Worth Breaking (4/6)
by Narida Law
(narida_law@hotmail.com)

Headers available in a separate post.

Other parts can be found at:
http://www.angelfire.com/ms/naridalaw

~~~~~~~~
Chapter Ten
~~~~~~~~

Yavapai County Sheriff's Office
Seligman, Arizona
August 24, 1999
8:04 a.m.

Scully followed Mulder into the sheriff's office, which was 
cluttered with paperwork, charts, and assorted 
paraphernalia that indicated recent usage by a number of 
individuals.  At the moment, the only people present, aside 
from she and Mulder, were the sheriff, a few deputies 
milling about, and a couple of officers from the state 
Criminal Investigation Bureau who looked as if they had 
been up all night.

"Morning, Dana.  Agent Mulder," Sheriff Robert Barnes 
greeted cheerfully when he caught sight of them.  Barnes 
had just celebrated his sixty-fifth birthday; he was 
slightly thick in the waist and had more lines in his face 
than one would expect a man of his age to possess, but he 
was tall and carried himself well.  He still had a full 
head of hair, which was more than a lot of men his age 
could claim, even if it was snowy white.

"Morning," she murmured in reply, glancing over at Mulder 
and his stony face.  He had been in a rotten mood for days; 
she knew it was frustrating the hell out of him that they 
weren't further along in this case.

Despite this, he murmured a greeting as well, looking 
around distractedly.  Scully said she was going to get a 
cup of coffee and asked if he wanted one; he answered "no" 
rather absently, still seeming preoccupied.  Without a word 
he left her side and went over to study some of the charts 
on the walls.

"He always like this?"  There was no mistaking of whom the 
older man was speaking.

Grounds for it or no, she was immediately defensive.  
"Mulder gets very focused.  It's why he's so good at what 
he does."

The older man acquiesced to her claim, indicating that he 
had meant nothing negative by his comment.  She knew what 
he was thinking, though.  This was the eighth morning that 
had dawned since their initial arrival, and the case seemed 
no closer to being solved.

She sighed; she felt responsible for Mulder's mental health 
- the whole reason they were here was her doing; Sheriff 
Barnes was an old friend of her father's.  It was he who 
had contacted her and asked for assistance.  A string of 
murders had left the local law enforcement stumped, he had 
explained.  Since she was with the FBI did she know anyone 
who could help, perhaps do some profiling?

Mulder had, of course, been agreeable to doing the favor.  
While she did not particularly enjoy watching Mulder sink 
into the mind of a societal degenerate, there was no 
doubting his skill and aptitude for it.

Then, there was the fact that Robert Barnes had been like a 
father to her in her early years, and of course, there was 
the fact that a serial killer was at large.  Innocent 
people were dying, and if Mulder could stop that - well, 
she would not allow her at-times-overprotective desire for 
his well-being stand in the way.  Skinner had approved the 
assistance, the local field office had been more than happy 
to conserve manpower, and off to Arizona they had gone.

After all, it wasn't an X-File.  He would prepare a quick 
profile, they would catch the killer, and then they'd be 
out of there.  Justice would be served, she would have done 
her duty as her father's daughter, and no one would be the 
worse for wear.

Yet it had been a week and the profile still wasn't ready.  
She knew it wasn't from lack of trying, but it was odd.  
From the start, Mulder hadn't seemed to focus the same way 
he used to.  The concentration was there, as always, but 
the intensity he was capable of when immersing himself in 
cases such as these was simply not there.

That didn't mean he'd faltered, however.  The profile was 
almost complete.  "There's just something missing," he'd 
mutter.  Some piece of the puzzle that hadn't yet fallen 
into place in that brilliant mind of his.

"There was a gray notebook sitting on this desk last night 
when I left.  Where is it?"  Scully looked over at Mulder 
when he spoke.

He looked tired, she realized, feeling the urge to go over 
and take him in her arms.  She felt guilty again for having 
gotten them here.  She would make him sleep tonight, stand 
over him and make sure it happened, if she had to.

When no one answered, he asked again, this time louder.

"Uh - " Deputy Mikladen spoke up.  "I think one of the CIBs 
spilled coffee on it last night."  There was a definite 
note of worry in Mikladen's voice.  "It's sitting right 
there."  He pointed to another desk where the coffee-soaked 
notebook was located.

Scully blanched.  That notebook held a lot of Mulder's 
notes, his thought-processes, details and connections; days 
of work.  He'd forgotten it when they'd left at two in the 
morning last night for their motel.  When he realized that 
he didn't have it in his possession they figured it was 
safe enough to leave it in the office.

There was a pregnant silence.  With a deceptively casual 
stride, Mulder had reached the desk and picked up the 
notebook.  The pages crunched as he flipped through it, 
some of them stuck together.  He tried to separate a couple 
of pages, and the paper tore in his hands.

Scully closed her eyes.  She knew it was only a secondary 
source of information to what Mulder kept in his head, but 
he was already frustrated enough.  She began to walk toward 
him, desiring to prevent what she could already see coming 
- an explosion of epic proportions.

"Mulder..." she began soothingly.

"Don't say it's okay, Scully," he said, his voice a little 
too calm.  It made her nervous.

"It was an accident - " the Sheriff began.  "No real harm 
done..."

Mulder shot him a withering glance.  "I can't =read= my 
fucking notes!"

Scully reached his side.  "Mulder, we'll piece together 
what we've got - "

"What we have is nothing!  I don't believe this."  He was 
clearly disgusted.

She stayed silent.  She knew as well as he that the 
information in the notebook could never be as important as 
the information in his head; she understood why he was 
upset, but there wasn't anything they could do about it 
now.

"Not like it was doing much good, anyway," Mikladen mumbled 
under his breath.

Mulder and Scully both turned sharply to look at the 
deputy.

"What?" Mulder demanded.  "If you have something to say, 
just come out and say it to my face."

"I said it wasn't doing much, anyway," the other man 
answered loudly.  "You're supposed to be the hotshot FBI 
profiler, and the killer's still on the loose!  You haven't 
done a damn thing!"

Mulder stared at the man for a moment, then turned on his 
heel and stalked off.

Shit, shit, shit.  He would blame himself; he always did, 
anyway.  But now with Mikladen verbally placing blame, 
Mulder would wallow in self-reproach.

"It's not Mulder's sole responsibility to catch this guy, 
Deputy," she told him coldly.  "Might I remind you that it 
was =your= team who couldn't get the job done and requested 
help.  You've had a month to do your duty; we've only been 
here a week."

She strode quickly out of the office and into the warm 
Arizona morning, only to see the back of their rented 
Taurus as it sped off.

~~~~~~~~

Historic Route 66 Motel, Room 5
August 24, 1999
10:22 p.m.

All Scully wanted was a shower.  It had been a long, 
exhausting day, to top off a long, exhausting week, and the 
very notion of getting out of her suit provoked thoughts of 
heaven.

She wearily dug through her purse for the key to her room, 
getting frustrated when it remained lost in the depths of 
her small purse.

Every joint ached.  She was covered in dried sweat, several 
times over, and functioning on three hours of sleep.  A 
long hot shower was all she needed, and then she'd collapse 
onto the bed and sleep for at least a thousand years.

And she would not let Mulder deter her from her intended 
goals.  If he wanted to go out and sulk all day, that was 
his business.  She was only slightly teed at him for 
ditching her in the company of people she had just told 
off, but she knew he needed the time to cool down.

She'd even eaten lunch an hour late because she had waited 
for him, but he had never returned to the Sheriff's office.  
She'd spent the rest of the day trekking through the dry 
Arizona heat interviewing victims' families again - and 
they weren't happy about it.  Now all she wanted to do was 
get out of her disgusting clothes and stand under a 
scalding rush of water.

Nothing of import had come from the interviews; nothing 
said that hadn't already been said.  Not that her mind had 
been completely focused on the task at hand - her thoughts 
kept drifting to her wayward partner.

She should probably check on Mulder before she crashed, 
but...she would rather sleep.  Besides, he was bound to be 
in a sulky mood, and she found a sulky Mulder rather sexy.  
She didn't know what that said about her, but she hadn't 
had sex in a week and the most important thing was avoiding 
physical contact with him as much as possible.

Avoid anything that turned her on...which at this point 
pretty much ruled out everything about him.

Having at last located her key, she unlocked the door and 
swung the door open with a loud bang. Finally inside her 
room, she kicked the door closed behind her and stepped out 
of her shoes.  Depositing her purse, her notepad, and the 
files onto the desk, she allowed her tired eyes to drift 
shut for a moment.  She had left the air-conditioning on, 
and the cold crisp air of the room only accentuated how 
dirty and smelly she felt.

She removed her suit jacket gingerly.  Ugh, that feeling 
was the worst.  Well, it was almost as bad as sitting in a 
car upholstered with leather on a hot sticky day, then 
getting up from said seat, clothes soaked with 
perspiration.

What she needed was a massage.  A long hot shower followed 
by a relaxing massage.  Not by Mulder, though, she told 
herself.  Any masseuse would do.  Yeah, keep dreaming.

Her bra followed.  Then her skirt and hose.  Clad in only 
her white cotton bikini underwear, she went into the 
bathroom and started the shower.  She wanted it good and 
hot before she stepped in.

Her eyelids were drooping.  She badly wanted to get under 
the covers and close her eyes.  But she wanted even more 
desperately to be clean, and to slide into those sheets 
warm and scrubbed from her shower.  Okay, so it was going 
to be a short shower.

Stepping back into the bedroom, groggy and eyes half-
closed, she didn't know what hit her until it was too late.

She landed on the bed with a stifled shriek, her hair 
flying about her head and finally feathering onto her face 
in a rather undignified fashion.  She found herself pinned 
under a very heavy, very naked Mulder.

"Mulder?"  She was more puzzled than anything.  After the 
initial surprise, she was more concerned for him than 
herself.  This =was= kind of bizarre of him, wasn't it?  
Her brain might not be functioning on all gears but she 
knew a strange situation when it hit her.  She brushed her 
hair back from her face, brow furrowing.  "What are you - "

He stopped her question by quickly planting his mouth onto 
hers.  It was wet and full of passion - the kiss of a man 
who had been waiting a long, long time.

He was pressing her so hard into the mattress, his mouth so 
vehement on hers that she found it difficult to breathe.  
She whimpered in distress.

Immediately his mouth gentled and he slid his tongue into 
her mouth.  Her eyes closed completely.  He tasted 
heavenly.  Would she ever get used to kissing Mulder?  She 
really, really hoped not.

Lightly, his tongue rubbed against hers.  He teased the 
roof of her mouth, caressed the back of her teeth.  She 
swept her tongue into his mouth, and immediately he 
deepened the kiss, devouring her.  For a time, there was 
nothing but the wet sounds of the two of them kissing.

Of their own volition, her hands wandered up into his hair.  
Dimly, she realized that the strands were wet.  He also 
smelled really good, the combination of soap, shampoo, and 
aftershave.  He smelled clean.

Eventually, the sound of the water she had started in the 
shower penetrated through her lust-fogged brain.  This, 
combined with his clean scent, reminded her of her own 
grimy state.  She tried to push him off of her, embarrassed 
that she should be so disgustingly sweaty when he was 
freshly showered.

He wouldn't budge.

She broke their kiss and turned her face away.  He began to 
kiss her cheek, making his way toward her mouth again.

She shoved against his chest.  The feel of his smooth warm 
skin under her hands made her want to run her hands all 
over him.  But even her hands felt dirty, and she didn't 
want to soil her clean Mulder with them.  "Mulder...uhgn 
...mmm...get off me."

"Don't want to," he answered succinctly into her ear, then 
began to nibble on it.

She couldn't quite stifle her moan.  Her ears were very 
sensitive places, damn it.  And now she was made very aware 
of his erection pressing into her hip.  It was enough to 
send a hot new tide of arousal rushing to her center.

He began to trail kisses down her neck, and she sighed in 
bliss.  Her collarbone received a nip.  Then he was at her 
breast, his tongue circling her aureole first before he 
sucked her nipple into his mouth.

She groaned as it happened, at how good it felt.  A hand 
found its way into his hair again, and clenched hard.  He 
didn't complain, simply began to suckle and lave in 
earnest.

He possessed a talented mouth.  He really did.  He could 
spout the dullest facts in the most monotone of voices but 
in the end, what his mouth was capable of was amazing.

But now she was even more uncomfortable.  Grimy with dried 
sweat and wet with arousal.  If Mulder kept this up, she 
wouldn't care.  But after it was over, he'd realize what he 
had done and would wish he had waited.  At the moment, 
however, she understood that his cock was his operating 
brain, and couldn't see how much more sense it would be for 
her to shower first.

She tried to pull his head away by yanking on his hair, but 
he was attached like a leech - or a particularly hungry 
infant.  "Mulder...I want to take a shower."

He pulled his mouth away from her breast, and a popping 
sound signaled the disengagement.  Their eyes met, and 
Scully shivered.  God, those eyes...she felt a swelling of 
emotion and tamped it down fast.  She looked away.

"Why?"  He sounded truly puzzled.

"Why?  Because I'm sweaty...and dirty...and ohhhh - "  She 
moaned as he ran light fingers over the crotch of her damp 
panties.

He licked the area between her breasts.  "You taste 
mmm...delicious."  His mouth moved to her other breast.  
"No shower yet."

He couldn't be serious.  If she tried to get up right this 
second, he would pout a little, but he'd let her go.  She 
decided that this was a very educated guess, and moved to 
rise.

To her surprise, and if she admitted it, arousal, he pushed 
her back down and held her pinned to the bed by his weight.

His eyes were a bit unfocused, the light in them a little 
wild.  She was excited in spite of herself.  Here was a 
Mulder she didn't know very well.  A Mulder who wouldn't 
take no for an answer, who took what he wanted.

"Mulder?"  Was that her voice, so breathless, so tremulous?  
A strand of hair was caught somewhere, and she tried to 
adjust herself to fix it.

He interpreted it as movement to escape again, and made a 
low sound deep in his throat.  He hooked his fingers into 
the waistband of her panties and dragged them off her legs.

The barely masked urgency of the movement made her gasp.  
She shivered, but not in fear.

Suddenly, something occurred to her.  "We shouldn't be 
doing this," she gasped.  "We're still on duty..."

"Fuck that," he growled.  His fingers worked her, and she 
closed her eyes to enjoy it.

"I need this," he revealed, voice gravelly and taut with 
barely suppressed need.  He leaned down to speak directly 
into her ear again.  "And so do you."  He then slid one 
long finger into her until he was buried to the knuckle.

She involuntarily threw one arm around his neck to clutch 
him close, as if the lack of such an anchor would cause him 
to withdraw completely.  She whimpered her displeasure when 
he began to slide his finger out, then groaned when it 
returned with reinforcements.

His thumb rubbed in circles over her clit, fast but not too 
hard, just the way she liked it.

She knew she ought to be protesting to his actions - and 
hers, but at the moment she couldn't remember why.

"You want me to fuck you, don't you, Scully?" he rasped, 
his need and desperation almost masked by the sheer naked 
lust that was also in evidence.

She half opened her eyes to see his, so dark and 
beautifully haunted, staring at her intently.  His narrowed 
as they took in her swollen pink lips, parted so she could 
take in the little breaths that apparently, was the only 
thing she was capable of at the moment.

"Oh, yeah," he breathed, satisfaction lighting his eyes.  
"You want it bad."  Their eyes still connected, she watched 
as his head dropped back down to her chest.  They looked at 
each other as his hand continued to work her.  In and out.  
In and out.

He sounded like an arrogant asshole but Scully knew better.  
There was a lot of need there, and she basked in it.  She 
enjoyed seeing him out of control.  She liked joining him 
in that state.  And despite the need, despite his caveman-
like boasting, his touch was gentle; it held care and the 
desire to please.

When she still had not said anything, his brow began to 
crease in uncertainty.  His movements inside her began to 
desist, and when he opened his mouth she could see that it 
was to apologize.

However, all thoughts of a shower had flown out of her 
head; the only thing she was aware of was Mulder and the 
way he was making her feel.  The way only he could make her 
feel, and she lifted her hand to cover his mouth.  She 
thrust her hips forward, telling him without words that she 
wanted him to continue.

She lifted her hand, letting her fingers linger on his lips 
as they trailed away.  He still watched her, and she knew 
that he would stop at any sign of resistance from her at 
this point.

"Keep going, Mulder," she whispered.  "I want you..." 

A sound escaped his throat that was half growl, half 
whimper.  "I gotta have you now, Scully," he said, his 
voice unsteady.  That wild look in his eyes was back.

She nodded, and he pulled his fingers out of her.  Rising 
to his knees, he adjusted her so that she lay in the 
position he wanted her to be in, flat on her back with her 
knees up.

He braced one arm by her head and lowered himself closer to 
her.  With his other hand, she saw him grasp his cock.  Her 
vaginal muscles gave an involuntary twitch.  God, she loved 
seeing him do that.

After that, all she could do was feel.  He rubbed the tip 
of his penis against her, running it through her slick 
folds.  Once or twice there was pressure against her 
entrance and she prepared herself for his invasion, but it 
never came.  Instead, he kept wetting the head of his cock 
with her juices, then used his hand to run the moisture 
over the rest of him.

She resisted the urge to point out that he was going about 
it all wrong - if he wanted his cock slick with her wetness 
all he had to do was slide on in.  Still, it was an 
incredibly erotic sight and kept her in a heightened state 
of arousal.

"Scully."

It was a few moments before she realized that he wanted a 
response.  She cracked open eyes she didn't realize had 
closed, to see him looking closely at her face.

"What, Mulder?"  Did her voice sound as reedy to him as it 
did to her?  She would go mad if he didn't use his dick the 
way that God intended, soon.

"I want you to watch," he said in a low voice.  "Think you 
can do that?"

Her brow furrowed.  "Watch?  What do you mean?"

"While I fuck you," he clarified.  "I want you watching the 
whole time."

Any blood that had remained in her brain now rushed to 
color her cheeks.  "I...I don't...know," she stammered.  
The idea excited her unbearably, but at the same time, she 
had never done such a thing before.  "What are you going to 
do?" she wanted to know.

"I'm going to watch you," he said simply.

"You mean..." She faltered.  He wanted her to watch him 
fuck her while he saw her response to what he was doing.  
She swallowed, and her breathing became even shallower.  It 
was almost =too= arousing and strangely, personal.

She wouldn't be able to control herself in that state; who 
knew what she might reveal in her facial expressions?  But 
you want him to know, she told herself in sudden 
realization.  You want him to see how you feel about him, 
because he should know.  Because maybe, just maybe, he'll 
then feel free to reveal something, too...

Without requiring an answer, Mulder leaned forward, resting 
his groin against hers and causing them both to groan, then 
brought his arms back and his hands grasped her under her 
knees.  Pushing them forward, he adjusted things so that 
her knees were practically in her face, her ass lifted so 
that her entrance was open, more readily accessible, and 
vulnerable.

He then swung her legs over his shoulders, leaning forward, 
spreading her legs wide.

Scully couldn't tear her gaze away from his.  It was 
incredibly intimate to look into his eyes as he prepared 
her for him; his eyes were dark, fathomless pools of 
intensity.

Finally, he appeared to have their positions settled the 
way he wanted, his hands on either side of her head.  She 
couldn't move; she was trapped, but instead of alarming 
her, she felt curiously content - safe and secure.

The only person she was vulnerable to was Mulder, and there 
was no other person she would rather be that with.

"Can you see?"

She had almost forgotten.  She glanced down, where 
currently his cock was trapped between his stomach and her 
bed of curls.  She nodded.

"I want you watching the whole time."  She looked at him 
again.  He smiled, a slightly feral movement of his lips, a 
flash of teeth that made her think of a wolf.  "I'll be 
watching you," he reminded her.  "So don't try to cheat."

She nodded again, and could only wonder where her voice had 
disappeared.  She was determined to play this as coolly as 
he was, so she directed her gaze down once again.

"Well?  What are you waiting for?"  All right, so her voice 
was a little unsteady, but at least she had found it again.  
And she had managed to apply an imperious tone to it.

She saw him adjust his hips until the tip of his cock was 
poised at her entrance.  Even though she was watching the 
whole thing while it happened and knew when to expect it, 
it was still a shock to see his huge erection thrust into 
her and to feel it simultaneously.

She gasped steadily as he filled her, disappearing into her 
body until she could feel his balls brushing against her 
ass.

"You're beautiful, Scully," he said.

Immediately she was self-conscious and wanted to see his 
face, but she wasn't about to give in to that weakness.  In 
any case, Mulder chose at that moment to withdraw and 
thrust again, and she groaned at the sight.  She couldn't 
decide what was more arousing, the sight or the feel of him 
moving in her.

He kept up a steady rhythm, sliding in and out with 
restraint.  In this position she was unable to limit the 
speed or depth of his penetration, which excited her even 
more.  Acquiescing control had never afforded more 
gratification.

She noted a little absently that he was certainly wet with 
her juices now.  She was infatuated with his cock, and it 
pleased her to see it happily finding pleasure in her.  
With her.  The pleasure was building with each thrust.

"Christ, Scully," he groaned.  "I love the way you look.  
It's...it's indescribable."  He thrust faster.  "You like 
what you're seeing down there?"

"Ah...ah...ah," was the only response she could make.

"I love making love to you," he gasped.  "I love watching 
you."

Eventually the restraint gave away to the overpowering need 
for release, and his assault became marked with purpose, 
driving them both toward a much-desired end.

She gulped, breathing growing faster and faster in time 
with his thrusts.  In and out, his cock moved with amazing 
speed.  So caught up with she with the sight and the 
sensations it was provoking that she was startled when her 
vision was blocked by Mulder's sweaty face, flushed with 
his exertions.

Leaning closer, forcing her knees to practically touch her 
shoulders, he kissed her, swallowing her gasps, sucking her 
lower lip into his mouth, biting it.  She kissed him 
ferociously in return, their mouths colliding, teeth 
grinding against one another's.

He shoved into her so hard that it actually hurt a little, 
forcing her to break the contact of their lips and cry out.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said in horror, stopping.

"Mulder, it's okay," she hastened to say.  She kicked her 
feet slightly, heels falling lightly upon his back.  She 
took his face in her hands, reassuring him with her eyes.

He was obviously appalled, his hazel eyes so concerned that 
she felt a warm flood of pleasure begin at her heart and 
spread throughout her body.  "It's okay," she said again.  
"I liked it.  I was just...surprised."  She lifted her 
hips, thrusting against him.  His eyes closed, a grimace of 
pleasure crossing his face.

"Are...you...sure?" he ground out.

"Yes."  She licked her lips.  "Fuck me, Mulder.  Fuck me 
the way I know you want to - "  She gasped as he began to 
move once more.  It didn't take more than a few thrusts 
before her climax hit, causing her to tighten her inner 
muscles as waves of ecstasy attacked her senses.

She felt Mulder swell to an even greater size and hardness 
before he too exploded, and she felt the warmth of his seed 
bathe her insides.

Eventually, she slid her legs off of his shoulders, no 
small feat considering he was currently resting his weight 
against them.  When she removed this support, he collapsed 
fully onto her, the back of his head pressed to the side of 
her neck.

Her eyes began to refocus.  The room and the situation 
gradually filtered back in to her, and along with them, the 
concerns and doubts.

"We shouldn't have done this," she said quietly, even as 
she basked in the sheer pleasure from the feeling of being 
crushed by Mulder's weight.

He didn't answer.

Damn it, he was probably already asleep.  She sighed.  Part 
of her was relieved.  She wasn't sure she really wanted to 
have this confrontation...

He spoke.  "Why not?"  His voice was drowsy, and muffled by 
a pillow, but he was awake, at least.

For some reason, his nonchalance upset her.  "Why not?" she 
repeated.  "Mulder, this - "  She gestured with an arm to 
generalize the whole situation, but of course, he couldn't 
see it.  She blew out a breath, considering for a moment.  
"This seriously compromises things."

He chuckled a little.  "Do you feel compromised, Scully?" 
he asked in a throaty voice, rubbing against her.

If she had been able see anything more than the back of his 
head in her peripheral vision, she would have glared at 
him.  Instead, she had to settle for staring balefully at 
the ceiling.

"I'm serious, Mulder.  This was a mistake."  Contrarily, 
she felt the urge to wrap her arms around him and keep him 
pressed close to her as she uttered those words, but she 
resisted.

Sensing her mood, he lifted himself up a little, looking 
down at her a little anxiously.

Other than the concern, he looked wonderfully relaxed and 
content, Scully noted absently.  A far cry from the 
ravenous being he had been only minutes ago.

He leaned down and kissed her softly, and her eyes 
automatically drifted shut.  His gentleness caused an 
unwanted lump of emotion to form in her throat.

She soon realized that she was only getting that one kiss 
and opened her eyes.  She reluctantly met his gaze, since 
there was nowhere else for her to direct her attention.  He 
was staring at her so intently that she found it impossible 
to look away.

"Nothing that happens between us is a mistake," he said, 
his voice husky with emotion.  A hand glided across her 
forehead, brushing back the hair there with gentle fingers.  
"Don't you know that?"

A secret part of her thrilled at his words, but she 
suppressed it quickly - she would not allow herself to 
entertain false hope.  It was very well and good for him to 
get caught up in the moment, but she couldn't afford to do 
the same.  They were on dangerous ground here.  "Mulder - " 
she began tremulously, hating herself for ruining the mood, 
but unable to stomach the pretense that everything was okay 
when she felt more confused and conflicted than ever.

She resented him for making her love him so, for saying all 
the right things at the right moments.  How was she to keep 
from loving him when he did that?  How dare he say them to 
her when he didn't mean them in any way beyond the sexual, 
proving to them both how successful he was at separating 
his emotions from their physical relationship?

She was at last able to turn her head, breaking their eye 
contact, when she felt tears spring to her eyes.  She 
couldn't bear to look into his familiar hazel orbs, so 
loved, and see nothing reflected back at her.

"Don't cry, Scully, please don't cry," he entreated, his 
voice sounding curiously thick to her ears, trying to get 
her to look at him again.

She couldn't face him; instead, she pushed at him firmly.  
"I have to get cleaned up, Mulder," she said.

His hand was gentle against her face, his thumb lightly 
exerting pressure against her jaw.  She stubbornly refused 
to turn her head; she knew that if she saw his beloved 
face, his eyes filled with sympathy or even worse, pity, 
she would certainly burst into tears and horrify them both.

Finally, he let her up, for which she was both 
excruciatingly disappointed and immensely relieved.

She escaped quickly to the bathroom where the shower was 
still running and shut the door behind her.

Not yet, she told herself, swallowing sporadically, keeping 
the tears in check.  Not yet.

She realized she was shaking, actually shaking.  She was 
glad that the heat from the shower had caused steam to 
blanket over the mirror - the sight of herself in her sorry 
state would undoubtedly only make her feel worse.

Grabbing a small washcloth, she stepped into the shower and 
hung it haphazardly on the bar situated just inside the 
door.  She was overwhelmingly grateful that the water was 
still hot, since their recent bout of lovemak - fucking, 
she amended, had been desperate and frenzied, taking only a 
fraction of the time that some of their sessions lasted.  
It was such a simple, trivial thing, but at the moment it 
felt like a blessing.

Nothing like a quick fuck to ease your tension, she told 
herself deprecatingly.

Standing there, water pelting her face, she let her 
emotions go.  The hot liquids of the shower and her tears 
combined so she could pretend that the moisture running 
down her cheeks was only water.  Not physical evidence of 
the pain in her heart.

Reaching for the bottle of shampoo, she squirted some of 
the substance into her palm and began to wash her hair.

You are such a hypocrite, she castigated herself, lathering 
her hair viciously.  They had broken rules before - twice 
at her own prompting.  Why was this one suddenly so hard on 
her?

But it wasn't about the rules.  It was never about the 
rules; she had simply arrived at a point in their 
relationship where she could no longer fake indifference, 
or pretend to herself that that was what she really wanted.

What she really wanted was the man in the next room by her 
side for the rest of her natural life.  You would have had 
that, she thought bitterly, if you hadn't let your lust for 
him lead you to this point!  Now that would never be, and 
her heart ached with the knowledge.

She understood quite well that technically, it was Mulder 
who had started it all.  But he had known his limits; it 
was she who had been unable to admit hers.

Mulder had sexual needs, she knew that.  As the female he 
was around most often, it was natural that he should 
develop an attraction to her.  It was natural that he would 
want to do something about it.  That didn't mean that he 
wanted a normal =relationship= with her - or any woman for 
that matter.  She knew what his goals and his priorities 
were.  She had always known.

Had she fallen prey to the common feminine delusion that 
she could change a man?  She felt nauseated by the thought.  
Had she, in the back of her mind, believed that once Mulder 
entered into a physical relationship with her, he would 
suddenly reciprocate her feelings for him?

She couldn't know for sure what had been going through her 
subconscious in the moment of her acceptance.  Consciously, 
however, she had realized it was her opportunity to know 
what it was to be loved by Mulder, even in just a physical 
sense - know what it was like for him to look at her, touch 
her, as a lover would.  And she had wanted that, wanted it 
to the exclusion of all common sense.

She probably =had= thought that it would change things, she 
admitted to herself in resignation.  At least she had 
ceased the self-pity.  Her emotions were no longer welling 
up like a bubbling cauldron; instead, she felt a soothing 
kind of numbness steal over her as she confronted some home 
truths.  Truths she should have made herself face long ago.

She had excused her actions with the same reasoning she had 
allocated to Mulder: working with him day in and day out, 
caring for him as she did, sharing a bond with him that 
necessarily excluded others, it was only natural that if 
she should develop an attraction to someone, it would be 
Mulder.  There was proximity and opportunity, combined with 
mutual respect and concern.  It was perfectly 
understandable - she couldn't fault herself for that.

Their reasoning at the outset had been sound in many ways - 
they were both human beings with sexual needs, yet they 
trusted no one but each other.  The logical and =safest= 
thing to do was to alleviate those needs together.  Or it 
would have been, had their presumptions been correct.  
Primarily, that the other didn't want or need more than the 
physical gratification.

While that was true on his part, she had been lying both to 
herself and to him when she had agreed to the terms, 
stating in not so many words that it was also true for her.

Now it was too late, too late to go back to that day six 
weeks ago when he had first suggested the possibility of 
sexual involvement.  Her self-preservation instincts had 
failed her then, and now she was on the verge of having her 
heart irreparably broken.

Having gambled in a game she could not win, the only thing 
she could do was enjoy what little she had left before 
that, too, was stripped from her.

Admitting her feelings was an impossibility; one that could 
not even be contemplated.  She would never, ever force 
Mulder's hand in that way.  The very idea that he might 
feel obligated to coexist in a romantic relationship with 
her out of some misplaced sense of guilt or pity was 
abhorrent, sickening.  She couldn't do that to him, or to 
herself.

If she revealed her feelings, he would react with one of 
two extremes: feel sorry for her and continue the charade 
until who knew when (she never underestimated Mulder's 
capacity for obligation), or he would end it immediately.  
She knew that this latter scenario would probably be best 
for their relationship in the long run.  Yet there was 
still part of her that hoped for things to end happily.

In the interim, she would have the opportunity to repair 
their friendship, ease them back into how they were before, 
saving that relationship.  If he was suddenly torn from her 
now, she would not be able to handle it; she knew she would 
do something drastic and unlike her.  She needed time to 
prepare herself for the end.

The possibility of the relationship ending naturally =and= 
well was slim.  Indefinitely continuing their sexual 
liaisons required quantities of strength she did not have.  
She just needed a little time to extricate as much of 
Mulder from her heart as possible.  She could not go on 
much longer as they were.  She had to distance herself 
before it was too late.  She could still see the boundaries 
of normalcy; she was sure she could reach them again.

And then there was Mulder.  He had other priorities, other 
goals to achieve.  Those things took time and all of his 
concentration.  One day those goals would be reached, and 
then perhaps he would want to settle down, start a family.  
The last thing he would need or want was a partner who 
could not let go.

Rinse, rinse, rinse.  Repeat.

He loved her, as a friend and a confidante.  She knew that.  
She felt the same kind of love for him.  It was not =that= 
love that was incompatible with what they each took from 
their physical intimacy.  It was the kind that wanted him 
not only as a friend, but also as a lover and lifelong 
companion, that was unacceptable.  She wanted to grow old 
with him.

Right now, that was the last thing he could offer her.  He 
had never pretended otherwise.  The very ease in which he 
conducted his part in this relationship - or whatever the 
hell they wanted to call it - was proof irrefutable.  These 
were not the actions of a man in love.

He had never attempted to claim otherwise: he liked her, he 
respected her, he trusted her, and right now, he was fine 
with the two of them satisfying their mutual lust for one 
another.  He believed that her emotions and desires 
mirrored his own.

Her deceit in that regard would soon be mended.  She would 
eliminate the feelings that were causing her to lie to him 
by omission.

To successfully achieve this end, it was necessary that she 
continue as she had before.  In the process of hiding her 
need for him from him, she would be able to suppress it 
entirely.

Starve the feelings, and they could be killed.

The first order of business: reassure Mulder that 
everything was fine.  Her aloofness and outburst of emotion 
had probably already caused him to have second thoughts 
about whether she was handling things as well as she 
should.  No more freaking out like that.

She wanted to enjoy what they had together, even as she 
prepared for its end.  The last thing she wanted was to let 
some evidence of her need slip through the cracks.  She 
didn't want to worry him or have him suspect that something 
wasn't right.  For him to guess at her feelings would bring 
about all the negative repercussions she was determined to 
avoid.

He had no doubt returned to his room by now; she would go 
to him.  For all intents and purposes, nothing was wrong - 
she had as much of Mulder as she could ever expect him to 
share, and they had just made wonderful, incredible love.  
She should be making the most of what time they had left, 
not brooding in a motel room shower.

Engrossed in her thoughts, she was unaware of Mulder's 
presence in the bathroom until he had stepped into the 
shower with her, as naked as when she had left him.

She gasped in shock at his unexpected appearance.  Her 
heart was beating so hard in her chest she could hear it 
pounding in her ears.

Before she had fully recovered enough to speak, he had 
grabbed her around the waist.

"You okay?"

She trembled slightly at his proximity and the husky 
tenderness of his voice.  He really had a beautiful chest.  
She stared at it.

"Fine," she nodded.  "I don't know what happened - "

He bent down so that they were eye-level and captured her 
gaze.  "You were right, Scully," he interrupted.  "It 
probably was a mistake, but I wanted you - "  He took a 
deep breath.  " - I needed you," he completed, earnest as 
he attempted to gain her forgiveness.  "Scully...we created 
those rules so that we each would know the boundaries and 
that would help us keep things separate in our minds.  But 
it hasn't been a problem; neither of us seems to be having 
any trouble - which makes the rules not only unnecessary, 
but also a hindrance.  We know the limits; we don't need to 
follow arbitrary rules.  Do we?"

She didn't want him to see how much his words hurt.  She 
didn't realize how painful it would be to hear him 
verbalize exactly how well he was able to keep his feelings 
for her as a partner and his lust for her as a willing 
female body separate.  For a moment, she thought there was 
a note in his voice that almost made her believe that he 
wanted her to disagree with him, and she reprimanded 
herself for indulging wishful thinking.

"I guess not.  I wanted it," she said honestly.  She 
attempted a bright smile.  "Who says that people only get 
stressed out =after= work is over, anyway?  We're doing 
this to relieve tension - and that strikes most often 
during a case, wouldn't you say?"

Something she couldn't identify passed over his face, but 
it was soon gone and he had relaxed into a smile.  "That 
makes perfect sense to me, Agent Scully."  He leaned in and 
kissed her, both keeping their eyes open.

You're wonderful, she told him silently.  I'm not going to 
lose you.  I can't lose you.  Even if I have to lose this.

"You about ready to get out of here?" he teased.

She smiled a little sheepishly.  "I've washed my hair.  I 
haven't actually done any cleaning yet..."

"You've just been thinking in here the whole time, huh?" he 
asked lightly.

"Pretty much," she admitted.

He didn't say anything for a moment, and she looked at him 
quizzically.  "If you wanted me to wash your back, all you 
had to do was ask," he finally said, attempting a grin.

She ignored the fact that it didn't quite seem to reach his 
eyes.  Putting a bar of soap into his hands, she whispered, 
"Mulder, will you wash my back?"

"Only if I get to wash the rest of you, too," he countered.

She pretended to consider for a moment.  "Umm...okay."

He was very courteous and gentlemanly as he washed her.  He 
never stopped for a prolonged period at any one area.  He 
was almost clinical as he cleaned, with a kind of 
detachment that both amused and irritated her.

When she had been thoroughly cleansed, he stood there and 
inspected her with a critical eye.

"What?" she demanded, a little exasperated.

His eyes narrowed, and then he trailed a hand down her 
chest, running his fingers about experimentally.  Finally, 
he gathered some lather in his hands and began soaping up 
her breasts.  "This area looks like it needs some extra 
attention," he said, in a voice so low she had to strain to 
hear him above the shower.  "May I?"

Her breaths were coming short and shallow now as she saw 
the intent and rekindled lust in his eyes.  "Be my guest," 
she croaked.

She moaned as his fingers, slick with soap, kneaded and 
shaped her breasts, molding the peaks into his hands.  He 
paid especial attention to the hardened tips that were 
pushing insistently against his palms.

"You have the prettiest pink nipples," he said.

She smiled at how silly he sounded, but he was looking at 
her with such reverence that she decided to let it go.

"Are they clean yet?" she asked huskily.  The water from 
the shower had washed the soap away.

He studied her heaving chest for a moment.  "I think I'm 
going to need further examination to answer that question, 
Doc," he replied, before leaning in and closing a mouth 
around her.

It was a good thing his arms had wrapped around her waist, 
or she surely would have fallen.  Her knees felt like 
jelly, and standing upright seemed a most difficult feat.

She looked down at him as he suckled hard on her, his eyes 
closed, his face covered in droplets of water.  He looked 
beautifully sensual.  This was how she wanted to remember 
him.

He transferred his attention to her other breast and worked 
on it until she was putty in his arms.  He pulled away, 
apparently satisfied that the area in question had finally 
passed muster in the cleanliness department.

Lathering up his hands once again, he then took one of her 
hands that was currently clutching his biceps and deposited 
the bar of soap there.  "Hold that for me, would you?" he 
asked.

She could only nod as she stared at him through half-closed 
eyes.  She held onto the bar of soap tightly, as if it were 
a talisman of strength.

"There's another area I'm particularly concerned with," he 
shared.  He kept one arm wrapped around her waist while the 
other found the area between her legs.

She quivered against him as two soapy fingers eased up into 
her.

He pumped her quickly, causing little mewling sounds to 
issue from her throat.  He spread moisture over her clit, a 
combination of soap, water, and her arousal.  He moved 
faster and faster, and she was involuntarily moving up and 
down on his hand.

Eventually, their muscles protested the prolonged tension, 
and Mulder pulled away, groaning.

She whimpered at the loss of him, though her arm ached from 
gripping him so tightly and her legs ached from the effort 
to stand.

Her hand brushed across his groin, encountering his 
hardened cock.  Of course it had probably been in that 
condition for a while, but this was the first that they 
took note of it.

Impressed by his stamina, she stepped back to get a better 
look.

"Whoa, how'd that get there?" he exclaimed with some 
surprise and not a little pride, looking down at himself.

Her clit was throbbing almost painfully, and she was 
delighted that Mulder would be able to join her in release.  
"You're not thinking of taking all the credit, are you?" 
she admonished, grabbing hold of his hard-on with both 
hands.

"Wouldn't...dream of it," he gasped in response.  He 
reached for her again, but she avoided him playfully, 
letting go of him.

"Scuh-lee," he whined.  "I wanna touch you."

"Is that all?"  She sounded disbelieving, almost scolding.  
"I don't think you're being completely honest with me, 
Mulder."

He looked like a little boy who had been caught blatantly 
lying.  "All right...I really want to be inside you but the 
other sounded more respectable," he confessed.

Her vaginal muscles clenched tightly at his admission.  
"You don't think after all we've done to get me clean, I'm 
gonna let you put =that= in me, do you?"  She pointed at 
his gorgeous cock, now getting sprayed by the water not 
blocked by her body.

His mouth dropped open and he stared at her, clearly 
panicked.  "But - "

She held out the bar of soap for him to see.  "Clean 
yourself up, Mulder," she demanded throatily.

He obediently took the soap from her, rubbing it in his 
hands until he had a good lather going.  She then took the 
soap from him and carelessly tossed it onto the soap dish.

She watched in fascination as he grasped the base of his 
erection with one hand.  It had been a surprise to her how 
much enjoyment she got out of watching him masturbate.

"Come on, Mulder," she encouraged breathlessly.  "You know 
what I want to see."

His gaze dropped to the curls between her legs, looking 
quite mournful.  "Has anyone ever told you that you're a 
cruel woman, Scully?  I can do this at home, you know."

He almost had her feeling guilty until she saw his cock 
twitch in his hand when she licked her lips.  She smiled 
slowly.  "I don't believe it's the same thing at all," she 
said silkily.  "Now - do it."

"Yes, ma'am," he said meekly, sliding his fist up his 
impressive length.  His eyes closed and he groaned; she 
smiled in satisfaction, feeling a gush of warmth between 
her legs in response.

Up and down, he pulled and jerked at himself until his 
breathing grew short and shallow along with hers.  She 
dropped to her knees, barely even computing the hardness of 
the tiles against her joints.  She was much more interested 
in the hardness that was now eye-level.

The combination of soap and water had given Mulder a slick 
look, making a pretty good imitation of how he had looked 
gliding in and out of her earlier.  She licked her lips 
again.

She looked up to see that he was watching her with lowered 
eyelids.  Without a word he halted his motions and took his 
hand away.  Reaching up a little, she grabbed the washcloth 
she'd brought into the shower.  It was already wet, but she 
stuck it under the spray for a few moments, anyway.  When 
it was saturated, she brought it to the object of her 
fascination and proceeded to wash all traces of soap off of 
him.  He was sensitized and the washcloth was abrasive so 
she was very, very gentle.

That done, she deposited the washcloth onto the floor.  She 
brought her face closer to him, studying his throbbing 
length from all angles.  He was beautiful.

She began with light kisses.  Starting at the base then 
working her way up, she trailed his hardness with tiny 
movements of her mouth.  He stood utterly still.  Her hands 
grasped his thighs, and she could feel how tense the 
muscles were there.  He was obviously struggling for 
control, and winning admirably.

Next, her tongue appeared.  She had tasted him dozens of 
times, but each time was different.  He was a veritable 
cornucopia of flavors.  Now, he was sweetened by the soap, 
but still possessed the underlying musky flavor that was 
always present, and which she associated solely with 
Mulder.

The softness of his skin, the hardness of his muscles, the 
rain of the shower spray delivering rapid punctuation on 
her back, the sluice of liquid trails down her breast, the 
feel of her hair plastered against her face, all made for a 
dizzying combination of sensations.  Every second of it was 
noted in some part of her brain, to be retrieved at a later 
time and date for further enjoyment.

She licked and nibbled at him, enjoying herself so 
thoroughly that she didn't even notice when his hands 
threaded through her hair.  He kneaded her skull for a 
moment, and she moaned her appreciation.  Another 
sensation.

It was a complete surprise when he used that leverage to 
pull her away from him.

"Okay...that's enough of that," he rasped, looking slightly 
unbalanced.

She decided not to protest.  She loved when he got that 
deranged look in his eyes.

Suddenly, she shrieked.  The hot water had been steadily 
getting cooler during their activities, and the last of it 
had finally given out.  She was now being stung by 
extremely cold water.

Reaching behind her quickly, she turned the water off, 
spluttering a little as some of it ran into her eyes and 
over her face.  She stood, wringing out her hair.  That 
done, she turned to face a grinning Mulder.

Normally, she might have taken exception to his smirk, but 
she was far too eager to be fucked to pay such trivialities 
any mind.  She took his cock in her hand again.  "Let's 
take care of this, Mulder," she said breathlessly, 
motioning to open the shower door.

He stopped her with his hand.  His eyes gleamed.  "Let's 
take care of it in here," he suggested, deliberately 
lowering his voice to a sexy pitch.

But then, his voice was always sexy, she thought absently, 
as she let him gather her in his arms.

He lowered his head so that she thought he was going to 
kiss her, and she closed her eyes in preparation.  But the 
kiss never came.  Instead, she felt him press his cheek 
against hers, felt his breath in her ear as he murmured, 
"What do you say?"  He nibbled a little at her earlobe, 
then unexpectedly stuck his warm, wet tongue inside.

She cried out from the delicious sensation and her nipples 
puckered further; she felt a flood of wetness arrive yet 
again between her legs.

"Oh - okay..."  He had her up against the wall before she 
had even finished uttering her consent.

They seemed to have developed a thing for bathrooms and 
walls, she thought with as much amusement as she could 
muster under the circumstances.

"We know how to do this, right?" he murmured, trailing 
little kisses along her jaw.

"If I remember correctly, it goes something like...this..."  
Using his shoulders for leverage, she hoisted herself up - 
he helped her cause by grabbing her under her thighs and 
using his superior arm muscles to lift her.

Wrapping her legs around him securely, she felt his cock 
seeking entry into her, and then he found his way - gently 
but firmly stabbing into her.  It felt comfortingly 
familiar, having only been there a short time ago, and so 
very, very good.

Unlike the animalistic nature of what had occurred between 
them in the bedroom, or even their previous up-against-the-
wall experience, this time their lovemaking was slow, 
gentle.  She was making love with Mulder - the last man 
with whom she would ever use that term.

It couldn't be slow and gentle forever, of course, and she 
was just as happy with fast and hard.  While he was ramming 
into her almost too forcefully, she glanced down at the 
area where they were joined.  Perhaps it was a residual 
reaction from before.  Even though she had witnessed this 
exact activity very recently, in no way did it detract from 
the impact of seeing, again, his shaft pumping in and out 
of her.  She was close.  So, so close. 

"Hey, could I get some attention here?" he joked, panting.

With some difficulty, she tore herself from the sight and 
raised her head so that their gazes could meet.  If she had 
possessed the energy or the concentration, she would have 
raised an eyebrow.  "You =wanted= me to watch before," she 
reminded him.

"That was before...I realized...you were gonna...start 
...ignoring =me=," he said with mock accusation, his words 
punctuated by gasps of pleasure.

"Why don't you take a look for yourself?" she suggested.  
She had an inkling of what might happen if he took her 
advice, and brought a hand between her legs.  With one 
finger, she began to circle her clit hard and fast, panting 
as she did so.

Mulder looked into her face for another moment, thrusting 
rapidly, and then, not letting up, he lowered his gaze.

"Oh Jesus!" he groaned.  "Scully, I...you..." he stopped, 
unable to continue the thought.

She smiled.  He had been right earlier.  It was a beautiful 
thing to watch him take in their intimate actions.  His 
eyes were as big as saucers.  Was this how she had been?  
The expression on his face was one of rapture, fascination, 
and arousal combined.  She found it distinctly pleasurable 
to be able to see it, and at the same time feel the 
pressure of him inside her and the furious movement of her 
finger working herself.

Moments later she was brought to a panting climax, and a 
good thing, too, because Mulder slammed one last time into 
her, howling and yelling so loudly that it echoed and 
reverberated through the small bathroom.

She was distantly aware of the fact that Mulder had 
gathered her into his arms and was stepping out of the 
shower.  It took all the strength she could muster to get 
her arms around his neck.  Using one hand, he brought a 
towel carelessly around them to get at the larger droplets 
of water on their skin.  She was grateful for his strength, 
because she felt absolutely boneless.

She understood that he didn't want to let her go, that 
letting go meant that they would have to disengage, but 
this was not going to work the way he wanted it to.  She 
grabbed his arms and indicated that she wanted him to let 
her go.

He resisted for a moment, then gave in to reality and set 
her gently on her feet.

She winced as he slipped out of her; tomorrow was not going 
to be pretty.  Tomorrow.  Oh, God.  They still had a case 
to work on.

Mulder passed her a towel, which she took and briskly began 
to dry herself.  And, if she admitted it to herself, to 
hide from him, as she thought about what the hell they had 
done tonight.

You're turning out to be a regular little slut, Dana 
Scully, she fumed, flushing.  Who needs professionalism?  
Who says it's really bad taste to sleep with your partner?  
Well, we're not really =sleeping=...  Oh, okay, be an 
incorrigible wiseass now, too.  She was disgusted with 
herself - she knew that much.  She just didn't know what 
part she was disgusted with.

He plucked the towel from her hands.  "You're dry, Scully," 
he said with a little amusement.  "Well, your hair's still 
a little wet..."  He ran the towel haphazardly over her 
head, squeezing here and there in an attempt, she supposed, 
to dry it.  "Okay, now it's just damp."  He discarded the 
used towel to the floor.

"Now what?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Off to bed," he said lightly.

She felt disappointment seep into her.  The last time they 
had made love in a motel, he had left her to sleep in his 
own room.  When they did the deed at their apartments, he 
always slept with her.  But then, it was probably a bit 
ridiculous to sleep on the couch after their activities.  
Here, there was a perfectly good extra bed waiting in the 
next room.

In the larger scheme of things, it was probably much wiser.  
Keep things separate.  There was no reason at all why they 
should cuddle after making love.  That was what =normal= 
people did.  They were just conducting a series of one-
night stands.  She didn't stop to consider the 
contradiction of those phrases.  She was too busy feeling 
sorry for herself.

Leading her over to the bed, he stripped off the top cover 
that was stained by the material evidence of their earlier 
activities.  He lifted the other sheets and gestured 
silently.  Sighing, she slid between them, still a little 
fatigued but not nearly as much as she had been before.  
She wasn't sure she'd be able to fall asleep at all now.

She watched as he shut off all the lights in the room.

"Good night, Mulder," she said in a small voice.  Shut up, 
Dana, just shut up!  Do you =want= him to feel sorry for 
you, is that it?

She was shocked when she felt the bed move as a heavy 
object deposited himself onto it.  "What - what are you 
doing?"

She felt him move, heard the sheets rustling, and seconds 
later his warm bare skin was pressed up against her.  God, 
it felt heavenly.  He was emitting waves of heat already; 
she loved that about him.

He nuzzled his nose into her hair.  "Sleeping."

"You are?" she squeaked.

He shifted, bringing an arm around her, pulling her to him 
tight.  "I'm sleeping here with you, Scully," he announced.  
He sounded commanding, but she could hear the underlying 
quaver.  He was waiting for her to hand him his balls and 
order him to his room.  "Don't even try to argue with me 
about this," he continued with false bravado.  "I'm not 
going to listen."

He sounded like one of her nephews, determinedly telling 
his parents that he was not going to bed until he finished 
his Disney video, knowing that it was only due to the 
indulgence of the authorities that he was actually getting 
to stay up, not because he held any sway.

"Don't worry, Mulder," she yawned, trying to convey that 
she was too tired to do any ass-kicking this night.  I 
wouldn't dream of it.

They slept, entwined.

~~~~~~~~

August 25
8:12 a.m.
On the road

She was sitting in a car with Mulder, and he was driving.  
Such a scenario was hardly out of the ordinary.

She was aching from their activities last night.  She was 
sore in places she'd forgotten existed, and the muscles of 
her inner thighs positively protested any movement.  Most 
of all, she ached between her legs.  Now these details - 
they were unusual.  At least, prior to the last six weeks.

The soreness was almost pleasurable when she reminded 
herself that one day soon she'd no longer have cause to 
ever feel that way again.

It felt unbelievably intimate to be sitting in a car with 
Mulder, not touching, not speaking, but feeling achy from 
having had intimate physical contact.

Oh my God.  We had sex while on a case.  In the light of a 
new morning the excuses she had made to herself last night 
meant precisely squat.  The lines were so completely 
blurred now as to be rendered invisible.  What fucking 
lines?  They had demolished them!

Her mind suddenly reeled from the direct confrontation of 
this fact.  The ache between her legs shouted something 
like "Duh!" but she was still flabbergasted by the 
realization their sheer audacity.  Obviously, neither had a 
gift for thinking ahead.  But then, Mulder was always 
impulsive.  It was she who should have been more careful, 
more deliberate in her thinking processes.

This was probably the most important rule they should have 
adhered to - but no, they had broken it.  Saying each 
other's names during sex?  How could that be helped, make 
up new names?  That was ridiculous.  Fucking once in a 
while at each other's apartments?  Also not that big a 
deal.  Home was home, work was work.  They were fighting to 
preserve their =working= relationship.  Having sex at the 
office?  Okay, that was a huge mistake.  But they had both 
agreed never to let that happen again.  Looking at Mulder's 
relaxed face, it didn't look like he would advocate the 
same conclusion in this case.

Mulder, noticing her twitching, glanced over.  "You okay?"

"Huh?"  She glanced at him, a little distracted.  "Oh - 
yeah.  Yeah."  We had sex while on a case, Mulder!  She 
shouted at him silently. She decided not to make a fool of 
herself by voicing it out loud.  He could hardly be 
oblivious to the fact.  

Unbidden, her traitorous mind recalled the vision of how 
Mulder had looked thrusting inside her.  Oh God.  A small 
whimper escaped.  She really should not be thinking these 
things.

"Scully?"

"Sorry.  I thought I saw roadkill," she quickly improvised.

He was certainly behaving casually.  As if nothing had 
happened.

Mulder began to whistle.

She stared at him in amazement.

Apparently, Mulder was not as disturbed or concerned as she 
by the latest breach of their sexual "contract."  He was 
positively =cheerful=, experiencing none of the agony she 
was putting herself through.

He behaved as though he hadn't a care in the world.  =He= 
wasn't having fits of uncertainty.

Well, goddammit, if Mulder could be so casual about 
everything, then so could she.  Right.  Hadn't she said 
something like that before?

While she ruminated, he pulled in front of the small diner 
where they'd had just about every meal for a week.  
Grabbing some breakfast, no doubt.

"Be right back," he tossed, jumping out of the car quickly.

The last thing she felt like doing at the moment was eating 
a carbohydrate bomb smothered in glazed sugar.  The thought 
made her feel positively ill.  But Mulder - there was no 
stopping that man's stomach.

He returned scant minutes later, sporting a huge box that 
had to contain at least three dozen donuts.  What the hell?

At her look of amazement, he handed her the box and a cup 
of coffee.  He started the car, and off they went again.

"Mulder," she began, when he made no explanation, "what is 
this?"

"A box of donuts," he said matter-of-factly, as if he did 
this everyday.  "I just thought the boys might like some."

She hoped she wasn't gaping at him, but couldn't be 
certain.  The boys?  The BOYS??  Was he talking about the 
same men who had so angered him yesterday that he had gone 
off on his own for the whole day?

He didn't seem to think this was anything unusual, however, 
so she decided not to say anything.  He had gone completely 
around the bend.  There was no other explanation for it.  
But he had gotten her coffee, and for that, she was willing 
to forgive almost anything - even insanity.

She took a sip.  Mmm, he had made it just the way she 
liked.  By the time she was done with the cup, they were 
pulling up in front of the building where the Yapavai 
County Sheriff's office leased their working space.

He took the box from her as they made their way inside.  

"Hey, Barnes - thought you and your boys might enjoy some 
morning goodies," Mulder said to the wary man, placing the 
box of donuts on top of the filing cabinet.

"Well, now, that's very nice of you," Barnes replied 
cautiously, looking at Scully.  She shrugged; =she= didn't 
know what the hell was going on.  Maybe he had poisoned 
them.

Deputy Mikladen was there, along with a handful of other 
officers.  They too seemed a bit taken aback by Mulder's 
good cheer, but dug into the box with appreciation.

"Look, Mulder, I'm sorry about yesterday..." Mikladen 
began, but stopped when Mulder flung an arm out in a breezy 
gesture.

"Don't worry about it," he grinned.  "We're all on the same 
team, right?"

Mikladen nodded his agreement.  Finally noticing Scully, 
they greeted her with a round of hellos as each man dug 
into the box for a donut of his choice - a couple of people 
were already on seconds.  She was still looking at Mulder 
with something akin to amazement.

With casual off-handedness, Mulder then shared, "Oh, by the 
way - I know who your killer is."

Barnes nearly choked on his glazed twist.

"What?"  Scully exclaimed, apparently speaking for all of 
them.

"Well - Christ, Agent Mulder!"  Barnes yelled.  "Why didn't 
you say something?  Who is it?  Let's go bring his ass in."

Mulder shrugged.  "Oh, I wouldn't worry about it.  I'm sure 
he's still sleeping.  He's the nightshift manager at Del's 
Liquor.  He just got off work what, two hours ago?"

"What?  Are you sure?  How the hell do you know this?"  
Mikladen demanded.  "Just yesterday you didn't have a 
clue!"

"I had a clue," Mulder said mildly.  "I just didn't have 
the whole picture.  The profile clicked for me this 
morning.  I'm sure I'm right.  I can even tell you where to 
find the murder weapon."  He took a large bite of a jelly 
donut.

"Where'd this epiphany come from?" Barnes asked.  Even 
without the suspect in hand or any evidence further than 
what they already had, it was obvious that Mulder was 
believed.

Scully wanted to know, herself.  He said it had clicked for 
him this morning.  When?  Between getting out of bed and 
putting on his tie?  It always intrigued her to witness 
Mulder's keen mind in action.  He was a profiling 
wonderboy.  She quashed the feeling of pride she felt 
starting in her chest.  There would be none of that.

Mulder shrugged again.  "A good night's sleep?"  His voice 
was casual but there was no mistaking his meaning.  Scully 
flushed in embarrassment at the surge of memory of their 
shared pleasure.  "I think that's all I needed," he 
completed softly.  "Well, that, and I looked at your notes 
this morning, Scully."  He grinned.

The interviews.  Sure, she did all the work and he took all 
the glory.  But she hadn't found anything particularly 
noteworthy - they'd all been interviewed before.

She gave him the eyebrow.  "Okay...what happened?"

"It was staring at me in the face the whole time," he said, 
shaking his head.  "But reading your interview notes this 
morning..."  He explained how it had clicked for him and 
she followed his thinking process, but something nagged at 
the back of her mind.

Now it seemed kind of obvious, and that they should have 
caught the guy before this.  She wondered if, despite their 
best intentions, they had been distracted by other... 
pursuits.  But there had been plenty of other people 
working the case - if it was that obvious, any one of them 
could have made the connection.

And it couldn't be argued that the very day after they had 
given in to their physical desires, Mulder had been able to 
finish his profile and come up with their killer.  Maybe it 
was a good thing that they had slept together on a case, 
after all.

Or perhaps she was just rationalizing their actions.

They were quiet for a moment, then Mulder leaned down and 
whispered into her ear, "You helped me clear my head, 
Scully.  Thank you."

He turned away before she could form an adequate response.  
Scully stared after him thoughtfully.  Mulder claimed that 
their activities had loosened him up enough to be able to 
concentrate on his profile, when in fact it was probably 
her interview notes that had prompted his sudden clarity.

However, she was willing to admit that it was =possible= 
she had provided Mulder with the physical release he needed 
and it had indirectly lead to solving the case.  Such a 
possibility was not without merit, and if true, went a long 
way to soothe her qualms about what she had allowed to 
happen the previous night - it meant their actions had 
actually helped rather than hindered.

The question that disturbed her, however, was if he would 
have been so distracted and unfocused in the first place 
had they not been involved in this relationship at all.

~~~~~~~~
Chapter Eleven
~~~~~~~~

Mulder's Apartment
September 28
10:14 a.m.

He'd been prowling about his apartment all morning, trying 
to talk himself out of calling her.  As usual.  He was 
worried - there was no doubt about that.

It had been a week since the incident when he thought 
he was going to blow things for sure.  Afterwards, it had 
=seemed= that everything was resolved, but they hadn't seen 
each other outside the office since.

He missed her.

Sure, he saw her everyday at work, and things had appeared 
to be normal.  Scully, especially, seemed to try hard to 
keep up the level of ease and friendliness that was 
normally there.

Unfortunately, it only made Mulder even more anxious.  Why 
should she have to =try= to keep that up?  Wasn't it there 
of its own accord?  He felt something punch him in the gut 
every time he saw her arrive at the office in one of her 
impeccably tailored suits, coffee cup in one hand, her 
briefcase in the other.  He wondered if his worship was in 
his eyes.

He bantered with her as he always had, and she resisted 
response as usual.  But obviously, something was not right.  
She had lately felt the need to keep up a pretense of 
comfort she obviously did not feel.

It wasn't anything she had said or done; it was simply 
something he felt.

He had tortured himself all week guessing at why she would 
throw off such odd vibes, but he had been unable to reach 
any satisfactory conclusions.  He'd hoped that the weekend 
would provide opportunity for answers, but Friday had come 
and gone, and she'd left with only a murmured "goodbye," 
without a single look back.  Not once during the whole of 
the week had she mentioned anything about plans for the 
weekend.

She was distant.  There was no other word for it, and it 
made him very nervous.  And more than a little scared.

That was it.  He tossed aside the basketball he'd been 
bouncing to keep himself distracted, and strode over to his 
desk, picking up the phone.  Speed dial one, and it was 
ringing.  And ringing.  He hung up.  Shit.

Maybe she just wanted to be left alone.  But why should she 
want that? he wondered, wounded.  He hadn't been 
particularly pesky lately.  At least, not that he 
remembered.  He'd been giving her the space she obviously 
wanted.  No eager, love-me-please looks thrown her way.  
Well, none that he was aware of.

Still, if she wanted to be left alone, she would be annoyed 
by his intrusion, which would help his case not at all.  
Not if he wanted to find out what was wrong, and he 
desperately wanted that.  He didn't know what =could= be 
wrong; everything seemed perfectly fine, in spite of his 
less-than-inspiring performance last weekend.

He was probably blowing things out of proportion.  She's 
playing it casual, you doof, he reminded himself.  Just 
because he had ceased to care about the terms of the 
relationship they had embarked on didn't mean she had done 
the same.  Scully lived by rules.  She enjoyed them, and, 
in this case, had reasons for sticking to them.

But damn if he hadn't tried his hardest to obliterate both 
the rules and the need to follow them.  Scully was Scully, 
though.  He loved her for it.

Well, if she was being casual, he reasoned, then she 
probably wouldn't mind if he called.  He simply had to 
behave in kind.  He had to make calling her seem like not 
such a big deal - that was the key.  Everything to do with 
her was a big deal to him, but he didn't want to scare her 
by announcing it too quickly or loudly.  Obviously, she 
still needed to be worked on.

Speed dial one again.  It rang and rang and rang until her 
machine picked up.  Where the hell was she?  He slammed the 
phone down.  She wouldn't have gone out with that bastard 
again.  She couldn't -

"Damn it!" he snarled, kicking his chair with enough force 
to break the delicate bones in his foot.  Luckily his sock 
provided some buffer, and it was only incredibly pained 
instead of broken.

Hobbling over to the couch, he sat down, massaging his 
injured appendage.  When the throbbing had subsided 
somewhat, he looked under the hill of newspapers and other 
assorted junk on his coffee table until he came across the 
black leather journal.

He picked up a pen, flipped the book open to a blank page 
and furiously began to write, not choosing his words with 
care.  He just had to get things off his chest.

**Fuck, fuck, fuck.  All right, Scully, I know I made an 
ass of myself last week but damn it, this is not fair.  I 
really hope you're not with him.  Because if you are, I 
might have to take out my gun and commit a crime that 
you'll need to arrest me for.  But actually, that's even 
more motive to do it, because at least then I'll know where 
you are and you'll be with me.

You've turned me into a certifiable madman, Scully.  I hope 
you're proud.  I've always been thought of as a lunatic to 
others but this is the first time I've admitted to being 
crazy.  And you're the cause.

I've tried to take this whole thing in stride.  I've tried 
to be casual; I've tried to treat this whole thing the way 
I know you want me to.  But I can't.  Instead of wanting 
you less, I only want you more.

Is that why you're running the other way, Scully?  You can 
sense this in me and don't want to hurt me?  It's too late 
- I've fallen in love with you and I don't know how to fall 
out of it.  Even if I knew how I wouldn't want to.  Why 
would anyone in his right mind want to stop experiencing 
the wonderful, dizzying, exhilarating feeling of being in 
love with you?  Well, as I've already admitted, I'm not in 
my right mind and right now I'm considering it.

Maybe if I fall out of love with you I won't be so scared 
that you don't feel the same way.  Maybe if I wasn't in 
love with you I wouldn't have to try so hard to make you 
fall in love with me in return.

But then why would anyone like you ever love someone as 
fucked up as me?  You deserve so much better.  And if =I= 
wasn't the fuckup involved I'd tell you to run like hell 
the other way, and then I'd kick my ass.  But I'm selfish, 
Scully.  I've always been selfish when it comes to you.  I 
can't help it.  I look at you and I want to kiss the life 
out of you.  I see someone else look at you and I feel so 
proud that I'm the one who knows you.

I know what they think when they see you, Scully.  They see 
an intelligent, worldly, beautiful woman with the strength 
of a dozen men.  You're so much stronger than I could ever 
be.  But I'm blessed because you've shown me your 
vulnerabilities.  Usually not voluntarily and not very 
often, but I've seen them and I don't think very many 
people can say that.

In those moments you let me in, I feel the entire essence 
of who you are seep into every corner of me.  I see you - 
all of you.  And you are beautiful, Scully.

If I weren't such a greedy man, I'd take what you're able 
to give.  I'd take my few moments here and there of basking 
in you, and run like hell with what I've got.  But now I've 
experienced everything, and I want it all.  I want to see 
your face every morning for the rest of my life.  I want to 
spend every weekend in your company.  And everyday for the 
rest of my life, I want to hear your voice before I go to 
sleep.

I don't know if you want these things, Scully.  I don't 
know if you want them with =me=.  That uncertainty makes me 
feel crazy inside, as if I don't know whether I'm coming or 
going.  You know, if you told me that what we have now is 
all that you can ever give, I would accept it.  If you told 
me right now that you no longer feel attracted to me and 
want things to go back to the way they were, it would be 
difficult but I'd try to respect your wishes.

But don't push me out of your life, Scully.  That I can't 
do.  I can't not have you in my life.  I wouldn't know how 
to go about living it again.  I know this is a big burden 
to put on you.  I hate myself for it, at the same time I do 
everything I can to keep you with me.  I'm weak.  I freely 
admit it.  I've got nothing to lose but you.  You can't 
blame a guy for trying to preserve his reason for living, 
can you?

Look at me - a couple of days of your distance and I'm 
already going out of my mind.  I've tried calling you but 
you're not home.  Where are you, Scully?  I know I have no 
right to ask you that, but I'm asking anyway.

I know I acted like a moron last week.  I know I goaded you 
into going out with him.  I was - I don't know what I was 
thinking.  Part of it was just habit, and part of me wanted 
to provoke you into denying what I was saying.  Stupid, I 
know.  And I normally work so well under pressure.  I know 
I went off the deep end.  I know I scared you - hell, I 
scared =me=.  I swear it won't happen again.  You can see 
whoever you want to see, Scully, and I -

Oh who the hell am I kidding?  I'd want to hurt any man who 
comes near you.  But I swear I'll try to hide it better.  I 
swear I'll try.

I'm not always clear-headed when it comes to you, Scully.  
You know that.  Hell - everyone knows it, including Skinner 
and the shadow figures who have tried to take you from me 
so many times.  What they never saw was that taking you 
only drove me more - there was a reason for me to keep 
existing.  I had the only reason I would ever need - to 
bring you back.  To make sure you're alive and safe.  To 
make sure you're with me.  In fact, there's no greater 
motive they could have given me to keep at it, those stupid 
bastards.

But what they failed to do I've done to myself.  Now I've 
driven you away and I don't know how to fix it.  I'm 
drowning, Scully.  I'd ask you to save me, but I'm afraid 
I'd pull you under, too.

You're the only person I need.  I know you don't want that, 
but there it is.  I'll try for your sake to not need you so 
much, but it's your own fault, you know.

I don't understand this latest bump we've hit.  God, I hope 
it's a bump.  I was a fucking idiot last week but you 
seemed to forgive me.  I know my tactics were a little 
caveman-like but I'll try to control those urges.  Just - 
don't pull away.  Don't shut me out.

You can't say that the last two and a half months haven't 
been amazing.  I've never felt more alive.  Or happier.  
You make me happy, Scully.  That's not a crime, is it?  I 
know it must seem like an affliction at times to have the 
weight of my happiness resting on you, but I hope that I've 
made you a little happy, too.

I know you don't have any complaints about the sex.  God, 
that part's incredible.  You're the hottest, most sensual 
woman I've ever been with, and I thank the fates that have 
allowed me to experience that privilege.

And you're gorgeous when we make love, Scully.  I love 
watching you, seeing the pleasure on your face that I'm 
giving you.  I want to be the only person to give that to 
you.  I'll do it the rest of my life if you'll let me.

But I won't accept that that's all you feel for me.  I 
won't accept that the physical is all you want from me.  
Like what happened last week - surely you wouldn't have 
responded the way you did if you didn't love me, just a 
little.

Is that a problem, Scully?  Did what happen make you 
realize that you have deeper feelings for me than you want 
to admit?  God I hope that's true.  Are you taking this 
time to think about it, think about what you want from me, 
from this, from us?

The possibility thrills me, but I'm more frightened than 
ever.**

~~~~~~~~
Chapter Twelve
~~~~~~~~

YMCA
September 14
11:14 a.m.

Sweat dripped off his face and his breathing was labored as 
he dribbled around a large body determined to prevent him 
from getting to the hoop.  He spun around, then again, 
successfully diverting his opponent.  An easy lay-up later, 
his team was again leading.

Someone called time, and they all took a water break.  It 
was usually the same guys, and while they never did 
anything together outside of playing ball, there was an 
easy familiarity and camaraderie that came simply from the 
good-natured competition they engaged in roughly once a 
week.

Today, Troy Bruschard had happened to put his gym bag close 
to Mulder's, and Mulder tried to suppress his irritation.  
Bruschard was an okay guy and a decent ball player, but he 
rubbed Mulder the wrong way.

They reached for their respective water bottles and began 
to gulp thirstily.

When they each took a breather, Bruschard asked casually, 
"So is your babe of a partner gonna come see you today?"

Mulder gritted his teeth.  Bruschard had made no secret of 
the fact that he found Scully extremely attractive, and was 
constantly referring to her in ways that set Mulder on 
edge.

Bruschard was not a bad guy.  He had an unfortunate way of 
referring to women in a manner that obviously stemmed from 
personal insecurities - he probably thought it made him 
seem macho.  But he was never intentionally rude, at least, 
not that Mulder had seen, and more often than not, 
Bruschard played the role of peacemaker when a scuffle 
erupted between players.  Bruschard had a gift for easing 
tension with good-natured aplomb; he had a knack for 
diplomacy, and genuinely seemed to care about maintaining a 
pleasant dynamic within the group.  Knowing this, Mulder 
found it impossible to be outright hostile to the guy.

"She mentioned she'd be dropping by," he relayed 
reluctantly.  She'd told him earlier that she needed to 
take care of some errands in the neighborhood, then she'd 
drop by and they'd have lunch.

"God, if I worked with a piece like that, I'd never get 
anything done," Bruschard commented.

Mulder just barely resisted to urge to connect his fist 
with the other man's face.  "Who says I get anything done?" 
he joked, only half-paying attention.  He was looking for a 
petite female with glorious red hair.

This would be the first time she had come here since they 
had started sleeping together, he realized.  That might 
explain his more-lacking-than-usual tolerance toward 
Bruschard.

Mulder had once asked Scully what she thought of Bruschard, 
trying to gauge her interest.  It was more for his own sake 
than for Bruschard's, of course.  She had only given him a 
little smile and asked, "Why?  Are you trying to set us 
up?"  The idea had been so vile that Mulder had never 
brought it up again.

Now he wondered, with a sick feeling in his stomach, if she 
had =wanted= him to set her up with Bruschard.  After all, 
the other man was attractive, around Mulder's age, and had 
a steady job.  The kind of guy he could picture Scully 
having a normal life with.

It also made him want to smash things, but there was no 
denying that Bruschard was prime significant-other material 
for an attractive, single woman like Scully.

They spotted her at the same time.  Bruschard gave a low 
whistle.  "My Saturday has just improved a hundredfold."

Mulder stiffened.  His had as well, but that didn't mean he 
wanted to hear the same sentiments voiced aloud by some 
other man.

She was a vision in jeans, a tight-fitting white top, and 
boots that made a deep clacking sound on the basketball 
court as she made her way toward him.

Calm down, he told himself.  But the way Bruschard was 
ogling her was downright aggravating.
 
If anyone was going to drool on Scully, it was going to be 
Mulder.

Ignoring Bruschard, he grinned at her as she approached.  
Christ, even the way she walked turned him on.  Was there a 
more delectable woman anywhere on earth?

"Hey," he greeted softly, eyeing her possessively.

If she took exception to that look, she didn't show it.  
She smiled in response, though he noted that her eyes 
seemed downcast.  "Hey yourself," she answered, not meaning 
to sound sexy, he was sure, but her voice caused goosebumps 
to rise on his flesh just the same.

"Hey Dana," an intrusive voice said brightly next to him.

Don't call her Dana, he wanted to shout.  But the thought 
of Bruschard calling her Scully was even worse.  Don't you 
call her anything at all.

Scully's glance flickered to his companion, and Mulder held 
his breath.  He let it out in relief when there was no 
interest in her eyes other than her good manners forcing 
her to go through the pleasantries.  "Hi, Troy," she 
replied.

The other man grinned, obviously delighted that she had 
remembered his name.  She's a law enforcement officer, 
Mulder wanted to inform the other man.  She's trained not 
to forget names and faces.

Bruschard asked casually, "So you two are partners...?"

"Yeah, we work together," Mulder said shortly.  Then 
venomously in his mind - as you perfectly well know.

Something flashed briefly in Scully's eyes that could have 
been described as...hurt.

He had to be mistaken.  Why should Scully be hurt by 
something so innocuous?  And true?  He had said it out of 
habit, as well as a preemptive strike against further 
intrusive questions.  Their relationship was nobody's 
business but their own.

To his consternation and surprise, Scully then turned to 
Bruschard again, looking at him speculatively.  "Right.  
And what is it that you do?  I've forgotten."  Had she 
deliberately injected that note of coyness into her voice?  
Surely it was just her manners that made her ask.

Mulder didn't even hear Bruschard's response, so intent was 
he on reading Scully's behavior.  Was she trying to provoke 
a response out of him?  But why should she want to do that?

"So you two aren't - ?"

*You know perfectly well we aren't, you ass, since you ask 
every damn time.  Well, we are, but you don't know that.  
Even if I want to shove that knowledge down your throat 
right now.*

"No, we aren't.  We work together, that's =all=."  He was 
appalled by the words that kept popping out of his mouth.  
What in the world had come over him?  Sure, he had said 
them countless times in the past, but never had he meant 
them less.  Why was he being so fucking insistent, when the 
last thing he wanted was to let Bruschard think he had a 
chance?

According to the blasted rules, he and Scully were free to 
be interested in other people.  Just because he would never 
be interested in another woman again didn't mean that the 
same was true for Scully and other males.

He suddenly realized: he wanted her to prove him wrong.  He 
wanted her to tell him that she wasn't interested in 
pursuing a relationship with any other man.

Tell this jerk to back the fuck off, he pleaded with her 
silently.

Scully studied him with unreadable eyes.  He didn't know 
what was going through her mind.  "That's all," she echoed.

He had never wanted to hurt himself more.  Stupid, stupid, 
stupid!  What was she supposed to say after he had made 
such an adamant denial?  No, actually, Mulder and I are 
lovers?  God, he was such a moron!

He'd wanted her to voice that they were more to each other; 
he'd wanted to hear her say it.  But now he had set back 
the efforts of the past few weeks, trying to ease her into 
the knowledge that he was in love with her.

Was there a more miserable excuse for a man?  He knew she 
wasn't ready to admit anything remotely the same; why did 
he have to provoke her like that?

"Well, listen," Bruschard said enthusiastically, apparently 
not sensing the tension between the other two, "Would you 
come with me to this social function I've got for work 
tonight, keep me company?  I always get bored as hell at 
these things, but I have to be there."

Mulder was speechless with shock.  Had he just heard right?  
Had this guy just asked his Scully out on a date, right in 
front of him?

Scully gave a nervous laugh.  "Oh, I don't think - "

"Oh, come on," Bruschard persisted good-naturedly.  "Just 
as friends.  My date canceled on me at the last minute and 
she was gonna be the only diversion to get me through it.  
It'd be for a good cause.  Mulder here can vouch that I'm a 
great guy."

Mulder stared at Bruschard in bug-eyed amazement.  First 
this guy had the balls to nerve to ask =his= woman to go 
out with him, and now he was using =Mulder= as a reference?  
He had to be out of his fucking mind!

Scully would never go out with this guy.  She didn't know 
him or care to know him.  She was involved with Mulder.  
But he had the same urge to hear her say for herself that 
she wasn't interested.

He deliberately closed off his expression, not wanting to 
influence her decision.  If she truly wanted to see 
Bruschard, well, he wouldn't stop her.  He'd go home and 
clean his Sig, but he wouldn't keep her from what she 
wanted.

"Sure," he said hollowly, "A great guy."

The little shit had probably made all that up on the spur 
of the moment.  Scully wouldn't fall for such an obvious 
ploy.

She was quiet for a long moment, looking at Mulder.  He 
gave her a tight smile, pleading her in his mind to reject 
Bruschard already and not to torture either of them with 
the wait any further.

Finally, she directed her attention back to Bruschard.  
Mulder almost melted in relief.  Here's where she was going 
to let him down...

"Sure, why not," she accepted softly, sending each man onto 
contrasting planes of joy.

"Great, thanks, you're a lifesaver," Bruschard announced.  
"I swear you'll have a good time.  We'll make it fun for 
each other."

Scully gave a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and 
as she gave Bruschard her contact information, he was 
glowing with delight.

Mulder gripped his water bottle so hard it collapsed in his 
hands.

~~~~~~~~

Outside Scully's Apartment
September 14
10:43 p.m.

Was it pathetic that he was sitting here in his car, in the 
dark, outside Scully's apartment, spying on her?  Should it 
be troubling him that he was waiting for her to come home 
from her date so that he could haul her inside and remind 
her just who it was that she belonged to?  Or what if she 
actually came home with Bruschard?  Was it terrible that he 
was half hoping she would, so that he could tear the guy 
apart limb from limb, for daring to go anywhere near her?  
And then he would haul Scully into bed and reassert his 
ownership.

What fucking fantasy world was =he= living in?  Scully 
belonged to herself.  She would be the first one to tell 
him to take a flying leap off the nearest multiple-story 
building if she heard him even remotely voice the 
possessive and jealous feelings rampaging through him at 
the moment.  But there was no denying he was feeling them.

He'd been sitting here for two hours, hoping against hope 
that the whole thing would be a bomb from the start and 
she'd get home early.  As each minute ticked by his mood 
had gotten blacker and blacker, until he could barely think 
straight for the cloud darkening his mind.

He reveled in the rage, because without it, he'd no doubt 
break down and sob like a baby.

Why had she agreed to go out with Bruschard tonight?  Was 
she genuinely interested in him?  Dared he hope that it had 
anything to do with him?  He heard Scully's voice in his 
mind, normally so welcomed, but this time forcing him to 
remember..."Not everything is about you, Mulder."

"Damn it!" he swore, pounding the steering wheel.  God, 
this pain in his chest was agonizing.  He had to get a hold 
of himself.

After a few more minutes, he was less explosively angry, 
but the hurt had not gone away.  He had never felt as 
confused as he did right now, sitting alone in his car, 
staking out Scully's apartment.  He had believed that he 
and Scully were closer than they had ever been - what had 
happened?  Had that been an illusion on his part?  Had she 
really only been using him for sexual release while looking 
for something else?

Wasn't that exactly what she thought =he= was doing?

A tap against his window nearly made him jump out of his 
skin.  Scully.  Shit, caught in the act.

He had to remember he didn't have anything to feel guilty 
about.  He wasn't the one who had gone on a date with 
somebody else.  The reminder roused his ire again.

He was not going to be made to feel bad about waiting for 
her.  He wanted her to know that this had bothered him.  
She wanted his balls on a platter?  She had them.

But not if she had Bruschard with her.  Then he wouldn't 
give either of them the satisfaction.  He'd simply get back 
in his car with as much dignity as he could muster, drive 
home, try not to get into an accident on the way, and then 
crash onto his couch to wallow in pathetic self-pity.  That 
was, unless he crossed a nice, tempting bridge along the 
way.

Instead of rolling down the window, he opened the car door 
and stepped out.  He wanted to have the semblance of the 
upper hand in this situation, and it would help if he could 
use his height to his advantage.

She didn't look like the vindictive little bitch he had 
tried to convince himself she was.  She just looked - 
tired.  But he wasn't about to let her off the hook that 
easy.  He needed answers.

Craning her head to look up at him, she met his accusing 
gaze unflinchingly.  "Want to come inside?"

Damn it, his cock really did have a mind of its own.  Even 
as upset with her as he was at this moment, his dick sprang 
to attention at her invitation with its unintended meaning.  
He gritted his teeth.  No, he was not going to be 
distracted by her feminine charms, though she had those in 
spades.

He jerked his head, looking for a sign of Bruschard, but 
the other man was nowhere to be found.  He despised himself 
for the intense relief that flooded through him.

Shit, she was already halfway to the building.  His long 
strides caught up to her quickly.  Once at her door, she 
dug through the small purse she had been carrying.

"Shit...I don't have my keys," she said tiredly.

Left in a bit of a hurry, did we? he thought caustically, 
but kept his mouth shut.  Wordlessly, he dug into his 
pockets and took out his keys, handing them to her.

"Thanks," she sighed, behaving as if this was all very 
normal.

Opening the door, she stepped into her apartment, Mulder 
following silently.  She switched on a lamp and tossed her 
purse and the keys onto the couch.

He sucked in a breath when she took off her long black 
overcoat; underneath, she was wearing a long form-fitting 
dress, kind of a shimmery blue, with no sleeves and a 
neckline that plunged a deep V into her cleavage.  She 
looked - stunning.  Breathtakingly so.

She stepped closer to him, having noticed his reaction.  
"What's the matter, Mulder?  Don't you like it?"

Bitch, he thought.  Manipulative bitch.

"Is this what you wore for him?" he asked, a dangerous edge 
to his voice.  The thought of his Scully preparing herself, 
dressing up for some other man, positively nauseated him.

She stared up at him with wide, sincere eyes.  "I wore this 
for you, Mulder," she whispered, stepping closer, sliding 
her arms around his waist.

He stiffened at her touch, not wanting to give in.  He 
desperately wanted to believe her, to believe the beautiful 
lie she was spinning for him.  Who cared about the dress?  
The fact was that he was with the woman he loved, and they 
were alone.

"I was hoping you would be here," she confessed.  "I needed 
you to be here..."  She rested her face against his 
unyielding chest.

He was thawing.  This was =Scully=, he told himself 
fiercely.  She didn't know the first thing about being 
duplicitous.

"Why did you do it?"  He hated the quiver in his voice.  
God, he was so weak when it came to her.

"I'm sorry," she answered, sighing.  "I just - " her voice 
caught.  "I'm glad you're here."

That wasn't an answer, but he closed his eyes at the 
sincerity in her voice.  He believed her.  Of course he 
did.

"You can see anybody you want to see; it doesn't make any 
difference to me," he grated.  Oh, that's a smooth one.  
That's why you were staked outside her apartment until she 
got home.

She was quiet for a moment.  Her answer, when it came, did 
not alleviate his fears very much.  "I know I can.  But I 
don't want to be with anyone but you right now.  Is that 
okay?"

He trembled.  Was it okay?  Was she kidding?  "Jesus...of 
course, Scully."  He hated himself for it, but he had to 
know.  "How was your date?"

"Boring," she answered without hesitation.  "He was nice.  
But he wasn't you, Mulder.  Though, God, I wanted him to 
be..."  He was enthralled by the look in her eyes.  If it 
was possible to feel cherished from a look in another 
person's eyes, then that's what he felt.

He was as surprised as she by the ferocity of his kiss.  He 
simply lowered his head and captured her parted lips with 
his; no preliminaries, and his tongue was thrusting into 
her mouth, her gasps swallowed by him even as they left her 
mouth.

He could taste the wine on her tongue; he swept over it 
until all traces were gone.  He wanted to eliminate all the 
evidence of her evening spent with someone else.

Pressing closer to her, he heard her whimper when his 
arousal rubbed against her stomach, telling her blatantly 
what he wanted.

She broke off the kiss and tugged on his hands, leading him 
to her bedroom.  "Come on, Mulder," she urged huskily.

He didn't need more encouragement than that.  Once inside, 
she shut the door, enclosing them in darkness.  A little 
moonlight greeted them through the window, but it was 
hardly sufficient.  He was glad.  He didn't want any 
artificial light encroaching on these moments; apparently, 
she felt the same way, as she made no move to turn on any 
lights.

Scully maneuvered him into a large stuffed chair by the 
bed.  He rested his hands on the armrests as he studied her 
with hooded eyes, his legs spread apart casually.  That 
dress was unbelievable.  It molded to every lush curve 
Scully possessed - and she had a lot of them.  And then in 
a whisper of material, it simply wasn't there anymore.

His breath caught in his throat.  God, she hadn't even been 
wearing a bra.  Her beautiful pink nipples grew hard under 
his gaze.  It caused his cock to tighten painfully in 
response.  Jesus, and the rest of her - those wispy black 
panties enticed him with what they hid, and she was wearing 
black thigh high stockings.  No garters, but he was glad - 
here was the same idea but without the trouble.  His Scully 
was a genius.  She was still wearing her black high heels.

He swallowed.  She had really gone all out, hadn't she?  
Maybe she had expected to get lucky with Bruschard, he 
thought painfully.  But no - she said she had dressed this 
way for him, hadn't she?  His gaze shot to her face.

A little smile crossed her lips.  "For you, Mulder," she 
answered his unspoken question.  "Just for you."

She stepped closer so that she was almost between his 
thighs, then dropped to her knees.  He stared in 
fascination at the way her pretty pink-tipped breasts 
jiggled in front of him.

Her hand reached out and ran up the material of his shirt.  
He was glad he had left his jacket in the car - one less 
item of clothing to get in the way.

He followed her hand as her fingers began to deftly flick 
open his buttons one by one, going down, down, down.  More 
of his taut skin was exposed to view as she completed her 
task; when she reached the waistband of his jeans her other 
hand came around and helped pull his shirt out.

Finally, his shirttails were unceremoniously flipped aside, 
and Scully ran her hands up his bare chest.  Her fingers 
brushed against his nipples, which hardened at her touch.  
He still had not moved.

She stopped running her hands over him and instead focused 
her attention on his right wrist, undoing the buttons at 
the cuff.  He was a little confused when she began to roll 
the sleeve up, almost to his elbow.  She did the same to 
the other arm.  Then she ran her hands up his forearms.

"God, you are so sexy," she breathed.  His eyebrows rose, 
but he was willing to accept her praise.  She appeared to 
have developed a fetish - he often did this exact thing 
while he was working.  The thought was flattering, and 
very, very arousing.

Without a word he used a hand to touch the side of one of 
her breasts.  Her skin was incredibly soft.  He ran his 
fingers forward until they were resting over the aroused 
peak of her breast.

"More," she rasped, pushing herself into his palm.

He was not averse to this plea; he gave her an obliging 
squeeze.  He let her nipple pop out between two of his 
fingers, right above the webbing, and he contracted his 
digits, trapping it there.  He was satisfied to hear her 
moan.

Her hands went to the fly of his jeans.  He shivered when 
her fingers brushed against his erection, straining to be 
let loose from its confines.

The rasping of his zipper was overly loud in the silence of 
the room.  He clenched his teeth and forcibly kept from 
crying out when she reached into the opening of his boxers 
to stroke him and then pull him out.

His breathing was coming faster and faster as she ran her 
fingers lightly up and down his length.  She wet her lips 
with her tongue.  He was already hugely erect, but when he 
saw her do that, he seriously thought for a moment that he 
was going to embarrass himself.  His dick twitched against 
her hand.

She retreated, to grab hold of his jeans.  "As good as you 
look in these jeans, Mulder, I think I want them off now."  
She was getting no argument from him.  He waited for her to 
remove his shoes and socks, then lifted his hips as she 
pulled the heavy material down and off, flinging them 
elsewhere.

"I think these have to go, too," she said without remorse.  
She tucked his penis back in, and he helped her ease his 
boxers off to join his pants.

Those things out of the way, she drew her face close to his 
straining erection.  He could feel her breath, hot and 
moist on him as she paused there for a moment, seeming 
content to look at him.

Meanwhile he was feverishly anticipating the touch of her 
mouth.  Even so, he jerked when he felt it; her lips at the 
base of his cock, light but insistent, sucking at his skin.  
His balls tightened to the point where it was almost 
unbearable, and then she cupped them in one of her hands.

"I've never seen anything as beautiful as you," Scully 
shared, beginning to lick him.

That's my line, he would have said if he had had the voice.

Finally, she had kissed and licked her way to the tip of 
him.  But where she would have taken him into her mouth, he 
stopped her by jerking away.

"What's wrong?" she asked in confusion, a little hurt in 
her voice.  She could see as plain as he that his cock 
twitching with desire and need.  He told her with his eyes 
that he was in no condition to be subjected to more than 
one stimulus tonight; if she wanted her pleasure as well, 
she would have to stop.  She smiled in understanding; he in 
relief.

She stood, stepping away, and hooked her thumbs into her 
panties and slid them down, stepping out of them.  Her 
shoes went next, then her stockings, peeled slowly down the 
length of her legs, making his mouth go dry and further 
fueling the fire running rampant through his veins.

She motioned to step forward again, but he stood, towering 
over her; she had lost the few inches of height her shoes 
had afforded her.  However, she didn't back down in any way 
- she simply looked back up at him, full of strength and 
resolve.

God, he loved her.  It would scare her if she realized how 
much.

He captured her mouth in a bruising kiss, trying to tell 
her with his passion what he could not voice out loud.  He 
wanted her to know on at least one level what he felt.  
Still kissing, they made their way over to the bed, falling 
onto it gently.

He started to shrug out of his shirt but she stopped him.  
"Leave it on, okay?" she implored breathlessly.

On, off, whatever - he was content having her in his arms.  
He rested his weight on his hands as he braced himself over 
her, devouring her with his lips and tongue and teeth.  
From her mouth to her breasts, he left nothing untouched.

Suddenly and without warning, he forced her legs wide and 
pushed himself into her.  She was scalding heat and 
moisture, enveloping him.  He needed this.  He needed her.  
He belonged to her.  She belonged to him...

She was more than ready for him.  She was so wet, so hot, 
and so incredibly tight that he couldn't stop his initial 
invasion until she had taken all of him.  He was buried in 
her so deep, as far as he could go.

Moaning in surprise from his sudden and thorough entry, she 
gripped at his shirt with both hands, lifting her hips for 
a better angle of penetration.

Christ, she felt so good that it took all his concentration 
not to come right then and there.  He was gonna make this 
as great for Scully as it was for him; that was the plan.  
She still hadn't said why she had gone out with someone 
else, but what mattered was that she was with him now.  He 
would use every opportunity he had to convince her that he 
was all she would ever want or need, ever again.

His hips pumped against her in a rhythm he knew she liked, 
if her breathless little panting was anything to go by.  
She clawed his back with her nails, and he felt positively 
triumphant at the twinge of pain he felt.  His hipbones 
ground against hers, their bodies slapping together in 
fierce emotion.

He opened his eyes to glance down at her, and was a little 
unnerved by the fact that she was openly looking at his 
face, meeting his gaze unflinchingly.

She must have seen something there, some kind of bleak 
need, because her next words cut him with their precision.  
"Oh, Mulder," she whispered.  "Don't you know I'm yours?"

He could not answer; he closed his eyes from the shock and 
regret of having been read so easily.  But then, this was 
Scully - the only person who possessed such unfailing skill 
where he was concerned.

"Mulder, Mulder," she murmured beneath him, letting go of 
his shirt and instead placed her hands on the hard planes 
of his chest, caressing him lovingly.  Then, to his intense 
dismay, she reached up and brushed away tears he hadn't 
realized had fallen from beneath his lashes.

Tonight she was his; this much was true.  But he wanted to 
be with her every night, every day, until he drew his last 
breath.  He wanted to have that right; he wanted her to 
want it too.

Feeling a sudden undeniable urge to brand her as his, as if 
the very act of his body moving inside hers was not enough, 
he lowered his lips to the soft skin of her neck.  A 
tangible mark, he decided, was just what was needed.

He nibbled softly at first, tasting the salt of her 
perspiration there, reveling in the rapid beat of her heart 
right below the skin.  He never once faltered in his 
actions - his lower body continued to move in an age-old 
rhythm even as he sucked strongly on her neck.

When her climax hit, her inner muscles pulled at him and 
milked him, and the sensation was so unbelievably 
pleasurable that his first instinct was to clamp his teeth, 
trapping her delicate skin there.  She cried out even 
louder, her whole body jerking up, forcing him in deep.

He regained the presence of mind to let go of the flesh on 
her neck before he began ramming into her like a madman, 
any pretense at finesse abandoned in favor of the need to 
find his own release in her sweet depths.

At last, at last, he was coming hard, exploding into her 
like a rocket, emptying into her until he was sure there 
was not a drop left in his body.

He collapsed, spent, onto her, burying his face into the 
hollow of her throat.  He felt her twine her arms around 
him, holding him tightly.

He was probably crushing her.  Rolling off with some 
reluctance, he couldn't help but be pleased by her little 
mew of disappointment.

"Come on," he urged gently, pulling back the covers.  His 
voice sounded odd, low and hoarse, and it even felt a 
little strange as the sounds found their way out of his 
throat.  He realized these were the first words he had 
spoken since he had asked her how her date was.  Damn, but 
that felt like ages ago.

He wasn't sorry that that was the case.  If he never felt 
as miserable as he did only an hour ago ever again, it 
would be fine by him.  The time he had spent between 
leaving her at the YMCA - plans for lunch had been cast 
aside as he'd stalked out, angry and hurt - and seeing her 
arrive home alone had been some of the most wretched hours 
he had ever spent.  And considering the horrors he had 
seen, some experienced first-hand, that was saying 
something.

He took a moment to strip off his shirt, and then they 
slipped quickly under the covers, both reaching for each 
other and cuddling close.  He was bathed in her scent, and 
he took a deep breath to get it all in.  God, he loved 
sleeping here with her.  He felt surrounded by her, secure 
and wanted.

The important thing about tonight was that she had chosen 
him over Bruschard and a "normal" life.  He knew she 
wouldn't have come home alone if she hadn't chosen to.  He 
would have to be more careful in the future about the 
dangers that threatened to take her away from him.  He had 
prevailed.  This time.

"What are you thinking?"  Her arm was slung possessively 
across his chest; he rather liked it.

"Um...do you know if the Redskins won their game today?"  
Oh, that's classic.  Use humor as a defense mechanism, his 
psychology training mocked.

She stiffened, then let out a huff of outrage before she 
sighed - in understanding if not acceptance.  "They didn't 
play today," she stated flatly.

He began hesitantly, "I was thinking..."  Just say it, you 
coward.  Scully, I love you and want to sleep with you in 
this bed everyday for the rest of our natural lives.

"Yeah?" she prompted, yawning.

"I was thinking..."  He faltered again.  He couldn't do it; 
he was too afraid of the possible consequences.  She might 
make him leave, and that was the last thing he wanted to 
do.  He didn't want to do anything that would jeopardize 
his chances of sleeping next to her tonight.  It was a sure 
thing right now; if he said anything to alarm her, that 
could change in a heartbeat.

"...that it's real nice being here," he finished finally.  
What a gift with words you have, his inner voice said 
sarcastically.  "Real nice" - that was the understatement 
of the century.

Scully didn't seem particularly disturbed by his choice of 
words, however.  She only snuggled in closer.  He glanced 
down at her, her head resting on his shoulder.  Her eyes 
were closed, and he spied a small smile touch her mouth.

"It is nice, isn't it?" she agreed, sounding drowsy.  
Within moments, he could tell that she was asleep.

Delicately, he brushed her hair back from her face, 
caressing the strands lovingly.  He wanted to tell her he 
loved her, and he would - just as soon as he could be sure 
that she would reciprocate the sentiment and not leave him 
holding the pieces of his shredded heart in his hands.

He knew that she knew he loved her - as her best friend and 
her partner.  But she didn't know that he was =in= love 
with her, and there was a world of difference.

If only he wasn't so damnably chickenshit.  If only things 
were as black and white as they had meant them to be and 
rules and lines were easily adhered to and emotions were 
easily controlled.  If only he wasn't so fucking scared of 
losing her.  If only he was all doped up again, so the 
drugs would loosen his tongue up.  If only this situation 
wasn't completely different from that time, and the words 
didn't mean so much more.

If only he could stop with the "if only"s and grab life by 
the balls for once and tell the woman he loved how he felt.  
For once in his miserable life, reach out for happiness 
instead of push it away.

"I...I love you, Scully."  His voice cracked on the 
delivery, but he had done it.  He had vocalized his 
feelings for her in her presence.  He took a deep breath 
and let it out slowly, to calm his racing heart.  Christ, 
even his palms felt sweaty.  He noticed that the hand of 
the arm around her small shoulders was tracing nervous 
patterns on her skin.  He forced himself to stop.

He heard the steady rhythm of her breathing as she slept 
on, and he stared morosely at the ceiling.  That was good; 
good job, he told himself.  Now if only he could do it 
while she was actually conscious.

~~~~~~~~

Scully's Apartment
September 15
10:18 a.m.

He woke with an erection and Scully spooned up against him.  
There was only one logical thing to do.

Wrapping both arms around her just under her breasts, he 
kissed the top of her head in a morning greeting, sure she 
was still sleeping.

Slowly, he moved a hand up to one plump breast, and 
caressed it until he felt the nipple harden against his 
fingers.  He then performed the same task on its twin, and 
Scully shifted against him.  He stifled a groan as her soft 
little ass rubbed against the rigid length of his shaft.

His hand trailed down from her breasts over the firm 
muscles of her abs, into the thatch of curls shielding the 
part of Scully where he wanted to be most at the moment.

He tested the waters and nearly growled with satisfaction.  
She was wet and ready.  He glanced down at the top of her 
sleeping head.  Maybe she wouldn't even notice.  He'd be 
quick - no sense in troubling her.

He closed his eyes and let out a silent groan when she 
enveloped him into her slick depths.  He grabbed her leg, 
dragging it back over his hip as he continued to move 
gently in and out.

His breaths grew shallower and more urgent as he thrust.  
The strain of being gentle and unobtrusive was tiring him 
out; he halted his motions to gather strength.

"Why are you stopping?" she murmured, pushing back against 
him.

All right, so he hadn't really believed she would stay 
asleep during the whole thing.  But he felt guilty, anyway.  
"Sorry, Scully," he said, his morning voice rough and low.

She twisted to face him, beautiful in her half-asleep 
state.  "Mulder, as much as I love this position, I want to 
see you," she said.

He obligingly slipped out of her so that she could settle 
onto her back before she pulled him between her legs again.  
He pushed back inside without missing a heartbeat, feeling 
inexplicably relieved to be in her again.

His movements had just started again when the phone rang.  
Shit, it was Sunday - it was probably Scully's mother.  
Scully, however, made no motion to pick it up.

"Shouldn't you get that?" he groaned.

He continued to thrust, and she said in between breathy 
little gasps, "Very...funny...Mulder."

"No, I mean it," he gasped in response.  His thrusts grew 
arrhythmic as he tried to halt his body's natural 
instincts, but he found it difficult to stop completely.

His hips stilled by the fourth ring of the phone.  It was 
Mrs. Scully, he was sure of it.  For some reason the idea 
that Scully should ignore her mother because of him was 
incredibly wrong.

He ignored her dumbfounded look as he reached over a little 
ways to the cordless phone sitting on her bed stand.

"What are you doing?" she cried, jerking her hips up to 
encourage him to begin the mating rhythm once more.

"Scully," he gasped at the movement.  "What if it's your 
mother?"  Which it almost certainly was.  He knew that Mrs. 
Scully regularly called her daughter around this time on 
Sundays, after she returned from church.

"Mulder," she began, "I can call her ba - hello?"  He had 
pressed the receiver to her ear and pressed 'talk' before 
she could finish her sentence.

Still gasping for breath, he lowered his head onto the 
pillow, resting his cheek against it, facing away from her.  
He hoped their conversation wouldn't be too long.  He 
didn't have unlimited reserves of willpower.

His hair was damp from the sweat generated by their morning 
exertions.  They were both sticky with perspiration, but 
the feel of her skin rubbing against his was simply divine.

He felt her run a hand down the length of his back in a 
gentle caress.  She rested the tips of her fingers into the 
dip of his spine, and he couldn't quite stop from rubbing 
against her.

"Hello?" he heard her repeat.

His lower body was tense as he forced himself not to start 
thrusting again.  When she tightened her vaginal muscles 
for just a second to tease him, he decided that she was 
evil.  He let out a tortured groan.

He concentrated on taking deep, even breaths.  It was an 
unbelievable feeling to be lying so still inside her, her 
inner muscles gripping him tight, while he tried to keep 
from moving.

"Hi, Troy," he heard her say.  What the hell?  Why was that 
asshole calling her?  He remembered that she'd never said 
what exactly had happened last night.

So he hadn't come home with her, so what.  Scully wasn't 
the type to sleep with a man on a first date.  What about 
Ed Jerse? his mind taunted.  She was pissed at me then, he 
responded defensively.  And besides, he was fairly certain 
she hadn't slept with Jerse.  She was pissed at you 
yesterday, too.  Whatever - but she hadn't done it.  He was 
the one in bed with her.  He was the one =in= her.

Then why the fuck was she on the phone with Bruschard?  
That asshole was the reason he'd postponed both of their 
climaxes?

As much as it killed him, Mulder listened to her sweet 
voice talking to the other man.  He had to know if it meant 
something.

"It's so good to hear from you," she fairly purred.  He 
jerked his head up sharply in an involuntary gesture to 
look at her.  The look of smug satisfaction on her face 
quieted some of his worries.  In fact, he was positively 
elated.  She was just teasing him.

Oh, what a wonderful feeling relief was.

"Uh huh," she said.  Mulder felt his brows draw together.  
What could they possibly be talking about?  In his mind the 
conversation was clear.  Bruschard: Let's go out again.  
Scully: No, thank you, and please don't call me again.  I'm 
being fucked senseless by the only man I'll ever want.

Mulder almost smiled.

"Get off the phone," he murmured into her ear, taking her 
earlobe between his teeth.

She looked at him with wide eyes, questioning with mock 
innocence why she would want to do that.

Oh, so it was going to be like that, was it?  Two could 
play at this game.  He never took his eyes from hers as he 
raised himself up again.

Moving his hips slowly, he dragged himself out of her, then 
just as slowly pushed back in till he was buried to the 
hilt.

He heard her voice catch on her sentence.  This was even 
better, he thought.  Making love to Scully with that 
bastard on the phone, claiming what was his in a primitive 
display of possession.

The fact that Bruschard wasn't aware of the slight only 
added to the satisfaction of doing it.  Bastard.

And, of course, there was Scully, who obviously wanted to 
provoke him.  Perhaps into doing exactly this.  Mulder 
couldn't keep back the grin.

She grabbed one of his shoulders, trying to push him back.  
There was a slightly panicked look in her eyes and a 
becoming flush to her cheeks.

*No* she mouthed, then her breath hitched and her eyes 
rolled back as he disregarded her request and surged forth 
again.

"Hang up," he rasped softly.

She shook her head and mumbled something into the phone.  
She returned his gaze stubbornly, determination gleaming in 
her eyes.

He shrugged and tried to hide his amusement.  He'd been 
playing nice, but obviously she had underestimated his 
resolve.  He began to move again, this time a little 
faster.

She swallowed; he saw her trying to control her response by 
gulping her breaths.  "I...don't know," she responded into 
the receiver, in a voice that was barely there.

His next thrust was a little harder than its predecessors, 
and she let out an involuntary sound of surprise.  She 
shook her head frantically as his thrusts grew stronger and 
faster in pace, but the legs that had tightened around his 
waist, keeping him to her, belied the negative gestures of 
her upper body.

He felt a familiar tightening in his cock as his body 
prepared for release.  His eyes slipped shut, his lower 
body driving into hers with a single purpose.  He no longer 
cared about Bruschard; Scully couldn't be too interested in 
the guy when she actively participated in his humiliation - 
and she was definitely active now, raising her hips to 
deepen his penetration, clawing at him with her free hand.

The bed rocked and squeaked with the force of his efforts.  
He didn't even realize she had apparently hung up the phone 
until he heard it unceremoniously drop to the floor with a 
muffled thud.

"F-finish your con...ver...sa...tion?" he managed to gasp 
in between thrusts.

"Ah...sort of," she responded, sounding decidedly out of 
breath.  "I don't think he'll be calling back," she 
finished in a rush.

"Why?"  Don't come yet.  Don't come yet.

"I think...the sound effects were...too much for him.  I... 
tried to...stop - "  She sounded contrite.  Then she was 
thrashing against him, her nails digging into his ass as he 
moved frenetically against her.  Her gasps of encouragement 
echoed in his ears.

The knowledge that Bruschard had actually =heard= Scully 
fucking him danced around gleefully in Mulder's mind, 
making the inevitable arrive that much sooner.

A few more rapid thrusts and he was gone, shooting into her 
with unbelievable force.  He was dimly aware of the 
movements of his body; his mind was on another plane of 
existence.  He felt as though he were floating, floating 
high in a place where nothing and no one existed but 
himself and the woman in his arms.

"Mulder," he heard Scully calling.  "Mulder, come back to 
me."

Gradually his heartbeat slowed enough that blood was 
allowed to rush back into his brain.  He was aware of the 
stickiness between his legs and that he was still ensconced 
inside her.  His hair was flopping over his forehead in 
damp strands and his arms ached from holding himself up.  
His eyes refocused and he saw her precious, familiar face.  
"I'm here, Scully," he said.  "I'm here."

=End Worth Breaking (4/5)=

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