In Heat (NC-17)

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As soon as he'd walked in the door he'd known there was trouble.  He'd shed his suit coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves.  In minutes he'd unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt and loosened his tie.  That was about as far as he could go.

But the real problem was that Scully was hot.  Not hot in the conventional way where he wanted to throw her down on the desk and grind himself into her for an hour or two - though that thought had come to him altogether too often lately - no, she was hot as in the thermostat seemed to be stuck on Hades.


If heat really did rise, the people on the upper floors had probably already incinerated.


Scully's face had a light sheen of perspiration, her suit coat was hanging on the back of the door and her blouse was already unbuttoned to a dangerous degree.


Just as he started to speak, she rose from her chair and pulled her blouse from the waistband of her skirt and flapped it lightly, showing Scully abs.


He wanted to sink his teeth, or some part of his body anyway, into that flesh.  She had to know what she was doing to him.  His reputation as eunuch was well deserved, but this was just plain mean.


"Mulder?"  She turned to him, holding the blouse up.  She touched her diet cola can to her skin.  He was just imagining the sound of sizzling, right?


She moved over and perched on the edge of his desk.  She'd have no trouble shooting him this time.  He couldn't escape.  No way could he walk out of the office now.  In fact, he was wishing for a bigger desk, to help hide his problem.


"You look hot, Mulder."


"I'm roasting over here."  He mumbled.


"I don't mean that, Mulder."  She leaned a little closer.  "You look 'hot' with your tie down like that, and your arms all . . . exposed."


"Scully?"  Had the heat gotten to her?  She didn't talk like that, at least not to him.  Except of course in his fantasies.


She leaned forward and let her hair fall over her head, exposing her neck to cool it off.


No, he had not just thrust toward her from here in the chair.  She'd bring him up on charges, but he was the one feeling harassed here.


She sat up then, tossing her hair back.  He hadn't noticed how long it had become and . . . good god, she arched her back, exposing even more of her breasts.


"It's so hot in here, Mulder."  She complained in a breathless voice.


"Yeah, it is."  Testosterone overload, he was ready to sing bass.


"We should do something about it, Mulder."


She was watching him, probably gauging him for a straight jacket.  "Uh, what?"


"We could get rid of these restricting clothes."  She looked at him innocently.  Right, like a mongoose after a snake.


"Uh, you think that's wise?"


"We could lock the door."


His eyes popped and he shifted in the chair, trying to get more comfortable without actually physically adjusting himself.  At this point his own hand would probably end the whole thing.


"I . . . I'm not sure I understand."


"Sure you do."  She rose then and moved toward the door.  He glanced down to see the strappy little sandals she was wearing, and no hose.  Shit, Scully, just kill me now.  He heard the deadbolt slip into place and drew a ragged breath.  Now what?


She turned toward him and as he watched open mouthed, unbuttoned the rest of her blouse.  Dear god, had he drooled?


She smiled as she slipped the silk down her arms.  She was wearing a demi-bra, mostly lace and he could see the rose of her nipples through the sheer fabric.


Before he could recover from that, he saw her hand go to the waistband of her skirt.  She lowered the zipper slowly and let the black skirt fall to the floor, exposing her . . . thong?


How many beats could the heart skip before it refused to restart?  He was pretty sure he'd missed four in a row here.


"Come on, Mulder.  I know you're too warm too."


Too warm?  The hell he probably deserved for his current thoughts was only tepid in comparison.


She held out her hands and tugged him to his feet.  She glanced down and a small smile graced her lips.  He thought she nodded, but couldn't ask.


Scully pulled the tie free and tossed it over her computer monitor, then was unbuttoning the rest of his shirt.  The friction when she pulled it from his slacks caused a low moan.  She didn't acknowledge it, pushing the fabric from his shoulders and down his arms.


He made no protest, just watching her.  How far would she take this?  Her fingers at his belt buckle seemed to be answering that.  She slipped the belt from the loops and let it lie, like a snake, beside his desk.


She made short work of the button, then was carefully lowering the zipper on his slacks.  Careful being the operative word - no bomb squad agent had needed such caution.


She parted his slacks and glanced up.  Her look was feral.  He felt his body shudder at the intensity.  Her small hand touched his chest.  Then he realized he had allowed her control long enough.


His hands took hold of her waist and lifted her, seating her on his desk.  Her gasp of surprise was replaced by a look that smoldered.


She eased herself to the edge of the desk, and leaning back slightly, opened herself to him.


He stepped closer, wanting to touch all of her, but he needed to rid her of all those pesky remaining clothes.  There was no fumbling as he unhooked her bra and one hand cupped her full breast as the other trailed down to the elastic of that thong - which was forever etched in his mind.


She lifted herself slightly, allowing him to remove it, then her arms went around his neck and her lips were pressed to his jaw, moving toward his ear.


He growled then, and captured her lips with his own.  He'd only thought it was hot before.  Now he was ready to spontaneously combust.


He wanted to be in her, needed to be in her.  His fingers found her core and the wetness there stopped him for a moment, "For me?"


"Always for you."  She murmured.


She reached for him -


"Mulder?  Mulder!"


He felt a cool wet hand on his face.




"Are you alright?  I thought . . ."


His eyes widened in horror.  God, he'd never let it go that far before, especially with her right there.  He glanced down; could you get whiplash from losing an erection that quickly?  At least he hadn't ruined his pants.  That humiliation would have been more than he could bear.


"Mulder, it's too hot.  Let's get out of here."


"Uh, yeah.  You should go on home.  I'll cut out in a little while."


"No, let's go somewhere together, Mulder."


"I don't think . . ."


"We could - "


"Scully.  Please - " He needed to be alone, to assess his chances of surviving this debacle intact.


"You didn’t ask me what I had in mind, or how I’m feeling."




Her nose brushed his ear; she was that close to him.  "Flattered."  She whispered.


He drew back as though burnt; searching Scully’s eyes for any hint of amusement or sarcasm.  Phoebe would have skewered him and made sure everyone she knew heard about it.  She . . . Scully looked sincere.


Did she know she had a knife at his heart?  One cut and he’d be destroyed.  Instead she linked her fingers with his and tugged him to his feet.  “There is one thing, Mulder.”


She saw the fear flick across his face, but he didn’t pull away.


“Someday, will you tell me what the fantasy was?”


He actually growled, and she smiled.  It wasn’t a mocking smile, hell, she looked like she’d won the lottery.  Didn’t she realize he was the one who had won?



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Mulder, Scully, the Lone Gunman and Skinner all belong to Chris Carter, 10-13 and Fox. No infringement intended.