Title: Crawl Space Author: Gwendolyn February 1999 E-mail: gwendyn@aol.com Rating: NC-17 Category: MSR, H Spoilers: Nah Keywords: Smut, MSR, Humor, PWP Summary: Mulder and Scully find themselves in a tight spot. Archive: Yes to Gossamer and to all -- if you're not Gossamer please let me know you're using it so I can visit. Disclaimer: They're not mine. They do belong to CC, 1013, Fox and possibly even others of whom I am unaware. Author's notes at end. Feedback...yum. ~~~ Crawl Space Her breath against my cheek was a distraction. I struggled to ignore it as I listened to the men who traveled the floor above us. "They were here recently," an unknown man said. "They're probably still nearby. We could go after them." "No. Right now, I'm more interested in what they were here after. Have the men go through the crates. Be thorough." Fucking Cancer Man. Fucking Cancer Man and his fucking lackeys and I was trapped under the fucking floor in the fucking boxed-in crawl space of the fucking warehouse in the middle of fucking nowhere with Scully's heavy breath falling on my fucking face. She smelled like a latte from Starbucks; I caught a faint whiff of AquaFresh. Above us, I mean *right* above us, strange men spoke in hushed tones and the sound of steel scraping wood signaled the opening of the crates. Her breath against my cheek was certainly a distraction but it was nothing compared to the delicate sway of her chest above mine or the movement of her hips on my stomach as she tried to maneuver herself into a more comfortable position. I wanted to yell at her to just STOP IT. We were trapped together in a musty crawl space roughly the size of a coffin, with only a sliver of light penetrating the thankfully thick floorboards and she was not going to get comfortable, no matter how many times she swiveled her hips. I, on the other hand, was becoming markedly less comfortable and she was going to have the proof of my discomfort if she didn't stop. But I couldn't say a word, not a syllable. I couldn't even grunt in my agony for fear that they would hear. Them - directly above us, casting intermittent shadows as they moved across the floorboards and spoke in clipped tones. The world seemed to shrink and become only these two forces - them and us. Them and us and Scully's breath and the fresh scent of her skin and the pressure of her body against mine, the swivel of her hips. From above, the sound of a match being lit. The aroma of Morleys. "Sir," the unknown man asked, "what if the vial isn't here? They could have found it already. We should send someone after Agents Mulder and Scully." Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. With some effort, I bent my elbows and raised my hands to those active hips and forcefully stilled them. It surprised her some and she dropped her weight suddenly. Full frontal Scully. On top of me. Every inch of the front of her was touching some part of the front of me, including my rather indelicate hard on. No missing that. It seemed to surprise her a little - she jerked her head up to look me in the eyes. My, my, my, her quirked eyebrow said, what have we here? As if she couldn't guess. She's a doctor for Christ's sake. I sort of shrugged - at least it passed for a shrug under our cramped circumstances. Hey, I'm only a man. She seemed to understand. That's my Scully. A veritable cornucopia of peace, love and understanding. Ashes rained through the floorboard as old Smoke and Mirrors chastised Lackey #1. "You're not being compensated to think or ask questions. Just find the vial. I will deal with the rest." Scully settled onto me more firmly, as if taking up residence. It seemed a natural progression when my hands roamed from her hips to her ass and finally all the way around, cradling her there against me. It was the least I could do to economize space. I was surprised when she dropped her head to press a smooth cheek to mine. Even more surprised when her legs spread slightly in her lavender skirt to subtly straddle me. I figured it was part of her effort to economize space as well. What a trooper. The voices above us quieted to a dull roar as the unknown went about their house-cleaning duties. I should have been paying them more attention, I know. But, then again, Scully was a distraction. The whole of her resting on me, the curve of her legs around mine. For once in my sorry excuse for a life, I lost focus on the conspiracy above us, and thought only of the pleasures afforded by the flesh of the flesh-and-bone woman straddling me so gracelessly. She was an assault on my senses. I wanted to tell her to stop assaulting me and to never stop assaulting me and to pretty-please move just a little to the left but I couldn't say a word, so I squeezed her ass gently. A bold move, Mr. Mulder, I could hear the well-turned out British man telling me discordantly in my head. Indeed. She pulled her head up slowly and touched the tip of my nose with the tip of her patrician one. We looked at each other. The look she gave me through the semi-light and the dust and the smoke was significant but I couldn't read it. I wasn't operating on full thrust, so to speak. Her eyes, the same ones in which I have been able to read whole autopsy reports without a word spoken between us, were a fathomless mystery to me. Then, she smiled. "There are more crates in the back. I'm sending some of the men to look there." "What do you want - a commendation? You're wasting time talking," our old pal said contemptuously. "I'm sorry, sir. I just thought you'd want to know." "You were wrong." I was transfixed by Scully's grin. She started to move her head back and forth. Confused, I first thought she was making the universally understood signal for "no." Then, to my amazement, I realized she was giving me Eskimo kisses. I moved my head too and grinned up at her like the fool I was, am and forever will be. World without end. Amen. In retrospect, the whole thing seems pretty unreal. Of their own accord, my hands moved down to the hem of her skirt and tugged it up, up, up until it was as short as that of some TV character on Ally McBeal. Scully slowly moved her hands down to cover mine. Well, that's it, I thought; she will surely not allow such dastardly deeds to prosper. My days of feeling up my partner in musty, dusty, dark and tiny crawl spaces were over. Kaput. Done. Finished forever. Deep sixed. A thing of the past. Boy was I wrong. A cell phone rang. We froze in momentary shock, afraid it was one of ours. Fortunately, though, we had been smart enough to turn ours' off when we went into the building. It came from above us. His smoke-damaged voice answered it. "Yes." Dramatic pause. "Rest assured, if the vial is here, we will find it." His tone was deferential. "If it's not here, then we'll find it somewhere else," he finally said defensively. I can't say I know the man well, but I know fear when I hear it and he was afraid. I wondered for the slightest fleeting second what would happen to him if he didn't find the stolen antidote and what would happen to us if he did. Then, I forget to wonder about anything. Almost anything. I did wonder how the hell I was going to manage to get through the rather daunting experience of having Scully guide my hands under her skirt and up to the elastic band of her Lady Hanes without some kind of verbal response. It's true. Unlikely as it may sound, she herself boldly led me to the Promised Land. Right there. Right then. Phoebe Green could learn a thing or two from Dana Scully about strange places. My mind drew tortured parallels between the tight, humid space we were in and the tight, humid space I was being drawn into. It was like being returned to the womb. Figuratively, I mean. The hose were nylon. Then panties were cotton. The rest was a little piece of heaven right here on God's near-forsaken earth. I slid my hands around her bare ass and between her legs. I sensed her surprise when my fingers found her there. I wanted to speak, to say, " Well, Scully, what the hell did you expect? You led me here." But I couldn't speak, couldn't move in any way that would betray our presence to the man who sat on the chair that sat on the floor which served as our only shelter. We had been slowly working our way toward such an encounter for the weeks up until then with an economy of soft touches and closed mouth kisses. We'd come close to actually talking about the shift in our relationship, a bold step for us, but didn't quite get around to it. Apparently, we had progressed further than I even realized. The situation sucked. Then again, it didn't. Few of life's precious gifts are in the free and clear and our compromise of silence was a small one in comparison to some others we've made. I was getting a cramp in my wrist but made an executive decision not to let that stop my progress. I flexed my fingers and stretched them out in preparation. My first strokes were awkward and tentative. I doubt she had too much trouble controlling her reaction. Looking up at her piercing eyes, I saw nothing to betray any feeling on her part. I took that as a challenge. Shutting my eyes, I found her clit and shakily caressed it, making paintbrush strokes with the pads of my fingers, absorbing the increasing moisture. To her credit, Scully made no sudden damning movement; she did not utter a sound. Under different circumstances, it would have been insulting. She did close her eyes. Languorously. I hadn't known until that moment it was possible for me to become harder. It was becoming a strain on my sanity, not to mention my zipper. Above us still, came the sounds of the minions, the worker ants. Shuffling, scraping, and banging crates across the floor. The sound was by turns deafening and oddly distant. I suppose it was because of the blood rushing around in my fool head. Dear Lord. We were fools. How could we even consider what we were doing? I panicked briefly, thinking that if they could not hear us, then they would surely smell us. But that was impossible, I knew. Wasn't it? It had to stop. This wasn't child's play - the simple thrill of fooling around in a dangerously vulnerable place. Our lives were at stake. If he found us, he'd kill us. Then again, I thought, I might be able to talk him out of it. Hell, we probably wouldn't be caught anyway. They were making enough noise up there to drown us out and we could be quiet. So quiet it hurt. My quest may be for the unabridged truth but I can rationalize with the best of them. And apparently, so can Scully. She wasn't making any motion for me to stop. She was tense, so tense, with the strain of not uttering a sound. Her breath exhaled in small, near-silent hisses and she ground her ass back against my forearms and spread her legs further, balancing herself on her knees as she reached her own hand down to my fly. She unbuttoned my pants. I knew where this was going and I stilled my hands suddenly to signal her to stop. Don't get me wrong, I wanted what she was offering but the sound of my zipper opening would be too much. They might hear. Scully realized it too and stilled her hand over my pants, cupping my dick in the palm of her hand. Shit. It didn't seem quite fair. At that moment in time, I wanted nothing more than to feel the soft flesh of her hand on me, with no barriers between us. It seemed impossible. Fortunately for me, my Scully is a problem solver. She raised her head as high as possible in the cramped space and cocked it to the side slightly, her face a mask of fierce concentration. My world stopped as I gazed up at her in wonder. Words chased themselves in aimless circles around my mind... I've waited and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited... She grasped the top of my zipper in obvious anticipation of her next move. God Bless her for taking control like that. If we got caught, I could blame it on her carelessness. Not that I would. Well, I might. Anyway, it was all in her hands, and they usually provide pretty decent odds. After about five thousand years, a crate fell. Loudly. Scully took advantage of the noisy distraction to quickly rend apart my zipper. It was as religious an experience as the parting of the Red Sea as far as I was concerned. A chorus of angels sang in praise of her ingenuity. We paused briefly to make sure that no one heard. They plodded on above in ignorance. Poor bastards. In the days and years to come, I plan to make love to Scully in every possible position, in every conceivable way. We will add whole volumes worth of Appendices to the Kama Sutra. The next published edition will have a section devoted to us, with a thumbnail identifying picture accompanied by a caption: "Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully have contributed significantly to the continuing practice and varying methodology of the sacred text." In the days and years to come, but not on our first try. I figured claustrophobic mutual masturbation would have to do. She shifted again, as was her wont, and plunged her right hand, the one she uses to make 'Y' incisions, down beneath the boundaries of cloth and elastic. Her hand gently contracted around my cock and she began to stroke with feather light touches. She touched me. She touched me and stroked and loved me and our lips hadn't even met. The only part of my brain still functioning grabbed onto the notion that I couldn't make a sound. No noise. No harsh movement. Oh, God - the irony-loving son of a bitch. I was plunged back to the early high-school days, getting a hand job by Ashley Goins under the bleachers at the dance. I'd forgotten how good that felt, how amazing and forbidden. And, with Scully, so much more. They were still doing their dirty work above us. Still searching, seeking the vial. The cure for the alien enslavement of the human race. I couldn't have cared less. My mind made enough of a journey out of its muddlement to remember to reciprocate and I began to touch her again, my fingers pressing into her moist, sensitive flesh with ever-increasing pressure, invading her. Gently. Gently. Her reward was a kiss. Full, open and sweet. I was drowning in those lips, surrounded by a dark ocean of Scully with waves breaking around me. There was no danger there. No fear of being discovered. Only sensation. I wanted to moan, to yell, to say I love you, Scully. Love you love you love you. Love this. Love your hands traveling the length of me, that thing you're doing with your wrist. Wanted to hear her moans and screams and words in return. Scully has never talked dirty to me and I wanted that too. Wanted to hear her say, 'ohyesMuldergiveittome, needyouinsidemenownownow fuckme fuckmehard.' It could happen. Suddenly, she stopped. Bitch. Tease. //Please don't take your hand away. // She took her hand away, and her lips, and I almost did speak, oblivious to the consequences. My mouth formed the word "no" but her hand shot up to cover it, stilling me. When she had assured herself of my silence she ran the hand up over my face in a quick, almost rough gesture. She smoothed my hair while I struggled to regain control. I reasoned that she was right. It was for the best to end this before it went too far. Right woman, right act, wrong place. A bed, what we needed was a bed with mints on the pillow and silk sheets in a room with central heating and air. Everything a woman like her deserves. Not here. Not with Satan right over us. But I did want it. I wanted her. There and then. Anywhere and anytime. Shit. Certainly, it wasn't as I had imagined it. In the honeyed world of our rich fantasy sex life; the world I built on a few smiles, some suggestive glances and a desire so thick it choked, I could go for hours on end while she begged for it like a porn star with acting skills. In my fantasies, there was always some kind of cushioning involved and we were free to scream and throw each other around like sex-crazed rag dolls without fear of repercussion. This was no fantasy but it was par for the course for our real lives. And, as habit would dictate, she was putting an end to the madness before it went too far. At least that's what one would think. "Sir, the men are almost done with the crates and nothing has been found. I don't think it's here." With sudden loud force, our old nemesis boomed, "Then, I suggest you look harder. There is no margin for failure. That antidote is the key to everything, you fool." "Yes sir." The man spoke with obvious resentment. Turns out, Scully's a beast. A beast with no small supply of strength and coordination. In many ways, she's also more of a mystery to me than any other animal, mineral or vegetable on this or any other planet, so I'm not even going to try to explain, even to myself, why she did what she did next. In this one matter, I have decided to take the path of least resistance. Rolling her body back, she sat up as much as possible on her knees, bare-assed in the cool air, and looked down at me again. Her hands moved to my waistband. Again she waited, assessing my silent confusion and the timber of the activity above us. She bent forward over me, her strained face only a few inches from mine. Her red hair, muted in the darkness, cascaded around her face. I heard her heart beat and mine. I felt the rush of shallow breath and met it with my own. The sound of us was like thunder in my ears but still so quiet. Had to be quiet. She kissed me again and suddenly I knew her intention. "We don't have much longer." "We're almost there." My hands fell to meet hers and at her slight pull, I raised my hips. In one swift movement, the pants and boxers were down. I was swaying in the breeze, bared before the eyes of my beloved if there had been enough light to see. We were almost there. I had only a brief moment to wonder if this final step was a good idea before Scully rocked back with her hips in a motion forever after to be known as the Scully-Special, positioned her hands just so and lowered herself onto me. The movement brought a low hiss from her lips as she pressed her face into my shoulder. I was inside her. Tight, tight, tight and still constricting around me. I wanted to be the romance novel hero. Wanted to plunge into her with long, slow, smooth strokes. I moved my hands, so that one fondled her hip while the other found her clit again. I caressed her as she swayed and swiveled her hips around me in small motions. It was a slow, almost painful friction. My jaw was clenched so tight it hurt but the pain only barely registered as a distraction. I buried my face into her neck and opened my mouth to let her skin suffocate me. Her mouth found my ear and she sucked on the lobe, her quiet pants coming quick and low. "Sir. We've gone through everything. It's simply not here. We should send someone to take care of them. I'm sure Mulder and his partner have the vial." "There are no certainties. Move the men out, send them away." He didn't sound like a happy man. "What about Mulder?" "He has nothing, he knows nothing- he's impotent." I'd show him. A flood of pressure was building. Scully, Scully, Scully. Above me and around me. Draped over me. Wet, warm and smooth. Everything we were and all that I ever needed was in that small, dark space. Her contractions around me began to come more quickly, in spasms. She was coming. I was making Scully come and I wasn't far behind. Conspiracy. What conspiracy? Pacing is difficult to establish under such constraints of space and sound but we were well matched. She began to trail wet kisses along my cheek and a low hum vibrated through her, more a movement than a sound as she came. I turned my head and found her lips for a kiss as she continued to move over me. My hips bucked despite my attempts to keep them still. Knowing my desperation, she pushed down harder and ground herself against me, rocking her hips again in small, swift motions. She absorbed my gasps and moans with her mouth and I finally found my release. Mindlessly, I bit her tongue, but she didn't register a complaint. They were packing up and moving out, oblivious. Just for the record: forensic pathologists *do* do it better. She continued to cradle me within her as we lay there in post-coital bliss and listened to the sounds above us begin to fade. Caution dictated that we wait about five minutes after the last voice was heard and the warehouse door shut behind them before we came out of hiding, in case someone was staying behind or coming back. We occupied our time in the now heavy silence with lazy kisses. Coming down from the frenzied euphoria, one part of my brain considered going after the bastards and quickly discarded the notion. It would be risky with very little chance of a pay-off. Besides, my legs probably wouldn't have held me at that point anyway. Finally, Scully broke off the kiss and patted my inside jacket pocket with her hand. "Gee, Mulder, is that a vial with the secret antidote to save the whole human race in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" She asked softly. "I believe that the correct answer, Agent Scully, would be both." "You're learning, soldier. You're learning." Yes, but I still have a long, long way to go. ~~The End~~ Feedback is held in high esteem and answered promptly at: gwendyn@aol.com Author's Notes: My ever-lasting love and gratitude to the girls of Naissance: Alanna, Dasha and Kirsten; wonderful inspirations for smutsters and lovers of good writing everywhere. This is their valentine - in other words, blame them. Thanks to them, too, for beta services rendered. And, thanks to my roomie Julie who also loves the XF, indulges my fanfic hobby, cackles appropriately when reading it and puts up with my puppy. And for beta services rendered. Note to my dear readers: When the cable guy comes to your house and says he can't run the cable under it because the crawl space is too small, don't believe him. He's just saying that because he doesn't want to get his nice pants dirty. You should call his supervisor and say: "Listen, if I don't have my cable by Sunday night, I'm coming over there and I'm taking hostages." At this point you will be frustrated by the cable guy, but he is cute, so it's ok to indulge your fantasies of him and you in the crawl space and later transfer them to Mulder and Scully. Not that that has anything to do with this story