From: "e. b.e." Date: Tue, 26 Dec 2000 01:00:06 -0000 Subject: Interrupted II Source: direct Rating: Still PG-13, but heating up nicely Archive: Gossamer will be sent this separately. All others, just keep the headers attached. Although I can't imagine someone wanting to take credit for the workings of my demented mind. Summary: Kissing up a storm Keywords: Series, MSR, Mulder POV Spoilers: Not a one Disclaimer: Since the powers that be don't seem to want him anymore, I think I should get to claim Mulder, but then again I don't want to end up in jail. So, for the record, they aren't mine. Author's notes: Part two of what is tentatively scheduled to be a five part series. No pesky X-Files or conspiracies to get in the way. Purely a relationship story. So sue me. To my beta reader, Bonnie: Do you think I will ever in this lifetime manage to send you a story without a single its/it's mixup? (answer: not in this lifetime, to date) Interrupted II: Dark and Stormy Night by e.b.e. (ebe1013@hotmail.com) It's been brewing all afternoon, this storm. The sky dimming, a heavy grey blanket drawn, thick and woolen, over the azure blue and golden yellow heavens. The cool season breeze quickening, phantom gusty fingers snatching at clothing, bringing blood to cheeks. And later still, the clouds have transmuted from grey to black, the swollen pendulous rumble of thunder following ever more closely on the heels of each fierce crack of lightning. An hour ago the sky finally unleashed its fury; hard, driving rain, it lashed at the window as if desperate for entrance, the wind howling its frustration as the glass rattled and held. In furious blinding gusts the water fell, sheets thick with the tangle of raindrops and leaves. An angry, spitting storm, hard enough to warrant caution but not bad enough to deter the traffic I could make out when I glanced out my cool slick windowpane. Which I was doing about every 10 seconds. She was due thirty minutes ago, and I can't help the little trickles of terror that seep down my spine as the seconds, minutes pass by. No answer at her apartment, no response to her cell. Rain check, indeed. What if she's gotten into an accident, the storm slamming her into a guardrail, another vehicle? True, she's driven in much worse but what if... Fragile shells of metal and flesh collide in my mind's eye, and my mood is suddenly as dark as the sky. I should have gone there, or told her not to come. Not tonight. How many times will she put herself in harm's way? For me. Just as the panic threatens to seize my tripping heart I hear something, footsteps in the hall. Never mind that a closed wooden door separates me from the hallway, or that her steps are notoriously light when she sheds those heels she loves in favor of more comfortable off duty wear. I can hear her, the very displacement of the air molecules as she moves, closer and closer to my door. I can feel her, too, attuned to her very presence as I am, feel her draw nearer to me, the pull of her soul to mine. Like magnets. Opposites attract. There is the sudden shadow of her feet as they blot out sections of light under my door and the sharp confident rap on her small fist against the wood. She's here, just outside, and we are to finish what was started this morning. I can't remember a time I've been more nervous. Again, knuckles on wood, and I start with the sudden realization that I'm standing in the center of my living room, staring at the sliver shadow of her feet. Idiot. The doorknob is cold, smooth under my sweaty palm, the hinges squeaking ever so slightly over the thrum of blood in my ears. Damn, but she is beautiful. I don't think I've ever told her that, although Lord knows I've thought it on pretty much a daily basis since the moment we met. Even wet and shivering, hunkered down into her jacket and fighting with me about aliens as we did so long ago. Or equally as damp, dripping in the hallway as she is now. Gorgeous. She smiles, genuine and warm despite her chilled state. "Are you going to stare at me all night, or do I get to come inside?" My face colors with mild chagrin and I motion her into the room, cool sweet air filling my nostrils as she passes. Her coat she hangs on the stand in the corner, rubbing her hands briskly up and down the sleeves of her damp clingy sweater. It faired the worst of her clothing, the rain seeping through the jacket to make this garment, though not saturated, at least uncomfortable. Her hair is dark, almost crimson with the rain, eyes wide and blue in her pale freckled face. She is still smiling, right at me, weather reddened lips and flash of toothy white, and suddenly I need to escape before my heart bursts. "Let me get you something dry," I stammer, fleeing into the bedroom, grabbing the first clean shirt I find, clutching it like a lifeline. Overwhelmed, that's what I'm feeling. Totally, hopelessly overwhelmed. I can still see the look in her eyes from today, earlier when I seized courage and acted on this thing between us. The way they flickered from my eyes to my mouth made my face burn, and still she stared, unconscious of how desirable she was, how desirable she made me feel. Silken brush of her hair against my face, punctured whistling gasp of her breath as we almost... Overwhelmed. But she's waiting, and the butterflies will just have to come along for the ride. Wordlessly I hand her the garment, and just as silently she walks into the bathroom, muted rush of cloth against skin, faint noise as her shirt hits my tile floor. More sounds, a towel being rubbed briskly over that fair sensitive flesh, drying those scarlet tresses. Shortly she emerges wearing my faded grey henley and her jeans. Simple, basic, the loose material of my shirt hanging off her slender frame, concealing curves. Breathtaking. She seems to glide, so light is her tread, as she wends her way to the couch and sits. Her eyes never leave me, nor mine her, and the intensity of our stares should be unsettling. One of us should want to look away, break this tenuous shimmering spell that hangs over the room, fragile bubble ready to burst. I cannot look away. She lifts the collar of the shirt up from her neck, deliberately inhaling the scent. For a second I am mortified; I did wear that shirt, two nights ago after work, and I am unsure what offensive odor might assail her senses. Her eyes sparkle in the dim lamplight. "It smells like you." And from the soft, lazy lilt of her voice, I know she does not consider this to be a bad thing. I sit next to her on the couch, close but not quite touching. I want to but it just seems presumptuous. We touch all the time, I know, little brushes and nudges and the gentle swell of her back under my palm. This feels different, too meaningful for casual contact. When we touch tonight, it will mean more. Much more. Nervous but so hungry for this, I can think of nothing relevant to say. What are the appropriate words for such a moment? I can't even describe my thoughts and feelings to myself, let alone to her. "So..." "So." "Here we are...you and me." "Together..." Her voice is tinged with, what, longing? Lightning spears the night, blue white light washing us both in eerie brilliance an instant before the deafening peal that follows, raucous and throbbing. I can feel the reverberations in my bones, feel and hear and see and smell everything so vibrantly. Faint reek of ozone, wind screeching past the windows. Luminous depth of my soul reflected in her gaze. I swear I can read my mind in her eyes. Wild, electric, bed sheets and sweat, tangled tongues and lips. In her stormy sea orbs. In my fevered thrashing imagination. "What do you want, Scully?" I can barely hear the hoarse rasp of my voice over the clamoring heartbeat that swells in my ears. Desperate, needy. I don't care. "Mulder..." "I'd do anything, give you anything. Forever. Always. Or just tonight. Anything." Startled, she stands abruptly, face creased with agitation. "Is that what you think, Mulder? After all this time?" I stand too, plead to her rigid back when she turns away. "No, no, I just want to make you happy. I would give you all I had, all that I am. Even if..." "Even if what? If I, or you, only wanted one evening? Lovers for a night?" She turns again to face me, furious agony. Her lip quivers, eyes a liquid shimmer. I am confused, anguished. Words which normally flow so easily now betray me. When did this become so serious, so intense? But I somehow knew it would, and maybe that's why we avoided it for so long. The idea of just one time... "Please, that isn't what I meant. I want it all. I want you, for as long as you'll have me. It overwhelms me, this huge complex thing I feel for you, sometimes I can't even articulate it to myself. If it overwhelmed you too, drove you away...I couldn't bear that. Couldn't bear..." She sighs, anger leaching from her face. She rubs the bridge of her nose, pressing the sharp pale skin. "Maybe we're letting this get to us. How could anything live up to the pedestal we've erected. I've been so jittery all day, just thinking about it. All day..." "Me too," I whisper. "All day." She laughs a little. We are standing so close now (when did we move?), close enough that I catch of a whiff of her, soap and heat. I hear her breathing hitch, watch her face flood with color. Just like earlier, when I caught her dreaming. And we almost... I wonder. "Why is this so hard, Scully? We've both admitted we want it. Want more. We even kissed, once..." "On New Year's. A way to test the waters with no commitment, no fear." "Are you afraid?" "Mulder..." "I am." "This is ridiculous. We're adults and we can't even..." "Scully?" "Yes?" I can't wait another second. My whole day, year, lifetime has been building to this. I can't wait for the perfect moment, roses and candlelight and softly spoken love. We stumble like teenagers, caught in a whirlpool of desire and uncertainty, immobilized by trepidation. I caught her staring. We've said enough for now. I am lost in her mouth. Slowly we kiss, like a child dancing with water on the beach, tiptoeing forward, edging away. We meet, crush, slant and part, again and again and again. Each time a little longer, a little more passionate, until we are in over our heads, the riptide dragging us under. Dark and deep the waters, the humid tender cavern of her mouth. She tastes like salt and chocolate; her tongue slicks over mine, demanding equal possession of the embrace. I am dizzy. I can't tell if it's from lack of oxygen or the spiraling burn of the kiss, and it really doesn't matter. It feels too good to care, this heady giddy swoon. She is in my arms, one of my hands buried in the sleek flame of her hair, the other splayed across her back. I can pull her closer to me, against me. I do. She isn't exactly fighting. The weather outside rages but the real storm is in here. Fierce sharp sparks of lust like lightning sear our flesh, and thick sweet surges of love like thunder roll over our souls. Yes, love. It is then I remember that I haven't told her; with all the stumbling over words and emotions I forgot to tell her. I pull away, somehow, from her lush candy lips. I want to tell her. She knows already, but somehow I can't help feeling that saying the words aloud gives them more weight, more substance. Makes it real. I try, really I do, but as soon as our mouths separate she is sucking at my throat, moaning against my pulse. I moan in turn and her lips trail to my collarbone, laving sensitive skin. I can feel the moisture left behind as it prickles cold in the air. "Scully..." Her response is muffled against the hollow in my throat, as much felt as heard. My head is swimming with it, with her, with us. Us. How to speak when I can't even think? There is only her, warm and supple tucked against me, the sweetly demanding touch of her lips. I love you, Scully. Her hands are feverish, frantic as they fly over the buttons of my shirt. Then cool tender fingers and that sinful, beautiful mouth. Faintly I can hear my own breath gasping. It's been so long, and it feels so good. Too good. Scully... Better than imagination, so much better it's frightening. We are way past discussion, even momentarily past the fear. She growls low in her throat when I nip at her earlobe, again even fiercer when my hands close over swollen breasts. How perfectly they fill my palms, warm even through the cloth. I think we always knew it would be this way, an explosion of desire, wild and consuming. That may be one reason we avoided even something as innocent as a kiss, the feeling that there would be no middle ground. Friends to naked in no time flat, unable to stop if we began. It sounds silly, unless you consider where we find ourselves now. Groping like teenagers, hot plunging kisses, rapidly degenerating even further. My hands under her (my) shirt now, closing over silken tender flesh, and hers trailing nails down my chest, over my coiling abs, lower... Eternity starts with just a kiss. Even I can't believe what happens next. It defies all odds, the whim of capricious fate. Finally, finally I am where I want to be, on the cusp of consummating years of pent-up longing... And there is a knock at the door. It takes a few seconds for the noise to penetrate the Scully haze that surrounds me. At first I think I must be hallucinating. But no, there it is again, steady rap on the wood. I want to ignore it but that seems unwise no matter what the circumstances. Too many enemies, too much weirdness in my life to take a chance. One glance at Scully and I know she understands. "Who is it?" Damn, I sound winded, flustered. Which I am, but still... "Mulder?" Byers. "Listen, this _really_ isn't a good time. Can I call you guys later?" "Dude, we need to borrow your TV. We had a power outage from the storm and Frohike did something to the generator..." "It wasn't my fault, you blond freak!" "...and there's that Bruce Lee marathon on tonight. Come on, man, I've been looking forward to this all week!" "We brought pizza and beer..." I want to laugh, or cry. Really what I want is for the three stooges to vanish, and to lose myself inside Scully. I look at her, unsure how to proceed. How the hell do you handle something like this? Even as I hesitate, pleas sound from the hallway, they know I'm home, but she is fluid and warm and here, but how do I get rid of the guys without letting them know why because I would certainly rather the night's entertainment consist of Scully than kung fu... She is laughing, silent but hard. Her shoulders jump up and down, her cheeks rosy with mirth, her breasts jiggling in my hands. Jesus, her breasts! We are still entangled, reluctant to separate. I don't want to let go. She pulls my head down, one more slow lingering kiss, and the grousing of my friends fades away. "Rain check?" she whispers, gently extracting herself from my arms. I can only nod, suddenly struck dumb. She is so beautiful, tousled hair and full red lips and eyes glowing with banked fire. Oh, this is unfair, torturous, and I suddenly don't care what rumors get started. To hell with the boys and what they think and how to get rid of them; I reach for her. We've waited so long... "Hope you guys brought enough for one more," she says, grinning madly, loud enough for them to hear. "Soon," she murmurs to me, running a hand through my rebellious spiking locks. "Soon..." I nod and smile before racing for the kitchen, quickly buttoning my shirt as I go. I can hear her open the door, field their inquiries and insinuations. I shake my head ruefully, gather cups and plates for our impromptu party. And all the while my heart is pounding with the promise of her, of more. Soon. Finis The song in this one is less obvious, but it's still there. That whole thing might die...I'll let you know. But here's a new thought...how about breaking the record for the most about of feedback I've ever gotten? That would make me happy. Want to participate? Here's the address: ebe1013@hotmail.com Thanks to all who have responded so far. It is for you that I drive on.