From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: 20 Feb 2005 21:08:29 -0000 Subject: Bareback (NC-17) by OKayVal Source: direct Reply To: okayval@yahoo.com Title: Bareback Author: OKayVal Email: okayval@yahoo.com Website: http://donnilee.tripod.com/okayval Rating: NC-17 Archive: Honored; just tell me where Category: RST, PWP Pairings: Mulder/Scully Spoilers: Takes place during Season 7 Disclaimer: Not mine, you know the drill. Summary: Sequel to "Wild Wild Mulder." Mulder makes amends, as only he can. Thanks to everyone who's encouraged me to write another story with this, um, motif. Also, huge thanks to Donnilee for the title suggestion and for being my webhostess with the mostest, and to Tali for pulling this one out of the fire. "If you'll forgive me my ferocity I won't forget your sweetness..." --Blondie, "Forgive and Forget"-- *** The test tube shatters as it hits the floor, and so does the rest of her patience. She's already faced her share of obstacles today, and this latest incident will now add an annoyed Mulder to her list. Her analysis wasn't finished, and he's been chomping at the bit all day for the results. The red liquid pools on the floor and she stares at it. At least the young lab assistant who dropped the test tube has the decency to be upset about it. "I'm sorry, Agent Scully," he says, face flushed, eyes downcast. He begins cleaning up the mess and she glares at him until her cell phone rings, demanding her attention. She knows it's Mulder before she even touches the phone. Damn that man. His timing is uncanny. She thinks for a moment about not answering the call, but that will only make him more agitated. Ever since her little escapade with CGB Spender, Mulder goes haywire when he can't reach her. Best to get this over with now. She pulls the phone from her lab coat pocket and answers it. "Hey, it's me," Mulder says, then pauses. He's heard the snap that she can't keep out of her voice. She waits for him to continue. "Are you finished with that blood sample yet? He was poisoned, wasn't he?" *Here we go*. She clenches her fingers around the phone. "No, Mulder, I'm not finished. We've had a little problem and I need to start over." She is tempted to hang up now, feigning a bad connection, rather than listen to the rant she knows is coming. "You have to find the poison, Scully. That's the key. I can't tie the murders to Morgan without it. He's the only one who has access to that poison and I know that's what killed those people. But I need you to prove it for me." She watches the young technician carefully wipe up the mix of shattered glass and blood. Their whole case, Mulder's entire theory, rests among those small pieces of glass. A heavy weight for such tiny things, she thinks. "I'll do what I can, Mulder," she says, her tone weary. "Call me as soon as you can." Mulder ends the call and she takes a deep breath. She knows when he's profiling, he often shuts out the rest of the world and forges ahead in a narrow tunnel, focused only on the light at the end of it. She understands, but it still rankles somewhat when he shuts her out, too. The lab assistant has finished his clean-up and approaches her nervously. She knows that chewing him out will only waste more time, and she still needs his help, so she tells him take a break while she returns to the autopsy bay and tries to salvage what she can of this case. Mulder calls again as she is leaving the lab. She asks him curtly how he expects her to finish if he keeps interrupting her, then hangs up before he can respond. That seems to do the trick, because he does not call back. The sterile solitude of the autopsy bay allows her to regain her focus; she collects tissue samples and tries to see if there is any other trace evidence on the victim's body that she may have missed the first time. The afternoon stretches out ahead of her, like an endless road; running the tests takes time, and the lab assistant is so terrified of dropping anything else that he's now moving at a snail's pace. Hours later, she finds it, in lines and patterns that match up perfectly on a chromatogram--traces of the rare poison, just as Mulder predicted. He must have the phone attached to his ear, because he answers her call instantly. He's got enough evidence to obtain the arrest warrant, so he thanks her quickly and hangs up. She sets her phone aside and sinks onto a nearby stool. She should feel satisfied, but instead she merely feels drained. Her feet hurt and the dull ache in her stomach reminds her that she hasn't eaten anything in hours. And she still has to organize her lab results. It's going to be a long evening. *** She sneaks small bites of salad as her fingers fly across the keyboard, creating the report she hopes will be her final task of this thankless day. It's times like these that she is thankful for their basement office; she's far away from the noise and prying eyes of other agents in the bullpen. She clicks the mouse and takes another forkful of salad as the computer hums and saves her work. She prints the report and is about to toss the remains of her dinner into the trash when her phone rings. "We got him, Scully. Thanks to you." "I'm glad, Mulder." He's silent for a moment and she rubs her forehead while waiting for him to speak again. She has a hunch that she's not going to like whatever he says next. "I'm on my way home. Meet me there. I want to show you something." "Can it wait until tomorrow?" The last thing she wants to do right now is go chasing after anything with Mulder. She just wants to go home and spend some time alone in a nice, hot bath. "Not really." The confidence in his voice annoys her. "What is it? I'd really like to go home, Mulder." "You...you don't have to stay. Just come over. Please, Scully." This is the first time he has said "please" to her all day, and her resolve shatters like the broken test tube. *** She should leave now. It's not too late. He doesn't know she's here, standing outside his apartment door, with her hand raised to knock and announce her presence. She could sneak back to her car and call him to say she's changed her mind and whatever he has to show her can just damn well wait until tomorrow. Why can't she say no to him? He drives her crazy. He never listens to her. But she's here, isn't she? She might as well see this through. If it's something ridiculous, then she will read him the riot act and go home. She raps her knuckles against the scuffed wood. "Scully?," he calls from behind the door. "It's me," she says. "Use your key." *What on earth?* "Mulder, are you ok?" She fumbles in her purse for the key, wondering now if maybe he'd been shot or somehow hurt during Morgan's arrest. She unlocks the door and steps into his apartment. "In here, Scully," he calls from the bedroom. Now she's truly worried. Something's happened to him. With a growing sense of urgency, she rounds the corner and peers into the bedroom. And almost falls to the floor in shock. Mulder is there, but he's far from injured. He's leaning against the closet door, and he's naked--well, except for the chaps. Chaps. *Good lord*. "I know I was a real jackass today, Scully, and I'm sorry. I just couldn't let that sonofabitch get away. I hope I can make it up to you." She barely hears what he's saying because her visual senses are overloading with the sight of him before her. He's glorious. The way the leather belt frames his hips, his lean legs encased in soft brown suede. His cock, dark and thick, framed by the fabric and growing harder under her scrutiny. He moves away from the closet door and reaches for her, but she shakes her head. "Wait." She approaches and walks slowly around him, so she can see the smooth curve of his bare ass. This isn't the first time Mulder has surprised her with a pair of chaps, since she'd let it slip about her cowboy fantasy. They had not been lovers for long, and she was amazed that he had gone to so much trouble to fulfill that long-held fantasy. "You remembered," she whispers, walking around to face him again. "Are you kidding? How could I forget? I'd never seen you so turned on. So hot." His voice drops and he fixes those eyes on her, dark lasers that don't let her go. His chest rises as his breathing quickens with his own arousal, and she watches him, bewitched. Every move he makes is stunning. Hot is an understatement. The sweet ache builds between her legs and permeates every inch of her. She is done looking; now she has to touch him. She starts with that ass. His muscles clench as her fingers skim his skin, taut strength that thrills her. She presses the full palm of her hand against him. How many times has she watched him striding ahead of her, her glance never failing to rest on how great his backside looks. Mulder begins to pant, quivering slightly whenever she moves her hand on his body. She keeps moving it, around his hips and the soft leather belt of the chaps, returning to his groin. He is fully erect now, his cock long and straight, and she reaches for him. He is heavy and smooth in her hand; alive for her. She still marvels at how much he wants her, has always wanted her. She slides her fingers along his pulsing length, slowly, and he moans her name. She looks at him and repeats the gesture, enjoying the way his face reveals the pleasure she gives him. She remembers an article she read once, about how some women could achieve orgasm by visual stimulation alone. She'd dismissed these findings, but once again, Mulder is making her question her facts, because this particular visual stimulation is definitely doing it for her. She is so aroused, the ache between her thighs is almost painful now. As she strokes him, Mulder watches her through eyes now half-closed. "God, Scully," he grunts through gritted teeth. "Gotta slow down." She would love to watch him lose control now; he is so beautiful when he comes. But she knows he is doing this for her, so she releases him. His eyes fly open, green mirrors which reflect her own arousal back at her. Mulder reaches out and tugs at the hem of her sweater. She has been so bedazzled by the sight of him without clothes that she has forgotten to remove her own. Mulder starts to undress her in that slow, sizzling way she loves; he touches every part of her as he peels each layer away. She is soon free of her clothes, and his touch has left trails of fire on her skin. Mulder leads her toward the bed and as he lies back, she takes a moment to stand and study his body, framed by the chaps. It's an extremely attractive picture. He watches her with a bemused smile. "See something you like, Scully?" "Definitely," she says. "And those chaps are staying on, remember." "Of course I do. Now get over here." She laughs and straddles his thighs. The suede is soft against her skin. She bends forward and kisses him, finally; their mouths meet urgently, and Mulder's hands caress her breasts, her stomach, and then her fiery core. He slips one finger against her swollen lips and she gasps at the sensation. He pushes the finger deeper, sending shockwaves of heat through her. She wants more than his finger inside her, but she cannot stop herself from rocking against his hand. He is so good at this. When he sees the look on her face, he adds a second finger and brushes his thumb against her clitoris; it's just what she needs to send her soaring over the edge. When she's stopped trembling, Mulder gently slides his fingers out and brings them to his lips. She sees the raw need in his eyes and she is ready to give him what he wants, so she lifts her hips and sinks down onto him. Her walls are still slick from her orgasm and he slides in easily. She begins to ride him, and he matches her movements with hard, sure strokes of his own. She senses him, hot and thick, in every cell, every pore. Her hands press against his chest, feeling his pounding heartbeat echoing the rhythm of his cock inside her. Instinct takes over; her hips begin to rock at the same pace and she comes again, in wild waves of pleasure that seem to go on and on. Mulder increases his tempo, pushing his hips urgently against her again and again, until he lets go inside her with a furious surge and her name on his lips. *** Warm. She is warm. She cracks open an eye and peeks at the alarm clock. Is that really the time? She normally doesn't sleep this late. But she's so comfortable, so warm. It must be Mulder; she can feel his skin against her back, but she also feels something else--soft, kind of fuzzy--she is puzzled for a moment but then she remembers. Mulder fell asleep wearing the chaps. She smiles and slips out of his arms gently, not wanting to wake him. He sleeps so much better these days, but she knows there are still nights when he does not sleep at all, so it is best to let him slumber when he can. She gets out of bed and looks around for something to wear. Settling for one of his t-shirts, she decides to investigate Mulder's kitchen to see if he has anything there that might possibly resemble breakfast. If she can find something, she may even serve it to him in bed. One surprise deserves another, after all. She stops at the bedroom doorway and glances back; the sight of him sprawled across the bed still clad in chaps brings another smile to her face. It is easy to remember why she has trouble saying no to him, even when he's being a royal pain in the ass. He can never refuse her anything, either. "Apology accepted, Mulder," she whispers to his sleeping form as she heads for the kitchen to begin her search for breakfast. *** Finis *** Feedback welcomed. It's all good!