Feedback: XSandPiper78[at]aol.com
Rating: NC-17
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. <vbg>
200 lines and then some. I hope this is sufficient for all of
you. <g>
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Leesburg, Louisiana
1:12 PM
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
speaks.
“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.
Oh.
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
2:23 PM
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.
~The End~