From: Coolcat350 
Date: 16 Jun 1998 01:37:02 GMT
Subject: Night With Moon 1/1 By La Chatte


Title: Night With Moon
Author: La Chatte
E-Mail: coolcat350@aol.com
Rating: R
Category: V
Spoilers: Nope.
Key Words: Krycek/Scully. Rape. Pre X-F and/or AU.
Summary: An encounter on a side street one night. This is either pre-XF or AU
or both-no one knows anyone.
Disclaimer: No names actually mentioned, but just to be safe-Krycek and Scully
are not mine. They belong to CC, Fox, 1013, etc. etc. etc. We all know this by
now.
Archive: Gossamer. Anywhere else please ask.
Feedback: Yes. Constructive criticism also welcome. Flames with content will be
cheerfully and viciously dissected and refuted. Flames without content will be
deleted.
Author's Notes: I was reluctant to post this because of the
recent...debate...over "misogynistic" stories. Let me make this totally clear:
This story in no way represents my views on ANYTHING. I don't think this should
really happen to anyone, and I know it doesn't happen this way. OK? Thank you.
Also, I'm almost sure this is finished, because, well, I can't write smut. But
it may be added onto later.
Now...the story...


Night With Moon
by La Chatte

It's too dark. I can't see anything.

You don't need to see. Just do it. Just go.

So I do. She's waiting for me, well, not for me. But I saw her first. Sneak up
behind her, hand on her shoulder, "Hey, beautiful." Oldest fucking line in the
world and it always works. Mostly always. Of course, the situation is usually
different. She turns around fast, backs away, "Who are you?"

No one you need to know. Closing in, corner her. She's terrified, tearing
desperately through her purse-pepper spray, maybe? No matter, I knock it out of
her hands and lean in. She's so tiny, I know that part of it is the night, but
she's so small. I think that if I handle her too roughly, she'll break.

But I'm always careful. "What's your name, beautiful?" No answer. I lean in a
little closer, "What did you say? I didn't hear you." Even with the wall behind
her, she's still trying to put some distance between us, pushing herself up
against the wall, moving from side to side, trying to look so tough but she's
too scared for that now. I would never hurt you. Not unless I had to. I touch
one hand to her face, and she stands completely still. Only her chest still
moves, with a steady, up and down rhythm. Keeping my hand on her face-almost
caressing, really-I move back a step, reach into her jacket. Her eyes open wide
and she renews her struggles at this, but I am only taking out her ID. Though I
am not above sneaking a few touches in while I'm at it. She shudders. I flip it
open- oh, impressive, dear. FBI. I thought you were all trained in
self-defense. But maybe you weren't very good in that class. I move closer to
you, pressing your body up against the wall, and-I know you now-lean in for a
kiss.

Sweet. Like--caramel, I think, slow and sticky and sweet and addictive. I press
deeper, and closer, I need more of you. I open my eyes and look at you. You're
so beautiful. Hands push helplessly against me, then fall, limp, to your side.
Your head is tossed back, in a futile attempt to distance yourself from me.
Your eyes are tightly shut, moving frantically under the almost-translucent
lids. Your lips are swollen and moist-and slightly open, I note. You're
breathing faster. Your face is flushed. Your eyes snap open suddenly and you
push at me with sudden strength. But before you move, I can see something new
looking out.

I place a careful hand on your face, stroking gently. My other hand rests on
your shoulder, and my grip tightens possessively. You keep absolutely still,
watching me, your eyes darting back and forth. I trace my hand down your neck,
playing with your hair. The buttons on your jacket pop open easily and it
slides off your shoulders. You don't seem to notice. You're wearing a simple
white shirt, respectable, ordinary, unassuming, everything that you are not. I
brush your lips once more before methodically removing it. You bend your head
forward when it bunches up around  your shoulders. When you raise it again,
your eyes are closed.

**************************

//What. The. Hell. Am. I. DOING?//

She had just been waiting for the bus-later than usual, she had had to work
late-when this man had accosted her and cornered her. She was terrified, trying
to get away-she wasn't stupid, she knew what he was going to do-but somehow,
she had...stopped. Stopped fighting, stopped resisting. He was attractive,
certainly, and if she had seen him under different circumstances, she might
have tried to pick him up. But attractive or not, he was still a rapist. Except
he wasn't now, was he? Because she was letting him. Encouraging him, for
chrissakes. And it wasn't that-No. She wouldn't go there, wouldn't start
thinking like that. It was bad. It doesn't matter how gentle he is, it doesn't
matter that it feels so nice and soft and--

//No!//

He kissed her again before she could gather her thoughts, and it instantly
tossed them into disarray again. She gave up.

//I'll deal with it later. With whatever happens, and whatever I have to think
about. Later.//

And she stopped thinking.

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