Heat 3/4TITLE: Heat (3/4)
AUTHOR: Abra Elliott
CLASSIFICATION: MSR, Scully-POV, Mulder-POV
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: none
FEEDBACK: received with humble gratitude at
xilerui@hotmail.com. This is my first smut-fic, so please be
gentle!
DISCLAIMER: not mine, still poor.
DESCRIPTION: struggles with truths realized...
NOTES: Continued thanks to all the people who have been
encouraging me in this story, and to Scott for kindly putting
submissions back online! Big kisses there! I've been
struggling with where to take them next, but this rings true
somehow. I love all the recommendations; thanks and keep
them coming if this satisfies! They're especially welcome
right now, as I pull into the thick of final paper season
(professors are always so stingy with good comments,
particularly on bad papers).
***
HIDEY-HO MOTOR LODGE
SOMEWHERE IN IDAHO
TWENTY MINUTES LATER
I've been waiting for a good twenty minutes now and no word
from 'Apollo'. I don't know what to think about this...he's
been asking for my number for weeks, only to ignore me now
that he's gotten it? I don't know whether to feel rejected,
embarrassed, scared, or what. He didn't even acknowledge my
post; it just rolled on by, lost in a cacophony of chatroom
loneliness and frustration.
As I sit staring into my scrolling laptop screen, I hear a
door slam shut. Standing up, I walk over to the window and
peek through the heavy curtains. Mulder is standing in front
of the door to his room, wearing sweats and *that* gray t-
shirt. He stretches halfheartedly, all the while keeping his
eyes on the dark, starry sky. I find myself staring as he
works different muscle groups, noticing the way his arms and
back flex; I should remind myself to keep my observations
clinical and detached, but his bending and twisting combine
with my thwarted-but-not-disappeared arousal in a potent
aphrodisiac. My lips swell...I *tingle* as my mind wanders,
and, for just a moment, I see myself tangled in his heated
grasp, drowning in his urgent caresses.
*Get a grip, Dana*
My face flushes and I look away, chastising myself. When I
look up again, he is staring at me through the sliver of
space between the curtains. Our eyes meet briefly, and what
I find in his takes my breath away. I quickly step back,
letting the curtain fall into place.
I *know*.
***
I chose the path of least resistance. I never acknowledged
her message, letting her instead think what she would. I
could practically feel her quickening as she sat silently in
the next room, waiting for my reply, and it was all I could
do to keep from breaking down the flimsy plywood barrier that
separated us.
I had to get away, if only for a little while. I went to the
small, antiquated bathroom ("sanitized for my comfort"),
splashed cold water on my face and stared at my reflection.
I barely recognized the man looking back at me; his eyes were
aching and hungry, haunted by the too-physical phantasy of a
woman he longed for with heart and soul. I pitied this guy,
but I didn't know how to help him. Nothing in my repertoire
had ever prepared me for this.
I quickly changed clothes and stepped into the cool night air.
I stood for a long moment outside our rooms, willing her to
see me. And, as I looked up at the vast expanse of sky, its
sheer size seeming to promise limitless possibilities, I
finally allowed myself the luxury of realization.
Throughout our years together, I had witnessed myriad facets
of the enigmatic Dr. Scully. I had seen her worn with fear
and worry, afraid and alone, playful and merry. Occasionally
she gave me the gift of her sunshine, gracing my ears with
soft giggles and my eyes with endearingly silly smiles. So
many Scullys, but I had only ever dreamed about the woman she
became in our anonymous electronic paradise. The woman with
an almost insatiable appetite for her imaginary partner...
It seemed so obvious, and yet I could barely acknowledge the
implications of my discovery. All those times, when my mind
saw only Scully panting animal lust and longing beneath me,
who did she see? A faceless blond stud, all muscles and tan
and rugged good looks? Did she see the GQ model I had made
myself out to be? Or, instead...was the man who held her in
his arms, who pleasured her with his mouth, his fingers, his
cock...was this man her *real* partner?
Did she see *me*?
I knew better than to give in to this feeling, the ersatz
hope that surged through my mind as I considered the
possibility. It wasn't the first time I'd felt it; every
time a confession crossed my lips, couched in its self-
protective armor, I hoped that maybe *this* time she would
hear me. That her unguarded glance might, just once, meet
mine in a moment of understanding. Of course, it never did.
As I stared into the silent night, I felt uncontrollable
emotions warring for ascendancy: hope, despair, longing,
restraint. I turned to her window, half expecting to find
her standing there, bathed in beautiful backlight, waiting
for me to come to her.
What I found there instead startled me. A thin slice of
light shone between barely-parted curtains. Between them
peeked Scully, and, for a brief instant, our eyes locked.
Always guarded, Scully's eyes revealed little; yet, there was
a glimmer of heated hunger that I'd never seen there before.
She was looking at me, *seeing* me, and my lips parted in
stunned wonder. I stared, and in the next moment she gone,
hidden from view by the thick veil of cheap motel curtains.
I turned and ran, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. I
had to get away from there, from *her*. I ran, faster and
faster, into the dark night, my demons nipping at my heels.
***
Scientists seldom invent. Our lives are charted by our
discoveries...we spend countless years searching for secrets
that elude us, but which have inhabited the earth for
millennia. We uncover what has always been there, and in our
discoveries our lives somehow become enriched. We find lost
pieces of ourselves, like parts of a puzzle we may never
solve, but which still make us more complete than when we
began.
Sometimes the truth is more elusive than it need be. It may
have been staring us in the face for eons, only to be
revealed in a moment of happy coincidence. At times like
this, it's hard to maintain a veneer of scientific
professionalism; one suspects the hand of God.
Perhaps, in this sense, my discovery can be called scientific.
Looking for that long moment into Mulder's dark eyes, I am
transported to another time, to very different circumstances.
The night I sat with Peggy as she lay dying was one of the
darkest of my life. I held her hand, trying to offer some
solace, even as I seemed to be the sole witness to my own
eventual demise. She never understood why her life was
ending, how it might have been prevented, but that seemed to
me to be the bliss of ignorance. I could only imagine my own
last months, lying in an anonymous hospital bed in full
knowledge of the futility of my death. Despair claimed me
then, and I sat next to her silently shedding hot tears for
us both.
Lost in my thoughts, I had to rouse myself when Mulder burst
into the room. I turned to him, but I could barely see him
through the haze of my fear and frustration. Something in
his strange eyes caught my attention, but only for the
briefest of moments. I telegraphed anxiety, worry, and
sorrow in mine, and he nodded, withdrawing in respectful
silence.
I hadn't thought about that night in years, but looking into
Mulder's eyes tonight, I realize that I have witnessed that
same strange glance again. In it I find hope...and fear.
Worry and expectation. Happiness and despair.
Love and fruitless longing.
Or perhaps it's only myself reflected in the bottomless
depths of his piercing gaze, because, in his eyes, I have
discovered my love for Mulder. Not love invented in the
space of a shared glance; this is love that had been with me
for as long as I can remember. It has long masqueraded as
lust, but that cannot alter its true nature. It is me, as
much as anything else I am, and in this realization comes a
fuller sense of being.
*You made me a whole person*
He told me that once, but, as always, I got distracted. Only
now do I feel the truth of his words. A piece of the puzzle
that is my life falls seamlessly, without ceremony, into
place, and I can only wonder that I never saw it before.
Patterned predictability guides me through the next hour or
so. As I listen for Mulder's footsteps outside our rooms, I
prepare myself for bed, all the while knowing that I will not
sleep tonight. I step into the cascading water of a hot
shower; I turn my face to the steamy jets, and behind closed
eyes I see Mulder. His face turns to mine in comfort, his
eyes search mine for signs of trust, of faith in his quest.
His voice soothes me, irritates me, prods and pokes me into
action, and I find love lurking there.
Opening my eyes, I sigh. I take the small bar of motel soap
and coax a frothy lather into existence. The silky suds
slide over my skin, suggesting Mulder's hands. My eyes close
again as I moan, so softly, imagining his fingers sliding
over my hard nipples...tweaking them gently before he slips
them into his hungry mouth. My hands slide lower...and in my
mind his tongue is claiming parts of me that have always been
his.
Bracing myself with one hand on the cold tile of the shower
wall, I part my legs and slip my fingers between them. They
are Mulder, his tongue, his hand, his impatient cock, begging
to let him make me his own. I oblige; my moans grow louder
as his phantom body makes sweet love to me. My pleasure
mounts...his arms hold me and my hands caress his hair...my
fingers brush across his chest...our bruised lips meet and
our tongues slide together as his hard cock fills me. I cry
out, and the echo of my passion startles me. I try to
silence my voice, biting gently into my arm, but delirious
sensations overwhelm me and I give myself up to them...
One long shower later, I emerge from the shabby bathroom in a
cloud of steam, only to hear muffled movement coming from the
next room. Climbing into bed, my silky pajamas clinging to
my damp, fevered skin, I turn out the light and listen to
elusive love.
But the darkness beckons unwelcome worries. Tonight I belong
to Mulder, but what about tomorrow? What if I misunderstand
the message in his eyes...what if this is a sick fantasy
destined to tear us apart? I don't know how I can go back;
I've forgotten how to play the part of passionless Dana
Scully. Discoveries, no matter how dangerous, cannot be
unmade.
As I lie in bed, listening to the soft sound of Mulder's feet
traversing the worn carpet, I can't help but wonder what the
morning will bring.
***
I returned to the motel no worse for wear. Running always
calms my nerves, and I even managed to make it through my
door with only a cursory glance at Scully's window. I
decided to jump in the shower; I hoped a quick once-over
might help wash away any lingering confusion, allowing me to
look Scully in the eye come tomorrow morning.
All was almost well with the world until I got into the
bathroom. The sound of running water should have tipped me
off, but it wasn't until I closed the bathroom door that I
realized what it was and where it was coming from. I think I
blushed; I don't know for sure because, suddenly, I couldn't
look at my reflection in the mirror, unable to bear the
tortured expression I knew I would find there.
The walls of old motels must be made of cardboard, because,
as I stood naked in the small bathroom, my feet glued to the
small floor tiles, I heard a sound that was at once the
answer to my most fervent prayers and a siren song calling me
to my doom. I heard *Scully*...moaning in an ecstasy of
pleasure. Her soft sighs sent proverbial shivers down my
spine. My skin puckered in electric goosebumps...my nipples
grew hard, and my cock twitched in response to her growing
cries.
You might think that, after years of traveling together, this
wouldn't have been the first time that such sounds reached my
eager ears. But, then, you don't know Scully. I always
assumed that she took care of her...biological needs...the
same way as the rest of us celibates; but I also knew that
she was far too discreet to ever be vocal about it.
Occasionally, when our beds backed to the same wall, I
thought I heard hers bumping gently against it. The
increasing tempo was the stuff of my lullabies, but, in the
morning, I could never be sure of what I heard, and I always
wound up convincing myself that it had been my imagination.
But this...these wanton cries were no hallucination. I stood
riveted as her sighs grew deeper, more urgent. My body
rocked gently as I listened, and I reached out to balance
myself, gripping the towel bar with one hand as the other
wrapped itself around my aching cock. Closing my eyes, I
stroked my throbbing flesh in time to her panting voice, all
the while imagining her legs wrapped around my waist, my cock
pumping deep within her wet, downy folds.
Her voice reached a fevered pitch. I bit my lower lip,
groaning softly as she gasped, crying out in a long, low moan,
and my hips jerked as I felt my own release...
Eventually I opened my eyes, a soft, shaky sigh escaping my
lips. Only then did I look into the mirror; staring back at
me was a man whose passion could no longer be denied.
Studying the dark eyes of this man for awhile, I came to a
decision that might spell the end of everything I valued in
my life.
Scully had given me her phone number. It was time I called.
~to be continued~
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