“So--what
are you getting me for
Valentine’s this year?"
“Pumping
me already? Look, Damien, I'm
trying to work, here--" Grace muttered as she peered at the computer
screen in front of her. Over at his own desk, Damien Kanahoe was
chaining
paperclips in a long string as he continued his train of thought. He
looked
extremely handsome, and Grace suspected he had a date waiting after
work.
Probably Trevor from Accounting.
“Obscenely
shaped candy? Suggestive
flowers? A box of novelty condoms--"
“Get
out of town--everyone knows that
designer lubricants are the wave of the future. Squirt of the future I
should
say." Grace teased back. They'd given each other gag valentines every
year, and Damien had yet to top Grace's thoughtful subscription to Atonal Music Monthly from last year. He
smiled at her devilishly.
How about
I get you jalepeno
panties?"
“How
about I tell Mulder who sent him
the Leatherboy calendar?"
Damien
looked hurt; he turned back to
his computer muttering, "At least Scully put it up."
For a
while they each typed in
companionable silence. A soft beep interrupted the flow of work;
Kimberly's
apologetic voice came on the speaker phone.
“Grace,
Director Skinner would like to
see you a moment."
“On
my way." Grace sighed and
picked up an envelope as she headed away from the cubicle. She
increased her
pace to his office, a small smile on her face.
It
disappeared after his first words to
her.
“Pachelli--you're
going to pick up the
Arm of Allah wiretap recordings out a Quantico." he barely looked up
when
she entered, and motioned for her to leave the door open behind her.
“This
evening?" she blurted out,
unable to hide her surprise.
“You
had plans?" he sounded
distinctly annoyed now.
“Well,
I have my quartet expecting
me."
“Quartet?"
“Yes
sir--I play cello. We're playing
out at a private party in
“Uh
. . . Valentine's day." she
finished awkwardly while mentally cursing herself. She hadn't wanted to
mention
the holiday to him, not with his business trip in a few hours.
Skinner
glanced at his watch.
"What time is your performance?"
“Seven
to ten." She felt like a
kid in front of the principal; couldn't he at least look at her?
“Fine.
Leave now. You'll pick up the
recordings first and still have enough time to get to
“Sir?"
She couldn't believe it--he
expected her to drive eighty miles out of her way, and still get to her
quartet
in two hours. In the sleet and rain. She scowled.
“Fine--"
she managed to bite the
words off with a touch of venom. "You just head on down to sunny
Skinner
shot her a glacial stare, and
the temperature in the office dropped by twenty degrees. She couldn't
hold up
under that merciless scrutiny and lowered her eyes.
“Get
going."
Grace
pursed her mouth and stepped
closer to the desk. Skinner turned back to his paperwork, ignoring her.
She
dropped the envelope on the blotter, spun on her heel and strode out
without a
further word.
Skinner
waited until she was gone
before reaching slowly, reluctantly for the envelope. Pausing, he
glanced at
the scrawl on the outside.
His
Marine Corps nickname.
Angrily
he stuffed it into his breast
pocket.
** ** **
“.
. .Should have given him a piece of
my mind instead of a piece of everything else. Okay, he's my boss--we
both know
how to work with that. Hell I wouldn't really mind doing this damn
errand, but
why make me do this tonight? Why not Monday?"
Grace
muttered out loud to herself as
she negotiated the lane change. She considered just heading for
Leave it.
Consequences?
Shit. Not
worth it. A pissed-off
Skinner was slightly more dangerous than an enraged Kodiak bear. At
least with
the bear you could shoot it with a tranquilizer dart and cart if off to
the
wilderness. Grace giggled at the sudden image of Skinner magnificently
naked in
the forest wearing only a tracking collar and a wrathful expression.
Of course
bears generally had no long
term memory and didn't hold grudges, whereas the AD on the other hand--
On her
left, a Ford Mercury hydroplaned
past her, spraying puddle water on her side window, blinding her for a
moment.
Grace flipped the driver off and refocused her attention on the road.
It was
harder to drive now that she had on her formal floor-length skirt--the
fabric
kept getting caught in the accelerator pedal. She yanked the cloth up
and
grumbled.
Damn
Skinner and his by-the-book rules.
The soft
muzak version of
"Yesterday" filtered through the VIP lounge of Dulles International
airport. Skinner, overly warm in his dark gray trenchcoat, tried to
focus on
the newspaper he'd bought, but to no avail. He yawned, rubbed his eyes
and took
a deep breath. Two weeks of overextended workdays were starting to take
their
toll, and this trip to
No, right
now he'd much rather be
sprawled in a bed sleeping.
With
Grace.
A frown
crossed his features and he
briefly rubbed the bridge of his nose, right where the glasses rested.
He'd
been shitty to her today, that much was no news flash. Most of the time
she
understood; she knew the ground rules as well as he did.
Christ!
There never was enough time. A
weekend here, a single evening there--all while keeping decorum through
meetings and conferences throughout the day. For a moment he envied his
subordinates
their situation. Mulder and Scully shared an office, and could at least
close
the door once in a while when the strain of the charade overcame them.
He had no
such resort.
“May
I have your attention please.
Delta flight 454 to
The
crackle of paper roused him; he
fished in his breast pocket, pulling out the envelope he'd crumpled
there.
The feminine scrawl again. Only Grace would address a note
with his old
nickname. He opened it and pulled out the contents.
Skinner
stared at the photo for a
moment, and shifted uncomfortably as his erection rampantly announced
its
fervid approval. He hurriedly stuffed the picture back into his pocket,
pinched
the bridge of his nose again, and made a mental note to
enthusiastically fuck
Grace within an inch of her life the minute he got back.
“Jesus,
where's the off ramp?"
Grace appealed to the deity, not expecting a verbal answer, but hoping
for help
just the same. The sleet was thicker now. The headlights of the
oncoming
traffic appeared out of nowhere and blurred into fuzzy white spots that
seemed
to rocket by at blinding speed. Grace stole a quick glance at her
wristwatch--barely forty minutes until the start of her performance.
She have
to drive like a maniac to make it.
“Thanks
a lot. Thanks a whole heaping
lot, Skinn-"
BLINDINGLIGHTPAINPAINPAIN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Thanks
a lot. Thanks a whole heaping
lot, Skinner."
--He knew
that voice that sarcastic
tone Skinner looked up and realized dimly that he was in his office
Kimberly
wasn't at her desk and the phone was ringing He grabbed it
Skinner
here he tried to talk, but it
didn't come out quite right He could hear something garbled coming
through on
the line about Grace He tried to speak again but suddenly the noise got
so loud
he dropped the receiver A voice was shouting
Damien's
the one that's okay Damien's
the one that's okay Damien's the one that's okay Dread shot through
Skinner Who
was the one that was NOT okay
Skinner
found himself hurrying though
the corridors of a hospital cornering a nurse Where is she The nurse
looked up
It was Mulder in drag Skinner stared Mulder looked damn good in the
nurse's
uniform and wig
I don't
believe in alien abduction
anymore sir Where's Grace
But nurse
Mulder walked away and
Skinner moved down the corridor First door Room 18 Next door Room 18
The entire
hall was filled with Room 18s Skinner opened one of the doors Santa
Claus
looked up from examining a playboy centerfold of Grace
I gave
her those for her birthday he
chuckled not so much like a jolly old elf far more like a pervert Where
the
hell is Grace Is she all right Anger growing mingling with a strong
sense of
frustration Skinner turned away
Next door
An impossibly huge room
filled wall to wall with a swimming pool Skinner looked down into the
water At
the bottom of the pool cellos violas violins The entire bottom littered
with
them they begin to float to the surface
Skinner
looked up the pool had turned
into a beach offshore a boat with Grace on it she didn't see him She
always
wanted those Santa was back watching Grace as well Skinner grabbed him
by the
furry trim of his red suit
Where is
she impatience turning to
ANGER serious out of control ANGER Santa's mask fell off Cancerman--
Skinner
woke up, jerking out of his
chair so abruptly that he nearly fell. He glanced around and realized
he was
still alone in the airport VIP lounge.
Relief
flooded through him.
Seriously
weird dream.
Mulder in
drag?
Santa as
a dirty old man? Skinner
rubbed his eyes again. The nightmare began to fade away and he was
almost ready
to go grab a cup of coffee when a thought struck him out of the blue:
Was Grace
all right?
“Oh
shit, Oh shit, oh shit."
Graziella Sophia Maria Pachelli was in big trouble. She lifted her head
from
the rubbery airbag and the hot wet trickle down her face confirmed her
problems. There were two airbags now with four hands resting on them.
Grace
groaned. Bye bye concert, hello emergency room. She closed her eyes and
slumped
forward.
“We'd
be happy to move your reservation
to Trans Air if it would do any good, Mr. Skinner." the not-so-perky
airline representative told him flatly. "But with this weather, we'll
be
lucky if we get any flights going south by ten tomorrow morning. The
whole East
coast is shut down--nothing's moving out of
Skinner
headed for his waiting luggage,
and pulled out his cell phone. He meant to dial the DEA office in
“The
number you have dialed has been
disconnected. Please try again if you feel you have reached this
recording in
error--" Disconnected?
“I
feel a little--disconnected."
Grace muttered. Around her the harsh florescent lights and flurry of
activity
started to seep through her closed eyes. The nurse attending her
chuckled.
“It's
all right, Ms Pachelli--a very
common sensation with mild head trauma. Can you open your eyes for me
please?"
Grace
did, and the nurse stared deeply
in to them. Grace noticed the nametag the other woman wore: A. Muldur
She
smiled weakly.
“Can
you track my finger?"
A nod.
“Good.
Dr. Klaus wants to send you up
for a quick X-ray, but aside from a headache, he doesn't see anything
serious.
You were very lucky, especially driving in this kind of weather--"
Two-thirty-seven
A.M. As she got out of
the cab and walked up the three steps to her townhouse, Grace grumbled
and
surveyed the damage: a mild concussion, stitches, a damaged car and a
missed
performance. All because Mr. High and Mighty Skinner wanted a set of
tapes that
could have waited until Monday.
It pissed
her off.
It pissed
her off so much that she
closed the door behind her and didn't slide the deadbolt as she stepped
in and
took off her raincoat. The living room was dark, and she reached for
the lamp
near the front picture window, tugging the little pull chain to click
it on.
Movement
outside caught her eye; a car
was pulling up to the curb a few yards outside the building. Even as
she turned
from the window she recognized it: Skinner's Lexus. Shit! He must have
missed
his flight, and now had the brazen balls to actually show up here.
After all
he'd cost her this evening--hot fury flooded through her and her dark
eyes
narrowed.
No way,
tu stronzo, not tonight, she
thought grimly. You can just sit out there and freeze your pallas right
off.
Grace reached for the lamp cord to plunge the room back into darkness,
and an
idea struck her.
Gliding
slowly back to the window, she
began to undo the buttons on her white silk blouse, trailing her
fingers
languidly from one to the next. She positioned herself next to the lamp
and
pretended to stare out into the night, dreamily. Enjoy the
floorshow,
capo mio, 'cause that's ALL you're gonna be getting for a long time.
She
stifled a giggle, hoping none of
her neighbors happened by--it could make for a awkward moment at the
next
homeowners meeting. Instead she slowly brought her hands up to her
breasts,
lightly caressing them through her blouse.
Her touch
felt nice, and for a moment
Grace allowed herself the small thrill of a real caress. It had been a
long
time since she'd done this, and the thought of Skinner out there
watching added
fuel to the fire. Grace pulled the blouse open and shuddered slightly.
She let
her nails scrape over the sensitive skin of her throat, trailing down
the curve
of her chest to the brassiere clasp between her breasts.
A quick
peek confirmed it--he was out
there all right, wrapped in his trenchcoat, staring up at the window.
Tough
luck that he was too far away to read his expression; she sourly
guessed it
would be his usual stone face anyway.
She gave
her head a toss, allowing her
hair to stream down over her shoulders, letting her fingers unfasten
the front
hook of her bra. Quickly, she stretched her arms up over her head,
helping her
cleavage tumble free of the confining lingerie. A shiver ran over her
bare
flesh, a delicious tingle that grew and warmed her senses. Grace
brought her
hands back to her breasts and tweaked the erect nipples lightly.
Ha! Hope
you can sleep well
tonight--sir.
It was
getting harder to think of it as
an act now, as the old familiar pulsation grew within her. She let her
hands
glide eagerly over her ribs, her flat stomach, her hips. The blouse had
slipped
off her shoulders to drape down around her upper arms and back. Grace
licked
her lips. Jesus, if this looked even half as wonderful as if felt,
Skinner must
be ready to shatter the window pane. She let the blouse drop away.
Has it
been that long? God I AM getting
hot here--
She used
one hand to unzip her floor
length skirt, letting it fall to the carpet while she licked the
fingers of her
other hand. Kicking free of the skirt, Grace slid one hand down onto
the
waistband of her panties, fondling herself gently. The other hand
reached back
for the table to support herself. To reach for the pull chain and end
this
little tease. Make that score: Grace one, Skinner zero.
And I
hope you wet yourself good, you
damn--
Grace
looked up for her moment of
triumph, and felt the cold chill of the unexpected wash over her body
as she
saw Skinner. Not outside in the sleet, not on the other side of the
glass, but
reflected in it--
--behind
her.
She
turned to fight, wasn't quite quick
enough. He shot one arm out, and caught her free wrist, tugging it up
in the
air, pulling her practically to her tip toes. Skinner's hand was as
strong and
cold as marble. Grace tried to bat at him with the other hand; he
snagged it
and joined it to the other, holding both of her arms up over her head
with one
of his. Grace struggled, wiggling and tugging against his grip. He
waited,
dripping sleet from his trenchcoat on the living room rug.
“Next
time you want to play peepshow,
better remember to lock your front door."
Grace
hissed out a stream of blistering
invective, and tried to kick him. Unimpressed and annoyed, Skinner
tugged her
higher, until her toes didn't quite touch the ground. Tears welled in
her eyes.
Without
lowering her, he pulled the
curtains shut. Skinner spun her around, yanked off his tie, and quickly
bound
Grace's wrists securely behind her back with it. He didn't speak.
“Oh
sure, go ahead, rape me--you've
already screwed me over twice tonight, you basta--" she taunted before
having a slightly soggy handkerchief shoved in her mouth. Skinner then
dropped
her unceremoniously on the sofa, and headed for the kitchen. Grace
tried to
spit the fabric out of her mouth, but couldn't. She lay there for a few
panicked moments in the circle of light that the table lamp cast,
wondering
what the hell he was doing. Or going to do.
Dimly she
could hear him making a phone
call. She shifted her body, rocking it against the sofa cushions trying
to roll
to the floor. Tingling in her arms--they were falling asleep.
Footsteps. He was
coming back, phone at his ear.
“Kimberly.
Personal memo, budget. Have
a check cut for all repair service to Special Agent Pachelli's car. Get
an
estimate Monday morning."
He set
the phone down, and took off his
coat, draping it over a chair. Grace watched him go about his slow,
deliberate
movements. He crossed to the sofa, looked down at her with a frown. One
big
hand lightly touched the tiny butterfly bandage high on her forehead in
the
hairline. Grace jerked away from his fingers.
“Four
stitches, mild concussion. Watch
for signs of blurred vision, uneven pupils or dizziness," he rumbled.
Oh, he'd
talked to the doctor. Grace
couldn't speak, so she arched an eyebrow at him as sarcastically as she
could.
Part of her wanted to laugh--here she was, trussed up with his tie,
naked
except for panties and thigh-high stockings, and he was concerned about
her
head! She raised one leg and pushed her foot lightly against his chest.
He batted
it away, and scooped her up
over his shoulder, carrying her down the hallway to--the bathroom.
Grace made
protesting noises through the handkerchief as he set her on the closed
lid of
the toilet seat.
“Mwhmmhwwhwhwh!"
came her muffled
growl. He ignored her and began to strip. She suddenly realized he was
doing--he was going to take a shower. Fresh rage filled her as she sat
there,
watching the shirt come off, the belt, the slacks--a shower! By the
time he was
nude, she'd nearly choked on the handkerchief in her fury. Skinner
grabbed her
by the chin and tilted it up, just hard enough to pull her attention
back up to
his face.
“Listen
to me, Grace because I'm only
going to say this once--I fucked up tonight. I fucked up and as a
result of
that you got hurt."
She
slowly nodded, some of her anger
ebbing out at the sound of his words, his admission. His hand on her
chin
softened into a light touch.
“I'm
going to get cleaned up and we're
going to bed. No sex, sleep." His tone picked up the slight air of
menace
that made Grace smile reflexively. His hand moved caressingly from her
chin to
the cloth in her mouth, and he pulled it out slowly, like a magician
performing
a trick. Grace coughed.
“That's
a good start, now how about the
hands?"
No."
Skinner reached in behind the
curtain and turned on the water. He took off his glasses and set them
on the
counter. He stepped into the shower, and became a vague outline through
the
curtain, leaving Grace to shout,
“No!
And why the hell not? My arms are
falling asleep!"
He
ignored her, and she tried to stand.
What was the point? The bathroom door was shut and she couldn't open
it--
Turning she looked in the mirror.
A wild
thing looked back at her. Grace
realized her hair was tangled all around her face and shoulders, that
her eyes
still threw angry sparks. A pale face with dark smudges under the eyes.
Shuddering, she sank back on the toilet seat.
Hell, she
wouldn't have wanted to untie
something looking like that either.
Skinner
reached out a wet hand and caught
her by the upper arm. He pulled her carefully into the shower with him,
and she
sighed as the stinging hot water cascaded over her skin. He carefully
peeled
away the soaked panties and stockings, trying to be clinical, but Grace
knew
better--it was a small shower, and Skinner was an awfully big man. His
hands
lingered on her thighs, water ruining the silk tie around her wrists.
She tried
to push against him, but having her hands tied kept her slightly off
balance.
He turned away.
Skinner
shifted behind her and squirted
shampoo in her hair. He thoughtfully massaged it in, and Grace groaned
in
sudden appreciation as the heat, the water and the touch all began to
work a
relaxing magic. His hands were so big that they covered her entire
skull. He
pushed her forward under the showerhead for a rinse.
“Aaaahh--"
she gasped. Skinner
reached around her to turn off the water, but she spun to face him,
pressed to
him, kissed him--
He
grabbed her to keep her from
falling, and as the water streamed over them they hungrily slammed
their mouths
together again and again, tongues clashing in a wet tango of a kiss.
Desperately Grace wanted to hold him, and she struggled against the
knots at
her wrists. Rubbing her breasts against his furry chest, she groaned
again, this
time in frustration. Skinner pulled away, holding her at arm's length,
his jaw
muscles working. His expression bordered on rage and desire.
“No!"
“No
here, or no no!?" Grace was
beyond logical thought. Her wet hair clung all the way down her back.
Skinner
didn't answer. He slammed a hand on the faucet, forcing it off. Angrily
he tore
open the curtain and climbed out of the shower, reaching for a towel.
Not quite
quickly enough to hide his erection.
“What?
I thought when you pulled me in
here you--" Grace felt her chin start to tremble. It wasn't fair. It
just
wasn't fair to want a man so much. Skinner wrapped the towel low around
his
hips and leaned his hands on the counter, back to her, but she could
see his
equally frustrated expression in the foggy mirror.
“I’m
not going to end up hauling you
back to the hospital with another damn concussion."
“Then
get me out of this slippery wet
shower and into bed where I won't fall," she growled back as she stood
there, dripping and shivering. Brusquely he tugged her out and cocooned
her in
a towel, running another around her hair, drying it off. Grace let him
lightly
man-handle her over the next few minutes as the fatigue of the night
finally
started to settle in. She yawned hugely. Skinner snorted.
“Come
on--" He picked up her up
over his shoulder. The height made her a little dizzy.
“I
want my hands untied."
“No."
“I
hate you."
“I
know." he replied absently.
With little trouble, he carried her over his shoulder to the bedroom,
and
slipped her under the covers. Grace yawned again.
Skinner
finshed toweling off himself,
and climbed in the other side. She scooted over, pressing against him.
“Alright.
I'm not mad anymore. I
promise not to kill you. It's time to cut my hands loose now."
“I
don't think so." He'd taken his
glasses off and dropped them on the nightstand. Grace tried to raise
her head
to look at him. His eyes were closed, revealing the long lashes no one
ever
noticed.
“Why
not? Do you really think I'm going
to sleep with my hands behind my back?"
“Yes."
“Jesus,
you sadist!" He grabbed
her head, and pulled her mouth up to his for a long kiss, effectively
silencing
her. Grace found herself draped on his warm chest. He pressed his mouth
on the
top of her head and spoke softly.
“No
sex. Sleep."
“But
I want--"
“No."
The tone was harsher, even
though his touch was still light. He sighed deeply, his hands stroking
her
shoulders and back, petting her like a cat, without conscious thought,
without
serious intent. Grace pressed her cheek on the furry rise and fall of
his chest
without further protest. Against her will, she found herself slowly
drifting
off . . .
She
snuffled. Shifting a little, she
sneezed as something tickled her nose.
Grace
opened her eyes and took stock of
her situation. Another cold and rainy morning outside--she could hear
thunder
in the distance. Judging by the light, it had to be about ten or so,
Saturday
morning. Her head ached a little, and something was weird about her
arms--
Grace
remembered: bound up with a tie,
and feeling extremely horny. She turned her head slowly to see Skinner
still
deeply asleep on his back, one arm flung over his head, the other
draped on her
shoulders. Looking entirely edible.
She
started to shift, slowly, working
her way down the length of his body. It was hard to do without hands,
even
harder to try and lift the covers with her teeth. Finally, she slid her
face
across that flat muscled stomach, the hair brushing her nose and cheek.
Her
lips lightly touched it.
Skinner's
cock quivered at the heat of
her breath. Grace snaked her tongue out, touching it ever so softly.
She
couldn't see it under the darkness of the sheets and coverlet, but
moved
instinctively towards it. She circled the head with her tongue. Skinner
groaned. His cock, already hard, pulsed and grew larger, straining
towards her;
Grace felt it bounce against her mouth. She gently took it into her
lips and
lightly sucked.
The
reaction was more than gratifying
to her ego; within seconds his hips began to flex, even in his sleep.
Grace
lifted her head higher, and worked her mouth in even strokes on him.
Skinner
groaned again. She would slow her pace, then speed up again, teasing
him in his
sleep.
She
wasn't prepared for the large warm
hand that slid over her ass; she jumped. A low laugh rumbled out, and
Grace
tried to wiggle back up the covers.
He tugged
her up and across him;
eagerly she straddled his hips as he guided himself in. A mutual groan
erupted
from both of them as his cock filled her. Grace sat up, tossing her
curly hair
back, still struggling to free her hands. Skinner watched her, and
brought his
own up to cup her full breasts, marveling at the sight of her bound and
for the
moment, completely his.
Grace
whimpered, but not from
pain. When their gazes met he understood, and dropped his hands to her
hips.
Slowly, lazily, he began to lift her up and down on his cock. Grace
rolled
forward, kissing his face, his ears, his mouth and chin as they pumped
together.
Grace
pushed harder, more desperately,
bouncing on him to satisfy herself. Skinner shook his head, but he was
already
biting his own lips as the pace began to increase. His hands cupped her
ass,
gripping it tightly, slamming her down on his cock. She ground against
him and
shuddered in delight, low cries muffled against the hollow of his
throat as she
came. Seconds later he did too, arching up, lifting her with him. They
collapsed in a sweaty exhausted tangle.
As they
took a moment to catch their
breaths, Grace felt his hands tugging apart the knots on the tie. Her
hands
came loose, flopping on either side of her. dead weight, useless. The
tie lay
draped across the small of her back, where Skinner's hands were toying
now.
“How's
your head?"
She burst
into a huge laugh that he
joined in. Raising her head from the hollow of his throat, she gave him
a
deceptively soft look. His hands came up to the sides of her face. “No
sleep. Sex." she growled.
“No
sleep. Sex."
He nodded
slowly in agreement, not
noticing Grace's fingers gripping the tie.
Not
seeing the fierce light of revenge
in her gaze.
END