We Will Both Be Sorry 1/1
We Will Both be Sorry 1/1
Title: We Will Both Be Sorry
Fandom: The X-Files
Pairings: Krycek/Scully
Prompts: Krycek/Scully, opposites attract
Prompt 2: Krycek/Scully, kitty likes to scratch
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: All characters, events, settings and situations mentioned in this work are sole property of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, in constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context and are not intended to be defamatory or factual in anyway.
Author's Notes: Drabble. Requested by devylish . Again, While I'm a huge X-Files nerd. Never have a written fan fiction for the fandom. I love it too much, but alas, here I am. I'm sort of proud of this one, actually.
Summary: Set during the times Mulder seemed to turn his back on Scully in favor of Diana Fowley.
##################
#kitty likes to scratch
For Megan
She's drunk.
Granted, he wouldn't expect any less in this situation. He spotted her an hour ago. First, she sat promptly at the bar, skirt suit sporting only a couple of nine-to-five office wrinkles. She sipped the first martini slowly, her manicured nails playing with the sweat of the glass as minutes ticked by. She was thinking about something. Something not work related, something not life risking but certainly life altering. He could tell by the crease in her forehead.
It wasn't just brought on by worry. No. Sadness. It was sadness. Maybe heartbreak.
As the second drink was placed in front of her, she seemed to drink more ease. She seemed to loosen up. her shoulders relaxed and she breathed with more ease. The usual ice woman purse of her lips easing into a content grin as she thought about something pleasant while she stirred the dry gin with her index finger.
he waited for her to bring that finger to her lips. For her tongue to dart out and lick the moisture off. He sat up in her booth in anticipation. But alas, Dana Scully, was not one to consciously act even remotely salacious. She wiped the gin off on a paper napkin.
Martini after martini, she became unraveled. Unraveled for Dana Scully anyway. Her jacket was shrugged off, a couple of undone buttons, showing a peak of milky white skin, perfectly measured cleavage what he thought was black lace.
She's on her fourth drink now, and in spite of her avidly pushing strands of auburn hair behind her ear, one stubborn strand keeps falling over her right eye.
He takes a long swing of beer as she turns and looks over her shoulder, teeth down against her bottom lip as she eyes the jukebox across the room.
As she slips off the stool, stumbles a bit, clearly underestimating her inebriated state, and wanders over, Alex Krycek wonders what song Special Agent Dana Scully likes listening to when she's drunk.
Her body is petite. Compact. She's short. But she's got these curves that no woman weighing a hundred and ten pounds at the most should possess. Her body is the perfect cylinder shape. It's firm but sensually graceful--he wonders then what the hell is taking Mulder so long to make sure this woman belongs to him. He would definitely give up a life's crusade for that body.
Before he knows it, he's slowly making his way towards her as she looms over the large catalogue of music which doesn't appear to have been updated since nineteen-eighty-five.
He sidles up beside her, arm over the large machine.
"No conspiracies to fight tonight, Agent Scully? No little green men to shoot?"
She visibly stiffens a bit at the sound of his voice, glancing briefly out the corner of her eye as his shoulder brushes hers. Her right hand is tightly gripping her glass, while her left is actively pushing the button that flips pages and pages of songs she's not really reading.
She's lightheaded and not really up for company--and definitely not in the mood for Alex Krycek.
Squinting a little she manages to read a title that looks familiar enough as she sighs and replies confidently enough, "No, I'm off the clock, but I have my gun. I can shoot you and call it freelance." She dots her sentence with an especially hard push of the selection button.
The slightest meowing sound escapes in mock apprehension, "Kitty likes to scratch..."
She turns her head sharply in his direction and their eyes lock as the eighties pop hit begins its fabricated drum like beat, "Is there a specific reason you're standing here talking to me, Krycek?"
...you were working as a waitress in a cock tail bar...
She wants to look away. Wants to tell him he's a foul human being and that she wants nothing to do with him, but she can't tear her gaze away as his eyes seem to burn her body as he scans her appreciatively. Against her will, a familiar twinge of pleasure makes its presence clear between her legs. She's not sure she remembers the last time a man has stared so blatantly close, no falsities, no offering to buy her a drink under false pretenses. This man who should disgust her. The way he's undressing her with his eyes should make her want to knee him in the groin. But all it's doing is making her body temperature rise. It's making her head feel like a balloon and all rational thought seems to be spilling out through her ears as she stares back with equal intensity.
"Yeah." He responds bluntly, "There is."
#opposites attract
It's a completely awful hotel room. It's small. Much like the rooms she and Mulder frequent on the job. Mulder. The thought of him sends her reeling again. The sense of betrayal and utter disrespect in favor of that woman makes her taste vile.
Tears well up in her eyes and as the lock clicks behind her, she drops her purse and the modest wardrobe by the door. She's shrugging off her jacket as she turns to face him, lips parted, gaze set on his in the darkened room.
He is kissing her before the jacket hits the floor.
There is a certain level of animosity--having something that Mulder considers to be his fills him with so much self satisfaction, it's consuming, but the way she tastes over laps that feeling completely. It makes his head swim. He brushes her hands away from her short and quickly undoes button after button, pulling the ends of the soft material from the waist of her skirt.
His hands travel over her abs and around her waist greedily and she moans against his mouth, her teeth pulling at his lip with a hiss as her skin is quickly covered in goose bumps. His touch is demanding. She knows there will be bruises later, but being groped and--to some degree, wanted so badly, feels so good, she can't seem to do anything but becoming obliging.
She pulls at his clothes, shrugs his jacket off then pulls at his shirt until it's off and somewhere on the floor.
Her beasts are moderately sized, but they fid perfectly in his hands. He picks her up easily, setting her down on the dresser. The straps of her bra fall off her shoulders and she hikes up her skirt before his hands take over, sliding under the form fitting material until he's reached more lace. He pulls and the thin fabric rips easily.
She gasps as a probing finger tests her entrance, her hips rocking forward before he pulls her roughly by the back of her head, their lips moving desperately, kisses sloppy, all tongue and teeth while she pulls his pants open. She strokes him briefly through his boxers before he pushes his finger deep inside her and she tears her lips from his with a cry as he strokes her firmly.
She's gripping the edge of the dresser, her legs are rigid, one black pump braced on an open drawer while the other leg is hooked over his hip. Her cheeks are red, her breath is blowing at the hair in her face and there is a single line of perspiration trialing down her neck only to disappear into her cleavage.
She nearly growls as he orders him to fuck her.
It's loud and sweaty and dirty and she knows she will be sore in the morning, but every time the thought of Mulder comes back, she pulls the hard, hot body against her until her head is hanging back between her shoulder blades.
She's hot and slick around him and he groans against her shoulder, licking whatever skin he can reach as digs her nails into his shoulders, pleasantly surprised when she cries his name when she climaxes. This alone seems to push him over the edge soon after.
Not ten seconds later, she's slowly pushing at him and he steps away and out of her breathlessly. He doesn't help her off the dresser and they dress in silence. He's not surprised when she doesn't spend the night.
And he's not surprised when she doesn't say another word before leaving.
##################
Title: We Will Both Be Sorry
Fandom: The X-Files
Pairings: Krycek/Scully
Prompts: Krycek/Scully, opposites attract
Prompt 2: Krycek/Scully, kitty likes to scratch
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: All characters, events, settings and situations mentioned in this work are sole property of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, in constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context and are not intended to be defamatory or factual in anyway.
Author's Notes: Drabble. Requested by devylish . Again, While I'm a huge X-Files nerd. Never have a written fan fiction for the fandom. I love it too much, but alas, here I am. I'm sort of proud of this one, actually.
Summary: Set during the times Mulder seemed to turn his back on Scully in favor of Diana Fowley.
##################
#kitty likes to scratch
For Megan
She's drunk.
Granted, he wouldn't expect any less in this situation. He spotted her an hour ago. First, she sat promptly at the bar, skirt suit sporting only a couple of nine-to-five office wrinkles. She sipped the first martini slowly, her manicured nails playing with the sweat of the glass as minutes ticked by. She was thinking about something. Something not work related, something not life risking but certainly life altering. He could tell by the crease in her forehead.
It wasn't just brought on by worry. No. Sadness. It was sadness. Maybe heartbreak.
As the second drink was placed in front of her, she seemed to drink more ease. She seemed to loosen up. her shoulders relaxed and she breathed with more ease. The usual ice woman purse of her lips easing into a content grin as she thought about something pleasant while she stirred the dry gin with her index finger.
he waited for her to bring that finger to her lips. For her tongue to dart out and lick the moisture off. He sat up in her booth in anticipation. But alas, Dana Scully, was not one to consciously act even remotely salacious. She wiped the gin off on a paper napkin.
Martini after martini, she became unraveled. Unraveled for Dana Scully anyway. Her jacket was shrugged off, a couple of undone buttons, showing a peak of milky white skin, perfectly measured cleavage what he thought was black lace.
She's on her fourth drink now, and in spite of her avidly pushing strands of auburn hair behind her ear, one stubborn strand keeps falling over her right eye.
He takes a long swing of beer as she turns and looks over her shoulder, teeth down against her bottom lip as she eyes the jukebox across the room.
As she slips off the stool, stumbles a bit, clearly underestimating her inebriated state, and wanders over, Alex Krycek wonders what song Special Agent Dana Scully likes listening to when she's drunk.
Her body is petite. Compact. She's short. But she's got these curves that no woman weighing a hundred and ten pounds at the most should possess. Her body is the perfect cylinder shape. It's firm but sensually graceful--he wonders then what the hell is taking Mulder so long to make sure this woman belongs to him. He would definitely give up a life's crusade for that body.
Before he knows it, he's slowly making his way towards her as she looms over the large catalogue of music which doesn't appear to have been updated since nineteen-eighty-five.
He sidles up beside her, arm over the large machine.
"No conspiracies to fight tonight, Agent Scully? No little green men to shoot?"
She visibly stiffens a bit at the sound of his voice, glancing briefly out the corner of her eye as his shoulder brushes hers. Her right hand is tightly gripping her glass, while her left is actively pushing the button that flips pages and pages of songs she's not really reading.
She's lightheaded and not really up for company--and definitely not in the mood for Alex Krycek.
Squinting a little she manages to read a title that looks familiar enough as she sighs and replies confidently enough, "No, I'm off the clock, but I have my gun. I can shoot you and call it freelance." She dots her sentence with an especially hard push of the selection button.
The slightest meowing sound escapes in mock apprehension, "Kitty likes to scratch..."
She turns her head sharply in his direction and their eyes lock as the eighties pop hit begins its fabricated drum like beat, "Is there a specific reason you're standing here talking to me, Krycek?"
...you were working as a waitress in a cock tail bar...
She wants to look away. Wants to tell him he's a foul human being and that she wants nothing to do with him, but she can't tear her gaze away as his eyes seem to burn her body as he scans her appreciatively. Against her will, a familiar twinge of pleasure makes its presence clear between her legs. She's not sure she remembers the last time a man has stared so blatantly close, no falsities, no offering to buy her a drink under false pretenses. This man who should disgust her. The way he's undressing her with his eyes should make her want to knee him in the groin. But all it's doing is making her body temperature rise. It's making her head feel like a balloon and all rational thought seems to be spilling out through her ears as she stares back with equal intensity.
"Yeah." He responds bluntly, "There is."
#opposites attract
It's a completely awful hotel room. It's small. Much like the rooms she and Mulder frequent on the job. Mulder. The thought of him sends her reeling again. The sense of betrayal and utter disrespect in favor of that woman makes her taste vile.
Tears well up in her eyes and as the lock clicks behind her, she drops her purse and the modest wardrobe by the door. She's shrugging off her jacket as she turns to face him, lips parted, gaze set on his in the darkened room.
He is kissing her before the jacket hits the floor.
There is a certain level of animosity--having something that Mulder considers to be his fills him with so much self satisfaction, it's consuming, but the way she tastes over laps that feeling completely. It makes his head swim. He brushes her hands away from her short and quickly undoes button after button, pulling the ends of the soft material from the waist of her skirt.
His hands travel over her abs and around her waist greedily and she moans against his mouth, her teeth pulling at his lip with a hiss as her skin is quickly covered in goose bumps. His touch is demanding. She knows there will be bruises later, but being groped and--to some degree, wanted so badly, feels so good, she can't seem to do anything but becoming obliging.
She pulls at his clothes, shrugs his jacket off then pulls at his shirt until it's off and somewhere on the floor.
Her beasts are moderately sized, but they fid perfectly in his hands. He picks her up easily, setting her down on the dresser. The straps of her bra fall off her shoulders and she hikes up her skirt before his hands take over, sliding under the form fitting material until he's reached more lace. He pulls and the thin fabric rips easily.
She gasps as a probing finger tests her entrance, her hips rocking forward before he pulls her roughly by the back of her head, their lips moving desperately, kisses sloppy, all tongue and teeth while she pulls his pants open. She strokes him briefly through his boxers before he pushes his finger deep inside her and she tears her lips from his with a cry as he strokes her firmly.
She's gripping the edge of the dresser, her legs are rigid, one black pump braced on an open drawer while the other leg is hooked over his hip. Her cheeks are red, her breath is blowing at the hair in her face and there is a single line of perspiration trialing down her neck only to disappear into her cleavage.
She nearly growls as he orders him to fuck her.
It's loud and sweaty and dirty and she knows she will be sore in the morning, but every time the thought of Mulder comes back, she pulls the hard, hot body against her until her head is hanging back between her shoulder blades.
She's hot and slick around him and he groans against her shoulder, licking whatever skin he can reach as digs her nails into his shoulders, pleasantly surprised when she cries his name when she climaxes. This alone seems to push him over the edge soon after.
Not ten seconds later, she's slowly pushing at him and he steps away and out of her breathlessly. He doesn't help her off the dresser and they dress in silence. He's not surprised when she doesn't spend the night.
And he's not surprised when she doesn't say another word before leaving.
##################