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Title: Possession
Rating: PG-13 .
Ce n'est pas une ardeur dans mes veins cachée, . Jean Racine . Your face is a perfect mask of agony. I'm perfectly aware that this standard operating procedure with you, Mulder. I've seen the look on Covarrubas's face after she comes out of your apartment, and it's old, old gossip that those lovely lips of yours gave the Englishman some truly amazing head. Your mouth is all twisted up, and the sound of you tugging against the handcuffs makes a soft clinking against the pole. Are you crying--you are. I can see those tears, clear as clear, and you flinch away from me when I wipe them off. Jesus, Mulder, why the fuck are you crying? I'm helping you get dressed again, Mulder, which is more than Covarrubas or Scully ever offered you, and I'm throwing breakfast in the bargain, so I don't know why you're so sad. Afterall, this was all your idea. I mean, you had shoved me up against the wall, you were the one who started up the old courtship rituals--slamming me against the wall, then leaning against me so hard that I could feel you breathing, that I could feel your hip bones pressing into my belly, you were so close that I could reach out and taste the sweat trickling down the side of your neck. Oh, Mulder, you should have seen the look on your face when I did just that--reached out and licked the side of your neck. hey, baby. you got somewhere to go tonight? Your face, your mouth--you stared at me, your pupils expanding to swallow the slim line of green, and, to be poetic, there in the lamplight, your eyes seemed pools of aching loneliness-- You were itching to dig the memory of her out of your skin, and I've done that for you, haven't I? You haven't thought about her for hours now, hours, so stop giving me that baleful look. I've done exactly what you asked me to, and if you didn't like it, then whose fault is that? I told you to relax. You're bleeding a little, but that's to be expected. I hadn't thought you'd be so fierce about it, the same goes for the handcuffs. Stop crying, will you? It's not like I raped you or anything. Here. You're making a mess out of buttoning your shirt, let me do it. No, Mulder, I'm not going to hit you. What a stupid question to ask, but then you never were very bright in the morning, were you, pretty? And, yes, Mulder, I do think you're pretty, and yes, I did hit you. You asked me to. I'm sorry if I hit you harder than you wanted me to, but you did ask, and the bruise should go away in a few days, and at any rate, she won't notice. At her name, you tense up. Your muscles go stiff underneath the shirt, and you get that dazed look in your eyes. It takes a kiss on your jaw and a carress of the back of your neck to wake you up, and then, you stare back at me like you have no idea of who I am, when I know for a fact that you're going to be aching and limping for days because of me. I serve you breakfast in the kitchen: scrambled eggs with a side of hot ham and a glass of milk. You seem surprised that I can cook, but how else would I eat? Man cannot live on Ramen noodles and TV dinners alone, though I know you definitely try. And then, I take you upstairs into the master bath, and I run out the tub for you. Hand you one of my shirts, another of my shorts, then a bottle of my shampoo, I open up a new bar of soap for you. Then, I go downstairs to do the dishes, and when I come back, you're sitting in the middle of my bed, legs tucked up around your chest, your eyes following me around the room. Your hair is still damp. There's a trail of dampness moving down the side of your neck; I'm not sure whether it's a drop of shower water you missed, or something else, but your eyes are a slow, smoldering shade of blue scored here and there with flecks of black and gold moving all through them. In a sudden moment of sentimentality, I kiss them shut. You, of course, promptly open them again. Your lip is swelling up, and when I run a light finger across it, you flinch away from me, but I grab your jaw and make you look at me. You smell of me, you have eaten my food, you're lying in my bed, when I go to kiss you, your eyes close halfway, and at first, your mouth is slack underneath me, but after a while, your arms come up around me, and then, then, we lie down together. .end
Krycek tale number 40. Has it been good for you? Feedback to anasile@aol.com
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