Somewhere in the last 45 minutes they'd moved the party to the living room. All the strawberry daiquiri was gone, so they were drinking margaritas. What was left of the cake, and two forks, sat on a plate between them.

She giggled, clamping her hand over her mouth before margarita came out her nose. God, he was funny. Or maybe it was just the alcohol. She fell off her cushion, miraculously managing not to spill a drop of her drink.

"'Other suitable vocations are real estate, and the service fields of gardening and caretaking,'" he snorted as he read. "Looks like you better start looking for a new job, Scully. You're wasting your talent at the FBI. 'True to their native element, many Cancers are involved in marine activities.' Do they mean Marine marines, or water?"

"Maybe both. I wanted to join the navy when I graduated from medical school."

"I bet you'd look sexy in a uniform." He set down the book, titled 'Astrology for Dummies', and leered at her.

She rolled her eyes. His innuendoes were getting less subtle the more they drank. And the more they drank, the less she cared. In an attempt to draw him off track she asked, "So, you have a thing for purple, or what?"

He glanced around, as if only just noticing the color of everything. "Purple? Uh, yeah, I guess so."

"That was convincing," she snorted, reaching for another forkful of cake. He was too comfortable in the house to have broken in, but the place just didn't fit with what she knew of him. Her eyes raked over the bookshelves, the new age decor, the pictures of James Dean. Some Like it Hot and How to Marry a Millionaire rested on top of the television. So he had a thing for Marilyn Monroe, but still . . .

"Are you gay?" she blurted without thinking.

Margarita sprayed out his mouth, soaking everything within a foot of his body. "What!?" he choked out, eyes watering.

She pursed her lips, but the alcohol had loosened her tongue too much. "Well, this place is, you know, sorta . . ." She waved her hand limply in the air.

His eyes narrowed dangerously, and she might have been nervous except for the fact that he couldn't stop sputtering. "Since when does liking purple make someone gay?" he finally managed.

Like wearing black made you evil, and wearing white made you good. She blushed a little at her own stereotype, but felt compelled to push. Because if that show in the bathroom had been designed to throw her off balance, she could tell herself that he really didn't want her. And if he didn't want her, it would be so much easier not to want him. "The vibrator?"

"It's not mine."

"Sure. I used that line too. My mother didn't believe me either."

"I'm not gay," he insisted.

She swallowed the rest of her drink and turned to look for the pitcher. "Look, forget I even said anything--"

There was a definite growl coming from her companion. "I'm. Not. Gay."

Talk about protesting too much. She almost wished she'd never brought it up, but it was fun to see him get riled up about something that wasn't a traumatic experience. Scully opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to say was forgotten as he pounced. She struggled immediately, more out of habit than anything else. He wasn't fighting back, he was just pinning her against the throw cushion. Deja vu. With a will of their own, her eyes slid down to his crotch and she saw soft grey cotton instead of a white towel.

"What are you doing?"

"Showing you how not gay I am," he answered with an evil smile, and then his mouth descended. It wasn't a gentle kiss, wasn't tentative, wasn't like any other kiss she'd received before. Lips and teeth clashed, and his tongue was suddenly in her mouth with wide sweeping arcs. He plundered her mouth ruthlessly, sucking, prodding until she couldn't breathe. Why wasn't she pushing him away? Why wasn't she biting his tongue off? It might have had something to do with the wildfire that had suddenly ignited in a blazing trail straight to her pelvis. It might have been his warm weight pressing down on her. She shifted and felt a familiar wetness as her inner thighs slid against each other. God. This was not happening. This was not--

Ohsweetjesusmaryandjoseph. He moved against her and her shorts bunched up in her crotch. She squeezed her eyes shut as the fabric pressed against her clit, sending tingles to her fingertips. The length of his covered erection slid against her leg, and it was almost too much. She couldn't stop the groan that burst against his lips. She got it, she really did. Krycek was not gay. Definitely straight. The straightest man she'd ever known. Straight, and hard, and hot, and oh God he had to get off her before she did something really stupid like--

And then it was over, like he disappeared into thin air. But when her eyes snapped open she saw him sitting back on his own cushion, shoulders heaving, wary but amused eyes trained on her. The first thing she noticed was that droplets of margarita were still clinging to his smooth chest, glinting in the candle light. The second was that she was sprawled out in front of him, jaw hanging open. She shook herself lightly and scooted into a sitting position, adjusting her shorts.

What to do now? What to say? She found herself following the line of a bead of alcohol as it rolled over tight abs. Her eyes strayed lower, to the waist of his sweats, and she saw the bulge that he wasn't even trying to hide. Her eyes flew to his. He was openly smirking at her now, the 'I told you so' clear on his face. She swallowed and looked away. Christ. You'd think she'd never seen a guy with a hard-on before. But she still didn't know what she should do. Not that she didn't have a few ideas . . .

Oh God. She quelled the urge to actually shake her head to get rid of the images. No more alcohol. Margarita bad. And why wasn't he saying anything? Krycek always seemed to have a smartass comment for everything. Casually, she slid her gaze around to watch him. That was her first mistake. Because as soon as she got tangled in his intense stare she found she couldn't look away. He was almost daring her to run, testing to see how far he could push. She knew she wouldn't make it to the door before he tackled her again. Besides, staying right where she was beginning to sound like a really good plan.

Her eyes drifted to his mouth as a pink tongue darted out to moisten his lips. Then he leaned forward, bracing himself on his hands and knees and began crawling toward her. She was transfixed by the play of muscles in his arms and shoulders as he stalked toward her. He looked like a big jungle cat, ready to devour her whole. Another flood of wetness forced her to squeeze her legs together. Her brain was telling her to get the hell out of there, but the rest of her traitorous body was begging for touch, the brush of skin, a rough tongue.

He was just about close enough to touch when a pained expression crossed his face and he buckled to the floor, landing on his side.

"Shit!" he hissed. "Stupid cake."

Scully frowned furiously. "Krycek?" She moved closer and realized that he was rubbing his knee. The remnants of her birthday cake were smeared all over his left side. "What happened?"

He held up the culprit. "Fork jabbed me in the knee." He threw it violently across the room, scowling.

"I'm sure the fork deserved it. But what about the cake?" She felt a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

He glanced between his side and her face. Finally she couldn't hold it in any longer and started to giggle. Frosting covered Krycek. She bet he tasted better than the cake.

He resisted for a few moments and then began to chuckle with her. Once she was able to control her laughter she offered to look at his knee.

"It's fine. I think I must have hit a nerve, because it stung like a bitch, but it's okay now." He looked down sheepishly. "I better go clean this off."

"Wait," she blurted, a little to loud in the silence of the room. He cocked his head in puzzlement and waited for her to continue. She opened her mouth a few times, but no words would come out. Well, if she couldn't say it, maybe she could show it. Before her courage fled, she gently pushed him back and let her tongue take a long, slow swipe through the cake decorating his skin.

If that wasn't enough to send a fine tremor of longing through her, she spotted something among the cushions that made her gut clench. Well, since there were no handcuffs available, it would have to do.