Waiting In Motion (2/10) by mountainphile MSR, NC-17 mountainphile@yahoo.com Header and Disclaimer info in Part 1 ******************** At dusk, the wind relents and the rain becomes a misty, pattering curtain of purple darkness. It seems to Scully that the forces of nature are sympathetic. The waxing and waning of the elements outside her window are a barometer, keeping pace with the passion and drama unfolding in the little rented room she shares with Mulder. The journey is intoxicating and magical in the sense that this man, unlike others from her past, is already her partner and best friend. Up until now she's known him in every way except the sexually intimate. To finally allow his entrance into her body, to explore and be explored, is overwhelming. Exquisite sensations erupt as he fills and stretches her narrow depths, testing the limits of what her physiology -- and her emotions -- can accept. He's marked her with his body, leaving tangible physical proof that they are undeniably lovers. By early evening the weather has grown gentle and contemplative. They untangle from one another, clammy and uncertain of the next step, when she suggests they attempt the narrow shower. She rummages through her suitcase for a tiny bar of sweeter-smelling soap than the bathroom can provide. Earlier assumptions are correct; the stall is too narrow to accommodate them both without Mulder's elbows knocking against the painted metallic sides. Afterward, when they stand dripping in front of the small sink, she wants to dry him herself. Cool air puckers her nipples as she slides the towel over him -- chest and arms, the lean lines of his back, his hips, the hard muscles of his thighs. Accepting another slow, open-mouthed kiss, she blots the tender flesh that droops between his legs until she feels it stir to life. She fingers with reverent care the fuzzy weight of his balls, firm from the cool air, yet pliant within the curve of her hands. When his cock begins to swell and nod its encouragement, Mulder suppresses a groan. He reaches between their bodies to cover and still her caresses. "Now you," he says, his voice low and husky, taking the towel from her grasp. He's thorough and methodical, working without pause from top to bottom. The rough massage of the towel lulls her. Closing her eyes, she's unaware that he's slowly dropped to his knees before her, that he has an agenda that takes precedence over drying her hips and legs and what's hidden in between... Startled by his touch, she looks down to see him leaning forward to breathe deeply of her essence and kiss the reddish triangle of pubic hair. "Mulder... what -- " she begins, groping for an appropriate objection, but the brush of his nose dispels any need for it. She stifles a moan when the warm length of his tongue begins to fondle her, nudging and curling within her soft, clean folds. His strong hands act as a brace to grip the backs of her thighs, parting them. "You wanted action," he pants, working his way deeper, and taken aback, she colors at the memory of her words. Her eyes close again as she embraces his rhythm. Forehead pushing against her belly, the long, rough strokes of his tongue roll over her clitoris and slide inward, driving her towards another tingling, frenzied explosion. It erupts quickly. Scully gasps, leaning back against the chipped white porcelain of the sink as her hips jerk in uncontrollable spasms against his face. Not a noisy woman when it comes to orgasm, she hears herself cry aloud at the onslaught of his mouth devouring her. It's aching and hot and wantonly sweet. She becomes aware that the fingers of one hand are tangled in his hair, the other gripping the edge of the sink to keep herself from toppling, her spread legs turning to rubber even as they squeeze his head between them -- when the door rattles suddenly on its hinges from a series of staccato knocks. For the first millisecond, they freeze. Then Mulder, cursing under his breath, regains his footing in one quick movement. Snapping up the towel and motioning Scully back, he crosses the room. His weapon is within reach, but he ignores it where it rests next to hers on the nightstand. In post-orgasmic haze, she peers from behind the bathroom door, fascinated by his instinctive reaction to the interruption of their lovemaking. He drapes himself, holding the loose ends of the towel together with one hand, and then pulls the door open with the other. The manager's little son stands in the gush of light from their doorway. His small, brown face is expressionless and he scratches a nubby head, looking back up at Mulder with eyes that are large and inscrutable. "This better be good, Skeeter... " Mulder growls at the child. The whites of the boy's eyes widen and he chews his lip. "Mama says for y'all to come eat now." Darting like a flushed rabbit, he bolts back toward the office building, the thud of his bare feet echoing on the wet clay. The night swallows him, and the distant glow of the office windows shimmer behind branches that sway and rustle in the breeze. "Mulder!" The stunned surprise in her voice is arresting. He pushes the door shut, clutching the ends of the towel in a fist, holding together what appears to be the last shreds of his pride and tattered desire. "What?" He bristles, defensive. Shadowed in the low light, his expression remains guarded. She steps from the bathroom, sighing against the doorframe. Nightfall has cooled the room and she covers her breasts, wrapping arms around her body like the marble limbs of a statue. She glances down at herself, noting how white, how pale and exposed her skin appears against the dark paint of the door. Heading off shyness and further argument she looks around for a covering. The intrusion of the outside world into their lovemaking is to be a new and inevitable reality. There will be phone calls and knocks on the door, beepers and emergencies, risk and danger. How she and Mulder and love and sex and the X- Files will find a roomy enough raft in the perpetual motion of their lives is a big question. Suddenly everything about this place seems precarious, as if their new intimacy is mere forbidden fantasy and will disappear, like Cinderella's carriage, if they take it from these mountain woods. After standing in silence he wheels away from the door and looks over at Scully, who's pulled his shirt over the narrow planes of her shoulders to warm herself. She calibrates his fading simmer, knows his aggravation is now with himself for reacting in such haste. He moves closer and she allows herself to be drawn into his arms. The towel falls, puddling over their feet. "Admit it... the kid's got shitty timing." His skin is cool and clammy against her breasts. She feels the chill of his thighs, his drooping penis loose and cold against her stomach. "Yes, he does. I'm not disagreeing with you there. But that's not his fault, Mulder." "I suppose I could've handled that better." "To say the least," she concurs. "He's just a good little boy, doing as he was told." With a grudging smile, she reaches up to brush her fingers through the short locks of hair that stick up, wet and childish, over his forehead. So many times in the past she's wanted to do this very thing, making no excuses or false pretense as apology. "Think I can make it up to him?" "You were a boy once, Mulder. You tell me." He sighs and bends to hide his face against her hair for a moment. The gentleness, the sheer intimacy of the gesture touches her heart and forces her to blink. "If I can talk you out of my shirt, I guess it's time to dress for dinner," he murmurs. His lips, still fragrant with her scent, browse over her eyelids, then the smooth curve of her nose. "The appetizer, though, was... primo." ******************** Food is carried from the kitchen and placed before them on a card table just outside the check-in office. The manager, perspiring from her efforts and already finished with her own meal, beckons them to sit and relax while she attends to serving. Vegetable beef stew, in plastic bowls, and a few large slices of sourdough bread with butter crowd the table, as well as tall glasses of sweetened tea. An old lamp, its shade tattered, sits on a ledge. It lends a warm amber cast to the room, in stark contrast to the deep blackness outside the window. Scully takes small meditative bites of the food. It's delicious and hot, but she's not as hungry as she thought she'd be. Mulder, on the other hand, rips his bread in two, dipping into the bowl, then scooping with the large tablespoon. She watches him eat, the sight somehow comforting to her, and she takes a few more tastes of her own bowl before looking over at the manager. "This is very kind of you and quite unexpected," she says, her voice edged with emotion. The woman shrugs. "No markets close by an' no McDonald's down *this* road," she explains. "I was supposin' y'all would be hungry... " She smiles down at Mulder's near-empty bowl and moving hand and Scully notices a shadow pass over the woman's face, clouding her clear eyes. Almost as if she remembers something both poignant and bittersweet from the past. "It *has* been a long day," agrees Scully. "An' sure dressed up for a weekend drive. Y'all belong to some big company? Come out here on business?" "We work for the FBI," says Mulder, attentive to his meal and taking another slice of bread. "Ain't nothin' goin' on around here needin' the FBI." The manager frowns, squinting at Mulder. "What're you lookin' for?" He hesitates just long enough for Scully to grow apprehensive and pick up the required response. "Nothing now," she offers, thinking to herself that the question is one she herself would like answered. "We're finished and on our way back to Washington." "Taking the scenic route," supplies Mulder smoothly. He brushes her hand with his when he reaches for the butter, and she hitches her breath, nearly choking on the food she's just put into her mouth. "May I borrow your phone book?" he asks, and the manager jerks her head toward the office. He nods his thanks and disappears. During his short absence Scully feels the familiar twinge of suspicion about his motivation, wondering whether he has another agenda -- and she becomes aware of the woman's solid form at her shoulder. Pursing her full lips and throwing a mild glare in Mulder's direction, she leans over Scully and whispers. "You all right, honey?" "Yes... why do you ask?" Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a small dark head bob at the doorway. "Skeeter says he heard a lady cry, maybe hurt. Just doin' my duty and checkin' it out." She's aware of a warm blush creeping over her cheeks and shakes her head firmly before replying. "No, really... it's nothing like that at all. Everything's fine." "Well... that's good. You need anythin' at all, you let me know." She straightens, her rich, earthy chuckle gathering volume as she gives Scully a furtive wink. "I get it. Oh, that's *real* good... " There's a flash of lightning, followed by the deafening crack of thunder overhead, the pattering of new rain as Mulder re-enters the room. He seeks out Scully and she nods, getting to her feet and reaching out a thankful hand to the manager. "We appreciate this so much. Please, add it to our bill." "Naw, it's on the house. This is the off-season. We like the company, don't we, Skeeter?" "Sure hit the spot," agrees Mulder, following Scully's lead and offering a smile and a warm handshake. "But the storm's back and we'd better call it a night. Unless..." He pauses and avoids his partner's questioning look. "Unless you've got any interesting stories you could tell us. Any local tales that might help to pass the time?" "What're you talkin' about? Tales...?" Mulder shrugs, the gesture ambivalent, non-committal, though Scully knows better. She recognizes his ingratiating smile, the sparkle of interest in his eye, right down to the way he grips the back of the chair, angling his tall body forward with undisguised anticipation. "You know, campfire stories. Urban legends. Every area has its own unique history. Unexplained happenings... strange lights in the sky... " Suppressing a hum of disapproval, Scully moves closer and places a warning hand on his arm. It's warm and sinewy, and she feels the muscle tense against her palm, as if resenting the intervention. She surprises herself with this sudden desire to protect the child, but the small pair of bright eyes at the doorway near the kitchen pricks her conscience. He's such a winsome, curious little boy. Children are like sponges, taking in so much, the good with the bad. "Mulder, this can wait, you know. I doubt she wants... Skeeter... to hear something like this before his bedtime. And in the middle of a thunderstorm," she reminds him in a whisper. He looks from her hand on his arm toward the shadowed curves of her face. She can sense the internal battle as he appraises her motivation, weighing his own craving for information against her apparent common sense. Their eyes lock, the fragile stalemate holding for an instant before it breaks at the manager's next words. "You mean like Bigfoot or somethin'? Mulder's head snaps back towards the woman and he nods. "Exactly." "I heard tell of a monster somewhere down in Braxton County." "Country cousin to the Jersey Devil, no doubt," Scully mutters to herself, just loud enough for Mulder's ears. "Have you seen it?" he asks eagerly. "Shit no. Braxton County's over in West Virginia. This is the wrong road and the wrong state for that." Her hands are deft as she gathers bowls and silverware toward the food-smudged apron she wears, scooping up the dishes into a pile with possessive hands. Her full, dark lips press together in a smug seal, effectively ending the conversation. Pondering the finesse, Mulder watches her back recede as she strong-arms the load of dishes into the kitchen and shakes his head in admiration. "By the way, Scully," he adds, keeping his voice low, "I *know* where Braxton County is." "No need to impress *me*," she hisses. "An explanation, though, would be most appreciated... " "Don't I at least get an 'A' for effort?" He reaches out to give her hand a quick squeeze, but she draws it away too quickly from underneath his fingers and turns toward the door. "We have to get going -- all hell is breaking loose out there. We have no umbrella. And if you haven't noticed, our room isn't just a hop and skip away." In the face of gusting wind and rain, the crash of thunder, he gains his feet, still mired in thought. They don coats and Scully calls out another thank-you to the manager. At the threshold, however, Mulder stops to look back. "Just a second," he says to Scully, and she watches him cross over to where the little dark head still bobs in the kitchen doorway. He goes to a crouch before the child. She's surprised as she listens to her partner's voice, low- pitched and calming in the small room. She observes his hand touch the boy's chin, sees the shy pucker and grin it elicits. Swallowing, her breath catches when Mulder raises his hand in a high-five, and the little boy flashes pearly teeth, smacking his brown pint-sized hand up against her partner's large gentle one. ******************** END (2/10) Waiting In Motion by mountainphile