Best Dark

Once again, please welcome... Broken Angel!

Broken Angel:

The authors who are nominated for this category are all amazing writers. In their stories, they deal with themes that are difficult to read, and even harder to write. All of these stories are incredible, well-written, and interesting, and I consider it a privelege to present this award.

The nominees are:

Another Me* by Sebastian

Mulder's eyes were wide with shock, and he had turned quite pale. Shaking his head he tried to back away from me, but I wound my hand in his tie and dragged him back. "You're a sick, sick cunt Krycek. You're filth. Get out of here....get away from me." he rasped. Gotcha! I thought. Let's wind you up a bit more, Agent Mulder.

"I've got a lovely little knife, too. Sharp...pointed...clean as a scalpel. Does he like the sight of your blood Mulder? A few little cuts in that silky skin Fox was showing off in the club yesterday and we could watch it dripping down his body. I could lick it off as I fuck him. I could carve my name in his chest, leave some pretty scars, and then you'd belong to me too, you would be marked as mine as well. He'd like that, wouldn't he Mulder? He said he'd been waiting a long time to meet me; the little faggot wants to take it any way I want to give it to him, he wants to be abused and he wants you to be left with the pain and the humiliation while he gets the fun. Are you going to let him, Mulder? Are you going to give him to me?"

"You disgust me, Krycek, you and your twisted fantasies," he spat at me, struggling to pull his tie from my grasp. Suddenly he went completely still and started gasping for air through his mouth. Then, in a different tone, putting his hands on my chest and pushing hard, "Quick! Let me go...let me go dammit.....I'm gonna puke"

I'd seen Mulder do that before, under stress. I dropped his tie like a hot coal and leapt back from him as he made a dash for the toilet, but he'd only got halfway across the room before it caught him and his stomach ejected its contents onto the lounge floor. The foul stench and sounds of Mulder's heaving followed me into the kitchen where I gathered up a glass of water and a dampened towel to clean him up. When I returned Mulder was on his hands and knees over the mess, panting like a dog, a string of drool dangling from his mouth, and as I touched his shoulder I could feel him trembling. "Sit up" I said, pulling back on him, and I offered him the cloth. He sat back on his heels and took it from me, wiped his face and reached for the water. After a couple of sips he spoke, his voice low and quivery,

"You can have him, Krycek, you can have him and you can keep him. You're what he deserves. Use him however you want, just keep the fuck away from me. And if you leave any permanent marks on him, I swear I'll cut your balls off. This is between you and him, I don't want any reminders of you filthy hands on this body."


Batesville by Loren Q

I'm witnessing something out of a nightmare, or a dream. I can't seem to look away as Krycek opens the buttons on his fly and pulls out his semi-erect cock. A short pull and he rubs the head against Mulder's mouth.

Mulder opens his mouth and takes in Krycek's dick. A throaty growl issues, but I'm not sure from who.

Krycek's looking down at Mulder, smiling. He holds Mulder's head still and thrusts two, maybe three times before he pushes Mulder away and steps back.

"Take off your pants," Krycek orders.

Mulder doesn't move. "I said take off your pants. I can just as soon jack off over your dead partner's body." The casualness of his remark sends a cold spike of fear through me.

I look to Mulder trying to share... reassurance? ...strength? But his face is downcast. He's shaking his head slowly and I can't make eye contact with him.

As Mulder starts to pull off his pants Krycek tells him, "Underwear, too."

Mulder stands, looking up with murder in his eyes and humiliation radiating off him as he tries to hide his erection.

A Gentleman's Word by Loren Q

Krycek's pouring over the schematics, making little pencil notes on the drawings. His brows knit together in focused concentration. How does he keep that earnest look with all the sins on his soul?

I'm suddenly aware that I don't want to beat the shit out of him. The absence of that is startling, as is the realization that I keep touching my cheek in the spot where he kissed me.

"What does 'tovarich' mean?"

"Loosely translated, 'Friend.'" He looks up at me, his face softened by a shy smile. Shy? From Krycek? Hard to believe.

"You sure it's not 'dickhead' or anything like that?"

"No, that's 'dolboyeb,' and I've called you that, too."

Our banter is almost friendly. I'm not sure I like that. I put a stop to the fun with, "How do you say 'one armed rat bastard?'"

His eyes darken for a moment. // Ha! Gotcha! // He shakes his head and goes back to the schematics.

The Rape by Moco

He found the AD on the floor of his bathroom, pulsating blue veins prominent over his face and hands.

"Oh shit!" He flipped open his phone as he knelt. "Don't worry, sir. I'll get you some help,"

Mulder had barely punched in the first digit of 911 when Skinner's hand reached out to stop him. "No," the man rasped. " do...leave..." The hand flopped back, weakness overtaking him.

"Fuck," Mulder breathed, canceling the call. He took a deep breath, pulled Krycek's matchbook out of his pocket and punched in the number written there.

"Like what you see, Mulder?" said the hated voice out of the phone.

"Make it stop!"


Mulder kept his eyes on Skinner as the pulsating gradually slowed and the veins disappeared. The AD sighed once before sinking into exhausted unconsciousness.

"You can keep him healthy," Krycek whispered into his ear.

"What do you want?" Mulder asked rising, glaring around the room, looking for an enemy.

"Be my whore, Mulder."

"Are you insane?" Mulder yelled. A moan from Skinner shifted his attention. The pulsing veins were reappearing. "Nooo! Stop it, Krycek!" The pulsing got stronger. Skinner writhed on the floor, pain evident on every part of him.

"Be my whore."

"I'll kill you!" Spittle dotted the phone and ricocheted back on his chin.

"Then he dies."

"No," Mulder whispered.

"Yes," whispered back. "Watch, Mulder." The veins pulsed in a horridly hypnotic rhythm.

"Make it stop." He was pleading now.

"You make it stop."

*Be my whore.* The words seemed to echo in Mulder's head, reverberating into infinity. He'd hear them forever, he thought, watching Walter Skinner writhing in agony on the bathroom floor.

Mulder knelt again, one hand clutching the phone to his ear, as if trying to mold it there, the other stroked the side of Skinner's bald head, the veins alive beneath his fingers.

"Yes," he whispered into the phone, dying a little. Mulder felt the pulsating under his fingers slow and gradually stop.

"Your place. Now. Tell Scully you're sick."

Wild Justice by MJ Lee

An odd expression crossed Krycek's face. "I only regret one thing about killing Bill Mulder."

"What's that?" Mulder ground out between clenched teeth.

"That it was too fast and easy. He didn't deserve the mercy of a bullet in the head." Krycek said coolly.

Mulder stared at him for a long, stunned moment, and then he went mad.

Hard knuckles connected with a dull thud as he hit Krycek across the room. Krycek made no attempt to defend himself and only emitted muffled groans when Mulder's shoes connected with his ribs and stomach, and hard fists crunched into his jaw.

His only response to the assault was to try and tuck himself into a ball to protect his more vulnerable parts. However, the way he was chained prevented him from everything but spastic, convulsive, aborted movements. Krycek acknowledged each hard punch and unrelenting blow with nothing more than a soft grunt, his very passivity driving Mulder to even greater fury.

The silence of the night was torn apart by dark, bloody vengeance.

Krycek's breathing came in slow, heavy gasps, as if the very act of squeezing air in and out of tortured lungs was too much of an effort.

Mulder stood above him, fists still clenched, trying to force back the black killing hatred. He knew he was teetering on the brink of something he would regret, but fury still sang through his blood demanding an outlet.

Taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart Mulder abruptly realized, to his faint shock, that he was harder than he'd ever been, his cock throbbing in time to the pounding of his pulse. He hesitated briefly, but then his lips peeled back into a cold, pitiless smile.

Why not? Why the hell not? It wouldn't kill Krycek, but it would sure as hell make him wish he were dead.

Reaching down he threw the limp and unresisting body across the table and bent down to unlock the chain running from his handcuffs to the ankle cuffs, kicking the long legs apart. Krycek laid very still, his arms still twisted painfully up behind his back by the cuffs and the chain attached to it. Mulder stared hungrily at the taut, graceful curve of the ass before him, and finally admitted to himself what his unconscious had known since the first time he'd laid eyes on his new, adoring, puppyish partner; he wanted Alex Krycek.

Unzipping his pants, Mulder felt pre-cum already dripping from the head of his cock, oh Christ, did he ever want this! Using his thumbs, he brutally wrenched the ass cheeks open, fingers sliding inside the tight ring of muscle.

Krycek flinched. He hadn't said a word while Mulder had beaten him half to death, but now he raised his head slightly and whispered thickly, through swollen lips, "No, please don't, Mulder. Please."

"Shut up!" Mulder backhanded him. Krycek's pleadings awarded him a fierce satisfaction. *Finally*, he'd found the right way to break the little cockroach. Still, he didn't want to listen to anything but the rush of pleasure coursing through him, and pulling off his tie, he forced it between Krycek's teeth, effectively gagging him.

Thrusting two fingers into the asshole, he laughed low in his throat, bending over the prone body, biting into the inviting curve of the shoulder hunched beneath him. Teeth breaking the skin, he tasted Krycek's blood on his lips. "Enjoying yourself?" he mocked, listening with immense pleasure to the soft incoherent sounds Krycek made, the writhing of tense muscles, trying to hold off and expel the stubby, cruel fingers invading his body.

Pressing close, Mulder felt his cockhead flatten against the too small opening. Frowning, he reached down again and ruthlessly loosened the muscle more, using the warm slickness of the blood beginning to trickle between his fingers as added lubrication.

Krycek's remaining hand opened and closed convulsively, but he didn't make a sound.

Supreme satisfaction rasped through his voice. "Don't want you to enjoy this too much, slut," he growled, hips jerking as he thrust deeply inside, feeling additional delicate membranes tear beneath the assault.

The only answer was a soft moan through the gag as Krycek instinctively tried to crawl away from the pain, from the thrusts that were splitting him in two. Rough fingers, digging into his hips, pulled him back, held him in place, and bent over the table; there was no leverage to resist. In the end, because it was the least hurtful alternative, he raised himself slightly, angling his hips to allow for better access, and rode out the dark red agony, just as he'd done countless times before.

It wasn't fucking, it was raw violence in its most primitive form. It was the domination, the hate-filled vengeance of one man on another for crimes that sliced a heart and soul apart.

It was rape.

And the winner is...

Wild Justice by MJ Lee