Subject: NEW - The Way She Would (NC-17)
From: Laura Shapiro 
Date: Tue, 17 Mar 1998 21:52:53 -0800

Title:  The Way She Would
Authors:  Laura Shapiro
Rating: NC-17
Classification: MulderAngst, UST
Archive:  Please ask me first
Feedback: Please!
Spoilers:
Summary: Mulder relieves some tension, but sometimes satisfying one need
reveals another.
Disclaimer: All characters are the intellectual property of 20th Century
Fox and Chris Carter.  No copyright infringement is intended. We just
like to mess with them a little.


**************

"Damn."

Fox Mulder slammed the metal drawer shut in frustration. Where *was* the
fucking thing? He'd just *had* it.

"Something wrong?" His partner regarded him with those irritatingly
beautiful eyes of hers. He allowed himself to hold her blue gaze for one
nanosecond before turning away, banging the recalcitrant file cabinet
again for good measure.

"Oh, I can't find the freaking Pevensie file. I've looked for it
everywhere, and I *need* to get this research done."

Scully shrugged and went back to her own paperwork. "Sorry. I haven't
seen it since you had it yesterday."

Mulder sighed, watching the red satin curtain slide back across her
face. The whole day had been like this. A rare day with no cross-country
travel, no monsters to catch, no bullets to dodge. Just paperwork. He'd
almost looked forward to it; a chance to relax after the mounting
hysteria of the preceding weeks. But right now he was anything but
relaxed. He looked at his watch.  4:30.

"Scully, I'm gonna get out of here. I'm useless."

She didn't rise to the bait.  "Okay," she murmured, engrossed in her
work.

**********

The brief drive home did little to raise Mulder's spirits. He'd barely
accomplished anything all day, and, he reluctantly admitted, he knew
why. On a normal day (he almost laughed aloud at the thought of any part
of his life as "normal"), he was in his element, and so busy chasing
down darkness that he rarely had time to notice Scully's effect on him.
The mysteries to be solved, the violence to be avoided if possible, the
anxiety --they distracted him. On an off day, however, in the absence of
the nerve-jangling fury that was his "normal" life, it was his partner
that was the distraction.

Today, he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her, and he was
reasonably sure she'd noticed. The brief pursing of her rosebud mouth as
she considered a problem, the slide of her stockings when she crossed
her tapered legs, that single fallen strand of fire that he had yearned
all day to brush from her lapel; all of these haunted him as he drove.

Climbing out of the car, he noticed that his erection, which had waxed
and waned (but mostly waxed) throughout the day, was now in almost
embarrassing evidence. Hastily he more or less threw himself into his
apartment and, tugging off his tie, into a chair.

Mulder considered popping in a tape, but he wasn't in the mood. Mental
images of impossibly-breasted sex kittens dissolved immediately at the
memory of his last glance at Scully, her hair sliding into her eyes, the
lamplight caressing her cheek. He recalled the unbelievable softness of
her hands, those tender, strong little paws he'd so often reached out
for, that had sometimes reached out for him. He imagined those hands
sliding over his bare chest, and a rush of pleasure thrilled through
him. Guiltily, he opened his eyes to discover that he had been rubbing
himself through his slacks.

Shame burned his cheeks. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd had
impure thoughts about his partner, but he'd always managed to keep those
thoughts separate from his frequent masturbatory escapades. The thought
of trying to face her at the office in the morning after beating off to
her image the night before was generally enough to derail that train of
thought.

Tonight, however, the potential humiliation faded before the intensity
of his need. No, her realized, that wasn't true. The humiliation
*enhanced* it.

The insistent throbbing of his cock brought Mulder's hand back to his
lap. Stop it, he told himself, and watched his hand unbuckle his belt,
unzip his fly. He tried to steer his thoughts to the last porn tape he'd
watched, but as he reached into his boxers a warm, musky scent teased
his memory. Scully. His nose buried in her hair as he held her, her
compact strength and softness pressed against him. Mulder sighed and
gave in.

Unbuttoning his shirt with one hand, he began moving the other back and
forth rapidly, and sighed at the familiar pleasure it immediately gave
him. He stopped himself. No. How would *she* do it?

Gently, he ran his thumb over the tip of his cock, found the liquid
evidence of his desire there, and smoothed it over himself. He ran his
fingers around the ridge where purple tip joined swollen stalk, and then
slowly stroked the length of himself. In his mind, Scully's mouth was
fused with his, her phantom hand caressing him.

He ran a hand across his naked breast, pinching his small, tight nipples
as her teeth nipped them. He cupped his balls and felt them contract,
imagining her hot breath stirring the curls there.

"Oh, Dana, yes..." he murmured, as she took him into her mouth.  He
brought one hand up to his mouth, slowly licked his palm, and slid it
slickly, smoothly back and forth. The ache in his groin built steadily,
a need that seemed to bloom up his spine to the base of his brain in
ever-intensifying waves. In his mind, his fingers danced over her
ripening clitoris and dipped inside of her wet heat. He could feel her
tighten around them.

The late afternoon sun slanted across his chest as it rose and fell, his
rapid exhalations stirring the golden motes that played in the light. 
Veins stood out on his forearm as it began to move more quickly. He
threw his head back, lust creasing his brow, his pulse beating visibly
there. He entered her, could feel every inch as he slid hungrily in. He
thrust deeply. She rocked beneath him, her face an ode to pleasure.

He increased his tempo, almost there, calling out her name. She came,
arching her back, crying, "Fox! I love you, Fox!" And his orgasm shot
through him with an intensity he'd never known before.

A wave of guilt brought him crashing back to reality, simultaneously
with the tweeting of his phone. Automatically, he reached for it.

"Mulder," he panted.

"It's me." Scully. His mind reeled. "I found the Pevensie file. It was
on your desk! It must've been right in front of you the whole time. Do
you want me to bring it over? I'm on my way home."

File? Oh. Oh, no. He couldn't see her now. Oh my god, what have I done?

"Mulder? Are you all right?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine, Scully. Don't worry about the file. I'll deal with
it tomorrow." He hung up abruptly, then cursed himself immediately for
his terseness, for his weakness, for his lust, for everything. What a
sorry sack of shit he was. Who was he kidding? She would never love him.

Sobs overtook him, and the last of the day's light faded away.


END


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