Three 
by Lydia Bower <bower@cu-online.com>
Classification: SRHA, MSR
Rating: NC-17 for sexual content.
Distribution: Anywhere, as long as my name stays on it and it's 
archived in its entirety. 
Spoilers: US 5--Pine Bluff Variant
Summary: An erotic adventure, told in three parts.

Dedication: This one is for Mel, just because. And also for the 
Screamers, the best bunch of women I've ever had the pleasure 
of hanging out with. There's no place like smut. ;-)

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully don't belong to me. They belong 
to David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. The X-Files belongs to 
The King of Yuppie Morbidity, the gang at 1013 Productions and 
Fox Broadcasting. No infringement is intended and no money is 
being exchanged. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Part One
Collision Course

Scully once asked me if I'd ever thought seriously about dying. If 
I recall correctly, I gave her some smart-ass answer and 
tried to keep my mouth shut so she could do what she really 
wanted to do--which was answer her own question.

If she'd have pressed me on the issue, I think I would have said 
no. In life and death situations, I'm generally too busy trying to 
stay alive to think much about it. And those situations are 
usually over in a matter of seconds. There isn't a lot of time for 
contemplation; especially not the serious kind.

But now, after what I've been through, I can assure you that 
some really strange thoughts go through your head, given the 
proper amount of time. Say, the minute or so it takes to walk the 
length of a ruined, skeletal greenhouse and get down on your 
knees for the second time in as many minutes, knowing there's a 
gun pointed at the back of your head.

I have no idea if my thoughts would be considered normal; if the 
things that ran through my head are universally shared by 
those facing death the way I did. I have to think that 
most of them were. You worry about the people you'll leave 
behind, and how they'll manage. You berate yourself for never 
saying the things you should've said, or done the things you'd 
wanted to do. You're troubled by whether or not there'll be pain. 
You wonder if you're about to face an eternity of nothingness, 
not even aware you're dead, not aware of anything at all. And 
you hope that what you've heard or believed is true: that there's 
something beyond death, that it isn't really the end.

So there I was, down on my knees, my heart pounding so hard I 
thought it was going to explode and kill me before a bullet to the 
brain could. I was shaking like a fucking leaf. I'm surprised I 
didn't just fall flat on my face, instead of somehow managing to 
kneel down with no help. And all these thoughts are zipping 
through my head, hurried and barely coherent, like an old 45 
playing at 78rpm.

And what one thought keeps breaking through the noise and 
rising to the top? What one regret seems largest compared to all 
the others?

Kneeling down, looking out over a barren field, hearing the 
indisputable sound of a gun cocking back, all I could think 
about, all that really mattered, was that I'd die never knowing 
what it was like to fuck Scully. 

Yeah, so I'm a pervert. Tell me something I don't know.  

I guess I could try to repair my reputation and say I was thinking 
romantic, tender thoughts. And it was the idea of making love to 
her, with all the sappy stuff that goes with it, that was uppermost 
in my mind. But I'd be lying. There was nothing tender or 
romantic about it. It was visceral and basic, primal and 
instinctual. I wasn't thinking about whispering sweet nothings in 
her ear. I was thinking about gnawing on it as I buried my cock 
deep inside her.

When I realized I wasn't going to die, and was on my feet and 
running like a bat out of hell, it was that image that stayed with 
me. Even after I pulled up in front of the bank and found Scully 
already there, I couldn't completely erase it from my mind's eye. 
Hours later, it stayed with me, growing more and more vivid.

Maybe the fact that I'm in love with her redeems me to some 
extent. I'd like to think so. After all, it's pretty common to be 
sexually attracted to the person you're in love with. In fact, I'd 
even say it's a requirement.

We spent countless hours slogging through the bullshit that day, 
Scully and Skinner and me, trying to keep the whole debacle 
from turning into a worse circle jerk than it already was. I tried 
not to think about how I'd been set up yet again. It was 
surprisingly easy. Because the whole time, as we were shuffled 
back and forth, I couldn't seem to concentrate on anything but 
Scully. I kept leaning to this side and that, blatantly ignoring 
whoever was questioning me, trying to catch glimpses of her. It 
was like my eyes were starving for the sight of her. From the top 
of her head to the tips of her toes, I drank her in and wanted 
more. 

I finally dropped her off around ten that night and went home. 
She looked like she was asleep on her feet. Letting her get out 
of the car was one of the hardest things I've ever done. She was 
charmingly mussed from the long day, her eyes at half-mast and 
her bottom lip sticking out in a tired pout. I wanted to throw her 
into the back seat and climb in after her.

If the car is a'rockin', don't come a'knockin'.

Yeah, like she would have tolerated that for one second.

I don't know why these urges hit me like they did, or stayed with 
me as vividly as they did. It's not like they were new to me, and 
so something I had to explore. I've been fighting my cravings for 
Scully far longer than I'd like to admit. But they pass, and 
usually fairly quickly. I have my ways of dealing with them. But 
we won't get into that.

The only thing I could conclude was that it had something to do 
with almost dying, and having time to think about it. It was as 
though the experience had struck some deep chord inside me, 
and the vibrations it set off continued to course through me, 
growing stronger and more focused. It was like being pulled 
toward something too powerful to control. 

I finally got a good enough hold on things that night to focus my 
thinking in a different direction. The brain took a side-trip, 
gathering all the little pieces together and giving me something 
new to chew on. I began to wonder what it'd been like for Scully 
after she'd been diagnosed with cancer. 

Granted, she had a lot more time to think about things than I did, 
but I still had to wonder. Had she ever experienced moments of 
clarity like mine? And if she had, what were the chances any of 
them involved me? Wondering if Scully had ever had to fight 
back impulses to throw me down and fuck me silly was 
enough to distract me for a good long time.

I knew she loved me. Hell, it's the only possible reason she'd 
have put up with me for this long. Well, either that or she's 
insane. I think I'll stick with the former. 

Anyway, the only real question was whether she was *in love* 
with me. Because that's all that counts when it comes to matters 
of the flesh. She could love me, but not that way. Or she could 
be in love with me, and be just as curious as I was about what it 
would be like to get really personal with each other, so to speak.

So as I was lying on my couch, staring at the ceiling, my mind a 
thousand miles away from anything going on around me, I heard 
a knock on my door. A quick glance at my watch told me it was 
close to midnight.

I'll give you three guesses who it was.

I opened the door and we just stood there and looked at each 
other for a few seconds; Scully on her side, me on mine. We've 
been like that a lot lately, on opposing sides in ways we've never 
been before. It's made the work situation tense, but it hasn't 
adversely affected our real connection. If anything, the tension 
at work has caused us to be more aware of each other on a 
deeper level. I know how fragile she is right now, and I think she 
appreciates the effect my growing disillusionment has had on 
me. It's like we're crossing a mine field holding hands. The 
threat is just as dangerous, but there's someone who's walking 
through it with you, and that's a huge comfort.

I looked down at the square white box in her hands. "Funny, I 
don't remember ordering pizza."

"I just starting moonlighting as a delivery person for Big Tony's. I 
thought I'd practice on you."

That made me smile, and I stepped aside to let her in. "I should 
probably warn you, Scully, I've been told I'm a lousy tipper."

She laid the pizza down on the table and slipped out of her 
jacket. Black pants, a scoop neck black t-shirt and black boots. 
Ninja Scully. She was packing, too. Can't be too careful these 
days.

She shot me her practiced "I'm not going to smile at your lame 
jokes" look, which is pretty much the same thing as admitting 
she'd smile if she'd let herself. "I was starving when I got home, 
and knowing the normal state of your kitchen, I figured you 
hadn't eaten either," she explained.

"You figured right. But isn't it a little late for a pizza party?"

She disappeared into the kitchen and came out with a fistful of 
paper towels. "I knew you'd be up. Here or in the living room?"

I grabbed the pizza and carried it to the coffee table, Scully 
trailing behind me. She tossed down the paper towels and 
asked, "Water okay?"

"Considering it's all I've got, yeah, that's fine." She disappeared 
again and I sat down on the couch and opened the pizza box. 
"So, what, Scully, are you bugging this place too?"

She came back in with a tumbler of water in each hand, wearing 
a whole different face. This one was a definite warning. She'd 
been royally pissed earlier in the day, after I'd told her that 
Bremer had taped our late-night conversation. I'd known she 
was just dying to ream me out about various and sundry issues 
raised by my going deep cover without letting her in on it. But 
she'd held off so far, and I began to wonder if my time had just 
run out. I was more than a little relieved when she sat down next 
to me and shoved a piece of pizza in her mouth instead.

"Speaking of which," I told her as I grabbed a slice, lowering my 
voice. "It might be best if we keep the conversation light. Never 
know who might be listening. So how'd you know I'd be awake?"

She finished chewing and wiped her mouth. "I just got the 
feeling you wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight." She set her 
slice down and turned towards me a little. "Mulder, you seemed 
awfully distracted today. You couldn't sit still during the 
debriefing. Is there something I should know?" 

Interesting that you should ask, Scully. But are you really sure 
you want to know?

"I'm okay," I told her and added, "Finger aches like a son of a 
bitch."

"That's not what I asked. I know you're okay. What I want to 
know is what you're not telling me."

Maybe if she hadn't been so close, maybe if I hadn't been so 
aware of her being right there next to me, things would have 
turned out differently. But she was, and I was, and so they didn't. 

"Okay," I conceded. "But we finish eating first." 

So, of course, I spent the next few minutes wondering if I'd 
finally lost it. Scully was making small talk and all I could do was 
nod and grunt. I was too busy trying to figure out how I was 
going to approach the situation, and whether or not I even 
should. I could've fed her a line of bullshit and tucked my near-
death revelation away. That certainly would have been the 
established pattern for us. 

But I was getting vibes from her that couldn't be missed. I had 
no idea (at least I didn't think I did) what Scully was like when 
she was horny. I seen her attracted to men before, and 
appreciative of a good-looking guy, but nothing overtly sexual. 
And I couldn't even claim that I saw anything that night, because 
it was a feeling more than anything else. Something thick and 
warm and electric. 

She just looked . . . soft. Comfortable. Inviting. And she kept 
looking at me strangely. Not in a bad way, just . . . differently. 
Lingering looks. Sneaky glances when she thought I wasn't 
paying attention. Almost like she was sizing me up in a very 
predatory way.

I froze with the last piece of pizza inches from my mouth. 
Holding her glance during one of her corner-of-the-eye looks, I 
took a chance. "You know what it's like, don't you? You've felt it 
too." 

Her eyes darted away, which told me everything I needed to 
know. The stakes had just shot up considerably. My mouth got 
very dry, very fast.

She swallowed hard and asked, "What're you talking about, 
Mulder?"

Her show of ignorance wasn't unexpected. We're very proficient 
at avoiding things, Scully and me. I would have been 
disappointed if she'd made it too easy.

My half-eaten slice went back into the box as I sat up, bracing 
elbows on my knees. I thumbed the TV remote, turning up 
the volume and flooding the room with the sounds of an old, 
cheesy sci-fi movie. I silently motioned to Scully with a tilt of my 
head. In seconds, we were huddled side-by-side on the edge of 
the couch, our heads close together, not an inch of space to 
spare. My voice dropped until it was barely above a whisper.

"Those moments when you're closest to death. The clarity you 
achieve. The unexpected regrets. The things you find yourself 
wanting more than anything else in the world. All the feelings 
you try not to let yourself feel." I stopped and waited until she 
lifted her eyes to mine. "It stays with you, doesn't it, Scully? Like 
a dream you can't quite shake." 

Her eyes moved over my face before she dropped them to study 
her hands, hanging loosely between her knees. After a long 
time, she said quietly, "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"I think you do." That got her full attention. Her eyes shot up and 
locked on mine. They told me what I needed to know. She was a 
little unnerved, but her eyes sparkled with stubborn 
determination. She was going to see this thing through. She's a 
fighter, my Scully.

"I'd like to think we trust and respect each other enough," I 
murmured. "That I can be honest with you and not have to worry 
about it negatively affecting our . . ." Waving my hand in the air, 
I struggled over a description. ". . . relationship. Is that a fair 
assessment?" 

I was trying to ease my way into it, as much for me as for Scully. 
It was hard enough being that close to her. I was aware that 
leaning in just an inch or two would have put my mouth against 
her cheek. I wondered what it would feel like to brush my lips 
across the peach fuzz on the curve there. But then she had to 
go and pull her bottom lip into her mouth and start nibbling on it. 
I almost groaned when she went to work on that plump lower lip.

I'd give her something to nibble on.

I have no idea where my streak of foolish courage came from 
that night, but I took full advantage of it. I suppressed a shudder 
as she slicked her tongue across her lips and finally nodded in 
answer to my question. I kept going, fueled by equal parts of 
fortitude and lust. 

"Haven't you ever thought about it, Scully?" My voice was barely 
above a whisper, my mouth right next to her ear. "Haven't you 
ever wondered what it would be like? You and me."

She sucked in a sharp breath and pulled back. Something told 
me it was only a temporary retreat. Because she may have 
created some distance, but she was still there. She held my eye 
with shaky resolve. 

"I have," I told her, rushing through my confession, needing to 
get it said. "A lot. Especially today. I came close to dying, and all 
I could think about was you, and what it would be like to touch 
you. I can't stop thinking about it. It's driving me crazy, Scully."

My declaration shocked a low chuckle out of her. "Mulder, I . . . I 
don't know what to say."

"Well, I was kind of counting on you feeling the same way." She 
didn't say a word, and my heart started to sink into my gut. She 
just sat there, turned towards me, studying me with a cool eye. I 
wiped a hand over my face. And then taking a deep breath, I 
went for broke, whispering intently: 

"I want you so badly right now, Scully, it hurts. So either put me 
out of my misery or . . . put me out of my misery."  

I cannot express to you how relieved I was when she jumped 
me. 

Okay, so maybe that's not entirely accurate. It was more like we 
jumped each other. She leaned in and her hands flew up to grab 
my face. A split second later, I was going for her. We were on a 
collision course, and it was way too late to avoid the impact.

Our lips came together with bruising force. And, oh yeah, her 
mouth was everything I'd imagined it would be. Hot and full and 
impatient. We fought for a second over who was going to control  
the kiss and I quickly staked my claim, shoving my tongue in her 
mouth. Hers danced eagerly across it, darting and circling. She 
was kind enough to curl a hand around the back of my neck, 
keeping us anchored together as I got busy pulling her t-shirt 
free of her jeans. 

My hand brushed against her weapon and I jerked the 
holster loose and tossed the whole shebang on the coffee table. 
It slid off the other side and fell to the floor. Neither one of us 
gave a damn; we were too busy yanking at clothes and 
exploring mouths. 

Heaven was slipping my hands under her shirt and encountering 
warm, soft skin. I ran my hands up and down her back as she 
took hold of my bottom lip and tried to suck it right off my face.

Apparently Scully's tits are somehow magnetically charged, 
because it only took a few seconds before my hands slid around 
and up her ribs, locking onto them. And then I was holding those 
lovely little plump mounds in my hands. 

Thank you, Jesus.

Once past the initial shock of actually feeling up my partner and 
best friend, I reached back and made short work of the hooks on 
her bra. Meanwhile, Scully was busy tugging my t-shirt over my 
head as she maneuvered around and ended up on her knees, 
straddling me. The ass I'd so long admired was planted 
squarely in my lap.

All this took about fifteen seconds. After six years of foreplay, 
why waste any more time? I don't think either one of us 
considered stopping, or even slowing down. This didn't have 
anything to do with seduction. We were way past that point.

That's not to say there wasn't a moment or two of hesitation. 
Just as I stripped Scully bare of shirt and bra in one upward 
sweep and proceeded to bury my face between her breasts, her 
hands went still. Then the rest of her followed.

"Mu . . . Mulder."

I wasn't about to stop. My lips and tongue sought out and found 
one tight, perfect little nipple. Whatever she was planning on 
saying was lost to a low moan. She followed that up with a loud 
squeak as I began to suck in earnest. 
 
"God . . .  Mulder."

I let go long enough to reach up and cover her mouth with my 
fingers, hissing "Shhh, shhh, shhh." What can I say--my 
paranoia runs deep. And damned if she didn't wrap her fingers 
around my wrist and start running her tongue over the tip of my 
middle finger. It soon disappeared into her mouth. And then she 
started sucking on it, her tongue swirling and circling like a pro. 

Sweet mother of God.

My dick, which I'd thought couldn't get any more exquisitely, 
painfully hard, did just that. I was certain I was going to come 
right there. My mouth left her breast and I lifted my eyes to her 
face, mesmerized by the sight of her full lips pursed snugly 
around my finger. Her eyes were shining darkly, wicked 
amusement plainly evident in them. The corners of her mouth 
jerked up in a saucy grin as she pulled my finger from her mouth 
with a soft pop. Her lips glistened in the low light.

"Mulder," she whispered, looking at me intently. "Do you really 
think this is a good idea?" 

Let me make this clear: loopy grin aside, she sounded 
absolutely serious. Despite the fact I was busy groping her and 
she'd just given my finger a blow job. Despite the fact she kept 
unwittingly grinding her crotch against mine. Despite the fact I 
was squirming under her like a live bug pinned to a cork board. 
The words out of my mouth were low and incredulous, my 
laughter barely contained.

"You--you're kidding, right?"

"Well, no . . . I mean yes. I mean . . ."

Okay, so despite everything, she still needed to be convinced. I 
could deal with that; I did it all the time. But words tend to fail 
me in certain situations, so I didn't even try. I just kept thrusting 
against her as my thumbs lazily flicked over her nipples. "So 
what's it gonna be, Scully? Make up your mind."

She adopted her oh-so-solemn expression and focused on a 
spot over my right shoulder. As she was giving the whole 
situation serious Scully thought, her hands were sweeping 
across my chest and over my shoulders and down my arms. 
Once or twice low across my belly. I leaned up and stuck out my 
tongue, playing connect the dots with the freckles sprinkled on 
her chest. My hand slid up to palm the back of her head, fingers 
tunneling through her hair as I nibbled my way up her neck. My 
other hand was busy exploring the full curve of an ass cheek.

"C'mon, Scully," I murmured against her skin. "We both know 
what brought you here tonight. Don't you think it's time we have 
what we want?"

She pulled away and gazed at me with drowsy eyes. And then 
she slid her hands up my neck and cupped my face. Her 
expression made me want to both laugh and cry. I settled for a 
plea couched in a moan, wrapped around her name. "Scully."

"You're right, Mulder," she whispered. And then she dismissed 
any remaining fears and doubts in typical Scully fashion. "Fuck 
it."

"Oh, I plan on it," I growled. "Don't have to tell me twice."

The infamous eyebrow was just starting its upward climb when I 
surprised her. Grabbing hold of her waist, I easily lifted Scully 
and turned, none too gently tossing her down on the couch on 
her back. A quick shift and I was comfortably settled between 
her legs, my weight supported on my forearms. She stared up at 
me with wide, smoky-blue eyes.

Oh yeah. It was good. Better than good. It was a situation and a 
position I'd almost given up hope of ever experiencing with her. 
Much as I preach risk-taking as a means of achieving specific 
goals, I'd allowed myself to drift into a resigned lassitude when it 
came to Scully and sex. I think she'd done the same. We'd 
fought the attraction for so long that it was no longer a struggle. 
It'd become second nature, a habit.

Thinking about it now, it makes sense that it was the reality of 
facing sudden death that finally yanked us from our lethargy and 
led to the most life-affirming act of all. What happened between 
us that night was nothing new. It was as old as time. Love and 
death and fear and hope, all rolled up into one frantic, grasping 
package.

I dipped my head and put my mouth back to work on hers. 
Scully's hands slipped down my back and took hold of my ass, 
pulling me tighter into the cradle of her hips. It was sweet agony. 
Every inch of my skin felt the press of her body against mine. 
Every single nerve sparked, igniting small flames; each one a 
sharp ribbon of heat exploding into a fireball as it reached its 
final destination, centered smack dab in my groin. 

Everything in my life had narrowed down to the fierce need to be 
inside Scully. Surrounded by her. Buried in her. A part of her.

If Scully's response was any indication, she was just as 
desperate as me. She was doing her level best to get me inside 
her, despite the few layers of clothes still in our way. She was 
mewling like a kitten as I left her mouth and swept my tongue 
over the curve of her ear. 

"Good, Scully?" I crooned.

Her answer was punctuated by little gasps of air as she suddenly 
reached between us and starting working the buttons on my fly. 
"It could be . . . ooohh . . . better. Take these damn things off." 

I love it when Scully gets bossy. I also find it to my advantage to 
go along with her when she gets that way. That night was no 
exception. So I reared up on my knees and got to work on the 
last of the buttons. The process was slowed somewhat when 
Scully slid a hand between my legs and cupped my balls 
through the denim of my jeans. She held them as though testing 
their weight and then slid her fingers into my opened fly. They 
brushed along the front of the boxers I was wearing. Seconds 
later, she was tracing the tips of two fingers along my cock, from 
root to tip, declaring, "Nice."

I bucked against her hand and grinned down at her, pleased I'd 
met with her approval. "Thanks. Wanna see?" 

Her answering grin was all the encouragement I needed. I 
unfolded from the couch and peeled my jeans down my hips, 
slipping out of one leg and then hopping comically on one foot 
as I tried to free the other. I caught movement from the corner of 
my eye but was too busy pulling off my socks to see what she 
was up to. I turned back, bare-assed as ordered, and about fell 
over.

Scully had managed to divest herself of the rest of her clothes 
and was just as naked as I was. She lay on my couch, her milky 
white skin in vivid contrast to the black leather, one leg bent and 
braced against the back, the other draped over the edge of the 
couch. Her hands were slowly trailing up the insides of her 
thighs. I forced my eyes from the moist, dusky-pink folds 
between her legs and up her body. Her nipples were standing at 
full attention, her mouth open and inviting, her eyes dark behind 
heavy lids.

I watched her as she gave me the once-over, her eyes lingering 
here and there. I suffered a momentary uncomfortable impulse 
to look away and scuff my toe against the rug, once again 
awaiting her verdict.

After an eternity, she gave me a lazy, satisfied smile and 
murmured, "Now, Mulder." 

"No more preliminaries?"

She gave a slow shake of her head.

"Straight to the main act?"

A bob of her head. 

I had to know. "Okay, but I get to play later, right?"

She chuffed a low, sexy laugh and held open her arms, inviting 
me in. Who could resist? 

Okay, so it's cliche as all hell, and probably revoltingly sappy, 
but entering her, inch by exquisite inch, was like coming home. 
Despite the vast difference in our size, we fit like hand in glove. I 
was never more aware of how very tiny she was than as I 
loomed over her, literally pinning her to the couch. I was both 
turned on by the thought of my temporary superiority over her, 
and awestruck by my fierce need to protect her. At that moment, 
I was caught between wanting to rut like an animal, or doing 
nothing more than holding her close.

But then Scully wrapped those little legs around my hips and 
gave my dick a squeeze, her inner muscles betraying exactly 
what it was she wanted me to do.

Like I said, you don't have to tell me twice.

We played around a little until we hit just the right rhythm, hard 
and deep and fast. It wasn't long before we were muffling our 
moans and cries, sometimes with mouths or hands, sometimes 
seeking out the curve of a shoulder or the silky-soft inside of an 
arm. 

I tried like hell to outlast her. I silently recited case file numbers, 
the batting average of the 1986 Yankees starting line-up, my 
income tax forms for the last five years, and anything else I 
could come up with to distract me from the reality of how sweet 
it felt to be doing this with Scully. It worked. For awhile.

Yeah, so I came first. It'd been a long time, y'know? It was 
bound to happen. I make no apologies for it. Luckily, Scully was 
close enough that all I had to do was come up on my knees and 
flick my thumb against her clit a few times, my hips still pumping 
into her in short, jerky thrusts. She threw her head back and let 
out a silent scream as she came, her hands clutching at me, 
nails digging in deep. She was so fucking beautiful, it almost 
hurt to watch.

I dipped low and kissed the sweat from her brow, pushing away 
the wet strands of hair; loving her and how she felt, and the way 
she'd moved under me, and the way she tasted on my tongue. 
Loving her.

She panted quietly beneath me and reached up to touch my 
face, smoothing away whatever lines she saw there, trusting me 
enough to let me look in her eyes. 

"C'mere," she whispered, and brought her mouth against mine. 

It's great to be alive. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~