Consequences by BasBleu

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Consequences by BasBleu

"That went better than I thought." Special Agent Angela Cross said as she closed the outer door to the Assistant Director's office. "I'm beginning to think the A.D. doesn't know how to smile."

"I've seen him do it under the right circumstances." Special Agent Cait McHale answered, aware that she might be the only person in the block-sized Hoover Building who knew exactly what those circumstances were.

"Let me know when those circumstances arise; I'm sure it'll be nothing short of a miracle." Cross intoned. "Was it just me or did he seem to get edgier as the meeting went on, like something was getting him hot under the collar."

Cait smothered a laugh in fit of coughing. Only she knew what had made her lover shift uncomfortably in his seat several times during the last fifteen minutes of the meeting, loosening his tie every few seconds.

Primarily, it had been her foot, or more specifically, her toes as they maneuvered around and up his ankle.

Just another federal agent playing footsy with her boss's boss under the conference table during one of the Violent Crimes Task Force progress meetings. Skinner had complained about how boring they were last night while they were in bed. Her attempt to liven it up a little had obviously worked.

"Are you okay?" Angela Cross, her partner, asked, thumping her on the back.

Cait nodded. "Yes, just a hair ball."

Cross laughed. "Been licking yourself again?"

Cait grinned, "How else can a single girl have some fun?" then frowned. "Damn."

"What?"

Cait gave her the most crestfallen expression she could manage. "I left my pen in there."

Cross looked back at the door to Skinner's office and whistled low. "Once more unto the fray…"

"Gee, thanks, Angie." Cait shrugged. "If it wasn't my Mont Blanc…"

Angie nodded. "See what you get for being so friggin' materialistic." She complained good-naturedly then smiled. I'll see you after lunch, then."

Cait nodded and waved good-bye before turning on her heel and opening the gold-lettered door of the A.D.'s office.

Kim sat at her desk, reapplying her lipstick and smiled shyly at Cait when she walked in.

"Lunch date, Kim?" Cait asked.

Kim hastily put away her compact and lipstick, blushing prettily. "Second date."

"That's wonderful." Cait gushed enthusiastically, knowing that it was the first man Kim had shown an interest in since her rather messy divorce last year. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks, Cait." Kim fluffed her hair in place. "Wish me luck?"

"The best." Cait said and watched her leave, genuinely happy for her. She turned and walked up to Skinner's door, knocked once, and entered.

Skinner stood with his back to her, facing the conference table which she and her partner, fellow agents and unit chief had recently vacated. His hands were on his hips and he was staring at the white board at the front of the room, covered in colours, delineating the recent cases of the Violent Crimes Task Force and their solve ratio. He turned as she walked in.

"Hi." She smiled, closing the door behind her. "I think I left my pen in here."

He picked it up from the table and held it up. "I was hoping you'd come back for it."

"You were?" She sidled up to him, tried to take it out of his hand, and was surprised when he pulled it back. She tried to read his expression but was unsuccessful�he was so good at hiding what he was thinking and it drove her nuts sometimes.

"Yes, Agent McHale."

Her eyebrows rose at the formality of the address. Something was wrong. She remembered a conversation they'd had weeks ago about Skinner's fear that his office was bugged. Yes, that explained it.

He continued. "I think we need to discuss your behavior during this morning's meeting." He carefully laid the pen down on the table.

Cait's eyes widened in surprise. Shit, she'd gone too far. Skinner had apparently not appreciated her antics as much as she thought he would have.

"Sir, I apologize if my actions were distracting." She started but he interrupted her.

"'Distracting' is not the term I would use."

She was silent, swallowing nervously. "Agent McHale, there's a lesson you need to learn and that is that there are consequences for every action. They may not make themselves known immediately, but they do turn up eventually."

"Yes, Sir.' She said, meekly, feeling the colour rise in her face. As much as he was her friend and lover, he was also her boss, and she realized that he was acting in that capacity now. She had crossed a line and it had made him uncomfortable.

"Did Kim leave for lunch?" He asked.

She nodded. "She was just leaving as I came back in."

"Good." He said, then added, "Since I seem to be without an assistant, would you clear the conference table?" She looked behind him at the table littered with the remnants of their breakfast meeting: plates, coffee cups and soiled napkins.

"You've got to be kidding." She muttered, feeling a little anger flare at him at the menial task he'd just asked her to perform. No, not asked, ordered.

"I don't think so." He said, looking her directly in the eye. She gave him her best eat-shit-and-die look then stepped around him to the conference table and began cleaning up.

He watched her as she worked, watched as she bit her lip to keep from retorting in a manner unbecoming to a lower ranked agent, watched as she bent over and start to stack everything in the center of the table.

He struggled to hide the smile on his face.

She'd started it, with the flirtatious game she had played under the table. He 'd been surprised to feel her toes stroking up his ankle the meeting but had not let it show. Her face had remained expressionless too as she listened with rapt attention to her SAC monotonously explaining away some discrepancies in the Task Force's budget, all the while teasing him with her bare foot, grazing his skin with her toenails, painted crimson by his own hand the night before�on a dare.

No, distracting was not the word for it.

Arousing, however, was.

Maybe he'd started it, he thought, realizing that the need he felt for her had begun much earlier than the meeting. It had started before sunrise, when she'd slid from the circle of his arms and tiptoed to the bathroom. It had taken root when he'd heard the shower running and thought of the water sluicing over her body, beading on the smooth skin he had stroked the night before, running through the thick, dark hair that tickled his nose as he spooned around her during the night. Exhaustion stopped him from getting out of bed at that moment, from walking into that same shower and pushing her back and up against the tiles, from watching her eyes widen in surprise then glaze over with desire as he lifted her onto him and buried himself in her softness, fucking her slowly, deeply, as she clung to him, mewling in pleasure.

She'd emerged from the bathroom minutes later and he'd watched her graceful, quiet movements as she pulled a garment bag from his closet with her change of clothes. Through half-closed eyes, feeling like a voyeur but enjoying himself too much to care, he'd watched her morning ritual�dressing slowly, covering the body-hugging silk and lace teddy with a black skirt and light blue blouse, sitting on a chair and sliding first one flesh coloured silk stocking then the other up her long legs and attaching them to a flimsy garter belt. Slipping into black pumps before tiptoeing back into the bathroom to dry and style her hair.

He'd never known a woman who enjoyed wearing such wicked lingerie�or nothing-- under otherwise unassuming clothes as much as Cait.

It was the lingerie that stayed in his memory hours later�after Cait's soft kiss goodbye as he lay "sleeping"�as Cait stood in front of the conference table he headed, standing at the white board and going over details of the last case she and her partner had closed. He knew he should have been concentrating on the presentation that justified the existence of the Task Force, but he also knew he wouldn't hear anything that he hadn't heard before, or that would change his mind about recommending that the Task Force receive further funding. The team was good, efficient, and got results. They were, to put it simply, the best group of specialists that ever could have been assembled.

No, all he could think about was his lover's silk covered body under the austere clothes, about trying to figure out some way, any way, to get everyone but her out of his office, and then…and then, what?

God only knew who was listening.

God and the Cancerman.

As much as he knew he was beginning to sound like Mulder, the suspicion that his office was bugged always haunted him. Not the unofficial bugs--the ones that they swept for every morning in the interest of national security--but the official ones, the ones placed in the interest of national secrecy.

Maybe he was fooling himself into thinking they didn't know about him and Cait yet, that their private lives remained sacred, but he could always hope. Nothing had been said yet to make him think they knew, or cared.

More reason to be discreet at work.

Discretion seemed to be a concept his cock was unfamiliar with as it paid rapt attention to Cait before as she teased him beneath the table, and now, as she bent over that same table, her skirt riding up just enough to give him a tantalizing view of her thigh, the material stretched snugly over the curves of her hips.

Want blossomed.

He walked up behind her, placed his arms on either side of her on the table, pressed himself into her. She jerked in surprise, her head whipped around, her lips forming a startled "oh" as she felt the rigid length of him against her ass. Realization dawned and the stormy anger he'd seen brewing in her eyes dissipated. He bent his head, brushed his lips against her neck, nipped gently before sliding his lips up to her ear. His teeth closed around her earlobe and he nibbled tenderly. His warm breath fanned her ear and she shuddered in delight. Desire clutched at her, tightened her insides, and her skin flushed at the instant heat that rose within her.

His hand brushed against her stomach, rose up the front of her blouse, fingering the buttons loose until the neckline gaped open, grazing against the thin silk that covered her breast, fingers teasing her nipple to life as his lips feasted on the back of her neck, his nose nuzzling her hair aside.

Palms flat against the table, she supported herself as his body curved around hers, his knee urged her thighs apart. She spread her legs, leaned further forward on her hands, thrusting her hips back into his, gyrating slowly against him.

A low growl formed in the back of his throat and he leaned over her, sliding his mouth from her neck back to her ear.

"I want to fuck you."

The crude honesty of the whispered words were arousing.

One set of fingers pulled aside the lace covering her breast, closed on her nipple, plucked delicately.

."I've wanted to do it since you walked in here this morning."

Another set of fingers drifted downward, grabbed the hem of her skirt and lifted it, pulling it up to her waist.

"I want you to feel me deep inside you."

She spread her legs wider.

"I want to feel you around me, hot, tight, wet."

His hand left her skirt, moved to the front, to cup her mons, as his lips traveled across the back of her neck. His long fingers slid in the small opening at the crotch of her teddy, already wet with her juices.

"Do you want me?"

His finger found her clit, already swollen, already pulsing with need. His short fingernail lightly traced across it and she shivered, biting her lip to keep from moaning.

"Do you want me?"

The husky murmur infiltrated her fog of sensual ebullience.

She nodded, not trusting herself to not cry out if she opened her mouth.

His finger rubbed her clit, alternating pressure and speed, but always moving in tight , little circles that sent tension spiraling to a point in the back of her tailbone.

His hand left her breast and went to his belt, unbuckling it quickly, undoing the button, then the zipper. His cock unfolded out, hard and long, wet with pre-cum. Taking himself in hand, he moved between her thighs. .

Quick fingers unsnapped the buttons at her crotch and he drew the moist head of his cock across her puffy, flushed lips. She quivered in response, arched her back, lifting her ass into the air.

He leaned over her, his chest flush against her back.

"Do it." She demanded softly , her own voice husky with need.

One hand went around her, held against her stomach, bracing her.

The head of his cock slipped in, stopped, slipped out again. She made a little sound of protest and he smiled against her neck.

"Is something wrong, Agent McHale?" He asked aloud.

"No, Sir." She answered, also in a normal tone of voice. "I'm just not used to torture."

This time he muffled a laugh in her neck. Unable to delay the inevitable, he took his shaft in hand and guided it into her, this time biting back a groan as he sank into her humid core.

Her mouth opened in pleasure as she felt him stretch her, but made no sound.

He waited, letting her shift, adjust, find a comfortable angle. His finger returned to her clit and settled.

She nodded, a silent sign to him to continue.

He started thrusting his hips, slowly at first, deep, leisurely strokes.

His finger teased her clit as he moved inside of her, quickening as the pace of his thrusts increased, in and out. His breath started coming in harsh gasps which fanned her neck as his head hung over her shoulder, and she turned her head, finding his mouth with hers, fucking his mouth with her tongue as he fucked her cunt.

Her hand reached out, seeking purchase in the table and instead swept out, sending all the remains of the morning meeting to the floor.

He came first and she quickly followed, the hot jet of his cum setting off a chain reaction in her, throbbing together so they didn't know whose climax was whose, his cry of triumph swallowed by hers. For a moment they leaned suspended against the table then collapsed on it, breath coming in short, hard bursts, sweat beading in pores.

Still.

He slipped out of her and slid to the floor, taking her with him. She fell into his arms, body shuddering and he held her close.

"You shit." She murmured. "You really had me going there for a minute."

"I could tell." He whispered back. "I get the feeling that if I hadn't moved so quickly, you would have castrated me with one of those plastic knives."

"You were this close." She said, holding her fingers half an inch apart. "Jesus Christ Almighty, could you be a little more subtle?"

He chuckled, looked around them at the mess on the floor. "At least the table got cleared."

She laughed into his chest, tears pouring down her face then looked up at the pictures of the president and the attorney general. "Think Bill and Janet enjoyed the show?"

He held her to him, joining in her quiet laughter, not caring if they were caught.