Without Reason, by Rachel Howard. *NC-17*, MSR, (1/1)

Classification:  SRA
Rating:  NC-17.  If you're underage, I don't want to know about it. 
Spoilers:  Post-Kitsunegari story; Pusher
Keywords:  MSR
Summary:  Post-episode angst-o-rama which descends pretty quickly into pure
mind candy.  Whee!

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner are characters created
by Chris Carter and  remain his copyrighted property, the property of 1013
Productions, and the property of Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox,
Inc. The author believes that the use of copyrighted characters in the forum
known as "Fan Fiction" is protected under the "Fair Use" statutes of US
Copyright law.
No infringement of any copyright is intended. 

Don't blame me for this smut-fest, Jen and the Screamers made me do it - so
this is for them. I didn't even LIKE the episode that much. 

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There's no way I would be doing this if I weren't desperate for something to
do, something to take my mind off of this afternoon's debacle. 
Re-alphabetizing the X-Files records. What a joke.  Chaos is too polite a term
for this filing cabinet.  Scully must not have been in this drawer for a while,
or else I'd have gotten an ass-chewing.

I dig deeper into the "P - T" drawer, and curse out loud when I slash a good
sized paper-cut into my right index finger.

Fuck. As if I haven't seen enough blood today.

I stick my finger in my mouth and suck hard.  The metallic taste in my mouth
and nose takes me right back to that warehouse.  For maybe the hundredth time
today, I see Scully's blank face, a pool of blood fanning out behind her
shattered skull.

I slam the file drawer shut, and the whole filing cabinet shudders.  I don't
need this.

"Need what?"

I didn't even know I'd said it out loud.  Also -- in spite of my infamous
paranoia and years of law-enforcement training -- I didn't hear the office door
open to admit my partner.

Which means I'm getting sloppy, probably because I've burned up my entire
adrenaline reserve.  Which means it's probably time to go home. Which she
already did, because she changed into faded, soft-looking jeans and this tight
little black velvet top that looks great on her and would probably feel...ah,
forget it.

A little pizza, a little TV...

"You're bleeding."

Her voice snaps me back to reality and I discover that my brand-new papercut
is, in fact, dripping.  I stick it back in my mouth and rummage one-handed on
my desk for the box of tissues that I remember seeing there at one point.  Then
Scully's hand is in my face, holding a Wash-'n-Dry.  

"What did you..."

"Scully, would you just back off?"  I shove her hand away and the words are out
of my mouth, harsh, before I can stop them.  I don't want her taking care of
me, touching me, not today.

"Mulder." 

I know this tone of voice; this is the I'm-Not-Taking-Any-Shit iteration of
Scully.  I sigh and slump into my chair.  Looks like I'm going to get the
ass-chewing anyway.  Part of me is actually looking forward to it; she didn't
say a single word about the fact that I nearly blew her fucking head off and if
she feels like yelling at me about snapping at her when she was just trying to
help me, then that's fine. 

So I don't apologize, I just sit down and look at her and stick the bleeding
finger back into my mouth.

She's standing in front of my desk, glowering.  Scully can work up a pretty
good head of steam, and right now, I'm almost expecting the top of her head to
come off, like a cartoon character's.  

The top of her head. Why can't I get away from this?

"When are we going to get over this, huh?  You want to tell me?"

"What?"  It's rare that I have absolutely no idea what she's talking about but
this is definitely one of those times. "You lost me already, Scully."

She leans in, disconcertingly close.  I really hate it when she does that. 
"You know, I came back here to apologize to you.  I swear, I think you do this
on purpose."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking," she punctuates each syllable with a tap of her fingernails on my
desk, "about this self-flagellation habit of yours."  She takes a deep breath,
and I can see she's trying to keep this from getting out of hand. "Sure you're
not Catholic?  Because I can practically see you mea culpa-ing in your head. 
And you're really not trained for it."

I shake my head at her mutely.

"Mulder, you have no idea how to repent for something and move on.  You just
keep all your mistakes stored up inside you so that they can keep torturing you
forever.  It's really sick, Mulder.  And it drives me nuts.  So let's get this
out of the way so that I can say what I came back here at eleven-o'clock at
night to say to you."

Sneaking a look at the clock, I hope she won't follow up on this little comment
by asking what the hell I'm still doing at the office.  She catches me doing it
and her lips twitch in that way that lets me know she's following my train of
thought but has no intention of being derailed.

"All right, Mulder.  I know you almost shot me.  And yeah, I know it almost
happened once before, with Modell. Say you're sorry."

"What?"

"Say you're sorry.  Just do it, so we can get this out of the way."

"You know, you're pretty sexy when you're..."

"I MEAN it, goddammit!"  Scully's actually yelling at me, and I can't remember
half a dozen times when I've seen her this pissed off. "Say it!"

"Sorry I almost blew your brains out, Scully," I say, bitingly. "But it really
doesn't seem like an adequate response, you know?  I was exactly one twitch of
the trigger away from killing you and I get a pat on the back from our boss for
=not= doing it.  Interesting, isn't it?  I guess expectations for ol' Spooky
being as low as they are, =not= committing a...."

"All right, that's enough.  And don't start misinterpreting what Skinner said
to you, you know damn well how highly he thinks of you.  Of us." She cocks her
head at me. "So. You said sorry, I forgive you.  Feel better?"

"Not really."

"And see, that's your problem, right there."

"How long ago was your psych rotation, Scully?"

"Don't try to back out of this.  We needed to have this conversation about
three years ago, but I guess it's better late than never."  She comes and sits
down on the edge of my desk, right in front of me, legs crossed at the ankle,
like a Girl Scout.  I'm about eye level with her waist, I can smell her
woodsy-clean perfume, and this whole situation is making me so uncomfortable I
can hardly stand to sit still.  "Mulder, what happened to you today could have
happened to me -- but you were the one that caught Modell's eye, and you were
the one Linda Bowman went after.  I'm sorry, Mulder.  I'm sorry that everyone
uses me to get to you."

I look up at her and realize that she's thought about this for a while.  She
calmed down a little during the last tirade. 

"You have to stop beating yourself up when things go wrong due to circumstances
that are beyond of your control.  Frankly, it drives me nuts.  I can't stand
watching you guilt-trip yourself.  Especially when you should be mad at me, if
you're going to be mad at someone."

"Who said I'm not?"

She crosses her legs higher, at the knee.  "Now we're getting somewhere.  Want
to tell me why you're mad?"

I stand up.  "No.  And I don't want you telling me, either.  This half-baked
analyst thing, it's not your best look, Scully."  I try to step past her but
she growls and sticks a leg out, catching me across the top of my legs, way too
close to the no-fly zone for comfort or even good manners.  That's not like her
and it pisses me off.  Way off.

I slam both hands down on the desk, on either side of her legs, and enjoy
watching her jump about half a foot.  "You don't know when to take a hint, do
you?  Back. Off.  I don't want to do this mutual jerk-off session.  I'm sorry. 
You're sorry.  We had such a shitty day, oh, gee whiz, let's make up.  Now
we're done.  I'm going home."

Then she does the thing that I can't BELIEVE.  She sticks the other leg out and
winds both of them around my hips and lays back.

"I'm sorry, Mulder, was I boring you?"  Her hair is spread out across my desk,
and she's got a hungry, challenging look on her face. Of course, this scenario,
right here, minus the clothes, is about my number-one fantasy. Her perfect,
perfect lips are twisted into a pouty little smile which gets wider as I start
to get hard - which, of course, she feels right away.  "Maybe I wasn't working
hard enough to keep your attention.  Can we get..."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?  What do you think you're doing?"

For the first time, I see a flicker of uncertainty cross her face, followed by
another expression, one I'm intimately familiar with.

Regret.  

Followed closely by shame.

She unlocks her legs so fast I stumble, pushes me away, and before I've
regained my balance, she's halfway to the door, scooping up her jacket.

"Scully, wait, I didn't mean..."

But she's not even slowing down to listen to me.  I have to launch myself
across the room and physically jam the door shut with one foot while I try to
get a grip on her.  It's not easy because she's making a pretty credible
getaway attempt; I've seen men from the Ten Most Wanted list struggle less when
they're collared.  I finally manage to pin her up against the door, but she
doesn't stop struggling, and I take a second to enjoy the feeling of Scully
wiggling against me, only a couple of layers of flimsy clothing separating our
skin.

I reach behind her and turn the lock. "If I let you go, are you going to bail
out of here like your ass is on fire or are you going to talk to me?"

"Just let me go."

"No."

She finally looks up at me and she's mad enough to kill, sparks flying out of
her blue, blue eyes.  Obviously, talking is out.

So I do the only thing I can think of, and I lean down and kiss her, hard.

For I second, I think I'm going to get bitten.  She growls again, and this time
it sounds dangerous.

Only when I let go of her arms, she doesn't push me away.  She circles one
around my waist and reaches a hand down to squeeze my ass.

Thank you, God.

Our kiss gets hotter and wetter in seconds and it's my turn to reach for her
ass.  I squeeze it back while Scully grinds her pelvis into mine, in a dreamy
circular motion that erases any thought I might have had about going slowly. 
I've been waiting years for this moment and I'm pretty sure she has, too.  But
if I'm going to avoid coming in my shorts I need a little space.

I pull back and look at her.

Scully's so beautiful.

"Are we really going to do this here?"  She's grinning, and I doubt the idea's
bothering her much.  It's after eleven, the door's locked, no one's here. I say
that aloud and she nods, reaching for my belt.  I don't stop her until I've
gotten her shirt completely untucked.  I pull it off and she gets right back to
work unzipping my dress pants.  Looking up, she seems to realize that she's
bypassed some constricting stuff and goes after my tie, trying to shake the
hair out of her face with an impatient toss.

I stroke the silky hair off her face while she undoes my tie, and trace the
sculpted line of her jaw. 

"When was your last physical?"

"Why -- oh."  I grin; Scully's even practical when she's about to explode from
sheer horniness.  Good girl.  "I haven't had sex in about three years and I've
tested clean since then.  Hey, Scully?  Did you sleep with Ed Jerse?"

That stops her cold.  "No," she says after a minute, and I let out a breath I
didn't know I'd been holding.  She shrugs sheepishly.  "Almost, but I just
couldn't.  You,"  she pauses, "I was pretty mad at you, but not that mad."

"I thought it wasn't about me."

It takes her a second to remember the conversation, but she gets it.  She
shrugs again.  "It wasn't =entirely= about you.  But when push came to shove,
it felt a lot like cheating." She looks up at me quizzically, and I don't know
what to say, so I kiss her again.

This time it's slow, sweet.  We take the time to savor each other's taste, the
feel of our bodies sliding against each other. I stroke her back and marvel at
the softness of her skin, at the solid muscle.  I hit the overhead light before
I unhook her bra and slide it down off her shoulders.

In the shadows and angled light from the desk lamp, I kiss my way down her
velvety throat, as she hums her approval.  We struggle for a second because I'm
going for her breasts at the same time she's trying to strip my shirt off, and
we both snicker at our teenage fumbling.  But this is just so, so amazing...

"Fox."  I jerk up, staring, before I realize that she's just trying it out. 
"Yecch.  Mulder."

That does me in, and I start to laugh.

She scowls at me, but she's faking it; she's kicking off her shoes, peeling off
her jeans.  "Shut up, Mulder.  And lose the pants."

I'm still cracking up, but I do as I'm told, and before they're all the way
off, I hear a crash.  Scully's sweeping everything off my desk with a lavish
gesture.

"Hey, =Scully=! Jesus!"  Files everywhere, paper clips, broken mug complete
with coffee dregs spilled out, pens, photos...

But Scully's standing in front of the mess wearing a delicious little pair of
pink panties and nothing else.  Those may be the nicest tits I've ever seen,
medium-sized but high and rounded, and they're wobbling provocatively as she
picks her way through the disaster that our office just turned into and,
without preamble, slides a hand into the fly of my boxers.

Jesus Mary and Joseph.  Where does a nice Catholic girl learn how to do that? 
"Scully," I start to plead, and then she drops to her knees and gives me a
scorchingly wicked look as she tugs my boxers down to my ankles.

Any chance I had for rational thought goes right out the window.  She swirls
her tongue delicately once around the head of my cock and has me in her throat
a second later.  "Aaahh.  God, Scully." She scrapes my length lightly with her
teeth, then curls her tongue around my girth and begins to slide up and down
slowly, deliberately. Up, down.  Her mouth is hot and wet and she's not
particularly gentle.  

This is unreal but I'm going to come in a minute.  I grab her shoulders and
pull her up to her feet for a long kiss.  I steer her backwards and lower her
onto the desk.

"Tell me...this is one of your fantasies, isn't it?"  I love this new, sly
sex-kitten look she's giving me.  In the years I've spent with Scully, I've
never seen it before - but then again, I've never had her nearly naked on my
desk before, either.

"Yeah, it is.  What about you?  Thought about doing it on the desk before?"

"Only about once a day.  So are you going to fuck me or just talk about it?"

She's grinning from ear to ear and so am I.  There's going to be plenty of time
for tender lovemaking in our future but this time it's just going to be a good
hard fuck.  And we both know it.

But not quite yet.  I have another fantasy to fulfill first.

"Depends, Scully," I tell her, pulling her panties off.  "Think you can behave
for another couple of minutes?"

I don't wait to hear her answering shot.  I push her legs apart and get down on
my knees, burying my head between her legs.

The sound she makes when I lick her from the bottom of her opening to the edge
of her clitoris indicates that she's willing to wait a minute.  I take my time,
enjoying her squirming as much as her silkiness and the musky taste of her
body.  She's sensitive and she apparently likes a rhythmic, circular tonguing. 
A few minutes of that, plus a finger buried inside her, make her come in about
two minutes.  The throaty animal sounds she makes, plus that inarticulate moan
of passion at the end, make me crazy.  I want her to say my name like that,
wild.

I stand up and climb up on top of her.  We just hug for a second; there's a lot
of things that I want to say to her but they're all going to have to wait
because she's already squirming around, reaching for my cock, and then I'm
inside her.

Wet. Hot as fire, slick and incredibly tight.

I pull back to look at her and it almost breaks my heart.

"God, Scully, Dana, am I hurting you?"

"No, no," she gasps, holding me to her when I try to pull away, "it's just been
so long.  Just go slow."  Her arms come up around my back and I feel her relax
fractionally, slowly, until she sighs and her eyes go liquid and smoky again.  

And I was wrong, because it could never be just a fuck, not with her.  It's
breathless and passionate, sure. We start off slowly, feeling each other's need
increasing as we move against each other. I settle myself more securely between
her thighs and lift my head so that I can see her half-shut eyes, and she tilts
her mouth up to mine.  

It's been a long time for me, too, and I have to concentrate hard because I
want this to last long enough to be good for her. Hard and fast.  I say her
name and her eyes open long enough for her to breathe mine, low and husky, the
sweetest thing I've ever heard her say.  And then I know that reciting the
alphabet backwards isn't going to bail me out because I'm reeling with it, with
the pure pleasure of making love to Scully like this, after all these years...

...but I hear her voice breaking on my name, feel her tighten around me and
begin to convulse, and I know I've held out long enough.  I explode with her,
sobbing her name, and we sink slowly into lassitude together.

It's a while before I feel the hard wood of the desk digging furrows in my
palms and elbows, smell the dust and the rubber eraser tips on the pencils
beside our sweat and the scent of our bodies.  I must be crushing her, but when
I try to get up she won't let me.

"Stay."

I kiss her again.  Damp with sweat, flushed and glowing.  So beautiful.

"You're incredible.  How did I stay away from you for so long?"

She turns her head to me and asks softly, "But you won't any more?"

"I couldn't."

She smiles up at me.  "That was amazing, but..."

She did that deliberately, which is the only reason why my heart doesn't stop. 
"Don't tease like that. `But' what?"

"But you're a pig, Mulder.  Just look at the mess in this office."

I bite her shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, and she yelps.  "So are you
coming home with me?"

"No, =you're= coming home with =me=."

We get up carefully, and get dressed again.  I look at the floor and then,
accusingly at Scully, who gives me an innocent little `who, me?' look. 

We leave the mess for tomorrow.  She takes me home.


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Any/all comments to greatfuldane@yahoo.com
If there are any men reading this trash, let me know if this works for you. 
What in the hell got into me that I wrote this from first person-Mulder POV,
I'll never know.