Heartland I: Delta by Eiluned redheadrippercat@yahoo.com DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully are not mine. I'm just doing the crazy, kinky things with them that Chris Carter only dreams about. The lyrics belong to U2. SPOILER WARNING: FTF (not flickfic) TIMELINE: Late season six, but Biogenesis hasn't happened yet. RATING: NC-17 SUMMARY: Things get hot in New Orleans. See the sunrise over her skin Don't change it See the sunrise over her skin Dawn changes everything And the delta sun burns bright and violent... U2, "Heartland" XXXXXXXXXXX FBI Regional Field Office New Orleans, Louisiana July 13 7:39 p.m. I feel his gaze searing me like a flame across the open FBI field office. I stand with my back to him, explaining my autopsy report to another agent, but I can still feel his eyes, raking over me in a most unprofessional way. I wonder if anyone else has noticed. It is hot in New Orleans. Hot and humid. The kind of heat that makes your clothes stick to your body like glue. We are here to assist on a multiple murder case. Handsome young men, found dead in cemeteries, naked and staked through the heart. A friend of mine from the Academy asked us to take a look at it. I could tell he didn't want to be anywhere near this case. Mulder was more than happy to take it on. Until he found out that victims had been left in rather sexually provocative positions. It had taken all of my willpower not to laugh at him when he caught sight of the latest victim, spread eagled over a stone crypt. That was a panic look if I've ever seen one. I try desperately to concentrate on my words, on making sense, but it is too late. All I am aware of is Mulder's eyes, blazing through me, straight to my core. Agent Marlowe looks at me quizzically. "Are you all right, Agent Scully?" he asks. "I'm... I'm fine. Just got a little sidetracked," I reply, dimly listening to a phone ringing. "Now, about the toxicology. You said that the screens showed some kind of chemical?" he prompts me. "Yes. It seemed to be a drug cocktail similar to Ecstasy..." A shout interrupts my speech. "We've got a lead!" Agent Marlowe rises to stand beside me, unnaturally close. The SAC is speaking, but I can't pay attention. The direction I'm now facing forces me to look straight at Mulder. His eyes flicker back and forth between me and Marlowe, and a look of unmistakable jealousy crosses his countenance. I instinctively take a step away from Marlowe, but the damage has been done. To invoke the old cliche, if looks could kill, Agent Marlowe would be pushing up daisies. I wonder what brought on this sudden bout of possessiveness. He usually gets his feathers ruffled whenever there's any kind of threat directed at me. I'm used to that by now. It's been going on for years. But there's no threat here. And I'm certainly not accustomed to the injection of searing lust into the equation. For the longest time, I could never imagine that Mulder felt that way about me. He'd tease, toss witty innuendoes at me until he was blue in the face, but if he really wanted me, he kept it well hidden. Besides now, the only time I've been on the receiving end of one of his you-me-on-the-floor-NOW looks was last summer. He'd stared me down in his hall, seducing me without saying a word. I heard every sacrament he made, but everything hit me when he held my face, his grip just slightly too tight, his thumbs moving in tiny circles on my cheeks. His confessional had tugged at my heartstrings, but this look made me liquefy, made me want to sink to my knees and show him what he really meant to me. I inanely hope that the flush on my face will pass off as a result of the heat invading the office. Marlowe keeps giving me concerned looks and Mulder's expression just keeps getting more murderous. For some odd reason, that turns me on more. The sheer violence in his eyes makes me shiver. "Well, agents. Get to your stakeout sites, keep in contact with me over your radios," SAC Holden claps his hands together hard and the gathering of agents disperses, heading for the exits. Agent Marlowe starts to ask me something, but before the first word gets out of his mouth, Mulder is on him. "Let's go, Scully," he says to me, but all of the huff and puff is directed at the understandably confused Marlowe. Mulder's hand darts around me to rest solidly on my lower back, steering me out of the office, leaving Agent Marlowe standing alone in bewilderment. Not a word is spoken as we make our way to our rental car, and Mulder's touch is no less heavy-handed. It feels like he's shooting electricity into me, a tingling numbness radiating up my back and down to my knees. He unlocks my door and swings it open, guiding me into my seat. Only then does he take his hand from me. The door closes and I sit there in a daze. Why is he having such an effect on me? I mean, Christ, he's touched me before. I guess it just never felt like he was about to throw me on the floor and fuck me until I can't remember my own name. He gets in and starts the ignition, and I can't help but shudder at the course my thoughts are taking. He throws me a glance, his expression a little softer but no less wanton, and I get the eerie feeling that he knows what I'm thinking about. Hell, I'm so aroused, he can probably smell it. I shift under his gaze, crossing my legs tightly. This does absolutely nothing to alleviate my own situation and only seems to clue him in more. A ghost of a smile crosses his lips before he puts the car in gear and pulls out into the traffic. "So, how do you feel about sitting in a cemetery all night?" he asks nonchalantly, breaking the silence with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. I give him a confused look. "What are you talking about?" I say, relieved to hear that my voice sounds as bland as it usually does. "Weren't you listening to Holden? We're staking out the St. Louis #3 cemetery tonight. All night." His last words hold a subtle promise. I stare at him for a long moment, trying to figure out what's up his sleeve. His face reveals nothing, so I pull out the map of New Orleans. "Where is this cemetery?" I ask. "On Esplanade Avenue. I don't think we can miss it." Things feel normal, I think as we wander through the cemetery. Maybe there's still an undercurrent of... something, but I can't put my finger on it. "Let's find a place to sit. We're going to be here a while. We might as well be comfortable," he says, turning down a path. That innuendo is in his words again, I can hear it. I follow him silently, so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I nearly knock him over when he stops suddenly. He nods to a statue looking over the tomb. "That looks familiar," he says. I look at the tall, grey marble angel, her arms crossed over her chest, her wings folded at her back, her head bowed in contemplation. "Wasn't that in Interview With The Vampire?" I ask. He looks mildly surprised. "I didn't think you were into vampire movies, Scully." "I'm not. But I saw that one." He motions to a stone bench that rests in the shade of a tall cottonwood tree. "Have a seat." I'm beginning to feel a little nervous about him, and I really can't say why. I keep catching him staring at me with this hungry look on his face, like he wants to devour me whole. I sit on the bench, leaving enough room for him. He doesn't sit, though. He stands in front of me, entirely too close for comfort, so that he towers over me and I have to crane my neck to see his face. My feet are dangling from the high bench, swinging back and forth like a child's. "It's hot, isn't it?" he asks, his voice sounding a little rougher than usual. I nod in agreement, sending a glance at the burning sun, dipping low in the pale blue sky. "You think it would cool off. I think it's around eight p.m." I reply, trying to make innocuous conversation. "Mm-hm. It'll be getting dark soon." He's staring down at me, his face stony. Christ, he is making me uncomfortable. Well, to be completely honest, he's really turning me on. With Mulder, they're synonymous. "You aren't afraid, are you?" he queries. My eyebrow creeps up without my consent. "Afraid? Of what?" I shoot back. He shrugs casually. "Well, this is a creepy old cemetery. Something might jump out of one of those tombs and get you." His voice is all honey, dripping over me with its sticky sweetness. "I seriously doubt that, Mulder," I try to sound cocky, the way he always does, but it just ends up sounding breathy. Surprisingly, he backs off, moving to lean against the tree. Everything is quiet for a long time, and I watch the sun slide down to the horizon, stretching itself from a ball into an odd, liquidy pour. Finally, it drops completely out of sight, and we are left in that time when the sky is still bright, but all of the earth is dark, dusky. Mulder was right; this is a spooky place. All of the shadows are stretched to bizarre lengths, overlapping and melding. I'm sitting in the umbra of the angel, cloaked in darkness. I look up at her, half-afraid that she'll blink at me. It's a stupid childhood fear of mine. I was always terrified that my dolls would come to life. I used to hide them under my bed at night so they couldn't hurt me. A flash of movement catches my eye and I turn my head to see Mulder advancing on me stealthily. My eyes widen involuntarily. His movements make him look like a wolf stalking its prey. Once again, I feel a wet rush of heat between my thighs. I'm not going to lie. I allow myself Mulder fantasies. It's the only thing that keeps me sane. Six years of celibacy can really try your patience. I'll admit that I almost slept with Ed Jerse. But honestly, it was Mulder's face I kept seeing. It's kind of sick. I was fantasizing about the man who was treating me like shit. I guess I'm just a little masochist. Most of the fantasies I have usually involve him being Mr. Dominance. My particular favorite revolves around a pair of handcuffs, a blindfold and a belt. "Did you like him, Scully?" His voice startles me. "Who?" I ask, my voice shaking slightly. He looks at me from under heavy lids, his face sharply shadowed. "Agent Marlowe." He spits the name out as if it were poison. I suddenly get it. He thought I was flirting... "No." He looks marginally satisfied. "Good," he says, moving a step closer to me, within an arm's reach, "I'd hate for him to get the wrong idea." I can't help leaning back on the bench, trying to put some distance between us. He's giving me that look again and I'm afraid of where this is heading. I want it, but damn, am I afraid. "The wr...wrong idea about what?" I stammer as he leans closer. He's hovering right over me now, his hands beside my thighs on the bench, his face inches from mine. "About who you belong to." His voice is so dark and raw that my brain telegraphs the message straight to my clit, and I can't help but shudder hard. I don't think I've ever been this aroused before. "Oh? And who is that?" I murmur, my voice all but gone. His eyes flash in the burgeoning darkness. "Me," he whispers just before sealing his mouth to mine. I am utterly shocked. Mulder is pushing me backward, bending my back into an arch, thrusting his tongue lazily into my mouth. He presses his lean, hard body against me, forcing me to lean back until my top half is suspended over empty space. His arms move to wrap around my waist, holding me to him, his hips grinding against mine. I moan into his mouth and he answers me with a groan of his own, slowly sliding his tongue against mine, flicking the tip against the roof of my mouth. I thought I had been kissed before. Boy, was I wrong. Mulder kisses me with such passion, as if kissing me is the only thing in the world. His body crushes against mine, fitting the rigid length of his cock against my belly. The friction of my clothes against my hardening nipples is breathtaking. I shiver in spite of the sweltering Delta heat. Mulder finally pulls away, giving my bottom lip one last nip. He rises to his full height and steps back, regarding me lustfully. His dark eyes are hypnotic. I feel like I'm in a trance, aware of only one thing. Mulder. "Take your jacket off, Scully." His voice rings through the relative silence of the cemetery. His tone is raw and harsh, domineering. Without really thinking, my fingers part the buttons and the jacket slips from my shoulders to pool on the bench behind me. Mulder growls with satisfaction as he takes in my thin, white camisole. It's so humid here that the fabric must be nearly transparent. I can feel my hard nipples straining against the feathery fabric, but I don't dare look down. Mulder's gaze has captured me. He seems to approve of my new look. His eyes rake over me in a mimic of what his hands want to do. He licks his lips slowly, languorously, and I know I'm about ten seconds from losing it. He spans the distance between us with one step, dropping to his knees in front of me. To anyone watching, he would appear to be subservient. But I know better. Watching his eyes shift to a darker shade of hazel, his pupils dilating, the set of his brow, I know exactly who is in charge here. And I certainly don't mind being relieved of my responsibilities. His hands come to rest on my knees, his thumbs tracing invisible circles on the insides. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you?" he rumbles, slowly sliding his hands up my thighs. I shudder when his fingers venture under the hem of my skirt. "What?" I whisper in a voice that is barely there. He stops suddenly when he reaches the tops of my stockings and gives me an approving smile. "Do you know how much this turns me on?" he asks, pushing my skirt up to my hips. "What are you going to do, Mulder?" I ask him, trying to sound as strong as possible. He purses his lips at me thoughtfully, and I am struck with a sudden urge to bite them. That's always been involved in my fantasies. Nipping at Mulder's lower lip, especially while his lower body is doing delightful things to mine. "What should I do with you?" his voice isn't playful at all, "There are so many things that I'd like to do to you. But I don't know if you'd let me." Suddenly, I can see through his mask. The everyday Mulder is in there and he wants my permission. I don't want to see the everyday Mulder right now. I want the dominant Mulder to come back. I lay my hand on his shoulder. "I trust you," is all I say, and the dominant Mulder makes a swift return. His eyes are suddenly fierce and feral. "How about I just show you what I want to do to you," he growls, sliding his hands around to cup my hips. His fingers slip under the elastic of my panties and I disjointedly thank... someone for wearing the sexiest pair of underwear I own. If he likes these, he ought to like the bra even more. I lift my hips and he pulls my panties down and off, admiring the little piece of red and black silk before stuffing it in the pocket of his trousers. "Wouldn't want you to lose those," he says, pulling me forward until my ass is on the edge of the bench. His hands spread my thighs wide, and then move around to grasp my hips. He doesn't waste any time on preliminaries. I feel his hot breath a millisecond before his tongue delves inside me. I gasp sharply, one hand coming up to clutch at his hair. He makes a hungry noise in his throat and slides the flat of his tongue all the way up my sex, pressing over my clit at the very top. I've never really enjoyed oral sex that much, but now I'm convinced that it was just the wrong men doing it to me. Mulder should be given a fucking medal of honor for outstanding cunnilingus performed on his partner. Mulder gives me a few more long licks, then sharpens his tongue and flickers it over my clit, flicking it up and down. He pushes a long finger into me and I clench around him. I can feel him smile against my sex, and then he slides two more fingers in, his tongue never stopping. Oh, God, I can't breathe. I have never felt such exquisite pleasure. The only coherent thought floating through my mind right now is "why the hell didn't I let Mulder do this before?" But all thought flees when a blinding orgasm hits me. My legs are shaking hard and my back is arching off of the bench and Mulder keeps going, prolonging each wave as it crashes over me. "Oh, oh, god, Mulder... no more... I can't take anymore..." I gasp. He obediently stops, soothing me with light kisses on my thighs. I blink a few times, trying to clear the haze in my vision. Mulder stands, shedding his jacket and dropping it on the ground. His tie flutters to join the jacket and a few buttons come loose on his shirt. I pull together enough to sit up partway and look at him. What I see nearly makes me faint. Mulder is staring at me with this dark, unbelievably ravenous look. His eyes have darkened so much that I can't see any hint of color. And, oh god... His hands drop to his belt and loosen the strap of leather. Almost methodically, his fingers open the hidden clasp and slide the zipper down, leaving the dark grey trousers hanging on his hips. He's wearing those wonderful grey boxer briefs, the ones that I now know to be a little too small to hold in what is hands-down the biggest erection I've ever seen. Oh fuck, I think my mouth is watering. I feel like Pavlov's dog. I drag my eyes back up to his and he meets my gaze fiercely. "I want you to do something for me, Scully." The sound of my name makes me shudder. "Anything," I reply, my words sounding to my own ears like begging. Mulder hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts, pulling them out and down, freeing his cock. I feel quite lightheaded. You know, that funny feeling you get when you're short on oxygen? Like you're just seeing what is going on around you, but it's not really happening. "I want you to taste me, Scully," he says, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders. I move forward eagerly, flicking my tongue out to graze the tip of his cock. He jerks and I take that as encouragement, licking my lips and taking the head into my mouth. Oh, he tastes good. Salty and heady, like heat and flesh, Mulderflesh. I take him in deeper with every stroke, swirling my tongue around the head, pressing into the little indention on the underside. He moans harshly, his hips giving a little involuntary thrust. I suck hard, slowly dragging my lips up his cock to the ridge, running my tongue over the hot flesh. He gasps, his grip tightening on my shoulders, and a new flavor is introduced into my mouth. He pushes me away quickly, taking a second to recover. I roll the taste around on my tongue and decide immediately that I like it. He tastes oddly sweet, a delicious contrast to the bitter saltiness that makes up the undertones. "That was too good," Mulder breathes heavily, running a hand through his hair, "Crawl up on the bench, Scully." I move without thinking, turning sideways. "Get on your hands and knees," he orders, his fingers parting the remaining buttons on his shirt. My hands start to shake and my mouth suddenly goes bone dry. Oh, my God. I cannot believe this is happening. The sheer insanity of this situation hits me. I'm about to get fucked (and if the look on Mulder's face is any indicator, I'm about to get fucked hard) in the middle of a cemetery. The scarier thing is that this is turning me on past the point of common sense. Oh, a cemetery, yeah, sure, serial killer, oh, right. I'm going to get fucked. I turn obediently, dropping my shoes onto the ground, pointing my toes until the tops of my feet are pressed flat on the warm stone. I stretch my arms out, bracing my weight on them, and bow my back, thrusting my ass up into the air. Mulder must like the view, from the groan he gives. Glancing over my shoulder, I watch him move to his knees on the bench behind me. He grasps my hips, pulling me back until I can feel the heat of his body on my bare flesh. His fingers trail over my skin, drawing invisible patterns. "Oh, Mulder... please..." I moan. "Please what?" he replies, no playfulness in his tone. "Please..." "Please what? You have to answer me, Scully. Let me know what you want. Then maybe I'll give it to you." A high-pitched noise leaves my throat, a plea. "Mulder, I want you...mmm, please. I want your cock, Mulder, fuck me, please...please, please, please," I chant, trying to thrust my hips back at him. His grip on me tightens, his fingers digging into my flesh to the point of pain. Then his right hand leaves me, and I feel his fingers slipping over my drenched sex, sliding in and out. His touch leaves me completely and I drop my head to my chest, tears of frustration welling up in my eyes. Then he shocks me completely. His left hand darts up to tangle in my hair, yanking my head back with just enough force. At the same time, he guides his cock to my entrance, thrusting hard, pushing himself all the way inside me with no warning. I cry out, my voice echoing through the empty, dark cemetery. A low, guttural groan answers me. Mulder's grip on my hair loosens, his hand moving down to grip my shoulder. "Oh, God, Scully..." he moans. He pulls back until just the head of him remains inside, the ridge tugging at my opening. I squeeze my muscles tight around him, inching my way back, taking more of him in. He seems to like this immensely. He drops forward, planting his hands on either side of me, letting me have a little more of him. I squeeze again, working him rhythmically inside of me. His right hand slides under me, jerking my skirt up around my waist. His fingers proceed to dip into the wetness he's created and play with my swollen clit, flicking the bud of nerves back and forth. Every muscle in my body jerks, every nerve set on fire. I suck in a breath hard, my legs trembling against his. "Oh, yeah," I hear him growl in my ear, his breath hot, "Come for me again. Do it, Scully." He flicks hard and another tiny orgasm skitters over me. He doesn't let up at all, his fingers working me even more furiously. I'm wailing now, unable to cope with the sensory overload. I've never come like this before. It feels like a thousand orgasms following right after each other, sending tingling sparks through my body. I'm shaking so hard that I can't support myself any longer. I fall forward, stretching my arms out straight in front of me, pushing back on him for leverage. "Mul... Mulder," I moan, "Fuck me hard." He exhales shakily, pushing himself back up to his knees, one hand moving to my hip, the other taking hold of my throat. "What Scully wants, Scully gets," he says darkly. He pumps into me, his hips giving hard, fast thrusts. The cemetery seems to come alive with the sounds of us. I can hear his harsh breaths reverberating off of the cold tombs, punctuated with my own cries and moans. He's so close, I can feel it in his hands, I can feel the tenseness shimmering through his body every time it makes contact with mine. "Oh, yeah," I breathe, "Come for me, Mulder. Give it to me." He moans, his right arm locking around my chest, his weight pressing me down onto the bench with every thrust of his hips. "Uh... please, Mulder. Come for me. I want it, Mulder," I whisper around his pounding, my breath forced out of me, "Give it to me." He stiffens suddenly, his hips giving a few erratic, uneven thrusts. Then his cries fill the deserted graveyard with life as he fills me with himself. It's hot and wet and oh, so good. His arms give out and he collapses down onto me. His weight feels good, reassuring. Finally, his breathing slows and matches mine. I wake up in a sea of sheets that smell of sex and Mulder and me. I roll over to see him watching me, his face creased with a tiny smile. "Good morning," he whispers. "Mmm, 'morning," I reply, "What are you doing?" He leans over to kiss me softly. "I was watching the sun rise. It came in through the window and lit you up like fire," he says. "I didn't realize you were a poet." He chuckles, more to himself than to me. His fingers play in the messy strands of my hair and he stares at me with such a tenderness that I didn't know he was capable of. "Did you like it?" he asks quietly, "Last night?" I push myself up on one arm, draping myself over him. It feels so good to press my naked body against his, and I feel the fires stoked last night sparking again. "Mulder, I don't think you even have to ask," I whisper, sliding my tongue around the outside of his ear. He groans and pulls me to him tightly, rolling us so he's over me. He grinds his hips against me, pressing his cock into my thigh. "What do you say we pick up where we left off?" he says, and I am introduced to another facet of Mulder's personality. I wrap my legs around his hips and he slips two fingers, damp from my mouth, into me, spreading the growing wetness. I impatiently thrust up against him and he laughs silently. "My, my. Aren't we anxious?" he teases. "Fuck me, Mulder," I growl. He shakes his head at me. "Can I make love to you instead?" he asks, running his lips over my collarbone, a move he now knows to drive me insane, "I'd much rather make love to you. Will you let me?" "Let you?" I gasp. He pushed himself up so he can look me in the eye. "Love you," he answers simply. As much as I hate crying, I feel tears burning my eyes. "Only if I can love you back." He smiles blissfully, dipping his head to kiss me deeply. Well, another one of my fantasies is coming true. I'm biting his bottom lip lightly, tugging the soft flesh between my teeth. He shifts his hips and sinks his cock down inside of me. The heat is rising again. I don't think it ever really left. New Orleans is waking with the dawn, and as I cry out in release, welcoming Mulder into my body, I feel the heat searing me as surely as his gaze. End Author's Notes: Okay, I need to say first that some of this was inspired by reading Allison Kinney's "Never" for about the fiftieth time. I really love that fic. I think I also paid an unconscious homage to Mustang Sally's "By The Light of The Moon," although I never even thought of that fic while I was writing this one. I dunno, I guess it's just embedded in my unconscious (thank you, Dr. Freud). I'd like to dedicate this to my significant other, who inspired part of this fic. Well, along with repeated doses of "Jake's Story".