Title: Missing Hours
Author: Tara W.
Category: Angsty-smut, MSR[it is if I say it is]
Spoiler: Sein Und Zeit--
Rating: NC-17 (all sex)
Distribution: just ask
Feedback: xtara@abts.net
Disclaimer: Big surprise here, but Mulder & Scully do
NOT belong to me, though names are not really an issue.
Author's Note:) This was inspired of course by the
apt. scene in Sein Und Zeit, but it was written for Gertie.
I also needed a little break from my serious fic. If you're
a smutster, you should enjoy this. I hope so anyway. I
have jumped on the shipper bandwagon and written my version
of what I wish took place during those missing hours in
Mulder's apartment. Also, I want to say hi to my friend,
Lydia, who I hope can forgive me this splurge. I just had
to do it. The rating is a warning to those of you who are
underage or find NC-17 material offensive. You'll get no
apologies from me for this little fic.
*******************************
//Missing Hours//
--Mulder's Apt./Scene Alteration from SUZ
"She was just trying to take away your pain." These
were the words left hanging in the air as she took him in
her arms; her own tears held at bay as his slowly seeped
into the fabric of her jacket.
She wasn't sure how long they had remained in the
assuaging embrace, but her knees were beginning to ache from
pressing into the hardwood floor. His lower back had numbed
from leaning forward into her arms, but his own had locked
just above her waist and letting go was unimaginable.
She could still feel his tears dampening the fabric
covering her shoulder, and for as long as they fell, she
would hold him.
The moment seemed to materialize into a dream; reality
existing only between the space of two hearts. His lips
pressed against her shoulder, tasting the saltiness in his
own puddle of tears, and he wondered just how many of his
tears she had collected over the years. In one fluid
motion, he filled his hands with her hair and pulled his
head away enough to graze his lips against her own. Just
the lightest brush of lips, that was all he meant to do.
She felt his tongue plunge deeply and her own being
drawn back. Could she really be allowing this when her mind
screamed that this wasn't supposed to be happening? Not
this way. Not for these reasons, and yet, she found
herself letting go of everything but the moment. Her
shoulders relaxed and her arms lifted to let the jacket he
tugged at fall to the floor. Feeling his fingers pulling
loose the buttons of her blouse, she braced her hands on his
knees. The kiss had suddenly stopped; his forehead resting
against her cheek.
He shivered at the touch of hot, audible breath
flowing across the tip of his ear, and he waited for her
logical protest as to why this shouldn't be happening. But
it never came. Opening her blouse, he let his hands knead
the skin below her breasts.
Closing her eyes as his lips found her throat, the
feel of her skin in his lips, his hands made her own slide
forward and tighten around his thighs. Her body stiffened
and then complied with the pressure of his own moving
forward and slipping to his knees before her.
He swallowed, his hands moving almost of their own
accord over the delicate flesh sheltered beneath simple,
white silk, over smooth cheeks, and into the allure of
scarlet hair. Watching her eyes close once again as if his
touch wounded her, a hard and deep shattering ran through
him; the sight of those lashes fell on her cheeks as if to
hide her vulnerability. Guilt invaded his heart at the
realization that neither of them could hide from this
moment. He stilled to sketch her image with his eyes and
froze when they collided with her own, and a fleeting shadow
touched them and was gone. Had it been of doubt or
something else?
Her hands moved on him,, on his back and over his
waist and into his hair, and finally, she held his face
between her hands, touching his brow and eyelids and mouth
before tiliting forward.
He sank into the velvety promise of sensual, slow
pleasure and the feel of her hands sliding under his shirt,
over his bare skin was a painful reminder of how out of
practice his body was with the touch of a woman. His heart
began to thud in a thick, aroused beat. Lifting his arms so
that the grey tee could join her jacket, the discarding of
her blouse and bra created a pile. Her skin was like some
rare, alabaster pearl colored with the petals of roses.
Lifting the weight of her breasts in his hands, he watched
her face and feared her eyes would close again, but she met
his gaze, eyes aflame and sparking higher as he caressed and
stroked over budded nipples. Swaying forward, his tongue
snaked out to taste the tip of one, and the sound of his
name breaking through the hazy silence of thier desire sent
her deeper into his mouth.
It had been so long. The sensation quickly turned
from pleasure to pain, but she bit back her cries. Her hands
held him close, and she leaned slowly to the side as her
knees begged to give out.
He followed as her body stretched out upon the floor;
his mouth never leaving her. Feeling an inner sob of mercy
rumble its way through her, he lifted his head and read the
plea written in her eyes. He tasted her stomach with the
flat of his tongue; his hands already pulling away the
barriers to the dampened heat being sought. And he touched
her, gently probing into the slickened folds, and he
marvelled at the warm quiver that swallowed his finger.
The world blurred and faded until she could feel her
own eyes searching for something, anything to grasp, but the
hands that had been pressing into the hard floor flew to
clutch his hair in great handfuls as his invading touch was
met by a moist mouth. Covering the hidden mound of nerves
and pulling it tight between his lips, he groaned as her
nails dug into his skull. His name a strangled cry, he
pushed against her hands, rising to straddle her waist.
With trembling hands, she unfastened the jeans and
dragged them and the remaining hindrance from his hips. She
sensed him shifting to shed the clothing and wrapped her
hands around his thighs, pulling him back. And she touched
him, closing her hands around his rigid sex.
Grabbing her wrists, his moan was one of warning.
Sliding his body along the length of hers, he lay against
her for a moment, kicking his clothes away.
The floor was uncomfortable, but she revelled in the
feeling of him pulsating between her thighs.
Her legs spread, inviting him to join her, and with a
whipser of her name, he caught her hips in his hands,
lifting her closer. A gasp tore from her throat at the
slow, agonizing slide, and she stilled his movements with a
breath-stealing grip of her thighs.
He was lost. Falling forward to set his mouth on her
neck, he felt his own eyes fluttering shut at the passion of
her all around him, throbbing and writhing. Her nails hurt
his shoulders, and he thought they would draw blood when he
let his hips grind into hers without moving within.
Letting her thighs rub back and forth against him, her
body clenched around him, and she felt him leave her with
the same force he used to come back to her. Again, swiftly,
out and in. In and out, swiftly, and then slow, slow, slow.
She could feel the heat growing, crystalizing over her
skin, until her breath was a small, panting moan punctuating
his movements. It began from somewhere deep inside of her,
and flowed heavily toward the rythmic pressure. God, she
was so close.
Faster, faster, faster. Putting his weight on his
elbows, he pulled his face from her neck and used his hands
to brush away the hair sticking to her face. Her neck was
arched, her lips parted, and her brow creased in
desperation. Liquid fire coursed through his blood, and he
felt the beads of sweat bubbling beneath his skin, breaking
through, trickling down the side of his face. He felt
himself drowning in her release and thrust deeper, over and
over, until the shaking had gave way to the humming serenity
dancing through her veins.
He had stopped. Why? Her eyelids slid dreamily open,
and she was caught in the beauty of his glorious eyes.
Lowering his head, he kissed the column of her throat so
gently it broke her heart, and when she could no longer feel
him inside of her, she let it break. His head rested by
hers, and time found her holding him once more as he cried.
She could feel him, still hard and pressing into her thigh.
Slipping herself lower beneath him, she once again closed
her hand around him, gliding along the full length. His
cries mingled with a sharp intake of breath at the sheer
anguish of his enlarging need. She tightened her hold,
applying pressure with each movement, her thumb lazily
circling the head of his torture. His breath caught in his
throat, and he gripped her shoulders, looking down into her
flushed face.
Her hand quickened, and she watched the emotions play
over his sweat and tear-streaked features.
"Just let go," she breathed. 'Let go."
His head lowered with the first shudder, and her name
rolled off his tongue with the next. Shudder after shudder
rippled through his muscles until her hand slid away and he
gave her his weight, pressing her harder against the floor.
They lay there silent, still, listening to one another
breath. Inhale. Exhale.
Moving together, they stood, both overcome by a wave
of dizziness, and each took a turn gathering their clothes
and showering. The early break of dawn found them on the
couch slightly worn but reassembled, and she held him while
he slept.
A knock on the door.
"Hi," the male voice greeted.
"Hi," she said.
"How's he doing?"
"It's been a hard night for him."
--The End--
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