and wished again for his mark to show himself. As if on cue, the man of the hour did a credible 'I'm not drunk' stagger out the revolving door of the hotel.

Alex immediately turned the key in the ignition and lead-footed the pedal. He had to get in place before the doorman could hail the lead taxi waiting in the hack line.

Skinner stopped at the curb, breathed deeply, and weaved slightly. He looked left. He looked right. He seemed to debate with himself about stepping off the curb. He reached into his pocket, as if to fish out his valet ticket.

Alex pulled up to the curb in front of Skinner, jammed the limo into neutral, and hopped out of his seat almost before the car stopped moving. He opened the back door, smartly. "Good evening, Mr. Skinner, sir. I trust you enjoyed the party?"

Skinner, drunk though he was, squeezed his eyes at Alex, as if to focus them. He did an exaggerated rear back, almost falling. "What are you doing here, Krycek?" Skinner turned to the doorman. "I don't want to ride with this man. He isn't my driver!" Skinner tugged at his pants pocket and managed to pull out his valet ticket. "See? I have my own car. I drove myself here!"

"Yes, and Director Freeh was afraid you'd want to drive yourself home, as well," Alex said. "That's why he sent for me."

"Sent for you? That's a laugh! Director Freeh would no more send for you than he would a plague of boils!"

"I know I'm not your favorite driver, Mr. Skinner--"

"--Hah!" Skinner snorted, interrupting, "I bet the only reason you're alive today is because the *last* guy you chauffeured you know, the one who got blown up in his limo!--couldn't stand your driving, either!"

"It so happens Mr. Brind-Hythe gave me the day off," Alex said, honestly, if frostily. "But I promise you won't have any cause for complaint." Alex looked at the doorman pleadingly. "Can you help me get Mr. Skinner into the car, please?"

Luckily for Alex, the fact that Skinner had addressed him familiarly, added to the fact that letting a guest of the hotel drive drunk could be an actionable offense, convinced the doorman to help Alex corral his quarry and steer him into the limo, rather than calling one of the waiting taxi's over.

With the doorman firmly latched onto one of Skinner's arms and Alex the other, Alex ducked through the open car door, drawing Skinner in after him.

The doorman pushed Skinner to the middle of the car seat, then backed out and slammed the door shut. Alex thumbed the remote in his pocket and slid out the opposite door, shutting it just as quickly, and that was that. Unbeknownst to the doorman, the door could only be unlocked with the remote or by a switch on the dashboard. Skinner was as good as trapped.

Alex hopped into the driver's seat and pulled away before Skinner could alarm anyone by pounding on the windows. He thumbed the intercom to enable him to talk to his 'guest' as the privacy panel was in place, the better to keep Skinner in situ. "You'd better calm down, Walter. I have your compartment rigged with sleeping gas and I guarantee, with all the alcohol you've consumed, you *don't* want me to have to use it."

"Huh! Mulder was right: you *are* a rat bastard," Skinner said sourly, calming down --well, not resisting-- all the same. "How *is* Mulder, these days?" he asked.

Alex shrugged. "As well as can be expected, considering."

"Yeah, but how *is* he?" Skinner persisted.

Alex sighed. "He and Scully are fighting like cats and dogs. Mostly over the fact that Mulder is contemplating having Jeremiah restore his so-called 'God module,' so he can be more active in The Resistence. And who can blame her? The last time Mulder's module was activated he went so far off the deep end he needed a partial lobotomy to salvage his sanity. But Mulder hates feeling left out and useless, so...well...let's just say the honeymoon is over. In fact, rumor has it, Scully is threatening to take William and jump ship."

Skinner grunted unhappily. "It's our fault, you know."

Alex looked surprised. "Why? Because we salvaged her dreams of having a perfect child?"

"Yeah. More or less. If she'd had her real kid...she'd've wanted their blood so bad she'd've probably pushed Mulder into getting Smith's help!"

Alex snorted. "No doubt. And, no doubt, if she was gung-ho for it, Mulder would be the one digging in his heels."

Skinner snorted a laugh. "You're probably right."

"Of course, I'm right. You didn't really think it would turn out any differently with those two, did you?" Alex asked.

Skinner sighed. "I'd hoped."

"Anybody ever tell you you're a hopeless romantic?"

"No." "What about Doggett and Reyes?"

"What about *you,* Alex? Why are you back in town?"

"Not for business," Alex assured him. "Although, I could give you a sit rep, if you'd like."

"Only if you want to put me to sleep," Skinner said. "Why are you in town?"

Alex pouted. "Even spooks --you'll pardon the seasonal pun-- get R and R sometime."

"No, see, fishing is something you do for vacation. The only people who come *to* D.C. on their vacations are towing two point five kids. So, I'll ask you once again: why are *you* here?"

Alex took a chance and lowered the privacy panel. "I wanted to reacquaint myself with the taste of your cock."

Skinner choked. "No, seriously. When *you* blow into town --no pun intended-- bad things happen. You're almost as big a 'trouble magnet' as Mulder."

Alex grinned. "Compliments, Walter? You'll turn my head. But, speaking of blowing...I've perfected a technique that'll blow your head off...if you're game, that is?"

"Hmpt! You haven't got any more nanocytes to make me dance to your tune, so you're resorting to sex to try and manipulate me? Little unimaginative, don't you think?"

Alex batted his eyelashes demurely. "Would I do that to you?"

"Yes!" Skinner said firmly.

Alex grinned. "You can always lay back and think of England?"

"I'm getting old, Krycek. I've got, at most, one up at bat, if that, considering the amount of alcohol I've downed."

Alex smirked. "Right. Speaking of which: There's a thermos of coffee and aspirin in the wet bar."

"Now he tells me," Skinner groaned. He opened the compartment immediately and shook out four tablets.

"Careful, the coffee is sweet," Krycek warned, as Skinner screwed off the cup/lid.

"I like my coffee black," Skinner groused, "You know that."

"Yeah, but the sugar will help your headache. By the way, there's a carafe of water in there, too. You should try to drink at least a glass. It'll help rehydrate you."

"Yes, Dr. Crippen."

"Funny; ha, ha," Alex retorted. "But none of it's poison."

"No, of course not. I'll just wish it was, when the hang-over kicks in."

Alex smirked. "Oh, one other thing: if you're going to pass out, you better do it before I get you home. Because if you drop off on me, mid-coitus, I'm going to punish you. Severely."

Skinner's dick twitched, happily proving to it's owner that he wasn't too drunk to screw, after all. "Well, then, depending on which outcome you'd prefer, you'd either better take the scenic route, or step on it, James."

Alex did neither. He drove a straightforward course, within the speed limit, to Skinner's condo. He pulled inside the parking garage, to a special space reserved for hired cars, and flipped the switch that would allow Skinner to exit. Then, carefully tucking the brown paper bag, which had been laying on the car seat beside him, under his prosthetic arm, he followed Skinner to the elevator, remote locking the limo on the fly.

"You really came to D.C. just to have sex with me?" Skinner asked as they got into the elevator.

Alex grinned. "I really did."

Once Mulder and Scully had taken a powder, mostly to protect their wholly human, but still threatened, baby, Alex had helped Skinner clean out the U.S. government's alien infiltrators and human toadies. Protocols were put in place to insure that aliens and super soldiers did not re-infect the U.S. government, or any places, like military bases and support hospitals and etc. where the aliens might gain influence.

Then, like those matinee cowboys who rode off into the sunset, Alex had abandoned D. C. in favor of other hotbeds of alien activity.

It wouldn't have surprised Skinner to discover that the magnetite jewelry that was all the rage these days was designed and manufactured by a company owned and operated by their favorite rat bastard. Turning a profit from potential tragedy was a scenario that had 'Alex Krycek' written all over it, to Skinner's way of thinking.

A pair of earrings had just enough magnetite in them to make a super soldier grit his teeth. A pair of earrings and a bracelet was enough to keep a super soldier at arm's length. A pavane of broach, earrings, necklace, and bracelet was enough to make a single story house a super soldier-free-zone. Of course, the down-side was you had to keep the bangles away from credit cards and cassette tapes.

What would have surprised Skinner is that the proceeds from the sale of the up-scale jewelry went to under-write the cost of the 'seeds of hope' program, which gave away packets filled with what were purported to be the aforementioned seeds, but were actually pollen grains and spores which were treated with an anti-alien agent which dispersed when exposed to air.

The instructions on the packet called for the person to scatter the 'seeds' around their homes and in places in their neighborhood where there had been violent outbursts of some sort, in order to 'cultivate peace.' Since the seed packets were available to church groups, schools, and individuals for the asking, world-wide; and since it was such a sentimental and worthy 'project;' the 'seeds' had been spreading like hot cakes. Which, since the whole idea was to saturate the earth, flora and fauna, with the alien resistant agent, was a good thing for everybody but the oiliens against which the active agent had been engineered.

Luckily, or not, depending on one's point of view, the agent had no effect on the shape-shifting aliens, like Jeremiah Smith and the so-called hunter-aliens, although the Resistence aliens were now hard at work developing a version of the spores which would allow *their* people to kick off the traces of oilien dominance, as well. But, since the hunter aliens were still being controlled by the oiliens, the Resistence aliens were being hunted down that much more intently.

The most interesting aspect of the pollen/spores agent, which was engineered from the DNA of the Amerinds that were discovered to be naturally immune to the oil by Mulder and Doggett during their adventures on the oil rig, was that it didn't prevent an oilien from 'infiltrating' a human host, it merely robbed the oilien of the ability to 'possess' its host. No more zombie-mode. The human might or might not realize it had a secondary intelligence on-board, but the secondary intelligence was incapable of making itself the primary intelligence, which, added to the fact that the biological factor which kept the oilien from taking over control of the physical body, also kept it from using that body to breed, pretty much eliminated the oiliens as a threat.

Unless the invaders decided to destroy all life on earth as an alternative to possessing/breeding them, they would have to negotiate for a piece of the real estate like everybody else.

Of course, that still left the Resistence aliens, the hybrid clones, and the hunter aliens, as well as the super soldiers, which were humans who had been altered by the Consortium to combat the shape-shifting aliens of whatever stripe, using the very olien technology which had allowed their species to be possessed in the first place.

This, ironically, made the super soldiers especially vulnerable to take-over by olien, and, once their biology had been enhanced to create that effect, they became immune to the pollen/spores.

Of course, with the pollen/spores being wafted over an increasingly large portion of the earth, the candidates for alteration into super soldiers was shrinking daily, because, reciprocally, once a body had been exposed and 'altered' against oilien possession, they could not be re- altered to favor possession, which was a key component of becoming a super soldier.

Alex did not tell any of this to Skinner, because he wanted Skinner awake for his planned debauchery But it was, in fact, these twin projects which had brought him close enough to D.C. to spend the unofficial 'holiday' with his sex partner of choice.

Walter had barely enough time to stow his weapon before Alex was urging him up the stairs to the master bedroom.

"Want to shower, first?" Alex asked.

Walter bit his lip. "Better not," he confessed.

Alex tossed his paper sack onto the foot of the bed and helped Skinner shed his 'costume,' which was no more than a tuxedo and 'Phantom of the Opera,' (Andrew Lloyd Webber version) mask, which he'd tucked into his jacket's side pocket as soon as he'd left the party.

"You could have at least worn a cape," Alex tsked.

Walter shrugged. "It was last minute."

:"As usual," Alex muttered. "We really have to work on your holiday spirit."

"Bah, humbug," Walter said, as he looked over his --bare shoulder. "Aren't you a little over- dressed?"

"Oh, don't you worry, I'll fix that soon enough. For right now, let's get you comfy. Last chance to take a whiz."

"Right." Skinner headed off into the en suite bathroom.

Alex waited until the door was closed before he dove onto the paper bag and withdrew a pair of fur-lined cuffs. He tucked them under the pillow on the right side of the bed, then hurriedly stripped down. He grinned when Skinner emerged, face damp from a bracing splash of cold water. "Make yourself comfortable," Alex invited, pointing to the bed.

Skinner stretched out on his back. Alex purred and kneeled onto the bed for a kiss. He straddled Skinner's chest, then reached under the pillow, grabbed a cuff, and latched it to Skinner's right wrist.

"Hey!" Skinner bucked, but with one arm already bound to the headboard, he couldn't stop Alex from cuffing and binding his other arm. "Damn it, Krycek!"

Alex let Skinner buck him off. He gathered up his paper bag and headed for the bathroom. "Don't go to sleep, now. The fun has just begun."

Alex ducked into the bathroom and changed into his costume. Paper bag in fake hand, he came out. "Ta-dah!"

Skinner glanced angrily towards the bathroom door --and his jaw dropped. Alex was dressed in molded 'vee' briefs, and had donned a red wig and blue contacts. "Surprise!" Alex crowed.

Skinner sputtered. "H-- how did you --You couldn't have --You didn't --You can't have been! Most Provocative costume of 1995?"

"The one and only!" Alex confirmed.

"But-- but-- you could have ruined me! You *should have* told Spender! Why didn't you out me?"

Alex dismissed the idea with a wave. "Oh, posh! You weren't my assignment; they didn't need to know. That sort of information wouldn't have kept you under their thumb the way they wanted you, anyway. You *would* have been more likely to quit -- and I certainly didn't want that! Who would have had Mulder's back at the Bureau, then? Besides...you'd as much as confessed it had been a long time between rides. How could I have known you wouldn't zip it up and rely on fantasies and your good right hand for another twenty years?"

"Spender hasn't been in the equation for a good while. But we *have* been, kind of an item, for a while. You never said a word."

"Yeah, well, you know how I love to have the upper hand. 'I know something you don't know,'" he added, sing-song.

"So, why confess, now?"

Alex shrugged. "Nostalgia for another Tuesday Halloween? A lotta water's been under the bridge since '95, Walter. A lot of pain. A lot of hurt. A lot of mis-understandings. I just...I guess I just wanted you to know I'm not as bad as you think I am, most of the time." He smiled. "We've had good times before you knew it was me, and we've has us some good times when you did know it was me. We've got history. A past..., maybe a future, too, huh?"

Skinner snorted, but not cruelly. "Is that what you want, Rat? A future? With me?"

"...Yeah. That and some fun. How about it, Walter, you up for some fun?"

Walter spread his thighs and looked at his flacid penis. "Doesn't look like it, Tonto. How about you fix that?"

"Sure thing, Kemo Sabe."

Alex doffed his briefs and settled onto the bed between Walter's legs. He swallowed Walter's penis to the root, slicked it up with saliva, then backed off to get the remaining contents of his paper sack out, three Pixy Stix, three packs of Pop Rocks, and a foil wrapped condom. //Grape, blue raspberry, or green apple?// he contemplated. He picked grape. He smiled wickedly, and tore off the wax top of the straw with his teeth, then tapped the contents over Skinner's dick.

He worked the powder over Skinner's penis with his tongue, letting the citric acid do its work.

Skinner yelped and wriggled, but he couldn't escape Alex's ministrations. After a minute, he didn't want to. When Alex had Skinner's dick at full attention, he pulled off and looked at the three packets spread on the covers. Cherry, watermelon, or Strawberry Pop Rocks? He picked the cherry. He tore off the corner of the packet, worked up a mouthful of spit, and emptied the contents into his mouth. Then he rolled the candy over his palette, to make sure he got even coverage, and swallowed Skinner's dick once more. He let the pop rocks activate, swishing them around with his tongue. Pop-a-pop-a-pop. Pit-a-pop-a-pock. The candies beat against the skin of Skinner's dick, made extra sensitive by the bath of Pixy Stix dust, like warm hail.

Skinner started to yell and jerk again. Alex rounded up a bunch of the little candies and held them with his tongue against the head of Skinner's cock. Pit-a-pit-a-pat. Pop-a-pop-a-pop. "Aall- lexx!!!"

Alex sucked and swallowed, swirled, sucked and swallowed. He squiggled his tongue into Skinner's piss slit and hummed. Pock-a-pock-a-pit.

"Shit!" Skinner yelled.

Then Alex wet his fingers and started exploring Skinner's hole. Delve and swallow, poke and swish, pop-a-pop and hum. Alex started stroking Skinner's prostate in time with his sucks.

"Ah-ah-ah-al-lexx!!" Skinner stiffened and shot his wad.

Alex licked up every drop. He raised himself up, and grinned. Skinner was out like a light.

Alex rose to his knees. He tore open the condom wrapper, slid it onto his still hard dick, and slicked it up. Then he drilled Skinner's ass until he came.

Not quite as fun as when your partner was awake to root you on, but Alex wasn't complaining. He doubted Skinner would have allowed him to indulge if he'd been conscious.

When Skinner woke up the next morning he was covered with a sheet, and Alex and his paraphernalia were gone. All that was left was a Halloween card of an adorable gang of kids dressed up in adorable versions of Dracula, the Mummy, a black cat, a ghost, and a witch, going up to a spooky looking house, treat bags in hand.

Walter picked the card off his night stand and opened it.

Inside, the printed message said: "Trick or --Eeek!" and the adorable kids were fleeing off the porch steps of the house as if Death were chasing them, while much more menacing versions of the Wolfman, jaws slathering, Frankenstein, and some disgusting alumni from the Peacock family, ax head dripping blood, stood in the open doorway.

Alex had enclosed a more personal message, as well.

"I love Halloween! But, over the years, I've discovered that, sometimes, the best treats are tricks, and the best tricks, treats. Whichever one you think you got, I hope you enjoyed it --I know I did! --Your Very Own R B. P.S. You know that cherry you've been holding onto all these years? I popped it last night."

Skinner frowned. This was bad news. Bad News in capital letters. //Treats that are tricks, and tricks, treats? Popped cherries?// He threw off the bed covers --and roared. His dick was bright purple from root to tip. "Aall-llexx!!!" He leaped out of bed--and noticed a rather...singular ache in his-- "Kry-cek! You bastard!"

Somewhere, more towards the middle of the country, Alex Krycek, sucking on a grape lollipop to explain his purple lips, was imagining Walter S. Skinner using a private bathroom at work for the next three weeks, and laughing his ass off.

The End