peach
by Pares
"I made love to a peach once: it was beautiful-- I held it to my cheek, nuzzled its heady fragrance, fondled it's lovely firm flesh, held its perfect weight in my palm... and then I bit into it..."
Mulder doesn't remember if he's read it, or maybe heard it from one of the more creative phone sex girls he'd known. But it's playing in his mind like a loop cassette tape as Krycek reaches in his crumpled brown paper bag and pulls out a perfect, golden peach. Christ. It's as big as a softball.They've been in the car two hours already, another petty insurance fraud vigil, waiting for a hapless accountant to make his way to the warehouse where the stolen merchandise is being carefully left to cool, and the muggy Virginia heat is like a sweaty hand on his neck. His shirt is clinging to him; riding up under his armpits and pissing him off. Krycek looks curiously fresh in the seat beside him.
The guy leans his elbow on the window ledge and lifts the peach to his mouth. He sinks those sharp flat little teeth into ito the glowing flesh.... The ripe scent unfurls in the car like a pheremonal miasma of voluptuous desire...
It's the heat, he tells himself plausibly. //I have *got* to get some...//
His mouth floods with saliva so fast he thinks he might have sprained something. His palate aches, and there's a burning pang under his tongue...
Mulder has never wanted a peach so badly in all his life.
Possibly he makes some sound... some guttteral little mewl of peach covetousness that gives him away... because Krycek throws him a confused look and the peach leaves his mouth.... his lower lip glossed with clear stickysweet juice...
"You want half?"
//*Fuck*, yeah.// Mulder manages to shake his head.
Krycek shrugs, takes another bite.
He catches Mulder's look of longing. He shakes his head, reaches in his pocket, comes out with a pocket knife.
The knife slips into the plush velveteen nap, splitting the peach neatly in two. The chisel marks of his teeth make one side fluted like a pie shell.
"Jesus. Here."
The half he hands Mulder is warm, damp with peach juice, or possibly sweat from Krycek's palm... or his upper lip.
He has a new respect for himself when he is able to take a middle sized bite without licking the skin first, or sucking on the spot where Krycek's teeth edged the fruit.
He swallows it in three slurping bites, and does *not* lick his palm. Although he wants to. Badly. Almost as much as he wants to lick one junior agent in a terrible suit. //I'll bet he's as tart and juicy as the peach, the little bastard.//
//I'm going to buy a bottle of Peach schnapps.// Mulder promises Krycek, and himself. //And pour it all. over. your. body.//
"I have to take a piss." Mulder says instead.
Krycek nods absently. Takes another bite. Mulder hopes his swallow isn't audible as he clambers from the car.
END
