Kinesthesia by amy (spookey247) -part nine

Kinesthesia

by Amy

PART NINE

10:23 PM

That night the office was busier than Scully had ever seen it.

Mandy's goon squad had been in and out all evening: bags of tickets had been weighed; stacks of cash counted and re-counted; deposits prepared. It wouldn't be long, Mandy had said, before they'd be done for the night.

The lock on the exterior door rattled and pudgy Buck Taylor, who supervised the gaming, stepped in. Mike got up, wandered toward him. "Payroll ready?" Taylor asked, as if this was a brand-new question that no other supervisor had thought to ask in the last ten minutes.

"Shelby took off again," Mandy said, barely looking up. "So we're a little behind. But it'll be ready when I said it'd be ready."

Mike stuck his nose into Taylor's crotch. Taylor grimaced and pushed him away. "Yeah, whatever." The door banged shut.

"Brenda?"

Scully looked up from the pile of twenties she was counting. "Hm?"

"You sure Shelby didn't mention the name of a hotel or anything?"

Scully shook her head. "I'm so sorry. I really didn't think he would - "

"It's okay, hon. Believe me, I know how it is." Reaching for her key ring, Mandy singled out a key and handed the ring to Scully. "Here, go in Shelby's office - there's a file cabinet. I'm not sure what drawer, but there should be something somewhere with his expense receipts. We'll just call his regular spots."

Scully got up and pretended to unlock the old man's office door. "He's done this before?"

"Once or twice."

She returned the keys. "Are you worried? I mean, Rob said it was no big deal."

"Oh, it's a big deal, all right." Mandy frowned. "He's not a well man. He's got ulcers, gout, high blood pressure. His memory's going. I mean, lately he's - I don't know."

"Oh." Scully paused in the doorway, waiting for the other woman to elaborate.

"And he's got a business to run, here. He can't just take off on these dirty little field trips whenever he wants."

"Right," Scully agreed.

Mandy sighed. "He's more than my boss now. He's family." She bit her bottom lip.

Scully cleared her throat. "I'll just look for that file, then."

"Thanks."

Scully opened the old man's file cabinet and gazed at the cryptic scribblings that were supposed to pass for labels. If asked, the old man would no doubt be able to pluck the file in question straight out of the drawer. For anyone else, though, it was probably a lost cause.

She began picking her way from file to file. A file labeled 'Cty Cch' contained the title and specs to the old man's RV. 'HIB' was full of health insurance statements. God, at the rate she was going, she would still be standing in front of this file cabinet when they hauled the office into Pueblo.

She heard Mandy's cell phone chirp. There was a murmur as Mandy answered, then, still in conversation, Mandy got up and went into the kitchen. A second later, Scully heard the outer door open, close. Mandy had, apparently, stepped out.

Scully continued flipping through the files. "'Lawyer'," she read on one label, and paused to look. The file contained some registered letters and a court summons:

"Rachel K. Smith versus Shelby P. Peake and Peake and Smith Amusements, Inc.," she read. "...the plaintiff named above has filed a lawsuit against you in the state of New Mexico...the complaint attached to this summons states..." She flipped to the next page. "Misdirected funds..." she murmured. "Wow. Plaintiff alleges the defendant misrepresented corporate losses over a period of ten years...plaintiff subsequently forced into bankruptcy." Apparently James Smith's widow had at one time felt she was owed a great deal of money. From the thickness of the file, it seemed Shelby Peake had spent a comparable fortune making sure she didn't get it.

"Hm." She tucked the info away in her brain and moved on. 'Weee,' one file appeared to read. "Weee?" She peeked inside. "Oh. 'Will.'" She pulled the file out and laid it across the drawer. Unlike most of the other folders she'd seen, this one was un-dog-eared and free of coffee stains. The sheets inside were Xerox copies of something recently notarized - June 2, about three months before.

Hearing the outer door open, she shoved the file back.

Mandy appeared in the door. "Hey Brenda - "

"I don't see anything with receipts so far, but - "

"Screw it. We need to finish the payroll. We're behind schedule."

"It *is* getting late," Scully observed, resuming her former place.

"Yeah." Mandy picked up the payroll roster and held it for a moment, staring at it as if she'd suddenly forgotten how to read. "I just hope that damned old man doesn't get himself into any trouble."

They worked diligently, Mandy calling out numbers to Scully, Scully stuffing wads of cash in envelopes and scribbling names. After a while, Scully cleared her throat and said, in the most non-committal tone she could muster: "Was it nice, today?"

Mandy looked up. "What?"

"The wedding."

A brief smile: "Oh - yeah. Really romantic."

"Everyone seems kind of surprised."

Mandy looked down at the money on the table. "I guess they should be. I've known Rob since he was a kid - never thought much about him until he disappeared a couple of years ago - I don't know if you heard all about that."

"Yeah," Scully said. "Rob told me about it."

"I mean, we'd always worked together and we were always friends but we'd never really - " She gave a little smile. "After they found him and sent him home, I took a good long look at him and just knew."

"He changed a lot while he was gone?"

Mandy shrugged. "Yeah. I guess so. He grew up, you know? Matured."

Scully nodded, but 'mature' was just about the last word she'd have used to describe Rob Peake. It was hard to imagine what the 'immature' Rob must have been like.

They stuffed envelopes until there was a tall, finished stack sitting on the desk between them. Mandy stood, stretching. "Okay, go tell those bastards they can come and get it. Then take Mike back to the Country Coach; get a shower or a nap or something." She glanced at her watch. "It's almost midnight now, so there isn't much chance of us getting out of here before two, maybe a little after. After we shut down the office, Rob'll come take care of the connections for you. 'Kay?"

"A nap sounds good." Scully picked up Mike's leash and patted her thigh. "Come on, boy."

The Country Coach was a spacious vehicle; far too spacious, Scully thought, for a single old man and one Rottweiler, with or without the bonus teenage prostitute living in. The luxurious interior smelled of cheap potpourri and stale cigar smoke, but it was otherwise spotless, something she'd grown unaccustomed to over the last month.

She took a quick shower, changed clothes, fed Mike. A nap really did sound like a good idea, but she was starving. She found a container of yogurt in the 'fridge - it had a picture of a rabbit on the front and pink and green swirls inside. Kid yogurt, she thought, peeling back the foil and giving its underside a test-lick. Sweet enough to induce a diabetic coma. Probably April's.

There was a light tap at the door. Mike looked up from his Gravy Train and growled as she swung it open.

"Tim," she said, surprised.

"I need a favor, Bren," Frye said, gesturing to his left. Mulder was propped next to the door. His eyes were closed.

"Is he okay?" she asked, fighting her urge to go to him. "Are you okay, Duke?

"Been better," Mulder answered softly. He looked terrible - a crust of dried blood on one side of his face, head-wound clumsily dressed and still oozing.

"I hate to bother you, honey," Frye said, "but we have to stay on schedule and we got a truck down. Mandy said you were all done in the office, and this guy says he's seeing double."

Scully stepped back. "Come in."

"The bunkhouse's already gone," Frye continued apologetically, as they urged Mulder up the steps, "or I'd just dump him there."

"Shouldn't we take him to the emergency room or something?"

"Says he doesn't want to go."

"I'm fine," Mulder mumbled as he dropped onto the sofa. "Nice set up you got here, Brenda."

Tim stared at Mulder with a slight scowl. "Just watch him for me, would you? Let him lie down somewhere."

"Of course."

"Great. Gotta go - they're waiting for me." Frye turned in the doorway, gave her his most winning smile. "I owe you, darlin'. Thanks." Then he swung the door closed and was gone.

Back in the living room, she found Mulder sprawled across the sofa, his hand over his eyes.

"You look like hell," she said, kneeling next to him.

"Gee, thanks." Mulder took his hand from his eyes, squinted up at the ceiling. "A chandelier? What is this, Liberace's tour bus?"

"God, Mulder, who bandaged this?" She plucked the dirty gauze away. The flesh around the wound was red and swollen, the edges of the laceration dusted with tiny, multi-colored shards.

"Your buddy, Tim," Mulder murmured. "Is he gone?"

"Yes."

He brightened as if by magic, sat up. "Good. I need to talk to you."

"Mulder, don't - "

He waved her off. "I was faking it. I mean, I *do* have a slight headache. I just played it up a little."

Scully frowned. "Only a little?"

Mulder nodded. "Really. I've had worse."

"Still," she said, straightening up, "that wound is going to get infected."

"Don't you want to hear what I found out today?"

"Of course I do. But I want to clean that cut, too. Come into the bathroom so I can see what I'm doing and you can tell me all about it."

The bathroom was almost too small for both of them to fit. "Sit there." She gestured toward the closed toilet lid. Swabbing a pair of tweezers with an alcohol pad, she planted her feet on either side of his right leg, positioning herself so that she had a clear shot at the wound without blocking the light from the florescent over the sink.

"Hold still." Belly pressed against his arm, she snagged a paint chip from the wound, rinsed it into the sink. "So what did you want to tell me?"

He grimaced as she lifted a shard out of the wound. "I overheard Frye talking to Gwen. Apparently, she's in love with Rob Peake. She was out of her mind about the wedding. She seems to think Frye went out of his way to break her and Rob up."

"Interesting," Scully murmured. "That explains a lot, actually."

"Yeah. And I was trying to tell you earlier - Gwen has a tattoo. It's the symbol from the notes."

"Really?" She froze, tweezers poised. "Rob Peake has the same thing tattooed on his chest."

Mulder stiffened and tried to pull away. "Does he?"

"Yes, he does," she replied. She had to shift forward to get at the wound. "Sit still, Mulder."

"I am sit- OW!"

"Sorry." She frowned. "Good thing your Tetanus is up to date. I'd hate to lose you to a little cut."

"You would?"

"Yes, I - hmm. I'm going to have to - can you scoot forward a little? I have to get to this side, and- "

He obliged with a sigh. She straddled him, tilting to one side to preserve her light. "Sorry if I'm in your face. I'll just be a minute."

"We have to stop meeting like this," he muttered, his voice muffled by her t-shirt.

Scully chuckled. Bracing her hips against Mulder's torso, she snared rust flakes and paint chips one by one, swinging back to the sink to rinse them away. Mulder kept his eyes closed, seeming to measure every breath.

"Almost done." The only remaining debris was a shiny sliver of metal that was clinging to the top edge of the wound as if it were consciously trying to avoid capture. Widening her stance, she bent her knees, dropped down a little more. She wanted to avoid stabbing him, but she couldn't seem to get under the sliver at the right angle.

"Scully - "

"Hang on a second." Maybe if she braced her elbow on his shoulder...

Suddenly Mulder jerked away, knocking her off- balance. Before she knew it, she found herself sitting in his lap, her belly pressed against his, their faces mere inches apart.

And then she understood why Mulder had seemed so uncomfortable. He wasn't being uncooperative.

He was aroused.

*Very* aroused.

"Oh," she said, unable to move.

Mulder was making the panic face. He seemed to be holding his breath. "I'm sorry," he muttered, at last.

"It's okay," she said.

But, no, it really wasn't. And she wasn't, either.

"Mulder - "

He grimaced. "Scully, I..."

He trailed off, lips parting in a most tantalizing way.

'This is a bad idea,' she told herself. 'We're working. We shouldn't.'

But she kissed him anyway.

And kissed him.

How, Mulder wondered, had he ended up naked? How had Scully ended up naked? How had they ended up naked, the two of them, in this tiny bathroom, doing things they should not, no way, no how, be doing, even if they were fully clothed and somewhere, anywhere else, and oh god oh -

Lips crushed together. Two sets of moans, indistinguishable.

"Jesus, Scully..."

He'd perched her on the edge of the sink and she'd spread her legs and the shaft of his too-hard cock was rubbing against her, hot-wet-slick then tangled- curly, waves of so-good, so-good, and a matching gasp from her every time he thrust forward.

He was deep in her mouth, her little red wet mouth oh god like there was any chance he was ready to handle this and now she was sucking his tongue and he was dizzy, his brain was a useless meaty thing now, filled with her. Filled.

And the sighs this morning in the closet - those had been for him, too. And Scully sucking him now, like roasted corn, like he was buttered and golden and, oh god, three months ago in his hallway, her face had looked like this, just like this, and she had wanted him, then, too, and stupid Mulder, stupid, and oh god -

"You okay?" she rasped, pulling back.

He blinked at her, trying to process the question. Was he what? "Okay?"

"Mulder?" She shifted, peered at him, and oh Jesus, no, he was not okay...

He kissed her jaw, ear, shoulder, sternum. Rolled one sweet nipple like a pearl between his teeth. Her fingernails raked his scalp. "Let's get out of here," she was moaning, "let's..."

"Yeah." His voice was in there somewhere. "Yeah, let's - "

He tried to pull away from her, but he was locked in tight, barreling like a rollercoaster on the down stroke, and the best he could do was heave back, pulling her with him and hoping he didn't send them both crashing backward over the commode.

"Oh god."

Her tongue was in his ear, now, her breath swirling, her voice moaning. Her hand found his cock, stroked, squeezed and Scully was, oh god, Scully was *Scully,* and she was leading him forward, actually leading him by his cock, and he was actually following. She could have been taking him over the edge of a precipice and he would have just closed his eyes and gone along behind her until he ended up nothing but a smear on a rock.

A short trip to the bedroom. An even shorter trip to the bed.

He eased on top of her, kissed her gently. "Scully - " he whispered.

She looked up at him, all eyes. "Yeah?"

"I - I -" Oh christ, if he told her how much he loved her, he'd come. He was that close. " - I don't have a condom."

Way to go, Mulder. That was really romantic.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, scissor-hold, pinned him. "You don't need one," she purred. Hand reached for his cock again. Long fingernails. Ow. Mini-gasms.

After a second his breathing resumed. "No - nothing?"

"No nothing."

He could see that she meant it, too.

"Oh."

"Oh." She pulled him in, then, one thrust, and so tight, so wet, and he could smell her soft clean scent mixing with the stink of his own body, he could smell them swirled together and - hold on, hold on - he had to choke himself back - oh holy shit. He'd been waiting so long to feel her shudder underneath him, hoping against hope for this, this moving and sighing and Mulder Mulder Mulder, dreaming of her head thrown back and his sweat splattered like raindrops on her body. Faster, faster - no, slow, slow. Scully first, you asshole.

Think of Scully. Scully.

"You feel...so good," he managed, dipping down to find her mouth. "Is this - Am I -?"

"Oh yeah." She attacked his lips like a mad thing, a mad attacking thing that attacked things, madly, and oh god oh god, there were no words left in his head, no good words, nothing useful, nothing. . .

"Oh my god, Mulder."

He thrust hard. " - want you to-"

"Oh!"

"I want - " Panting, he shifted some of his weight back onto his knees and tried to move in something approaching a steady rhythm. "How do you want - "

Thank god she understood what he was getting at.

"Here," she rasped, seizing his hand, guiding it.

She gasped when he made circles with his index finger, gasped harder when he used his thumb. He upped the pressure, circled and soothed while he kept on fucking her, steady, like they were climbing a hill together, steady, steady, then faster, faster, and oh god she was writhing, thrusting against him and she looked gorgeous. He'd always suspected it, expected it, but to see her like this, oh god.

For a moment he thought he heard his voice say her name. Then his ears shut down and his mouth froze open and he forgot how to speak entirely.

End 09/12