SETTING: Season Six, the morning after the night before as
last seen in "Fancy Dance"
SPOILERS: None
CATEGORY: MSR Angst
RATING: NC-17
ARCHIVE: Sure, fine, whatever (oh puh-leeze!) But drop me a
line to let me know where it is
DISCLAIMER: They still belong to The Man with the Plan, Fox and
1013. Actually, they belong to Gillian and David but we won't tell
Chris that. And I'm not making any money off this so please don't try
to sue me.
"Fancy Footwork"
By PB Burks
Mulder's tongue is in my ear.
My left one, to be precise. I know because we fell asleep on his couch
last night, lying on our right sides, feet entwined, a warm blanket
covering us, cocooning us in warmth. As I slowly come awake I realize
that we are lying butt to belly, mine to his, my head cushioned by the
warmth of his upper arm beneath my cheek, his other arm wrapped snugly
around my middle, just below my breasts.
And his tongue is in my ear.
Just the tip of it, mind you, not enough to leave any residual drool to
drip down into my ear canal and drive me crazy. No, Mulder already
knows me well enough to know that the tip of his tongue is quite enough
to drive me crazy all on its own.
He is leaning over me, I know this instantly, for though my eyes are
still closed I sense the proximity of his face so close to mine. I feel
the gentle puff of his breath against my hair as his mouth hovers over
my ear. The one with the tongue in it.
His left hand is moving from its resting place around my middle to
conduct its own exploration, sliding up and down and over and around the
Twin Peaks of Scully. Those long, nimble fingers are blazing new trails
of delight as they explore my hills and valleys. They're doing a damned
fine job of it, too.
And his tongue is still in my ear, dancing with phantom touches against
my skin that soon have me fully awake and aroused and ready to repeat
the events of the night before, leading to repletion of mind and body
and spirit.
I sigh with pleasure and arch my back against him only to find him fully
armed and very dangerous. He gives a whole new meaning to the word
"cocky." Already he knows how to play my body like a maestro and does
so with a schoolboy's glee. His hand is working its magic on the front
of my body while his erection courts me from behind, promising rapture
known only to us, in the memory of last night's dual epiphany.
"Scully." My name is a breath against my skin as the tongue now works
its way behind my ear, at the sensitive area on the side of my neck. I
sigh again as it sends an array of delicious shivers throughout my
body. "Scully, Scully, Scully," he croons, his voice as rich and dark
as the finest chocolate.
I realize he doesn't expect an answer, simply wants to love me with my
name on his tongue, his tongue that is now painting my neck with tiny
swirls that leave me gasping. My left hand reaches behind me to find
him and he groans deep in the back of his throat as I grasp him fully,
my fingers tingling where they touch the most intimate part of him,
branding him mine and mine alone.
With a low growl he rolls us both, tumbling off the couch to the floor
and absorbing the brunt of the impact as he lands on his back with me
pressed full length on top of him, my eyes now fully open and awake,
staring into the sea green depths of his. I catch my breath at the
animal I see lurking there, a hair's breadth from being set loose to
show me once again the true meaning of rapture.
The room fairly vibrates with the impact of whatever object has been
thrown at his door and I react instinctively, pushing myself up and off
of my partner and looking wildly about for my gun. It lies on the floor
behind me where I had heedlessly dropped it last night while caught up
in the heat of the moment. I lunge for it, pull the Sig from its
holster and crouch there on the floor, naked as the day I was born,
aiming my weapon at the door, my left hand supporting my right, my
finger poised over the trigger.
I hear a muffled from the vicinity of the couch and look
sharply in that direction, a lock of hair falling into my eyes as I do.
I clear my vision with an impatient shake of my head only to see Mulder
convulsing with silent mirth, straining to keep control and finally
losing the battle. His laughter explodes with a rush, bouncing off the
walls and ringing through the apartment.
My grip on the Sig loosens as I realize that he isn't alarmed in the
least. Apparently it is a daily occurrence to have someone hurl objects
with great force against his door in the early hours of the morning. I
cock an eyebrow at him, wordlessly demanding an explanation.
"P-p-paper," he manages to get out. "Relax, Scully, it's just the
morning paper." He continues to whoop it up, oblivious to the fact that
I am now flushing deeply, and not with the passion he had so skillfully
urged a short while ago. After six years one would think the man would
have a clue as to what pisses me off, I think. In light of his past
encounters with an irate Scully one would think that he would go to
great pains to avoid such action. Such does not appear to be the case
at the moment and the more he laughs at me the angrier I become.
"S-s-sorry, S-S-Scully," he croaks, holding his gut as if to stifle his
guffaws. He finally manages to pull himself to a sitting position,
smiling hugely over at me. The picture he presents is a pretty one:
Early Morning Mulder, pillow-headed and stubbled, idly scratching the
hair on his chest with one hand while his other dangles from his
upraised knee where he has draped his forearm across it. The fact that
he is still fully erect and showing it does nothing to soothe my jangled
nerves.
I slowly lower my Sig, put it back in its holster and drop it to the
floor, my head lowered to avoid any eye contact with Mulder. What a
sight I must present, I fume. Naked and crouched into combat stance, my
hair falling in my face, my eyes wild. God, I must look like an idiot,
I think. God, I AM an idiot to have done what I have done, to throw
away six years of cool detachment on a single night of passion. I can't
imagine what Mulder must be thinking of me. Or, rather, I don't WANT to
imagine what he must be thinking of me.
Supremely embarrassed, I begin gathering my discarded clothes, clutching
them to me one by one, forming a barrier between my nakedness and his
probing eyes. I dare not look him in the face for fear of what I might
see there.
But he will have none of that. He crawls toward me where I kneel on the
floor, bridging the distance between us in a matter of seconds, and
gently turns my face toward him with a touch of his hand.
"Scully?" he says, the smile still in his voice. His dear face is open
and earnest as he tries to reach me. "Come on, it's okay. It was just
my obnoxious paper boy making his morning rounds and getting everybody
up for work."
I cringe. Work. I glance out the window over the desk and I can tell
the hour is later than I usually rise. I resume my gathering, finally
finding my watch amid the tangle of clothes littering the carpet. I
raise it to my face and cringe. 7:15. Shit. Late again. Nothing like
starting off the work week right.
I get to my feet as Mulder reaches for my hand and tries to stay my
withdrawal. I pull it away, unable to meet his eyes.
"Mulder, it's late," I mumble, twisting away from him. "I've got to
go." He releases me and I continue my search for my belongings,
locating all but my panties. I resolve to pull on my leggings without
them, anything to get me out of here and away from Mulder before I die
of embarrassment. I rise and run for the bathroom, slamming the door
behind me.
I lean my head against the cool wood, trying to maintain a modicum of
control. I can feel Mulder's confused presence on the other side of the
door and I close my eyes, terrified he will come after me; terrified
that he won't. I finally lift my head and turn to the sink, bending to
splash cool water on my face, easing the furious blush that has settled
over my entire body. I catch sight of myself in the mirror and I do
not like what I see. In the wet face staring back at me there is no
trace of the woman I had been last night. Gone is the seductress, the
woman who knew her heart's desire and wasn't afraid to pursue it. In
her place is Dana, looking like nothing so much as Daddy's Little Girl
who has done something of which Daddy wouldn't approve.
I shake my head, mentally preparing to argue this point. For Heaven's
sake, Dana, you are 34 years old! You are not Daddy's Little Girl
anymore! You are a living, breathing woman with very real human needs.
And you found those needs met by the man you love more than any other,
the only man in the world who could possibly bring you a such a sense
of fulfillment, the only man in the world you could make feel the same
way. Grow up, already!
Having successfully redirected my emotions from angst to annoyance, I
begin dressing, jerking my clothes on with short, angry movements,
dreading the moment when I will have to emerge and face him. Surely if
he laughs at me again I will disintegrate, disappear in a puff of smoke.
I smooth my hair as best I can using only my hands, turning the ends
under with my fingers and tucking it behind my ears. Finally there is
no reason for delay and I open the door to find Mulder standing directly
in front if me, arms crossed over a well-toned chest. Thankfully he is
no longer naked but the black silk boxers are almost more of a
distraction than his bare skin. Now I know what lies beneath the pretty
package and I find it hard to avert my eyes. There is nowhere safe to
look. His boxers, his bare chest, his mouth or those cat eyes I feel
boring into me - none of the choices offers an easy out.
But he is not moving and I realize I will have to face him in order to
get out of the apartment. I raise my eyes and meet his and my heart
turns over at the confusion I see there.
"Talk to me, Scully," he says softly. "Don't shut me out like this.
Not now."
I swallow tightly, determined to get through this without breaking
down. "I'm fine," I manage and immediately his expression changes from
concern to irritation.
"Yeah, well I've heard that too many times to believe it," he counters.
"Most of the time." His eyes soften a bit as he takes my chin in his
hand. "I believed it last night when you said it. Why don't I believe
it now?"
I cannot bear to look at him, for I know that I cannot maintain control
if I do. The wall must come up again and I begin to lay my mortar.
I ease my chin from his grip, laying the first brick. "I don't know,
Mulder," I say, in a surprisingly cool voice for one who is so
emotionally wrought. "But I don't have time to stand here and debate it
to death." I push past him and go back to the living room, retrieving
my gun and strapping the holster into place. I look around for my
purse, find it and hoist it over my shoulder. My keys, my keys, where
the hell are my keys? Moving quickly to the hallway I retrieve my
trench from the rack by the door, pulling it on over my clothes and
slapping the pockets, relieved to hear the familiar jingle.
"Scully?" I hear him say from behind me. I ignore him and move toward
the door. "Scully!" Suddenly the voice is in my ear and his hand is on
my shoulder and I am being spun around to face him. Oh, God, don't make
me do this, not now, please not now! I just laid the first brick and
the mortar has not had a chance to set!
As hard as I try, I cannot resist the pull of his eyes as they train on
my face, finding and fastening on my own suddenly tearful ones. I am
mortified by my weakness on top of my foolishness and die a thousand
deaths for every second he holds my eyes with his. I try to pull away
but this time his grip is strong.
"Talk to me, Scully," he says again, gripping my shoulders and giving
them a little shake. "Don't do this to us. Not after what we shared
last night."
I look back at him blankly, desperately searching for something to say
to him that will ease his pain while also allowing me to make a graceful
exit. There is nothing.
"I have to go," I finally tell him, my voice quaking traitorously while
my eyes dare him to try to stop me. I see genuine confusion in his face
and know that I am hurting him, while also knowing that I am powerless
to stop. If I don't get away from him right now I will expire on the
spot. I pull away from him again and this time he lets me go.
Blindly I make for the door, fumbling with the handle for another
eternal moment before finally managing to open it. Stepping quickly
over the newspaper at my feet, I dash out into the hallway, making a
beeline for the elevator.
This time Mulder does not come after me.
-End section-
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