From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 16 Oct 2006 23:15:29 -0000
Subject: Camera Obscura I: Latency by A. Kelley Nolan
Source: direct

Reply To: akelleynolan@yahoo.com


TITLE:  Camera Obscura I:  Latency
AUTHOR:  A. Kelley Nolan
EMAIL:  akelleynolan@yahoo.com
DISTRIBUTION:  I'd be delighted.  Just let me know.

RATING:  R for sexual situations and language
CATEGORIES:  VRA
KEYWORDS:  Mulder/Scully romance
SPOILERS:  Season 2, specifically the abduction arc and "Red 
Museum"

SUMMARY:  It was there all along, just waiting to be seen, 
waiting to develop.

Disclaimer:  Everybody in this belongs to somebody else.

Author's Notes:  Some really nice people suggested I explore 
the Mulder/Scully relationship through my personal timeline of 
their history.  They're probably going to regret that.  
Nonetheless, this is the first in a series of several stories that 
will attempt to do just that, from Mulder's point of view.  This is 
a companion series to "Camera Lucida," told from Scully's 
point of view.  You should immediately go read tree's brilliant 
"Camera Lucida I: Latency."  Honestly, you really must read 
them as a pair.  We insist.

Thanks:  To Anjou, for the initial spark.  And a paean of praise 
to the beta goddess tree, for transoceanic encouragement and 
advice, for editing of uncommon brilliance, insight, and 
diplomacy, and for gamely and beautifully taking on Scully.  
This is an entirely different, and infinitely better, story than it 
would have been without her.  And it was a whole lot of fun, 
too.

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

Later he would tell himself that he didn't know what made him 
reach for her that night, but at the moment it was crystal clear.  
She's back she's here she's okay she came back to me.  The 
words spun through his mind in a whispered litany, the hum 
building to a deafening roar of need and want and hunger to 
bind her to him with unbreakable ties so that she could never 
slip away again.  In that instant he wished for bonds of iron, a 
prison for two of their own devising, but the only chain he had 
was his own body, taut as steel for her.  He would remember it 
as seduction, but at that moment he knew it was supplication.

It was the ribs.  He sat across the tiny table from her, feeling 
ridiculous in a plastic bib the likes of which he normally 
wouldn't have put on even for lobster, and watched her nibble 
those messy morsels with abandon.  The sight made his throat 
dry.  There were moments like this now, since she had come 
back (to him), been returned (to him), where she seemed a 
stranger (to him).  A stranger who smiled at him around the 
flesh between her lips, who licked her fingers and drew bones 
between her small, sharp teeth.  Sucking the marrow of life.  
Marrow.  Ribs.  Adam's rib.  The woman made from the rib, the 
woman sprung from the man, from the hardness that protected 
his heart, the woman consuming the hardness...  His blood 
pounded as the words whispered in his head until he had to 
close his eyes against the noise.

And that fucking drop of sauce.  Jesus.  His stomach turned as 
his mind supplied in perfect detail the image of her gagged in 
the trunk of a car, a streak of blood dripping from the corner of 
her mouth, thick and red just like the drop that clung there now.  
He swallowed back a wave of nausea.  No way could he eat.  
With a trembling hand he reached out and wiped the spot 
away, then closed his fingers tightly around the napkin as if the 
evidence would just disappear if he wanted it to badly enough.

He had spent the weeks since she came back looking for 
loathing, hatred, accusation.  He dreaded meeting her eyes 
and finding them there, but he couldn't make himself look 
away.  A few times he had caught this expression instead, and 
it was as if he had been thrown into a crucible.  He didn't 
understand it, couldn't imagine what it meant.  This look she 
gave him would leave him fine and pure as silver, or perhaps 
burn away his mortal soul.  He felt the heat flash through his 
veins and settle low and treacherous inside him.  

Later, when he replayed this evening in his memory, he would 
find that he had only hazy pictures of the rest of that meal.  The 
moments between her hot glance and the first press of her lips 
under his were lost to him, missing time.  He only remembered 
the impulse to kiss her, the one whose motives he would later 
disavow, and the way he caught her between his body and the 
little table beneath his window.  Some part of his mind noted 
with absolute clarity the exact angle of his back as he bent 
toward her.  He didn't give her time to think or react or protest.  
He cupped her face in his hands, not daring to look in her eyes, 
and bent to kiss her, stopping the word in her mouth.

She was stunned and still beneath his touch for only a moment 
before she reached for him.  Her arms were half-caught in the 
sleeves of her coat, and she couldn't bring them up around his 
neck without wrestling free of the thick wool, but her fingers slid 
up his stomach to fan across his chest and her lips parted 
under the insistent pressure of his.  He was glad she didn't 
struggle.  He wished that she would fight him.  He was hot, 
almost feverish, his muscles tight as piano wire.  Her fingers 
played the ivory of his ribs, and he groaned softly before he 
pulled away.  "Mulder?" she whispered.

Whatever it was that had brought him there, it vanished under 
a surge of pure desire as he looked down into her glittering 
eyes and ran his gaze over her kiss-swollen lips.  "I don't want 
you to leave tonight, Scully."

She swallowed, her face flushing under the heat in his eyes, 
and then she nodded slowly, her mouth tilting up at the 
corners.  "Then I won't leave."

He felt the words against his lips and drew her to him to seal 
her promise.  "I don't have anything," he breathed into the 
curve of her teeth.
 
"It's okay."  He pulled away, but she caught him and held him 
to her with small, strong hands in the hollow of his spine.  "It's 
taken care of," she clarified.
 
He nodded, eyes narrowed against a surge of jealousy and 
something bitter and hard like disappointment.  He imagined 
filling her with his child, a bond of flesh stronger than any baser 
element could ever be.

"I'm clean," he said, his voice coming out low and grim through 
the tightness of his chest.  Clean except for the things that will 
never show up on a blood test, clean except for one night when 
your apparition scorching my eyes drove me to seek your 
presence in a cheap clay idol, clean except for the filth of that 
night which is still pressed into every crease of my heart.  His 
eyes slid away from hers as he mouthed the words.  If she 
noticed, he didn't see it.

She dragged him back to her with the curl of her fingers.  He 
slid the bulky coat from her arms and tossed it over the chair.  
His own followed it an instant later, and they worked at each 
other's buttons between long, dizzying kisses.  She was pale 
and insubstantial before him, an eidolon.  The skin beneath his 
hands was too fragile to contain her, and his breath quickened 
in sudden fear that she would shrug out of its tenuous 
embrace.  He backed her toward the bed and covered her like 
a blanket.  This is Scully, he thought.  This is mine.

His hands cupped her skull as he bent to her.  He felt the 
shape of its curves beneath his fingers fix in his memory like 
the scent of blood or sex.  She held him by the ears, but he 
urged her arms tighter around him with a roll of his shoulders.  
Too gentle.  Touch me like you mean it.  He caught her lip 
between his teeth and urged her mouth open with his tongue to 
drink in the smoky-sweet taste inside.

"Mulder..." she breathed.  It slid down his throat like wine.

He touched her everywhere, with lips and tongue and hands, 
declaring his claim on every inch of her body.  She writhed 
beneath him and above him, stole his breath with her kisses 
until he was lightheaded.  Again and again he lifted his mouth 
from her to press his lips against the tiny gold cross at her 
neck, as if he could brand its imprint into his skin.  Perhaps, 
like a burning coal, it would purify him.

He stared down into her face as he finally moved into her and 
saw her eyes darken and flutter.  Desire pooled there, and her 
heat clutched him everywhere, and he knew he was marked by 
it.  He felt the fear and guilt and desperate longing that 
darkened his eyes as he hovered above her.  Would they lodge 
in her heart and grow a pearl of knowledge that would show 
itself, perfect and terrible, another day?  He sank into her, felt 
her teeth close around the rigid tendon in his neck, plunged 
into the pain.

"Scully."  He groaned her name against her skin as her tongue 
soothed over the mark she had left.  "I want..."

"Yes."  For a moment her eyes spoke magic to him, but then 
slid shut, hiding the secret, as he moved within her.  Her hair 
spread like fire on the pillow, and she arched up against him.  
Her hands clenched at the base of his spine, etching blood-red 
moons into his skin.  A moan that might have been his name 
slipped between them.

He had to look away.  He dropped his sweaty head into her 
neck as he slid against her and shuddered his surrender into 
her body.

She surrounded him.  How was it possible that she could 
enfold him entirely, enclose him in such a small shelter?  He 
pressed his face against her hot skin.  She was slick with their 
sweat, and he could smell himself in the curve of her throat.  
He brushed his lips against the pulse that thundered there like 
the wings of a tiny bird.

When the tide of his blood had receded, when the gale of his 
breath had stilled, they were left alone, cast up on a distant 
shore.  He lifted his head and looked down at her face.  He 
could see freckles on her nose, like grains of sand.  Her mouth 
curved in a soft smile, her fingertips smoothed the stormtracks 
from his forehead.  Her gaze swept bright over his face, 
lingering on his cheekbones, his chin.  She looked everywhere 
but in his eyes.

"Hey," he murmured.

She bit her lip briefly, the unlooked-for gesture so quick he 
should have missed it, then lifted her eyes to his.  She was 
searching, he realized, looking for the map he had drawn them.  
He scanned his memory, called up images of every smile he 
could remember and arranged them on his lips in a collage of 
satisfaction.  She responded as if he had chanted just the right 
spell.  The shadows slipped from her eyes, and she grinned as 
she drew her hands up his body and planted them warmly on 
his chest.  When she gave him a light shove, he rolled off her 
obligingly and turned his head on the pillow to smile at her.  
Welcome to the conspiracy, Scully.

She adjusted herself to nestle against him in the curve of his 
shoulder, his arm draping limply around her neck.  The tips of 
his fingers traced the smooth lines of her bones.  He glanced at 
her and found he had a faint memory of yearning.  It melted 
away into a phantom tingle as he saw her copper eyebrow 
arched warily.  The next word out of his mouth would be the 
most important one he had ever spoken.  He let the grin slide 
across his face and saw her eyes brighten in anticipation.  
"Fuck," he said appreciatively.

Scully's eyes widened, and she snorted.   It was an undignified, 
glorious sound.  "It certainly was," she agreed.

His voice was thoughtful as he eyed the ceiling.  "This probably 
wasn't supposed to happen."
 
"Probably not."

"But it did."

"Twice for me," she murmured.  He turned to smile at her, the 
rumble of unremembered laughter in his chest.  She stretched 
to press her lips against his throat, drawing a small sound of 
pleasure from him, and rolled off him to go to the bathroom.

He wanted her to stay.  He wanted to slide his hand up the 
smooth curve of her thigh and find himself clinging to her skin.  
He wanted to cover her with his body and let her whisper into 
his mouth how it felt when he came inside her.  Instead he 
watched her walk away from him and memorized the flare of 
her hip.  "Hey, Scully?"  She turned at the door and looked at 
him over her shoulder.  The result was a breathtaking 
combination of coquette and whore, and he licked his lips 
lightly.  His mouth was dry as a Levantine wind.  The words 
died in his throat.  "Would you bring some water?"

She twitched an eyebrow at him and continued into the 
bathroom.  He imagined her actions as he listened to rustlings 
and vague, mysterious sounds.  A susurrus of water, her hand 
curled around the cool glass as she sipped from it, moving 
toward him with careful steps.  She handed it to him silently.

"Thanks."  He drank slowly, extending the moment.  He saw 
her eyes follow the soft bob of his throat and then drift away, 
across the bed, to the deep, dark whirlpools of their clothing on 
the floor.  He drained the last of the water and placed the 
empty glass on the nightstand, then reached for her.  His 
hands smoothed over her ribs, down to the swell of her hips.  
When he looked up into her face she was watching him, her 
eyes thoughtful.  "I don't want you to leave tonight, Scully."

Her lashes cast shadows across her cheeks as she blinked, 
then stepped between his knees so that their bodies almost 
touched again.  She reached up to cover his ears with her 
hands, hesitated, slid her arms around his neck.  She smiled at 
him.  "Then I won't leave."

He brushed a kiss against her neck, nuzzling the soft spot 
beneath her chin.  "You're beautiful."

"You're horny."

He grinned against her lips.  "You're hot."

Her eyes slipped down his body to note the signs of renewed 
interest.  A knowing smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.  
"Possibly," she conceded.

Mulder shifted closer to her and dropped his voice to a low, 
throaty growl.  "I'm not satisfied with that ambiguity, Agent 
Scully."

"No?"  She climbed onto the bed so that she straddled his lap 
and settled her body against his.  "What's your 
recommendation, Agent Mulder?"

"I suggest further investigation.  Intensive investigation."  He 
leaned forward and kissed her, his tongue making promises of 
fire.

"Mmm," she breathed.  "Might take a couple of tries to figure 
this out."

"We've got all night."

"All night?"  She pulled back and raised a skeptical eyebrow at 
him.

He smiled, brushed her hair back from her face.  "All night," he 
said softly.  He wrapped himself around her and drew her back 
into their bed.

Mulder woke when the sun slid between his eyelids.  She was 
draped across him, her nose buried in the hollow of his 
shoulder, her leg twined with his.  He couldn't feel his arm, 
couldn't remember the last time he'd awakened numb from 
anything but nightmares.  Her breath was warm and moist on 
his chest.  He carefully reached across and turned off the 
alarm.
 
He ran his hand slowly down the valley of her spine, felt her stir 
against him.  She rubbed her nose sleepily against his 
collarbone, kissed his chest lightly, before she came fully 
awake.  He felt her go still, heard her slow, steady breath 
catch.  He forced his hand to continue its cautious progress 
down her back.  She sighed, nuzzled her cheek against his 
chest, and he breathed again.

"Were you going to let me sleep all day?"

"It's early."  She peeked up at his face and gave him a sleepy 
smile through a veil of tousled hair.  He didn't resist the impulse 
to tuck the wilder strands behind her ear.  "Hey."

"Hey," she agreed.

"You sprawl," he accused her lightly, in a low, sleep-rough 
voice.

She propped her chin on her hand and smiled at him.  "You 
talk in your sleep."

"Bet I had some juicy stories last night."  She gave him the eye 
roll he expected and pushed herself up with a hand on his 
chest.  He caught it, pinning her to him.  "Where are you 
going?"

"Mulder, it's time to get up."

"Give me a minute, and I will be."

"Promises, promises."  She smiled at him and stood up, 
slapping him lightly on the hip.  "Come on.  We have work to 
do."

"Right," he sighed, squinting at the ceiling.  "Something about 
cows, isn't it?"

"Big ones," she confirmed.  Her voice had taken on that bright, 
even tone that made his chest ache.  He watched her 
thoughtfully as she pulled on enough clothes to make it back to 
her room.  He was pleased to see she couldn't quite make it 
convincing.  "You okay?" she asked much too casually as she 
slipped on her coat.

He nodded, following the movement of her hands as she tried 
to tame her hair.  "Are you?"

Scully finally stopped squirming and met his eyes solidly.  "Yes, 
Mulder.  I'm very okay."  He nodded again, slowly, the corners 
of his eyes relaxing as he found he believed her.  She smiled 
suddenly.  "A little sore and sticky, but otherwise..."

He felt a rush of gratitude toward her for making this easy for 
him and hoped it showed in the smile he flashed at her.  "I think 
I owe you breakfast."

"At least."  He knew she was going for solemn, but the corners 
of her mouth twitched tellingly.

It's like we're reading from a script, he thought absently.  He 
was grateful that they both seemed to have the same one.  "I'll 
come by and get you."

"Give me about 45 minutes, okay?"

He rolled his eyes.  "I know how long it takes you to get ready, 
Scully."

"You also know that I need coffee in me before you start giving 
me lip, but that doesn't seem to be stopping you this morning."

"I wouldn't mind giving you some lip."

She groaned.  "Should have seen that coming."

She lifted her hand to his head, her fingers slipping into his 
hair.  He felt her thumb trace runes on his forehead and 
watched the solemnity of this ritual flicker across her face.  She 
pressed her lips softly over the truth she had written on him 
and smiled down into his eyes.

"I'm glad you didn't leave," he said quietly.

"So am I."  A quick smile, and she was walking away.  "I'll see 
you later.  Better bring the credit card - I'm starving."

He nodded, faintly surprised at the silence in his head.  He 
managed to wait until she was almost out the door before he 
gave in to his uncertainty.  "Hey, Scully?"  She glanced back at 
him, her face patient and expectant, and he fought back a 
shiver of nervousness.  "Is this ever going to happen again?"

Her expression was calm and thoughtful as she looked at him 
for a long, nerve-wracking moment, and then a smile slid 
slowly across her face.  "You never know what'll happen on a 
road trip, Mulder."

Later, there would be consequences, but at the moment there 
was only benediction.

-Fin-

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

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"Camera Obscura I: Latency"
Draft: Final
1/8