Keywords: MSR, PWP
Archive: Gossamer and Ephemeral – NO. I will submit directly. Yes to everyone else. Please just let me know where.
Summary: The heat can do strange things to you.
Author’s Note: Once upon a time, there was a very naughty listie who made the grave mistake of QUADRUPLE posting. And not just on one list, but TWO.
::author hangs head in shame::
The rules are clear; those who do the crime must pay the price — namely, 100 lines ‘o smut per offense. Really guys, you all know how much I hate writing smut.
Is there anything worse than sitting in the sweltering heat of a cramped rental on the hottest day of the year, in Louisiana, for God’s sake, staking out a dead lead?
Why, yes there is! Thank you for asking. Sharing that already limited space with Fox Mulder. There it is, ladies and gentlemen, the icing on the cake. And why am I allowing myself to suffer in this sweatbox, you ask? Not to drop a few pounds, though I’d like nothing more than to drop about 180 pounds of lanky bullshit right about now.
The reason I’m here, ruining my favorite Donna Karan with very unladylike perspiration, is because my partner decided the Louisiana backwoods are the new hot spot for experimental aircraft using alien technology.
I could give a rat’s ass about alien technology right now. I could give a rat’s ass about the shack we’re parked outside of, too, sitting obvious as hell out in the open. The informant who lives here — if you can call it living — has flown the proverbial coop. I know it; Mulder knows it. Yet here we are, roasting inside a virtual oven like duck meat and veggies in a foil packet. All because Mulder has a hunch.
I wipe the dampness off my forehead, and the last remaining traces of makeup along with it. Something in me snaps. It isn’t just the pointless stakeout or the ruined makeup. No, it goes much deeper than that. I feel it bubbling in me, rising, growing, threatening to force my heart into implosion. It’s more powerful than me, and right now, I don’t have the strength to hold it back like I normally do.
Screw suffering in silence.
“What do you think we’re going to find here, Mulder?” I demand, ignoring the half-hysterical trill of my voice. “Bentley’s gone. No one is coming back.”
He doesn’t answer, which only serves to piss me off more. “This whole trip is pointless. Aliens in Louisiana, Mulder? What a farce. What the hell would they be doing here? And there isn’t a military installation for a hundred miles.”
He shifts in his seat, but I barely notice. I have a point to make here, and God knows I’m not going to stop until I figure out just what it is.
“Who lives like this anyway?” I gesture at the junked-out yard.
“It’s no wonder he chooses to live out in the middle of nowhere. Neighbors probably couldn’t stand the smell.” My nose wrinkles in disgust. “And are those shower curtains up against his windows? Why are all your so-called informants either complete slobs or losers.” It isn’t a question.
Mulder glares at me, but says nothing. This is an invitation for more.
“I’m hot,” I snap my head to glare back at him. “And if you make one flippant comment about that, they’re going to have to scrape you off the road. God, it’s hotter than hell in here. I’d open the windows, but the man-sized mosquitoes would only swarm.
“What’s with the AC anyway, Mulder? You’re just going to have to go to Enterprise later and trade this damn car in for another one. He’s not going to show, you know. We need to just go now and
pray that ancient motel you picked has a decent AC unit.”
I stop and stare at my partner, daring him to challenge me. He’s glaring at me again, but the silence in the car is broken only by the pathetic whoosh of the car’s air conditioner. Finally, he
“Are you finished?” he asks.
I think about this, decide I’ve exhausted my list of things to bitch about, and answer with a petulant tip of my chin.
He nods and does something that takes me by complete surprise — he gets out of the car. Well, I wasn’t expecting that. An argument about the importance of the stakeout to begin with or an excuse that he isn’t responsible for the state of the air conditioner yes, but leaving altogether — no. Hands laced behind his head, he paces out on the other side of the dirty, dust-covered windshield, as I sit and watch in curiosity.
He stops and looks at the shack of a house, appearing to be weighing his options. I can almost see the wheels in his head turning, and all I can do is hope he’s leaning toward retreat. He’s just standing there, fingers still entwined behind his thick hair. He tossed his coat and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows over an hour ago, while I kept my own on and — suffered. Maybe I have a bit of martyr in me after all. Whatever.
A new feeling is shoving the crazed heat-anger aside and forcing me to take in his exposed forearms, flexing slightly in the sunlight. I’m looking at the nerve jumping in his jaw, realizing that he’s angry with me too, but too busy noticing the fine angles and five o’clock shadow that make up his face to care. It’s not that I’ve never noticed his appeal before, but I think the fine sheen of sweat glistening on tanned skin is making it a little harder to ignore.
I’m also paying very close attention to his stance. Strong legs spread apart, leading to one marvel of a fine ass. I lick my lips without even realizing it until I taste the saltiness there. God,
what am I? Some cream puff in a romance novel, or a responsible and well-rounded agent of the law? I shake myself from my ogling and scoot over to get into the driver’s seat. My skirt keeps getting caught on the gearshift, so I hike it up in order to clear it.
Once settled, I yank off my blazer and toss it into the backseat, adding it to Mulder’s. Thank God I was at least sensible enough to wear my new blouse under it. It’s blessedly low-cut — another reason I was hesitant about taking my blazer off before — and even leaves my shoulders bare with its thin spaghetti straps. I can feel the pitiful flow of air crawl over the exposed skin of my arms and barer-than-before legs, and decide to leave my skirt pulled up mid-thigh as it is. Next go the pantyhose. Who cares if it shows a bit of skin? Screw propriety. I’m roasting. Besides, unless I’ve sprouted an alien head in the past five minutes, I doubt Mulder would notice anyway. And he’s hardly one to harp on dress codes.
Outside, Mulder casts a sideways glance at the car, then stares pitifully up into the blue sky as if to ask, “Why me?”
I roll down the window, hating to let in the burst of hot air, and call out to him. He spares one last glance at the sky and gets back into the car.
“Let’s go, Scully.”
Finally, we’re headed down the highway. I press the down button on the window controls and shift into gear at full speed, greedily sucking as much wind as possible into the car. It’s still hot, but at least the air is circulating now. Even the sweat-matted clumps of hair that stuck to my face and neck before are drying as it tosses wildly in the wind. I’m beginning to feel better already.
I look over at Mulder, wondering why he’s so quiet, and frown.
Why is he staring at the gearshift? I look down. No, nothing’s on my hand. It’s resting on top of the gearshift like it should be.
It’s actually kind of nice to have a stick once in a while. Automatic can get so boring. And, it makes me feel like a real bad ass. I’m delusional, I know. But how is that any different than the middle-aged men driving Porsches around the shopping mall with Led Zeppelin blasting, trying to recapture their old high school glory? I shift again, opening the car up on the empty stretch of highway.
Tossing my head to get a strand of hair out of my eyes, I catch another glimpse of Mulder. What is he staring at? For the life of me, I can’t imagine what could be so interesting about my hand. I
turn my head to get a better look at my partner.
He’s not staring at my hand. He’s staring at my bare legs. I don’t have time to register this before his gaze travels to my half-covered breasts, settling there. He doesn’t notice me noticing him just yet, so I turn my eyes back to the road, only sparing fleeting glances to see what he’s doing now. Yep, still looking. It isn’t like I’m exposed to the point of impropriety; my blouse just dips a bit lower than normal. I should be outraged – or, embarrassed at least. But something about this damn weather — his eyes on me — truly on me — is just too exciting.
Another sly glance. I know the look on his face right now has nothing to do with the heat. It hasn’t been so long I can’t read the signs. Eyes dropped, traveling my body, mouth a bit slack…
God, he needs to stop. The way I’m feeling right now, I might either kill him or take him up on the unvoiced offer. I squirm in my seat and downshift. Traffic is picking up now that we’re nearing town.
* * *
Breezy Brae Motel
Knock, knock, knock
It could only be Mulder. Damn! Who do I have to shoot to cool off around here?
Opening the door, I don’t bother to hide my irritation. “What is it now, Mulder? Did you come across a new conspiracy in the three minutes since I left you?”
“Not than I’m aware of,” he answers with a grin.
Well isn’t that nice. “I’d like to take a shower if you don’t mind.”
He pushes his way inside, and all I can do is step aside and fix him with an annoyed glare. “Oh, don’t worry Agent Scully. This won’t take long at all.”
I watch as he engages in a casual look around my room, intentionally annoying me by wasting my time not saying what he came for. After a few moments of this, I toss my hands up in the air, exasperated. “What is it you want, Mulder?”
He turns to face me. Instead of the amused smirk I expect, there’s something else in his expression. Something dark, something very — different. It makes me nervous.
“I wanted to give you a chance to apologize,” he says simply.
“Excuse me? I’ll do nothing of the sort. We have no business down here and you damn well know it. We’ve wasted time and resources chasing yet another crackpot, during a heat wave, no less, and you expect me to apologize for voicing my opinion about it?”
He tsks, drawing closer to where I stand. “Scully, I’m disappointed in you. I would think a woman of your upbringing would have better manners.”
I feel my face flame in outrage. “I think you should leave now.”
He smiles, but there’s nothing innocent in the gesture. It’s primal, like a lion stalking the gazelle. He steps closer as he speaks. “Oh, but Scully. I don’t think you really want me to leave, do you?”
Going against everything my incensed mind is screaming at me, I can’t help but notice his exposed forearms, still glistening with a sheen of sweat, the damp lock of hair pressed into his forehead, his quiet, purposeful stride toward me. The way he’s looking at me — no man has looked at me that way before. It’s so hungry and raw. I feel a cold sweat break out over my body and place a steadying hand on the nearby dresser. My God, what’s happening here?
That predatory, self-assured smile widens each second his question goes unanswered. It’s almost as if he’s pleased to have confirmed something. I’ve seen shades of this look before, when we’ve been involved in a particularly unusual case we’re on the verge of solving, but never anything this potent. Never directed towards me.
“No,” he goes on. “I don’t think you want me to go at all.”
Indignation flares through me, and suddenly the room feels ten degrees hotter. “Who the hell do you think you are, coming in… in here like…?”
But it’s no good. He’s so close, just too damn close for me to attempt coherent speech. So close, I can we almost touch when he inhales. So close, I can smell him. Funny, I never thought that
masculine musk could be such a turn-on. Something — dangerous about it. Something feral.
I should push him away. Yes, that’s it. Give him a good shove and order him out. He deserves it.
So why aren’t I doing it? He grins again. “I think I know what the problem is here,” he says.
“You—you do?” I squeak out, much to my horror. He licks his full bottom lip, and it’s all I can do to resist the urge to reach up and nibble it. I force myself to look away from his mouth and stare up into his eyes with as much defiance as I can muster. What I see there is smug arrogance. The bastard is actually amused by me.
But he’s going on. “Oh, yeah.” He winds an arm around my waist and pulls me against him with a jerk. I gasp as I come in contact with his groin, which presses insistently into my stomach. He drops his mouth to my ear as he places a hand on my lower back and pulls me even closer. We’re fused together, thighs to chest.
“This,” he hisses in my ear, then looks at me to bring his free hand to my lips, brushing it with his thumb. I feel them part in spite of myself, and my hot breath rushes out in broken gasps.
“And this,” he breathes.
“Oh, God,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
There is no amusement left in Mulder’s eyes. “And this,” he murmurs in response, and lowers his mouth to mine.
There is nothing gentle or sweet about this kiss. Lips crushed together, we grapple in a frantic dance for dominance. I pull at him with a desperate need for closeness, knowing it will never be
close enough, never be deep enough. This is it. The point of no return. I can’t go back to the way things were now that I’ve had a taste of him. I don’t ever want to.
He lifts me up onto the dresser and drops me there, never breaking contact with my mouth, and my legs wrap around his waist instinctively. Mulder pulls away and cups my face in his hands. “We need this,” he says. I imagine he’s a mirror of myself right now: eyes hooded, lips swollen and needy, hair disheveled. His skin glows from perspiration in the stifling heat of the motel room. I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want him right this minute. I nod and answer, “yes,” and tangle both hands in his hair to bring his mouth back down to mine. His own hands don’t leave my face, but caress it gently even as our lips bruise against each other’s forceful craving.
I break away with small moan when his hand moves from my face to explore beneath my blouse, head falling back against the mirror behind me. My neck is exposed, vulnerable to his onslaught of nipping and laving, suckling and kissing. Tingles rack my overheated body as he moves to the valley between my damp breasts, licking the moisture there while rubbing his palm over one silk-covered breast. I feel my nipples peak, chest thrust forward in a wanton display that should shame me. Dear God, this is amazing.
My grip around his waist has managed to dislodge his shirt, and the sweaty contact of skin on skin makes this position difficult. My legs slip and scrabble to seize him as I hold his head to my breast.
I scoot down on my perch and wrap both legs higher on his waist, where his wrinkled shirt provides traction. Mulder pulls his mouth away from me we both groan, resting our foreheads against each other; the shift has brought me fully against his groin, bringing our first electrifying contact of pelvis to pelvis. With my skirt around my waist as it is there is nothing but the thinness of my panties between me and the unbelievable sensation of my partner’s hardness. It’s more than I can bear.
“Oh, God. Mulder, please.”
It’s all I can say. Articulate speech is out the window, never to be replaced again. But it doesn’t matter; he knows just what I want. With another smooth swoop, he lifts me from the dresser and we flop unceremoniously onto the bed. I reach between us and yank at his zipper, but it doesn’t budge. I’m at a disadvantage, pulling at this angle. Mulder laughs at my frustrated whimper and takes care of it for me, even manages to kick his pants off completely and toss them to the floor without disengaging from my tight grasp.
Talented. I like that.
Right now, one of those same dexterous hands is working its way between us, teasing me through my panties with slow, deft movements. Icy chills wrack my body in the overheated room, falling over me in waves. I force my eyes open and look at my partner. He’s staring at me, eyes black and narrowed, mouth parted. He licks his lips and I feel an answering rush of wet warmth between my legs. I wonder if he can feel it through the scrap of fabric separating his hand and me.
In the next instant, that question is answered. Something in his eyes changes, seems to be charged with barely-controlled passion. It would be frightening in its intensity, if it weren’t coming from a man I’ve wanted for years. He brings his mouth down on mine and slips his fingers inside my panties for a fresh assault. I buck into his hand at first contact and we both moan into each other’s mouths. Nothing in the world has ever felt this good — nothing in the world could ever feel this amazing.
“Mmm, Mulder,” I murmur against his lips.
I’m so close. Just a few more swipes of that slickened finger and I’m done for. Suddenly, I feel his hand retreat and my panties being tugged off with a rough jerk. I gasp at the unexpected gesture, but reach up to pull Mulder’s lips back to mine. He’s now positioned right where I need him the most and I can feel the tip of him prodding lightly at my opening.
My God, I’ve never been this worked up. No one has ever made me this crazy. I know it isn’t going to take much to push me over the edge, and I want Mulder there with me when I fall.
I wrap my legs around his ass and pull him downward. He slides in easily, and I feel that old familiar stretching to accommodate him. It’s filling, like a sense of completion. One look at him and I know he feels it, too. He looks almost startled at first, but in the short lull between movements, he sighs.
Some ultra-emotional part of me tears up from joy. This is more than what it seems, more than just hormones and volatile sex. The recognition of it propels me upward, sends me spiraling closer and closer to climax as Mulder’s thrusts become harder and irregular. I hang on as long as I can, but soon lose my grasp on that fine ribbon of control.
Are there words to describe the exquisite pain/pleasure? I may have been able to before. Warm. Tingling. Heart-racing. Dizzying.
I’ve clearly been missing out. Words like “explosive,” and “shattering” run through my mind. Trite and clichéd, but true. It’s like having one part of your soul touching heaven, becoming divine, and having another part of you smoldering in the pits of hell. The rest is suspended in that in-between place. I never want to leave.
Mulder falls against my chest. I wrap a weak arm around him and listen as our heartbeats pound against one another. The heavy rise and fall of our chests synchronize and sweat cools on our skin as the air conditioner finally begins to crank out enough cold air to touch this part of the room.
My skirt is bunched uncomfortably around my waist and my heels catch on the mussed bedding. I’m still hot and my hair sticks to my face and neck. A man who outweighs me by at least fifty pounds is pressing all of that extra weight onto me. And you know what?
I’ve never been happier.
Funny thing about the heat – it makes you do strange things.
Yeah, I can handle that.