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
From Love Jones soundtrack
(Me'Shell Ndeg¨ĻOcello/Marcus Miller)Your music is so very beautiful
I want to feel you creep inside me
The warmth of a Kiss beneath my berry skin
I want to experience
The taste of dark berry nectar
The seed of life
Heaven everlasting
The phone just won't suffice no more
My imagination is filled
And my cup runneth over
If you feel the same for me
Yeah
The way I feel for you
I'll rush over
Mmm
There's no need
No
To be alone
Mmm
My want for you is rushing overPatiently 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
Your voice makes me wanna
Do things
I'm much too shy to say
You leave me to questionIf you feel the same for me
Yeah
The way I feel for you
I'll rush over
Tell me
There's no reason
To be alone
No
My want for you is rushing overWon't you play for me?
If you feel the same for me
The way I feel for you
I'll rush over
There's no reason
To be alone
No
My want for you is rushing overMy sweet Marcus
Won't you play for me?
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