Just a Taste II Trafficking Agent Krycek dozed in the passenger seat, managing to look sweet
and almost comfortable. After all the things that bastard had done
in the past few days to make me uncomfortable, he had a hell of a
nerve. I still couldn't think about the melting chocolate incident
without feeling dirty and manipulated. And desperately horny.
And confused. I still didn't know if he'd really intended the
chocolate incident as a taunting come-on, or if my paranoia was
been playing games with my mind. I still didn't know if he was a
spy or not, and wondering if he really wanted to get into my pants
didn't make my life any easier. Tackling reasons why he might be
making passes at me if he were a spy...
My headache took on a pounding quality.
I went back to staring at the ancient sign on our right for Eagle
Electronics. "Perfection is not an accident," it said. We'd been
sitting there so long I'd taken to counting the paint peels coming
off it. I hit 400 just as the news station Krycek had suggested we
tune the radio to started its "traffic and weather on the fives." The
report mentioned traffic just about everywhere other than where
we were.
Krycek smirked. "1130 AM is still ignoring the Queensboro
Bridge. I could never figure that out." He looked sleepy-eyed and
lush and... Oh, stop it. I kept getting caught between the urges to
jump him and kill him.
I counted to ten in three languages before I asked, "If you didn't
think they would mention our bridge, why did you suggest I turn it
on?" No one could tell me it wouldn't be justifiable homicide. A
jury only had to take one look at those long lashes and sulky mouth
to get me off on self-defense.
Get me cleared, not get me— Oh, shit.
"Sometimes they do, and it might have been nice to know what's
holding us up. Are we late for the meeting yet?"
"We will be in 15 minutes."
He unbuckled his seatbelt and stretched. "There's nothing we can
do about this now. Why get upset over it?"
"There are so many other things we could be doing right now.
Instead, we're doing nothing, and it's not even a fun nothing."
"So this is a waste of time, and you hate that."
I heard pleasure in his voice as he accepted this new piece to the
puzzle that was Spooky Mulder. Once again, he showed behavior
that would be consistent for both the spy and the hero-
worshipping kid. Damn him.
I was tired of playing games. "Got it in one."
"I don't like wasting time either." He moved closer and, with a
speed I could only guess came from long practice, undid my pants.
I had to be hallucinating; the heat had fried my brain. "What the
hell are you doing?" My voice came out as a rasp, with a slight
tone of near-hysteria making it higher than usual.
"I decided to stop wasting time." Then his head went down into
my lap. As he tended to my cock much the same way he had
slowly sucked melted chocolate off his fingers yesterday, I could at
least comfort myself with the knowledge that this was as
unambiguous as you could get.
I had helplessly imagined how his mouth would feel—it turned out
to be hotter and wetter than I'd imagined. My hands clutched the
wheel white-knuckled, my head went back, my eyes closed. I
tasted blood as I bit my lip to hold back the moans. We were in a
very public place, surrounded by other people in their cars, all of
us with open windows. I fought the urge to grab his hair and bring
him in closer, partly out of fear of what that gesture would mean
and partly out of fear of what overheated hair gel would feel like.
Orgasm hit me like a hammer, nearly making me black out as I
thrust over and over into his avid mouth. It was a good thing for
him he managed to keep my hips pinned back a bit, because I had
been brought past the point of being able to consider such niceties.
Finally, he pulled back into his own seat. Dark eyes regarded me
from under darker lashes. His lips were wet with me. He licked
them. I shuddered and put myself back together.
"There's almost a car-length open in front of us," he said huskily.
I lightly hit the accelerator with more finesse than I thought myself
capable of at the moment.
"Why?" I asked.
"I wanted to since I first saw you." Then he started to look less
sensual and more nervous. "It's okay, right?"
I couldn't think of a good way to answer that. "Everything's fine,"
I said softly, in case he was simply an impetuous kid with a crush
and not a manipulative spy using one of the oldest weapons in the
world.
Now, more than ever, I had to find out.
THE END
by Viridian5
After waiting to get on the 59th Street Bridge for 20 minutes, my
nerves were seriously shot. In that time, we'd moved maybe an
eighth of a mile. Worse, I'd had to turn the air conditioning off 15
minutes ago when the heat gauge started to spike and the engine
started making ominous noises. All this left me steaming hot and
furious.
