Dana Scully's Apartment
6:46 PMI 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.
