From: "Adrian Van Boeyen" Date: Sat, 29 Jan 2000 13:10:44 -0700 Subject: Break In Series Part I By GenieVB - Knock Over 1/2 Source: direct Break-In Series Part I: Knock Over 1/2 *** Knock Over Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the television program "The X Files" are creation and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. Title: Knock Over Author: GenieVB Rating: Adult! Summary: An intruder gets to see more than what's in Mulder's closets. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- Don't ask me what made me target this apartment, all I wanted was the guy's T.V. and VCR. Jesus, he didn't _have_ anything else. Electronically. Okay, I'm a thief. It sucks. I had a shitty childhood but I'm getting myself out of the gutter by going to day school and working nights, haha, and if you wonder why I'm not out on the streets selling my flat ass and "B" titties, well, this is D.C.! B & E's are one hell of a lot safer, got it? The place had been empty at this time every friggin' damn night all week and so I figure it would be easy. Pick the lock, get in, get the goodies and get out. Not a building that had cameras or security guards. I checked last week on my way home from class. I asked an old woman who was making her way up the front steps if she knew of any vacancies and what kind of place was it? She was very obliging and I gleaned that it was a place just barely this side of a hole. One more cracked pane of glass and it would qualify as scummy. I also noticed other things on my way home night after night, like which windows were dark, who came and went. That sort of thing. He, the fellow who's apartment I'd marked for knocking-over, had left at his usual time, and I knew by previous observations from across the street that he'd be gone at least an hour. So plenty of time. No problem. I hadn't counted on him coming back early. And I, by the chuckling grin of Satan himself, I just _had_ to have gone and picked the one prick in the whole semi-scummy building who's a cop. F.B.I. no less. Big mistake. I can just see my daddy gesturing at me with his beer can about this one. I can just smell his bad breath and him saying it: "Why don't you make something of yourself?! You're gonna end up just like your momma. Loser! Can't tell your behind from a bag of melons." Good old dad and his leg-long record. I hated him. I don't intend to do this sort of work forever. I'm getting my Business Operations degree and I'm going to make it. Escape the dubious legacy the folks had left me: child of low-life's. But in the meantime, daddy's words are ringing true and I've fucked this up good. It's uncomfortable as hell squatting behind this overstuffed chair the way I am but I have no damn choice. I was seconds from being done here. Seconds away from another deposit toward my tuition and I hear the key in the lock and shit-shit-shit! So I dashed back into the bedroom to hide and here I am still. No, I don't have a gun. I hate them. This guy doesn't, though, and I see him pull one out from the back of his jogging pants and toss it on the chair just inches from my nose and right next to his I.D. (and wallet which I'd previously overlooked, half hidden under and ragged T-shirt) and I take another good peek at the I.D. I'm swallowing my tongue again because here I am knocking over the apartment of a federal agent. I'm here, _inside_ his place and he's here too and how the hell am I supposed to get out of this one? F.B.I. hasn't turned on the light but there's just enough from the moon outside to give me a pretty good look at him. He looked kinda stiff in his I.D. photo. Young too. I figured with his apartment always empty ( It had been, I swear to God, every goddamn night; _Empty_. I'd watched and made sure. I may be a petty thief but I'm not a stupid one most of the time), that meant the occupant didn't spend much time at home. I knew he'd been out jogging! (And who the hell jogs at one in the blinking morning in D.C.?!) This guy does but for some reason he came back early, and he's dripping sweat, so he must have gone ten miles or more. I spent at least half an hour in the place and fifteen minutes watching it before that prior to picking the lock. Forty five minutes. Had he stayed true to his habits, I would have been long gone before he returned. But he'd cut short his midnight run. Sweating F.B.I. man sat on the bed and blew air for a minute or two, untying his shoes. Guess he ran to keep in shape. Pulling his sleeveless sweater up over his face, he used it to wipe off the sweat before he quickly stripped it off and tossed it in the general direction of the closet. I was hoping he wouldn't notice anything out of place. I'm pretty careful about putting things back in their more or less proper spot. Why be a slob? I had watched the sweater sail across the room and land and when I looked back... Well... Yeah. He _was_ in shape. Nice shape. Some pretty goddamn sweet n' fine shape. His face was older than the photo in the leather I.D. I was holding. But older's good. Nice eyes. Nice, long jaw, nice hair, nice cheek bones, nice stubble. Nice sweat. Nice long nose. All in all, a fucking tasty treat for the eyes, bonafide baby-doll, winner of the blue ribbon, goddamn son-of-a-bitching knock over. Knock out. Over. Out. Whatever, fact is he's seriously fuckable. And that long nose, too. What do they say about a big nose on a guy? I still had the I.D. in my hand and took a look at the name. Gotta be a nickname. Got. Ta'. Fox, huh? Wonder how many bitches in heat sniff him out every day of his life? (continued in 2/2) I haven't done a hell of a lot of sniffing as my nose's been out of joint since the last guy I dumped. He was good looking but he _thought_ he was, you know what I mean. I mean, the first chance he got, he ditched me for a bigger set of boobs. Back to F.B.I. man, Fox. Very good looking. Real nice, not just the right haircut jelled on top of his head, trimmed 'stache and shiny new caps to improve the mediocre stuff nature had doled out like the look some guys attempt, no. This guy had been handed it all and he wore it like he didn't know that. Or like he didn't care. Either way, he was easy on the eyes. You just couldn't help but stare. Me, the little cheap, vocational college thief actually checked to see if he was wearing a ring. Right. Like we'd meet in a mall and have tea some day. But it doesn't hurt to dream a little, does it? No ring and no tan line betraying the recent removal of one. But that didn't mean he didn't have a girlfriend or something. Could even be a boyfriend. Jesus, I'm feeling jealous! Envious. A little sorry for myself too. I know nothing about this guy but, I mean, I'm not sure how I know this, but he seems real nice. A good catch. However, all I have to go by is what I see and now that he's standing up, I'm about to see plenty. 'Cause those long fingered hands are moving to the strings at his waist and I actually find myself shifting to get a better view. Thumb and index finger curl and pinch together, and I see the fabric tug and stretch as he pulls the double bow loose. The strings fall free and his thumbs insert into the waist elastic. I'm suddenly shivering and breathing a little faster. This delicious flesh is about to be bared just for me, a hidden pair of dilated eyes, and he has no idea he even has an audience. Somehow, that made him so much sexier. Nothing like a vulnerable man, sleeping in the nude beneath a sheet and his woman watching his every breath and twitch. Nothing more enchanting to a woman - nothing more erotic - than watching a total stranger unknowingly stripping naked for her and he with no thought that he has anything but total privacy. The room and him, and me too, we became some kind of exotic still-life. Time stopped right then. I quit breathing when he slid those sweats down over his hipbones, the skin between thigh and stomach folding in tiny wrinkles, not from fattiness or because he saw too much of his couch, but because the skin across his back had to give and stretch and the skin on either side of his groin had to fold and tuck as he bent over. I could almost feel it under my fingers. Taut and smooth and slipping around just a little over the underlying musculature. Tight and hard, but also folding when necessary; when he had to remove his clothing. Sweet. He sat, making the bed and himself bounce a bit. (Why did I find that so goddamn erotic?) Nothing moved in that bedroom, though, except him and all I cared about for the next few minutes was watching his next move. Wanting his clothes to fall to the floor. Anticipating what his hands would do next, which piece would be take off, underwear or socks? Socks. One by one, quickly, efficiently, he peeled them off and tossed them over to join the sweater. Then he slipped his feet out of the sweats and now all that remained were some well-worn grey boxers. I bit my lip when I saw those because I could see the bulges under their threadbare fabric. And when he slid those off... Ohhhhhhhh, god............ Not huge, not little. Just right. Long, clean, packed with potential. Complemented by a prime set of testicle's, plump and pink and ready to burst and all of it nestled in between the most wonderful set of leanly muscled thighs I've laid eyes on in a while. And surrounded by just that right amount of masculine hair. Dark, luscious curls you just want to bury your face in. Fuck, was he beautiful. Jesus-God. The room was filled with that male, sweaty smell that makes some women come involuntarily. I didn't but I did have the sudden desire to touch myself. Because he'd just come in from a run he was un aroused but still, it was enough to make me just a little wet. Visions of him and me and the bed (and me undressing for him) all started swirling around in my head. Suddenly there he was, stripped to his kissable skin. He had it, you know, "IT", whatever that is that takes a guy to a Ten. Makes him almost eatable. Goddammn, fucking, lip-smacking, finger-licking good! But this is one I would have wanted to taste slowly. A woman would understand. I wanted his candy in my panties. That's it and that's all. I wouldn't be getting what my body kept telling me I wanted though and that really sucks. I wonder who did and I was green with envy for whoever she or he was. My little fantasy wasn't going to happen but if it had, IF it had, I would have ravaged that body and, somehow, been gentle too. Something told me this guy was breakable. Not weak, no way. Hardly. Just not someone you would fuck real hard and then walk away from with a "It was great, Baby.". Anyway, who'd be crazy enough to want to bang him only once? He was sexy but that part of him (the heart part) was lathered in innocence. I saw him take a cell phone off his side table and press number "1". But before I'm sure even one ring went through, he hung up, tossing the phone on the bed, thrusting it away from him like it burned his hand to hold it. I had no idea what was upsetting him but he was, even though all he was doing was sitting on the edge of his bed and staring at the floor between his feet. And all I could do was watch him. My eyes would drift over him, head to foot and every now and then, I'd go back to his eyes and see the worry or the hurt or the fear or whatever it was that making those eyes sad and I'd have this irrational urge to make my presence known by jumping up and touching him in every possible way. Mostly I wanted to erase that sadness with a night of lovemaking like either of us have ever known. That dejected face made me feel a bit ashamed of my previous fantasy and thoughts of ravishing that incredible flesh for my own selfish need. He was having heartaches, that was obvious. Heartaches over someone. I guess he got sick of staring at the old carpet and stood, walking to the side of the bed farthest from me. There, he threw back the sheet and climbed in, laying back with a heavy sigh. He hadn't even bothered to shower first but maybe he was too tired. Pretty soon, I could hear his breaths even out and he was asleep. I waited ten more minutes before stirring from my hiding place. First I opened his wallet and found one hundred and twenty dollars and change. With a pang of guilt, I took out a hundred in twenties and left the rest. I wouldn't touch the T.V. or VCR now. I was about to exit the room, creeping about as quietly a the proverbial church mouse, but I just had to turn back. And then I did the craziest thing I did all evening and went to stand by his bed. I figured, if he wakes up and catches me, well, then I'm caught. Suddenly, school and a lousy hundred bucks meant very little. I leaned over and watched his eyes flickering back and forth and his breaths coming in and out very fast, like he was having sex in a dream. Maybe he was. Or maybe he'd taken his worries to sleep with him. Happens to me all the time. So I kissed his forehead and yes it was fucking stupid and yes I was a little heartsick over his gorgeous face that didn't belong to me or that long, nude body that I could see so perfectly, fucking awesomely _male_ and well defined beneath those thin sheets and yes, it felt incredible to smell him so close and taste that skin. But I did it and guess what? He didn't wake up. I took his cell phone and left the bedroom, closing the door behind me. You may think I'm totally nuts but I had to know who it was he had almost called. I pressed "1". After a few rings there came a sleepy voice: "Scully." Funny name but it was a woman. I bit my lip. Should I? I figured, what the hell? "You're one lucky lady." I whispered. "What?" I heard the puzzlement. "You're one lucky lady and maybe you ought to show him what he means to you before it's too late." "Who is this?" I hung up then. I wonder if, in however long she's known him, if she has seen all that I saw in those fifteen minutes crouched behind his chair? And I'm not talking about just his skin. I hoped liked hell she took the advice. Because I just might check back on him in a few weeks or months just to see if he still jogs at one in the morning or sits staring at the floor. And if he is, maybe there's something I can do about it. END of Part I