Cracking
By DeathStryke
Genre: MSR, sort of Post-EP Millennium
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The ice is cracking...who will the Ice Queen be
without her frozen armor?
Notes: For Sheri; death shall not part...

When we leave the hospital all I can see are his hands. I
have developed tunnel vision. One would think I would be
singularly focused on the warm, sensual lips that kissed me
not an hour ago, but instead I am overwhelmed by his hands.
They are big, with the long tapered fingers of a piano
player. These long fingers always seem to be the one
outward marking of a sensitive man; these large warm gentle
hands meant for brushing away tears or holding a trembling
hand, or guiding you gently with the whisper of a touch on
the small of your back. Mulder's hands are now wrapped
around the steering wheel; steering us towards my
apartment, back to my safe haven of normalcy where I can
hide within its walls and pretend my partner didn't just
kiss me. Where I can pretend that kiss didn't send an ache
of longing through my body and soul.

Why Mulder, why? We aren't kids anymore, we're both running
headlong into forty with blinding speed. Why just this
single excruciatingly chaste kiss with so much promise
and nothing more, when we both know there is so much more?
The right words, a little more pressure applied
with those full pouty lips of yours and that kiss
could have been the promise of a beautiful future.
So why did you stop, dammit? Were you waiting for some
signal from me? Was I supposed to melt into your arms
right there in the emergency room, or whisper my undying
devotion in response to your glib "Happy
New Year"?

They don't call me the Ice Queen for nothing, Mulder. You
ought to know me better than that by now. I'm not going to
parry when you thrust-I'm going to strike right back. If
push has come to shove we're both going to be pushing
because I'm not budging one emotional inch that you aren't
willing to give up yourself.

At least not in public. As we sit here in this car,
hurtling down the interstate into the new year all I can
think about is your warm soft hands and how they would feel
on my face, my arms, around my waist... Something in me has
cracked. The "I love you" that has been firmly filed away
in my subconscious folder labeled "Things I will only say
upon the imminent demise of myself or Mulder" is now on the
tip of my tongue. Your warm gentle lips have melted some
essential part of my armor and as much as I want to hate
you for it, all I can think of is your damned hands and how
much I suddenly want them all over my naked flesh. Your
hands that are both so strong and masculine, yet capable of
the most profoundly gentle of touches. Hands that comfort
and protect, arouse and unwind me like a ball of thread.

My reverie ends when the car pulls up in front of my
building.

"Do you want me to walk you up?" Mulder asks innocently.

*Goddammit Mulder, ask for a nightcap, ask if you can come
in to watch tv, give me something to work with here. I
can't do this all myself. I just can't give that much*

"No, I'm fine." I open the car door, pulling my coat
tighter as the cold air floods the car. I unbuckle my
seatbelt slowly, waiting, hoping, for one word from him
that will allow me to crack open this little chink in my
armor and let him in. *I want to Mulder, c'mon you
emotional dumbass can't you see how hard I'm trying here?*

"G'night, Scully. Happy New Year." He says. Some play of
emotion dances across his face that I can't identify, but
it's not enough. I need to hear it, to see it clearly, I
need something more visceral from him just this once. I
can't reach out and rescue him from his own emotional
undertow; I'm too busy drowning in my own.

I climb out of the car. "G'night, Mulder." and slam the
door a bit more forcefully than is necessary. The car
doesn't move. I know he'll stay until he sees the light
come on inside my apartment indicating I've arrived safely
inside.

I don't disappoint him. I trudge upstairs and switch on the
lamp on the desk, then watch through the window as the car
pulls away from the curb. Damn you, Mulder, and damn me
too.

A single tear escapes from me as I set the kettle to heat. I
feel betrayed by my emotions, even here alone in my
domestic prison I am loathe to show my sadness and
disappointment. Perhaps if we're both so emotionally
retarded we don't deserve a chance together, but I always
thought if there was one person who would take a chisel to
Dana Scully, Ice Queen of the FBI and find Dana Scully the
woman with wants and needs and feelings and hormones it
would be him. Maybe one day.

END

Cracking II

You could cut the tension in the car with a chainsaw.

I feel Scully's eyes boring into me, and I keep my gaze
intent on the road before me to keep from facing what I might
find in those blue eyes. Is she angry at me for
kissing her? I didn't mean anything by it *at least not
that she knows about*. It was an innocent, friendly kiss. It
didn't last long enough for her to know how long I really
wanted it to last. I didn't invade her personal space or
cross the line between a kiss between friends and the
_Scully, I want to jump your bones_ kiss I really wanted to
give her. So why do I feel her staring at me like she's
trying to use telekinesis to make my head explode?

I can still feel the warmth of her lips against mine, am
still a bit giddy from the shy smile that crept across her
face when we pulled away from one another. There were so
many things I wanted to say to her. I felt so awkward, like
a gangly sixteen year old boy saying goodnight to his first
date. So instead of telling her I loved her I heard the
words "Happy New Year" come tumbling out of my stupid, foolish
mouth and cringed inwardly even as I spoke them. Something in her
eyes changed as I spoke. Some light that had begun to glow
inside her snapped off in a heartbeat, the moment lost.

I don't want to let it go that easily. But I don't know how
to get it back. Touching her has hurtled me twenty  years
into the past, and I feel like a stupid kid who can't find
the right words to ask the girl of his dreams out on a
date. Finally, unfettered by killer bees or deathbed confessions,
I want us to not be agents or partners; just a man and a
woman giving in to the attraction that has been building
between them for a ridiculous number of years. But my mouth
and brain no longer work. I can't think of anything witty or
sexy to say, I don't know how to bring that beautiful
luminescent spark of desire back to her eyes that I _swear_ I
saw for just a moment as our lips touched.

The stone cold silence in the car is ripping me apart.
_Her_ silence. If ever a man missed his big chance I did
tonight, and Scully is giving no indication that I might
yet have a second opportunity to sweep her off her feet
and into my arms.

It finally occurs to me that she has no idea how I feel
about her. She's like a deer caught in headlights; one "I
love you" from me and she's going to dart in the other
direction. I can't help but remember with the one other
time I uttered those words and the reaction of downright
disdain she displayed. That's the only time she's ever
left my side while I was hospitalized.

I give my self a mental shake. Tonight was a fluke. It was
New Year's Eve and we were both dateless and alone. Alone
together, as usual. I know why I was dateless; because I'd rather
spend an evening with her being chased by the undead than on a
date with anyone else. But what about her? Does she spend New
Year's Eve saving my sorry ass yet again because she wants to or
because she feels obligated? Did she let me kiss her because I
looked kinda pathetic, all muddy and bruised with my arm in a
sling? Can't she give just one damn inch and let me know what she
wants from me? Whatever it is, I'd give it to her on a silver
platter. The problem is I don't think she knows that, and I can't
seem to find a way to tell her. Obviously kissing her didn't get
the point across.

The kiss was a gift from friend to friend, nothing more and
nothing less. Not an invitation, or an indication that our
relationship could be anything more than it is. Dana Scully
is my best friend, and I should just consider myself damn
lucky to have that.

All too soon we arrive at her building. I offer to walk her
up, and for a moment she seems to hesitate. Hope swells in
me for just an instant. Maybe she'll ask me up for a drink
or just to hang out and we can recapture that moment and
expand it into the promise of more. Maybe we can cross the
line from partners to, well, partners in the more creative
sense of the word.

My hopes are dashed upon the rocks when she says "I'm
fine." I respond by wishing her a happy new year and she
exits the car, slamming the door quite firmly behind her.
Slamming the door on my hopes and fears and the tiny bit of
courage I was trying to muster to kiss her again before she
made her escape from the car; before the magic of the
promise of a new year wore off and she saw me again as just
her friend and coworker.

I wait until I see the light come on inside her apartment
and know she's safe inside. Safe from me and my wolfish
intentions. Safe from my feelings for her. Sequestered up
there in a world of her familiar feminine surroundings where
I feel like a bull in a china shop.

I pull away from the curb and head home, my heart heavy. I
never realized until tonight how much it would hurt when
she rebuffed my affections, even though some part of me
always expected it would go something like this. Wanting
something doesn't mean you deserve it, Mulder. Maybe one
day.

END

Cracking III
See part one for disclaimers and all that jazz.


I stood in the hall in front of her door for almost an
hour, a fool with a bottle of champagne and a dozen roses.
I didn't make it five miles away from her apartment before
I was drawn back by a force bigger than my self control. My
heart, my libido, the graven image of that small smile on
Scully's face when our lips parted, the burn of that kiss
still on my own lips, all of them pulled me back to her with
centripetal force.

I get it now. The problem is I got it about an hour too
late. I should have tacked on a "will you marry me?" after
wishing her Happy New Year. I should have said something,
anything, to let her know how much she meant to me and how
much kissing her made me a complete human being. She'd
needed to hear it, but it took me a while to figure out
that the look I'd seen on her face when she got out of the
car was disappointment. I can readily admit I'm ass-
backwards in the romance department. Scully might be a
doctor, a scientist, an analytical thinker and a bit of a
cynic but she's also a woman and needed a bit more wooing
than a kiss that may have shaken _me_ to my foundation, but
may have just left her wondering what the hell was going on
in my convoluted head.

Unfortunately one of her neighbors called the police before
I got the nerve to knock on her door. So when she opened it,
a vision in burgundy satin pajamas and bare feet, it was to
tell officer Jenkins that I wasn't a stalker and he didn't
need to haul me in, and that I really was an FBI agent, not
just another drunk on the ultimate bacchanalian occasion.

"I'm sorry about that." I say, hoping to sound as contrite
as I feel.

"Mulder, what are you doing here? It's three A.M."

What to say next? I was going to be suave, debonair, play
Bogart to her Bacall and sweep her off her delicate little
feet. But now my vocal chords seem paralyzed. So I hold the
flowers out in front of me. As an offering or a shield I'm
not sure.

"These are for you."

She takes them, smiling but eyeing me like I'm a pod
person. "Thank you. What's the special occasion?"

"Can I come in?" I ask. "I brought a bottle of champagne.
Figured we could salvage New Year's Eve."

She steps back to admit me. I notice her toenails are
painted cotton candy pink. How cute. How sexy. How very
_not_ what I would expect from her, and that's exactly the
problem; I _want_ to know all these things about her.

She lays the bouquet of flowers on the top shelf of the
bookcase and accepts the obscenely expensive bottle of
champagne from my sweaty hands.

"Mulder, what's wrong with you? You look like an animal
caught in a cage? Are you feeling alright?" Her brow
furrows in that _my god what kind of head injury has he got
this time?_  look that she gets as she puts her hand on my
forehead to check for fever. Her hands are soft and cool
and feel like a soothing balm on my brow.

"The thing is, I was thinking about earlier this evening at
the hospital, and I realized there was something I forgot
to tell you."

She puts down the bottle and crosses her arms in front of
her, leaning her hip against her desk. "Oh really, and what
would that be?"

*C'mon, Mulder, put up or shut up* I steel my courage,
flush my dignity down the proverbial toilet and look her in
the eye.

"I loved kissing you. I want to keep kissing you til this
time next week. I've wanted to kiss you for as long as I
can remember. I love you, Scully. Not just as a friend, or
a partner, I love you as in I want to keep kissing you
forever." There. It's been said. Now I can wait like an
aluminum can on a log for her to shoot me down post-haste.

But she doesn't. She smiles, the corners of her mouth
pulling back slowly in a warm sultry fashion that
practically makes my mouth water. She takes a step towards
me and puts her arms around me as best she can with my arm
in a sling and says,

"Oh Mulder, you idiot, what took you so long?"

My entire being exhales in relief, then I take my free hand
and cup her chin, raising her lips to meet mine. She slips
her arms around my waist, straining on the tips of her toes
to deepen the kiss when the coward in me still holds back.
That's all the encouragement I need. My mouth opens to meet
hers, and I feel the gentle rasp of her tongue against
mine. She takes like clover honey, sweet and warm and
earthy.

Cracking 4

She pressed herself against me and it felt like she was hot
wax melting into the cracks of my soul. The kiss continued
for ages, our tongues dueling in a battle we both would
win. Kissing her was everything I had ever hoped for and
nothing I could have ever imagined. When she finally pulled
away it was only to whisper in my ear.

"I don't think you're gonna need that sling, Mulder. I'll
be gentle."

I hurriedly eased it off and tossed it in the chair at her
desk. Her small sure hands untucked my shirt and slid
underneath it, deftly reducing the flow of blood to my
brain by about 150%. I was all need; hungry for the feel of
her skin against mine, desperate to know every taste and
texture of her. The gourmand finally invited to the
banquet.

Either Scully's buttons disappeared magically or my hands
still work pretty darn fast with a recently dislocated
shoulder. I'm not sure which. But there she was, the satin
sliding down her shoulder to reveal skin that reminded me
of ripe peaches, with little sprinkles of freckles that
begged to be kissed, licked, sucked and nibbled. I planned
to do all of those, and started with her left shoulder.

I thought I would swoon like a girl, leaning in that close
to her. She smelled of lemon and strawberries and that
primordial scent of unmistakable desire. Her skin was
velvety under my lips and tongue, her soft sighs and the
beating of her heart the music to make my blood boil.

I wanted to be gallant and pick her up and carry her to the
bed, but my previous engagement with the undead prevented
such gestures. I settled for letting her lead me by the
hand to her bedroom, the covers already turned down where
she'd already been sleeping.

She unbuttoned my shirt and slid it off my shoulders with
profound gentleness. I pulled her close, wanting to feel
the heat of her body against me. She unbuckled my belt and
helped me wiggle gracelessly out of my pants. Finally I sat
on the bed before her and captured one breast in my hand,
savoring the silky texture of her nipple until it hardened
to a little nub against my tongue. I suckled deeply,
Freud's wet dream of a man who was not breastfed. It hurt a
bit when she dug her fingers into my shoulders, but I was
too pleased that I was causing her to lose her balance to
complain.

"Mulder…" my name sounded like a prayer coming from her
mouth as I repeated my attentions to her other breast. As I
nuzzled my face in the little hollow between her cleavage I
hooked a thumb in her pajama bottoms and slid them down,
making a mental note that Scully doesn't sleep in any
underwear.

Her tight curls were silky and wet. I ran a finger through
them, and felt her shiver in response.

"On your back," I instructed, my voice sounding low and
foreign in my own ears.

She climbed on the bed, catlike, stick her incredibly sexy
round behind in the air just to tease me before she rolled
over. I spread her legs with my uninjured arm and prepare
for the first course of my long awaited meal.

I don't think I'm the type of guy to say unnecessarily
sappy things, but Scully's sex was as deep red and velvety-
looking as one of those orchids in a Georgia O'Keefe
painting. One might argue that it's just been that long
since I saw a naked woman, but I would beg to differ. This
is absolutely the most beautiful vagina I have ever seen.
My tongue quickly confirms this; she tastes sweet and
buttery and I think I'll cancel my plans for the rest of
the week and stay right here between her legs…

To be continued

Cracking 5

My tongue finds the small nub of her clitoris. It is like a
little ruby, hard and slick and a rare treasure. I let my
tongue roll across it as I would a sunflower seed, feeling
the shudders ripple through the lithe muscles of her thighs
under my hands and listening to the soft cadence of her
moans.

I lap at her gently, a cat with a bowl of cream, tongue
darting here and there to taste every fold and crevice of
her, to see what response pressure here or suction there
evokes from her. Her fingers run a tingling trail through
my hair, urging me on, letting me know that she's enjoying
this every bit as much as I am.

I grin in satisfaction when her back arches and her orgasm
shudders through her, a hoarse cry escaping her lips. Job
well done, Mulder.

I shed my boxers and join her on the bed, stroking her
softly as her breathing slows and her eyes focus on me, two
pools of clear ocean blue looking into my very heart.

"I love you."

It's just a whisper as she runs her hand down my back, but
it's unmistakable. She loves me too. The implications make
my head swim. Her hand on my erection makes the earth drop
out from underneath me and I feel I could drown in the rosy
aura she's cast around me, the very essence of her draped
like velvet around my body. With only one arm to prop
myself on our bodies are pressed so close together I can't
tell where I start and she ends. I sink into her, fitting
tightly into the hot sheath of her body. I am home. I am
safe and complete and I could die a happy man at this
moment.

Our movements are not graceful, as I can't move much with
my wounded arm tucked between us. She gently rolls me over
onto my back and straddles me, slowly sinking inch by inch
onto my cock. It's my turn to gasp and moan at the myriad
of sensations she is wringing from my body. It's like
brandy running through my veins; my blood warm and alive
and setting my body on fire. My nerve ending hum with
electricity in response to her gentle hands stroking my
chest as she rides me.

Sex is great. It's wonderful. It's manna to the human soul
even when it's just okay sex. But this is the kind of life
altering sex you read about in women's magazines or romance
novels. Like the small snake on Scully's back, swallowing
it's own tail, this is a relationship come full circle and
a delicious new beginning. This is every crack and crevice
in the bad stucco of my psyche being filled with this woman
in a way I never believed possible. I didn't think I could
love her more than I did two hours ago. I was wrong.

As I feel my orgasm build in my balls I hear myself
babbling for her to slow down. I'm not ready to let this
go, not ready for the magic to wear off. Afraid she'll turn
back into Agent Scully when all is said and done. Instead
she leans down and says in a husky voice "Shut up Mulder"
and kisses me, gripping my hips tightly as I lose control
and spill myself inside of her again and again until I feel
weightless and breathless, the feel of her sweat-slicked
skin against my chest and the soft spill of her hair on my
shoulder the only sensations in the world.

Happy New Year, Scully.

END