Parting Shot II: Ricochet
by Melody
STORIES ON THIS SITE ARE INTENDED FOR ADULTS ONLY
Disclaimer: We all know it by heart, don't we? Just in case-- Characters and situations from the X-Files, including Mulder, Scully, Skinner, and Krycek, are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Television, and are used without permission. The story, however, is mine.
Rating: NC-17 Classification: MSR (SMUT! Any plot is purely accidental...!) Spoilers: None. Posting date: 01/12/99
Archive and distribution: Wherever you want, as long as the story remains intact and my name, e-mail, and disclaimer with it. I would appreciate a note to say where, though. I like to visit!
Summary: Sequel to Parting Shot. Scully's memories are starting to resurface!!
Author's Notes: When I wrote Parting Shot I never intended to write a sequel. But then I got so many messages from people asking for one it got me to thinking... You know what they say about intentions! Many thanks go to Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Ten for beta-reading and encouragement. Dedication: This story is for all the people who took the time to send feedback and ask for a sequel... especially Ten, who was the most persistent!
Parting Shot II: Ricochet by Melody
Tiny motel, unknown location
12:15 AM
Scully was exhausted. Well, to be fair, Mulder was, too. He had to be -- he'd had even less sleep than her in the past week. Several cases of mysterious, unattended deaths scattered over a three-state range had turned out to be a serial killer with a bizarre MO, and once again the partners had been loaned to VCU. Scully had redone the autopsies and turned up a few vague clues that had been overlooked. Mulder poured over all the information -- the cause of death, the new evidence Scully had found, what was already known -- and somehow found a pattern to the killer's movements. For more than a week Mulder worked around the clock, driving the team of agents to their limits, but finally he predicted where the killer would strike next. Chalk another one up for ol' Spooky. Just after nine o'clock last night the FBI team, along with the local police, caught the killer in the act of abducting his next victim.
It was now after midnight, and the partners were returning to their rooms in the local motel to get some long-overdue sleep.
Scully was almost too tired to get out of the car. Mulder made it out first and came around to open her door, something she rarely allowed him to do. Tonight she didn't voice an objection, merely climbed out of the seat and headed for the outside stairs that led up to the second floor. She stumbled on a step halfway up, and would have fallen if Mulder had not caught her around the waist.
"Hang on, Scully," he said, his arm staying around her even after she'd regained her balance. "We can make it, it's only a few more yards. Then we can sleep." His voice was rough with fatigue but his arm was firm, giving her the little extra support she needed to make it up the last few stairs. It felt good to be this close to him, close enough to feel the heat of his body in contrast to the crisp autumn air, close enough to catch the faint scent of sweat and traces of his cologne. It felt oddly right. She had the urge to turn to him, hold him close and let her body sink into his... Confused by her wayward emotions, she pulled away at the top of the stairs and hurried to the door of her room. Mulder was only a few steps behind her.
"D'you mind if I come in your door?" Mulder asked as she fumbled with her key. He stood behind her going through his pockets, an intent look on his tired face. "I seem to have lost my key and I don't want to go all the way back down to the office."
She didn't answer, just nodded as she pushed open her door and stepped into the room. The connecting door between their rooms was open, just as they'd left it nearly 36 hours ago. Mulder didn't linger as he usually did; further proof of his exhaustion. He merely mumbled a good-night wish to her and went into his own room. A few moments later Scully heard his shower come on. Tired as she was, she knew she'd sleep better if she was clean, too. She stripped off her suit, leaving it where it fell, and went to her suitcase to search for clean pajamas. There were none. However, there was one of Mulder's T-shirts that had somehow got mixed in with her laundry on their last trip. It was sitting there on top, clean, where she'd stashed it to give back to him. She grabbed it and headed for the bathroom.
A scant ten minutes later she emerged, pulling the soft cotton shirt on over still-damp skin as she yawned. She could hear, faintly, the noise from the television in Mulder's room. She pushed her side of the connecting door closed and climbed into her bed. She knew Mulder would leave the door on his side open, even when he went to bed. Just in case.
She should have slept like the dead. Instead, she found herself awake after only a few hours, hot and tangled in her sheets. A dream had woken her. A strange dream. A disturbing dream, because it was about Mulder-- but not one of the normal ones where she was too late to pull him out of a dangerous situation. No, this one was worse. It had been.... erotic.
Normally, Scully didn't worry much about dreams. She had the usual quotient of them, good and bad, with the occasional nightmare, and was able to dismiss them with little trouble. So usually she would chalk a dream like this up to her exhaustion, and put it out of her mind. But... This wasn't the first dream of this sort she'd had lately. In fact, she seemed to be having them with increasing frequency for the past few weeks. Though the one tonight had been considerably more detailed than those previously, and even after she woke she could almost feel the imprint of Mulder's body against her own. Her lips felt swollen, as if she'd been thoroughly kissed, and she was extremely aroused. Finding herself perilously close to crying in frustration, she kicked free of the covers and rolled over, curling around the extra pillow. The images from the dream were still vivid in her mind. She had to think of something else.
Calling up images from the last gristly crime scene didn't help. Thinking of road-kill didn't work, either. She tried planning her next vacation. She thought about next year's Christmas list. Updating her computer. Cleaning her bathroom. Nothing erased the dream.
Sighing, she sat up and fumbled for the small lamp by the bed. By its pitiful light she could see it was after 3 am. She thought about pulling on some sweatpants and going to find a drink machine - she could use something... But no, the machine in this tiny motel was in the office, and the office was locked after midnight. Of course, there was a bell, but no way was she going to wake up the manager just so she could get a can of pop.
Maybe she could read for a while... Pushing herself off the bed, Scully hugged the soft cotton of the T-shirt to her middle against the chill of the room. <Damned motels, either the heat doesn't work or they cook you,> she thought to herself. The weather must be turning. The room was a good 10 degrees cooler than it had been when she went to bed, so she opened the panel on the heater to find the controls. The unit looked almost new, it probably was just set low. <Yes, here it is...>, she thought as she turned the knob to MED HEAT-and the knob came off in her hand. <Shit.> Well, at least the air coming out of it now was warmer. Philosophically, she put the broken knob on top of the control panel and turned away to look through her suitcase for the paperback book she carried.
After ten minutes of rifling her suitcase, she finally upended it on the second bed and re-packed it. Great. No book. She must have left it out in the rush to re-pack between the last case and this one. Wonderful. Nothing to read, nothing to drink, and she was horny to the point of climbing the walls. Not to mention exhausted. She eyed the bed as she absentmindedly rolled up a pair of ruined pantyhose, wondering if there was any possibility she could go back to sleep...? <Fat chance,> she decided, and if she *did* manage to go to sleep she'd probably have the same damn dream! She hurled the wadded nylon at the trash can with all her strength, then watched as it unrolled midair and fluttered to the floor barely halfway.
<Damn, damn, damn.>
She wanted to stomp her feet and scream, but restrained herself with a guilty look at the connecting door. Even as exhausted as Mulder was, she doubted he'd sleep through a temper tantrum - he'd think she was being attacked and come charging through the unlocked door, gun in hand, probably with his hair sticking up adorably... Did he sleep in his sweatpants all the time? Or did he just sleep in his underwear when they weren't stuck sharing a room? Closing her eyes, she could just picture him coming to her rescue in his boxers with nothing but his gun... his sleepy hazel eyes... his tautly muscled athlete's body....
The ache of need that had never quite subsided now flared again, and Scully cursed under her breath. What was wrong with her? Why was she obsessing over Mulder now, of all possible times? It was ridiculous, and there had to be something she could do about it. Oh, yes, she had some sleeping pills- Maybe they'd knock her out so at least she wouldn't dream again.
Digging them out of her small medical bag, she started to the bathroom for some water. As she passed the closed connecting door she finally remembered that when the last call came from the local cops -- night before last? -- Mulder had just come up from getting them some drinks. They'd rushed off, leaving the unopened cans on the table in his room. They were probably still there.
<I can just slip in and get one,> Scully thought to herself. <Mulder's got to be asleep by now. I know where the cans are, I won't even make a sound. He won't even know I was there.> It wasn't hard to talk herself into it. These sleeping pills tasted horrid and would go down much easier with something flavored to mask the taste.
Leaving the small bottle of pills on her bed, she stepped to the door and inched it open silently. A moment later she wondered why she'd bothered. The television in Mulder's room was blaring. The light from it illuminated most of the room, including the two cans of pop on the small table and the sleeping form of Mulder sprawled diagonally across the big king-size bed. Of course, the table was on the *other* side of the bed. Naturally. She grimaced. Why couldn't his room have been arranged the same way as hers, with two full-sized beds and the table near the door? She crept around the end of the bed with her eyes on the table. Halfway there she was distracted by a loud moan from the TV, and turned to look. On the screen, a man that looked an awful lot like Mulder was having sex with a blonde woman -- in a truck, during a rainstorm. For a few minutes Scully watched, fascinated by the eerie resemblance to her partner. She even wondered briefly if it *was* Mulder, then remembered there were no VCRs in the rooms. They did have Showtime, however, and the TV was on that channel. In her 'condition' she was tempted to stay and watch, but she knew with her luck Mulder was on would wake up and catch her. She turned to make sure he hadn't already, then froze, staring.
Fox Mulder was damn near nude.
The sight made her mouth go dry.
Evidently he'd just wrapped a towel around his hips after he'd showered, then fallen asleep that way on the bed. But the towel had come undone and slipped, exposing his entire right hip and thigh, and was dangerously close to exposing his groin.
She knew she shouldn't look. But she did, and kept on looking.
The towel still covered most of his left hip and thigh, including the scar from one of his brushes with death. The edge of the scar peeked out from under the terrycloth, and she blinked.
She hadn't seen this particular scar before - Mulder had refused to let her "play doctor" from the moment he'd woken up from the anesthesia. Understandable, she supposed, if a little surprising from her uninhibited partner.
But she *knew* what it looked like. Exactly. She could picture the scar in her mind... The exact color and shape, and precisely how close the bullet had come to permanently unmanning him. She knew how the puckered scar tissue felt against her fingertips, rough in contrast to the surrounding skin...
What was going on? There was no way she could know all that. The way the scar looked, maybe - she'd seen the wound, after all, and she'd done enough surgery to know what the result would probably look like - but she'd never touched it. Had she?
Her eyes darted up to his face to make sure he was still asleep and she was assailed with a new wave of sensory memories. How his wavy hair felt springy between her fingers; the softness of the skin beneath his ear where he was so sensitive; how his heartbeat felt just beneath his collarbone. Knew which rib had a bump from a badly healed break. How the small patch of hair on his chest felt against her cheek. Knew the spicy musk scent that was his naturally... She tore her eyes away, breathing hard, and found she'd moved without realizing it. She was next to the bed with her hand outstretched, very nearly touching him. She jerked back, horrified, and scrambled back to her own room.
Mulder blinked groggily. He'd awakened suddenly, and would have sworn when he first opened his eyes that Scully was standing next to his bed, in his T-shirt, reaching for him. Then he'd blinked and she was gone.
<Must have been dreaming - or wishful thinking,> he told himself. He shifted and felt the towel he wore slide away, then realized he'd neglected to put any clothes on after his shower last night. If Scully had come in she'd have gotten an eyeful. He chuckled, then frowned. Had she come in, then left because he was naked? What if she'd needed something and his nudity had scared her away?
<Nah,> he thought, sitting up, <It'd take more than a naked man to scare Scully off.> He shook his head. Scully would be more likely to throw something over him before waking him up - rudely, for causing her the extra trouble.
The sound of a gunshot from the TV caught his attention and he turned his head to see what was going on. A man and a woman were on the ground in what looked like an alley, cursing and laughing and fighting at the same time. The actor looked familiar, and Mulder wondered idly if he'd seen this show before... Then the man's anger turned to urgency, and he started ripping clothing away. Hers and his. Raw, rough, angry sex in a dark alley... edgy stuff.
<Not a good choice of location, pal,> Mulder thought, rubbing his face. <Especially if you want to play rough. It skirts too damn close to rape. If someone calls a cop you're hamburger.> Still, he watched the action a few more minutes, until the scene changed. Long enough for certain parts of his anatomy to remind him he was naked, and it *had* been a long time... He looked down at his groin and sighed. Philosophically, he wrapped his hand around his erection and gave himself a few lazy strokes. Nope. He just wasn't in the mood for solo sex. Or sex with anyone else, for that matter, except Scully...
Unbidden, scenes from the single glorious weekend they'd spent as lovers began to scroll through his mind, and he went from semi-erect to hard as a rock. His fist tightened reflexively and he groaned out loud. <Shit, shit, shit!> He couldn't do this! Not here, not now. What if Scully woke up and heard him? What if she opened the door? He fell back on the bed and imagined Scully's worst-case reaction to finding him jerking off and moaning her name... It didn't take long for his erection to shrivel.
For a while he just laid there, staring blindly up at the stucco ceiling and trying to think of something calming that would help him get back to sleep. Nothing came to mind. And the TV was playing that sexy music again. Mulder pushed himself up on one elbow to look at the screen. Sure enough, another installment of that show was coming on. Great, just what he needed - an erotica marathon. He quickly got up and changed the channel.
Not many choices -- a tearjerker, an old gangster movie, and a sci-fi bad enough to make even him wince. He settled on the weather channel and went to get a drink of water.
In the harsh light of the bathroom he looked at himself in the mirror. Tall man -- kind of lanky, but at least he had some muscle - with dark hair, sort of olive skin, and too many scars. Inside as well as out. He sighed and leaned closer to look at his face.
Yep, his eyes still looked like someone had sandblasted them. At least they didn't feel that way anymore... He looked at his watch and was surprised it was still the middle of the night. He hadn't gotten any sleep for ... what, at least 36 hours - and not a whole lot in the previous 72. He should still be dead to the world. What woke him up?
He hadn't shaved in nearly five days now, and he rubbed the dark growth on his face. His beard had grown enough that it wasn't prickly anymore, and he wondered if his shaver could handle it. He kinda doubted it. Hopefully Scully would have some scissors he could borrow, or he'd have to wait until he got home to tackle shaving again. He tilted his head and studied the beard curiously, wondering what he'd look like with it fully grown. He'd never even considered growing a beard before, or a mustache. <Most males get that out of the way in their teens,> he mused to himself. He squinted at the mirror and thought about just letting it grow. Then he thought about Skinner's reaction to an agent with a scraggly growing-in beard, and decided there usually was enough for Skinner to yell at him about without deliberately adding to it.
Besides, Scully would probably hate it.
Had she really been in his room?
Realizing he wasn't going to be able to sleep until he found out, he left the bathroom and dug through his suitcase for something clean to wear. His hand closed on fleece, and he pulled the sweatpants out and put them on. Wonderful. How had these gotten into his suitcase? They were his oldest faded gray sweats, the ones that were supposed to be in the rag pile. He must have grabbed them by mistake when he was packing. They were so old they were worn thin in places, and the elastic was stretched out - and of course the drawstring was long gone. Oh, well, at least they covered him.
He turned to the connecting door and stopped cold. The door on his side was standing open as he'd left it. But the door on Scully's side, which she'd closed when she'd gone to bed, was ajar.
Two strides took him back to his nightstand, and he slid his gun out of its holster. With its comforting weight in his hand he headed back to the door.
There was little light and no noise coming from Scully's room, so he let the gun hang down beside his leg, the safety still on - but with his thumb on it. Chances were, there was nothing wrong. Maybe the latch hadn't caught when Scully had pushed it shut earlier and it had just popped open... He pushed it further and edged into the opening, eyes searching the dimly lit room. His eyes adjusted to the light quickly, and.... Scully was not in either bed. Or anywhere else in the room.
The bed near the window was undisturbed except for the neatly packed suitcase lying open on the cover. The bed next to him was definitely slept-in, the covers twisted and hanging off one side, the pillows dented. A small prescription bottle lay on its side atop the sheet, and he stepped closer to pick it up.
Sleeping pills? Since when did Scully take sleeping pills? Frowning, he set the bottle on the nightstand. Then he noticed the bathroom door was shut, and heard the shower running.
<It's three a.m. and she took a shower only a few hours ago. Why would Scully be back in the shower now?> The only reason Mulder could come up with was nightmares. Not unlikely after the last few cases they'd handled. Highly probable, in fact. <Damn.> He was standing indecisively, wondering if there was anything he could do or if he should just go back to his room and leave her alone, when he heard it.
A faint sound... then another. Sobs. Scully was crying.
He had to do something. He tossed his gun onto the bed and reached for the bathroom doorknob...
Scully gave in to the frustration and decided to take matters into her own hands, so to speak. After fleeing Mulder's room she shut herself in the bathroom. Her bad luck was holding though, and the only light in the bathroom that worked was the heat lamp in the ceiling. The vent fan didn't work either.
Groaning, she leaned against the wall in the rapidly heating room, letting her mind replay the erotic scenes from her dreams. Her hands rubbed the soft cotton T-shirt against her ribs, creating mild friction. Her nipples reacted to the slight stimulus with embarrassing zeal, pebbling hard and pressing eagerly against the restraining knit. She cupped her breasts with her hands and kneaded them before letting her thumbs brush over the straining nipples, then found herself moaning at their sensitivity. Not good - it wouldn't do to have Mulder hear her. Fumbling, with her eyes still shut, she found the shower controls and twisted them on.
The sound was deafening at first, then settled into a comfortingly masking background noise... like rain... Images began to surface, like long-forgotten memories... Images of herself making love to Mulder to the music of rain. Mulder lying supine on a rumpled bed, letting her tease him into losing control. Herself hanging onto the wrought-iron headboard for dear life as Mulder claimed his turn. Rolling across a carpeted floor tangled with Mulder's body. Warm water, soap, and steamy sex in a white-tiled shower...
Faster and faster the confusing images flashed, an endless ricochet through her mind. She didn't know where they came from, and at the moment she didn't care. She let them flood her mind as her hands wandered, imagining the touch was Mulder's. Her breasts ached and she rubbed them, rolling her nipples gently through the knit at first, then pinching harder and harder as the urgency grew. Heat arrowed through her, pooling low in her belly to start a new ache, and moisture began to seep from her core. Soon it wasn't enough. With no panties in the way, one small hand quickly found it's way to the russet curls between her legs and beyond, to the swollen bundle of nerves hidden within.
The first touch of her fingers made her jerk, then her hips unconsciously bucked against her hand. Back and forth her fingers stroked, gently at first then more firmly, until both fingers and curls were sodden with her dew and excess began to trickle down her thigh. <Oh, jeez, this could get messy.>
Reluctantly she stopped and thrust one hand under the shower, testing the temperature. She turned it up slightly and stepped under the spray, T-shirt and all, turning her back to the showerhead and resuming where she'd left off. The water rinsed away some of her natural lubrication and increased the friction, and she used her free hand to twist her nipples. The tension mounted and she worked her clit franticly. More, more... It wasn't enough. She propped one foot on the lip of the tub and thrust her pelvis forward, trying for a better angle. Tighter and tighter she wound herself up. Her supporting leg began to shake and she leaned her head and one shoulder against the shower wall for balance.
Her fingertips skated around her opening, teasing, then finally she dipped them in. She gasped with pleasure and did it again, and again. It was *there*, right *there*, but she couldn't quite reach it... Again and again she tried, until her leg nearly buckled. Her second hand joined the first, but it just wasn't enough... She just...couldn't...come.
Her hands began to cramp and she sagged against the tile, not realizing she was sobbing with frustration. She didn't even hear the door open.
The doorknob stuck as Mulder turned it, and he twisted harder until it gave with a groan. Steam billowed from the room, engulfing him, and bringing with it a scent vaguely familiar... The memory of Scully twined around him in a sex-dampened bed rose sharply and he shoved it away.
Then he saw her.
She was standing in the tub with the shower going full blast. The curtain hadn't been pulled, though, and he could see her clearly. She *was* wearing his blue T-shirt... and nothing else.
Scully's back was to him, thankfully, and she hadn't heard the door. He had a few moments, then, to notice the puddles forming on the floor; that the towels were still securely tucked in their holder on the other side of the toilet; -- and that Scully's shoulders were shaking with the force of soft, choked sobs. It took another moment for him to realize she was masturbating.
He didn't realize he'd stepped forward until he felt the water on his feet.
He didn't remember stepping into the tub, didn't feel the shower soaking his back. All he knew was that Scully was upset and he needed to hold her.
Scully sensed Mulder's presence, but instead of alarm she was almost relieved. She felt his arms slip around her waist from behind, felt the solid warmth of him against her back, and it triggered another sob she was helpless to stop. Mulder could help; Mulder would know what to do...
"I can't... I can't reach..." Even as she heard the words come out of her mouth she wasn't sure what she was asking him to do. But Mulder understood.
His arms tightened slightly and his voice was soft near her ear. "I can reach, Scully. Let me help." She caught her breath then sobbed with relief as she felt his long fingers nudge hers away and smoothly take their place. His fingers knew the right rhythms... sought and found those elusive pleasure centers. Her tears dried as heat rose inside her, gasping as his fingers slid deep inside her and began to move.
"That's it, baby. Just relax..." Mulder's voice crooned encouragingly. As if his voice was a trigger she felt something inside let go.
"Oh God," she cried out at the sudden pleasure of release. Mulder's fingers barely paused.
"Again, Scully. You can do it again."
Mindless, Scully arched back against him, pressing harder against the pleasuring hand. He responded, his body curving around her, his other hand pushing the sodden T-shirt up out of his way. When he touched her breast she cried out, feeling a new surge of urgency.
Mulder was murmuring encouragement in a voice gone husky, but Scully could no longer hear over the blood pounding in her ears. Her hands found their way into his hair and held on as she came again, hard. Her knees buckled and she would have fallen but for his arms.
The fingers withdrew, drawing a protest from her. His hands went to her waist and she felt him stepping back... <No! Not yet!> She turned in his arms and pressed up against him, sliding her arms around his neck, and all but writhing against him.
"Don't stop, please don't stop," she heard herself begging.
Mulder stood, torn, as Scully pressed against him. Feeling her come in his arms was something he thought he'd never experience again. But to have her beg him to continue... He was not made of stone, although one portion of his anatomy was doing a fair imitation. Scully's sharp teeth nipping his chest was his undoing.
Slowly he slid his hands up from her waist, sliding the T-shirt up and off, then pulled her tight against him. He kissed her, gently at first, then more forcefully as the hunger grew, until she was bowed backward in his arms. His mouth left hers then and slid downward, over her neck and shoulders, across her collarbones, down to the curve of her breasts. Her hands fisted in his hair but he didn't feel the pain. Over and over he laved her breasts before taking a turgid nipple into his mouth, suckling and nipping until the bite of her nails on his back broke his concentration.
He looked down at her face, bare of makeup, so pale with the fatigue of the past week that it was milk-white beneath her freckles, and suddenly he knew he couldn't do this. Not with Scully in this condition. He tried to let her go, tried to back away, but she was having none of it. Her hands closed on his sweatpants and had them pushed down around his knees before he could stop her, then she was practically climbing his body to wrap her legs around him.
"Scully, we can't do this - not in the shower," he tried to protest. "I'll slip and kill us both."
"No you won't," she argued breathlessly. "We did it before and we can do it again."
The words hit Mulder like a brick. *She was remembering!* He didn't think she realized it yet, but... If the memories had started coming back it was just a matter of time until they all came back. And when she remembered everything-- That he'd lied to her-- She would probably hate him. The thought broke the last of his resistance and he took her back into his arms with silent desperation. It might very well be the last time he'd hold her.
Pressing her back against the tiles, he kicked free of his sweatpants and slid himself deep into her heat. She was swollen and tight, and the pleasure of it made him groan. God, he'd missed this! He cupped her sweet ass in his hands and pulled her tighter to him until her head fell back in pleasure. Then, and only then, did he move again, raising her slowly and letting her sink back down on him... Slowly, slowly... Ahh, yes! He felt her tremors start and strengthen, knew that her orgasm would push him over as well and tried to brace himself. Her cry nearly drowned out his own.
His legs were threatening to buckle. Scully had gone nearly limp, only her arms around his neck still holding on. He eased her off his still-hard erection and balanced her with one arm as he turned off the shower. Then he carried her out of the steamy bathroom, through the connecting door, to the king- sized bed in his room.
Her eyes were barely open as he eased her onto the mattress and followed her down.
"Don't even think about going to sleep, Scully. I'm not through with you yet."
Her eyes widened as he began to kiss his way down her body.
Scully's skin was both super-sensitive and numb. She felt numb until Mulder's mouth touched her, then suddenly all the nerves seemed to buzz. <Bringing me back to life...> she thought muzzily. His breath on her collarbones was so strangely arousing; her breasts felt swollen and her nipples ached. When his mouth closed over one stiff peak the heat was almost painfully pleasurable. She felt the rough silk of his hair between her clenched fingers but didn't know if she was holding his head against her or trying to push it away. Or simply trying to hold on.
He moved further down and she lost her grip. Her skin was on fire now, and he was pushing her knees apart, pushing them up to make room for his shoulders between her thighs. His fingers were *there* again, tracing circles around the swollen nub he seemed to know was too sensitive to touch right now. But then his tongue touched her and heat flashed through her, arching her back off the bed and sending her hands twisting futilely in the sheets.
Over and over he brought her to the very edge, denying her that indefinable something that would push her over, until the ache of desire in her belly was almost pain. He drew away, and the muscles in her thighs quivered as she tried to keep the contact. She heard him chuckle as he rose over her, smoothing his hands over her thighs, abdomen, and ribs as he moved into position between her legs.
"Don't worry, Scully - we're a long way from being finished," he promised in a voice husky with passion.
He entered her in one smooth, slow stroke, and it alone was enough to push her over the edge. He waited, unmoving, until her spasms stopped and she caught her breath. Then he began to move.
There was no hurry now. The urgency of the first time had passed and Mulder was determined to make this last. He paced himself, thrusting slow and deep, watching Scully's face flush with pleasure.
"I've been dreaming of this," Scully whispered breathlessly. Mulder caught a glimpse of her eyes, diamond-bright, beneath the veil of her lashes. "This is better than the dreams..."
The soft sounds of pleasure she made were like food to his hungry soul; when she moaned his name he shuddered with pleasure. He wanted to crawl inside her, brand her as his own, pleasure her unconscious... Her arms curled around his neck and pulled him down, her mouth meeting his eagerly. He took all she offered and more, tasting the skin of her cheek, her neck, her shoulders. Shivers of pleasure coursed through her body into his, and still he rocked into her. He felt the pressure building in himself but pushed it back, concentrating only on the connection between him and Scully. His arms began to quiver with the effort... Then Scully was crying out his name and her pleasure drew him over the edge with her.
It took a while for Mulder to come back to himself. Scully lay beneath him, limp and sated. It was an effort to drag his weight off her and pull her into his arms. She curled against him trustingly, and his conscience began to pinch at him. He'd taken advantage. Scully was so tired she probably had no idea what she was doing with him in the shower. He should have left her alone. What was he going to tell her? How much did she remember? She said she'd been dreaming of him... Maybe he could tuck her back into her bed after she'd gone to sleep and she'd think tonight had been yet another dream. It might work. He'd just wait until he knew she was asleep... He closed his eyes, just for a moment, breathing in the scent of her. The feel of her in his arms made his heart ache. Her breathing was slowing, becoming soft and even. Just a few more minutes and he'd carry her back to her room. A few more minutes...
His own exhaustion betrayed him. Mulder slipped into sleep with Scully still wrapped in his arms.
Morning light was glaring against his closed eyelids when Mulder felt Scully stir against him. Sheer, unadulterated panic ripped through him, and for a moment he couldn't breathe. Oh, Christ, he'd fallen asleep and hadn't put her back in her bed!
Briefly he considered pretending not to wake and waiting to see what she'd do -- but that was cowardly. He had to face her again, and it might as well be sooner rather than later. Reluctantly he opened his eyes. Scully's eyes, confused and questioning, were on him.
"Mulder?" Her voice wasn't quite steady, and she swallowed hard. "Did we..." She trailed off.
"Yeah, Scully, we did," he answered quietly.
"Oh my God," Scully went pale and closed her eyes. She looked as if she might cry but she bit her lip and took a breath instead. "I've been having these dreams... I don't suppose the shower was just...?" she trailed off.
Mulder felt like a worm, but he couldn't make himself lie to Scully again.
"It wasn't a dream."
Scully groaned and put a hand over her eyes. "Jesus, Mulder, I'm sorry. What you must think of me--"
Although she'd obviously pulled the sheet up to her neck, with her hand over her face the thin fabric only molded itself more smoothly over her breasts and belly, hiding nothing. Mulder's hands itched. He wanted to touch her again, to reach out and pull her against him, but he knew she wasn't ready for that yet. Might *never* be ready... The air had to be cleared. He had to tell her the truth. But how? He shifted uncomfortably, propping up on his elbow. He wanted to get up and pace but he was naked, and the only possible covering within reach was the thin sheet he shared with Scully. So he gritted his teeth and turned to face her, moving his leg to hide the shape of his obvious morning erection through the too-revealing sheet. As much as he wanted to touch Scully, he settled for gently pulling her hand away from her eyes.
"Scully," he said firmly, "you have nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing happened that we didn't both want."
Her eyes opened but wouldn't meet his. "I remember the shower, Mulder. You would have backed away. I pushed you into it. I...begged you."
"Then you should also remember that I was very easy to convince," he said dryly. Scully's lips twitched into an almost-smile, but it quickly faded.
"Five years. Five years we've been partners and friends, and I've messed that up in a single night."
"Nothing is messed up..."
"Are you sure? Can we go on from here as if nothing happened? I don't think... I don't think I can just forget what I've done."
Mulder's gut twisted but although the words nearly choked him he knew he had to give Scully an out. "You can, Dana. If that's what you want, you can forget."
Something in his voice must have betrayed him, for now Scully's eyes met his. "What?"
"If you really want to forget," Mulder said carefully, avoiding her eyes, "I can help you."
Scully sat up slowly, twisting to face him. "What are you saying?"
Mulder sat up too. "I can hypnotize you and make you forget... tell you it was just a dream."
For a moment Scully just looked at him. His eyes flicked to hers once, then away. Her eyes narrowed, taking in the protectively hunched shoulders, his avoidance of her eyes. She recalled the slightly hollow tone of his voice from the past few minutes. With years of experience reading Mulder's body language, she realized that he was trying to keep something from her. Something that hurt her, perhaps? Or... hurt him? Suddenly the pieces coalesced into a picture that shocked her. The air left her lungs in a rush and she found it hard to breathe. One hand clutched Mulder's arm unconsciously.
"You've hypnotized me before," she breathed. "That's what you're saying, isn't it. *Have* you?" she insisted.
Mulder hesitated, then nodded once, reluctantly. Scully gasped and her hand dropped away as if his skin was suddenly hot.
"Then my dreams..." She trailed off.
"May be memories trying to surface," Mulder admitted. He watched as emotions washed over her face.. Confusion, hurt, anger -- and then finally the one he dreaded the most. Betrayal. A new knife-jab to his already aching heart. "But, Scully--" He reached out to her but broke off as she jerked away from him and scrambled off the bed, heading for the door. Desperate, he lunged and caught her arm. "It's okay, Scully," he said urgently, "it's okay to remember." She pulled away and almost made it to the door before his final, anguished words made it through to her. "*Please remember!*"
She stopped cold just inside the doorway. What was she doing? Mulder was her partner, and even more, her best friend. He had proved over and over that he'd go to the ends of the earth, move heaven and hell to protect her. He would never hurt her. Never betray her. Yet she had just wordlessly accused him of that. Her emotions might be in turmoil right now, but she knew Mulder better than that.
Slowly she turned around, looking back at the bed. Mulder lay on his stomach with his face pressed into a pillow, the rest of him bare to her since she'd taken the sheet. She couldn't see his hands but she knew they would be fisted, knew his jaw would be set, and every muscle in his body would be tensed. That was how Mulder dealt with pain, silently and alone -- pain that this time she had inflicted.
She had to make this right.
She had to know what had really happened.
Mulder was the only one who could help her.
Wrapping the sheet more securely around herself, she took the few steps back to the bed. The bedspread was in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed, and she tugged it up to Mulder's waist before hesitantly touching his back.
"Mulder..." she began. She wasn't sure what to say. She was so confused, and the dream images were still swirling dizzily through her mind. "Mulder..." she tried again and her voice broke.
That was all it took. Mulder twisted into a sitting position to face her, his eyes over-bright. "Oh, god. I'm sorry, Scully. I should never have touched you..." His voice was rough with emotion.
Scully began to cry, silent tears spilling over her cheeks. "Shh, Mulder. I know it wasn't your fault."
"Do you remember, then?" Mulder asked hesitantly, reaching out to brush her tears away. "Have your memories come back?"
Shaking her head, she tried to smile. "No. Just bits and pieces.. from the dreams... But I know *you*, Mulder." Wordlessly he pulled her into his arms and she went willingly, resting her head against his chest. "I'm so confused," she whispered.
"It's okay," he murmured into her hair. "The memories will come back. They were never really gone, just hidden." He was silent for a moment, his arms tightening, then he relaxed them again. "Do you remember that case 'way out in Kansas last year? The one that ended up being a wild-goose chase?"
Closing her eyes, she remembered, -- Mulder driving through the night in the rain, her sleeping in the car. A small motel in a tiny town, with only one room available... From there it got fuzzy. "Some of it. I was sick that weekend...?"
"Go back to the beginning of that trip, Scully. Tell me everything you can remember." Mulder's voice was soft and reassuring. She tired to sit up, but his arms held her gently but firmly where she was.
She subsided without comment. Maybe it would be easier to talk about this if she couldn't see his face. And his heartbeat was a comforting sound beneath her ear. "Umm... We'd just gotten back from a case in Maine when Skinner gave us the new assignment. We flew out again that same afternoon. It was a Friday. We flew into Kansas City and rented a car. You said you'd drive, because you'd slept on the plane. It was raining... I think I slept most of the way in the car. I kept waking up and it would still be raining and it got dark and you were still driving... I was beginning to think you'd gotten us lost," she confessed with a small smile. She felt the vibration of his chuckle but he said nothing. "It seemed to take a long time to get to the town, and it was a really *small* town."
"That's right," he confirmed. "The kind that rolls its sidewalks up at nine o'clock."
"There was only one motel, just across the street from a gas station. You went in to get us rooms -- you got soaked, it was still raining so hard. But there was only one room left, so we shared. There were two beds. We were so tired. You went to sleep on top of your bed before I got out of the bathroom."
Mulder made a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh but didn't interrupt. Scully pulled away to sit up and this time he didn't stop her. She sat facing him, her eyes unfocused as she followed the memory. "I went right to sleep in spite of all the sleeping I did in the car. But... Something woke me up in the middle of the night..." Her eyes went wide as the memory suddenly came clear. "There was a gun! The door burst open, and there was a gun!" One hand flew to her shoulder, while her eyes rose to his. "It was a *dart* gun."
"Drugs," Mulder confirmed. "Krychek." He watched as color bloomed in Scully's face. Her eyes dropped from his and she turned her face away slightly, and he knew she was remembering everything -- the effects the drug cocktail had on them, the wild sex it induced that night...and the stolen weekend.
"It was my idea," she said finally. She turned back to him, her eyes searching his. "You did everything I asked of you. Everything. Even hypnotizing me to block my memories. I wasn't really sick that weekend." Mulder shook his head slightly but didn't speak, and she went on slowly. "But you couldn't make yourself forget, could you? With your memory it would be almost impossible..." He didn't answer but his eyes dropped from hers. "Oh, Mulder, I'm sorry. I should never have asked --"
"It was worth it," he interrupted. His eyes were fierce, his voice fervent.
Scully reached for him and found herself wrapped securely in his arms again in less than a heartbeat. It was not hard to imagine what it had cost him in the past year, to act as if nothing had happened. He had treated her normally, bantering and arguing and making friendly inquiries about her weekends -- just as if he had never been her lover. She held him tighter as tears welled in her eyes again.
"I don't want to forget ever again," she whispered fiercely. "Not that weekend, not last night. Ever."
"Good," Mulder exclaimed shakily, "because I don't think I could do it again."
For long moments they just sat there, holding each other close and catching their breath. Finally Scully sat up to face him, brushing his hair back with one hand; touching him just because she knew she could.
"Skinner never suspected?" she questioned.
"Not exactly," Mulder said, smiling. "Well, he may suspect, but he's never said or asked anything. Like I told you before, I think he's always known how I felt about you -- even before I did."
Scully laughed, "Yeah, well, I think holding him at gunpoint when I thought he'd betrayed you may have tipped him to how I feel about you, too."
"May have," he agreed with a grin, then he suddenly grew serious. "And how exactly *do* you feel about me?" he asked.
"You know the answer to that, Mulder," Scully chided softly. "You're the other half of my soul."
She watched, fascinated, as Mulder's eyes darkened, then he leaned forward and captured her lips. He was gentle at first, then his lips teased hers apart and the kiss deepened. His fingers threaded through her hair, cradling her head while his thumbs caressed her cheeks. Then his hands trailed down her throat, across her collarbones and down, until his fingertips reached the edge of the sheet still wrapped around her. He drew back slightly then, looking at her.
Scully was pale no longer. The pink of arousal bloomed across her cheeks, deepening when she felt Mulder's long fingers tugging at the sheet. She hesitated, suddenly feeling unsure and shy.
"Too much, too soon?" Mulder asked gently, letting go of the sheet to caress her arm reassuringly.
"No," she denied, then bit her lip and ducked her head. "Not exactly. Well, yes... I know that's foolish, but..."
"It isn't foolish, Scully." One hand smoothed back her hair, then curled under her chin to tilt her face up. "A lot has changed between us. It will take some time for us to adjust; perhaps more so for you, since your memories have just resurfaced. But remember this -- the way I feel about you will never change. You're my best friend. I love you, and I *want* you. But there's no hurry. I can wait."
Her smile was radiant, conveying her relief and gratitude for his understanding along with her love for him. His answering smile was tender.
Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly and Mulder's smile turned into a grin. When his stomach growled a reply in kind they both burst out laughing.
"I guess I am kind of hungry," Scully admitted. "When was the last time we ate?"
"I don't know -- what day is it?"
Scully laughed, then sobered when she realized he was serious -- and that she really wasn't sure, either. This last case had been hard on both of them, but especially so on Mulder. Looking at him more closely while he reached for his watch on the nightstand, she could see he'd lost some weight. His eyes were still shadowed with fatigue, and even with the camouflage of several days' growth of beard his face looked haggard. He really needed to rest.
"Why don't you go back to sleep for a while, Mulder -- I'll go find us something to eat." She stood up, but stopped when Mulder shook his head. He swung his legs off the bed.
"I don't think I could go back to sleep right now. I'll just come with you. If I can find something relatively clean to wear, that is."
"I may have a problem with that myself. I've already worn everything I packed." She paused to watch him rub his eyes. "You're tired, Mulder."
"Yeah. But I'm hungry, too." He stood and headed for his suitcase, adding, "According to my watch, it's early Friday morning. We can go find some breakfast, call in to the field office and make sure all our loose ends are tied up, then see if we can catch an early flight home." He stopped digging in the suitcase when he realized Scully hadn't replied. He turned to look at her and found her staring at him fixedly. Following her eyes to see what was wrong, he looked down at himself and discovered he'd lost the bedspread when he'd gotten up. He was running around in front of Scully stark naked. A dull flush spread heat across his cheekbones. Normally he was pretty uninhibited... but hell, this was *his partner*!
Scully didn't notice his embarrassment. Her gaze hadn't shifted.
"Umm, Scully?" Mulder began, not sure what to do or say. He could feel her eyes on his groin. He felt himself twitch, and knew if she didn't stop looking at him like that he wouldn't be able to control his body's response. Already he was semi-erect. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but promptly forgot it when Scully stepped forward.
She stopped just in front of him and her right hand reached toward him. It settled on the side of his waist briefly before running down his hip, then forward to the lower edge of the scar that marred his upper thigh. He forgot to breathe as her fingers gently traced up the ragged line of puckered flesh. When she reached the apex, her hand drew back slightly, and she looked up at him.
Mulder tried to release the breath locked in his lungs, but the look on Scully's face wasn't helping. Her normally pale skin was flushed pink with arousal, her lush lips slightly parted. And her eyes...her eyes were wide and dark...and hungry.
Then he felt her hand close on him.
Mulder couldn't control his body's leap at her touch, nor could he hide the shiver of pleasure that ran through him. He caught her unconscious 'Mona Lisa' smile as she looked down again, watching her hand move on his rapidly hardening erection.
"Mulder?" she murmured. "I think I'd like to wait for breakfast a while, if you don't mind. There's something else I'd like to do before we leave." She reached up with her other hand and tugged the sheet loose, letting it slide down over her breasts. Mulder's control lasted until she leaned into him, skin to skin, and rubbed against him. He had her back in his arms before the fabric hit the floor.
"Forget breakfast," he agreed roughly, falling with her back onto the bed. He rolled, covering her with his body, slipping between her parted legs. Her arms went around him, urging him on. His eyes were dark and hot as pushed slowly back into her, watching the pleasure wash over her face, catching her moan with his lips. "Food can wait. We have a lot of lost time to make up for..."
- end -
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