Gift Horse

by Phillis Padgett

I wasn't always a bad man.  In fact, I still don't consider myself bad.  I am a survivor, and I take what I need when I can get it.  I do what has to be done for my life to continue.  That is why I am in this room looking down at his infected body, watching the alien virus destroy him when I failed to do so. There are really only two choices here, and I don't want to have to make either.  But if something isn't done, I will be a man living on borrowed time.  Maybe I should start at the beginning.

I knew from the day I saw her that I wanted her and not as someone to love or cherish.  Who has time for loving and cherishing when the world is about to end and it is up to you to save it?  I just wanted to fuck her.  The first time I saw her in person, she acted so indifferent toward me, but I knew I could make her scream.  I had seen her do it on surveillance tapes.  She was standing there in her scrubs, and I could just imagine grabbing her and shoving her over on one of those autopsy tables…pressing her chest into metal slabs that were as cold as her dismissal of me…slamming into her hard and fast.  What can I say?  I am male, and she is hot.  I knew that would never happen.  I may fantasize, but I am a realist.  I wanted her from that day forward, maybe because she presented a challenge to me.  I have always loved a good challenge.

I am never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and one day, many months ago, the whole goddamn stable was delivered to my door.  I was sitting in the darkly lit back corner of this seedy bar when who should walk in?  You guessed it.  She did.  She looked forlorn, tired, and very old.  I could tell that they had been fighting again; he was probably bringing up old issues about trust or some other shit.  Maybe he mentioned something about her little trip with the smoker; he likes to throw that in her face.  Anyway, she came in and sat at the bar.  About an hour and six shots of tequila later, she was giggling and flirting with anything that had a dick.  It seemed she had a job opening for the night, and any man with a functioning penis could fill the position.  Sometimes life was good.

So these ugly, fat fuckers keep hitting on her, and she lets them, but she hasn't chosen anyone yet.  After three more shots, I decide to make my move.   I sat next to her at the bar, but she didn't even notice.  She had her back to me and was too busy listening to some balding man ramble about cheese or some other equally inane topic.  I leaned over and spoke softly into her ear.

"What are you doing here?"

She froze.  Even in her very drunken stupor, she recognized my voice.  The longer she sat there unmoving, the more nervous I became.  My right arm moved to my gun. While the bald man continued to babble, she slowly turned in her seat toward me.  I decided this was probably the most insane and suicidal thing I had ever done.  When her eyes finally found mine, she steeled her gaze on me, and I saw my death in her eyes.  Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, the most feral and predatory smile fixated onto her face.  Her eyes raked over my body, and I felt very vulnerable at that moment.  She looked at me like I was water for a dehydrated man, or blow for a coke addict, or just maybe, a key for a man locked in a silo.  She wanted me.  This soft, maniacal laughter started to bubble up out of her throat before she stood up suddenly, took my hand, and dragged me out to the front door.  I half expected him to jump out of a shadow and try to bash my skull into the concrete sidewalk, but he never showed.  I still don't understand how I trusted her enough to blindly follow her to wherever we were going.  Maybe it was because she was so drunk.  We walked to the motel that was adjacent to the bar and went straight to a room at the far end of the building.  Oh yes.  She definitely had plans for the night…or he really WAS about to jump out of the shadows and beat my ass.  We entered the room, and she pounced before I even had time to lock the door.  This little woman slammed me against the door and breathed six words into my mouth that I never imagined she would say, especially to me.

"Fuck me, and fuck me hard."

Who was I to argue?  Her lips descended on mine with a crushing force; it was more of a bite than a kiss.  She was taking far to much control of the situation, so I backed her up until her knees hit the bed.  I think I was more surprised than she when she moaned after I ripped open her blouse.  So she liked men to be rough?  Who knew?  Her nails dug into my scalp as she forced my head down to her lips, and I jerked her head back by her hair so I could have access to her throat.  I bit and licked my way down to her breasts, but she had other ideas.  She pulled away form me and quickly removed the remains of her blouse and the rest of her clothing.   Before when I said that she was hot, I was making an obvious understatement.  She penetrated me with her eyes and said, "Strip."

Fuck her.  I don't know why, but that pissed me off.  She wasn't my fucking boss.  I didn't know what kind of dominatrix she thought she was, but I was not and never will be some goddamn puppy dog for her to yank around or her slave boy willing to do her bidding.  She already has one of those.  And I don't take orders from anyone anymore, not even people I want to fuck.  I glared back at her and replied calmer and colder than she ever could.  "Undress me."

The eyebrow raised, but I didn't care.  She was the one looking for sex.  If she wants me, she can play by my rules.  The battle of wills lasted less than a minute, but she conceded.  She slid my leather jacket onto the floor with little difficulty, removed my gun, and slid her hands under my shirt.  I know she felt the straps of the prosthesis, but she never faltered.  She raised my shirt over my head and attacked my nipple with the same ferociousness that I attempted to show hers.  I lowered her hand until her fingers found the fly of my jeans.  After I toed off my shoes, she pulled my pants and boxers down my legs, stood up, and looked at me.  She didn't move, but I think I saw her salivate.  I shoved her onto the bed, lowered myself on top of her, and yanked her legs open.  The startled gasp she gave was phenomenal, and she looked a little frightened.  She should have been.  She was naked, unarmed, and pinned to a mattress by a known murderer that outweighed her by at least 75 pounds.  Even with one arm, she knew that I could easily hurt her.  I smiled as evilly as I could and slowly, torturously slid my right hand up her thigh.  I slid my fingers over her to see if she was ready.  She most definitely was.  Fuck foreplay.  I managed to grab her waist and jerk her hips until they were even with mine.  I took myself in hand and slammed into her as hard as I possibly could.  She screamed, and that scream gradually became a moan.  I knew after I entered her that she hadn't done this in a long time.  I guess the reason the smoker couldn't find evidence of them sleeping together was because they weren't.  What a moron.  If she were my partner, we would have been doing this long ago.  When I heard that scream, I actually felt a little guilty about being so rough and decided to go slow at first to give her time to adjust.  I looked at her face, and her eyes were tightly closed.  When I began to move, she moaned and arched into my thrusts.  After about two minutes of this slow pace, she opened her eyes and said, "Faster."  So I went faster.  "Harder."  So I went harder.  Soon I was slamming into her like I had fantasized about many years ago, and she was moaning like one of his porno whores.  I had never seen her so uninhibited, even when she masturbated.  The alcohol must be helping.  I recognized the signs of her impending orgasm by the guttural "uh, uhs" and the way her eyes rolled into the back of her head.  Her body began to tense, and suddenly she was screaming again.  I double timed it and pounded into her like there was no tomorrow.  I think even I screamed when I came.

I pulled out and rolled over almost immediately afterward.  She started to chuckle deep in her chest again; it was a very dark sound.  I bet she was imagining telling him what she had done and seeing the expression on his face.  I knew she was here out of spite.  I didn't care.  A few minutes later, she rolled over, said, "Thanks for the fuck," and then passed out.  I took that as my cue to leave.  As I was putting my jeans back on, I realized that we hadn't used any protection.  Oh well.  I knew I was clean, and she apparently hadn't had any in forever.  I also knew she couldn't have children.  No big deal, right?

WRONG!  That leads back to my current problem.  She is very pregnant, and I know it isn't his.  Sure they began to sleep together after our tryst.  I guess she figured if she could fuck me, she should be able to fuck the man she loves.  But she made him wear a condom every time they had sex.  She was worried that she had caught something form me and wanted to make sure that the six month test was clear before they started to go without.  Unfortunately for them, he took an outer planetary vacation before time was up.  So anyway, I did a little math and, low and behold, discovered that I was going to be a daddy.  Like I said, I am a survivor, and I know that the minute that baby is born with green eyes, dark hair, and an upturned nose that I am a dead man.  He would figure it out and kill me.  Who else does he know that has those features?  But since he is the perfect candidate to use as a guinea pig for the vaccine, I have to choose.  Him or the baby?  Someone will have to die, and it isn't going to be me.  I actually feel slightly guilty about the emotional trauma this is causing her.  She really was a good lay.

Well, well, well.  Look who it is.  Hi, Skinner.  Long time, no see.

"I need that vaccine, Alex."

I wonder if he can see this grin that is starting to ooze over my face.  It looks like he took the bait, and I won't have to choose after all.  Yes, sometimes life is good.

Finis

Author's notes:  I know this is out of character for Scully.  She would probably never sleep with Krycek, but she did whatever she did with Ed Jerse, so why not?  Maybe we don't know her as well as we think we do.  :)  And isn't ALL fan fiction technically "out of character"?  Anyway, I just thought Krycek seemed awfully anxious to see Scully miscarry, and this is how my twisted mind reacted to that.  Send any comments/feedback to phillispadgett@hotmail.com.

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