AUTHOR: Diana Battis
RATING: NC-17
FEEDBACK: All4Mulder@aol.com
Part three
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A bulb flickers in the hallway, and brass numbers glimmer in the fitful light. Bright, then dim, bouncing off the walls in uneven bursts, the orb hums with uncertainty.
Like Scully.
She stands under the strobing light; the rhythm of her heartbeats keep time with the bulb's wavering rays. It's been over an hour since she left the coffee shop. Time enough to shower and change, to make the drive from Georgetown to Alexandria. To weaken her leap of faith.
What if Mulder won't forgive her? What if Jenn is wrong? What if he doesn't.... She swallows hard, the taste of fear and regret warring for supremacy as doubts dance through her mind in rapid procession. Despite her earlier resolve, the words she's rehearsed are fading. Now her thoughts exhibit all the weight and substance of her twirling shadow.
She inhales deeply, holding the breath behind lips stretched in a thin, mirthless smile. Her fingers curl, the skin pulling taut across the fragile bones as nails dig furrows into her palm. She can feel the blood pulsing through her veins as she raises the clenched hand to the door. Her knuckles connect with wood, and three short raps echo in the near-silence.
Footsteps vibrate across the floor. "That was fast," a voice murmurs over the slow, creaky slide of the deadbolt. The door inches open and Mulder's head appears, his hair damp and tangled. "Hey, Scully." His mouth parts in an uncertain half-smile as he pulls the door wide in invitation. "Thought it was Mario's."
She releases the breath, holding out her empty hands as she crosses the threshold with tentative steps. "Sorry, Mulder. No pizza."
He closes the door behind her. "Too bad. I'm starving, and the cupboard is practically bare. I don't have much to offer you." His response, delivered in a slow rumble, does little to settle her nerves.
"That's okay. I'm not...." The words die in her throat. Oh, God, his cupboard isn't the only thing that's bare.
Mulder leans against the door, his palms pressed flat against the wood. He's barefoot, wearing only tight black jeans that hang low on his hips. Hair arrows up from the unfastened button at his waist in a thin line that spreads across his chest, where drops of water glisten in sparse curls. She shivers, tongue flicking out to touch her lips as her eyes skitter up to his face.
"You're not...what?" he asks in obvious confusion.
The air is full of his scent, a mixture of shampoo and soap with an underlying hint of spiciness that tantalizes her senses. "I'm not very hungry," she finishes, afraid her too-pink cheeks reveal her thoughts.
He pushes away from the door with languid ease and grabs a t-shirt slung over the back of a chair. Muscles ripple as he pulls the olive cotton over his head and smoothes it over the damp skin of his chest. "I didn't expect to see you tonight." The words are uttered without rancor as he moves a few steps closer, a hand coming to rest on her shoulder. "But I'm glad you're here, Scully."
Even without shoes, he towers over her, and her chin juts with false bravado as she meets his searching gaze. "There are some things we need to discuss." The words are sharp and precise, yet the quivering note in her delivery betrays her inner conflict.
Nodding, his thumb skims across her collarbone. "Maybe I should call an attorney." The flippant reply is met with silence, and his jaw tightens perceptibly. He seems to sense her uneasiness; though his hand is gentle, there is something insistent about the way he touches her. She is aware of each individual finger branding her, and her shoulders shrink under his indomitable warmth.
She turns toward the living room, grateful for the excuse to break his hold. The room is dark save for the twin glow of fish tank and computer monitor, and she paces across the floor as if it were a minefield. Reaching the safety of the couch, she settles on the edge, wrapping her arms across her chest as she waits for him to follow.
"Anything in particular you want to discuss?" Pausing, he rakes a hand through his still-damp hair. "Or are we playing this by ear?" He leans against the doorway, his expression guarded.
She manages a small smile. "Actually, I do have a specific topic in mind." With distance, she has regained some of her poise. Her tone is cool and even; her face a perfect blank as her arms loosen their desperate hold and drop to her lap. "About yesterday's trip to Baltimore, and...and running out on you today...." She hesitates, biting the soft flesh of her lip. "I'm sorry. I've been a bit...edgy lately, and you've had to bear the brunt of it."
He moves to the desk and switches on a lamp, the sudden glare a harsh intrusion. Turning, he balances a hip against the desk and curls his fingers around the edge. "It's okay, Scully. We all have off days." His voice is pitched low, the words barely above a whisper.
For reasons she's unable to identify, his calm acceptance irritates her. She stalks over to the desk to confront him, her lips pinched tight with exasperation. "Damn it, Mulder, do you have to be so understanding?"
Dark eyebrows fly up in surprise. "I thought that's what you wanted. My acceptance, with no questions asked. What the hell am I supposed to do -- beg you to confide in me?" he scoffs. "We don't *talk*. We discuss, we debate, we argue. But talk?"
Shrugging, he folds his arms across his chest. "That seems to be out of the realm of possibility for us."
She shivers with denial, the note of resignation in his voice chilling her to the bone. "It takes two to have a conversation," she points out.
He nods, lips pursed tight as he briefly to consider her words. "So why don't we?" His face wears a look of perplexity as the truth of her words sink in. "What do you think holds us back?"
"I don't know." She takes a step back, dropping into the desk chair as though suddenly exhausted. "Maybe it's the natural instinct for self-preservation. An act of benign neglect. If we don't convey our thoughts or feelings, it somehow cancels them. And...and we won't get hurt." She swivels around to face him. "But sometimes, Mulder, it hurts more not to."
He nods, shuffling his feet against the worn carpet. "So where do we start?" he asks, the timbre of his voice weighed with concern.
Exhaling slowly, she ponders his question. Her attempts to be more open began weeks ago, when she'd trusted him enough to share her history with Daniel. Stripping away the first few layers of armor had been hard; it had taken years to acquire that level of protection. She knows it won't be easy to cast off the rest. Intimacy does not come without a price. But it's worth the risk.
He's worth the risk.
"I saw Jenn tonight."
He nods, stroking a palm across his rough cheeks. "I see."
"She told me what you did for her." She shifts her gaze to his feet, watching as his toes scrape shallow trenches in the rug's pile. "I was under the impression you...you used your last wish differently. I thought...." Her voice dwindles as new heat flood her cheeks.
His toe traces a slow circle in the pile, then carefully erases it with a swipe of his foot. "What did you think?"
She pauses, chewing her bottom lip. "I...thought you used your wish to affect *me*," she replies after a moment, tucking back a wayward lock of hair.
"Not everything is about *you*, you know," he says quietly.
She flinches at the gentle rebuke. "I'm sorry."
"Why?" he asks in an uncertain tone.
Pausing, she takes a calming breath. "I was having dreams...about you." The words fall from her lips, soft and tentative as a child's first confession. "That, and the fact that I was...jealous of Dr. Friedman...." The digging motions stop, and his foot drops flat on the floor as he shifts against the desk.
Her disclosure is met with silence, and she chances a quick glance at his face. His expression is unreadable, and with each passing second her doubts multiply as the silence stretches, thin and tenuous as a cobweb. God, why doesn't he say something? she wonders, twisting her hands in her lap. Suddenly, she is afraid to look at him, afraid of what she might see reflected in his eyes. Instead, she settles her gaze on the gurgling tank, scrutinizing the fish with all the intensity of a starving feline.
A soft sigh breaks the silence, and the gracefully undulating bodies in the tank are blocked from her view as Mulder crouches before her. "I hope you know I would never, ever do something without your consent, Scully. No matter how much I may want it."
"I know," she whispers, dipping her head. "I should have just asked you about that...and about Dr. Friedman."
"Judi is a wonderful woman. Intelligent, beautiful, funny." He hooks a finger beneath her chin, lifting her face. "But none of that matters, because she's not what I want." His voice lowers a notch. "And if you weren't so busy showing the world that you don't need anyone, you might be able to see what I *do* want."
The gentle words of reproach feather along her spine, a tender slide of warmth that wraps her in its embrace. His trembling hands cup her face, his fingers splaying across her cheeks with gentle insistence as an answering tremor rolls through her body. It licks over her skin in a conflagration of heat. Visceral. Primitive.
Inevitable.
Swallowing back a whimper, she meets his steady gaze. His eyes are a kaleidoscope of color -- green and brown and gray. Emotion blazes in their depths, igniting the flecks of gold sprinkled through the irises. An urgent sense of awareness blooms in her, pulling at her with the force of a whirlpool.
She can't fight the current.
They rise in unison, and her hands reach up to circle his wrists, grazing the skin with a nervous kiss. These are unchartered waters, and she suddenly feels lost, her instincts dulled by irrational fear and confused by arousal. She leans into him, tentative and unsure until she feels his body surge against hers. The connection is scorching and electric, and the air fairly crackles.
His kiss is a brush of warmth, so delicate she barely feels it. Scully stands on tiptoe, straining to get closer, but he holds back. His mouth taunts her, teasing her skin with the lightest of touches until a soft moan of frustration escapes her.
"Talk to me." He murmurs against her throat, desire crimping the edges of his words. "Tell me what you want."
A slight huff of breath is her only audible response as his tongue trails fire from her neck to her ear. She shivers, her nipples already tight as his teeth nip at an earlobe. Her fingers skim along his forearms, over the strong biceps, slipping across his shoulders to wind in the silky darkness of his hair as all her fears wither away. "You," she finally whispers, tugging his head up. Her tongue flicks against the closed seam of his lips, and she tilts back to repeat the word, stronger and surer than before. "You."
"Scully...." He draws a ragged breath as his hands span her waist, sliding under her blouse to trail along the ridges of her spine. His lips bless the copper hair feathered at her temple. Whisper over her eyelids. Taste the tiny, intriguing mole that decorates her face. Eliciting faint whimpers with each teasing touch until finally, he pulls her close and covers her mouth with his.
Everything is forgotten at the first touch of his tongue against hers, a jolt of electricity that spreads across her skin like wildfire. She doesn't remember moving to the bedroom or kicking off her shoes. But somehow, she is barefoot, lying across his bed, her body crushed beneath him.
The faint glow of the bedside lamp casts shadows across the planes of his face. She can feel him trembling against her, the solid length of his erection hard and insistent. His mouth is wet and hungry, his hands cupping her face as he plunders the softness of her mouth.
Gradually, the dynamics of the kiss change. It becomes softer as desperation is replaced by a tenderness so sweet she can taste it in the languorous glide of their tongues. Feel it in the soft tickle of his hair against her palms. Hear it in the broken words gasped against her lips.
Finally, he rolls away to look at her, his breathing harsh and uneven. "Is there anything else you want to know?" he rasps, stroking a thumb across her lower lip.
She peeks at him through lowered lashes. She wants to savor this, but the blood that races through her veins is as uncontrolled as white water. She takes several deep breaths, trying to focus her thoughts. "Tell me about your meeting with Dr. Friedman," she suggests, fingers sliding under the edge of his t-shirt to brush through the downy hair on his stomach.
His skin ripples like warm silk against her palm. "Judi...gave me some of her files...Christ." His face contorts with almost agonized pleasure as her searching fingers slip beneath the waist of his jeans, her nails circling the tender skin near his groin.
"Files," she prompts, sliding that hand upward over the muscled hardness of his stomach to his heart. It beats a dramatic tattoo, his chest rising and falling as the increased tenor of his breathing pushes the pinpointed flesh into her palm.
Mulder rolls upright and tugs her to a sitting position. "Mythology files." He fingers the front of her blouse, toying with the buttons. Eyes narrowed in concentration, he flicks them open with a measured pace, his knuckles brushing against her as each button is freed from its confining hole. The corners of his mouth curl in triumph as the last one is unfastened and the fabric parts. "Rare and extremely detailed." The collar of her blouse is pushed away, and he dips his head to suck on the soft skin of her shoulder. Light, teasing nips scrape along the line of her collarbone, then he lifts his head to look at her, his lips shining wetly. "I was planning to enter the information into a searchable database."
"Why a database?" Her skin is flushed with heat, and she quivers under his gaze. One finger touches her sternum, gentle as a butterfly's wing, and his face wears a look of awe that brings a lump to her throat.
"For further analysis," he murmurs, his fingers fumbling with the front clasp of her bra.
For a second she wonders if he's speaking about her or the file, until the clasp gives and her breasts spill into his waiting hands.
"The database uses searchable keywords, like...perfect," he rumbles, capturing a rosy nipple between his slightly roughened fingers.
"Keywords, like p...perfect?" Scully arches into his questing hands as his thumbs stroke across the engorged tips.
"Keywords, like selkies." He tugs the blouse off her sagging shoulders. The bra follows, and the newly bared skin dimples with goosebumps as his hand slips down to tickle the underside of her breast. "Are you familiar with the legend?" Mulder leans low, lapping at a hardened nipple.
"Selkies." Her back arches involuntarily at the delicious pull of his mouth, his tongue flicking across the swollen flesh he sucks with single-minded intent. Still quivering, she grabs his head, raking her fingers through the soft tendrils as she guides his caresses. "Celtic, isn't it?" Her voice holds all the resonance of a secret.
He shifts to her other breast, his eyes dilated to ebony as he gives its tip with the same attention. "Right," he mumbles, the emery of his cheek pinking her tender skin.
Scully shakes with the need to be closer to him. Unsteady hands grab the hem of his t-shirt, yanking it up with barely concealed frustration. "Mulder," she pleads, forcing his head up as she tugs ineffectually at the olive cotton.
In one swift movement, he strips off the shirt and throws it to the floor, his hands returning to span her waist. "Selkies are seal-like creatures, their origins primarily Sco...ahhh." His voice catches as she kisses her way over the newly exposed flesh, her tongue leaving a trail of wetness as it circles a brown nipple. "Scottish, though the Irish have also laid claim to them."
"I'm Irish, but I've never laid...claim to them." The tip of her tongue peeks out between kiss-swollen lips, and her eyes gleam with anticipation as she slips a hand over the straining front of his jeans, measuring his bulk through the heavy fabric. "Big...creatures?" she whispers, tickling the length of his zipper with a fingernail.
A hiss escapes through gritted teeth as he grabs her wrist, gently circling the fragile bones to bring her hand to his shoulders. "Big enough," he growls, standing and pulling her to her feet.
She sways on rubbery knees, braced against the solid strength of his body. "Tell me more," she invites, kissing the center of his chest.
"There are some beautiful myths associated with selkies." His hands fumble at the side of her skirt. "They're purported to be fallen angels." He is impatient, struggling to push the button through its hole without success. "Doomed to spend their lives as seals until Judgment Day." A muttered curse, a sharp pop, then the ping of a ricocheting button sounds. He sighs an apology as he works on the zipper, then slides his hands beneath her loosened waistband to smooth over the softly rounded flesh below as her skirt falls to the floor.
"They should have wished harder," she replies, running her hands over his back. She loves the feel of his skin, the way his muscles bunch and flex under her touch.
"Maybe they needed their own djinn." Grinning, he drops to his knees. "Another legend holds that they're the corporeal embodiment of souls lost at sea." He skims her panties and hose to her ankles. While she clutches his shoulders for balance, he lifts one leg then the other to remove her underthings, tossing them with her skirt to join the growing pile of clothes on the carpet. "Souls condemned to live as seals...." He stands slowly, backing away to sit on the bed. "For eternity." Tugging her into his lap, he whispers the last words against her ear, and shudders rack her body.
"They need the right person to set them free." She twists around, sliding a leg on either side of him. Her knees hit the mattress, the scratch of denim abrading the tender skin of her thighs as she straddles him.
His hands rest at the small of her back, tracing gently over her skin as she moves against him; nipples brushing over the hair-roughened skin of his chest with each new twist of her body. Face flushed with heat, her mouth opens on a silent cry as his erection hits her in just the right place....
Instant sensory overload.
Her eyes snap shut, lights dancing behind her lids as her body sags against his. How many times has she dreamed of this? Her arms snake around his shoulders, fingers curling in his hair as her head rests against the curve of his neck. It all seems so strange, more dreamlike than any of her nocturnal fantasies. Scully tastes the hollow of his throat, the skin like velvet beneath her mouth. He tastes salty and oddly sweet, and she sucks the heated flesh with reckless abandon, wringing a long, low moan from him.
His hand slides across her hips, lifting her to her knees. "For one night a year, these creatures are permitted to regain human form." He strokes the flesh of her belly, soft, delicate caresses that elicit a string of incoherent words from her. His fingers trace around her navel, then slip lower to push through her damp curls. "Just one night." His voice lowers suggestively as he dips a finger into her. "Able to feel what's been denied them for so long."
Her head drops back, hair tickling her shoulder blades as his finger moves within her. Teasing along the outer folds before dipping in again. Her mind tries to process what he's whispering, but the finger twisting and rubbing within her holds all her attention. It feels incredible, and the air rushes out of her lungs in a heated gasp as the heel of his palm bumps against her clit.
She plants her palms on his shoulders, feeling his muscles ripple under her gripping hands. "Thought you said these myths were b...beautiful." Her body arches as a second finger enters her slick wetness. "I don't associate condemnation with p...pleasure." She shudders, grinding against his hand at an ever-increasing pace.
"Not all selkies are condemned to spend their lives in the sea." His now-slick fingers slide from her body; a half-smile flashes across his face at her cry of disappointment. He kisses the pulse throbbing at her neck, then lifts her from his lap to set her against the mounded pillows. "Legend has it that a selkie can take human form by shedding her skin."
"Mm...more legends?" She watches through half-closed eyes as he rises to his feet. The bulge in his jeans seems almost obscene; she nervously licks her lips as his fingers work the zipper, its rasp sending chills of anticipation through her. Hooking his thumbs in the gaping waist, he pulls the jeans down with care. His erection springs free, huge and engorged with blood, and she sucks in a quick breath.
Free of the denim, he stretches out beside her, his body sleek and golden in the muted light. "If a mortal happens upon the selkie skin...." He focuses on her with an almost frightening intensity, and her hips rock beneath his hands as he traces random patterns in the soft flesh of her belly. "....he can steal it and claim the creature as his wife."
"What, no male selkies?" She kisses the slight indentation in his chin. His skin is like fine grade sandpaper, a pleasant rasp against her over-sensitized lips as they slip along the underside of his jaw to his mouth. Her teeth capture his lower lip, crowning the plump flesh with teasing little bites before soothing it with wet swipes of her tongue. "Hardly seems fair...."
"Oh, there were males, Scully," he murmurs against her lips in a seductive purr. "In those small island communities, a surprise pregnancy could easily be explained away as the result of a visit from an alluring selkie-man." His mouth meets hers in a wet, open-mouthed kiss, his hand smoothing along the inner softness of her thigh.
"A convenient alternative to kiss-and-tell." Scully manages a choked whisper, toying with the soft hair covering his chest. "Does...." Her tongue slips out to glaze her lips with moisture. "Does the woman get to keep his skin?" She isn't talking about legends or selkies now.
He swings upright, kneeling between the legs that automatically part to accommodate him. A hand slides up to catch a nipple, the friction of his fingertips both torment and ecstasy. Breathing labored, he stares at her with heavy lidded eyes. "Only if she wants it...."
A lazy hand skims down his chest, caressing every inch of golden skin she can reach. Her fingers follow the line of hair that narrows past his navel until she reaches his groin, his cock pulsing with need. She touches the engorged flesh with a finger, tenderly sliding along his length until she reaches the tip. A pause, then a tentative brush over the head to wipe away the drop of fluid glistening there. Curving her fingers around his firmness, she slides them over the velvety skin, his harsh cry leaving her breathless.
"Does she?" he asks, his voice whisky rough as he pulls her hand away to replace it with his own. Positioning himself, he enters her with just the tip of his cock, a tentative slide through her slick folds that grazes her clit with the lightest of touches.
There is a hint of uncertainty in his voice that gives her momentary pause. The sharp little ache in her chest grows larger, stealing the air from her lungs. Doesn't he know how much she loves him? Her fingers twist the rumpled sheets as he traces over her wetness, teasing the tight bud hidden within. "Mulder," she begs, barely able to hear her own voice over the jackhammer pounding of her heart. "Please."
"Does she?" he asks again, repeating the toe-curling motions.
She brushes away the faint line of doubt creasing his brow. "Oh, God, yes."
Blood surges beneath his skin, his eyes wild and dark. His mouth opens, teeth clamped tight on his lower lip as he carefully enters her. "Better?" he asks, sliding his length into her with slow, even thrusts.
"Y...yes." Her breath catches as he fills her. Her lungs forget the reflexive action of breathing as he thrusts into her again and again; each time more deeply than the last. She throws an arm across her face, mouth open against the sweaty skin as he maintains the maddening pace. "Faster," she pleads in a muffled voice.
"Like this?" he pants, picking up the pace, sliding in and out of her in long, deep strokes.
"Mmmhmm." Her hips strain to meet his downward stroke, a leg wrapping about his waist as she seeks to force him deeper. One arm skitters across his back, the other behind his neck, and she yanks his head down to kiss his voluptuous mouth in a frenetic counter-rhythm of tongues. Swinging her other leg around him, she arches up to meet each frenzied thrust.
The sound of the blood rushing in her ears seems only a decibel short of painful as the tension increases. Perspiration turns the hair spilled across her brow to rust and trickles down the undersides of her breasts to dampen the rucked sheets beneath her. Her body tightens, her inner muscles contracting on each stroke. There is an almost feral look about him as he moves over her. His muscles shimmer, oiled with sweat, and his hips pump relentlessly, so hard it should hurt. But the time for soft, gentle caresses is past. She won't be moved by anything less than these delicious thrusts that make her ache for release.
Mulder slows his pace, watching her with eyes that burn with green fire. His hand slips between them, fingers grazing the apex of her sex to slide inward. He traps her clit between two fingers, rubbing the delicate flesh with the perfect touch, urging her climax closer with each stroke until her body shudders with need.
He's everywhere -- over her, on her, in her, giving her so much pleasure it's almost impossible to bear. Soon she feels a warning tingle, and her mouth opens on a wobbly sigh as the sharp little frisson radiates along her nerve endings. Another follows, then another, each gaining in intensity until her limbs slacken and her whole body thrums. Her head rolls on the pillow, and his name spills from her lips as she gives herself over to the inexorable sensations.
At her cry, Mulder quickens his thrusts, his trembling hands dancing on her hips. His movements are sloppy, and she tightens her shaky arms about his shoulders as she attempts to meet each erratic stroke, their bodies grinding together wildly. "God, Scully...." His muscles are suddenly rigid, and his eyes roll back in his head as he surges within her. Burying his face against her neck, he whispers, "Love you..." and she twines her arms around him, kissing the top of his head as she lets him ride out his climax until his arms give out and he collapses onto her.
She brushes through the damp hair at his neck, murmuring soothing words as she holds him. Though his body is lax and heavy, she welcomes the weight and the humid breath heating her shoulder. Her eyes close, and she feathers a kiss across the cheek so close to her own until, gradually, his breathing returns to normal.
Minutes later, she's nestled in his arms, the green comforter thrown over their satiated bodies. She rubs her cheek against his skin, and her fingers twirl in the sparse hair covering his chest. "Mulder, what happens to the male selkie after his skin is stolen? Is he happy?"
He strokes through her tangled hair, pressing a kiss against her damp hairline. "If the thief loves him, he's very happy." He pauses, his hand faltering. "But if she doesn't, he's not surprised. In folklore, most tales have an unhappy ending."
She pushes herself up to look in the eyes that study her with intensity. Her fingers trace the strong line of his jaw as a slight smile curves her lips. "She loves him."
And she proceeds to show him just how much.
********
End
Feedback welcome -- All4Mulder@aol.com
Author's Notes: I'm always eager to finish a story, and at the same time sad that it's over. That's me -- a bundle of contradictions! <g>
My thanks to the following: Narida, for kick-ass beta and cyber-brownies...with nuts! Alanna, for late night chats, super insta-beta, and much appreciated encouragement. Kristy, for keeping me energized. And especially Musea: Angel, Aud, Bonnie, Cameo, Jintian, Mish and mountainphile. You've been a source of friendship and support, a sounding board, and collective shoulders to lean on. I love you all!
