Author: Leigh Title: Warm Body *Important note*: A crossover fic with the X-files. Summary: New York City. 1991. Our favorite double Agent wasn't always so confident. Rating: to be safe we'll say NC-17. Warning: m/m action. Spoilers: None for BtVS or the X-files Feedback: I would be delighted. dleighr@hotmail.com For Anna. Who asked very nicely. And who am I to refuse anybody anything? A Warm Body by Leigh She likes to watch the pretty child in the dark. He is darling really, just darling. Darkly sleek, yet shining so pretty. She likes to stroke the denim covered thigh and hear the soft catch of his breath. Likes to remember the bare feel of his thigh. Watch the eyes darken, pupils contract in the dim bar light. The way his stubbled jaw works when he swallows his liquor. He is not tall, not like her blond bombshell (as Spike had hinted he would like to be called) but he is finely muscled. Engineered for fucking, Daddy's voice whispers. Daddy's whispers guide her, just the way Daddy's whispers should. The muscles in his jaw twitch when she kisses him there. So finely tuned, like an instrument. Something with strings she could pluck. When her small white hand travels inside his shirt he grabs it, watches her with those golden eyes and smiles. It's not a pretty smile, though he is a pretty man. "Who is he? The pale drink of water watching our every move, shivers like he can taste our kisses?" His lips are soft against her fingers and he takes her thumb in his mouth, sucking on it. "Fancy him?" Nice and cool, he gives her a smile. "I've fancied just about everyone and everything once or twice." Bottomless. Just like Daddy. Just like her. "Go get him," Dru tells him. She gives him a farewell kiss on the back of his neck, breathes in the non-scent of his hair gel for a moment. Just a baby trying to be strong. Fearless. She orders another drink, watching him walk up to Spike. When they leave a moment later, distance hot and palpable between them, Dru smiles into her drink, watches a pretty blond girl's throat muscles work when she laughs. ************* When the man kisses his eyelids, Krycek knows this is different. This man is not ashamed to worship at the altar of beauty. Doesn't care about the label of "fag" so long as he has earned the label. Doesn't need a dark corner to get laid if he wants to know the roughness of a man. Doesn't have a coldly disapproving Russian father downstairs, drinking in the dark in front of a bright television. Even if the father is dead now of liver cancer, and he's only downstairs in Krycek's own mind. Doesn't make it any less real. "Stop," he whispers. The man ignores him, licking at his navel. Almost a soft bite, almost a soft knife. He pushes the blond man away, breathing heavily. "Just stop." He brings his knees up to his face and practices breathing into his own damp skin. The blond man props himself on his elbow, looking not the least bit put out. Looking amused even. "Not another one of those chaps who hasn't come to terms with it?" Krycek lifts his head, but just stares at him. "Obviously you're just joe-fucking-queer, right? You gotta get *her* to get you guys?" "Oh but," the man whispers, letting his oddly temperate breath caress Krycek's thigh, "you are far too lovely not to share. And you saw me that first night. Now, she enjoyed you very much. I wonder if you didn't go with her to get to me." Long fingers reach out to caress his balls and Krycek shudders into them. "If that's true, then I'm a sick fuck." The blond man laughs with surprising charm. "Well, pretty things come in all sorts of packages." He slowly manages to get Krycek's knees down, working a dry finger into Krycek's mouth. "Suck," he says softly. He knows what the other man wants and why, but the thought doesn't shame him the way it should. "It all feels good doesn't it, luv? It's just sensations, you know." And it is so fucking easy to lose himself in that rationale, as he licks the salt from pale fingers. Just pretend that it doesn't matter if whoever he fucks has a cock or not. It's all sensations anyway, right? But for some bizarre reason he starts to laugh. It's a terrible giggling fit and for the first time the other man looks annoyed. Tears burn in his eyes, and it fucking *hurts* to laugh but he can't seem to stop. "It's just such a fucking cliche. Such a fucking bad fag joke. A boy who does girls 'cause he doesn't want to admit he likes boys." The laugher is choked off when his head is brought up by two monstrously strong hands and blazing eyes scorch and burn in the dark. "I'm all for laughter in the bedroom. I'm all for fun," the blond man says, with an intensity that belies his words. "I like games. But you're one dark-hearted motherfucker, aren't you?" He twists a wet finger into Krycek's ass. It's rough and sharp and beautiful. It's not wet enough, not nearly wet enough, but it's what he needs. That too is a cliche but it isn't one he can regret at the moment. He shudders and runs his hands over the other man's chest. Who is beautiful in his own ghostly way. Beautiful in his need, which is honestly naked. Honesty - a concept that doesn't belong in this god awful hotel room. Need and Nakedness - dark twins he thinks and laughs silently at himself when he feels the first thrust. The feelings and thought ricochet and echo angrily in his head. They spin, chase each other, join forces and war while the blond man moves skillfully within him. He feels a sudden sting in his neck. A hot blooded burn there suddenly, and strong lips and tongue easing the sting. "Shhhhh," he hears. A gentle shushing sound. And it's so easy to let go. Just sensations after all. Just a warm body in the dark. The End