Ditched II - part 1 (R)

He was nude. What the. . . why were his boxers over there? He must have really been out of it. Oh yeah, those pills Scully gave him.

Scully. A small smile formed as the dream came back to him. That had been one hell of a dream. His dreams of Scully had quite often been good before; this one had been excellent and damn real, if the sheets were any indication.

He tested his ability to stand. Okay, if he took it slow. He headed for the shower. That did ease his stiffness. He reapplied his bandage and managed to dress slowly.

He needed to check on Scully. She’d been furious with him last night. Not that he didn’t deserve it. She had a valid point; if she’d been with him, he probably wouldn’t be hurt now.

He glanced over at the connecting door. It was locked. He never did that. Oh yeah, another memory returning. He’d pushed her from the room, sending her away. She didn’t want to ID his body. That memory stopped him in his tracks.

*****

She woke slowly and stretched sensuously; her face flushing with the memory of last night. Had she really done that? Had she made love to Mulder? Had him at her mercy? Her blush deepened at the memory of him fully aroused and desiring her. And it had been her that brought him to that peak. Her name had been his only coherent utterance.

She stretched again letting her hands run down her sides, cupping her own breasts and lightly brushing her nipples. She almost never slept nude, but last night she’d been completely wanton – not at all herself. She was already moist just from the memory. Okay Dana, time to get this under control. Last night was a one-time aberration. She’d just have to fuel her fantasies with the memory. The memory of him thrusting into her mouth renewed her blush.

Now Dana! Get out of bed and shower. Last night is history, you have work to do and you have to face him. Get this under control. She showered and dressed, choosing a severe pantsuit to try to counteract her still raging libido.

She was applying her lipstick when Mulder knocked on the connecting door. "Come on in, Mulder."

He opened the door and stuck his head inside, noting her suitcase on the rumpled bed and seeing her in the mirror of the bathroom.

She turned to face him, capping her lipstick. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. You want some breakfast?" Damn he was having trouble looking at her; the dream was still that vivid.

"Sure." She walked past him toward the door and her scent surrounded him. But it was just a dream, Scully would never . . . no. He shook his head and followed her outside.

*****

He had trouble concentrating; the dream kept intruding. This was ridiculous, he’d had erotic dreams about Scully for years but they’d never interfered with his work before.

They obtained permission for Scully to examine the man that had attacked Mulder and she trailed him to the cell. Standing at the entrance to the cell, Mulder turned to their escort.

"Where’s the man I brought in here last night?"

"That’s him. No one’s been back here, not to see him, no lawyers, nothing."

"That’s not the man that stabbed me. He was larger, at least three inches taller."

"Look, I wasn’t on shift when he was brought in, but no one’s been back here except to bring him breakfast. This is the guy I fed."

"He was printed and photographed when he came in last night, I watched. Can I see those?"

"Sure." The guard led them back out of the cell area and to the front desk. He rounded up the information they requested and left them alone with it in the interrogation room.

After a few minutes Scully spoke, "I don’t understand it. Someone had to have switched prisoners. We need the prints and photos on the man in the cell."

When they could not be located, they were requested. The man in the cell was strangely subdued and did not protest the actions. Mulder would have been a great deal more aggravated if the memories of the dream had not kept intruding.

Several times during the day he found himself looking at her, enjoying the sensations the memory aroused.

When the prisoner’s prints were brought in, Mulder leaned over them. "Scully, come here." She moved over to his side of the table to see where he was pointing. She leaned in closer and he leaned over her, at first to look more closely at the prints, but as his body loomed over hers he realized he was completely aware of the scent of her hair. It had been a dream, hadn’t it? He shook his head to clear it.

"Look at the prints."

She was quiet a minute, then "Mulder, they’re the same."

"I know."

"But he . . . the man in the cell is not the same man in the photos taken last night."

"I know."

*****

He tapped on the connecting door and at her answer opened it. She was lying on her stomach on the bed in her pajamas, poring over the file in front of her. When he entered she sat up and looked at him questioningly.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just needed a break from going over the stuff. The Day the Earth Stood Still is on cable."

She smiled and looked down at the bed. "Klaatu barada nikto, huh? You’re not going off by yourself in the moonlight to see what’s out there? Maybe find a little nest of werewolves or something?"

"Do you think I’d ditch you, Agent Scully?" He asked in mock horror.

Ah, the post-coital suggestion was holding. She looked down to hide her grin. "And why are you in here about the movie?"

"Well, for one thing, your bed’s cleaner. Wanna watch?"

She put the file back together and closed it, patting the bed and shaking her head while she smiled at him. Last night had done her a world of good.

He grinned and snatched the remote off the TV before joining her. He leaned back against the headboard, after adjusting the pillows and settled in to relax. She was sitting Indian style slightly apart from him, but totally aware of his presence sprawled on the bed beside her.

She was already having trouble concentrating on the movie when he shifted over a little, closer to her. She said nothing, then felt his fingers trail down her arm. "Wouldn’t you be more comfortable leaning back?"

"Well, yeah, okay." He quickly pulled the other pillow out from under the bedspread and plumped it up for her. Placing it where her arm would be in contact with his. He couldn’t know what had happened, she was pretty sure of that, but he was being awfully damn friendly.

She did lean back against the pillow but at an angle that kept them still slightly apart. He was so smooth in his movements that if her body had not been on full alert she would have missed the motion that brought them back in contact. She almost said something when his arm went around her to pull her against him, but it was more comfortable and . . . oh shit, she’d been wanting to since last night. He made no comment, almost as though he didn’t realize what he was doing.

He was completely aware of what he was doing and had managed to hide the breath of relief when she accepted his arm around her. His body had been on overload around her all day. If he could have another dream like last night, he’d be so mellow he wouldn’t mind going back into the sewer for another shot at the Flukeman. Too bad there was no way to get rid of his t-shirt, so that he could feel her skin against his.

Whoa boy, back up. You had the dream, not her. When she comes to her senses you’ll probably have a black eye anyway. He hesitated as she squirmed around, getting even more comfortable and shortly he realized she was asleep against him. Well, she’d probably not slept well last night – she’d been up late patching him up, and she was so angry with him that she might not have gotten to sleep even then. He took advantage of the fact she was unaware and nuzzled his nose into her hair. Yeah, he loved that smell. Watch it, guy, part of you is enjoying this way too much.

He tried to shift his concentration back to the movie, though that did not relieve his physical problem. He finally slipped his hand into his sweats just to adjust himself. Everything was too tight. Bad idea, the dream was back in full force. Now should he curse his memory abilities or praise the gods for it? Well, she was asleep, as long as he didn’t go too far. . . Does the term idiot mean anything to you?

She shifted again in his arms and he jerked his hand from his pants, small beads of sweat appearing on his brow. She’d placed her hand on his chest and was talking in her sleep. He smiled gently when he realized she was still asleep then leaned in to listen to her voice.

"Ditch . . . never . . . do you . . ." She cuddled in and her hand slid lower on his chest.

His mind froze. Those were the same words. The same words as in his dream. Dream? It had been a dream; Scully would never. . . oh god! Had Scully? He shook his head, disturbing her slightly, not enough to wake her. With dawning realization, he knew what he had experienced had been no dream. It had happened! Scully had. . .

He should be furious; she had drugged him and taken advantage of him. Hell, she’d raped him for all intents and purposes. If he’d done that he’d be facing 20 years to life. So why wasn’t he furious? Because. . . because Dana Scully had done that to him. Dana Scully wanted him. His mind simply would not wrap around that concept. She had actually wanted him, his body. A woman like her, who could have any man she wanted, with him? The only thing he was truly upset about was that he hadn’t been given the opportunity to reciprocate. Yet.

But she hadn’t wanted him to know. She had said absolutely nothing all day while he watched her and tried to curtail his fantasies. But she’d said she didn’t want to ID his body. He had been sure she was leaving him forever. Even as he told her to go, he’d been terrified that she would. Okay, he hadn’t felt that way when he woke, which was now a lot more understandable.

She had never done anything like that before, at least with him. Had she? No, he would have known. His body would have known, like it had today. What would she do if he tried to kiss her? How was she going to react when she realized he remembered? That he knew? Would she be embarrassed? Relieved? Horrified? Please not that, not scared of him. How had he reacted? Had he talked? What had he said? At least he wasn’t worried about having called out anyone else’s name – hers was the only name that came to him when he . . . He’d learned to live with that guilt, since no one else provided the same relief.

What would she do if he kissed her now, while she was asleep? Turn about was fair play, wasn’t it? Hell, she didn’t have a leg to stand on if she did get angry. She had started this. Cut the damn debate and do it, Mulder!

He realized he was scared. How many women had he kissed in his life, with little or no feeling behind it? Now he felt like he was 14 years old and this was the first and most important kiss of his life. Well it was really, but after all these years he’d thought that he had a little more self-confidence than this.

Go ahead, Mulder. You know how to do this. He leaned down and lightly brushed his lips across hers. She responded and encouraged, he let the tip of his tongue touch her warm mouth. He nearly lost his courage when she opened her lips to him. But he couldn’t resist, tentatively exploring her mouth; still afraid she would wake and quite possibly kill him for his actions.

"Um, Mulder." She breathed when he pulled back for a breath.

His name! She’d said his name! It was him she was kissing, even in her dreams. Now what should he do? She hadn’t wanted him to know. He had to get out of here. He’d already gone too far - not as far as she’d gone, but too far nevertheless.

He eased out of the bed, tucking her in and letting himself out of the room. No guilt tonight when he jerked off, she probably didn’t realize she’d created a monster.