He collapsed onto his couch and buried his face in his hands. How could he have done that? How could he have made such a fool of himself? He had to face her every day. He needed her friendship, especially now, when he knew that was all he was ever going to have. Would she continue to work? Did she think she could trust him anymore? Oh god, what had he done?
He heard the key turn in his lock and reached for his gun.
"Mulder, itís me. Are you all right?" She approached him slowly and sat beside him on the couch.
"Iím sorry, Scully." He couldnít look at her. "I donít have an explanation. Iím just . . . Iím sorry."
"Mulder, I need to know what happened."
"I made a fool of myself. And I overstepped the bounds. Iím sorry." He needed her out of here so she wouldnít see. He didnít want her to know . . .
"Why do you say that?"
"I know how you feel about him. Iím happy for you, really. I just . . . Iím sorry. It wonít happen again." He didnít dare look at her; there was no way to keep his feelings from his face. He wasnít that strong.
She rose from the couch, good she was leaving. He could wallow in self-pity alone. Then he saw her jacket land on the floor. What? He glanced up to see that she had untucked her blouse and was unbuttoning it. His breath caught in his throat and he watched the blouse join the jacket on the floor. Her skirt was next and, oh lord, she was wearing stockings. Not pantyhose, stockings! Then they too were on the pile. How could a pile of clothing look so sensual? She reached around her back and her bra slid to the floor. He could feel his brain cells dying as every drop of blood in his body raced south. She stood before him wearing only the smallest scrap of silk. It was translucent enough to end the debate heíd had with himself for years Ė she was a redhead. Oh god, he was paralyzed.
She reached out a hand to him, to pull him to his feet. He managed to rise, and she finished removing the tie he had loosened and began unbuttoning his shirt. His clothes joined hers on the floor. How could a pile of clothes look like that Ė he thought only drugs could cause this heightened awareness. Well that was it, Scully was his drug and he was addicted.
She had his slacks unbuttoned and was lowering them. Boxers, dark green silk boxers. Her eyes smiled. He kicked the slacks onto the pile of clothes. She hooked her thumbs in the top of his boxers and looked up for permission.
He wanted to nod, but heíd forgotten how. Whatever movement he made, she took for yes and pulled his boxers down. She caught her breath at the size of his tribute to her, and he saw fear flicker in her eyes, then disappear.
He pulled her against him and kissed her thoroughly. God, he wanted her. He started moving toward the bedroom.
"No Mulder, here. Iíve always imagined us here on your couch."
Sheíd imagined . . . Scully had fantasized about him?
She pulled the afghan sheíd given him down to lay on and he watched her sink onto his couch and reach for him. He didnít remember dying but he must have. Why else would he be in heaven?
He had to have those lips again, so he started there. But he wanted all of her; his hands touching places heíd only dreamed of. He covered her throat with kisses and trailed them down to her perfect breasts. After paying full homage to them, he continued on toward her navel. It deserved a great deal of attention.
That scrap of silk was still concealing one of his aims and with a quick glance for permission, he eased it off with her full cooperation. He laid the damp material carefully on his boxers, where he felt they belonged then began nuzzling her curls. Her hands entangled themselves in his hair and her breathing became ragged. She gasped as his tongue flicked her clit. She was so ready that in moments she was coming. He held her as her body expressed itís delight, then he buried his face in her stomach. Was there any part of her that wasnít perfect?
He moved back up her body to recapture her lips, his cock questing for its rightful home. She reached down and cupped his balls, feeling his moan against her chest.
He began to enter her slowly. God, she was so deliciously tight. He could feel her stretch to accommodate him, was he hurting her? He hesitated; the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. He was inside her, but he was afraid to move. "Scully?" He whispered. She opened her eyes and he fell into them, lost forever, as she closed the distance between them.
His body began the age-old dance and her body joined his in the rhythm. She felt herself poised on the precipice again, but instead of falling she dived into his soul, and realized she was crying out his name. His illusion of control gone, he exploded into her unable to form a coherent thought.
His fear of suffocating her caused him to stir long before he was ready. He started to move away from her, when she grabbed at his ass, holding him in place. "Donít leave me, Mulder!" She whispered. "Please!"
"I never could." He carefully rolled them over, so that she could lie on top. Damn this was one great couch, why had he never realized its full potential? He tossed the end of the afghan over her, so she wouldnít become chilled. But the heat from her body radiating over him probably made that as unnecessary as words at this point.
His breath caught as he realized she was massaging him with her muscles. Where the hell had she learned that? And no, he really didnít want to know.
"Scully, I think youíre being a little optimistic here."
"Really?" She grinned at him and he realized she had succeeded in her goal. They were calling the wrong partner Spooky, but he wasnít about to complain.
She began to ride him, eyes locked on his, watching the wonder and enjoyment on his face. He found his hands on her hips, adjusting her rhythm and pulling her deeper onto him with each thrust. This could not be happening, even his most delicious fantasies werenít this good. And he was coming again; sheíd transported him back twenty years. He was seventeen and his orgasm was never going to end. She joined him and he felt her body convulse around his and suddenly her eyes fluttered and she collapsed, unconscious against his chest.
"Scully!" He gathered her into his arms and with fear giving him the strength, carried her into the bedroom. "Scully, come back to me. Come on . . . "
She rolled her head and finally opened her eyes. "Mulder?"
"I think you fainted."
"Fainted? Thatís never happened to . . . Mulder, wipe that self satisfied grin off of your face." She was smiling at him now too, and then both were laughing as they held each other tightly.
He drew away from her, suddenly serious. "You canít marry him."
"But you wanted to. You love him." It was stated as fact, but she could hear the question in his voice.
"No, I think I loved what he represented. You know, stability, a home, the possibility of family."
He placed his hand on her stomach. "Does he know?"
"No, we hadnít discussed children. Well, I hadnít . . . yet. This was a complete surprise to me Mulder."
"What about Emily?"
"No! No, I couldnít share that with him, not yet. I . . . I think of her as ours, I couldnít . . . "
"Oh Scully." He buried his face in her neck. "Yes." He murmured against her skin. "She was ours." After a moment he could speak again. "But you thought you were in love with him." He couldnít drop it, not yet.
"Itís flattering for a man to proclaim his love; to ask to spend the rest of his life with you." Mulder swallowed but didnít speak. She waited, but he wouldnít meet her eyes. "I think maybe my mother was right."
Finally he looked up puzzled.
"She says you donít think you deserve me." She waited again, his lips moved, but no sound emerged, and he dropped his eyes again.
"Mulder, she canít be right. Donít you know what you have to offer a woman? You are probably the most physically attractive man I have ever known. Donít tell me youíve never noticed the women at the Bureau watching you as you walk by. Youíre brilliant Ė even the people who might want to avoid you come to you for help when theyíre stumped. Youíre sensitive, insightful, caring . . . Mulder, look at me."
She ran her hand down his chest. "I think you love me."
His arms tightened around her.
"Why does that scare you? Do you think I donít feel the same? Do you honestly not know, even now, how I feel? Do you think I would come here, initiate this," her wave encompassed all that had transpired since her arrival, "if I didnít love you? What you slipped and revealed at the office . . . it gave me the courage to come here, to do this, with you." Then she took possession of his lips again and for a while the world didnít exist.
When he was able he rose back to his elbow to look down at her. "You donít have to give up all of that. I mean, I donít know if you and I could handle stability, but the home, family, we could . . . "
"Mulder, thatís not what this was . . . "
"Shhh. Iíve never proposed to any one before and I want to make sure I get it right."
"Propose?" Her voice broke on the word.
"It isnít good for a guyís ego for the woman to cry when sheís being proposed to." He caught a tear on his finger and brought it to his lips.
"Donít you recognize tears of joy, G-man?"
"Can I take that as a yes?"
"Skinnerís not going to be very happy about this."
"Oh darn, and I live to make Skinner happy." She grinned at him. "Listen, Scully, donít worry about Skinner. Heíll probably make out like a bandit on this, especially with some inside information."
"What are you talking about?"
"Come on, Mrs. Spooky, you know there have been pools about us since we were assigned to each other. Iím sure Skinner has some dough in some of them."
"Think we could get into one before the news breaks?"
"You know, finance a honeymoon or something."
"God, beauty and brains. I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship." He covered her body with his once again.