Title:  The Way She Would
Authors:  Laura Shapiro
Rating: NC-17
Classification: MulderAngst, UST
Archive:  Please ask me first
Feedback: laura@humandesign.com
Spoilers:
Summary: Mulder relieves some tension, but sometimes satisfying one need 
reveals another.
Disclaimer: All characters are the intellectual property of 20th Century Fox 
and Chris Carter.  No copyright infringement is intended. I just like to mess 
with them a little.


**************

"Damn."

Fox Mulder slammed the metal drawer shut in frustration. Where *was* the 
fucking thing? He'd just *had* it.

"Something wrong?" His partner regarded him with those irritatingly 
beautiful eyes of hers. He allowed himself to hold her blue gaze for one 
nanosecond before turning away, banging the recalcitrant file cabinet again for 
good measure.

"Oh, I can't find the freaking Pevensie file. I've looked for it everywhere, and 
I *need* to get this research done."

Scully shrugged and went back to her own paperwork. "Sorry. I haven't seen 
it since you had it yesterday."

Mulder sighed, watching the red satin curtain slide back across her face. The 
whole day had been like this. A rare day with no cross-country travel, no 
monsters to catch, no bullets to dodge. Just paperwork. He'd almost looked 
forward to it; a chance to relax after the mounting hysteria of the preceding 
weeks. But right now he was anything but relaxed. He looked at his watch.  
4:30.

"Scully, I'm gonna get out of here. I'm useless."

She didn't rise to the bait.  "Okay," she murmured, engrossed in her work.

**********

The brief drive home did little to raise Mulder's spirits. He'd barely 
accomplished anything all day, and, he reluctantly admitted, he knew why. 
On a normal day (he almost laughed aloud at the thought of any part of his 
life as "normal"), he was in his element, and so busy chasing down darkness 
that he rarely had time to notice Scully's effect on him. The mysteries to be 
solved, the violence to be avoided if possible, the anxiety --they distracted 
him. On an off day, however, in the absence of the nerve-jangling fury that 
was his "normal" life, it was his partner that was the distraction.

Today, he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her, and he was reasonably 
sure she'd noticed. The brief pursing of her rosebud mouth as she considered 
a problem, the slide of her stockings when she crossed her tapered legs, that 
single fallen strand of fire that he had yearned all day to brush from her lapel; 
all of these haunted him as he drove.

Climbing out of the car, he noticed that his erection, which had waxed and 
waned (but mostly waxed) throughout the day, was now in almost 
embarrassing evidence. Hastily he more or less threw himself into his 
apartment and, tugging off his tie, into a chair.

Mulder considered popping in a tape, but he wasn't in the mood. Mental 
images of impossibly-breasted sex kittens dissolved immediately at the 
memory of his last glance at Scully, her hair sliding into her eyes, the 
lamplight caressing her cheek. He recalled the unbelievable softness of her 
hands, those tender, strong little paws he'd so often reached out for, that had 
sometimes reached out for him. He imagined those hands sliding over his 
bare chest, and a rush of pleasure thrilled through him. Guiltily, he opened 
his eyes to discover that he had been rubbing himself through his slacks.

Shame burned his cheeks. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd had impure 
thoughts about his partner, but he'd always managed to keep those thoughts 
separate from his frequent masturbatory escapades. The thought of trying to 
face her at the office in the morning after beating off to her image the night 
before was generally enough to derail that train of thought.

Tonight, however, the potential humiliation faded before the intensity of his 
need. No, her realized, that wasn't true. The humiliation *enhanced* it.

The insistent throbbing of his cock brought Mulder's hand back to his lap. 
Stop it, he told himself, and watched his hand unbuckle his belt, unzip his fly. 
He tried to steer his thoughts to the last porn tape he'd watched, but as he 
reached into his boxers a warm, musky scent teased his memory. Scully. His 
nose buried in her hair as he held her, her compact strength and softness 
pressed against him. Mulder sighed and gave in.

Unbuttoning his shirt with one hand, he began moving the other back and 
forth rapidly, and sighed at the familiar pleasure it immediately gave him. He 
stopped himself. No. How would *she* do it?

Gently, he ran his thumb over the tip of his cock, found the liquid evidence 
of his desire there, and smoothed it over himself. He ran his fingers around 
the ridge where purple tip joined swollen stalk, and then slowly stroked the 
length of himself. In his mind, Scully's mouth was fused with his, her 
phantom hand caressing him.

He ran a hand across his naked breast, pinching his small, tight nipples as her 
teeth nipped them. He cupped his balls and felt them contract, imagining her 
hot breath stirring the curls there.

"Oh, Dana, yes..." he murmured, as she took him into her mouth.  He 
brought one hand up to his mouth, slowly licked his palm, and slid it slickly, 
smoothly back and forth. The ache in his groin built steadily, a need that 
seemed to bloom up his spine to the base of his brain in ever-intensifying 
waves. In his mind, his fingers danced over her ripening clitoris and dipped 
inside of her wet heat. He could feel her tighten around them.

The late afternoon sun slanted across his chest as it rose and fell, his rapid 
exhalations stirring the golden motes that played in the light.  Veins stood 
out on his forearm as it began to move more quickly. He threw his head back, 
lust creasing his brow, his pulse beating visibly there. He entered her, could 
feel every inch as he slid hungrily in. He thrust deeply. She rocked beneath 
him, her face an ode to pleasure.

He increased his tempo, almost there, calling out her name. She came, 
arching her back, crying, "Fox! I love you, Fox!" And his orgasm shot through 
him with an intensity he'd never known before.

A wave of guilt brought him crashing back to reality, simultaneously with the 
tweeting of his phone. Automatically, he reached for it.

"Mulder," he panted.

"It's me." Scully. His mind reeled. "I found the Pevensie file. It was on your 
desk! It must've been right in front of you the whole time. Do you want me 
to bring it over? I'm on my way home."

File? Oh. Oh, no. He couldn't see her now. Oh my god, what have I done?

"Mulder? Are you all right?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine, Scully. Don't worry about the file. I'll deal with it 
tomorrow." He hung up abruptly, then cursed himself immediately for his 
terseness, for his weakness, for his lust, for everything. What a sorry sack of 
shit he was. Who was he kidding? She would never love him.

Sobs overtook him, and the last of the day's light faded away.


END