Title: I'll Never Sleep (1/1)
Author: Invisivellum (Invisivellum@hotmail.com)
Codes: MSR, F for Fluff
Rating: R (to be safe) but I really think it's just PG-13
Spoilers: None
Archive: Feel free/tell me
Feedback: Oh, yes please!
Disclaimers: Mulder & Scully do not belong to moi. They belong to Chris
Carter, 1013, Fox, blah blah yatta yatta
Author's Note: I recently posted what I honestly believed to be my first
fanfic effort - I completely forgot about this little snippet that I put
together some time ago. It's directly inspired by (okay, so I
plagiarized some of it) a story by Leyla Harrison, "One Night at the
Stay-N-Save." So, if you like this, go read Leyla's because she is MUCH
better at it than I am. I am so thrilled to have found this in my
outbound email box, because that means I don't have to write another
story to get more of that yummy FEEDBACK!
forgot about this - Please, Leyla, don't sue me. They say imitation is
the highest form of flattery!
Summary: Scully & Mulder have a little skirmish
***********************************************************************
"Oh God, I'm almost there, Mulder please don't stop......."
"Scully?"
The tone of his voice confuses me for a moment. This is not my lover's
soft encouragement at the moment of climax. This is my partner's
"What's wrong?" tone of voice.
Abruptly, I drop back from the edge of ecstacy and open my eyes. He is
hovering over me, a scratch of worry between his brows and..........what
is that in his eyes? Fear? Does he think he's hurting me? I stifle my
irritation with the interruption and rotate my hips insistently against
his, little pushes that say "more." I swear I hear myself actually
grunting. A soft moan vibrates from deep within me.
I can't get close enough......I try to pull him to me, but my arms won't
move.
My arms seem to be locked at my sides. I feel a band across my chest,
holding me down. There's something cold and hard pressing down on my
face, flattening my forehead, nose and chin.
Mulder has vanished from above me.
Attacked by sudden panic, I begin to struggle......
And open my eyes again, this time in actuality, to find my face pressed
against the glass of the passenger side window in a speeding Ford
Taurus. I jerk upright and blink my eyes. Before I can think, I hear
myself gasp, "Oh God!"
The shoulder strap of the seatbelt tightens and locks as the car rapidly
decelerates. The crunch of gravel. We are coasting to a stop on a
nearly deserted highway. I peer at the digital clock. I am having
trouble focusing my eyes. I think it says 11:52pm. The swish of a
passing car and the glow of red tail-lights receding into the distance
pulls my gaze away and I blink and squeeze my eyes shut repeatedly.
The back of Mulder's hand is pressed briefly against my cheek, then my
forehead.
"Scully, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, I--" Swallow. Blink. Feeble smile. "Nothing."
Mulder's thumb grazes my cheek in a gentle caress. My body's reaction is
instantaneous. I flush hot, above and below and give him a look that I
hope is not as panicked as I feel.
Oh, he has to NOT touch me right now. I try a slight backward movement
of my head, a gentle indicator. It comes out as a jerk, almost a
flinch. Mulder's hand drops to his knee. He is turned slightly in his
seat, facing me.
"Nothing's wrong, Mulder........ah.....where are we?" I am trying for
normalcy here. "Why did you pull over? Do you want me to drive?" I
make a surruptitious swipe at my mouth, checking for drool.
A damned dream. I take a deep breath and turn what I hope is a normal
quizzical expression on my partner.
"We're about 20 minutes from Dime Gin, which I'm hoping will be a large
enough town to harbor a motel of some sort. My eyes are gritty. Are you
sure you're ok?"
What's my line?
"I'm fine, Mulder, just a dream. Why did you pull over?"
I ask the question again. I'm not sure why. I have a sneaking
suspicion, as I'm fairly certain that my partner would not break his
momentum to change drivers when we are a mere 20 miles from a motel,
but I'm not examining that too closely. Let's just get our facts
straight first, G-woman.
"You told me to stop, Scully. I thought you were sick....or something.
Are you feeling sick?"
"I TOLD you to stop?"
Why am I pursuing this?
I don't want to know.
I already know.
I'm tired, I want to say.
Let's just get back on the road, I want to say.
But the prick of curiosity is pushing me onward, dragging dread behind
it.
"You said, 'Oh God, Mulder please....stop'" There's the beginning of a
knowing gleam in my partner's eye. He has wise eyes.
"And then you....you sort of.....moaned a little...and moved your hips.
I thought it might be the tacos we had back in Lake Village."
He is teasing me. The bastard. This is the kind of sympathy I get.
"Well," my voice and my face are stony now. "I'm fine. I'm not sick."
"You were dreaming, then?" He can't stop himself, I hear it in his
voice. He sucks his cheeks in, hard, but I can see by the dim glow of
the dashboard lights the grin struggling in the muscles of his face.
Another car swishes by, rocking the dark car, spraying the windshield
lightly with muddy water.
I breathe in deeply through my nose, turn my face forward and settle
back in my seat. I smooth my hair with my hands and fold them in my
lap.
"Yes, it was just a dream," I affirm, nonchalantly. Make nothing of it.
Make nothing of it, Mulder, damn you.
I adjust the seatbelt strap, smooth my hair again, catch myself
fidgeting and fold my hands determinedly in my lap once more.
Silence. Utter stillness.
Don't, don't, don't, I chant silently as I gaze indifferently at the wet
pavement beyond the hood of the car.
The silence stretches out. Mulder moves not a muscle. I can feel his
eyes on me, staring at my profile in that intense way. I refuse to
glance at him.
Silence.
Stillness.
I swear I can hear crickets chirping now. In the distance, the low hum
of an approaching vehicle.
If I were myself (that is to say, not this flimsy, feverish,
disconcerted adolescent who has usurped my body) I would fix him with a
cool, detached smile and make some witty quip that would make him laugh
and start the car again.
But I don't.
I can't get a handle on how the normal-Scully would act right now. I'm
doing well not to dissolve in helpless giggling or embarrassed
stammering. I'm holding it together.
Silence.
If I don't move or speak, will he not move or speak? Is this the new way
to spar now, between us? Like a stare-down contest between 10-year-old
children, without the staring. We are moving quickly from adolescent to
pre-pubescent behavior.
He gives in first. I sense, more than see, his hand moving towards the
ignition. A breath I didn't know I was holding escapes me, loud in the
silent car.
But he has fooled me.
His hand at the ignition makes no turning motion. It comes away with
keys, which are tossed with a rattle-and-crash on the dashboard. The
gauntlet, then.
My chest rises and falls with the force of my rapid breathing. I am
aware of my racing pulse, the hot flush (above and below) resurging.
Before I know what I am doing, I've released my seatbelt and opened my
door.
I slam it shut behind me and start walking. There's a fine mist and the
air is cold. It feels wonderful on my hot skin. My face feels like
fire. I have no idea where I'm going. Forward. Away. I'm groggy and
cranky and feeling reckless.
I'll walk to Dime Gin, I think irritably, if he won't let it drop.
The engine is cranked before I've gone 10 yards and I hear tires
crunching on gravel as the car approaches from behind.
What a wimp! I would have let me walk a while longer. The thought
makes me smile.
He pulls along side me and reaches across to shove the passenger-side
door open.
I get in without a word and buckle my seatbelt. He angles the car back
on to the interstate and accelerates smoothly, in silence.
I cast a wary glance in his general direction.
He's worrying a sunflower seed between his lips and fingers.
There's the just the slightest hint of a smirk at the edge of his mouth.
I know that I will never sleep in his presence again.
*********************************************************************
I know it's lame.
I'm braced for flames.
Take your best shot!
E-mail me!
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