Visitation Rights (2/3)
I'm sorry, but I totally lied. This ended up as the middle part instead of the final one. THE WRITING PROCESS IS STRANGE.
Title: Visitation Rights
Part: 2 of 3.
Author: ninamazing, or Nina
Fandom: The X-Files
Word Count: 1336.
Rating: R.
Spoilers: Through 7x07 "Orison." This is a post-ep for "Orison."
Characters: Mulder/Scully.
Excerpt: He'd run out of the house like a man in flames, convinced that after burning rubber all the way to Georgetown he'd open the door on her tousled hair and raised eyebrow.
Author's Note: This goes out to aidy, who told me I could do it. :)
They look at each other and it's so clear that she's asking him if he remembers, and he tries to tell her that his head is still pounding with it all. Upset she wasn't a redhead. This mean anything to you? He'd run out of the house like a man in flames, convinced that after burning rubber all the way to Georgetown he'd open the door on her tousled hair and raised eyebrow.
But he opened it on darkness and pouring bathwater and his hands tightened so hard on the gun he could feel his own sweat.
Oh, Scully. She's looking up at him now like she might start to cry again, and he remembers the blotch of her tears on his overcoat when he hung it up in his front hall five years ago. He remembers not washing it off, for some reason, until she started coming to work without circles under her eyes, until she quirked her lips at his flirting like she'd used to.
She blinks at him once, now; her pupils look glassy. She looks like she's the one who ran out into the hall tonight and saw a fire.
He puts both hands to her face and sweeps her cheeks with his thumbs, like that will stop the tears from happening. And it does, because as the next second passes she leans into his hands and opens her mouth against his.
Her lips feel better than they did at New Year's - she's coming alive next to him, warming his whole body with the press of her tongue. Mulder hasn't had a decent date for years and he's pretty sure he's thought about kissing Scully more than he's ever thought about kissing anyone in his life. She topples him into the back of the couch, and as the armrest pushes into his spine he lets her ravage him with the clementine sweetness of her mouth.
She stops, too soon; she braces an open palm on his chest and gazes down at him. She looks different: breathless. He could get used to looking at her from below.
"Mulder, I - sorry," she says.
"What? For what?"
"Is this okay?" she's asking, red hair cutting the wash of her face in smooth diagonal lines. "I just - want to make sure I'm not -"
"This is good, Scully, trust me," he tells her, and because she seems to take that well he says it again: "Trust me."
She smiles, a real smile with teeth and eyelashes and earrings. He almost never gets to see her smile.
"I was just trying to get out of that conversation," she jokes. He almost never gets to hear her joke, either, but somehow this one isn't funny. This one reminds him where he is, and what's happened. He touches her cheek; it's inconceivable that she's straddling him, and he's about to stop her. It's inconceivable in a way that could only be reality.
"I don't blame you," he tells her. "But maybe we should finish it."
"Oh, Mulder," she says, in a tone he usually hears over the phone, in line for airplane tickets, at rental car dealerships in front of bewildered salespeople. Scully braces herself on her arms above him and sighs, and in that second he truly does wish she would just attack him again.
Her eyes tilt to the ceiling as she opens her mouth; she's thinking.
"I just ... need to ... overwrite it," she says. "I've only got this one powerful recent event in my head, and so I keep thinking about it. The repetition just makes it stronger. If - if something else happened, I could be done. I could stop."
He's trying to figure out the a diplomatic way to tell her how unhealthy that sounds to a person with a psychology degree, but she's not done yet. She's staring down at him as if he were a corpse she's determined to decipher.
"We used to work at a breakneck pace, Mulder," she says, and the wistful tone in her voice is the second thing that shocks him today. "I was beside myself just keeping up with the excitement, with the mysteries. Now our work is almost easy."
"It still feels pretty frenetic to me," he replies. Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised that she is different now, that all of their ordeals have left her less easily impressed. A spiritual revelation in Africa was all in a day's work for her.
She'd come home to business as usual. Death, disappointment, no explanations; the attentions of singleminded reprobates.
"Yeah, but I'm used to it. You know, Mulder, I'm at the hospital almost as much as I would be if I were an actual doctor."
"You are an actual doctor," he says at once, his eyes steady. And it scares him that this is what sends the trauma surging through her again, what makes her squeeze her face shut and shudder as her arms lose their grip and she drops into the bed of his chest.
"It's okay," he murmurs automatically, but his hands hesitate and don't go all the way around her.
"It's such bullshit, Mulder," she says against his neck - and he can't help what it does to him, the warm hum of his partner's lips on his skin. "He was a parasite. A criminal. A creep. And he's still the only man who's been in my bedroom in something like five years."
"Besides me," he amends.
Scully opens her mouth on his neck, tugs on his arms herself so that he's finally holding her. He hears the beat of his breathing filling the room.
"Besides you," she agrees, in a whisper that tickles the hair on his ear. He thinks no one could blame him for the way this woman has taken over his fantasies. When she kisses him again and pulls away, stands up, there's an ache in his back he never noticed.
She takes his hand. "Come on," she tells him, and there's a smile again. "Your spine must be killing you."
He grins at her, imagines the way his hands would roam under her favorite lab coat as she gasped and he murmured Dr. Scully - not tonight. Instead he stands, hugs her body against his so it feels less like he's towering over her and more like they're twined together, placed like a statue as the lee of the wind. She rubs her nose in his shirt, and he can't help running a hand over the top of her head, kissing the part in her hair.
"The memories will fade, Scully," he says softly, "whether you overwrite them or not. You know that."
"I know that," she answers as if she's listening intently, but her hot, precise hands are slipping into the back pockets of his jeans.
"And there may always be chaos," he goes on, because he planned this out in his head before, words she needed to hear, and he wants to get as much out as possible before she laughs at the way he's hard against her stomach. "Probably exactly when we need it the least. But I've been doing this for a long time, and it's ... better when you're here. You won, Scully. You saved who knows how many other women from his violence."
She nods against his chest, and her dipped hands pull his hips to hers.
"Take me to bed?" she asks. Something jumps inside of him; she's so close, so brave, so marvelous, and he can't seem to stop staring at the way the plush of her lips gives way to the raspberry twist of her tongue in her teeth.
He reaches for her chin, tilts her head up and meets her mouth with his open lips. He sweeps through her with his tongue, and her hands tighten on him. There's no way now that she can't feel how eager he is for her, and he's surprised they make it all the way past her bedroom door.
Title: Visitation Rights
Part: 2 of 3.
Author: ninamazing, or Nina
Fandom: The X-Files
Word Count: 1336.
Rating: R.
Spoilers: Through 7x07 "Orison." This is a post-ep for "Orison."
Characters: Mulder/Scully.
Excerpt: He'd run out of the house like a man in flames, convinced that after burning rubber all the way to Georgetown he'd open the door on her tousled hair and raised eyebrow.
Author's Note: This goes out to aidy, who told me I could do it. :)
They look at each other and it's so clear that she's asking him if he remembers, and he tries to tell her that his head is still pounding with it all. Upset she wasn't a redhead. This mean anything to you? He'd run out of the house like a man in flames, convinced that after burning rubber all the way to Georgetown he'd open the door on her tousled hair and raised eyebrow.
But he opened it on darkness and pouring bathwater and his hands tightened so hard on the gun he could feel his own sweat.
Oh, Scully. She's looking up at him now like she might start to cry again, and he remembers the blotch of her tears on his overcoat when he hung it up in his front hall five years ago. He remembers not washing it off, for some reason, until she started coming to work without circles under her eyes, until she quirked her lips at his flirting like she'd used to.
She blinks at him once, now; her pupils look glassy. She looks like she's the one who ran out into the hall tonight and saw a fire.
He puts both hands to her face and sweeps her cheeks with his thumbs, like that will stop the tears from happening. And it does, because as the next second passes she leans into his hands and opens her mouth against his.
Her lips feel better than they did at New Year's - she's coming alive next to him, warming his whole body with the press of her tongue. Mulder hasn't had a decent date for years and he's pretty sure he's thought about kissing Scully more than he's ever thought about kissing anyone in his life. She topples him into the back of the couch, and as the armrest pushes into his spine he lets her ravage him with the clementine sweetness of her mouth.
She stops, too soon; she braces an open palm on his chest and gazes down at him. She looks different: breathless. He could get used to looking at her from below.
"Mulder, I - sorry," she says.
"What? For what?"
"Is this okay?" she's asking, red hair cutting the wash of her face in smooth diagonal lines. "I just - want to make sure I'm not -"
"This is good, Scully, trust me," he tells her, and because she seems to take that well he says it again: "Trust me."
She smiles, a real smile with teeth and eyelashes and earrings. He almost never gets to see her smile.
"I was just trying to get out of that conversation," she jokes. He almost never gets to hear her joke, either, but somehow this one isn't funny. This one reminds him where he is, and what's happened. He touches her cheek; it's inconceivable that she's straddling him, and he's about to stop her. It's inconceivable in a way that could only be reality.
"I don't blame you," he tells her. "But maybe we should finish it."
"Oh, Mulder," she says, in a tone he usually hears over the phone, in line for airplane tickets, at rental car dealerships in front of bewildered salespeople. Scully braces herself on her arms above him and sighs, and in that second he truly does wish she would just attack him again.
Her eyes tilt to the ceiling as she opens her mouth; she's thinking.
"I just ... need to ... overwrite it," she says. "I've only got this one powerful recent event in my head, and so I keep thinking about it. The repetition just makes it stronger. If - if something else happened, I could be done. I could stop."
He's trying to figure out the a diplomatic way to tell her how unhealthy that sounds to a person with a psychology degree, but she's not done yet. She's staring down at him as if he were a corpse she's determined to decipher.
"We used to work at a breakneck pace, Mulder," she says, and the wistful tone in her voice is the second thing that shocks him today. "I was beside myself just keeping up with the excitement, with the mysteries. Now our work is almost easy."
"It still feels pretty frenetic to me," he replies. Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised that she is different now, that all of their ordeals have left her less easily impressed. A spiritual revelation in Africa was all in a day's work for her.
She'd come home to business as usual. Death, disappointment, no explanations; the attentions of singleminded reprobates.
"Yeah, but I'm used to it. You know, Mulder, I'm at the hospital almost as much as I would be if I were an actual doctor."
"You are an actual doctor," he says at once, his eyes steady. And it scares him that this is what sends the trauma surging through her again, what makes her squeeze her face shut and shudder as her arms lose their grip and she drops into the bed of his chest.
"It's okay," he murmurs automatically, but his hands hesitate and don't go all the way around her.
"It's such bullshit, Mulder," she says against his neck - and he can't help what it does to him, the warm hum of his partner's lips on his skin. "He was a parasite. A criminal. A creep. And he's still the only man who's been in my bedroom in something like five years."
"Besides me," he amends.
Scully opens her mouth on his neck, tugs on his arms herself so that he's finally holding her. He hears the beat of his breathing filling the room.
"Besides you," she agrees, in a whisper that tickles the hair on his ear. He thinks no one could blame him for the way this woman has taken over his fantasies. When she kisses him again and pulls away, stands up, there's an ache in his back he never noticed.
She takes his hand. "Come on," she tells him, and there's a smile again. "Your spine must be killing you."
He grins at her, imagines the way his hands would roam under her favorite lab coat as she gasped and he murmured Dr. Scully - not tonight. Instead he stands, hugs her body against his so it feels less like he's towering over her and more like they're twined together, placed like a statue as the lee of the wind. She rubs her nose in his shirt, and he can't help running a hand over the top of her head, kissing the part in her hair.
"The memories will fade, Scully," he says softly, "whether you overwrite them or not. You know that."
"I know that," she answers as if she's listening intently, but her hot, precise hands are slipping into the back pockets of his jeans.
"And there may always be chaos," he goes on, because he planned this out in his head before, words she needed to hear, and he wants to get as much out as possible before she laughs at the way he's hard against her stomach. "Probably exactly when we need it the least. But I've been doing this for a long time, and it's ... better when you're here. You won, Scully. You saved who knows how many other women from his violence."
She nods against his chest, and her dipped hands pull his hips to hers.
"Take me to bed?" she asks. Something jumps inside of him; she's so close, so brave, so marvelous, and he can't seem to stop staring at the way the plush of her lips gives way to the raspberry twist of her tongue in her teeth.
He reaches for her chin, tilts her head up and meets her mouth with his open lips. He sweeps through her with his tongue, and her hands tighten on him. There's no way now that she can't feel how eager he is for her, and he's surprised they make it all the way past her bedroom door.