After The Rain Has Fallen

by Eve

Dana Scully turned the windshield wipers to their fastest setting and squinted through the glass.  The drizzle that had started as she drove out of San Diego was now a full-fledged rain storm.  As long as frogs didn't start falling from the sky, she wouldn't worry about it too much.  She was going to be late, but that didn't bother her either.  She was driving north up the California coast, headed to a baby shower for her cousin Ellie, who she hadn't seen in at least two years.  How had her mother guilted her into this?

She gripped the wheel tighter as the car jumped and the veered into the oncoming lane.  There was a barely audible pop as the front tire blew out.  She fought for control on the rain slicked road, but the remaining three tires began to hydroplane, and the car swung sideways.  She let out a startled yell before clenching her jaw shut.  Come on, Dana.  You've faced worse than a slippery road.  Liver eating men, alien fetuses, homicidal insects.  After a few white-knuckled seconds the car began to respond, and she pulled over to the shoulder.

"Sonofabitch!'  she shouted at the empty interior, followed by a string of curses that she'd never utter in front of Mulder.  Growing up as a navy brat did teach one an interesting vocabulary.

This was just fantastic.  A flat tire in a rainstorm.  She fished her cell phone out of her purse to call Triple A and watched the signal flutter between one and zero.  That wasn't even strong enough for her to be able to make a call.  Stupid storm.  Stupid rental car.  Stupid baby shower.  Stupid phone.

She turned off the engine and sighed.  With the wipers off, the outside world   dissolved into a hazy mess.  It almost felt like being underwater.  The glow from the headlights only reached a foot or two into the storm, so she turned them off as well and let out another long suffering sigh.  Change the tire, or go for help.  She was going to have to get out of the car one way or another.  And God forbid if she couldn't take care of herself.

Scully popped the trunk and scrambled out of the car, uselessly putting up her arm in defense of the rain.  She was soaked to the bone before she reached into the trunk for the jack and the lugwrench.  Continually wiping the water out of her face, she managed to pry off the hubcap, but no matter how hard she pushed and pulled, she couldn't get the nuts loosened.  With a frustrated growl she stood and leaned against the car.  First one foot, then two landed on the handle of the wrench.  She bounced experimentally, but nothing happened.  Who tightened these stupid bolts?  He-Man?  The Incredible Hulk?  She jumped a little, but still the nut refused to move.  She spent all these years keeping herself fit, and if she was fat and lazy she'd be able to change the damn tire.

Lightning flashed nearby, startling her.  She wobbled for a second before losing her balance and landing painfully on the side of the road.  She took a  second to catch her breath, deciding that she wasn't hurt, other than the stinging in her right hand.  The blood that dripped down her arm was quickly  washed away by the rain, but there was no debris in the cut that ran across the base of her palm.  She made a mental note to schedule a tetanus shot anyway.

She quelled the urge to kick the tire and crawled back into the car, dripping all over everything.  She reached over the seat to grab her bag, and pulled out the small first aid kit so she could bandage her hand.  Looks like she'd have to go for help, unless she wanted to sit her until the storm let up, and who knows how long that would be.  She remembered passing a house a few minutes back.  She'd be able to call Triple A from there, let Ellie know why she wasn't going to make it, and dry off properly.

Shivering, Scully searched her bag for the heaviest piece of clothing, but seeing as she'd packed for California, the best she could find was a windbreaker.  She toweled her hair with a t-shirt, then draped the jacket over her head, tying the sleeves under her chin.  It wouldn't keep her dry, but it might protect her face a little.

Ten minutes later she was wishing she'd stayed in the car.  But she was this far along, might as well keep going.  The house couldn't be too far away.  Gradually the rain began to let up until it seemed content to drizzle, so she   took the opportunity to look at her hand.  It was impossible to keep dry, so now the bandage was soggy and spots of red were beginning to show through.

Up ahead was a billboard, displaying an idyllic beach scene with barely-clothed models frolicking in the sand.  "Have a California Adventure!'  it proclaimed.  "Visit Long Beach!'  She frowned and narrowed her eyes at the advertisement.  Sunny California her ass.  As if to mock her, the rain grew heavier.  She bowed her head and trudged on.

It was a full half hour before she spotted the house by the highway.  There were a few lights burning, otherwise she would have missed it.  She picked up her pace, and was soon jogging up the steps to the front door.  The first hint that something wasn't right was that the door was slightly ajar.  And she left her gun locked in the trunk of the car.

She pushed it open with her foot, and when no one jumped out at her, she stepped inside.

"Hello?"  she called.  "Is anyone here?  I'm a federal agent.  Hello?"

The door required a shove to get it to close properly, and then she ventured farther into the house.  There was no sign of forced entry, no sign of a struggle.  The foyer opened up into a large area that served as a living room and a kitchen.  A purple living room and kitchen.  All the furniture was either mauve or royal purple, and large matching throw pillows littered the floor.  Several lava lamps added ambiance to the dim atmosphere.  Beaded curtains hung over the windows, and one entire wall was filled with books and movies.  The rest of the walls were covered with portraits of celebrities like Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, Jimmy Hendrix.  She glanced up at the high ceiling.  It too, looked purple.  It was like hippies and Barney the Dinosaur had thrown up all over the place.  A pack of Virginia Slims rested on a low table, and she caught herself reaching for them.  Now wasn't the time to pick up an old habit, no matter how miserable she was, no matter that they were her old brand.  There was a short wall that marked off where the living room stopped and the kitchen began.  It was giving off a soft glow, and as she neared, she realized that most of the wall was actually a fish tank.

They were beautiful fish, bright reds and deep purples darting around in their thin glass home.  Suddenly there was larger movement on the other side and she jumped.  God.  There was someone in the house.  She darted to the side, reaching for her ID.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to walk right in, but my car…"

The man facing her abruptly stopped toweling off his hair to stare at her.  And whatever she was about say got lost somewhere in between forest green eyes and bare feet.

Oh.  My.  God.  It looked like Alex Krycek, but it couldn't be.  Because Alex Krycek was a thief, and a traitor, and probably a murderer as well.  Alex Krycek was not lean and muscled with water droplets glistening on his chest.  He did not have soft looking lips and legs that went on forever.  He was not  wearing an itty bitty towel around his waist and staring at her like she was one of Mulder's aliens.  He was not.  Maybe she'd fallen harder than she thought.  Yes, that was it.  She was hallucinating, and any second now her vision would vanish into thin air along with this god awful purple house and she'd wake up lying beside her car in the pouring rain.  Any second no…

The Krycek-vision slowly lowered his arms and continued to stare at her, mouth hanging open.  He swallowed once, and then those soft looking lips moved slightly, and a hoarse, "Scully?"  reached her ears.

Visual hallucinations didn't make noises, did they?  Because if they didn't, that meant that this was all very, very real, and oh my God Alex Krycek was standing in front of her.  He really was.

"Don't move!'  she shouted, scrambling for a gun that wasn't there.  He realized her predicament and took a step forward.  Shit.  She needed a weapon.  Something to subdue him while she tied him up and called the police.  Without realizing she had moved, Scully felt the edge of the island countertop bite into the small of her back.

"Don't move!'  she repeated, reaching back for something, anything, not daring to take her eyes off Krycek.  Where was a good Ginsu when you needed one?  Her hand closed around something smooth and solid and she brought her hand up, brandishing her newly found weapon.

"Alex Krycek, you are under arrest--"

His mouth quirked at the corner and then he actually laughed at her while she tried to read him his Miranda rights.  And he couldn't stop laughing.  He pointed at her, trying to say something, but gave up and just tried to keep from falling over.  She quickly darted her eyes around to find out what was so funny, and got a look at what she was actually holding.

Oh shit.  It was a vibrator.  She was threatening a murder suspect with a vibrator.  If her life wasn't in danger, it would be embarrassing.  Krycek took another step toward her and their eyes met.  She didn't have anything to defend herself with, and he had at least sixty pounds on her.  Heart pounding, she flung the vibrator at him as hard as she could and then raced for the front door.

A warm hand closed around her arm but she managed to slide out of the grasp.  Then a large body tackled her from behind and she sprawled face first into some of those throw pillows that were laying everywhere.  She frantically tried to buck his weight off of her, tried to claw her way free, but there was nothing to grab onto.  Her struggles turned her over on her back, and he tried to pin her arms over her head.  Her skin and clothes were still soaked, and she slipped free.  His thighs closed around hers so she couldn't move her legs, and she started pummeling his chest with blows.  After a few curses he got a firm grip on her wrists.  Still she twisted and squirmed for all she was worth.

"Stop that," he said.

"Get off me!"

"So you can run and get Mulder?  I don't think so."

She bristled.  "I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"Fuck you, Krycek."

He leaned in dangerously close, close enough that she could feel his heavy breathing against her lips.  "You don't kiss your mother with that mouth, do you?"

Krycek quickly lathered and rinsed his hair.  He didn't do so well with enclosed spaces ever since…   He shuddered.  Just don't think about it.  He wrapped a towel around his waist and was just reaching for another when he heard a faint noise from downstairs.  Probably that stupid door.  It was warped, and sometimes you needed a linebacker to get it to shut properly.  He kept telling Rachelle to fix it--you never know what kind of wacko would just wander in.  But she insisted that if the door was open, it was open for a reason.  The door had been hanging open when he had arrived weeks ago, dirty, exhausted, and half starved.  She called it a sign.  He called it shoddy carpentry.

He padded downstairs, wondering if the power was going to stay on.  It had been flickering earlier.  He'd have to find a lighter and start on the candles that were scattered throughout the house.  God knows he didn't want to be in the dark.  Thirty two years old, Alex, and you're afraid of the dark.  He snorted to himself.  Assassin for hire.  Prefers to work days.  Will work after dark if a nightlight is provided.

Rachelle usually kept matches in the kitchen by the stove.  He glanced around the living room, noting that the door was shut securely.  He must have been hearing things.  He started drying his hair and headed toward the kitchen.  When a figure jumped out from the other side of the fish tank, he froze, thinking it was a burglar.  That's it.  He was fixing that damn door, and he was putting a dead bolt on it.  As soon as he got out of this.

Which might be difficult, seeing as he was basically naked and unarmed and holy shit was that Dana Scully?

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to walk right in, but my car…"

No way.  No fucking way had Scully gotten stranded outside the house that he  just happened to be staying at.  It had to be a trap.  Mulder was probably lurking outside with an entire SWAT team, just waiting for the chance to beat him senseless.  But if this was a trap, why was she just standing there?

She was completely soaked, the material of her light clothing practically transparent.  He swallowed as her nipples hardened under his gaze.  Her hair was plastered to her cheeks and forehead, and her lips were red and swollen.  The last time he'd seen her she'd been chubby and sporting an unflattering hair cut.  Now she looked like a wet dream.

"Scully?"  he blurted quietly.  His voice was still a little raw.  Two weeks of rest hadn't completely made up for two weeks spent screaming in the pit of a missile silo.  At least, that's how long he figured he'd been down there.  His voice seemed to rouse her from her stupor, because suddenly she was grabbing her side at yelling at him.

"Don't move!"

He quickly realized she was unarmed and stepped forward in a futile attempt to assure her that he wasn't going to harm her.  Of course, she took his movement as a threat and backed farther into the kitchen, fumbling on the counter for something that would serve as a weapon.  Rachelle didn't have knives laying around, so he figured he was fairly safe.  But where was Mulder?  Mulder and Scully came as a set.  Not sold separately.  He began to grow a little nervous and wished he'd at least put on some pants before coming downstairs.  But if Mulder was just outside, Scully wouldn't be so scared.  She'd be her calm, icy self.  And then it dawned on him.  She was alone.  Alone and defenseless.

Her eyes gleamed triumphantly as she finally found something to use against him.  She started to read his rights, but he stopped listening when he saw what was in her hand.  Dana Scully was waving a vibrator at him.  A purple vibrator.  He tried to hold the laughter in, but one chuckle escaped, and after that he just couldn't stop.  The look of confusion on her face was beyond worthy of a Kodak moment.  He had to brace his hands on his thighs to keep upright.  And then she glanced over at her impromptu weapon, eyes widening, lips falling open in an 'O' of surprise.

He finally got himself straightened up, and next thing he knew the vibrator was flying at his head.  He ducked just in time to avoid a nasty bruise.  Who knew she had such a good arm?  Man killed by flying cock, he thought absurdly, then lurched after Scully.  He wasn't entirely sure why he chased her.  Basic instinct.  Maybe he didn't want to be alone in Rachelle's house.  But if she wanted to go for help, that would give him plenty of time to throw on some clothes and high tail it outta Dodge.

He caught her arm but the wet fabric slid right through his grasp.  All right then.  Time for plan B.  He lunged, hoping to stop her flight by wrapping around her from behind.  His foot caught on the edge of the oriental rug and they tumbled to the floor together.  Scully fought like a wildcat until he finally had her arms and legs pinned.  With annoying persistence she continued to struggle.

"Stop that."  He could feel the towel at his waist loosening.  It was a miracle it had stayed on at all.  If Scully didn't stop squirming around she was going to get a view she probably wouldn't appreciate much in this situation.

"Get off me!'  she cried, eyes starting to look panicked.

"So you can run and get Mulder?  I don't think so."

Some of that fear turned into anger and indignation.  "I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, I can see that."  That's why you're pinned under one of the FBI's most wanted.  Tell me another one, Agent Scully.

"Fuck you, Krycek."

Wow.  Scully had just cursed at him.  He wondered exactly how far he could push her.  This might even be fun.  He leaned forward as far as he dared, watching her eyes go wide, feeling her body tense further.  Praying that she wouldn't bite off his nose.  "You don't kiss your mother with that mouth, do you?"

He had a few seconds to stare into her startled eyes before the lights flickered and then plunged them into darkness.

Ok.  Don't panic.  Krycek's face is really close to yours, and he's sitting on you, almost naked because the towel was beginning to come undone and now it's completely dark.  She could still feel his breath on her face, but his grip on her wrists went slack.  Without stopping to think, she threw her face forward and made hard contact with his forehead.  He shouted in surprise and let go of her.  She shoved blindly and felt him tumble to the side, then scrambled to her feet.  Lightning brightened the room, allowing her to see the exit.  She was just reaching for the handle when Krycek's weight slammed her into the door.  He practically clawed at her, mumbling incoherently.  His hands gripped her shoulders like steel clamps as he began shaking her.  If she got turned around she could at least try to kick him in the balls.  But he was even more determined to keep her still.  The smooth wood of the door pressed against her cheek, and the hard length of his body pressed against her back.  She willed herself to relax, hoping to fool him.  No such luck.  If anything, his grip got tighter.  After a few seconds his mumbling became more coherent.

"Just stop, okay?  Jesus Christ, I'm not trying to hurt you.  I'm not, I swear."  His head fell gently to her shoulder, and it was then that she realized he was shaking.  He sucked in gulping lungfuls of air, sounding like he was having trouble breathing.

It was at this point that she could have overpowered him, but the part of her brain that was the doctor ignored the part that was the FBI agent and asked, "Krycek?"  He wasn't pressing her against the door anymore, but still had her in a firm grip.  Clinging to her.

"Krycek?  Are you okay?"

He mumbled against her neck and then stepped back slowly.  She shivered at the loss of his warmth.  She needed to get dry and warm before she caught a cold.  Scully turned and squinted into the darkness, finally making out his dark shape.  Lightning flashed again, illuminating his body.  Both hands hid his bowed face, and--Good Lord.  The towel has left the building.  Despite the situation, she had a feeling that image was one that was going to linger in her memory.  Going against her better judgment, she reached up and--

--had her wrist caught in a bone crushing grip.

"What are you doing?"  he hissed.

Trying to help apparently.  That was it.  She was still hallucinating, and any minute the theme from the Twilight Zone was going to start playing.  "I--I don't know," she finally stuttered, wishing she could see his face.  If something really was wrong, she was legally obligated to help.  But so help her God if this was some sort of joke.  That stupid vibrator wouldn't be aimed at his head next time.

He let go of her arm.  "Hold on," he said quietly, dissolving into the blackness.  She groped for the doorknob and prepared herself to run, just in case.  But where would she go?  The storm sounded even worse than before, there was no power, she had nothing with her.  She was stuck in the house with Alex Krycek.

There were a few curses and stumbles, and finally a tiny flame erupted in the kitchen.  Her heart actually stopped for a minute at another sight of him naked.  He lit some candles then made his way back to her, pausing to scoop up a towel and wrap it around his waist.  He held out the lighter, and she saw that his hands were still trembling.

"If you can find the rest, light them."

He turned his back on her and went to the kitchen.  He needed to put some goddamn clothes on, but he needed a drink more and he needed it now.  Rachelle didn't drink beer and all she had was premixed drinks.  He opened the fridge and eyed three containers.  Apple martini, strawberry daiquiri, and margarita, the labels read.  He pulled out the lime green concoction and snagged a glass from the sink.  Tequila it is.

He chugged back an entire glass and was halfway through the second one before the trembling began to abate.  He sighed and leaned against the island as the warmth spread outward from his belly.  He didn't hear Scully move, she just appeared in his field of vision.  Keeping her eyes on him, she reached for the phone.  The dismayed look on her face told him what he already knew.  The phone had been dead for a week now.  Rachelle rarely paid her bills on time.

Scully inched closer, staring at him with an expression that bordered on concern.  Fuck.  This was so embarrassing.  The next time she saw Mulder she was going to tell him how Alex Krycek had practically broken down in her arms.  Hoping she would ignore the whole thing, he tried to lighten the mood.

"Would you like a drink?  I've got green, pink, and clear."  Better drink it now, because everything in the fridge was going to get warm.

"You had a panic attack just now, didn't you?"

No such luck.  Of course she was going to figure out what happened.  And where Mulder would just take the advantage to knock him around, Scully had to play doctor and look like she actually gave a shit about him.  This was completely new.  At least with Mulder he knew what to expect.  But what he did next was the most unexpected thing of all.

"When you and Mulder came to Black Crow to look for that UFO," he started, "I was there."  She looked at him sharply but remained silent.  "I was locked in one of the silos with the ship…  and the alien.  I can still taste the oil sometimes--" He took another gulp of margarita, avoiding her gaze.  "I thought I'd suffocate, but after a few days the air was fine.  Then I thought I'd die of thirst, but I never got thirsty or hungry.  A few days after that I thought I'd just go stark raving mad.  It was pitch black.  I couldn't see a thing, and I was alone with that…  with…  it, and I could sense it, could still feel it crawling around inside me, and it made me want to tear my own eyes out.  So yeah, I had a fucking panic attack."

After a long silence she spoke.  "How did you get out?"

"A militia group found me.  I told them that if they let me go I might be able to help find a bomb or two."  Christ, now he was really running at the mouth.

"Are you going to help them?"

He shrugged.  "I don't know."  He'd been thinking about it, but they'd probably just take the stuff and blow up some church full kids and old ladies.  Not only would it be a waste of explosives, it would be a waste of time to kill innocent people when there were bastards out there who deserved it so much more.

Scully sneezed, and he finally looked up at her.  She was still dripping wet, and now she was shivering.  "Come on."  He moved toward her as non-threateningly as he could.  "There's dry clothes upstairs."

There was an awkward moment at the foot of the stairs when neither of them wanted to go first.  Fists clenched, Krycek took a deep breath and hesitantly started to climb into the darkness.  Scully flicked on the lighter behind him.  Either she was trying to help, or she was about to set him on fire.  Either way it got him up the stairs a whole lot quicker.

He considered getting Scully something of Rachelle's to wear, but he was afraid of what he might find in her dresser drawers.  Instead, he steered them to the guest bedroom and took the lighter so he could light some candles.  His sweats would fall right off of her, so he tossed her a pair of boxers, a t-shirt, and a towel, and pulled the sweats up his own long legs.

"The bathroom's right across the hall."

"And leave you in your own room, where you probably have a gun and other assorted deadly weapons?"  She arched her eyebrow.  "I don't think so, Krycek.

Turn around."

"But--"

"Turn around."

He was about to point out that she never turned around when he got dressed, but there was no arguing with Scully when she pulled out the eyebrow.  That's what Mulder had told him once, and now he knew exactly what it meant.  The mirror was on the wall behind him, and for a fleeting moment he wished it was in front of him.  That eyebrow arch was sexy, and combined with the sound of Scully's wet clothes hitting the floor…  

"Okay.  I'm done."

He turned to find her looking down at her borrowed clothing with a puzzled expression on her face.

"What is it?"

She glanced up, looking sheepish.  "Oh.  It's just…  I never really pegged you as a plaid kind of guy."

Right.  Because Dana Scully sat around on a regular basis and tried to figure out what kind of underwear he wore.  She held her hand to her chest, and when he got closer he could see a dark stain on the palm of her hand.

"You're bleeding.  I didn't…  did I?"  He hadn't done anything harsh enough to cut her.

"No," she shook her head.

"There's a first aid kit in the bathroom."  They picked up the candles and went across the hall.  He pulled out some antiseptic and bandages, and turned on the tap.  Without even thinking about what he was doing, he took her hand and guided it under the running water.  She tensed, causing him to look over at her face.  She looked like she wanted to ask him what the hell he was doing.  He wanted to ask himself the same thing.  She was a doctor.  She was perfectly capable of tending to her wounds.  For a split second he'd forgotten they were supposed to be enemies.

He wasn't sure what he should do.  Continue like nothing was wrong, or let go of her hand.  The decision was made for him when she pursed her lips and handed him the antiseptic.

"You've got a lump on your forehead," she said.

"Yeah.  I've never actually been head-butted before, you know."

"I've never actually head-butted anyone before."

"And I was your first.  I'm honored."

There was a quiet chuckle beside him.  He tried not to grin to himself.  If Mulder could see them now…

He almost jumped out of his skin when her fingers touched his forehead.  Instead he managed to spill the antiseptic all over the sink and whimper like a little girl when she probed the bump.

"Sorry," she said, sounding distracted.

He suddenly became hyperaware of the body beside him.  Her hand in his was so small, the skin so soft.  Another inch or two and she would have been pressed against his side in the cramped bathroom.  Every few seconds her breasts would brush against his ribcage and it sent a jolt of electricity straight to his groin.  Dana Scully was lightly running her fingers over his face.  And she was standing there dressed in his underwear.  It had to be one of the hottest moments he'd ever experienced.  Thank God for baggy sweatpants.

Scully was the last person he ever expected to give him wet dream material, but she was doing a damn fine job.  Too bad she didn't even realize it.

He finished bandaging her hand, and then she turned his face towards her.  Her injured hand came up as well and pulled his face down to the same height as hers.  For a moment he had the crazy idea that she was going to kiss him, but she just pried his eyes open as wide as they would go and peered closely.  Conducting an eye exam.  He bit his tongue to cut off the disappointed groan that welled up in his chest.

"It's hard to tell in this light, but I don't think you're concussed."  She let go of his face, but made no move to step back.  Why had he never noticed how blue her eyes were?  He zeroed in on her lips, and felt himself being drawn forward.  He swore he saw a glimmer of desire dancing in her eyes before she flushed and pulled back, disappearing into the hallway.

Shit, he thought, following her.  She's definitely going to kill me if she gets the chance.

Shit.  I am so going to kill him.  What did he think he was doing?  Did he think he could just bat those big green eyes at her and she'd get so distracted that she'd forget she was supposed to arrest him?  Well…  okay, so it had worked, but only for a second.  She wouldn't fall for it again.  She might have been stuck with him for now, but as soon as the sun rose, she'd run for help.

And by the time she got back with the police, he'd be long gone.

So it wasn't the best plan she'd ever come up with, but there wasn't really anything else to do.  He darted into the hallway after her, and she steeled herself against the sight of him clad in sweats and nothing else.  It was a little disconcerting knowing he wasn't wearing any underwear.  Only a layer of fabric between him and…

She took a deep breath.  "I have a proposition for you."  She groaned inwardly as his pupils dilated.  Wrong thing to say.  Better start over.  "Let's make a deal.  We're both basically stuck here, so why don't we call a truce?"  For now, she added silently.

He studied her for a long moment, and even though his eyes didn't stray any farther south than her chin, she felt strangely exposed.  He nodded once and held out his hand, obviously expecting them to shake on it.  She hesitated, and the brief show of uncertainty was enough to turn his speculative gaze into the hard stare of a challenge.  Touching him was the last thing she wanted to do.  Especially after that little show in the bathroom.  For one brief second she wished she had never set foot inside the FBI academy.  She could have a nice family practice by now, maybe obstetrics, where she wouldn't have to deal with aliens, and government conspiracies, and dangerous criminals who should really pull their sweats up, because those things were riding pretty low, and it would only take one good yank-- She swiftly halted her train of thought and slid her hand into his.

The next thing she knew, she was being jerked forward.  His other arm snaked around her waist, holding her captive against his body.

"Truce," he growled into her ear.  "But don't cross me, Agent Scully.  You won't like the consequences."

The condescending tone of his voice gave rise to a flare of anger in the pit of her stomach.  If Mulder were here, he wouldn't be so damn cocky.  The entire time she'd been here, Krycek had never looked at her as if she was a threat.  The first thing he did was laugh at her.  She may have been small, and female, but she was trained as an FBI Agent.  Didn't that count for anything?

The second he relaxed his grip on her she sprung into action.  She hooked her foot around his calf and pulled, shoving him in the chest at the same time.  He landed hard on the floor of the hallway, and she immediately jumped on him, wrapping strong thighs around his so he couldn't move his legs.  Knowing her weight wasn't enough to hold him down, she did the one thing that would strike fear into the heart of any man.  She reached down and grabbed his crotch, pulling up and twisting slightly.

His eyes widened as all the color left his face.  She squelched the grim smile that wanted to overtake her face.  Not so cocky anymore, was he?  For good measure she gave a hard squeeze and his breath stopped.

"Don't play games with me, Krycek.  I'm not Mulder.  You can't jerk my chain and expect me to come running.  Do you understand?"

This time he hesitated, so she gave another twist of her wrist.  "Do you understand?"

He nodded quickly but her grip didn't loosen.  He cleared his throat and choked out, "Some of the guys in the bullpen warned me you were a ballbuster, but I don't think this is what they meant."

She gave him a narrow warning stare, and slowly let him go, getting to her feet.  His eyes closed in relief.  Absently, she wiped her hand over her borrowed shorts and waited for him to get up.  She was about to poke him with her foot when he stirred, opening one eye to look at her.

He was wary.  Good.  And now that she'd proved her point, the anger ebbed away.  They were probably going to be stuck here for a few hours.  Might as well try to be civilized.

"Come on.  You need to ice your forehead."  And judging by the slow ache that was forming behind her right eye, so did she.  He climbed to his feet and retrieved the candles from the bathroom.  She took one from him, ignoring the spark as their hands touched, and gestured for him to go down the stairs before her.  After that display, she wouldn't put it past him to give her a good shove.

As he slunk past her he said, "Just wait until everyone hears about how Dana Scully jumped me."  He glanced over his shoulder and instead of the anger or retaliation she expected, he looked…  almost amused.  Almost.  There was still a hint of caution that indicated her message had been heard loud and clear.

"Don't be cute."

"You think I'm cute?"

"You.  Are.  Annoying," she ground out as they descended, unable to think of a better comeback.  She thought she heard a snicker, but chose to ignore it.  Maybe she'd be the one doing the shoving.

As soon as they got downstairs he spent ten minutes lighting everything with a wick.  She was tempted to warn him about fire hazards, but thought of the panic attack that had been brought about by darkness.  She left him to it as she found an ice pack and a bag of frozen vegetables in the freezer.  Well, maybe frozen was saying too much.

So, Krycek had been stuck in one of those missile silos.  She wondered how long he'd been in there.  Long enough to develop a fear of the dark.  He was probably claustrophobic as well.  She tried to suppress the sudden wave of sympathy that washed over her.  It was ludicrous to feel sorry for him after everything he'd done.  He deserved every bad thing that ever happened to him.  It was called karma.  Christ.  Now she sounded like a heartless bitch.  She shouldn't feel sorry for Krycek.  But she did.  And it had nothing to do with being a doctor, and everything to do with being a human being.  If she had been trapped in a silo, she didn't know that she'd be holding up as well as he was.

She turned, about to call him over, but his name died on her lips.  Condensation from the bag of vegetables dripped down her arm, unnoticed.  A friend in college told her that candlelight smoothed sharp edges, flattered even the most unflattering form.  She would always ask, 'What if the person is already flattering?' He would just shrug and tell her that she thought too much.  Maybe so, but after all these years she had her answer.

Krycek stood it the middle of the living room like a statue.  Candlelight danced over the planes and valleys of his body, shadows played at the small of his back, the hollow of his throat, hid one side of his face from her eyes.  Her gaze trailed down one well muscled arm and something inside her quivered.  She had a thing for arms.  Arms could hold you, lift you up, protect you.  And arms had hands, which were good for all sorts of things.  Horrified at the turn her thoughts had taken, she tore her eyes away.  Why did he have to be so damn good looking?  The bad guys were supposed to be ugly, like Rumplestilskin, and Scar Face, and that wrinkled Emperor from Star Wars.  It made it easy to tell the bad from the good.

She had a sudden vision of him turning, smiling dangerously, crooking a finger at her.  And one look in those cat-like eyes and she'd be history.  She shook herself.  Damn.  Now that was definitely a hallucination.  If only he was hideously disfigured or something.  Resolving to keep her mind on the fact that she was sharing a house with a dangerous criminal, she walked into the living room and handed him the vegetables.  The ice pack didn't seem to be so leaky, so she kept it for herself.

With an absent "Thanks," he stared at the bag a moment, then raised it to his forehead.  Everything about his stance told her that he wasn't paying any attention to her.  It wasn't long before she couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"What are you doing?"

"Listening to the rain."

"What?"  He could have said 'Communicating telepathically with aliens' or 'Having a staring contest with my imaginary friend' for all the sense it made to her.

"I'm listening to the rain."

"You're listening to the rain."

"You sound surprised."

"I am.  Aren't you supposed to be plotting for world domination?"

"That's every second Tuesday.  Today is Saturday, and today I listen to the rain."

She was at once amused by his sarcasm, angry that he had amused her, and fascinated by this strange creature she knew as Alex Krycek.  He was a highly dangerous criminal with a fear of the dark.  He liked to crack dry jokes.  His house had no security system.  And it was purple.  Everything Mulder told her about Krycek bore only a passing resemblance to the man that was standing beside her.  She didn't even want to know about the vibrator.

"Okay, I'll bite.  Why are you listening to the rain?"

"Haven't you ever listened to a rainstorm?  It's soothing."

"Not when you're walking through it," she muttered.  "How can a storm be soothing?"

He turned to glance down at her curiously.  "The sound of the rain falling is rhythmic, and being inside during a storm makes people feel warm and safe.  Don't you feel safe, Agent Scully?"

Not particularly, no.  So why hadn't she run back out into the storm?  Because if Mulder ever found out she had Krycek in custody and she ran away, he'd torture her with theories of Bigfoot and swamp gas.  She glanced over at the door for a second, then back up at Krycek.

"Me?  I'm peachy."

Alex snorted.  Yeah, sure.  Dana Scully was many things--tough, dedicated, loyal to a fault, amazingly intelligent--and 'peachy' was not one of them.  Unless you counted the dewy soft skin of her throat…

Shit.  He glanced away quickly when she caught his appraising gaze.  No need for a repeat of the episode in the upstairs hallway.  He was suddenly all too aware that not more than fifteen minutes ago she had those slender fingers wrapped around his cock.  What a grip.

He shifted from foot to foot, suddenly restless.  He had to think about something else.  Ignore the fact that she'd felt him up.  Ignore the fact that she was standing there in his underwear.  Ignore the fact that her hair was still wet and curling around her face in thick strands.  Ignore the fact that he was half hard just thinking about it.  He needed something else to focus on.  A glint from the floor caught his eye, and he looked down.

"What's that?"

Scully glanced down curiously, then wiggled the toes on her right foot.  "Oh.  That's a ring."

"I know it's a ring.  What's it doing on your toe?"  Yeah, it sounded stupid as soon as it came out of his mouth.  But there was a silver ring on her second toe.  With a red sparkly jewel.  How could such a tiny thing throw him?  She looked at him like he'd grown another head.  He was pretty sure he hadn't, unless you counted the one gently nudging against the soft fabric of his sweats.  Christ.  She wasn't looking anywhere except his face, but he clasped his hands in front of his crotch anyway.

Finally she rolled her eyes.  "It's my birthstone.  Ruby."

Ruby.  Hmmm.  He did some quick calculations in his head.  "When's your birthday?"

"This Friday."

"Really?  Got anything planned?"

"Why?  Going to crash the party and kidnap some of the guests?"

Of course she'd think that.  He was the spawn of the devil after all.  "Jesus, I'm just trying to make conversation.  You know, 'how's the weather' 'how about those Cubs'?"

She avoided his gaze, looking faintly guilty.  Somebody should really write a rulebook about situations like this.  Miss Edith's Guide to Etiquette: what to do when trapped in a house with your enemy.  Rule number one: don't traipse about half naked.  Rule number two: do not physically threaten your enemy with sex toys.  Rule number three: try to hide the fact that you're afraid of the dark.  Rule number four: don't find yourself increasingly attracted to your enemy.

He wondered how things would be if she wasn't Mulder's partner.  What would happen if they'd just met at the gym, or in a bar.  Then again, maybe the fact that she was Mulder's partner was what appealed to him so much.  He spared a glance at her, noting the subtle rise of her chest beneath his t-shirt.  And the corresponding rise of his dick.  Nope.  He'd be interested regardless.

All this tension was giving him a headache.  He was about to go and get another drink when she broke the silence, voice barely above a whisper.

"I didn't have anything planned.  I usually don't have time, with work and everything."

Mulder was that much of a slavedriver that he wouldn't even let her off the hook for her birthday?  Shouldn't the guy at least take her out for dinner?  Or did he have his head so far up his ass that he didn't even know it was her birthday?  For some reason, he pictured Scully sitting in the basement of the Hoover Building by herself, a cupcake with a candle in one hand, a stack of unfinished reports at her elbow.  It was a little sad.  A crooked party hat completed the picture.  Now it was really sad.  Then inspiration struck.

"You're not allergic to chocolate, are you?"

Her eyes followed him suspiciously as he made his way to the kitchen.  "No.  Why?"

He ignored her question to root around in the freezer.  He could have swore Rachelle had one of those cakes in there.  Sara Lee or something.  "Ah ha!'  he grinned triumphantly, holding up the box.  He opened it on the table and reached for a candle.  When he jabbed it down into the cake, she finally came over.

"What are you doing?"

"Aren't you supposed to be the FBI Agent?"

"Don't remind me," she muttered, absently sitting down at the table.  He found two wine glasses and pulled the drinks out of the fridge.  What went best with chocolate?  He poured two strawberry daiquiris and held Scully's drink out to her.  Denial and amazement warred in her eyes.

"Happy Birthday, Scully."

He clinked the glass that was held loosely in her hand.  She eyed the drink   warily, so he took a large sip of his own to reassure her.

"See?  No poison.  Now make a wish and blow out the candle.  I'm damn hungry."

She looked at her drink, the cake, and back to him.  Then she did it all over again.  Without warning, she tipped back her glass and downed the whole thing.  Holy shit.

"I'm writing a memoir some day, and this is going in the first chapter.  It was a dark and stormy night, and Alex Krycek was throwing me a birthday party."

"Write it as fiction under a pseudonym," he cautioned, refilling her glass before she could object.  "And take it to a small publisher.  Change the names, dates, and locations of everything.  They'd kill you if they found out."  No need to explain who 'they' were.

She chuckled, then narrowed her eyes when his face remained calm.  "You're serious, aren't you?"

He nodded and inched the cake toward her.  Pausing a second to think, she blew out the candle and stared across the table at him.

"Happy?"

"What did you wish for?"  He hoped it wasn't a SWAT team or Mulder.

"Uh-uh.  If I tell you it won't come true."

Somewhere in the last 45 minutes they'd moved the party to the living room.  All the strawberry daiquiri was gone, so they were drinking margaritas.  What was left of the cake, and two forks, sat on a plate between them.

She giggled, clamping her hand over her mouth before margarita came out her nose.  God, he was funny.  Or maybe it was just the alcohol.  She fell off her cushion, miraculously managing not to spill a drop of her drink.

"'Other suitable vocations are real estate, and the service fields of gardening and caretaking,'" he snorted as he read.  "Looks like you better start looking for a new job, Scully.  You're wasting your talent at the FBI.  'True to their native element, many Cancers are involved in marine activities.' Do they mean Marine marines, or water?"

"Maybe both.  I wanted to join the navy when I graduated from medical school."

"I bet you'd look sexy in a uniform."  He set down the book, titled 'Astrology for Dummies', and leered at her.

She rolled her eyes.  His innuendoes were getting less subtle the more they drank.  And the more they drank, the less she cared.  In an attempt to draw him off track she asked, "So, you have a thing for purple, or what?"

He glanced around, as if only just noticing the color of everything.  "Purple?  Uh, yeah, I guess so."

"That was convincing," she snorted, reaching for another forkful of cake.  He was too comfortable in the house to have broken in, but the place just didn't fit with what she knew of him.  Her eyes raked over the bookshelves, the new age decor, the pictures of James Dean.  Some Like it Hot and How to Marry a Millionaire rested on top of the television.  So he had a thing for Marilyn Monroe, but still…

"Are you gay?"  she blurted without thinking.

Margarita sprayed out his mouth, soaking everything within a foot of his body.  "What!?"  he choked out, eyes watering.

She pursed her lips, but the alcohol had loosened her tongue too much.  "Well, this place is, you know, sorta…"  She waved her hand limply in the air.

His eyes narrowed dangerously, and she might have been nervous except for the fact that he couldn't stop sputtering.  "Since when does liking purple make someone gay?"  he finally managed.

Like wearing black made you evil, and wearing white made you good.  She blushed a little at her own stereotype, but felt compelled to push.  Because if that show in the bathroom had been designed to throw her off balance, she could tell herself that he really didn't want her.  And if he didn't want her, it would be so much easier not to want him.  "The vibrator?"

"It's not mine."

"Sure.  I used that line too.  My mother didn't believe me either."

"I'm not gay," he insisted.

She swallowed the rest of her drink and turned to look for the pitcher.  "Look, forget I even said anything--"

There was a definite growl coming from her companion.  "I'm.  Not.  Gay."

Talk about protesting too much.  She almost wished she'd never brought it up, but it was fun to see him get riled up about something that wasn't a traumatic experience.  Scully opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to say was forgotten as he pounced.  She struggled immediately, more out of habit than anything else.  He wasn't fighting back, he was just pinning her against the throw cushion.  Deja vu.  With a will of their own, her eyes slid down to his crotch and she saw soft grey cotton instead of a white towel.

"What are you doing?"

"Showing you how not gay I am," he answered with an evil smile, and then his mouth descended.  It wasn't a gentle kiss, wasn't tentative, wasn't like any other kiss she'd received before.  Lips and teeth clashed, and his tongue was suddenly in her mouth with wide sweeping arcs.  He plundered her mouth ruthlessly, sucking, prodding until she couldn't breathe.  Why wasn't she pushing him away?  Why wasn't she biting his tongue off?  It might have had something to do with the wildfire that had suddenly ignited in a blazing trail straight to her pelvis.  It might have been his warm weight pressing down on her.  She shifted and felt a familiar wetness as her inner thighs slid against each other.  God.  This was not happening.  This was not--

Ohsweetjesusmaryandjoseph.  He moved against her and her shorts bunched up in her crotch.  She squeezed her eyes shut as the fabric pressed against her clit, sending tingles to her fingertips.  The length of his covered erection slid against her leg, and it was almost too much.  She couldn't stop the groan that burst against his lips.  She got it, she really did.  Krycek was not gay.  Definitely straight.  The straightest man she'd ever known.  Straight, and hard, and hot, and oh God he had to get off her before she did something really stupid like--

And then it was over, like he disappeared into thin air.  But when her eyes snapped open she saw him sitting back on his own cushion, shoulders heaving, wary but amused eyes trained on her.  The first thing she noticed was that droplets of margarita were still clinging to his smooth chest, glinting in the candle light.  The second was that she was sprawled out in front of him, jaw hanging open.  She shook herself lightly and scooted into a sitting position, adjusting her shorts.

What to do now?  What to say?  She found herself following the line of a bead of alcohol as it rolled over tight abs.  Her eyes strayed lower, to the waist of his sweats, and she saw the bulge that he wasn't even trying to hide.  Her eyes flew to his.  He was openly smirking at her now, the 'I told you so' clear on his face.  She swallowed and looked away.  Christ.  You'd think she'd never seen a guy with a hard-on before.  But she still didn't know what she should do.  Not that she didn't have a few ideas…

Oh God.  She quelled the urge to actually shake her head to get rid of the images.  No more alcohol.  Margarita bad.  And why wasn't he saying anything?  Krycek always seemed to have a smartass comment for everything.  Casually, she slid her gaze around to watch him.  That was her first mistake.  Because as soon as she got tangled in his intense stare she found she couldn't look away.  He was almost daring her to run, testing to see how far he could push.  She knew she wouldn't make it to the door before he tackled her again.  Besides, staying right where she was beginning to sound like a really good plan.

Her eyes drifted to his mouth as a pink tongue darted out to moisten his lips.  Then he leaned forward, bracing himself on his hands and knees and began crawling toward her.  She was transfixed by the play of muscles in his arms and shoulders as he stalked toward her.  He looked like a big jungle cat, ready to devour her whole.  Another flood of wetness forced her to squeeze her legs together.  Her brain was telling her to get the hell out of there, but the rest of her traitorous body was begging for touch, the brush of skin, a rough tongue.

He was just about close enough to touch when a pained expression crossed his face and he buckled to the floor, landing on his side.

"Shit!'  he hissed.  "Stupid cake."

Scully frowned furiously.  "Krycek?"  She moved closer and realized that he was rubbing his knee.  The remnants of her birthday cake were smeared all over his left side.  "What happened?"

He held up the culprit.  "Fork jabbed me in the knee."  He threw it violently across the room, scowling.

"I'm sure the fork deserved it.  But what about the cake?"  She felt a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

He glanced between his side and her face.  Finally she couldn't hold it in any longer and started to giggle.  Frosting covered Krycek.  She bet he tasted better than the cake.

He resisted for a few moments and then began to chuckle with her.  Once she was able to control her laughter she offered to look at his knee.

"It's fine.  I think I must have hit a nerve, because it stung like a bitch, but it's okay now."  He looked down sheepishly.  "I better go clean this off."

"Wait," she blurted, a little to loud in the silence of the room.  He cocked his head in puzzlement and waited for her to continue.  She opened her mouth a few times, but no words would come out.  Well, if she couldn't say it, maybe she could show it.  Before her courage fled, she gently pushed him back and let her tongue take a long, slow swipe through the cake decorating his skin.

If that wasn't enough to send a fine tremor of longing through her, she spotted something among the cushions that made her gut clench.  Well, since there were no handcuffs available, it would have to do.

He wasn't completely drunk.  He was at the stage where he still knew that drinking with an FBI Agent was probably going to get him in big trouble, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.  He was completely fixated on the sight of cake disappearing in between her plump lips.  So fixated that he thought he must have misheard her next statement.

"Are you gay?"

Spluttering from surprise, he managed to yelp "What!?"  in a most unmanly fashion.  And he'd just sprayed a mouthful of margarita all over himself.  Unbelievably smooth.

"Well, this place is, you know, sorta…"  Then she did that limp wrist wave instead of coming out and saying it.  Yeah, the house looked queer.  That's because the owner was queer.  But he wasn't the owner.  He couldn't very well tell Scully about Rachelle.  She was a good friend, and he wasn't going to bring the FBI down on her just because he had to prove a point about his sexuality.

"Since when does liking purple make someone gay?"  he asked, hoping to make her squirm.  Worked like a charm.

"The vibrator?"

Shit.  He'd forgotten about that.  Why did Rachelle have to leave it lying around?  And in the kitchen of all places?  The first thing that popped out of his mouth was, "It's not mine."

The look on her face let him know what she thought of that.  "Sure.  I used that line too.  My mother didn't believe me either."

Stupid stubborn woman.  Why did he care so much what she thought?  Maybe because he would have less of a chance getting her out of his underwear if she thought he liked guys.  "I'm not gay."

"Look, forget I even said anything--"

"I'm.  Not.  Gay."  And apparently there was only one way to convince her.  Before she could anticipate what he was doing, he jumped her.  She put up the token struggle, and then stilled much more quickly than he expected.  He took it as a good sign and began lowering his face toward hers.  Her eyes widened in surprise, but she didn't look panicked.  Not at all.

"What are you doing?"

"Showing you how not gay I am," he grinned, descending the last precious inch to bring their lips together.  His tongue immediately sought entrance into her mouth, hoping to get a good taste of her before she came to her senses.  When there was still no resistance, he deepened the kiss.  She still wasn't pushing him away, wasn't biting his tongue off.  He nibbled on her lips for a moment before delving back into her warm mouth.  His tongue fluttered along the roof of her mouth and brushed against her tongue, earning a tiny response as her lips moved against his.

This was un-fucking-believable.  He let his arms relax and rested more of his weight on her.  She felt so soft beneath him, so warm.  And she was starting to kiss him back, like maybe she wanted him.  The idea sent a bolt of lust straight to his cock and he found himself grinding his crotch against her hip.  Then the most amazing thing happened.  Dana Scully groaned into his mouth, a throaty mewling noise that he never imagined she could make.  Her hips jerked up and he felt the whisper of fingertips on his skin.  

Shit.  He was only supposed to be proving a point.  And that point was…?  Oh.  Right.  He wasn't gay.  With some force of will that he didn't know he had, he pulled away.  She just laid there for a moment, panting through kiss-swollen lips and looking like that wet dream again.  He wasn't sure how he stopped himself from pouncing on her again.  There was always the threat of having his balls ripped off.  When her eyes finally opened, he watched her carefully, waiting for a flash of shock or anger.  Instead, her eyes held a glazed expression that didn't quite evaporate.  When her gaze caught hold of the erection he was sporting, she actually gasped.  He couldn't stop the smirk that spread over his face.  Goddamn.  He'd really gotten to her.  She was making no move to castrate him, to run for the door, or to at least spring up and get away.  She wanted him.  She really did.  Goddamn.

After an eternity he caught her eyes.  Even in the candle light he could see that the blue had diminished to a tiny ring around her pupils.  Maybe she looked like a wet dream because this was a wet dream and he was asleep in his bed right now.  And he wouldn't get shot for trying to bag an FBI Agent.  In that case…  

He started to crawl toward her on the floor, watching the increasing desire cross her features.  His seduction was ruined by the sharp pain that suddenly shot through his knee and up his thigh.  All feeling abandoned his leg as he fell to the side and right into something wet and sticky

"Shit!  Stupid cake."  He clutched his knee, wondering if he could look like more of an idiot.  Scully hovered over him.

"What happened?"

He groped the floor blindly, finally feeling warm metal against his fingers.  A stupid fork.  "Fork jabbed me in the knee."  Directing all of his frustration into the utensil, he hurled it across the room.  It bounced off something with a satisfying thunk.

"I'm sure the fork deserved it," Scully observed dryly.  "But what about the cake?"

Could he look like more of an idiot?  The answer to that was definitely yes.  He glanced around, unable to believe the grin that was stretching across her lips.  Then she laughed at him.  He couldn't really blame her.  It was a little bit like a bad 70's sitcom.

"It's fine," he insisted when she asked about his knee.  "I think I must have hit a nerve, because it stung like a bitch, but it's okay now.  I better go clean this off."

"Wait."

He glanced at her, seeing the indecision written all over her face.  What was going on in that brain of hers?  That's when the second most amazing thing happened.  She pushed him back to the floor and lowered her mouth with agonizing slowness, never once breaking eye contact.

Holy shit.  He tensed, willing himself not to come in his pants.  She was licking him.  She was eating the remainder of the cake off his body.  He closed his eyes for a second.  Maybe when he opened them she'd be gone, like it really was a dream.  Then one small hand closed around his bicep, and another skimmed down his side.  Her tongue was taking broad swipes across his skin, lapping up the frosting like a hungry cat.  She had to stop now or he was going to embarrass himself like a horny teenager.  He reached for her, meaning to push her away, but instead his hand settled in her hair, carding through the damp strands.  At his touch she looked up, and the heat between their gazes almost set him on fire.

"What are you doing?"  he asked, echoing her earlier words.  His voice only shook a little.

"Can't let good cake go to waste."  She smirked at him.  Christ.  How had he never noticed that this woman was sexy as hell?

He let out a desperate moan.  "Shit, Scully…"  And then he was pulling her up, and she seemed to weigh nothing, but that might have been because she was moving toward him just as much as he was pulling her.  Their mouths met and he tightened his hold on her hair.  He was probably hurting her a little, but she didn't seem to mind.  In fact, she began to rock her hips against his, and the two layers of cotton between them did nothing to disguise the wet heat of her.  He gasped in shock and her tongue slithered between his lips.  The taste of her exploded in his mouth.  Chocolate, and rum, and utter sweetness.

Both hands slid down to her ass to press her firmly against his groin.  She moaned and arched her back, baring her throat.  Never one to pass up an opportunity, Krycek latched onto the smooth skin of her neck and traced random patterns with his tongue.

"Oooh.  This is crazy," she said, never stopping the undulating of her hips.  She reached back and grabbed his wrists, bringing his arms over his head and stretching out on top of his body.

"Mmmmm," he murmured against her neck.  Crazy didn't even begin to describe it.  Unexpected, electrifying, awesome, overwhelming.

"If anyone finds out about this, I'll lose my job."

"If anyone finds out about this, I'll lose my head," he countered.  She stilled and looked down at him.  Concern flashed in her eyes, and he thought for one terrible moment that she was going pull away.

Suddenly he felt something cool and slick tighten around his wrists.  Shit!  This was probably when she pulled a hidden gun from somewhere and tried to arrest him again.  He tugged on his bonds.  They weren't tight.  In fact, they felt like…  silk.  What the hell?  Her hand skimmed up his arm and covered his wrists, stilling his movements.  Then the corner of her mouth quirked in a lopsided smile.

"You win."

Thank God.  She wasn't stopping.  Not even close.  He relaxed slightly.  So Scully had a kink.  That was fine with him.  His bonds were loose enough that he'd be able to get free if he needed.

Her lips descended on his, but at the last minute she veered to the side to nibble on his jaw.  Those pouty lips made their way down his throat, stopping to suck on his adam's apple before continuing down to trace the ridge of his collar bone with a pink tongue.  It took all of his willpower not to come as she worked her way down his smooth chest, nipping and sucking as her nails teased up and down his sides.  He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look at the sight of her red hair spread over his abdomen.  Oh dear Lord.  She kept going down, down, and then she was tonguing the waistband of his sweats.  He jumped as her finger traced a line up his covered erection.

"Jesus!'  he gasped.  "You know, Scully.  The last time you were down there it wasn't exactly a pleasant experience."  A whole sentence.  Maybe he wasn't as far gone as he thought.  He craned his neck to see her response.  Instead of speaking, she gave him another cheshire grin and pulled down his sweats.  His erection bobbed up right in front of her face, but she kept her eyes focused on his.  Before he realized what was happening he was enveloped in the most incredible wet heat.  His hips surged forward but Scully pushed him back to the floor with firm hands.  Either he'd lost all control of his muscles, or she was a lot stronger than she looked.  Could have been some combination of both.

Pleasure coursed through his limbs as her mouth moved slowly over his cock, cheeks caved in with the force of the suction.  He shuddered and let out a pathetic moan.  Oh God.  Her tongue--how did she know just how to--God.  If he wasn't dead now, he was going to be soon, because this was almost heaven.  Her fingers slid in between his legs and cupped his balls, kneading gently.  He was gonna come.  There was no holding back now.  Gonna come gonna come gonna--

Her hand clamped around the base of his cock just in time, and he felt the pressure begin to recede.  Her tongue flicked over the head a few times, drawing whimpers, and then she let him go with a wet pop.  He wanted to free his hands so he could touch her, run his fingers over her skin, through her hair.  That glorious red hair.  There was a pool running at the Bureau to find out if Scully was a natural redhead.  When he'd worked there a year ago, it had been up to four hundred dollars.  But curiosity got the best of him.  He waited to see what she would do.

His dick twitched as she laid a lingering kiss on the side, before working the sweats down his legs and off entirely.  Her shorts went next.  Another tremor rushed through his bones.  Jesus Christ.  If he didn't know better, it looked like Dana Scully was going to have sex with him.  There was no way this was really happening.  Then she straddled his stomach and sat, grinding her center against him, spreading warmth across his abs.  His eyes widened lustfully.  A glistening tangle of red curls peeked out from under the hem of her borrowed t-shirt.  Gently, she began to rock against him.  This prize was better than any amount of money.

She bit her bottom lip and looked at him with resolve in her eyes.  "Krycek."

"S-Scully?"

"In the morning I'm going to leave, get my car fixed, and fly back to Washington.  If I see you again, I will arrest you.  If any word of this gets out I will hunt you down and shoot you.  Are we clear?"

He nodded, unable to say anything more.  She was basically handing him a get out of jail free card.  She bent closer and closer with each word, finally whispering in his ear.  "Good.  Because now I'm going to fuck you."

She swallowed his surprised gasp.  God.  He could taste himself, but it didn't matter because it was her mouth melting against his, her lips forcing his open, her tongue wrestling with his.  His whole body jerked upwards, needing to feel her, needing to be inside her.  He brought his bound hands forward, trying to pull off her shirt.  They were tied together with a silk scarf.  A purple silk scarf.  He'd remember to thank Rachelle later.  If she didn't kill him for having sex on her floor.  Nah.  It was more likely that she'd ask for exact details.

Scully took the hint and ripped the shirt over her head, baring her breasts.  She was too fucking gorgeous.  His mouth began to water at the sight of the rosy flush spreading down her chest.  Mulder was such an ass for passing this up.  He didn't think he'd ever wanted anyone this badly.

She raised herself, and he felt hot fingers circling his cock.  Oh man, she was really going to do it.  She slid down in one smooth motion, letting out a loud groan that did fantastic things for his ego.  Fuck.  She was tight, and hot, and her hips moved in the most amazing way.  She was on all fours above him, slamming her hips against his in a punishing rhythm.  He put his arms around her and pulled her down, raising his hips to meet her thrusts, wanting to feel the press of bare skin, the slide of nipples over his chest.  Her teeth sunk into his neck, and with an animalistic growl he broke free of the scarf and flipped them over.  Small hands grappled at his back as he plunged into her body.  He'd never felt anything like this before.  Not the vise-like grip that held his cock, not the welts on his skin that made him shudder in pleasure rather than pain, not the all-consuming need to hear this woman scream his name.  His head felt like it was about to explode.  Or was that his dick?

Pale, toned legs wrapped around his thighs, heels drumming into his ass to spur him on.  He braced one hand beside her head and slid the other down her sweat slick body.  He spent a moment teasing her pert nipple, admiring as her back arched off the floor toward him.  His hand moved lower, running through her curls.  He almost lost it as his fingers grazed his own cock moving in and out of her.  Shit.  She had to come, and she had to come now, because he couldn't last any longer.  Not without losing his mind.

His fingers circled her clit, pressed, and circled again.  He did it over and over, thanking God for two arms as Scully sobbed out her pleasure below him.

"Oh God, Krycek!  Krycek…  yessssss."

Her inner walls fluttered around him, squeezing, and he let himself fly apart at the seams, hops thrusting jerkily.  He buried his face against her neck as his orgasm washed over him.  It started in his balls, erupted throughout his pelvis, white hot sensation careening up his spine into his brain.  Jesus.  Maybe his head really had exploded.  He collapsed on top of her, panting harshly against her skin.  Jesus.

"Actually, it's Scully," came a breathless voice in his ear.  Had he spoken out loud?  God, she was going to think he was a real idiot.  He raised himself just enough so that he could look at her.  She smiled up at him with a dopey grin, then gave a powerful squeeze with her vaginal walls before he slipped out of her body.  Her grin widened at his shocked gasp.  Shocked that she was being playful, and shocked that his body was even responding to it.  Scully let out a contented sigh and curled herself around him like a cat.  Seconds later he was asleep.

Scully woke to the faint sound of rushing water.  She stretched slowly, wincing at the soreness of her muscles.  She stopped a smile before it could overtake her face.  What she had done was wrong.  Very wrong.  She slept with Alex Krycek.  She told him she was going to let him go, screwed his brains out, and came with his name on her lips.  Then she fell asleep tangled in his arms.

She rolled over among the pillows.  This was sooooo not good.  She should grab whatever clothes she could find and run as fast as she could.  The ache between her thighs was telling her to find Krycek and jump him again.  Getting to her knees, Scully surveyed the room.  Most of the candles were burned down to nothing, sunlight replacing the soft glow of candle light that had filled the room the night before.  A bag of peas was sitting in a small puddle, and she wondered where her ice pack had gotten to.  Krycek's sweats were still lying on the floor, along with her borrowed clothes.  She pulled the t-shirt over her head.  There was the scarf she'd tied him with, and peeking out from under one of the pillows was the vibrator she'd thrown at him.  Who had a purple vibrator anyway?

Then it hit her.  This wasn't Krycek's house.  From the comfortable way he walked around, he obviously knew the place.  So it belonged to a friend then, someone he knew well enough to be able to crash at their place.  When she'd questioned his sexuality, it would have been easy for him to tell her it wasn't his purple house.  But that's not what he did.  He let her think it was his…  to protect the real owner.  The revelation washed over her, forced her to stand.  Was he protecting this person because they were in it just as deep as he was?  Or were they completely innocent?  The idea that Krycek had regular friends threw her.  Yet, he must have had friends before he became a traitor, a thief.

She put aside the train of thought and crept toward the stairs.  She needed to get her clothes, and if he was in the shower, it was the perfect opportunity for her to slip away.  If he saw her, he might not want her to go.  He might keep her here as a hostage.  Sex slave, her treacherous mind whispered.  If she saw him, she might not want to leave.  Images from last night kept flashing through her brain.  Above her, below her, panting with desire, touching her like no one had touched her for so long.  She had the sudden urge for a cigarette, even though she hadn't smoked since college.  Clothes, she kept telling herself.  Get clothes, get out.

She paused by the bathroom door before shaking herself and stepping into the bedroom.  Her clothes were laid out on the bed, waiting for her.  And that wasn't the only thing.  A near empty suitcase lay open.  Her eyes widened in shock at the contents.  Three guns, and boxes of ammo.  A switchblade and a hunting knife.  A plane ticket peeked out of the lining at her.  David Alexander was booked on a flight to Washington National.  Against her better judgment, she turned away and picked up her clothes.  She got dressed, trying her best to smooth out the wrinkles, when she caught sight of the laptop.  Dear God, the information that could be on there…

Glancing around furtively, she flipped open the screen.  A password dialogue box greeted her eyes.  Shit.  Well, she'd guessed Mulder's password before, hopefully Krycek was just as predictable as her partner.  Somehow she doubted it, but it never hurt to try.  Her fingers poised over the keys, she started to type…  what?  What did she know about Krycek?  Other than the fact that he was great in the sack.  Concentrate, Dana.  She tried 'silo', but nothing.  'Paper clip'.  'Alexander'.  Nothing was working.  In desperation she typed 'Mulder', but was denied again.  As she frowned at the screen, she became aware that the shower had stopped.  Awareness prickled at the back of her neck, but before she could turn around, he spoke.

"The password's survive.  But I wouldn't put too much stock in it.  I change it every day."

His voice was surprisingly neutral.  She considered saying that she was just trying to play solitaire, but there was no point.  She'd been caught.  She swiveled in the chair and almost groaned at the wave of arousal that washed over her at the sight of him.  Damn.  Why did it always come down to him in a towel?  His eyes flicked to the undisturbed suitcase and returned to gaze at her curiously.  It didn't look like he was going to dive for his weapons, so she relaxed slightly and got up.

"You're leaving?"  he asked.

"I said I would."

"Yeah, but people will say anything during…  you know."  At the reminder of last night he trailed off.  The silence stretched out until she couldn't stand it anymore.  Without even realizing it, she drifted closer.

"I won't tell anyone about the house.  Your friend won't get any trouble from me," she guessed.  Surprise, and then gratitude shone brightly in his eyes.  He was close enough now that she'd be able to reach out and touch him.  She wanted to.  The urge was almost unbearable, especially with those bedroom eyes staring at her hungrily.  She wondered if the look on his face mirrored her own.

"I better go."

"Yeah."

Neither of them moved.  Scully could practically feel the electricity jumping between them.  In that moment she knew that if he asked her to stay she'd say yes.  The ache was turning into a demanding throb, her tongue was tingling with the desire to lick a path from his neck to his groin.  She finally reached up and placed her hand on his chest, caressing lightly.  His hand immediately covered hers.

"Scully, you know that what happened last night--I would never use it against you."

"Neither would I.  But what I said still stands."  If he broke his promise she would hunt him down.  She'd arrest him if she caught him.  He was still a criminal, and she was still a officer of the law.  The sex didn't change anything.  Liar, her brain whispered.

He nodded in understanding and lifted her palm to his lips.  The tingling remained long after the tender kiss ended.  She stepped dangerously close.  Just one more touch, one more kiss, and then she could go.  Reading her mind, he gathered her against his chest and sought her lips.  His lips on hers were soft, giving.  She gripped his arms, loving the play of muscles under her fingers as he held her tighter.  A tiny sound caught in her throat and she tore herself away before she lost control again.

"I better go," she repeated mindlessly.  The fervor of his gaze shocked her, but he let her brush past without objection.  It took every ounce of strength in her body not to look back as she went into the hallway and down the stairs.  She didn't want to see if he was following her, didn't want to see the smooth lines of his body, the way his tongue darted out to lick dry lips.  She didn't want to remember the taste of chocolate and tequila on her tongue, the salty flavor of him hard in her mouth.  With trembling hands she snatched the Virginia Slims off the side table and practically sprinted out the door.  She could add stealing to the long list of her indiscretions.

Happy birthday, Dana Scully.  Her birthday wish had certainly come true, but not in the way she'd meant.

Lips pursed, quick inhale.  Give me the presence of mind to scream to high heaven if he comes anywhere near me.  Quick exhale, watch the candle puff out.  Happy birthday.

Finis

Challenge Requirements:
Deadline is July 31st--the story must contain some or all of these elements
1.chocolate cake
2.plaid boxer shorts
3.a song by Sting, Heart, the Eagles, or Billie Holiday
4.a book entitled Astrology for Dummies
5.a lava lamp
6.a magenta or purple silk scarf
7.a tape or dvd of a Marilyn Monroe movie
8.a conversation about rainstorms
9.a plane ticket to get to Quantico
10.a pack of those 'girlie' cigarettes
11.an apple martini, a strawberry daiquiri, or a margarita
12.a magazine add or billboard about a sunny vacation spot
13.a drive along a coast highway
14.a flat tire
15.a notebook computer
16.this has to be included no matter what: a thin silver toe ring with a tiny ruby

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