Scully tried to refrain from smirking. "Well, you should've thought of that
before making that bet."
Mulder groaned. "Nobody's ever gonna fall for this. I mean, look at me!!!"
Scully took the time to detail her partner's attire from head to toes. The only
wig he had agreed to wear spilled its auburn, curly hair on his shoulders. The
purple wool shirt he was wearing nicely outlined his fake, though very real
looking, breasts. A long black silk skirt, a pair of black high heels and a
touch of make-up completed the disguise.
"Nonsense Mulder," she finally said. "You're lovely."
"Yes, in a weird drag queen apprentice sort of way."
Scully raised a finger. "You lost. The mansion wasn't haunted. Now get going."
Mulder rolled his eyes and entered the car. The driver looked at him and
grinned.
"Just shut up and drive, Agent Matthews," Mulder growled.
"Yes, miss Mulder... oh, sorry miss Roy," chuckled the agent before starting the
engine and leaving the dark parking lot where the agents had met.
Agent Matthews and "miss Roy" quickly left Washington behind as they headed for
the motel one of the FBI's latest catches had identified to Mulder as a regular
shelter for "someone who knows stuff I couldn't tell you about". Knowing that
the man would usually hire a stripper for a few hours every night he was around,
the FBI had set a trap and waited. Finally, the fish had swallowed the bait: he
had called for a girl for the night earlier in the evening.
Mulder shuddered and leaned further back in the seat, reassured to feel the cold
steel of his gun pressing against his lower back. He wished the trip would take
forever, that he'd be caught in a time-space loop, that he'd be abducted by
aliens right there right now —anything to keep them from getting to that altar
where he'd be sacrificed.
What an image, Mulder thought with a shiver.
"We're here," said Agent Matthews, interrupting Mulder's line of thoughts.
Mulder got out of the car and glanced at the typical
"backroad-away-from-everything" cheap motel. Maybe it was the fact that it was
now completely dark outside, or because of the situation, but the only thing
Mulder could think about was running away. Even being coldly stared down by the
Alien Bounty Hunter seemed reassuring in comparison with entering the motel's
reception.
Finally, he started walking towards the small office, wobbling a little because
of his high heels. His legs felt like they were made of lead. The office seemed
miles away, and at the same time too close. He reached the door and opened it
with a slightly trembling hand. Come on Fox, get a grip, he mentally
ordered himself. He walked to the counter and rang the bell. After a minute, an
old lady entered the office.
"Yeah?" she simply said.
"Could you tell me which room is Mr Smith in?" Mulder asked in the most feminine
voice he was capable of.
The lady opened her registration book and looked in it. "John Smith or Sacha
Smith?" she asked.
"Sacha," she said.
"Ah, of course," said the old woman. "Room 103."
Mulder walked out of the office and to the door reading 103. He knocked three
times. No answer. He knocked again, louder. After a minute, he heard a voice
behind the door.
"Who is it?" asked the voice.
Mulder shivered involuntarily when he heard the voice. Right now, any voice
would have sounded like the voice of the devil to him. Not only that, but he had
the growing suspicion that he had heard that voice before.
"It's Tiffany," he replied, trying very hard to keep his voice from cracking.
This is so ridiculous, he thought for the hundredth time in thirty
seconds.
Mulder heard the "click" of the door lock. After a moment, the door opened
suddenly, but the occupant of the room was nowhere to be seen. Mulder entered,
looking around in the darkness of the typical motel room. The room was barely
lit by the light filtering from under the slightly ajar bathroom door and the
pale moonlight coming through the windows blinds. The radio was playing "Every
breath you take", and the bed had been clearly occupied a few moments ago.
Mulder heard the door being closed behind him, but before he had time to turn
around, he felt a strong hand rub his right arm through his shirt sleeve.
Only one hand?, thought Mulder. No... it can't be...
"Your agency didn't lie," whispered the dark, sensual voice in Mulder's ear.
"You're very pretty."
Mulder forced himself to smile and turn to the owner of the voice slowly.
Krycek... "You're quite a hunk yourself," he said, taking Krycek's hand
off his arm as gently as he could manage. Can't believe I'm actually saying
this out loud...
Krycek smiled and brushed the tip of his good hand's fingers on Mulder's cheek.
"You're quite tall..."
Shit..."You don't like tall woman?" asked Mulder with a pout, feigning to
be hurt.
"Actually, I prefer them tall," said Krycek with an enigmatic smile.
Mulder watched Krycek walk to the bed with a mix of fear and surprise. What
did he ever mean by that? Man, I knew no one could fall for this...
"So," said Krycek, interrupting Mulder's line of rather unpleasant thoughts,
"why don't you show me what you're made of, Tiffany?"
I am so dead... thought Mulder. He took a deep breath to steady himself,
smiled, and walked in front of Krycek. "What can I do for you, pretty boy?" he
said sensuously.
Krycek gave Mulder a very pleased smile. "Why don't you start with a little
dance, babe? Just pick a song you like on the radio."
Mulder walked to the cheap radio and tried to tune in to a station that wouldn't
spit out more background noises than music. He felt Krycek's gaze on his back as
if it was burning him, sending a shiver down his spine. Finally, he found one
that had just started playing "Let's make a night to remember". This I could
manage to do something with, thought Mulder, as he turned around to face a
waiting Krycek. Then again...
Krycek settled into a more comfortable position on the bed and crossed his arms
in his lap, waiting for the show. "I'm waiting," he said on a sensual, yet
implacable tone, which made the sentence sound much more like an order than a
simple remark.
Mulder closed his eyes and nodded. This is it... He listened to the song
for a minute, concentrating, then started rotating his hips slowly. He raised
his hands to his face and let them slide down to his neck, slowly, caressingly,
almost teasingly. He tried to picture in his mind a hot scene from one of his
numerous movie, where a very beautiful raven-haired lady strip-danced slowly in
front of her mesmerized —and very horny—sex partner-to-be. Mulder
concentrated on trying to imitate the beginning of her dance, imagining she was
the one watching him, wanting him more with every move he made.
"Open your eyes," ordered Krycek.
Mulder shivered, but obeyed. He opened his hazel eyes, but kept looking away
from Krycek. He didn't want to see his piercing emerald gaze looking at him from
head to toe, mentally undressing him. Burning him. Scarring him. Killing him.
"Look at me," Krycek ordered again. "I wanna see your pretty face," he added
with a sly grin.
Oh no... Mulder looked up and forced himself to make a sensual pout.
Krycek grinned again. "Keep going."
Mulder continued his dance, now thrusting his hips slightly and letting his
hands slip to his chest. He felt so ashamed of acting like a slut in front of
his arch nemesis, and yet, some dark, twisted part of him was truly starting to
enjoy the situation. As he held Krycek's gaze, an image of himself forcing
Krycek to his knees, grabbing him by his ridiculously short hair and violently
fucking his mouth flashed in front of his eyes. He quickly shook it off,
blushing. I really must be tired, he thought. This mission is
absolutely not good for me.
But still... Mulder looked at Krycek, a little more attentively. Krycek truly
had a nice face. Great looking eyes, sensual mouth... The bad guy look really
looked well on him. Well, thought Mulder, better than those suits he
wore when we were partners... if we can call it partnership...
Back when you wondered what it'd feel like to hold him and comfort him, like
after the Augustus Cole event, a little voice at the back of his head
whispered.
Get a grip, Fox, Mulder ordered himself as a picture of him softly
licking Krycek's lips flashed in front of his eyes. The man you're facing now
is completely different.
Isn't he...?
"Hey pretty," said Krycek, "you thinking of taking off those clothes before the
next millennia?"
Mulder froze for half a second. I had completely forgotten... not that I
wanted to remember anyway. He smiled and slowly let his hands slid lower,
lower, until he reach the waistband of his skirt, then slipped one of his hands
behind his back to grab his gun. However, the room's phone rang before he had a
chance to even touch it. Mulder jumped and left the gun where it was.
"Damn!" swore Krycek as he picked up the receiver.
Oh great, thought Mulder, just what I needed; a distraction to prolong
my agony.
"What???" said Krycek, visibly not very happy. "But I already... yes... but...
okay okay, I'm on it!"
Krycek slammed the receiver back on the base and cursed in Russian. "Sorry
babe," he said, looking at Mulder, "but I won't be able to enjoy the rest of
your show."
Mulder almost let out a sigh of relief, but instead, he pretended to be
offended. "Aw geez..." he said, "I was just getting to the fun part..."
"I very much enjoyed the sample of your talent you displayed tonight." Krycek
slipped a few bills under Mulder's bra strap and planted a kissed on the side of
Mulder's neck. "You'll have to show me more one day... Fox."
Shocked, Mulder stared at his archenemy, who left the room calmly, his trademark
mischievous grin on his face. Mulder just stayed standing in the middle of the
room, too surprised to reach out for his gun and stop Krycek. He heard Krycek's
rental car leave the parking, then the silence fell. Finally, he snapped out of
it and frowned.
He knew all along... bastard...
Dance, Mata Hari, Dance
by Nyx Midnight
"Scully, I know we had a deal, but this is ridiculous."
Okay, it is NOT the most adult fanfiction I ever wrote, neither the most
twisted, nor the most intelligent. Still, it was a fun way to spend my free
time.
