Another useless stakeout in a boiling-hot car. My clothing had to weigh at least half as much as I did from water weight. I felt hot and resentful and sticky and bored, and it was getting harder and harder to resist the urge to take it out on the man sitting next to me. Agent Krycek--my unwanted new partner, possible spy, and definite pain in the ass--ran a graceful hand through his melting hair and grimaced at what he found. Maybe that would teach him to go a little easier on the lacquer in the mornings, but I doubted it.
He may even truly be the innocent bystander he wanted me to think he was. The mild hero worship and puppyish eagerness he displayed might not be an act. Sometimes I caught a flash of anger and resentment in his eyes when he thought I wasn't looking, which made him a bit more... trustworthy to me. Certainly more interesting.
I just didn't know, and not knowing always made me cranky. I couldn't help thinking the Consortium, mystified by Scully's failure to lead me around my dick, had decided to dangle a new and entirely different piece of ass in front of me.
Sometimes I lost my train of thought when deep eyes framed by thick, dark lashes focused in on me so tightly, as if what I did or thought mattered more than anything else. I couldn't help noticing the body under those awful bargain suits or wondering what the hair would look like without the gel. Hell, I wondered what color it really was. That just made me human.
It wasn't like the Consortium would parade their lure in front of me in fishnet and tight leather--they gave me a little credit for smarts--so they put him in cheap, ill-fitting clothes and trusted me to notice anyway. Clothe the newbie like a newbie.
But what if he was--
I loved it when my paranoia had me second-guessing my second guesses.
One of the great things about my high IQ was that my brain ran that whole hamster wheel in only a few seconds. I hadn't spent enough time lost in space to make my possible spy suspicious. I caught the tail end of his question: "--you want some?"
I looked right into mesmerizing puppy eyes and quickly glanced down to see what he offered me. A chocolate bar gradually changing phase from solid to liquid was lying on a foil wrapper. On his thigh.
I looked up again. "That's disgusting, Krycek."
He smiled. "You can't tell me you don't like melting chocolate. It's one of life's great pleasures."
"It's a mess waiting to happen, and we don't have any napkins."
"You strike me as a person who isn't afraid to get messy in a good cause." The eyes and smile turned darker. "I'll just lick it off my fingers, one of life's other great pleasures."
I steadied my breathing with a little effort. Was this honest flirting? The lure showing his true colors? Or none of the above-- just my dirty, frustrated mind? I needed more information to go on.
"It'll just make me thirstier," I said.
"Your loss." Krycek picked up a piece, and his fingers immediately started to sink into it. Mesmerized by the sight of his pink tongue licking his smeared lips, I watched him savor each segment of the bar with an almost child-like enthusiasm. It amazed me to see the spit 'n' polish agent I thought I knew get so cheerfully messy. Finally, only one piece remained. "Are you sure you don't want some?"
I was hungry for something and feeling much less noble. Maybe giving into a small temptation would help me resist the larger one. "Oh, hell, let me have it."
But he didn't give it to me; he picked it up and positioned it at my lips. "You can have some without getting your hands dirty, Mulder," he said in a tone I wanted to pin down, but couldn't.
I thought of refusing. I didn't think of it very long. I nodded and opened my mouth. That rich, sweetness with a mild chocolate kick that was milk chocolate crossed my lips and immediately melted on my tongue, almost flowing down my throat. It did taste different, better, this way. I had forgotten. I soon realized I was licking more chocolate off his hot fingers and abruptly stopped.
Bad, bad, bad. He could use this as the prelude to seduction, which I'd enjoy, yes, but would lead to trouble or worse. He could use this to bring me up on charges...
Krycek didn't say anything, and his eyes, shaded by those damned sable lashes, told me nothing. He took his neglected fingers away from me and started to suck the chocolate off them one by one. The ones I'd just-- He'd insert each one all the way to the last knuckle, close his lips, and swirl... I'd looked away too late; I was already painfully hard.
Finally, he said, "Mulder, you don't look well. Is the heat getting to you?"
Bastard. He had to know what he was doing to me.
I glanced back. Damn. "Krycek, you still have chocolate on your lip."
"Top right." A sweep of his tongue went to the wrong place. "Your other right."
He missed that time too. "Did I get it?"
Another obscene brush of pink followed. "Now?"
That led to more useless attempts and me inevitably thinking of other uses for that agile tongue. He didn't seem to have any chance of nailing the smear or any desire to stop torturing me, so I said, "Look, I'll get it off. Do you mind?"
"Go ahead. But you still don't have any napkins."
"I'll live. You're making me crazy."
I wouldn't let him get to me. I would make this as fast as I could.
My index finger swept across light stubble as I rubbed the chocolate away. It left my finger smeared. Unable to back down from Krycek's amused, challenging look, I put it in my mouth and sucked it clean. Now I tasted the salt of his sweat mixed in with the rich sweetness. I liked it more than I should.
"I do what I have to do," I said. Krycek could take that any way he cared to.
He just smiled.