More Than Personal by MalefescentTITLE: More Than Personal (1/1)
AUTHOR: Malefescent
E-MAIL: malefescent@hotmail.com
DISTRIBUTION: Go ahead and archive it. Just let me know where it is.
SPOILERS: Fight the Future
RATING: NC-17 (language and sexual content)
CATEGORY: SKR? Not really, just one sided Krycek lust. And smut.
Lots of smut.
SUMMARY: While surveilling Scully's apartment, Alex Krycek gets that
inexplicable but all too common urge to extol his thoughts
to no one in particular.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: If 1013 can put a refrigerator in Scully's living room,
I can redecorate her bathroom a teensy bit...sue me.
DISCLAIMER: Actually, don't sue me. Scully isn't mine (damn!) and
neither is Krycek (WAAAAAAH!). I'm just letting them
release a little tension. I promise to send them back to
their respective chastity belts when I'm finished.
-----------------------
She shut the door behind her and locked the two deadbolts immediately,
just like every other time she came home. Then she walked to her phone
and checked her messages. Blah blah blah. Just like every other
frickin' day. Next she'd take her shoes off in the hall, remove her
suit jacket and drape it over the chair, walk into the bedroom and
finish undressing, reach into her bottom drawer for the vibrator, grab
the KY, and go to work. Another stress filled day forgotten.
Afterward, she'll take a shower, as if to cleanse any impropriety from
her body.
I've witnessed the scene so often, it fails to stir me anymore. Except
for those days when I'm *really* hard up, no pun intended. It's so
mundane. After my English friend bit the big one a few months back, I
got stuck on surveillance duty again. Kissing ass to the Consortium.
Not that watching Dana Scully is a *bad* thing, but since she and Mulder
got yanked off the X-Files, it's been so goddamned...*boring*. Same old
thing, day in day out.
So when Scully walked into the bathroom instead of the bedroom, I perked
up. Anything that deviated from the norm was worth noticing. Something
to break up the monotony. Of course, all she did was get into the
shower, but that was okay. Wet and naked Scully is always good. Does
more for me than that damn vibrator. It's not even sexual for her, just
a way to relax. She just lays on the bed and lets the thing do its
work, hardly moving, kind of like she was getting a neck massage or
something.
Alright, back to the matter at hand. Dana Scully going crazy for once
and skipping the vibrator. And paint me red and call me Sally, but I'm
not disappointed. Now, whoever had this job before me was just a
*little* bit too into it, if you catch my meaning. Two cameras pointing
into the bath. Water resistant, antifogging cameras with microphones.
One in each corner. Scully in stereo, except with two video images too,
one for the front, one for the back. If the woman ever found out how
many men got off to video tapes of her in the shower, Armageddon would
be now, and it wouldn't be pretty.
She's standing there in the shower, leaning against the pale green tile,
eyes closed, dejectedly letting the water spray down the front of her,
and I have the biggest urge to take her in my arms and hug her. Nothing
else. Just a hug. Because she sure as hell looks like she needs one.
Yeah, I know. Kinda funny, isn't it? Me wanting to give someone a
hug. And not only because I've got only one arm. It's just that, back
when I helped them abduct her, and then that mishap with her sister, it
wasn't *personal* back then. I didn't really know her. She was just
another job that needed to be done. But now? Now I wouldn't do
anything to hurt her. At least permanently. Because she's...well,
she's not a "friend" in any sense of the word. Business associate
maybe? Whatever. I just wouldn't take a contract for her, that's what
I'm trying to say. Because it's personal.
Now she's washing her face, then the rest of her body. Exhausted hands
moving the cloth slowly over her stomach, her ass, her legs, leaving
trails of soap bubbles that are instantly rinsed from her smooth white
skin by the steady stream of water. Then the wet cloth is brushed over
her chest. Once. Twice. So slowly. My cock begins to twitch. I'm
not made of wood you know. There is something very sexy about Dana
Scully washing herself; even more so than other women. I can't explain
it. It's one of those rules of the universe I just don't question. She
is spending a great deal of time rubbing the cloth over her chest,
brushing the rough surface over her nipples. I reach down and begin to
rub my cock through my jeans, gasping at the same time she does.
I am intensely glad that I am alone today. Not only because of *that*,
but because I feel like I am receiving a gift. Dana Scully is getting
down and dirty and actually touching herself, and I am the only one who
gets to watch. I reach over and switch off the tape. This show will
not be rebroadcast in assorted living rooms around the Consortium. No
way, no how.
The cloth is moved down, down, over her stomach, and I'm thinking this
is going to get good really soon. But I'm wrong. She just finishes
washing up, then reaches down and turns off the shower. I am a little
disappointed, until she closes the drain on the tub and lies down in the
rising water. Wash cloth in hand, she once again rubs the rough side
over her body, paying close attention to her nipples. She's quiet and
I can't hear her heavy breathing over the rush of water, but I can see
her chest rapidly rising and falling. Oh yeah, this is gonna get
*really* good.
She raises her foot to the faucet and lets the water pound on the ends
of her toes, first one foot and then the other. I think she is ready to
come from that sensation alone. I file it away as Dana Scully fact
number three thousand and eleven; not because I harbor any hopes of ever
having a sexual encounter with her, in this lifetime anyway, but rather
for the fact that after tonight I am one hundred percent positive she
will have the starring role in all of my perverted little daydreams.
She discards the wash cloth and starts playing with her nipples,
squeezing them between her fingers, first one then the other. I have my
pants pulled down to my ankles now and I've got my hand firmly around my
cock, squeezing and releasing, trying to find a rhythm. Damn she is
hot. Why the fuck can't she find someone who'll just fuck the
everliving hell out of her? Fox Mulder has got to be the most
colossally stupid man on the face of the earth. He could have what I'm
seeing right now. She's his for the asking. But he's too goddamned
stupid to realize it. So fuck Mulder. *I'm* here now, watching her
writhe around in ecstasy.
She slides her ass down the length of the tub and raises her legs up,
parting them, letting the stream of water hit her *there*. As the water
fluctuates, moving over her, I catch glimpses. Damn, whoever set up
these cameras knew what the hell he was doing. I think I can fucking
see her lungs.
Yes, I am using the zoom lens. I'm a pervert; sue me. These days, I
take what I can get.
My breathing grows more ragged as she comes. She is quiet, from years
of getting off with Mulder in the next hotel room, or maybe from that
repressed Catholic guilt of hers, I don't know. It's still good for me,
but damn, I would give just about anything to hear her make some noise
when she got off. Just once. That would be enough.
By this time my hand is pumping like crazy and I'm just about ready to
come myself when she looks right at me. Well, not at *me* but her eyes
are wide open, she's having the best orgasm she's had in weeks (trust
me, I know these things), and she's staring up at the ceiling, right at
one of the hidden cameras. I'm kind of excited by it, but I'm also
scared shitless. It's almost as if she *knows* I'm watching her. Which
of course she doesn't, but it's enough for me to lose my edge.
She's lying there, immersed in the water. She has turned the faucet off
and I can hear her shallow panting as she comes down from her orgasm.
Me? I'm stuck holding the stick, so to speak. I figure I've got all
the time in the world now; I'll take it slow, enjoy the scenery as long
as I can.
And that's when she starts shaving her legs. There's nothing sexier
than seeing a beautiful woman with legs like hers shaving. It does
something for me, in a big way. She takes her time and I stop stroking
myself, just sitting there, rod in hand, leaning forward to intently
watch the screen. The razor moves over the skin, delicately clearing
away the white foam. Short strokes around the ankle, long smooth
strokes over her calf and shin, short strokes at the knee, long strokes
over the thigh. I am hypnotized.
When she's finished she notices the nick on her knee. My tongue comes
out and wets my lips of its own volition, the desire to lick those
little droplets of blood overpowering. I gasp as her tongue does so.
Once, twice, then twisting her head to the side and licking down -or is
that up?- her thigh. She can only bend far enough to make it halfway,
but the way her tongue is stretching, I am almost ready to believe that
she can reach the juncture between her legs by sheer will alone. God,
what *that* would do to me. But she moves back up, licking a path back
to her knee.
Just as I am regaining a little of my composure, she decides to give her
knee a blow job. It sounds funny, but that's the best way to describe
it. She licks the whole surface, then begins sucking in the flesh,
taking as much into her mouth as she can, concentrating on first one
then another part. She is relentless, angrily laving the kneecap with
her tongue, then using the soft underside to smooth over the abused
skin. In my mind her knee is replaced with my cock, her mouth hot on
the tip, taking it into her mouth little by little. Then, oh God, she
starts bobbing her head on her knee. It's not that she can get her knee
into her mouth because that would just be impossible. She sort of
slides her mouth along the side of it, making soft sucking sounds as she
moves, licking and sucking and bobbing and my hand is moving at a
furious pace and then I'm coming and coming and coming in spurts all
over myself and the video equipment and it just keeps shooting out of me
until I fall back in the chair, exhausted.
My mind shuts down for a while, I'm not sure how long. The next thing
my brain computes is that she is standing up, and I am screaming within
my head, "No! It can't be over yet!" I don't even take the time to
be troubled by my thoughts. I just know I don't want this time to end.
She is draining the water out of the bath, turning on the shower, and
grabbing her shampoo. It's some type of herbal stuff. I almost
bought some myself once, but it smelled a little too feminine for my
taste. I opted for the kind that smells like black cherry Kool Aid
instead.
Her hair finally washed and rinsed, it is with a considerable amount of
regret that I watch her reach down to turn off the shower. However, she
surprises me again, laying back down in the tub, getting comfortable
before spreading her legs again under the faucet. Isn't the woman
satisfied by now?
I tell myself. It's a shame that ol' sparky
isn't up to playing again tonight. Well, it's actually okay by me
because I don't think I would survive something that intense happening
twice in one night. So it is with a detached eye that I watch Dana
Scully getting off again.
She didn't plug the drain this time; her panting and soft sounds are
echoing within the ceramic confines of the bath. Yes, she is making
noises this time, and I think that is going to be my undoing. She gets
right to the edge, groaning and grunting and shaking, and then she loses
it. Three times. I feel bad for her. It sucks when you're riding that
high and you just can't hit your peak.
But then her body starts to hum -is that possible? I mean, her whole
body is shaking, almost imperceptibly, and it seems like it's humming.
Her mouth flies open and she is gurgling in her throat, eyes rolling
back in her head. It just keeps going on and on for what seems like an
eternity. If it's even *half* as good for her as it is for me, I think
she must be in heaven. Her face is frozen in an expression of ecstasy,
and it almost looks like she is being strangled to death, gasping for
air and making those low noises. That gives me a little extra thrill,
sick fuck that I am.
Her body is just wound so tight, raised up, her knees on either rim of
the tub, the top of her head pushing against its bottom, her arms
stretched out above her. The gurgling gets louder and her hips give
this amazing thrust, just once, her whole body thrown up into the air.
I feel my own hips give a jerk and am stunned to realize that I'm
coming again, in one short burst as she yells, "Fuck!" and falls back
into the tub, out cold.
Oh.
My.
Fucking.
God.
I cannot believe this. I can't catch my breath. I'm almost
hyperventilating. I cannot fucking believe this. I have one hell of a
mess to clean up before my 'relief' shows up. And I still cannot
fucking believe this. The most amazing sexual experience of my life and
I was alone. Well, I was and I wasn't.
Minutes tick by and she's still passed out. It's damn lucky that she
didn't plug the drain because I am not in any condition to go in there
and keep her from drowning. And I'd do it. I'm almost obligated to
after what she just gave me. She made it more than personal. Stepped
way over the line there, intentionally or not. And damn me if I'm not
regretting turning off that tape.
End
--------------------
Thank Yous:
Big thanks to Sarah for her enthusiastic encouragement! Also, thanks to
Syn and Kristine for beta reading and helping me find all the little
spelling mistakes and grammar errors. Of course I couldn't resist
tinkering with it after they sent it back to me, so any mistakes are
completely my fault. Also, thanks to the OBSSE mailing list, for
assigning homeworks and making me kick my brain into gear again...
Author's Note 2: I normally don't write smut/erotica. I pretty much
stick to humor, but this little ditty was screaming to get out. Also,
this is my first posting, so let me know if I should stick around or go
back to lurking. Which brings us to...
Feedback: Slavering worship, constructive criticism, general comments,
and potato recipes will all be welcomed at malefescent@hotmail.com