Peep Show By Ann K Rating: R, for sexual content and imagery, and adult language. Summary: It's all in the timing. Mulder tries to make amends to Scully for their bad day, but they both end up with more than they bargained for. The story of how one moment can make all the difference. Feedback welcomed at annhkus@yahoo.com. More of my stories are available at www.geocities.com/annhkus What a goddamned shitty Friday. He'd add a few more expletives to that, but he had the feeling he still wouldn't be able to sum up the day. He woke up late, and, in his haste to get out the door, left the files behind on his desk that he was working on until late last night. Or was it early this morning? He was halfway to work when he realized his mistake, and he practically caused a multi-car collision when he took a quick right across two lanes of traffic to exit the freeway. That should have been a clue that things weren't going well. In case he missed it, Scully reinforced the fact when he walked into their office door. Apparently, his absentmindedness had caused him to miss an early-morning meeting with Skinner, leaving his partner to face the wrath of the AD alone, as well as try to explain his absence. She wasn't pleased, judging by her icy silence the rest of the day and the fact that she answered his questions with little more than a monosyllabic grunt. Hell hath no fury like Scully pissed off. Mulder didn't even bother to turn on his lights, preferring to wallow in the comforting darkness of his apartment. There was something morosely comforting in loosening his tie, rolling his shirtsleeves to the elbow, and sprawling on the cool leather. He did feel bad about abandoning Scully, especially since this time it wasn't even planned. He knew she took her responsibilities as his partner and friend seriously, and he groaned aloud imagining what lies she told Skinner to explain his absence. Scully was never anything less than honest, and he berated himself again for his shitty day. His goddamned, fucking shitty Friday. The cursing made him feel marginally better, and he decided he should make amends, then and there. Maybe the drive home let Scully cool off to some degree. Maybe she might give him the chance to actually explain that there was no grand conspiracy behind his absence. He fucked up, plain and simple, and she deserved an apology. Something had been changing between them in recent weeks, months even. The subtle undercurrent of sexual tension and physical awareness had always been there. He would admit, but only under protest, that he felt a surge of something definitely non-partner like during Scully's panicked strip show in an Oregon motel. But that was it. That was all there ever was. Until now. For some reason, she made him furious and aroused and breathless and so damned angry, usually all in the same moment. If he was a bigger man, he would admit that his frustration with the day wasn't just the remorse of a partner. It was the way Scully's gaze was frosty and dismissive, and the hidden fear in his heart of rejection. From Scully, of all people. He had never been a romantic, even during his younger years, but working so closely with a woman for so long was bound to have an effect. Scully certainly had one on him. Searching in his pockets for his cell phone, he saw in the moonlight shining through the open blinds that it was still nestled in his jacket pocket. Which, of course, was wadded up in the kitchen, where he flung it when he walked in the door. Damn. Damndamndamn. He was tired, frustrated, and wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and try to forget the events of the past twelve hours. Instead, he dutifully got to his feet, and took the shorter route to his desk phone. Scully was likely more rational now, and in a better frame of mind to accept his apology. Her day was just as bad as his, he was sure. She would laugh her patented Scully laugh at his detailed explanations, maybe make some offer for dinner this weekend. As he dialed the last digit of her home number, a subtle movement and a bright light shining from across the road caught his attention. He never paid much attention to the residential building, which stared back at him from his own apartment, but he could not tear his eyes away from the open window. The lights were blazing, the blinds were pulled high, and a naked woman, her breasts gleaming lightly from sweat, was standing in front of a man whose face was turned from Mulder. She was rocking against him back and forth, her mouth parted in a perfect moan of pleasure. He couldn't tear his eyes away, even though he knew he shouldn't be watching. Their rhythm was mesmerizing. The figures were hazy from the distance, but he could clearly see the man's hands roaming up and down her body, stopping just long enough to squeeze the woman's breasts, rolling them roughly in his fingers. Mulder felt his cock surge in arousal, and he choked back a groan of surprise. He got up to call Scully, for god's sakes, not to watch a live porno flick starring his neighbors. Scully. Shit. Her voice broke into his thoughts, and he fumbled with the phone, trying not to stare at the woman's breasts in the moonlight, trying to organize his thoughts into a decent apology, willing his hard arousal away, as if she could see him through the phone. He was saved when Scully kept talking, and he realized she wasn't home. It was her answering machine. The woman was obviously nearing her climax, her blonde hair hanging low around her face. They settled into a more desperate rhythm, the man's hands holding the woman firmly around her hips, pulling her against him almost violently. Mulder was unaware of his own hips imitating their actions, Scully's silky voice whispering in his ear. The air was incredibly erotic, and he struggled to take a deep breath. "I am not available to answer the phone. Please leave a message..." At that moment, the woman threw back her head, arching her back, and Mulder watched, spellbound, as the man tensed, heaving into the blonde with near violent spasms. Just as the beep on Scully's phone sounded, he groaned loudly, unable to hold back his response. Oh, shit. Oh, shitshitshit. It took him a few moments to gather his wits. As the couple across the way fell against each other, the man's arms coming up to hold the blonde against him, Mulder realized with a sickening awareness that his groan - what sounded even to his ears as a sexual, urgent groan - had been captured on Scully's answering machine. His professional partner, his friend. Oh, shit. And it was still on, recording his somewhat labored breathing. He dropped the phone as if it scalded his fingers, moving quickly away from the window, cursing the couple for not having the decency to shut their blinds. Oh, shit. She might not know it was him. That was his first thought, but one he immediately discounted. Of course, she would know it was him. They had been partners long enough where he knew all the nuances of Scully's voice. While he never had the pleasure, and likely never would, of experiencing an aroused Scully moan, he couldn't deny the fact that he had imagined it. Only a time or two, of course. It was natural, being that Scully was an attractive woman with whom he spent a great deal of time. He couldn't take the chance she might know it was him. Mulder had Scully's key. She obviously was not home. This would certainly be what he qualified as an emergency. He could erase his message on Scully's machine. She would never have to know that he was even there. He had his car keys in his hand and was out the door before he had a chance to second-guess himself. ******************************* She balanced her groceries in one hand, fumbling with her keys. The groceries seemed light in the store, but much heavier after she got home, saw all the front-street parking was full, and was forced to walk from the lot at the end of the block. What a horrible Friday. She should have known how it was going to turn out, when she slept through her alarm clock and rushed out the door late for a meeting with Skinner. She didn't want to imagine Mulder facing Skinner alone, reviewing last month's expense reports. Turned out she didn't have to. The bastard never showed. *She* was the one who sat through the meeting alone, covering for Mulder while she made excuses about their latest indiscretions. When he finally showed up in their office, she didn't have the energy to listen to his explanations. It took less energy to be mad than to accept his apology, so she spent the day ignoring him, wishing for the weekend. She would forgive Mulder later. It was too easy for Mulder to offer an apology, and, no matter how pissed she was, for her to accept it. I ditched you, Scully, and I'm sorry. Not a problem, Mulder. I was worried about your little legs reaching the pedals, so I did all the driving, Scully. You're so thoughtful, Mulder. I'm sorry I rest my hand on your back sometimes in a way that I wouldn't do with a male partner, Scully. Anytime, Mulder. Actually, the last scenario was the one that unsettled her the most. She was well aware of her habit of developing relationships with powerful men. Authority was arousing. What Mulder lacked in authority, even though he was theoretically the senior agent, he made up for in his sheer force of presence. They could be anywhere, at anytime, and she could sense him enter the room. Even today, when he walked into their office when she was still fuming, she felt him before she saw him. She swore to herself that a physical relationship with Mulder would never happen. An emotional relationship was inevitable, but a sexual one she could fight like hell to prevent. She had to, for her sanity. But sometimes she wondered if it was a pointless struggle, if fate had determined when she first stepped into the basement office that she and Mulder would become lovers. As someone wise once said, bring it on. Scully switched on the floor lamp near the door, and made her way into the kitchen, setting the groceries on the countertop. She grimaced, seeing the coffee grounds scattered across the kitchen and the dirty dishes in the sink, all evidence of her horrible day. The cleaning could wait, she decided, putting the milk into the refrigerator and grabbing a cold water bottle from the bottom shelf. Right now, all she wanted was to change from her suit, close her eyes and think positive thoughts. Anything but thoughts about her wayward partner and his tendency to ditch her at the most inopportune moments. A sigh escaped her lips as she kicked off her shoes, pushing the button on the answering machine as she walked back into her bedroom. Four messages. She could guess them all now. Her mother, a telemarketer, and two hang-ups. Unzipping her skirt, she realized her life was agonizingly predictable at times. She listened to her mother drone on about Matthew's latest escapade and an insistence that she call her brother, and an annoyingly perky woman telling her that she really should change the rates on her credit card. Pulling her sweatshirt over her head, and stepping into a worn pair of jeans, she walked into the den in time to hear the click of a hang-up for the third message. Scully settled on the couch in the darkness, taking a long swallow of water, when the beep on the machine indicated the last call. There was a moment of silence, with the slightest static in the background, and then a sound that caused her toes to tingle. It was a moan, a low, urgent moan of a man obviously very sexually aroused. The voice was silent, and then she heard somewhat heavy breathing, again tinged with the same excitement. It was Mulder. Holy god, that was Mulder on her answering machine, breathing like some kind of sick pervert. What the hell was he thinking? Her eyes were wide as she twisted around, rewinding the tape to listen to the message again. Surely she was mistaken. Surely that was not Mulder. It simply couldn't be. Why would he ever leave a message like that on her answering machine? Whatever line they had dancing around the past few months, they hadn't crossed it yet. Mulder sounded like he had just run an exhausting marathon all over the damn line. Scully pressed "play" again, and there was Mulder's voice, his groan husky and unmistakable. She knew that voice very, very well. She had no idea what to think, sitting instead with her mouth slightly open, her brows knitted in confusion and the cool water bottle pressed against her cheek. Maybe he was hurt, she thought, trying to decide if the groan was one of pain or arousal. Maybe he was hurt to the point where he couldn't tell her what was wrong. A cold panic twisted in her stomach before she listened to the message again. He wasn't hurt. She could tell by the way his groan was husky, deep, definitely not tinged with pain. It may have been a long time since she was intimate with a man, but she knew exactly what Mulder was thinking during that groan. What she couldn't figure out was why it was on her answering machine. There was no reason to do so, but she pressed the "play" button once more, listening to Mulder's deep moan, the way his husky breathing seemed to fill her living room. She decided the best emotion she could go with at the moment was anger. Because the other emotion, the one that came not from her relationship with Mulder as a partner, but from her feelings as a woman, were much too complicated to examine further. The groan was arousing, titillating, and it took very little to imagine what she would do to Mulder to evoke such a noise. Not a good idea, she decided swiftly, not a good idea at all. Should she call him? Should she make sure he was okay? Scully knew that he was unhurt, going by her instincts, which saved her more than once in her career. Whatever he was doing, however, she didn't think she wanted to know. Quickly thumbing the erase button, she got to her feet, trying not to hear the echo of Mulder's voice in her ears. She would call him later, just to reassure herself that he was fine, not mentioning his message. She would explain her phone call by apologizing for her short temper earlier that day. Stopping just long enough to toss the empty water bottle on the couch, she decided a very long, and very cold, shower was in order. ******************************* By the time he reached Scully's front door, he was having doubts about the wisdom of his actions. He saw only a single light on inside her apartment, and Scully's car wasn't parked in her usual spot out front. He was sure that she wasn't home, trying to remember if she mentioned something about dinner at her mother's house this weekend. Of course, she wasn't talking to him most of the day, so it figured he had no idea where the hell she was. He shouldn't go into Scully's place when she wasn't there. On the other hand, she shouldn't hear that message on her answering machine. She might be able to tell he had been there. He was wasting valuable time silently arguing with himself in the hallway. Feeling like a criminal, he peeked over his shoulder and, his mind made up, softly turned the key in the lock, opening the door just wide enough for him to slip inside. Just when he thought his day could not possibly get any worse, it did. Scully was clearly home, judging by her heels slung haphazardly by the couch and a grocery bag sitting on the kitchen counter. His heart sunk further when he heard the water rushing through the pipes, and the sound of the shower behind the bathroom door. And, just to prove that the God Scully believed in did exist, and had a wicked sense of humor, the red light from Scully's answering machine taunted him in the near-darkness. He clearly saw the number "0" staring back at him. Oh, shit. Mulder had no idea how long he stood there by Scully's front door, motionless, his feet rooted to the floor, his mouth agape. He knew he should slip out the door as quietly as he just entered, and go home. Staying here was not going to accomplish anything. Obviously, judging by Scully's answering machine, the damage had been done. But, as he heard the door softly shut behind him, he knew he couldn't leave. He had to remedy this problem immediately. There was no way in hell he could walk out the door, much less get in his car and drive home to his apartment, without knowing what Scully thought of all this. He cared about her, and their partnership, too much to let this interfere. You know, Scully, I was calling you to apologize. That's right, he thought silently. I wanted to tell you I was sorry for being late today, and leaving you in such a mess. And your answering machine picked up, but I was, well, distracted. And I was embarrassed, and came over here to apologize. He was so caught up in trying to formulate his apology that he jumped at the blur of movement across the room. Of course, Scully jumped, too, having turned off the shower while he was lost in thought. Now, to make matters worse, she was standing in across the room from him wrapped in an oversized white towel, her red hair wet, large drops of water falling onto the floor. "Jesus, Mulder," she exclaimed, clutching the towel tighter to her chest and giving him her best accusatory stare, her cheeks slightly flushed. "You scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?" "Uh," he started, doing his best to remember his carefully thought out apology. "I, uh, wanted to tell you," he stuttered. What had he wanted to tell her? She waited expectantly. "What, Mulder? What did you want to tell me?" The irritation evident in her voice was countered by the flush Mulder saw near her collarbone. It was a little hard to see in the semi-darkness of her living room, but it seemed to trace along her neck down the curve of her shoulders. And then he realized he was standing in the darkness, staring at the curve of Scully's shoulders, for god's sakes, while she was dressed in little more than a towel, still wet and dripping from the shower. He whirled around to face the door at the same time Scully's eyes grew wide, and he heard her footsteps trailing down the hall toward her bedroom. He should leave right now. He really should. He was not making this situation any better, and, knowing that Scully very likely heard his message on her answering machine, was in way over his head. But he couldn't leave just yet, not before he formulated some sort of articulate apology to Scully, both for his accidental message and for entering her house unannounced. So, he did the first thing that came to mind. He sat on the couch, leaning forward so his elbows were resting on his knees, unconsciously bouncing one leg in a steady rhythm. When he heard a soft noise behind him, he turned to see Scully, standing in the hallway, her arms crossed defensively. If she thought she was making an improvement over the towel, she was mistaken. The old t-shirt must have been one of his. He tried to focus on why Scully was wearing it instead of the fact that it didn't quite reach her knees, revealing more of Scully's legs than she probably intended. How did he miss the fact that Scully had such nice legs? On second thought, he had always been aware of her legs. While Scully's legs distracted him, leave it to his straight-arrow partner to cut to the chase. She pursed her lips into a thin line, and he saw her brows wrinkle in the darkness. "Why did you leave that message on my answering machine, Mulder?" ******************************* Yes, the day had gotten worse. If you counted as a bad thing finding your partner standing in the living room while you stood practically naked, just out of the shower, then the day was immensely bad. The problem, of course, was that she wasn't so sure it was such a bad thing. It was actually a rather unusual and somewhat appealing situation. Funny, too, but she didn't want to confess that just yet. Coming home to find Mulder's message on the answering machine had been admittedly strange. Of course, they had been partners long enough for Scully to hear muffled sounds coming from his adjacent motel room during a long field assignment, or to avert her eyes when she arrived at his place unexpectedly and Mulder scrambled to turn off the television. But this was different. This was unexpected, and she felt like the distinction between Mulder as her professional partner and Mulder as a potential sexual partner was blurred. Just enough to make her feel distinctly uncomfortable with Mulder sitting on her couch, and just enough for her to wish she had taken the time to put on a pair of pants when she went back to her bedroom to dress. But she was a little frustrated, and undeniably curious, and she wanted to know what was going on. "Well?" she prompted. Mulder was silent, and she was amused by his deer-in-the-headlights expression. She walked toward him, but decided sitting on the couch beside him might not be the best thing under the circumstances. Instead, she sat on the chair nearby, tossing a few of the overstuffed pillows onto the floor. "I'm not mad, Mulder," she said, realizing it was the truth. "I was shocked, to say the least. But I am sure there is some sort of logical explanation." Normally, she would never put "logical" and Mulder together in the same sentence, but, even at the end of a very bad day, she still trusted her partner. She wanted to make him feel better. She refused to think about the double meaning behind that thought. He was nodding his head fervently, apparently agreeing with her logical explanation theory. She nodded along with him, urging him to start talking. "I was calling you to apologize," he finally said, his voice raspy, and barely above a whisper. "I woke up late this morning, and forgot the Dennison files, and had to go back home to get them. I didn't mean to leave you to face Skinner alone." Of course he didn't. She felt like a bitch, remembering her silent treatment of the afternoon, but said nothing. She would apologize later. She was still trying to figure out how a Mulder apology had turned into a fervent sexual Mulder moan, one that left little doubt that there was more than an apology to her on his mind. "But I couldn't find my cell phone," he continued, getting up from her couch to pace the floor, really getting into his story now. "So I called you from the desk, and I was standing in front of the window, and I saw some movement in an open window across the street, and, when I looked, ..." His voice trailed off, and he glanced at her quickly, a guilty look marking his features. She was beginning to understand this, but still said nothing. Mulder looked too intent on explaining every detail, and she was curious as to how far he would go with his explanation. "When I looked," he said, clearing his throat, "there was a man and a woman, and they were-" "Having sex," she helpfully supplied, surprising them both. Where had that come from? She had put an unnecessary emphasis on the word sex, but Mulder didn't seem to notice. "Right," he answered, eagerly nodding his head. "And your answering machine came on, and I was just going to leave you a message, but I was distracted, and I forgot I was on the phone. So, of course, as soon as I realized what happened, I decided to come over here and erase the message, for both our sakes." He spilled out the last few sentences in a rush, reminding her of confessionals as a young child. Please forgive me, Father, for I am having some very improper thoughts about my partner. Instead of being angry, as she might have been at another time, she found Mulder's apology endearing, and the whole situation a little bit humorous. He was standing in front of her with his shoulders slumped slightly in remorse, as if awaiting his sentence from the judge. And he looked adorable. And her resolve to keep her relationship with Mulder, the most important relationship in her life, away from any sexual traps, crumbled a little. "Mulder, it's okay," she murmured, wanting him to feel better. "I was just a little surprised when I heard the message, that's all. I wasn't angry. And I'm sorry about the way I acted today." "I'm sorry, too, Scully," he said, his voice sincerely contrite. "You should never had to listen to that, and I apologize." It was the worried look on his forehead that defeated the last of her common sense, and she walked toward him, pulling him closer to her. "It's alright," she managed to whisper into his chest, his gray t-shirt pressed against her face. Too late, she realized that touching Mulder under these circumstances might not have been the best idea, given the fact that his harsh moan was still echoing in her ears. Feeling the warmth of his body through her thin cotton shirt, she decided that the day might be more than interesting after all. **************************** His first feeling was relief. Scully had every reason to be pissed off at him, not just for the phone call, but for the whole goddamned day. She wasn't. In fact, with her t-shirt pulled over her knees and her damp hair hanging just above her shoulders, she had looked vaguely amused. He could deal with amused. What he wasn't sure he could deal with was the way that Scully's chin rested against his chest, and the way her t-shirt rode up closer to her hips as she put her arms around him. He enjoyed the view, but then he gave himself a mental shake. One peep show for the evening had been enough. God only knew how much damage had been done to their mutually-decided-upon platonic professional relationship this evening. He had to stop this before it got way out of hand. "Uh, Scully?" he heard himself say, and he was proud of the way his voice gave the near-perfect illusion that he was in control of the moment. "Scully?" he tried again. She raised her head and looked up at him. "Yes, Mulder?" she said, her voice deep, and unless he was seriously mistaken, the slightest bit humored. That had him stumped. He wasn't sure why she was amused, given the fact that there was no way in hell she could have missed his hard arousal against the thin cotton of her t-shirt. Damn. He needed to do better than this. "I think maybe I should go home now," he announced. His body was screaming at him for being an idiot, and the image of the naked woman from earlier that evening streaked across his eyes. This was not a good situation. "Maybe," he heard her mumble against his chest. Maybe? He mentally flipped through his guidebook on how to read vague Scully comments and came up empty. "I like having you here," she added, just for good measure. Just to really confuse the hell out of him. And suddenly, Scully's apartment seemed smaller and more intimate than it ever had before. He could barely decipher the sounds of traffic from the street, and Skinner and the Hoover Building and the frustrations of the Dennison case might as well not even existed. In fact, he wasn't sure that anything existed outside of this moment with Scully. Fate. A course of events determined by a single, innocuous moment. Being closer to his phone near the window than to his cell. A stranger deciding to engage in a very public act. One moment, making all the difference. One moment, which led to this one... One moment, which led to a question that sounded like it came from a different person, not his own voice. "Can I stay, Scully?" Before she could answer, he pulled away, resting his fingers on her lips. "I know you probably don't believe this. In fact, I'm sure you don't. But whatever has been happening with us lately, whatever changes are taking place in our relationship, fate brought us to this moment. Fate wanted me here, and I sure as hell am not going to argue." She was silent, watching him steadily, a gleam in her eyes. He watched in fascination as a bead of water dripped from her still-damp hair, sliding its way across her skin and falling onto her t-shirt. God was still laughing at him, because the single bead of water fell onto Scully's breast, and several long seconds passed before he realized he was staring someplace he definitely should not be staring. ****************** Mulder was an infamous smooth talker, and he was staring at her breasts, and she realized there was no turning back. The day had been bizarre. She was so angry at Mulder this morning that she couldn't even speak to him. Now she wanted to make love to him. Whatever fine line separated anger from passion, she stepped across in that moment. She had never been truly angry at Mulder, of course. But passion. That she could handle. "Mulder," she finally said, a smile pulling at her lips as he pulled his gaze from her breasts, albeit reluctantly. "Tell me one thing." "Anything," he responded, his hands falling down to rest on her hips. God, Mulder had big hands. She had noticed, she supposed, but resting on her body this way, they felt larger than life. She forced her words out. "Your couple in the window, your free peep show. Was it a casual thing between them, do you think? Were they partners, or was it a one-night stand?" He knew what she was asking, just as he knew she was too frightened to put it into words. Scully already knew the answer, of course. She wanted to hear Mulder say it. She needed to hear him say it, and she watched as he captured his lower lip between his teeth. Suddenly, those lips were on hers. She didn't even remember kissing him, but it was just as she expected. Mulder approached kissing her in the same way he approached everything in his life he was passionate about, with a fierce single- mindedness and commitment. When he pulled away, reluctantly, she had forgotten her question. But he knew the answer. "It wasn't casual, Scully. It could never be casual between two people with that level of passion. It was fate." And as Mulder kissed her again, and she felt him pull her t-shirt over her head, she was forever indebted to the moment that changed her day, and grateful to fate for finally, finally showing her hand. Started: A long time ago Finished: May 2003 Summer is here, and with a break from school, I decided to finish all the half-written stories gathering dust on my hard drive. This was the closest one to being done. Feedback will of course make me write faster, annhkus@yahoo.com. Thanks to my beta Kayla for reading, and nagging me to write. I'm looking forward to some cheesecake.