dig

Nico asked for some Lance/Krycek, and I, as usual, went crazy.

Brittle
by Hetre Z

Bass has his arm up and it looks about right. He's waving, Timberlake next to him and the other one, Chasez, in the background. He looks like he's about to hit something, his arm out like that and the look in his eyes, like he'd love to, Krycek doesn't know why nobody else can see it. Like Skinner on the balcony, like Mulder all the time. Krycek turns the volume up, and watches the screen.

He looks so fucking easy like that, in front of the cameras, and maybe he'd taste like peanut brittle or cherry coke, something ridiculous and sharp, or like boot leather. He imagines the insides of Bass's wrists, how smooth they'd be against his face, and turns the volume up farther.

On the screen, Bass is talking about the music, we do it for the music, we do it for the fans. His eyes are shuttered, voice flat, he's such a fucking liar and it's so perfect Krycek can't stop smiling. This one, he thinks, could maybe learn something. He puts his glove on.