From: Minttown1@aol.com Date: Mon, 16 Apr 2001 20:20:08 EDT Subject: Staring Out A Window by Paula O'Hara Source: direct Staring Out A Window by Paula O'Hara Keywords: (don't put, they'd ruin the ending) Summary: Mulder and Scully in a motel room in the middle of a thunderstorm. Spoilers: none Rating: NC-17, as far as I can tell Disclaimer: These characters are used (poorly) without permission. They certainly don't belong to me. For the curious, they belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Production, and Fox. Like they need them. I'm just a wanna-be writer, so leave me alone. Feedback: Greatly appreciated, the bad stuff too, because my English professor is an idiot who sleeps with the prettier female students and doesn't read our papers. My e-mail: minttown1@aol.com Author's Note: ("Author" may be an exaggeration...) This story takes place whenever, just so long as it's when Mulder and Scully are partners and before they ever slept together. This is also not a very cheerful piece of writing. If one searches, they may discover a few bad jokes, but I wouldn't look too hard. Also, any of the more "technical" bits of this are total BS. I'm a virgin, plan to stay that way, and have no clue why I chose to make my first piece of fanfic a sexual story. Hope I didn't screw that part up too bad. I haven't found any Mulder-and-Scully-having-sex-in-a-storm pieces, but I'm sure they exist. I hope I haven't stepped on any toes with this. (Other than Chris Carter's...) Well, here goes. A Motel Room A Hot Summer Night (I like the sound of that) 11:30 PM Dana Scully sat alone on a bed in her motel room, papers scattered in front of her. This case was pointless, and she knew that even Mulder could see that. There was no X-File involved here, and because of that, among the other more obvious reasons, this case did not deserve their attention. But Mulder wanted to come back here to where he'd grown up, wanted to walk around town with her and hope that people saw them and thought they were married or something, that Fox had gotten his life together. "Yeah, like he's ever going to do that," she mumbled. She immediately felt guilty, even more so when he chose that exact moment to knock on her door. She stood up and looked down at herself. This was not what she was used to letting him see her in. But what the hell. This weekend he'd run into a dozen people he knew, and it hadn't gone like he had hoped. Maybe he deserved a treat. "Yes?" She opened the door. He stared. She was wearing a spaghetti-strap piece of... something... that barely came half-way down her thigh. It was a deep rich satin, which nicely accented her eyes. What the hell was Scully doing owning a piece of clothing like this? Not that he was complaining... "You're letting the cold air out. Are you coming in or not?" He shook his head slightly. "Yeah. Uh, the air was what I came over about." She raised an eyebrow. "The air conditioning is broken in my room. It's... hot outside. I'd be eternally grateful if you'd let me sleep on your floor," he fake-pleaded, giving her a look that had come to piss her off the last few days. "You should be eternally grateful anyway. You've paraded me around here for all your high school buddies" "They were hardly my buddies," he mumbled. "On a case that isn't even a case. I mean, what exactly are we supposed to figure out? Noises? We're surrounded by woods! What the hell do they think the strange noises are?" she fumed. She had not realized she was angry until she saw him standing there. He couldn't tell for sure if she was really angry or if she was playing. "Are you questioning me professionally? You think that I'd waste the bureau's money on some personal thing like that?" he half-joked back. He was baffled by the change in mood. (No one who acted like this should own that article of clothing, he thought.) "Aren't you spending the bureau's money on 'some personal thing' on a daily basis?" she shot back. He flinched. Actually literally flinched. She reached out to him. "Jesus, I'm sorry, Mulder. It's just been a long day and the heat... I shouldn't have said that." He just looked at her. "You're such a bitch, Scully," he said, but he didn't leave. He just stared at her. "Mulder, I apologized." He was silent for a few more moments, then months (maybe years?) of saying nothing flooded out. "You think your life is so goddamned hard! Your life was so normal, so simple compared to mine. You can't even begin to understand what I've gone through! My sister, my parents, my friends, my teachers, my boss. Every lover I've ever had, every sweet kiss, every long night, all of it. Gone! I've never had anything normal! I have never even had a chance at normalcy. So what if I wanted to come back here to all these happy fucking idiots, show them that Fox Mulder could be okay too. It's not like I'm asking to take you in the park to show them all that I own you or something. I just wanted them to see me appear normal for one day! I have to assume that's what your piss-poor attitude the last few days has been, but that comment was so... hurtful." She looked at him. "I was wrong, but guess what, Mulder? I lost my sister and father too. I've given up my chance at normalcy for you. So how dare you act like I've never had a problem. I've had most of them either at your hands or at the hands of people you've forced me to." "You can't blame those things on me. I told you, literally from day one, what the risks were. I tried to protect you. It was your own stubbornness, your own inability to let anything go" "My inability to let anything go? Mulder, you hit the nail on the head!" She sat down hard on the bed, laughing. "You can't let anything go either. What a fucking pair we make." She shook her head, half-laughing and half-crying. The phrase "fucking pair", along with Scully's supposed clothing, struck him as funny, and he sat beside her and laughed. He was still hurt, but he could see that she was too. What was wrong with them? A few minutes later she wiped tears, both kinds, from her eyes and put a hand on his arm. "What are you laughing at?" "You wouldn't like it," he said, looking up at her. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I shouldn't have said that. But, it's...," she trailed off. "The heat. Shouldn't be a problem anymore. Look out the window." There was a thunderstorm. She turned and watched the lightning, an insomniac's hobby she'd developed early in childhood, waiting for her father to return to the on-base residences late at night. A hobby she still had. One she employed a lot of nights that she could hear Mulder breathing, either in the room with her or in her mind. She turned back to him. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt and blue cotton boxers. "You look plain," she said, and turned back to the window. "Keeps me cool. Are we done fighting?" "Wait, let's see. Angry comment leads to self-pitying fight, leads to hurting one another for no reason, leads to half-hearted apologies. The only thing missing is the bitterness tonight's words will carry for years to come." He smiled. "I promise to stay bitter." "Then the fight's over, I guess." She turned back to the window. "Something fascinating out there?" he asked as he kicked the blanket off the bed and stretched out. He often wondered how far Scully would let him get. He'd tried the subtle approach many times, and she's always pulled away. He'd like to make love to her tonight. "I've always had this fantasy about having sex in a thunderstorm," she told him, as she sat cross-legged on the pillow, just inches from his head. She leaned on the headboard and continued to stare out the window. He turned on his side and leaned up on one elbow. He could smell her. "Like, outside?" he asked. "No. Just with the curtains open so I can hear the rain and everything. And the lights off so I can see the lightning." She watched him as he reached over and turned the room's only lamp off. "So subtle, Mulder," she said, but didn't move away. They could still see each other, between the moonlight and the lightning. They sat in silence a few minutes, and he couldn't stand it anymore. (Too many years, he thought.) He reached his arm up and began to draw circles on her knee with his fingertip. She just looked out the window. He traced lines over the top of her thigh from her knee to the bottom of the blue satin. He couldn't believe that she was awake but still just staring out the window. Mulder sat up a little, still silently, and reached a hand up to one of her breasts. He began to fondle her until her nipple had gotten hard, straining against the front of the satin. God, why wasn't she doing anything? She still looked out the window. He ran his hand down her ribcage and her hip, back down to her knee. He was starting to become aroused. If felt so good just to be touching her. He sat the rest of the way up and slid the nightgown (Nightgown, he thought. Does this even constitute a nightgown?) down off her shoulders and began to kiss her shoulder blades, working his way up her neck. He traced his tongue along her jaw, and finally found her lips. He kissed her, but she didn't respond. "Scully?" "Don't stop." "You're not even enjoying yourself. You're barely aware of" "I'm aware, believe me. Just keep going." He noticed for the first time that she was a little out of breath. So, she wasn't totally unresponsive after all. He kissed her once more on the lips, quickly, then ran his lips down to her breasts once more. He pulled one of her pink nipples in between his lips. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, the first real response he'd gotten. Feeling reassured, he pushed the nightgown down until it rested on the bed, pooled around her hips in a blue pile. He kissed and licked her navel, something he hadn't planned to do until he did, running his fingertips around her lower back. She moved beneath him, and a small moan escaped her lips. She slid down the bed until she lay completely flat beneath him. He carefully pulled the blue material from around her and dropped it onto the floor beside the bed. He kept his mouth on one of her nipples, but slid his hand up her thigh until his hands found her panties. He wasn't surprised that he missed them under the nightgown; they were barely there. He ran a single finger over the swollen area underneath the silk (Silk?) and felt her hips rise slightly off the bed. He pulled her underwear down off her thighs and legs in a painfully slow manner. She still hadn't looked at him. Her eyes were either closed or on the window. He took his lips off her chest and slid his whole body down the side of her the turned and buried his face in the soft hairs there. He couldn't believe he was doing this. Touching her. Tasting her. He glanced up for just a moment, but her eyes were closed. She was moaning softly. He ran his tongue over her. Her breathing had become more shallow, and she touched him at last, her fingers running just slightly through his hair. He couldn't really wait any longer, and slid his tongue up inside of her. She gasped. (What are you doing, Dana? she asked herself. Are you insane?) She nodded, moving his head until it was where she wanted it, and he responded, reaching his arms up to run his hands over her body. She sat up a little and pulled one of his hands to his mouth and licked his palm. (She's licking your palm. You're enjoying that? What the hell is wrong with) Suddenly, she dropped his hand and grabbed the sheet. She raised her hips up off the bed, she begged him first to stop, then not to, please not to, she pushed his head harder against her. She twisted the sheet once, hard (My wrist's gonna hurt in the morning.) and fell back on the bed, her breath coming in quick gasps. He continued to tease her with his hands and mouth until she placed a hand on his shoulder. Stop. He sat up and looked at her. His body was covered in sweat, despite the air conditioner. He looked at her. She looked back. She never would've guessed that he'd do all that before he even took off his own clothes. Then again, maybe he didn't want to be touched. Maybe that wasn't what he wanted. Maybe he just wanted a woman to lie back, to let him "Scully?" he asked softly, drawing her out of her thoughts. "Are you okay, I didn't mean to..." "Yeah, I'm fine." Meaning it for once. She moved her hand from his shoulder down his arm. She sat up, pulled his shirt off. Pushed him back flat on the bed, slid his boxers down and off his legs, dropping them with his t-shirt on the floor. She'd never touched him before. She started to trace lines down his chest, but he stopped her. "I hate to ruin this," he whispered, "but the last forty-five minutes have been about too much. I'm not gonna... last... much longer." She nodded, placed one leg on each side of his. She took a deep breath and slid herself down around him. She quickly looked away. It hurt almost as bad as when she'd first "Oh, god," she moaned. He looked up at her in surprise. She was close again. If he could just wait... "Mulder," she whispered, taking his hand and placing it in front of where they met. She leaned over, letting him take one of her breasts in her mouth. This was one of the most intense moments of his life, as he felt her begin to tremble above him, heard her moan his name, felt her let go... And he did too. She stared out the window. She pulled off of him, rolled down beside him on the bed. He put an arm around her. They lay there together, but they knew better. Something had been ruined that night. But, because it had been ruined long before he touched her, she allowed the evening to go as it had. And they'd hate themselves in the morning. She felt him drift off to sleep, and she stared out the window. They drove to the airport the next morning, and she stared out the window at the passing scenery. A week later, in her new office, with her new partner, she stared out the window at a different street in DC. Five years later, on a stormy summer night, with her husband sleeping beside her, Dana stared out the window. She felt a chill come over her. Fox Mulder, in a motel room half-way across the continent, had just stared out the window and shot himself. Author note: Sorry about this ending. It just seemed more plausible than all the happy stuff where two people have sex and wake up the next morning in love. If you hate it, feel free to tell me so at minttown1@aol.com. Written April 16, 2001, in the evening, in my little house in Massachusetts, with my new roommate staring at me and saying, "You can't write that kind of stuff!" Look, I'm hitting send!