The Glass Onion Text too small or too big? You can change it! Ctrl+ (bigger), Ctrl- (smaller)
or click on View in your browser and look for font or text size settings.

Home/Quicksearch  +   Random  +   Upload  +   Search  +   Contact  +   GO List

La Petite Mort

by Kelly Keil

TITLE: La Petite Mort -- Undertow Interlude AUTHOR: Kelly Keil
WEBSITE: ARCHIVE: Anywhere, just keep my info attached. FEEDBACK: Sure, what the hell.
TIMELINE: Somewhere between Requiem and Dead/Alive RATING: R
CLASSIFICATION: K/Sc, pwp, Krycek pov
DISCLAIMER: The X-files characters portrayed in this story belong to Fox, 1013, and Chris Carter. SUMMARY: Krycek, Scully, sex
ACKNOWLEGEMENTS: This one is for Spica, lock, stock, and barrel. Also, thank you for beta. You always come through for me.
NOTE: This smutty little drabble takes place in the ever expanding Undertow universe, but mostly, you just need to know that Scully and Krycek are knockin' the boots. Let's be voyeuristic, shall we, and see what they're up to...

I am between your thighs, sheathed deep inside you, so tight, so hot, so sweet. My body moves because it has to, and yours writhes beneath mine just as mindlessly. Your hair drapes on my pillow like rusty seaweed and the smell of the sea is in the air, along with the smell of sex. Of us. Of what we are doing.

And it is so good. So good. So good that how could it ever be wrong? Logic and sense would tell me that this is about as wrong as wrong can be, but I'm in no mood to listen tonight. I'm not thinking clearly, how could I with all the blood in my body gone right to my dick and you there under me, a double-dog dare in your eyes. Give me everything I want and maybe you won't get hurt, those eyes say.

You are deadly, my love.

Even so, I can't help but notice how fucking beautiful you are as you quiver and slither and shiver under my body. You are primal, the first woman, every woman, the only woman.

(my woman)

There is only you, only me, and we are we, not you and I, right now.

We are one and the same, complete and eternal. We are a snake swallowing its own tail. We are every bit of new age bullshit that I can't even bring to mind because this joining goes beyond any metaphor or cliche. It is more certain than the sun rising in the east or taxes or death.

(ma petite mort)

I can feel forever in this pleasure. Tonight will stretch on, endless, pliant like taffy left sitting in the warm summer sun. Our bodies will join and part and plunge and rise to this singular rhythm forever and ever and ever.


But to hell with forever. I need this right now, need more, always more, please more. Oh god, more now more. Sliding in, pulling out, falling into you, but faster, faster, and pulling you with me.

Come with me. Now. Come. With me, only me. Always mine.


You sing arias at me, beautiful obscene siren song. Then my name, in two falling notes, then you sigh. Like a cat.

(i love your claws)

And smile (like a cat) for me.

Just for me.

And that is what throws me over the cliff, drags me under the waves, pulls me down (down, down) as I surrender to pleasure beyond any deserving.

Oh yes. Yes, I love you. How could I not - torn by your cat's claws, snared by your siren call, and captured by your rusalka arms. I drown, I die, I am no more.


I am yours, my love, my little death.

Comments to

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Kelly Keil

Home/QuickSearch  +   Random  +   Upload  +   Search  +   Contact  +   GO List