From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Mon, 5 Feb 2001 07:23:02 -0600 Subject: New: \"Take My Hand\" S/Sk, NC-17, (1 of 1) by Paige Caldwell Source: direct Reply To: paigecaldwell@hotmail.com Title: Take My Hand Author: Paige Caldwell Classification: S/Sk, Angst, "Pathos fuck"...yeah, I made that one up! Spoilers: Season 8 Rating: As NC-17 as I go... Summary: Just put on "Take My Hand" by Dido and you'll figure out the rest. Author's Notes: This story was written for the IWTB smut challenge. But as a die-hard shipper, the real challenge was for me to write smut involving Scully and a man other than Mulder. I hope you enjoy! Dedication: To frogdoggie... Touch my skin and tell me what you're thinking Take my hand and show me where we're going Lie down next to me, look into my eyes Oh tell me what you'e seeing.... "Take My Hand" by Dido "We live in a darkness of our making," she murmured, shielding her eyes against the mid-afternoon sun. Skinner didn't respond. Instead, he silently reached over and pulled down the visor. It was their second trip to the Arizona, made within weeks of the first. They had recovered from their injuries, but not the acrid memory of coming back empty handed. They had failed. Failed Mulder and failed themselves.... The desert sun was hot enough to scorch reason, but it was the shadows of her mind that obscured hope. She had spent two days walking through sand, each of her steps more uncertain as the mirage faded from her memory. She had seen a ship on the horizon. Retrospect made her certain, but reason made her too late. Had she trusted her perceptions, she would have found him. Instead, she blinked and apparently lost the vision for good. Her sigh was barely audible, but the sound of it seemed to resonate through Skinner's body. He immediately tensed, his hands gripping the steering wheel with such force that his knuckles turned white. Mesmerized, she moved her gaze up his forearms. She studied his tanned skin, the way his tendons flexed and extended his muscles. It was strange how Skinner could show such strength and weakness in one gesture. But, she had seen it before. And, she knew the incongruity was because of her. Again, she sighed. She was his weakness.... She suspected that Skinner had made horrific sacrifices on her behalf. But, he wasn't the type to talk about it. Men of honor seldom did, even when their own integrity was compromised to the point where others distrusted them. She had reached that point several times with Skinner. Each time, it was over the barrel of a gun. Each time, it was over Mulder. Yet, in each instance, Skinner surrendered first. Until now, she didn't realize that it had nothing to do with turning over his gun. He was offering his trust and something more she dared not consider. "Take my hand...." Later that night, the offer impacted her in a way she thought never possible. They were standing outside their motel rooms, both of them tired and dejected by their futile search. She had dropped her key after unlocking her door. Hope might be dead, but chivalry was not. When Skinner picked up the key and held it out to her, she gazed down at his hand. This time, she stared at the lines of his palm, wondering how imprinted she was on his soul. Perhaps, that's why her finger moved past the key to where his skin was dry and callused. Slowly, she massaged the coarseness she had created. With the softness of her touch, she hoped to soothe the desiccated layers of guilt and misunderstanding. "Tell me what you're thinking," she murmured. "That you're tired," Skinner responded wearily, "and, emotionally spent." Scully nodded, her thumb grazing the hard bone of his wrist. "And, so are you," she added. She felt his pulse jump beneath her touch. In a choked breath, he asked. "Where are you going with this, Scully?" "I'm going nowhere", she whispered. "I went to the desert to find Mulder and now, I'm the one who's lost." When she reached for the key, Skinner's hand suddenly closed around her fingers. "Do you need me to find you?" She couldn't answer him, either outside her motel room or inside where he lifted her into his arms. She felt weightless. Right now, she needed to feel as light as a feather, small and protected by someone who understood her pain. Skinner, too, had lost Mulder. As he eased her onto the bed, she slid her hands up the front of his cotton shirt. The heat of his skin beneath the fabric was electrifying. Her fingers tingled with the vitality of this man. He was incredibly alive. She needed to feel more, needed to connect with someone who aroused her senses rather than numbed them. When Skinner tried to move away, she clenched two fists full of material and tugged him down on top of her. The weight of his chest almost crushed her. She welcomed it. The pressure of his lips against hers was foreign and exciting. His breath was coming out in short, contorted gasps. How ironic. She was the one pinned beneath him, yet he was the one close to asphyxiation. Guilt had a way of suffocating them both. Parting her lips, she breathed cool air inside his mouth. With her tongue, she reassured him that desire wasn't something to regret, only share. He moaned then, his own tongue coating hers with a richness of pleasure. He tasted like dark chocolate, smooth and semi-sweet. She stilled his tongue with her teeth and began to suck gently on it. She would savor this moment rather than be swallowed by it. Or, so she thought.... Suddenly, Skinner shifted his mouth to where his lips commanded hers, to where her tongue was suctioned against his palate. An involuntary moan rose from her throat. Tension replaced flavor. She began to imagine the same effect his mouth would have on her breasts. Already, her nipples were rubbing against his shirt, the sensitive peaks alerting to the possibility. "I can't do this, Dana." He pulled away then, rolling off of her to turn on the lamp beside the bed. Sighing, she sat up and straightened her top. "Because, I'm pregnant?" she asked. "Or, is it because of Mulder?" "It's because of how I feel for you," he answered, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. Turning around, his blood-shot gaze told her all she needed to know. His tears were never meant for Mulder. They were shed for her and the pain of having caused her suffering. See my eyes, they carry your reflection Watch my lips and hear the words I'm telling you Give your trust to me and look into my heart And show me, show me what you're doing. "I'm sorry," Scully apologized in a tearful voice. It took all of his marine training to resist her eyes and the trembling of her lower lip. Instead, he stared at his hands, which were achingly empty. Touching her had almost burst every capillary beneath his skin. What had he been thinking? She was in love with Mulder and carrying his child. Yet, he had handled her like forbidden fruit, greedily drinking passion from her mouth like a life-renewing elixir. Yes, she had responded, but it didn't take a Ph.D. from Oxford to figure our why. "We live in a darkness of own making..." Her words, while poignant and prophetic, resounded of loneliness. Mulder's disappearance had plunged her into despair, to where comfort could only be found in the arms of someone who shared her same level of pathos. And, it was all his fault. "I'm the one who should be apologizing to you," he said. "For losing Mulder, for so many things, that I've lost count." "Let's count together," Scully suggested, lifting his hand to twine her fingers through his. "I bet we share more regrets than you have fingers, sir." "Don't call me that," he said abruptly, jerking his hand away. "Don't ever call me that, again." "Why does that bother you?" she asked. "It's a term of respect." "Because, I've done nothing to earn it," he advised. "You've earned my trust," she protested. "There's a difference" he countered. "And, that difference is Mulder." "I don't understand...." "Then let me show you," he said. Taking Scully's hand, he placed it gently on her stomach. "This is respect, Scully. To bear a man's child is the ultimate proof of love and esteem." "Not when the man agrees to donate his sperm in lieu of his heart," she replied in a quiet voice. "Is that what happened, Scully?" "Respect...," Scully turned her head and continued sadly. "Yes, we respect each other. But, I need more than that. And, I don't think he'll ever be capable of being the man I need him to be." "Scully, why are you telling me this?" She returned her gaze with a look so certain that he caught his breath. "Because, when I look into your eyes, I see my reflection." she answered softly. Closing his eyes, he swallowed the lump of emotion that clogged his throat. God, he wanted to believe her. Above all woman, he wanted her. Not for what she represented, but for what she was. "Do you believe me?" Scully asked. "Because, if you think I'm lying to you, then I'll always be alone." "You're not alone, Dana," he murmured, reaching up to caress her face. "You'll never be alone." Scully smiled against the back of his hand. "Show me," she whispered. He undressed her slowly, memorizing the curves and lines of her delicate body. She was as exquisite as he imagined. Petite, from her tiny feet to the pearl studded earlobes. For such a small person, he was enormously intimidated. And, erect.... The pressure on his heart was almost as painful as the tension in his pants. Yet, here she was, this water sprite of his dreams. This time, he wouldn't awake embarrassingly wet. Stripping off his clothes, he laid down beside her. For several minutes, he stared into her eyes waiting for the slightest cloud to darken his blue vista. Sensing his trepidation, she took his hand and guided it to her breast. Exhaling slowly, he lowered his lips to hers. He kissed her deeply and repeatedly. He felt her nipple harden against the palm of his hand. Fearing that her breasts might be tender, he traced her areola with the tip of his tongue, hoping to desensitize her. But, she arched her back, forcing her nipple inside his mouth. He sucked gently, releasing the pull of his lips when she gasped. "Am I hurting you?" he asked. "No," she whispered. "You're being very gentle... too gentle." Scully proved her point by rubbing her other nipple between her thumb and index finger. Captivated, he watched as he filled his mouth with her rose-colored tip. He abandoned his tenderness to her desire, suckling her, lathing her with the moisture of his mouth before nipping the bud with his teeth. "Much better," she panted. "So much better...." The heaving of her chest prompted him downwards, to where her legs were already parted in silent invitation. He kissed the inner part of her thighs, clasping her knees reassuringly when they began to shake. Above all else, he was a patient man when it came to Scully. Rushing her through this level of intimacy would only ruin it for both of them. With his fingers, he stroked the soft curls until she relaxed. When her breathing became more even, he parted her lips and circled her clit slowly with the tip of his tongue. Despite his own thirst, he resisted the urge to lap her wetness. Instead, he flattened his tongue to swirl her juices against the folds of her skin. When he felt her heat pooling against his fingers, he carefully inserted one inside of her. Her clit grew hard then, pulsing with each thrust of his finger. He pursed his lips and began to suck. Not hard or gentle, just enough pressure to cause the sensitive bundle of nerves to swell and shrink with each draw of his mouth. Scully moaned with pleasure, prompting him to glide a second finger into her. He released the suction on her clit and increased the steady pumping of his hand. When her hips lifted off the bed, he knew she was ready. And, so was he. He clamped his mouth over her clit and began to guzzle her like a man dying of thirst. In a way, he was. His walk through the desert began years ago. What he thought was a mirage had finally become his oasis. As her honey sweet juices slid down the back of his throat, he swallowed with voracious delight. She came with the intensity of a firestorm, igniting his tongue with a current that sizzled through every conduit of his body. His cock twitched like a lightning rod, ready to transform energy into ecstacy. Yet, he hesitated, blowing small puffs of air to cool her hot, throbbing clit. "Please," she whimpered suddenly. He lifted his head to gauge her eyes, which were wet with emotion and gratitude. "Tell me," he urged. "Tell me what you're feeling." She held out her hand. "Let me show you," she murmured. So sit on top of the world and tell me how you're feeling What you feel is what I feel for you Take my hand and if I'm lying to you I always be alone Take your time and if I'm lying to you You'll believe me You'll believe me.... Skinner lifted her onto his lap, his large hands spanning her waist as she straddled his thighs. He supported her weight as she eased herself down on his cock. That he filled her with both length and width was no surprise. Skinner was well-endowed. That he didn't cause her any discomfort somewhat startled her. But, he'd spent a considerable amount of time and effort preparing her, lubricating muscles that now clenched around him. His need was secondary to hers. It always had been. Even when she began to ride him, his hands were there to guide her hips. He allowed her to set the pace and establish their rhythm. As she posted up and down, his hands moved to her backside, cushioning her fall. Sighing, she closed her eyes and abandoned herself to the wind. It swept her back to the desert, to where the sun bronzed the skin of his forearms and dotted perspiration over his lips. In the distance, she heard him call her name. He was coming... coming.... Except the voice didn't belong to Skinner.... It was Mulder. Oh God, she had lied... to Skinner and herself.... She had so wanted to believe.... And, in the end, she knew she would be alone.