Krycek I love this place. Every single person who comes here has got
totally wacko ideas of what constitutes acceptable behaviour.
They don't mind if you snort coke at a wedding as long as you
don't do it on the mahogany table. They don't care if you're a
killer as long as you're not a nerd. Naturally, I fit right in.
It makes my skin crawl to think of the creatures that could be
hiding in the corners waiting for me to make a mistake. I'm toast
if I show the slightest sign of wrongness, whether it's a hint
that I know I'm being watched or something to make Them believe
that I'm not here for pleasure. Well...not entirely for pleasure,
anyway.
So I'm going to do what I always do when I come here. I'll dance,
schmooze, turn heads, and pick some likely prospect off the floor
for a little more-or-less-innocent bump and grind. The fact that
tonight's prospect happens to be Fox Mulder may well be a spark
added to a very dry powder keg, but hopefully he and Scully will
be out of here by the time this place goes kaboom.
I can't count on his survival skills (what survival skills?)
getting him out of here alive, which is why I asked her along.
Never mind the fact that if I hadn't asked her, she'd probably
have come anyway.
And I have to admit, the thought of...doing what I'm going to
do...with her watching is somewhat intriguing.
I watch them arrive from a dim corner beside the DJ's cage. First
Scully, all stiff elegance in a green dress that doesn't really
suit her, then Mulder in jeans and leather, both of them looking
twitchy. How gratifying to have such an effect on people.
The music changes and I'm dancing before I even realise it. It's
something I don't recognise, not that that matters; it's loud
and it's fast and it pounds. And I dance, just like I always
do; but underneath it there's an edge of awareness that isn't
always there. I smile and wink at the regulars, the ones who know
my favourite bands and what I like to drink when the night
begins, and I wonder: is she? Is he?
It could be any one of them. Hell, it could be all of them. I
won't know until the transaction has been completed, if then. I
tongue the chip briefly, encased as it is in plastic and safely
positioned between my gum and lower lip.
It's time.
I pause briefly between songs, to find myself facing Scully. She
looks cool, like she always does, even when she's angry, and I
have to wonder what's going on behind that perfect mask of a
face. And I wink at her, just to put her off balance, and turn
back to the task at hand.
When Mulder puts his glass down, I grab his hand and pull him
onto the dance floor. He's stiff and awkward; he wasn't expecting
this. I whisper "Dance!", my lips so close to his ear they're
practically touching it. Oh, that little tremor that runs through
him...and suddenly I'm glad it's dark and he can't see the hunger
in my eyes.
We dance, close and slow like lovers, like teenagers at the prom,
like people who have no reason to hate each other. We dance, and
I stroke his neck briefly with my new left hand. The skin there
is still sensitive and the feel of his against mine is enough to
make me gasp, but I clench my teeth on it. Control. I am in
control.
I shift us closer to the center of the floor and whisper into his
ear, "In a minute I'm going to kiss you. Just thought I'd let you
know."
He doesn't like that. He stiffens and draws back as much as my
arms will let him. "What is this about, Krycek?" he whispers
furiously. "What the hell is going on?"
I smile, even though he can't see it. "You'll see," I say, and
keep on dancing.
For a while I can let myself drift a little, focusing on these
sensations: heat, sound, the slight vibration of the floor, his
movements against me. What a temptation it all presents. It
would be so very easy to close my eyes and lose myself in this
dance, as if we really were lovers.
Instead I keep them open and listen to the music—oh,
"Filmstar", very nice. Very apt. When the second chorus comes
around I can't resist; I have to rub Mulder's nose in it.
what to believe in? it's impossible to say
He looks like he knows what I'm getting at. He looks like he
wishes he didn't. He's beautiful when he's conflicted.
And then...well, it's a good thing this was part of the plan,
because I can't keep my hands off him. I lick a path down his
cheek and jaw, savouring the taste of his skin and the rough
texture of stubble, and then the slight resistance as I lick
gently past his lips. C'mon, Foxy boy, don't fuck up the plan,
don't pretend you don't want this...but the resistance doesn't
last and we're soon kissing for real.
Sweet. He tastes sweet. I always thought he'd taste like salt,
like those seeds he never stops chewing, but he tastes sweet and
faintly spicy.
I can't hear the groans he's making—he probably can't hear
them himself—but I can feel them, deep drawn-out vibrations
that send shudders down my spine and a jolt to my cock. I can
feel it beginning to get hard. I'd like to rub it against his,
just to see how he'd react: with a yelp or a sigh, an arched back
or a sensuous reciprocation? Some other time, my curiosity will
be satisfied. Right now I have business to attend to.
Putting the card in his back pocket is easy, and it seems to pull
him back to reality somewhat. I keep my mouth on his, my tongue
twined with his, but he's not responding with quite the same
enthusiasm. Shame. Still, it makes it easier to disengage and
push the chip into his mouth.
I've had my mouth glued to his and I'm out of breath; but then,
so is he. I move my mouth close to his ear, so close he must feel
the word before he hears it.
"Swallow."
His Adam's apple bobs up and down, an enticing sight. I'll see
it again some day, and it won't be a microchip he'll be
swallowing either.
"Now get out of here, and take Scully with you. Back exit. And
talk in the alley; your car's bugged." I flick his lobe once with
my tongue, just to mix him up a little more, and slip away into
a corner, watching them as they leave. Mulder looks bewildered;
Scully looks positively shellshocked. But, mademoiselle, didn't
you enjoy the cabaret?
Despite myself I smile. Round one to me.
And now round two begins...
The End
Slow Dance III
by Katherine F
Here they come, the Beautiful Ones...
what to believe in when they change your name
wash your brain
play the game again
