TITLE: Hot Shower
AUTHOR: Susanne Barringer
EMAIL: sbarringer@usa.net
ARCHIVE: Anywhere okay with these headers attached.
CATEGORY: SR
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance
RATING: R for lascivious thoughts
SPOILERS: Inspired by the rumored scene in the upcoming "One
Son," although it's a pretty sure bet it won't play out this way in the
episode! :)
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully get decontaminated, among other
things.
DISCLAIMER: Not my characters. They belong to Chris Carter,
1013, and Fox. No money being made, etc.
The idea for this story came from a challenge posted by ENeternity
on ATXC last week, even though my story ended up going a totally
different direction and not exactly meeting the challenge.
THANK YOU to Suzanne Schramm for beta-reading and for my
daily recommended dosage of confidence boosting. :)
________________
Hot Shower
by Susanne Barringer
My skin is burning with the chemicals. I can feel them seeping
through my clothing, into my pores, scalding my cells and
destroying me layer by layer. Mulder and I have been doused with
something that's eating away at us, and it's not wasting any time
about it either. What will save us is the decontamination unit
temporarily set up on the scene and on full alert for just this
possibility.
We are hustled to the shower area where two technicians wait with
hoses. I'm already half stripped down by the time we get there.
The longer my soaked clothes stay near my skin, the more serious
the burns will be, and the searing of the chemicals is already almost
more than I can stand. The pain radiates through me in a way that
makes me clench my teeth with the force of it. The last thing I see
before I turn around to face the technician is Mulder peeling off his
trousers. There's not an ounce of privacy in the decontamination
area, and no time to worry about it either. We have to go through
the procedure together.
I am not by nature an excessively modest person, but it is rather
disconcerting to strip down to nothing in front of a bunch of
strangers who are covered from head to toe in decontamination
suits, gloves, and masks. Not an inch of their skin is showing while
I'm displayed in all my glory. The blistering pain, however, kills
dead any speck of modesty I have remaining.
Even more disconcerting than my current state of undress,
however, is my awareness of my partner, no doubt equally naked,
standing just two feet behind me. I can feel his presence, as I
always can, although I can't say that we've ever been in quite this
situation before.
The technician hoses me down with enough water pressure to
nearly knock me backwards. I can tell by the ruckus behind me that
Mulder is being treated equivalently, the water from the two hoses
bouncing off our bodies and onto each other. I try not to think
about the fact that there's something distinctly erotic about this
whole scenario.
After the initial rinsing, one technician begins to scrub me with
neutralizer while the technician with the hose continues to spray a
light flow of water over me. Although my skin still burns from the
chemicals which must be scrubbed away, I'm not convinced that the
neutralizing is any better. It feels like I'm being sanded, and the
harshness rips at my skin leaving a tingling feeling that mixes with
the burn in a sensation that is bordering on torture.
I try to think about something else. Mulder. Standing behind me.
Naked. I can't seem to shake the image. Of course, I've seen him
naked before, but those were in times of emergency and I was,
obviously, too distracted to pay much attention. I should be
distracted now. Acid is eating into my skin, and there are other
things to be worried about. I should be concerned about Mulder's
condition, how badly he's burned, whether he is in as much pain as I
am. But, no, instead all I can think about is just how naked he is.
My timing has never been very good.
The situation is not helped when the technician brushing my
stomach suddenly intensifies her strokes and I momentary lose my
balance from the change in rhythm. I'm forced to step back to
regain my equilibrium and in doing so I graze against Mulder. It is
just a fleeting collision, stopped almost before it can register, for I
quickly step forward again. My heart rate picks up and my skin
tingles from where I came into contact with him. I'm honestly not
sure how long I'll be able to stand this.
It takes several minutes for the technician to scrub every part of my
front side, the close scrutiny gradually becoming more and more
uncomfortable. Then, she makes a little circular motion with her
finger to signal me to turn around. So I do.
I come face to face with Mulder's back, which stretches before me,
tanned and smooth, like expensive leather. The broad expanse of
muscles rests over his frame perfectly. I want to reach out and
touch him, to touch the places where the water beads across his
skin, but, of course, that's out of the question. So I find something
else to do. I check out his ass. It's right there in front of me. How
can I not look?
I must say Mulder has a fine ass. It's one of those perfectly
rounded ones that you rarely see. The skin looks silky and soft, and
I'm fascinated by the way the water flows over his buttocks like a
waterfall, cascading to the floor. I have a strong temptation to
reach out and touch the small dimple on the right side, to run my
finger over its smooth indentation. I have a momentary flash of
digging my fingernails into his ass as he thrusts into me, but I shake
that as quickly as possible. I'm very aware that we are far from
being alone, and this is not the time to be playing with fantasies.
I'm too involved in studying Mulder's anatomy to notice his
technician signaling him to turn. He reels around so quickly that I
barely have time to shoot my gaze up so that it meets his face and
not his groin. His eyes latch onto mine in surprise at our current
position, but he does not look away. A slight grin plays about the
corners of his mouth. Nobody in the room seems to realize how
incredibly awkward this could be. The technicians keep scrubbing
away like it's no big deal that two naked partners of the opposite
sex are standing face to face.
We look at each other, neither of us willing to break the eye
contact. Neither of us turns away either, for that matter. I see the
challenge in his eyes, reinforced by a quick lifting of his brows. The
message is clear. Which one of us is going to be the first to give in
and look down? A range of emotions crosses his face, teasing,
flirting, challenging. Despite my promise to myself that I won't be
the first to give in, I seem unable to stop my eyes as they make a
quick excursion. I study his mouth, then his chin, reveling in their
familiarity; I know them as well as I know my own name. Then I
pay close attention to the way his neck arches in just that way, a
way to which I've become accustomed over the years, his neck
being one part of him that I can study regularly without being
excessively obvious. I slowly journey down his shoulder to just the
upper part of his chest, where the water beads over him like
diamonds, his skin pink from the scrubbing he has just received. It
is a quick pilgrimage, then I return to his eyes. Just a tease, nothing
more. Nothing questionable about it. Totally professional.
Mostly.
When I meet Mulder's eyes again, he is laughing at me. Not out
loud, but I can read him. He dares me with his eyes. He dares me
to look, to travel past my present mark. To go all the way. His
eyes tell me to take a chance. I hesitate a moment, just to make
him wonder, and then I accept the dare. The technician is
scrubbing my back, having finished with my shoulders and arms,
meticulously working her way down my body. There isn't time to
waste. I've got a deadline.
I allow my eyes to wander freely over Mulder's chest, over the
expanse of water flowing across skin. It is mesmerizing, this
cascade. The water falls in rivulets over his muscles, gluing the
tufts of hair to his chest, creating a mosaic of dark and reddened
skin like some vision of modern art. The movement of the
technicians behind Mulder, which I see only out of the corner of my
eye, reminds me where I am, but I'm unable to tear my gaze from
the view in front of me. I trace over his curves and muscles,
wondering what it would be like to touch him, wondering what he
would do if I did. I want to lean forward and take onto my tongue
the quivering drop of water that hovers on the bottom curve of his
breast; it struggles between clinging to the beauty of him and the
inevitable gravity that pulls it toward the floor.
I watch as the drop finally lets go and swims down Mulder's torso
in a rambling path. I follow it to his abdomen, unbelievably toned
and tight, as I have always remembered from the few times I have
seen him shirtless. It is an image that has played in my mind for as
long as I have known him, this beautiful torso that sings to me a
serenade of skin and heat and silky smoothness.
I see Mulder draw in a deep breath, his chest expanding with it. I
feel his stare on my face, and I know that his eyes haven't moved.
He is watching me look at him. I hope he isn't uncomfortable with
my thorough scrutiny. There's no way I'm going to stop. Not now,
not until I have gone all the way.
I meander down his belly to the top of the dark thatch of hair. I am
just barely conscious of the pain radiating throughout my body as
the stinging substances are scrubbed from my surface. The burning
has been replaced by something else that smolders inside me and
makes me feel heated under the water that seems cold as it pours
across my aching skin.
To be honest, I've always found penises humorous, particularly
when flaccid. I mean, I never really understood the attraction of
photographs of random penises on random men. After all, it's the
man it's attached to that really matters. Soft and unaroused, a penis
is really rather silly, just a slab of flesh hanging between the legs,
like some sort of leftover from a blunder of evolution. Ridiculous
looking, despite its functionality.
At this particular moment, however, I find nothing at all ridiculous.
I study Mulder's cock carefully, like an artist, its smoothness and
bumps, the way it hangs just perfectly. I wish I was an artist so I
could sculpt him or paint him or do something to preserve his
beauty for all eternity. I have never seen any man so beautifully
designed, so perfectly exquisite. His cock and the tight muscles of
his upper thighs and the angle of his hipbones all glide together in
some kind of sonata of wondrous masculinity. The stroking of the
water streaming over him only magnifies my need to touch him and
to memorize the splendor of his form with my hands. Heat blazes
between my legs despite my efforts to fight it and despite the many
eyes that I know are watching us.
I'm surprised when Mulder's cock stirs slightly under my gaze. I
clench my fists tightly to squelch the desire to reach out and touch
it, to run my fingers over its curves and ridges so I can know the
feel of what I see before me. I long to make it rise under my hands
and beg for me. I want to taste it, to have it full in my mouth, to
feel it hard inside me, all of me, every part of me. I cannot believe
how much I want it. How much my mouth craves him. I'm aware
that I am biting my lip, hard, and I know that Mulder sees it, that he
is watching me look at him, but I don't care. I shiver with the
thought of taking Mulder into me, and if not for the constant
tremors of pain that hover about my consciousness, I think I would
break into a fit of weeping for the sheer desire that swallows me.
I sense Mulder's breath quickening, although the noise of the water
pouring from the hoses could not possibly allow me to hear it.
Goosebumps rise across his flesh and he shivers, while I am burning
up. I do not want to embarrass him, so I cease my visual kiss. I
take a quick journey down his lanky legs, strong and beautiful and
no doubt incredible to have entwined with one's own. I slowly raise
my gaze to meet his face again. I see something in his eyes,
something I have never seen before. An entire lexicon of emotions
rumbles across his face and reaches across to me, balancing on the
water droplets that cavort around us.
Then his eyes drop, slowly dancing over my neck, my shoulders. I
watch as his eyes move, then pause, then move again, then pause. I
know that he is kissing me, that each time he hesitates he is
imagining planting a kiss in that spot, tenderly and gently. I can
actually feel it. I am surprised when he stops his excursion just
above my breasts and his gaze meets mine again.
I've long been aware that I can't measure up to the women of
Mulder's fantasies, to the anonymous women in his films and
magazines. I see in his eyes that, at this moment, it doesn't make a
single bit of difference. What I see is desire, just the flicker of it,
nothing that anyone else would notice. But I see it and know it,
and this time it isn't my imagination playing tricks on me.
Mulder holds my gaze, waiting, as if asking my permission before
delving lower. With a stifled smile, I grant it, and I must remind
myself again that we are being watched. I can't let it show.
All the way down, I feel his touch, his lips on me. His eyes float
over my breasts and I know with an arousing certainty how his
hands would feel there, stroking and touching me, as his eyes move
across my seared skin. The heat of my chemical-burns becomes
indistinguishable from how I know his mouth on me would feel. It
is the most incredible sensation I have ever experienced. I am here,
in a sterile room, being hosed down and scrubbed over every part
of my body which is burning with chemicals, and all I can feel are
Mulder's soft imaginary kisses landing over my breasts, my ribs, my
belly.
All the way down. He takes his own sweet time, which pleases me
with its implications. I know now exactly how he would be, how
excruciatingly slowly he would love me. All memory of awkward
and selfish lovers from the past is washed away and replaced by this
single moment of furious intensity. The feeling of my skin being
rubbed raw, the harsh brush scraping the smooth skin of my lower
back and buttocks, contrasts markedly to the delicate way in which
Mulder's scrutiny caresses me, languidly, as if we have all the time
in the world.
I keep my eyes trained on Mulder's face, watching his every
expression, just as he watched me as I explored him. His eyes
linger over every part of me. My consciousness is refocused on the
scrubbing which has now moved to the back of my thighs, then to
my knees. We are running out of time. Hurry, Mulder. My pulse
speeds up with the excitement, the anticipation. The flurry of
feelings and stimuli nearly drive me insane. I can barely stop myself
from spurring him on. Now, Mulder. For God's sake, do it now!
I am more than aware when Mulder's eyes meet their goal--I see the
exhalation of the breath he's been holding and the struggle to
maintain his composure indicated by his clenched fists. It's the
same thing I've just experienced, only this time I am on the
receiving end and the knowledge of what I do to him erupts inside
of me. His eyes drift over that part of me that I have kept hidden
for so long, that I have kept to myself out of fear of losing myself in
just this way. Mulder seems blissfully unaware of the presence of
those around us; they are equally unaware of us, of our waltz of
imagination, danced to the tune of falling water.
As the scrubbing moves down to my ankles, Mulder tears his gaze
away and looks me in the eye. What I see there confirms what I
have just felt. In our own peculiar way, in this extremely peculiar
relationship of ours, we have just made love, in front of a half
dozen decontamination technicians and God knows who else, none
of whom have a clue about what has raged between us without so
much as a single physical touch. Extreme possibilities indeed.
Mulder smiles at me in a way that makes me blush for some totally
inexplicable reason. It is the first time during this whole standing-
naked-and-aroused-in-front-of-a-room-full-of-strangers scenario
that I have felt embarrassed. From somewhere that seems far away,
I hear someone talking. With a start, I realize the technician is
speaking to me.
"Agent Scully? I'm finished here. You can go ahead into the
examining room." I turn and look at the masked woman and flash a
smile as an apology for not hearing whatever it was she said before
my attention was drawn away from Mulder. "Sorry about this," she
mumbles, seeming to just now realize that I've been standing in
front of my partner stark naked for the last ten minutes. Not that I
minded, as it turns out.
I step out of the decontamination area and into a large smock that is
offered to me, though it seems a bit late for privacy now. I
immediately feel a sense of loss, like I have been abandoned. A
shiver runs through me although my flesh still aches with the burns
and my insides are ablaze with Mulder. I do not turn back to look
at him because I suspect that if I do, I will never be able to walk
away from him again.
************
A half hour later, I leave the examining room to find Mulder
waiting for me on the bench outside. He is dressed in scrubs that
match my own, our clothes having been destroyed to prevent
further contamination.
"Everything okay?" he asks, tilting his head at me in concern.
"Yes. They treated a few of the burns, but none of them seem
serious," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Same here," he says, gingerly getting up from the bench and
standing in front of me, "but it hurts like hell, doesn't it?"
The scrubs hang on him loosely, covering his form. I know what
lies underneath. Every curve and muscle and mark I have mapped
out in my head and committed to memory, like an explorer who
fears getting lost forever in endless wilderness. I wouldn't mind
losing myself in those hills and rivers and forests. I know the places
I want to touch--the broad chest, the solid arms, the slight rise of
his belly. I know exactly where I want to run my tongue--along the
velvety smooth skin of his lower back, the ripple along his
abdominal muscles, and mostly the part of him that began to spring
to life under my simple gaze. I can identify every curve and rise of
his body that I now want to touch and taste in the same way I have
seen them--slowly, gently, one part at a time, until I have covered
all of him with all of me.
"The doctor said we were lucky." Mulder's words call me back to
reality. My skin pounds with the burns and the scrubbing it has
suffered, the ache exacerbated with every brush of my clothing
against me. "He said it could have been worse, if we hadn't been
treated so quickly."
When I look back up at Mulder, he is smiling gently and looking at
me in that way that I have just begun to understand. We are
thinking the same thing. Of that I am sure. It is only a matter of
time.
END
____________
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