Title: Urges Author: Ann K Summary: Scully stands at the brink of acting upon her desire for her partner, when Mulder gives her the incentive to move forward. Rating: R. Lots of sexual tension, some bad words. Timeline/Spoilers: No real spoilers here. Vague timeline, as well. Pre-season seven, at least. You decide. Disclaimers: Once, a little boy named Chris created two wonderful characters, Mulder and Scully. He refused to share, so we rushed 1013, took over the offices, brought Mulder out of "hiding," and ... Ok, not really. He owns them, I'm broke and envious. Thanks: to Kayla and Richard. Feedback welcomed and responded to at annhkus@yahoo.com. For more of my XF stories, visit my website at http://www.geocities.com/annhkus Urges (1/1) I. If Mulder gives me one more doleful-eyed glance, I am going to jump him. Literally. The image of him on his back, his shirt hanging in shreds, calling my name as I undo his zipper with my teeth brings a slight smile to my face. For whatever reason, I am so aroused today that I think I could have an orgasm at the word "boo." Blame it on hormones. Blame it on this morning's fast-food coffee. Blame it on the full moon last night. Just don't put any blame where it truly belongs, on the fact that I am insanely in love with, and more than a little physically attracted to, my partner. Yes, I, Dana Scully, oh she of an iron will and an even more determined do-it-all-by- myself-attitude, am finding myself wilting at the feet of Mulder. The altar of Mulder. The shrine of Mulder. I grin again, picturing myself naked at Mulder's feet, my tongue running up his leg to his ... "Uh, Scully?" Said partner's voice brought me back to reality. He was looking at me curiously, and I blushed, praying that my panting breaths or heaving chest hadn't given me away. Yes, Mulder, I am having a rough afternoon. Why? Because of you, and the fact that the last time I was intimate with a man, I was known only as "Dana" and thought I looked good in plaid. "Maybe we should call it a day, Scully," he announced after staring at me for a moment more, then apparently deciding it wasn't a wise move to ask any questions. Good call, Mulder. I watched as he stacked a few files on the corner of his desk and reached to unplug the projector. Don't bend over, Mulder. Please don't bend over. Holy mother of god. He bent over. I jumped out of my seat and began to grab my things, realizing with an increasing sense of dread that, if I didn't get out of our office this instant, things were likely to get complicated. Not in a fantasy, Mulder the pirate sort of way, but in a we're partners and we have to work together way. "So, is that a yes, Scully?" I pause long enough to figure out that he has asked me something, and I have no idea what. I look at him stupidly. "I said," he repeated for my benefit, "how about dinner tonight at my place, since I did drag you all over the country this past week and kept you in the office late on a Friday." Mulder is asking me to dinner. I glance heavenward, waiting for a sign from God as to how I should respond to this cruel joke. I am only mortal. I can only take so much before I react like any normal woman would, around a man whose beautiful lips, long fingers and forlorn glances are designed to drive women absolutely insane. "I can't, Mulder," I reply quickly, eying the open door and the elevator. Get to the door, Dana. Get to the door and take a deep breath of air away from Mulder and you'll be fine. I am rambling. "I thought I would work on some reports tonight, catch up on some paperwork for next week, you know ..." He is protesting, and his hand reaches out and grabs me on the arm, and I think this is it. I can't take it anymore. Which is the only excuse for what comes out of my mouth next. "You have a penis, Mulder." That shut him up. The dazed look on his face would have been comical if it wasn't for the frustration churning in my belly. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and gave me a confused look. "So glad you noticed, Scully. Yes, I do have a penis." I sighed, a little melodramatically for the situation, but I was tired of discussing this with him. Could he not understand that I wanted more, more than just friends and partners? Did he not see that I was melting into a quivering pile of arousal before his very eyes? Dinner was just not an option, not tonight. Slamming my files into my briefcase, I spelled it out for him. "It's not just your actual penis, Mulder. It's your mental penis." There, that was clear. "Mental penis?" "Yes, your mental penis. That part of your psyche that makes you act like a man, in all the stereotypically, infuriating ways that drive me crazy." With desire, I finished silently, but there was no need to share the rest of that thought with him. "Let me get this straight, Scully. You are declining my invitation to dinner based on the fact that I have a mental penis floating around in my head that causes me to act in ways that might be offensive to you." "Yes. No. Mulder, you are twisting my words." I was practically screaming at him now. Must be the years of pent-up sexual frustration, my logical side chimed in. But, if you would just shut up, the much more persuasive aroused voice responded, you might still have a chance to get him in bed by nightfall. Forget the bed. Try the carpet by the front door. I drew in a deep, steadying breath. God, give me strength. "I cannot come to dinner tonight," I offered, enunciating each word carefully, accenting it with my fingers on his desk. "I cannot come to dinner tonight because I need to get away from you this weekend." Oh, great. I hurt his feelings. His face fell at my words, and the part of his brain that was still trying to understand his mental penis now took my statement literally. "If you didn't want to see me, Scully, you could have just said so," he finally mumbled after a moment of silence. That was it. I was such a shrew. Special Agent Dana Scully, MD, Queen Shrew. This is what years of intimacy with a vibrator and close proximity to an unattainable man would do for you. "I've got to go, Mulder," I managed to utter as I rushed past him toward the door. The elevator button was cool under my fingers. I could feel Mulder's eyes on my back, his confusion obvious, but refused to turn around to look at him. To do so would have spelled the end of a perfectly good platonic professional relationship and the beginning of the XXX-rated "Dana Does Her Partner." The sex files. A bad, bad idea. II. "At last," I sighed, sinking into the couch cushions, throwing a worn afghan over my legs and reaching for the book on the coffee table beside me. I survived another day. A day of sexual torture, lingering glances and all things Mulder. I am home, where I am a master of my domain. I am Superwoman. The rain has just begun to fall against the windows outside. The apartment still smells like the lasagna I had for dinner, my hair is still wet from a good hot shower and I can still feel the curls of satisfaction in my toes from my earlier concession to pressing needs and obligations. My self-imposed absolution from the vibrator lasted all over four hours. What can I say? I am only human. I look down at the worn novel, trying to remember when I'd last read. Even the title causes me to smirk. "She's Come Undone." Oh, how fascinating. Someone has done a study of my obsession with Mulder and the withering away of my professional career without my knowledge. I wonder when I can expect the royalties to start. I am so amused by my own joke that it takes a moment for me to realize the sound I hear is not rain falling on the windows. Or the icemaker. Or a car backfiring. It is a knock on my door. A hesitant, tentative, "I'm not sure I should be here, but here I am anyway" knock. A Mulder knock. "God, no," I mutter, pulling the afghan up to my eyes and sinking further onto the couch, before I remind myself that is an immature reaction. Besides, Mulder already knows you are here, since your car is parked out front and your lights are on. Where else would you be? Oh, right. Over at your partner's house, watching him run around the kitchen in his apron and licking the remnants of dinner from his fingers, one by one. Don't open the door, Dana. He'll never know you were here. A second, more tentative knock comes through the door, and I can picture him standing in the hallway, shifting his weight from one side to another, pushing his hands into his pockets, looking all vulnerable and sexy in that way only Mulder can. If he is wearing denim and leather, I am truly lost. I was standing at the door before I realized that I was even moving. Some help here please, I prayed, as I pulled the door open a crack. "Mulder?" I whispered, peeking around the corner. "I'm sorry, Scully. Did I wake you? I thought you might like some dessert, since dinner wasn't a good option. And I wanted to talk." Many years ago, when I wore pigtails and believed in Santa Claus (and not the crazy transvestite claiming to be Saint Nick that Mulder had stumbled across last year), I was forced to sit through a sex education class at school. I recalled little of the actual talk, just being embarrassed and intrigued all at the same time. Yet it was the last words from the intimidating nun that stuck with me. Turn away from temptation. I could no more turn away from Mulder than I could a pint of Ben and Jerry's, which, to make matters worse, he held toward me in his outstretched hand. He was wearing his jeans, and his black sweater that clung lightly to his shoulders. His hair was damp, and I could see the beads of water clinging to his leather jacket. It would have to be the denim and leather. Haven't I been punished enough? I opened the door without a word, mostly because I couldn't speak. Mulder walked in as though it was his place, and not mine. But I could tell he was nervous. He repeatedly chewed on his bottom lip, and I watched, fascinated, as he absentmindedly ran his fingers through his hair. Not once, but twice. I was indeed distracted, a walking sexual disaster waiting to happen, but I could see all the signs. His feelings were hurt, he thought I was acting strangely, and he was determined to figure out what the hell was going on. It was Profiler Mulder and Super Agent Mulder and Determined Mulder all in one. Did I mention that I was in deep trouble here? "I'll just get some bowls for this in the kitchen," he murmured after an awkward moment of silence. He brushed past me and the smell was intoxicating. I was drunk on it from his brief proximity. God, Dana, you really need help. "Are the bowls still in the cabinet beside the sink?" "Mmm," I managed to respond, finding my way back to the couch and sitting unceremoniously, pulling the afghan tighter to my body. It was all that stood between me and a soon to be naked Mulder, at least if that annoying aroused voice in my head had its way. "Spoons are in the small drawer." He knows where your spoons are. He knows what kind of shampoo you use, he knows when you are having your period, and he knows that you have a stupid fear of clowns from a prank Bill pulled on you when you were five. He is also your partner, and your friend, and anything more would complicate things in a way that you couldn't begin to comprehend. But complication might be good, I reasoned. Complication would mean walking up to a warm Mulder body every morning, having someone to wash your hair for you, and relegating that damn vibrator to the back of the closet. I weighed the options. Theoretical complications? Or nightly earth-shattering orgasms? Tough call. The couch shifted slightly. Please, Mulder, don't sit next to me on the couch. He sat next to me on the couch. I could forgive him, though, because, in addition to his slightly tousled hair and dark sweater, he had a bowl of Ben and Jerry's rocky road in each hand. He had even rummaged through my refrigerator, finding a bowl of Cool Whip and some hot fudge. I haven't had this many calories in one sitting in months. Maybe it is a sign, the aroused Dana whispered. You need to get a jolt of energy for later on. "Can I interest you in some chocolate?" he asks, in his nicest Mulder tone. Mulder, you can interest me in most anything. "Thanks," I answer quickly, taking the bowl from him, careful to avoid his hands. Chocolate. Perfect comfort food. And the perfect aphrodisiac. I can't help but to snort softly. As if I needed that. He watches me for a moment, and then takes a bite of his whipped cream. I stop myself from moaning at the last second. Mulder eating that spoonful of whipped cream is the single most erotic experience I have ever had. He is really putting on a show. His tongue reaches out slightly, and then his lips curl around the spoon, and his eyes shut for the briefest of moments, as if savoring the most exquisite taste in the world. A touch of whipped cream remains on his lower lip, and he takes another aim at my rapidly crumbling resolve when his tongue reaches out to taste it. I swear, my toes are curling at the sight of it. Then he speaks. I concentrate on his voice at first, missing some of the words. "So I have racked my brain trying to figure out what I did to upset you, Scully, and I honestly cannot think of it. I know I have a gift for pissing you off. But what you said to me in our office has been bothering me all evening. And I need to know what is going on." Ah, the moment of truth, where one can play it safe or follow one's desires. Since I met Mulder, when have I been known to play it safe? "Mulder, you corrupt me." My thoughts sneak into my voice, and I suppose the decision has been made. "Excuse me?" he asks, obviously puzzled. I am leaning towards him, pulled in by the force of his magnetism, and I start to ramble. I cannot stop. Everything tumbles out of my mouth at once, without regard for propriety or convention. "You corrupt me, Mulder. You make me think things that I shouldn't, make me want things that scare me. I want you, more than just as my partner." I manage to sit his half-empty bowl of ice cream on the coffee table as I stop, inches from his face. I am sorry, but the famous resolve, the ice queen mask of professionalism and strength, the moral compass, has all been shot to hell. There is nothing left but Mulder and I. I will be embarrassed if I come before he even touches me, but I am damned close. Mulder's eyes are wide, but he makes no attempt to stop me as I press my lips softly against his. Good move, Mulder. I don't think I could be stopped now if an alien ship landed in my living room. I taste the cold of the whipped cream seconds before he opens his mouth slightly, letting my tongue slip inside and flick against his teeth. I don't know if the groan is his or mine, but it is a groan of incredible arousal and need. My aroused Scully is doing backflips of excitement at this very moment, as I taste him, the delicious taste of Mulder combining with the warmth of the chocolate. I am in bliss. He tentatively runs one hand up through my hair, and pulls me closer to him. Closer is good. Closer means I get to feel Mulder beneath my hands as he continues to kiss me, both of us breathing heavy in the silence of my apartment. Funny, but I think Mulder may want this as much as I do. If I needed any more proof, he pulls me on top of him, and the twinges of arousal grow stronger. I have felt Mulder's body before. He has landed on top of me, and vice versa, at the end of numerous bizarre chases and strange moments. Mulder's body always has a certain heat, a comfort of sorts. But this feeling is beyond my experience. Maybe it is the growl that escapes his lips as I settle into his lap. Maybe it is the fact that his arousal is evident against my stomach. Why was waiting for this ever a good idea? I trace one hand down his chest, and his hand mirrors mine to rest on my breast. His touch is warm, so incredibly warm, and I find myself pushing against it, wanting to feel more of his hands upon me, to erase the chill I feel on my fingers. Chill? I glance over to see that my hand is submerged in melting rocky road and cool whip, and it is cold. I sit back, somewhat stunned, and hold the concoction in front of Mulder with a dazed look on my face. I couldn't come up with a coherent sentence right now if someone held a gun to my head. Ah, but my dear, sweet, irrepressible Mulder. What he does next confirms everything I have ever suspected about him, and the reason why I have avoided this very moment with all my being. I knew I would be lost, I knew the balance of power would shift, I knew I would turn into a wanton sex maven, for god's sakes. Mulder is a sex god. Mulder's motto? Seize the day. And the opportunity. I watch as a corner of his mouth turns up and he leans over, his breath warm against my arm. I sit absolutely still. He lingers by my hand, and then I feel it. My eyes squeeze shut as I concentrate on his touch. The warmth of his mouth circling the cream on my fingers, sliding it in and out of his mouth. The erotic imagery alone is enough for me. I recognize the voice calling his name as my own, and I come with such intensity that for a moment, the room gets dark and I swear I see stars above Mulder's head. And a halo. My Mulder is such an angel. III. I lay back against the cushions, my eyes closed, as my embarrassment grows. I did not just have one of the best orgasms of my life from a few soft touches and an incredible finger-sucking episode with my partner. My partner. Agent Mulder, my partner and best friend. While my brain is busy rationalizing my actions over the past thirty minutes and deciding how embarrassed I should be, my hands are otherwise occupied, running up and down Mulder's back, finally stopping to rest on his waist. Hey, I am a modern woman. I can multi-task. "Mulder?" "Hmm?" "Are you okay?" So much depends on his answer to that question. "No," and my post-orgasm bliss melts away and I have to start remedying this situation, pronto. "Yes," and I get him naked, immediately. "I don't know," and I start apologizing. "Scully, I had no idea whipped cream tasted so good," and I dump the remnants of our dessert on his stomach and feast ravenously. I am not prepared for his laugh. A deep, husky, masculine laugh, which I so rarely hear from Mulder. Is he laughing at me? When his arms pull me closer to him and he kisses my neck softly, the truth dawns. I am not stupid, but I sure missed this one. "You knew the entire time?!" I am screeching, but I am also indignant. "You knew what was going through my head all day, and you didn't say anything? You let me act all stupid, and then you came over here with my favorite ice cream and seduced me, for god's sakes? That whole licking the cream from the spoon thing. For my benefit?" He is grinning. "Scully, I know you far too well. And I also knew exactly what you were feeling." Before I have the chance to hit him, because I really want to, he says something that makes it all okay. "Because I was feeling the same thing, too. I have been for a long time." I stare at him, my mouth slightly open, my cheeks still flushed from the remnants of the incredible orgasm only moments before. I am making the connection here. Point A to Point B equals a big old C. I want Mulder, he wants me, and we are dry humping on my couch. Neither one of us seems to know what to say at this point. It is awkward, sure. But the reality of what we are changing here, what we are about to change, is looming. And a little intimidating. He stands with his hands on his hips. "The way I look at it, Scully, we have three different options here." Oh, good. Mulder and I are about to rationalize about something together, something really big and very complex. That always works out well. But, hey. I don't know what else to do. "I'm game, Mulder. What are our options?" "One, Scully, I can walk out that door and see you in the office Monday morning. This never happened, and we never act on our feelings again." Hmm. Bad option. I may be nervous about the whole thing, but I don't want to go backwards. I shake my head and he smiles. "Good, I didn't like that one either." He is silent for another minute, and I find myself growing increasingly anxious. From the look on his face, he is, too. I think he is scared I am going to go back to option one. He sits down next to me and props his elbow on the back of the couch. "Two, we can finish what we started. No hesitations, but no commitments. We can have intercourse, fuck, have sex. Whatever you want to call it to make it okay. But tonight would be it. The ultimate in one-night stands, I suppose, and then the world returns to the way things were." I am breathless. I can't figure out from his expression what he is thinking. Mulder has one of the best poker faces I know, never revealing his hand until he wants to. I am tempted to shake him to take that expression off his face, but I stop myself. My voice is hoarse. I am dying here. "What is the third option, Mulder?" He looks at me for a long time, and reaches over to hold my hand. His fingers are warm, and I close my eyes at his touch. This man is good. "The third option, Scully? The third option is where you and I make love all night, tomorrow, however long we want to. We figure out how to deal with this, to make it work." Do you ever have one of those moments where the world slows down, and it seems as if everyone is waiting with baited breath for the other shoe to drop? Mulder is looking at me with a steady gaze. I can't read him. I have no idea what he is thinking. I replay tonight, this morning, every day of our partnership in our head. "Three was always my lucky number, Mulder." He is quiet for a beat longer, and then a grin begins on his face. An honest to goodness happy smile is beaming from Mulder. I would tease him if I didn't know my face mirrored his own. He reaches over and grazes his hand down my cheek, pulling me to him. "Aha," he whispers. "Agent Scully opts for romance. Very nice." Very nice. Very nice indeed. End