TITLE: To Die For (1 of 1) AUTHOR: Myriss EMAIL ADDRESS: My email has changed. It's now myriss@mail.com DISTRIBUTION: Ephemeral: OK I will forward to Gossamer myself. Okay for others to archive or to link, but kept my header and email attached, and please drop me a line. http://www.envy.nu/myriss/index.html RATINGS WARNING: PG-13 probably. *No smut* (I leave that for the great Smut-Meisters!) CLASSIFICATION: 3POV KEYWORDS: Too many keywords will spoil the plot (or what there is of a plot). SPOILERS: Nothing really. SUMMARY: You never know who you pick up at a bar. THE DISCLAIMER: Any character you recognized from the t.v. series belongs to 1013 and Fox (except for Scully and Mulder who belong to each other). I am just borrowing them. *AUTHOR NOTES - It's a weird one. More notes at the end. Minor Revisions. ****** To Die For (1 of 1) by Myriss (myriss@mail.com) To Die For Red satin panties. Tropical Passion splashed between the thighs. Fish net stocks. Short red dress. Fuck me pumps. Red cupid lips. I was to die for. And so many have... I couldn't help myself. It was the time of the year. The one year itch, I like to say. The itch that refused to go away. And it was so easy...so easy.... Just because you talk a little breathlessly with a little girls lisp and wear tight clothing...Men think you don't have a brain in your pretty, pretty blond head. Jiggle a little bit, then men begin to think with their *little heads* instead of their big ones. They follow you home like a lamb to slaughter. It always give me the giggles to think that. Lamb to slaughter. I loved that phase! ...One little lamb, two little lamb, three little lamb, four little lamb--sitting in the row. kiss the girl and get their throats slit... ...four little lambs....soon-to-be five.... Oh yes, I hummed happily. I was to die for. ***** I walked into the bar and saw him. He was sitting at the bar, nursing a beer. Lamb number five. Dark hair with tiny flecks of gray. Lean build. Good-looking. He was perfect. I sat down beside him. "So what's your name?" I asked him in my little girl voice. Daddy loved my little girl voice The man looked at me. Hazel eyes. Just like Daddy. I looked down at his hand. There was a white space on his left ring finger. Either he just got divorced or just took off his ring to play the field. I bet it was the latter. Not that a wedding ring stopped me before. All better. Slimeball. He looked at me, his eyes slowly going up and down my body. I suppressed a shiver. Then he tilted back his beer and drank deeply before setting it down, and said lazily, "You can call me Marty'." "Marty huh?" I said. He smirked. "Yeah, Marty." "So what's your story?" "My story?" He seemed amused. "I don't have a story." "Where's your wedding ring?" "Wedding ring?" He raised his brows. "Does it really matter?" I smiled slowly. "No." He bought me a drink and leaned back, showing the smooth line of his contour. Very nice. Very nice. Such pity he was such a sleazeball--cheating on his wife. "So what do you do?" "I write," he replied. "Articles. For magazines. Teach occasionally." I lifted a perfect plucked brow and twisted around to show my cleavage to the best advantage. He didn't try to hide his interest. I slipped my foot out of my fuck me pumps and slid it slowly up and down his pants leg. He swallowed hard. I smiled at him. "Wanna ditch this place?" He looked at me for a moment, then said, "Sure." ••••• He was a good kisser. I grant you that. Lamb number one slobbered so much. It was like kissing a St. Bernard. Lamb number three had tried to stick his tongue down my throat. It was all I could do not to gag. Marty was not bad--not bad at all. I pulled back and said, "Take off your clothes, Marty." "There's no rush," he said easily. "We got all night." I was upset, but tried to hide it. Usually they couldn't wait. Number four had taken his clothes as soon as he came in. It didn't take much to coax him into the bathtub. That's where I do it. It was so much cleaner. And it didn't leave bloodstains on the floor...which is a bitch to clean out. Take it from a voice of experience. It took me hours to get those stains out of my last apartment's carpet. "C'mon, Marty," I pleaded in a sweet, sweet voice. I leaned back so he could have a better view. "Do you like what you see, Marty?" I asked breathlessly. Then I reached up and began to unbutton his shirt. I was halfway finished when he reached down and gripped my hands in his. I frowned, annoyed. Was he going to be a problem? "Where's the bathroom?" he asked. I smiled happily. It wasn't going exactly the way I wanted it to, but at least, he would be in the bathroom. That's all it matters, in the long run. "Down the hall...to the right." ***** They never expect it. The knife, I mean. Such a surprise. ...I sliced it in the air...but somehow, he had known. He had jumped out of the way. Oh yes. Marty dear was going to be a problem after all. I sliced him again. This time I got him. Blood welled up on his shoulder. I love the sight of blood. It made me wet. It was better than an orgasm. Too bad. Because I kind of liked old Marty here. He reminded me of dear old Dad. I guess there lies the problem. The only good dad is a dead one. "See you later, Marty," I said, smiling as I brought back my knife to finish him off.. ***** The door burst open. People came pouring in, yelling, "Freeze! Federal agents!" One of them grabbed me and pulled the knife out of my hand. He pulled my hands behind my back. I heard a click and felt the coldness of the metal handcuffs pressing against my wrist. Some guy was helping Marty to stand up his feet. The cut looked pretty deep. Marty looked sort of green. I saw a flash of red out of the corner of my eye. A tiny red-haired woman--a very pregnant redheaded woman with a medical kit--came to a stop in front of him and began fussing over his cut. He gaped up at her, then turned his head, and shot a dirty look at the man that had helped him up. "I thought I told you to keep her away from this, Doggett. She shouldn't be here! She's eight months pregnant!" The other man snorted. "Like I can tell your wife what she can or cannot do, Mulder. Especially if she thought you were in danger. If I had to choose between arguing with you or arguing with her, you win every time, Mulder." Marty huffed out a breath. Then turned to the woman. "Scully--" That definitely was not the same voice that Marty had used with me. "--I didn't want you to see me kissing her..." "I know you're just doing your job, Mulder," she said soothingly. "You shouldn't be here. The baby. The doctor said...You could have gotten hurt..." The woman said calmly, "I waited until the suspect was in custody and the scene was secure before I came in..." "Scully--" just a soft murmur. He touched her hair--her stomach. I tried to warn her. To tell her that she shouldn't trust men--especially fathers. But I don't think she was listening... ...my mother never did. Fini AUTHOR'S NOTE* - For those who thought they were going to get Mulder/Other--sorry. I wanted to try a different type of POV. I am not trying to make light of abuse...especially child abuse. It's horrendous. So don't flamed me. I know this is sort of weird. Constructive criticism always welcome. Myriss myriss@mail.com The X-Cafe: Fanfic and Recommendations by Myriss http://www.envy.nu/myriss/index.html