Title: "No Notice"
Author: L.A.Maxwell
Fandom: X-Files
Pairing: Krycek/Mulder
Rating: PG-13
Series/Sequel: (1/3)
***
'So, Mulder ... what are you doing this weekend?'
'I have ... plans. I'm going to ... uh ... visit a college
friend. In ... New York.'
'All weekend?'
'Oh, I -hope- so.'
***
If people who wore leather pants typically didn't want to be
noticed, you'd think the man at the train station didn't want to
be noticed. If you asked him, he'd probably shoot you. Except
he wouldn't want to attract attention, so he'd probably just
smirk and tell you that they matched his outfit. And they did -
black leather boots, black leather pants, black leather gloves,
dark sunglasses, black leather jacket open over white tee-shirt.
And if he took off his sunglasses you'd see deep green eyes full
of desire, and you'd run, because it was desire for death as
much as for sex. And then he'd keep waiting, and he wouldn't be
noticed.
***
A man stepped off the 12:30 from Washington. He'd gotten off
that train almost every weekend for years, but he looked like a
tourist with his Knicks jersey and big backpack. He had floppy
brown hair and big brown eyes and a bigger nose and a bigger
grin then ever when he saw the man in the black leather pants
who didn't want to be noticed.
***
'Hey.' The man in the black leather pants took off his sun-
glasses, and his eyes were softer and a little happier and a
litte sexier, and he looked less likely to pull out a gun and
more likely to pull out a boquet of roses.
'Hey.'
'So you're,' he guestured to the backpack, 'staying?'
'For the weekend. If it's okay.'
'Of course,' he said, and leaned in and they kissed like it had
been two lifetimes since they'd seen each other, not two weeks,
an it was fine because you could do that in New York and nobody
noticed.
Author: L.A.Maxwell
Fandom: X-Files
Pairing: Krycek/Mulder
Rating: PG-13
Series/Sequel: (1/3)
***
'So, Mulder ... what are you doing this weekend?'
'I have ... plans. I'm going to ... uh ... visit a college
friend. In ... New York.'
'All weekend?'
'Oh, I -hope- so.'
***
If people who wore leather pants typically didn't want to be
noticed, you'd think the man at the train station didn't want to
be noticed. If you asked him, he'd probably shoot you. Except
he wouldn't want to attract attention, so he'd probably just
smirk and tell you that they matched his outfit. And they did -
black leather boots, black leather pants, black leather gloves,
dark sunglasses, black leather jacket open over white tee-shirt.
And if he took off his sunglasses you'd see deep green eyes full
of desire, and you'd run, because it was desire for death as
much as for sex. And then he'd keep waiting, and he wouldn't be
noticed.
***
A man stepped off the 12:30 from Washington. He'd gotten off
that train almost every weekend for years, but he looked like a
tourist with his Knicks jersey and big backpack. He had floppy
brown hair and big brown eyes and a bigger nose and a bigger
grin then ever when he saw the man in the black leather pants
who didn't want to be noticed.
***
'Hey.' The man in the black leather pants took off his sun-
glasses, and his eyes were softer and a little happier and a
litte sexier, and he looked less likely to pull out a gun and
more likely to pull out a boquet of roses.
'Hey.'
'So you're,' he guestured to the backpack, 'staying?'
'For the weekend. If it's okay.'
'Of course,' he said, and leaned in and they kissed like it had
been two lifetimes since they'd seen each other, not two weeks,
an it was fine because you could do that in New York and nobody
noticed.
