|
Basement, FBI Headquarters 10:17 AM It's been five days since I talked to Alex on the phone. He didn't show up on Sunday. At first I was angry, thinking that he'd just been playing me. Now I'm worried that something has happened to him. I haven't had a decent night's sleep in three weeks, I'm jittery, I rush home from work at night, I nearly have a heart attack every time the phone rings. It's even crossed my mind to contact the Lone Gunmen and get them to hunt Alex down. But then Mulder would probably find out, and I'd have to come up with a reasonable explanation. And there is no reasonable explanation for my feelings toward Alex Krycek. The only thing that comes to mind is 'pure unadulterated lust', and I don't think Mulder would accept that as readily as I have. Then again, maybe he would. Something happened to me that day in the interrogation room. Or maybe it started even before that--I'm not sure. All I know is that I walked into that room and laid my eyes on Alex and something inside me shifted. He was no longer the remorseless killer that Mulder painted him to be. And Mulder was no longer the tarnished but indisputable hero that *I'd* painted *him* to be. After that the whole world turned upside down. I don't regret it, though. I feel more on an even keel with Mulder, like we're equals at last. And that's despite his constant and somewhat rude innuendoes. "Scully?" "Hmm?" "Are you okay?" I finally look up from the report I've been staring at for the past twenty minutes. Worry about Alex is all I can think of, but something in Mulder's tone catches my attention. He sounds different. Quieter. Subdued. The look on his face is the one he gets when we're on a case and I get hurt. Like he's almost lost me. "I'm fine, Mulder," is on the tip of my tongue. It's my standard reply when he asks. Mulder is too wrapped up in himself to be able to cope with my worries on top of his own. I'm supposed to look out for him--that's my job. And who's going to look out for you? a tiny voice inside me whispers. "You seem sort of distracted lately. Ever since . . ." he trails off. Ever since Krycek. Yeah. No kidding. I don't know what to tell him. I know what I *can't* tell him. I can't tell him about Krycek. I can't tell him that I know about their brief relationship. Even with all my worry a tiny flare of desire shoots through me and I feel my face flush. There is no denying that Mulder is attractive, but I never thought about him that way until . . . Until Krycek. Everything seemed to lead back to one man. "Scully?" Mulder is obviously confused by my silence, by the high color that has suddenly appeared in my cheeks. "Mulder, I--it's not something I want to talk about." No use denying that something is wrong. The man is a trained psychologist, after all. There's a brief pause where I look down and can't meet his eyes. I hear some papers shuffling and then a sigh. "I know I've been a jerk lately. I'm probably not high on your list of confidantes right now. But if you do want to talk, I'm here for you. You know that, right?" All the tension leaves my shoulders. How can a person be such an insufferable ass one day and a compassionate friend the next? I meet his hopeful gaze with a tremulous smile. "Yes, Mulder, I know," I reply, reaching out to squeeze his hand. He wouldn't be so quick to offer his ear if he knew what was really bothering me. The rest of the day goes by in a comfortable semi-silence. The knots in my stomach gradually loosen, and it's then that I realize just how much of my anxiety has to do with the tension between me and my partner. Before I know it the day is over, and Mulder surprises me with a hug before he leaves the office. Normally I'm gone before he is, but today I'm in no hurry. My sense of urgency is diminished. After all, Alex said he'd do what he could. Whatever he was doing in London must have taken longer than he anticipated. Still, a phone call would have been nice. Especially if all his phone calls were as good as the last one. I grin to myself, realizing that I sound like something between a horny teenager and a neglected girlfriend. Too bad I can't call him. Then a thought occurs to me. I scramble for the phone, hoping that it's not too late to reach a live person at the phone company. I give my badge number and request a list of all incoming calls to my apartment for the last week. After insisting quite emphatically that it's urgent FBI business, I'm assured that the results will be faxed to me within twenty minutes. Twenty minutes? How long does it take them to look something up in the computer? Do they type one handed? I pace restlessly, and even resort to bouncing Mulder's basketball to keep my eyes off the clock. The whirring startles me, and then I'm at the machine like a flash, grabbing up the records. There it is. Friday night. 9:43 PM. The number isn't international, but he could have been using a cell. I reach for the phone, but pull my hand back at the last minute. I shouldn't call from here. Reluctantly, I decide to wait until I get home. *** Dana Scully's Apartment 6:46 PM I don't bother with the lights when I step into my apartment. I slam the door and hurry to the phone, pulling the records from my purse. I click on the lamp by the phone and reach to dial when two arms wrap around me, pinning my hands to my sides. I instantly panic and begin to resist. "Easy Dana," he chuckles. "It's just your local neighbourhood burglar." I spin to face him, heart pounding. He's staring down at me, glittering eyes and smirk firmly in place. I don't know whether I want to kiss him or kill him. Both, I think. "Jesus, Krycek!" In my anger I unconsciously revert back to his last name. "Don't sneak up on me like that--you nearly gave me a heart attack!" The expression on his face is instantly contrite. He opens his mouth to say something, but I grab his face and pull him toward me. I use his muffled words of surprise to slip my tongue between his lips, exploring the mouth I've been fantasizing about since our trip to the desert. After a second he responds, tongue twining with mine. His arms tighten around my waist and begin to explore my back. I can feel the heat of his hands through both layers of clothing, branding me. I'm his, and there's no going back. We devour each other's mouths, licking, sucking, barely stopping to breathe. I feel myself lifted off the floor and instinctively wrap my legs around his hips, rubbing against the firm bulge I encounter. Alex groans into my mouth, sliding his hands under my butt and giving a firm squeeze. Distantly, I hear the sound of something breaking as the apartment falls dark, and then there is solid wood against my back, and Alex is grinding his pelvis against my center. Oh God. I squirm around to meet his thrusts. It feels like heaven. My hands run over his chest, through his hair, trying unsuccessfully to push his jacket from his shoulders. He tears his mouth away with a gasp. "Dana, stop." Like I'm the one who has him pushed up against a door? "What? Stop?" The word slowly filters into my brain. He's got to be kidding. "I-I had a plan," he pants, pressing his forehead against mine. Unless he's talking about world domination, he's not making any sense. "A plan." "Yeah. A plan. A date." He almost sounds embarrassed, unsure of himself. Oh. "A date." "Yes. Will you quit repeating everything I say?" "Everything you say?" This time I'm just teasing and grin at him. He sets me back on my feet but doesn't move away, cradling my face in his palms. I clench my hands at my sides. He wanted to stop, and if I touch him I won't be able to control myself. "I bought you something. It's laying out on your bed." "I'd like it better if *you* were laying out on my bed." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I turn beet red and quash the urge to slap my hand over my mouth. He laughs, and then says in a voice that makes my knees quiver, "Didn't anyone ever teach you patience?" Sure they did. But he's testing it to the limit. A girl can only take so much. Then I think of falling asleep in the car, leaving him with a raging hard-on. My frustration diminishes. "I'll be good," I say, looking up through my lashes. I probably can't do it half as well as he can. And when did I get such a low, throaty voice? Alex surges against me, letting out a whiny groan as he buries his face in my hair. We're so close that I can feel the pulsing of his cock through our clothing. It takes all my willpower not to reach down and palm him. Being good, I remind myself. I'll be good. "I hope not," he whispers. Then he spins us around and urges me toward my bedroom with a swat on the ass. I throw a pointed look over my shoulder, but go to the bedroom, having no idea what I'll find. What kind of gift would a girl expect from Krycek? AK-47? A set of those Ginsu knives that cuts through pennies and steel pipes? When I see what's 'laid out' on the bed for me I realize I've totally misjudged him again. I lean down, reaching out, and my fingers encounter silk. It's a dress. One of those 'little black dresses' that every woman seems to own but me. I pick it up and cradle the fabric in my hands. This must have cost a fortune. Well, a fortune on an FBI salary, anyway. It's clear he wants me to put it on. And when I think about it, he wasn't wearing the jeans and leather that I always associate with him. Slacks and a wool coat. At least they were still black. Too much change and I might think he's an impostor. I softly shut the door and strip down to my underwear. Plain white bra and panties. They don't do justice to the dress, so I toss them and dig through my dresser for something remotely sexy. I find it at the bottom of the drawer, near the very back. An impulse purchase that I'd forgotten about. A lacy black bra with matching thong underwear. I don't like thongs--was never able to get used to them. But for the dress I'll do it. For Alex I'll do it. I slip the dress over my head, closing my eyes at the way the cool silk feels against my skin. A second later I realize the bra is going to have to go. The dress takes a dangerous plunge to my lower back, and having the bra cut across my skin kind of ruins the effect. It falls just past my knees, with spaghetti straps, and doesn't show a lot of cleavage. Pretty classy. It's something I'd buy for myself, if I could afford it. And Alex never struck me as the kind of guy to have money to throw around. Just look at those suits he used to wear. "Alex, how can you afford--" My question is cut off abruptly as I enter the living room and walk straight into his shocked gaze. I either look really good, or hideously ugly. His eyes travel over me, down my body and back up again. I'm flushing under his intense scrutiny. "My God," he breathes. "When I saw it, I knew it would look good on you, but . . . God." I wish I could see what he sees. "It's just a dress." Two long strides and he's in front of me, gripping my upper arms. "It's a dress on you." I can't possibly hope to understand all the emotions swirling in his dark eyes, and I don't have time to. His lips are on mine again, tongue teasing, begging for entrance. I open my mouth on a soft sigh and he's there, hot and demanding. Reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck, it's all I can do to stay upright against his attack. He groans and arches into me as his questing fingers encounter the bare skin of my back. I shiver as he runs his fingers deftly up my spine. "Dana Dana Dana Dana," he whispers against my lips, over and over, sounding like a mantra. Men are normally put off by my job, my rigid lifestyle, my no nonsense attitude. So I usually end up looking like a prude, or a butch. Men treat me with respect, always on guard, never too friendly. I've never had a man look at me like he wouldn't notice a nuclear bomb going off, like I was the most gorgeous thing in the universe. Alex Krycek does all that and more. He makes me think things that would curl the toes of even a porn addict like Mulder. Abandoning my lips, he chuckles at my small whine and moves onto my neck, kissing and nipping at sensitive skin. His tongue begins tracing intricate patterns behind my ear that make me forget to breathe for a minute. Whatever I did to deserve this, thank you God. I can die a happy woman now. Check that. Now, I'd die a very horny, frustrated woman. If I can hold off until after I get this man into my bed, then I can die happy. But no use tempting fate. I've got to have him now. My hands slide roughly inside his jacket. "Off, off," I hiss as I push. That'll be my mantra for the evening. I remember what he looked like with only half of his clothes on, and have the unbearable desire to reduce him to that state once more. He lets go of me momentarily to shrug the jacket off his shoulders, then his hands are back, running up my ribcage. I can't help but arch my back as both breasts are enveloped in large, warm hands. The jacket barely hits the floor before I'm scrambling for the hem of his sweater. Too many clothes. Definitely too many clothes. I accidentally brush my hand over the straining zipper of his pants and gasp as his teeth sink into my shoulder. Damn. It's like there's a magnet in his cock that attracts my hand. Yeah. That's it. He soothes the bite with tiny licks and I can hear him murmuring my name again as his lips trail down over my collarbone. I scratch my nails lightly over his stomach and he sucks in a shuddering breath, squeezing me tighter. I fight with the sweater and finally manage to pull it over his head. It sails through the air and lands somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen. His skin is unbelievably hot under my hands. I'd like to stand back and admire him, all that light brown flesh and muscles twitching as I slide my fingers up his back, over his shoulders, down his arms. But God, I've been waiting for this for way too long. There will be time to explore later. "Bedroom," I pant, and then his mouth is back on mine. I'm pulling, and he's pushing, and we finally make it to bed, falling in a tangle of limbs. I grind against his thigh, mewling and writhing at the delicious friction. "Hellcat," I hear in my ear, and then my nipple is surrounded by wet heat. Oh God. His tongue. I manage to coordinate my muscles enough to look down. He's suckling me through the silk dress, staring back at me with eyes that would set a nun on fire. Unable to break away from that gaze, my hand blindly seeks the zipper of his pants. I find it on the first attempt. I think I may have been right about that magnet. His eyes widen as I lower the zipper and slip questing fingers inside. Then it's my turn to widen my eyes. He's not wearing any underwear. Not this time. I wrap my fingers around the base of his cock and give an experimental squeeze. His mouth falls away from my breast as he lets out a groan that sends shivers down to my toes. I could listen to that sound all night long. I squeeze again and there it is, all throaty and helpless sounding. Before I can stop it, the thought is there. I wonder if Mulder has heard that sound. Don't go there, Dana. But I can't really help it. I look at Mulder when I'm sure he won't notice, and I can't help but think of them . . . together. I stroke my hand up his length, using my feet to push the pants down over his hips. He shudders and tilts his pelvis toward me. What would Mulder's long-fingered hands look like splayed out over one of Alex's rounded ass cheeks? I've never been overly attracted to Mulder, but Mulder and Krycek together . . . The idea of it sets my circuits on overload, it's so hot. Mulder would probably burst a blood vessel if he knew what I was thinking right now. Imagine me, the straightlaced agent fantasizing about her partner in bed with another man. It would be a scandal if anyone found out. My hand glides over the damp skin on the back of Alex's neck and into his short hair as I pump my hand up and down his cock. I nudge his head down, and he takes the hint, flicking my abandoned nipple with his tongue. Ah, yes. That's so good. I rub my thumb in slow circles over the head of his cock, gathering up the pearly moisture before sliding back down. He feels so good in my hand. I wonder what he'll feel like inside me. The ache between my thighs is growing more intense with each passing gasp and moan that slips out between his lips. I almost can't believe that I have this hard, hot body writhing in my arms. The assassin is totally at my mercy. I can't believe I didn't let him take me in the car in New Mexico. I must have been suffering from temporary insanity at the time. Or is that what's happening now? He abandons my breast and scoots up the bed. Which is fine for me because I've got a much better angle now, and my arm begins to work a little faster. I watch his hips move in a jerky little rhythm and then his lips cover mine. I hope my hand is still moving, because I can't think when Alex Krycek is kissing me. I swallow his helpless groans until he gasps and bucks in my grip. "Oh God, Dana. Dana. I'm--" Then I feel sticky warmth on my hand and Alex collapses against my side, panting heavily. I glance down briefly. The front of the dress is wet with saliva, and the bottom half is wet with come. All in all, I'd say the silk is ruined, but man, it was worth it. I've been wanting to hear him cry out my name since that night on the phone. I rub my cheek against the top of his head, letting go of his softening cock so I can trail my fingers up his heaving ribcage. We must make a pretty lurid picture. Sweaty, sticky, panting. Me with my soiled dress rucked up around my hips, him naked from the knees up. "You're amazing," he says, hot breath against my collar. I see his eyelashes flutter open to survey the damage. A tiny crease appears at the top of his nose as he looks at the dress. "So much for my plan," he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear. He kicks off his pants and settles against me. *** I stroke the damp skin at the back of his neck, fingers crawling up into his hair. He really does need to grow it out. There's a fine sheen of sweat covering his face that just makes me want to lick him. The ache in my belly turns into a persistent throb and I tighten my thighs around his leg. My movement doesn't go unnoticed. "Something bothering you, Dana?" I can hear the amusement in his voice. He glides his fingers up my leg, catching the hem of the dress and dragging it up. "Something you . . . need?" Need. Want. There's no difference at his point. I want him to touch me. I need him to before I spontaneously combust and turn into an X-File. I arch my hips off the bed so he can pull the dress up farther, fingertips leaving trails of goosebumps on my sensitive stomach. Soon I'm laying there in only my underwear, and Alex tugs on my arm until my back is spooned up against his chest. He nuzzles into my hair and places gentle kisses on my neck. I wriggle against him, impatient for more stimulation. He chuckles and shows no sign of obliging me. Goddammit. He's the last person I expect to want to cuddle. And right now, cuddling is the last thing I want. Need. "I want you to show me," he whispers, lips brushing against my earlobe. It's pretty much all showing. I'm only wearing a thong, after all. I start to turn so I can ask what the hell he's talking about, but his arms tighten around me. He takes my hand in his and slides it over my stomach, teasing at the edge of my underwear. "I want you to show me what--" His voice cracks, and he takes a deep breath before continuing. "What you did on the phone. In the bathtub." Somewhere in the back of my brain, a tiny voice urges me to mime scrubbing my back and washing my hair, but it's drowned out by the throaty husk of Alex. "You were so hot. I wanted to jump through the phone to get to you." Together, our fingers slide between my legs and I whimper at the friction I've been denied so long. I lift my leg back and slide it over his, opening myself to questing fingers. I'm kind of hoping he'll just take the lead, but he holds back, only following the movements of my own hand. I let my nails scratch over the wet fabric, biting my lip in an effort to stop crying out. A high whine comes out instead. "I thought my head was going to explode when I realized you were in the bathtub, listening to my voice. Touching yourself." I think my head's going to explode right now. Two sets of fingers slide under the edge of my panties, teasing lightly. But I can't take it anymore. I move my hand and press down on my clit, jerking like I've been hit by lightning. My fingers slide down and in, and I feel that wonderful stretch because his thick finger is right there with mine, gliding in and out. "God." He sounds awestruck, like maybe God is actually standing beside the bed looking at us. I can't find the presence of mind to open my eyes. At the moment, I don't care. If I'm going to hell for this, well, I'm going there a satisfied woman. "You're so wet," he says, burying his nose against my neck. I groan, feeling the growing hardness nudging my ass. Before he can even react, I pull my hand away and press it over his, pushing his finger inside me as far as it will go. My mouth falls open soundlessly. God, that's just one finger. "Dana," he warns playfully, beginning to pull away. I clamp my hand over his. The two most fierce creatures in the world are a mother protecting her young, and a horny woman. He doesn't stand a chance. "Nuh-uh," I groan, praying he'll get the message. When I'm confident that he won't try to pull away again, I reach behind and wrap my arm around his neck. He slides two fingers in me and keeps a steady pace, just fast enough to drive me crazy, just slow enough to keep me that way. I grind my ass into his groin and feel him swell further. He's ready, and I'm ready, so why aren't we screwing? "Easy, Dana. I'm not eighteen anymore." Bastard. Seems he's content to drive me out of my mind. Maybe if I provoke him . . . "Mulder would have had it up by now." There. That should work. He'll have to prove his manhood by flipping us over and burying himself between my legs. My entire body is vibrating in anticipation. "No. He wouldn't," he says, with the air of authority of someone who knows. A helpless shudder tears through my body. Shit. That just completely backfired. Mulder and Krycek together. Krycek and Mulder. Alex and Fox. Now I'm more desperate than ever. Either the gods or Alex decide to take mercy on me because he angles his torso away from me and I feel him pressing against my entrance. What the hell is he waiting for? "I'm clean, Dana," he rasps. Oh God. I wasn't even thinking about that. I start to nod furiously, about to tell him that I'm clean too, but my breath catches as he pushes inside with one powerful thrust. He's stretched me so far that I can almost taste him. His hand tightens on my hip as he slowly slides out, then all the way back in. It feels so good I could almost cry. He didn't even bother to ask about me. The idea that Alex trusts me is more terrifying than the fact that we're having sex. Someone's letting out a loud continuous moan, and it takes a second to realize that it's me. I've lost complete control and all I can do is clutch the bedspread with one hand and his side with the other. My nails are probably cutting into his skin, leaving red welts and angry scratches. I slam my hips back against him and he moans helplessly in my ear, erratic pants gaining in volume. The slide of his sweaty skin along mine, hot breath against my neck, the delicious sensation of being filled--stretched--so completely is about to drive me out of my mind. And it's not enough. I try to form my thoughts into coherent words. "More," I gasp. "More . . ." It's all I can manage, but he seems to read my thoughts. The thong is suddenly flying across the room, and with a gigantic shove, we're both on our knees. His arms around me are the only thing keeping me upright when my thigh muscles quiver and threaten to give out. We're still for a second, and I can feel the length of him pulsing inside me. I contract my vaginal muscles and he growls into my hair. I do it again to see what happens and his hand slides down my belly to flick my clit. I yelp in surprise and pleasure. "Up against the wall, Agent Scully. Assume the position." He sounds dangerous, almost feral. I shiver and move to comply. Without breaking the connection between our bodies, we fumble to the wall at the head of my bed. I brace both hands on the wall and spread my thighs as far as they will go. His hips begin to move immediately. My groan echoes his at the new angle. His cock scrapes against my pubic bone with each thrust and I can already feel the fiery tingling begin in my belly. "Oooooh God," I cry, throwing back my head. Alex bites the side of my neck and I reach back to twine my fingers through his hair. The sound of his hips slapping against my ass fills the room along with my keening and his harsh groans. I lose myself in the pleasure of his body, and it's almost as if I'm floating somewhere beyond my bed. I can see the smooth thrust of his hips, the clenching of his ass as he pistons into my welcoming body. God he's gorgeous. Clutching my hip, sliding up to tug on a sensitive nipple. I see myself, eyes rolled back, mouth gaping, using the wall for leverage as I slam back on his cock. Then the strangest thing happens. My limbs lengthen, thicken with muscle, red hair turns brown, features enlarge . . . And suddenly it's Mulder I see, Mulder braced against my bedroom wall while Alex fucks him into oblivion. The blinding force of my orgasm brings me back as it rips through my body, leaving no nerve ending untouched. Alex gasps into my ear and stiffens as his cocks swells, pumping hot semen into my swollen channel. This time I can't stop the trembling in my thighs as I collapse against the wall, twitching with aftershocks. I give a forlorn sound as Alex slips from me, falling back to the bed. I don't know how long we stay like that--I seem to have lost all use of my higher brain functions. I hurt in the best way possible, and I just want to catch my breath so that we can do it again. I press my flushed cheek against the wall and catch his eye. "I think I just had an out of body experience," I blurt, not even bothering to be embarrassed. His eyes slowly focus on my face--he looks as dazed as I feel. Finally the corners of his mouth turn up, his lips part, and I'm given a megawatt smile. It reaches all the way to the depths of his green eyes, making them shine with something that I've never seen on his face before. Moments pass before the emotion registers. Happiness. I've made Alex Krycek happy. "That about sums it up," he says hoarsely, referring to my previous comment. He thinks I'm joking. I wonder what would happen if I told him I was serious. Something tells me not to mention Mulder. After all, he made it clear that Mulder was just 'a job'. He never really felt anything for my partner. Is that what this is? A job? Has he seduced me in order to get something? I shut my eyes. Don't be stupid, Dana. You're the one who practically jumped him in the interrogation room--you started it. What if he was just taking advantage of the opening? The thought doesn't worry me as much as it should. Probably has something to do with the post-orgasmic haze that's filtering through my eyelids. Callused fingertips begin a lazy journey up the outside of my thigh. I shiver at his touch and peel myself away from the wall. He grasps my hand and pulls me down beside him. I wonder what's going to happen now. Is he going to be one of those guys that immediately falls asleep? Or is he going to want to cuddle and make out until he's ready to go again? Personally, I'm all for that. Or he could be the type of guy who actually wants to talk after sex. They do exist--so I've been told. He must be able to hear the gears churning, because he mumbles into my hair, "You think too much." "It's to make up for the times when my brain stops functioning completely," I joke. And there's been quite a few of those lately. In the silence that follows I realize that he's become tense against me, arms circling lightly, like he's afraid to touch me. Something is wrong. I look up and wait for him meet my gaze. The doubt that's pooled in his beautiful green eyes completely blows me away. Where is the cocky, overconfident bastard known as Krycek? After what just happened between us, I thought he'd be pretty smug. But I'm waaaaay out of my league here. When Mulder needs comforting, all I have to do is smile and hold his hand and tell him I'm there for him. With anyone else . . . well, there's a reason I'm a pathologist and not a family doctor. I walk my fingers slowly up his chest. God, I want him again, with an intensity that frightens me. "You know, you didn't have to go to all that trouble. With your clothes, and the dress, and some date." No seduction was necessary. *That* happened in an interrogation room in some backwoods New Mexico police station. He pulls away and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Oops. Strike one for me. "It wasn't just 'some date'," he mutters. Okay, so it was obviously important, and I'd ruined, and then belittled his plan. Go Dana. I reach out, but pull my hand back at the last second. If he were to pull away again, I think I might get insulted. "Well . . . we could still go," I suggest. He shakes his head. "No. We missed the reservation." Reservation? "You were taking me out for dinner?" He looks at me over his shoulder. "Dinner and dancing." Wow. Seems like he's gone to a lot of trouble. Which leads me to my next question. "Why?" It's a long time before he answers. "Because you deserve so much more than this," he says, indicating the mussed bed. I can't help but grin. "I don't think I could survive much more than this." He gives me a shy smile, which I think is the cutest thing I've ever seen. Moving slowly, I press myself along his back and slide my hands down over his chest. His earlobe is so close to my mouth, I can't resist. I nip at it gently. He turns his head and catches my lips in a fiery kiss that almost has me coming again. God, he really doesn't do anything halfway, does he? Suddenly he begins pulling away and I struggle to follow him to his feet, not content to let him go. Maybe I'll call in sick to work tomorrow, and we can stay in bed all day. He's half hard and growing against my belly. Nice. I wrap my arms around his waist and press our hips together. "You know, it's probably better that we don't go out anyway. Wouldn't want to get spotted." It's true. If we went out and someone recognized him, it would completely ruin the date. Not to mention I'd probably get in a bit of trouble. **Explain your actions, Agent Scully. Sir, I was trying to lull the suspect into a false sense of security by humping his leg and trying to suck his brain out through his mouth. Very good, Agent Scully. You deserve a commendation.** Yeah, right. "Yeah, wouldn't want to be seen with me." This time it's me that pulls away, but only enough so that I can look up at him. "I didn't mean it that way." "I should go." *** What? What? Go? No. Nonononono. I think I'm just gaping at him stupidly. Why is he leaving? What just happened? He grabs his pants and starts sliding them on. I'm monumentally confused. First he waltzes in to take me on this big date, and now he's running away. "You don't have to go." Now he's looking for his socks--I don't even remember him talking his shoes off. "And what if Mulder calls?" "I don't care." He snorts like he doesn't believe me. "And what if he comes over? You can't just shove me in your closet." Before I can say anything he strides out of the room. Feeling strangely vulnerable, I grab my robe before following. I find him standing in the kitchen, tugging his sweater over his head. He really is leaving. Christ. I've never been one of those women who starts crying and asking 'Is it me? What did I do?', so I do the next best thing. I get angry. His hand is on the doorknob, pulling the door open, when I reach over and slam it shut in his face. He jumps a little, looking at me in surprise. All right. I'm angry now. But I still don't know what to say. I have no idea what's going on. I quickly scan the last fifteen minutes in my head. It doesn't make sense for him to be so angry over having his plans ruined. "Get out of my way," he says evenly, and as an afterthought, "Please." "No." "No?" "No." "Scully--" Uh oh. We're back to Scully now, are we? I narrow my eyes dangerously. "Don't 'Scully' me, Krycek. If all you came for was a fast fuck then you got it. But don't think for a second that I'm just going to let you waltz out of here without an explanation." He's got that startled, wide-eyed look on his face again. I must have broken a record somewhere. Only person to ever surprise Alex Krycek twice in one minute. Hell, I even surprised myself. His hand twists the door knob and he leans down toward me. "Well, you seem to have it all figured out so I guess I'll be going now." Okay, I have to admit that hurts. And in that second I see the cruel sonofabitch that Mulder always talks about. No wonder Mulder hates his guts. I don't like him very much at this moment and I've still got his come drying on the inside of my thigh. To my chagrin I feel a gentle throb between my legs at the thought. Not now! Wounded pride, remember? "I could just arrest you." "You just like seeing me in handcuffs." It's a poor excuse for a joke, and does nothing to break the tension. At this moment I'd like nothing more than to slap the cuffs around his wrists and tie him to the most uncomfortable chair I own. The one that makes my back sore after five minutes. I have a sudden image of Alex, exhausted, nearly in tears, begging me for lumbar support. There's a minute lessening of my anger. "Why are you being such a prick?" My simple question seems to cut straight to the heart of the matter. His shoulders sag and he sort of slumps against the door. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. You're not getting off that easily, Mister. "For what?" "For running. For what I said. You're not just . . . just . . . a fast fuck." He makes the words sound distasteful and then his voice turns rueful. "At least, it wasn't supposed to be." So he doesn't want to leave after all. Is he scared of something? What spooked him so bad that he couldn't wait to get away from me? When I ask, all he says is, "Haven't we covered this already?" "All I remember is you giving me some bullshit excuse about Mulder. This has nothing to do with Mulder. This is about you and me." "You're right. It is about you and me. 'You and me' is going to get me killed." "I doubt anyone's going to kill you for sleeping with me. They'll probably think you've seduced me to get inside information on the x-files." "And what makes you think that's not what I'm doing?" I take a long look at him, his messy hair, rumpled clothes. God, he didn't even bother putting on his shoes. He was going to run out in sock feet. This is not a man who has a hidden agenda on his mind. "Because if you really wanted information, Mulder would be a more likely candidate. And we all know how well *that* went." "Dana!" he gasps in mock astonishment. "I didn't know you had it in you." "Well I'm just one surprise after another," I drawl, feeling the tension ease from the room. I'm fairly certain that if I step away from the door now he's not going to bolt. Besides, the 'restaurant' section of the phone book is calling to me. I'm in the mood for Vietnamese. When I glance at him over my shoulder he's still leaning against my front door. I point my chin at the jacket dangling from his fingers. "Going somewhere?" "Do you really want me to stay?" I pretend to think about it for a minute. "For some reason, yes." With an amused grin he flips the deadbolt and takes a few steps toward me. When I reach for the phone he asks, "What are you doing?" "Calling for Vietnamese. I'm starving. And you're paying." "Me? I'm not the one who wants to eat." "Yes, but you stole my car and ruined my new dress. You owe me." The fact that it was actually an FBI vehicle and he bought me the dress doesn't matter at this point. I'm damn hungry. It looks like he's going to argue but thinks better of it. While I'm ordering he sits down gingerly on the edge of the sofa and begins to flip through a magazine lying on the coffee table. He looks like he's waiting at the dentist office--stiff and uncomfortable, but trying to make the best of things. I could always jump in his lap. He's wearing entirely too many clothes, and I didn't get to touch him nearly enough when we were in the bedroom. For some reason, I think that jumping him is not going to recreate the intimate atmosphere we had. Not this time. But we could still have dinner and dancing, if it means that much to him. After ordering the food I glide over to the couch and stand next to him. My bare feet look so small next to his. I always feel small when I'm around him. Like he could wrap himself around me and I'd completely disappear. But sitting there with his bowed head, he looks like a little boy. He finally lifts his face to me and his eyes are warm despite the hint of wariness there. Smiling, I hold out my hand. "Dance with me?" He slips his hand into mine and gets to his feet "There's no music." "Doesn't matter." His arms slide around my back, barely touching, holding me like I'm made of spun glass. This isn't working how it's supposed to. I tighten my hold on his waist and bury my face in his shoulder, inhaling the smell of wool and expensive cologne. I really do want him to stay. I think I'd like to wake up with him in the morning. I try to communicate those feelings by pulling him as close as possible, letting my hands drift down to the curve of his ass. Gradually, he begins to melt in my arms. "I really am sorry," he whispers after awhile. I smile into his sweater as he gently caresses my back, this time to soothe rather than to arouse. "I can be an idiot sometimes." He presses his cheek to the top of my head. God I feel ridiculously happy. How can something that appears so wrong feel so right? Sounds like an x-file. I laugh softly. "What is it?" "Nothing," I murmur. "This is nice." "Yeah, it is." Then in that low, husky voice he starts to sing. Who would have guessed Alex was such a songbird? I don't know the song, but it's strangely appropriate. Looks like I'm gonna have to go and buy *another* CD. Bet penny-ear boy will be surprised. "I want to experience the taste of dark berry nectar, the seed of life, heaven everlasting. The phone just won't suffice no more." Mmmmmm. That voice. That voice does strange things to my body. It starts in my head, a pleasant buzz that leaves me a little giddy. Then the buzz travels down my throat like a stubbled cheek, rasping, raising goosebumps as it heads in a line straight to my pelvis. I feel him kiss my hair, then he tips my head back for a lingering kiss that leaves my eyes glazed with wanting. "My want for you is rushing over. Patiently I wait for an invitation. I often try to imagine, picture you, for you're no more than a voice on my telephone that I find myself rushing home to." How can Alex Krycek make me so happy? I'm almost afraid to question it, afraid of what the answer might be. No one will accept this. I'll just get in trouble, and probably end up getting him arrested as well. Mulder would kill me if he found out. But as I sway gently in Alex's arms, surrounded by the smoky tones of his voice, I just can't bring myself to care. Rush Over Your music is so very beautiful Patiently I wait for an invitation If you feel the same for me Won't you play for me? If you feel the same for me My sweet Marcus |
The Planby Eve |