From: Dreamshpr@aol.com Date: 6 Jun 1999 08:04:02 -0700 Subject: xfc New: Contemplating (1 of 1) by Dreamshaper From: Dreamshpr@aol.com TITLE: Contemplating AUTHOR: Dreamshaper FEEDBACK: is worshipped at the Ego Altar, as always ;) If you should so desire, send it to Dreamshpr@aol.com ARCHIVE:Please do, if you want. But talk to me first if we haven't talked before. RATING: R CATEGORY: MSR, maybe a bit fluffy ;) SPOILERS:Tithonius SUMMARY: Scully gets a late night visit from a bored Mulder... DISCLAIMER: Scully and Mulder not mine. I don't even like 'em. And I got *no* money...nothing to sue for if by some weird twist of fate someone felt the need. NOTES: This one is dedicated to Quark and Quasar, my chameleons. Shouldn't lizards be able to survive 90 degree heat? ::sigh:: And, because I'm in a sentimental mood for reasons explained at the end of the story...this became kinda a fluff biscuit instead of the smut biscuit it was intended to be ;) Hope you don't mind....oh wait, what am I thinking? Of course you do, you're all pervs!!! Kidding, kidding...Now, go away from my odious presence and read. ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````` When I stepped out of the shower, Mulder was lying across my bed, stretched out on his stomach with one eye on the tv and the other mostly closed. I stopped, stared and sighed--and he just barely grinned with the side of his mouth that wasn't flattened onto my comforter. "Hey, Scully." He mumbled--it was more like "May Blellah" but it was easy enough to translate. I moved out of the door to the steaming bathroom, tossing my wet towel on his head as I made my way to the bureau. No sound from my bed, so I rolled my eyes--undoubtedly he had left the sopping cotton draped across his face. It hadn't blocked his view of the television. Dragging a set of deep blue satin pajamas from the bureau with a great deal more slamming of drawers and rustling of clothes than was truly necessary, I watched him just laying there...limp, boneless and big enough to take up three quarters of my bed. The towel obscured my view of his familiar face, but I didn't need to see it to know he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. <> I shook my head and headed back to the bathroom, feeling his eyes track me as far as they could without the disturbance of moving his head. It made me want to hit him--but I've become used to him over the years...used to him watching me, touching me, talking to me and saying more than the words... I've learned restraint from these years of trying *not* to hit him. Not to kiss him... I rolled my eyes at myself in the clouded, steamy mirror in my bathroom. Stripping off my robe quickly and replacing it with the smoothness of my favorite pajamas was accomplished to a chorus of mutters, brushing my teeth done with a series of faces made, brushing and putting up my hair finished in seconds--while I paced the floor. That was the time I allowed for myself to be frustrated. That's the time I always allow for such things as pacing, muttering and faces--after it's over, I don't allow myself to deal with things, generally...not until morning at least. I need my sleep...and if I didn't do something to get my past--my present--out of my head before going to bed I'd never sleep. Sometimes I still don't. Sighing after one last, long look at the too old, too pale woman in the mirror, I go back out to face the cause of many a sleepless night--and hope he's not going to keep sleep from me tonight. Bracing myself, I opened the door again--and watched in horror as he demolished a sunflower seed and put the husk on my comforter. In the huge pile of sunflower seeds he'd *already* put on my comforter. I paced over to my bed as quickly as short legs allow and slapped his hand as he went to go drop another. "No, Mulder." I said, rebuking him like a puppy--a bad puppy. "Go put these in the wastebasket." He eyed me, great offense and humor gleaming in his eyes as I withdrew far enough to stand above him with crossed arms and a scowl. "Buh Blellah, Ah don poe whey le blallet as." He didn't even bother to try and make the words clear, just snuggled his face deeper into the mounds of fluff that are my blankets. But I understood, grabbed the basket from it's position of honor--two feet from his outstretched hand, under my bedside table. Watching him closely--and fiercely--I made damn sure every last piece of seed shell was gone before I took the bag and dumped that in too. Then I brought the whole mess out to the kitchen and dumped it. "Scully, I paid a buck and a quarter for those seeds!" He called from my room, and I put my forehead against the refrigerator and sighed, long and deep. Closing my eyes, I enjoyed the feel of the cool door against my burning skin and contemplated leaving. Just getting in my car, driving to a motel, and sacking for the night in a place Mulder *wasn't*. But for him to just randomly show up at my home is an unusual thing--usually, he does call first unless something is wrong. Nothing seems to be the matter...but if he needed to talk and I didn't listen... I couldn't not listen. So I gathered myself again and trailed back to the muffled sound of the tv and the grumble of his voice. When I stepped back into my room, he wasn't on the bed. Confused I looked around--he was in the bathroom, neatly hanging the towel I had so unceremoniously dumped on him. That was a shocker--Mulder is not neatness and consideration--so I stood, mouth open I'm sure, and stared at him. I spend a lot of time staring at him. Sometimes I wonder why I don't put him in a zoo or something...I spend most of my time watching in wonder as he does things I'd never expect him to do, and I imagine complete strangers would have the same reaction. But...he'd probably lead the elephants in a revolt or something and tear down the zoo conspiracy. And while that might not be a terrible thing...I don't want to help him take care of elephants. He can do that on his own. He came trotting back out of my bathroom, turning out the lights as he dove back across my bed, this time to lay on his back, knees bent over the edge and head tilted to watch me in the dim light provided by the tv. After a few silent seconds, he solemnly patted the space beside him and I warily crossed the carpet to ease my tired body onto my bed...the subject of an apparently non-hostile take over. "Mulder..." I warned lightly, looking coolly down into those beautiful eyes of his. "There'd better be a good reason for this. I'm tired, I want to go to bed, and I'm likely to get cranky very soon." Fascinated, I watched his eyes crinkle and gleam as he grinned up at me, mischievously innocent. "Oh, but there *is*, Agent Scully." He broke from my eyes for a second, to glance with exaggerated caution around my dim room, finally looking back at me when apparently convinced there were no listening devices. "You see, Scully," he murmured, low like a secret to be shared. "I was sitting at home, in my living room and contemplating the floor. I had *already* contemplated the walls, the ceiling *and* my navel and realized as I looked for something else to ponder--I was bored. So I thought--it'll be much more fun to go contemplate Scully's ceiling, Scully's walls, Scully's floor, and--" He pounced. One minute he was laying there with that devilish gleam in his eyes and sober look on his face, the next he had pulled me down onto my back and was lying across me, warm, hard and laughing. I glared up at him, mad enough to get my gun and shoot him--if I could work my way from under the bulk of him. He just looked into my eyes and laughed while I tried to free myself of his deadweight. "And, and...uh, I realized how much more fun it'd be to contemplate *Scully's* navel!" The sentence, choppy and interrupted by great gales of laughter, was difficult to understand, but his tugs on my pajama top were clear indicators of his next course of action, so I growled and fought harder. I knew what was coming, those gleaming eyes telegraphed it as clearly as they did everything else. Tickling. I read somewhere not too long ago that the tickle response--helpless, heaving laughter, uncontrollable twitches, so on and so forth--were all actually the same responses the body feels when going through torture. It wouldn't surprise me. Mulder's big hands managed to get my top up, high enough that I worried for the safety of my bare breasts, hidden only by the smooth satin. But when one of those big hands went across my skin to commence torture...he froze. For a couple seconds, I kept fighting, grimly determined to free myself, but I stopped when I realized that he wasn't laughing anymore. Glancing up quickly, I saw that his eyes weren't either. They were focused on my stomach, that flat surface I have to work so hard, and they were serious. Genuinely sober. I looked down automatically to see what he was doing...and winced. His hand was covering the scar I got from Ritter's gunshot to my stomach. I hadn't let him see it--same as I didn't *show* him my tattoo, same as I don't show him much of anything. But now...with his hand spanning the twists and bumps of it, I sighed. Vanity, like privacy, quietness and peace...it's not something I get with Mulder around. "Scully." The murmur of my name seemed more an invocation of something grander, and I sighed, closed my eyes and covered that big, dark hand with one of my own. "Scully...Ritter could die tomorrow, and I'd go dance on his grave." His voice, quiet and husky, was matter-of-fact, and I heaved one silent chuckle. "Yeah, me too, Mulder. But...life goes on." He was silent and motionless for a long moment, so I opened my eyes and found his waiting. I had the feeling, in the time I lay pinned by his gaze, that he was trying to tell me something--but I didn't understand so closed my eyes again. With them closed, I had a moment to absorb...the feeling of being under Mulder, with his hands on my skin and his breath warm on my skin. His scent and mine enveloping into a familiar mutual scent, his heartbeat thudding through his body... It was like...we were lovers. Under normal circumstances, I would have bolted and hid under the guise of...well, some kind of guise. But his fingers began to move, gently sliding across the deadened tissue of the scar and the hypersensitive nerves around it. So I lay still, and let him look his fill. He shifted over, turned on the lamp on my bedside table and sighed as he rearranged himself to get a better look. When I opened my eyes again, he was resting over my stomach, warm breath on the vulnerable skin of my stomach and eyes looking for permission in mine. I didn't want to give it. My scars, like my secrets, are my own and hidden from him. But his eyes were beseeching and needy, and I can deny him nothing. So with a faint nod and a push of breath that was too small to really have been a sigh, I closed my eyes again, turned my head away. He reached up gently to touch my face, sliding his fingers quickly down my cheek and resting them for a second on my lips, but the scar drew his attention again, and his hand moved away. I wanted it back. His fingertips felt rough, unfamiliar though I know his hands well. They were light, gossamer light against the puckered tissue I could see as well in my mind as I could if I had had my eyes open. I had stood in front of my mirror and memorized it many times--looking for clues, as I do so often now, in my own body. Clues to the death of Fellig, clues to what I was certain was my own end, really... Hell, sometimes I looked to mourn the loss of my bikini. His hands moved after the thorough mapping of that scar, sliding around to trace the thin, thin silver ones I've had since my abduction--the stretch marks. "Scully." He whispered and I made an incomprehensible sound, jerking as his warm breath rushed over me. "Scully, what are these?" "I don't know." I whispered back. "I just had them when I came back. I think, I suspect...that they have something to do with my harvested ova. But I'm not sure." He made a considering, sad sound in the back of his throat, but I didn't open my eyes. I didn't want to see the guilt or pity in his changeable, revealing eyes... But when he began to trace those lines with dry, gentle kisses, my eyes snapped open. "Mulder," I hissed, "what are you doing?" He just shrugged, no explanation, no excuse, just a shift of shoulders caught under black cotton and another kiss. A strange kind of lassitude overcame me then, as I watched his lips press my skin, as I felt his breath wash my skin in soothing heat, as I felt his heartbeat steady on my skin. I didn't close my eyes again, but I watched him with heavy lids...and then, with a sigh, I slid one hand into his dark hair, gleaming in the lamplight. He didn't pause--but he did begin to trace the scars he'd already marked over again...with his tongue. My breath rushed out of me, my stomach quivering--my nipples hardened instantaneously...but I didn't stop him. With his nose and mouth, he nuzzled my top up higher, baring the bottoms of my breasts, and I didn't stop him. I watched silently, with held breath, as his tongue snaked up underneath the satin and traced my curves...when his eyes looked into mine again for permission, I gave it with another imperceptible nod, and he shifted to unbutton my top. Laying it open, he settled back against my skin, and I watched the ceiling as he took a nipple into his mouth and sucked gently. When he nipped it before turning to the other...I was lost. His ,mouth trailed slowly back down my stomach as his hands pushed at my pajama pants, so with a quick sigh I raised my hips and allowed him to draw them off. With both hands burrowing into his hair, I allowed his mouth to slide, over my pelvic bones and lower... Laying still and quiet beneath him, I savored his touch...but after a while it wasn't enough. I had to touch him in return. He was quick enough to strip off his t-shirt when I tugged at it, but I had to do some serious shoving to get him to lie on his back so I could give him the same treatment--tracing his scars with my fingertips, my searching tongue...listening to his breathing go uneven, feeling his heartbeat speed up and thud... Later, much later, I listened as his breathing evened back out, matching to mine, and felt his racing heart and my own calm...slow...I nearly slept, head surprisingly empty of regret, of anything really But lingering pleasure and love. But Mulder, because he is like no other man on this planet--or any other, I am certain--wanted to talk. "Scully." He said and drew me from my doze. "Scully, I love you, you know." That was no surprise, no shock, so I just smiled with my eyes closed and pressed an absent kiss to his chest before untangling myself from him and settling a few inches away. "I love you, too." I mumbled, knowing he'd need the words. "And I'm glad--more than you could know. But..." He rolled over to face me, put his hand under my chin and drew my face into the light. I opened my eyes to his tenderness and waited for the rest of whatever guilt driven or guilt driving remark was sure to come. "But...if you do...why haven't I been allowed..." He stopped, struggling to find the words, and I sighed again through my nose, looking for words myself. "Because...I have some small amount of vanity Mulder. It's not too much more than that." I finally whisper. "There's a thousand things about me that you know--probably a million. But my scars and some of my secrets...they're not things you tell or show. Not to someone who isn't...a lover. Some of them, not to anyone." "Are you saying that we haven't been lovers for at least five of these last years, Scully?" He said with a voice full of incredulity and eyes full of hurt. I sighed, and shook my head. "No. I...won't try to deny that now. But I refuse to feel guilty for keeping some things private--I'll always do it, just like I always have. I'm not you," I whisper with conviction and a wry smile. "I can't just...be...and let everyone know what I am." Mulder considers me for a long, long time before giving me the same imperceptible nod I gave him earlier, and settles down with a sigh. Turning off the light, I muscle him over a few inches--he's still too big for my bed--and I settle too. When a long arm reaches across me, drawing me just barely closer...I close my eyes, content. But when the big hand attached to that long arm suddenly, viciously, began to tickle--I yelped, smacked him and glared as I jumped away. He had that damned grin again. <> I thought as I punched him lightly in the stomach again for good measure and he obligingly let out a huge breath before pulling my resisting body back down. Settling me closer to him, he closed his eyes and nuzzled me gently. I lay stiff for a long moment, wary of another attack...but it'd been a long day...a long night...a long time, and his body was radiating heat... "Jerk," I whispered with a yawn and he made an agreeing sound. "But you love me." He whispered sleepily a few seconds later. "And I love you, even if you are a secretive shrew." <> I thought on a yawn. <> Settling closer, I slid into sleep. The End ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````` I've figured out this trend--the more nervous, bored or tired I am the more I write. And...today is a big nervous day, so this is actually the second story I've written and it's only 9:30 am. I'm graduating in 3 and a half hours ;) Oooohh..just saying it makes me more nervous. I'm gonna go start a new story. Hope you enjoyed this one...I did. ;) It's...my graduation present to you guys ;) Haha--can't be returned!!! Of course...feedback can. ;) Dreamshaper (dreamshpr@aol.com)