TITLE: Other Options AUTHOR: Dreamshaper FEEDBACK: is treated like little demigods by dreamshpr@aol.com ARCHIVING: Please do, if you like it enough. Send an email if I'm new to you ;) RATING: NC17 (and there was much rejoicing--ok, from the author, but still ) CATEGORY: MSR, PWP SPOILERS: post-ep for Arcadia--imagine, please, that the rest of season 6 didn't happen! SUMMARY: Arcadia was a good smut vehicle, as many of you know. I used it shamelessly for my own romantic ends ;) DISCLAIMER: I consider them mine till Oct. 31st--or Nov. 7th, whichever is now the premiere date. I am willing to share (kidding--not mine, duh. No suing!) NOTES: Ok. I've been unable to really write for a week now, and I have a good reason--apparently, I got a concussion last Monday, though we didn't actually know it till Saturday. If you've emailed me and I've responded, sorry I probably wasn't too coherent. Same goes for IMs, which I shudder to think about really. If I *haven't* responded to your email, don't worry I'm getting there! ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````` Mulder had picked me up before we traveled out to California, so his weird sense of honor demands that he drive me home. Even as I look longingly at the cab stand, he plops my luggage into the trunk of his car. "Mulder," I protest once more, "it'll be no problem to get a cab." "No. Get in the car." Moving quick--probably to avoid the fist I want to send his way for the order in his tone--Mulder slams the trunk and slips into the driver's seat. One last longing glance at the cabs, an impossible dream of grabbing my bag and bolting, and then I open the passenger door. No matter how much you just want *away* from him, I tell myself, it's better this than making him cranky. Sulky Mulder doesn't mind making life miserable for days. Just--deal. It's hard to take my own good advice. After days of living with him, of being in each other's pockets for what felt like years, of fending off innuendoes and deliberately perverse statements, the drive to my apartment promises to be...hellish. I'll be on my guard the whole trip--same way I'd been on guard since Mulder'd popped into the office, folder in hand, toothy smile in place. "Hey, Scully--wanna get married?" The words had made me shudder. The file made me shudder more. The faint idea that Skinner was matchmaking almost sent me bolting upstairs to demand...anything. Any other options. The challenging look in Mulder's eyes made me stiffen my spine, hide the discomfort and smile back. Just like that, we were 'married'. Playing house with Mulder was less than fun. The rate at which the little remarks were tossed out, the tone of everything--the tension and anger *still* between us... This time last year, I'd have delighted in the assignment, really. Even if we were battling a whole fleet of garbage monsters and anal neighbors--or whatever the hell it was that we were up against. But instead, it felt more like we were battling each other. Now...now I just want to go home. Relax, without green goo masks, ugly pajamas, constant tension--and Mulder popping up every time I think it's safe. "So, Scully--guess it's time for a divorce, huh?" I turn in my seat, facing him. In the half-light of dusk, his eyes gleam as he glances across at me. "Guess so," I murmur in reply. "Well, the thrill *was* gone." He looks back out to the road, but I keep my eyes on him. There's something...off right now, I decide. Something different from what we left in DC, than what we were dealing with in Arcadia. And it's not me... It's Mulder. He was twitchy before we left for Arcadia. Constantly shifting, continually tapping his fingers or crunching on his seeds. And there was something--restless in him in California, the part of him that wants to push the limits running rampant, as well as roughshod, over everything. Including me. But now, even though I'm probably visibly tense, he's comfortably slouched in his seat, driving competently and otherwise still. No tapping, chewing, nothing. And he's smiling. Not that toothy, somehow bitter grin he's been wearing a lot lately, a much softer twist of his lips. I turn away. Something blooming in the air now is making me more nervous than I've ever been in his company, and with my previous tension underneath it, I just want to make him stop the car so I can get out. He's affecting me too much, and I don't like it. Thank God we're almost at my apartment. For the rest of the ride, I'll ignore him, focusing on keeping my breathing slow and steady in an attempt to ease my nerves. It doesn't work. By the time he's stopped the car across from my building, my nerves are practically crackling. I feel like one big, exposed neuron. I imagine that I feel like Mulder on a high caffeine day and groan silently. Impatient, needing to be off and gone, I slide free of my seat and hurry around to the trunk, expecting Mulder to just pop it. But instead, he turns off the car, climbs from behind the wheel with keys in hand and unlocks the trunk. Hoisting my bag, he ignores me and heads for the stairs. "I need coffee," he calls to me over his shoulder, "and dinner. Want to order Chinese?" I'm still standing by the car, gaping. Dinner? Coffee? I just want him to go *home*. By the time I've managed to jog across the busy street, he's already opened the door to my apartment, dropped my bag off on the kitchen table and is making a pot of coffee. I stand in my kitchen and want to groan. It occurs to me to just walk into my bedroom, lock the door and fall on my bed, allowing him all the coffee and Chinese he wants but denying him me available to torture. But the thought of all the trouble he could undoubtedly manage to wreak upon my poor apartment has me sinking into a seat at the table. "So, Chinese?" he asks with cheer as he settles across from me, waiting for the coffee to perk. "Thai," I say, accepting the inevitable. ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````` An hour later, and he's comfortably ensconced on my couch, a plate of extra spicy everything balanced on his leg, a huge glass of milk on the table in front of him. I, seated as far away from him as I can get, pick at the rice on my plate and wish him gone--or at least, back into post-Diana mode, which is infuriating but easy enough to deal with. This quiet, seemingly companionable Mulder makes me jumpy. It also makes me sad, and...lonely. I miss this Mulder, and can't trust his so sudden return. Only yesterday, the anger in the air between us was thick enough to slice. He might have quicksilver moods, but this seems drastic. Suspicious. What surprise does he plan on springing on me next? With a sigh, he settles his plate on the coffee table, eases around to look more fully at me. "So, wanna come curl up with me? Baby cats and all that?" I look down at my rice to distract myself from the image his words bring to mind--me and Mulder wrapped around each other on my comfortable couch, sleepy and quiet..."No, thanks," I murmur. "I just want to curl up in my bed. Go to sleep." "I can do that." I look up quick, catching that softly disturbing smile on his face. Frowning, I shake my head. "What's gotten in to you?" I ask, confused and too tired--too frustrated and annoyed--to hide it. "We're done, Mulder. No more married, no more need to be whatever the hell it was you were in Arcadia." "What was I in Arcadia, Scully, besides angry and sarcastic?" "A bad actor?" "Oh? And you did so much better? Jesus, Scully, I'm surprised anybody fell for it with the way you were avoiding getting near me!" The smile disappears from his face, replaced by a frown and a trace of something hurting in his eyes that surprises me. Then it's gone, replaced by weariness, and he tips his head back against the couch. "I don't want to argue," he says softly. "What else do we do, Mulder? Lately, anyway?" Pitched low to match his, my voice is tight, stress revealed in the syllables. "That's why I don't want to now. I'm tired of fighting with you. Tired of sitting in grim little silences, tired of angry looks." I am, too. I have been, all along. But I don't want to just forgive and forget--he hurt me too much. And I hurt him too, I'm sure. The kind of anger we've been holding on to...can't just be dealt with over Thai. It'd be a slow, gradual rebuilding of trust. Wouldn't it? "I'm not sure what you're trying to do, Mulder," I say slowly. "Not sure of what you're hoping to accomplish." "Please, Scully. Don't pull that with me, no matter how mad you are. You know what I want." Sure, I think. Normalcy. You want it as much as I do, even if your ideas about it are different. You want us to go back to the way we were. I don't think we can. Suddenly I want to cry. Too much tension, I think as I look down at my plate and blink. Too much past, too many things you should be angry about-- Even if you're not. In a flash, Mulder is before me, kneeling. He takes my plate from my suddenly nerveless hands, puts it on the table, and tugs my chin till I'm looking into his eyes. "I know," he murmurs after taking a deep breath, "I know that for a while there, you hated me. I wasn't too happy with you either, trust me. But...I realized when I was trying to make us both miserable in Arcadia that my heart wasn't really in it. In any of it, the case, the acting. I just wanted...to come home. To deal with you without distractions and see if maybe I couldn't make you not hate me." His lips twist wryly as I stare at him, and he inches closer, bumping up against my knees. "Is at least that much plausible? Can we maybe start working our way back to friends?" What an entreaty, I think. I didn't really want to make you miserable anymore--friends? I want to say no... But with a sigh, I acknowledge that I just don't have it in me anymore to be so angry. "Yes," I say, smiling faintly when he doesn't hide relief. "Friends. Until the next time you do something irresponsible, dangerous or just plain stupid." In just a second, I find myself tangled in his arms, his face tucked into the curve between neck and shoulder. Slowly, feeling a new kind of tension build up in myself, I close my own arms around him, press my cheek to his hair. And we both sigh. This close proximity, despite the tightness it causes in my stomach, is something I suppose I've been needing--Mulder as well. The touching we did in Arcadia had nothing of this soothing warmth or this sense of connection. Or this heat. When I find myself absorbing his scent and the feel of his muscles moving as he pulls me a little closer, I lift my head, drop my arms. Taking the hint, he moves back a couple inches--just enough to look up at me as his arms wrap around my waist, elbows on my thighs. "Friends, Mulder," I whisper softly. "I promise. Now, it's been...a long couple of days." "Want me to go home?" I nod, and the relieved gleam in his eyes dulls a bit. Refusing to feel guilty, I press a hand to his cheek, smiling when he automatically presses against my hand. "I'll see you tomorrow," I promise. He considers me for a moment--and then the glint of relief, dulled as it is, fires into recklessness. "Ok," he says as he stretches up, plants a very light kiss on my cheek. For a second more, his temple rests against mine, then he is climbing easily to his feet, pulling me up with him. "Ok," he says again, and smiles down into my eyes. For a moment, I'm mesmerized. I've never seen his eyes turn this particular color before, mostly green, the brilliant hue drowning out the grey-- I don't close my eyes when he lowers his head. I can't. Not even when I feel a soft puff of breath across my lips, when he softly settles his mouth against mine. But I do close them when I hear the sigh flow from my mouth, from somewhere deep inside me. When I wind my arms slowly back around him. I leave them closed even though I can feel his on my face as he lifts his mouth, brings it back for a subtle, gentle press. It's just relief, I tell myself as the delicate pressure sets my heart humming and has me tightening my hold on him, just a little. Nothing more than relief. Then he moves, wraps his arms tight around me and pulls me up, closer, and I can tell that it isn't just relief, but lust. An apparently healthy dose of it, too. As I process the knowledge, his mouth lifts again, coming back for a better angle, and his tongue is teasing my skin. Automatically responding, I open my mouth for his, for him, and find myself drowning in his taste. Make him back off, a part of my mind whispers under the sudden roaring in my ears. Make him back off now, or you won't be able to later. You won't want to. But it's too late. I *already* don't want to. I want to bask in something I've fought for six years, want to enjoy this...I want to feel this. So I make no objection, and I don't move to push him away. Instead, as he tugs me in tighter, I send my hands wandering gently up and down the long, straight column of his back, as far as I can reach. The muscles I felt moving gently earlier ripple violently now under my hands and I find them fascinating, tracing and defining them as I let myself be swept away. But then he breaks the kiss. Pulling back, disengaging just a bit, he takes a deep breath. Looking up, disappointed, a little wary, I'm drawn back into his eyes--confusion rolls through them, confusion and the same lust I've stopped fighting. "As your friend," he whispers huskily before swallowing with a little jerk, "I feel I ought to warn you--this is a rule-breaker. Not that I've ever had a problem breaking rules," he rushes to add when I just look at him, "but you've always been a bit more...circumspect." "If we stopped this, right now," I whisper back, "would you forget it?" There's a flash of pain in his eyes and he automatically loosens his hold on me again. Then his eyes harden. "No. And I wouldn't let you either." "Ok." This time, I kiss him, rising up on tiptoe to do it. He responds with gratifying speed, but seems to catch himself, and sets me back again. "Scully...irresponsible, dangerous and stupid probably apply to this--" "Mulder, I'm not going to say no, no matter how hard you try to talk me into it." I let him search my eyes, for one of the first times in our partnership letting him see all the emotions rumbling inside me. Apparently satisfied--finally--he nods. "Ok, Scully. Ok." In no more than a minute I find myself in my bedroom. Before I can even begin to feel nervous about it, Mulder is stripping off my clothes, nibbling and kissing his way down my torso as he undoes my blouse. He rubs his hands up and down my thighs as he slides me free of my slacks, the block heels I always wear with them, and my thigh highs. I'm down to a bra and panties by the time I begin with fumbling hands to relieve him of his shirt and slacks--it's much easier, I think as I push his slacks and they fall right down, to be a man and get naked. Then I'm not really thinking at all. Mulder's kissing me again, and I'm fighting to get closer to him, urgency thrumming through my bloodstream and skeins of tangled emotions making me tremble. I move back, towards my bed, dragging a more than willing Mulder with me. I twist, push him, and he obliges by falling lightly across the bed, on his back. Smiling up at me, he holds out his hands, but I'm more interested in slowing down for a second. I've seen him naked. I've seen him in swim trunks, I've even seen him flat out on my bed in his briefs before. But I've never seen him aroused and smiling, a raw flush high on his cheekbones accentuating the colors swirling in his eyes. It's a nice sight, I think. I could stand and look at him all night. But something in his eyes, in his smile, in the shifting, smooth muscles makes me think I'd have more fun if I joined him. I settle myself over him, and he rubs big hands down my back as I nip my way down his throat, across his chest. A low hum resonates through his chest, the sound charming and soothing, and I press my cheek against his ribcage, enjoying it. This is easy, I realize. For years I've been telling myself it'd be horrible and awkward and tense, but it's easy, like we've been exactly here a thousand times before. Thankful, I nibble gentle at his nipples, run my tongue along the dents below his ribs. He shudders when I hold the skin above his navel between my teeth and groans when I slide my tongue under the band of his boxers. When I tug, he raises his narrow hips and lets me slide the garment down his legs, and moans when I send questing fingers rubbing gently across his jutting hip bones. It's me who moans when I slide my lips across to his erection though. He doesn't even breathe, doesn't move other than the hands that clutch convulsively at my sheets. For long minutes, I explore him as intimately as I can manage, until his hips jerk lightly beneath my hands. Then I slip back up his body, sharing a kiss more passionate than any I've ever known. Easy, I think, delighting in it, in him. Perfect. He flips us over, settling me beneath him. His hands run gently over my skin, pinching very lightly, smoothing, making me sigh. His mouth is never idle, busy at my mouth, the curve of my neck and shoulders, sending shivers down my spine. In no time at all, I'm hot enough to melt, or burst, or burn, but he's slowing the pace, teasing more often than touching, tempting and laughing against my skin as I shift, trying to get a firmer touch. With one goal on my mind, I buck my hips till he shifts what little of his weight he had resting on me, and sit up, shucking my bra. My bikini briefs fly in the opposite direction, and I straddle him again, triumphant. "Got you," I murmur, smiling into his eyes. He doesn't say anything, just slides his hands down my arms, my hips. He's not smiling as he looks up at me, as one hand glides behind my hips and the other slips between my legs. I lose my smile on a moan, but keep my eyes on his. Something is forming between us, I can feel it and it shows vividly in the intensity of his eyes. I can't look away, and even the fluid pleasure of his fingers playing gently isn't enough to break the mood. Just when I think we're both going to drown, he closes his eyes, draws me down with the hand on my hip. His other hand stills, withdraws, and the tangled emotions that had been running through me, through us, slow and smooth. I sigh, close my eyes, press a kiss to his collarbone, and wait. I think we can stay like this forever, but then he shifts lightly beneath me and desire comes back in a rush--apparently through him as well. Minutes later, Mulder slides his hands back down my ribcage with a sigh. Urging me up, he passes them around, tracing circles across the fine skin of my breasts till I can't help squirming my hips. A flick across my nipples makes me moan, a gentle tug has me tossing my head back, arching into his hands. I can't stand it anymore, and raise my hips, finding him and settling back. Slowly and easily, I push down, filling myself gently. When I've taken him as deeply as I'll be able to these first few minutes, I rest. He shifts beneath me, careful, drawing my gaze. His eyes are purely green now, deep and dark but clear and his lips twitch, hinting at a smile. "Scully--" "Hush," I say, sliding down more, taking him deeper. "I know." Frustration darkens his eyes more and he shakes his head against my pillow. "Let me *say* it, Scully. I need to. I want to." His hands still my hips, and his chest rises on a huge breath of air. "I love you," he says simply before letting his chest deflate. "Despite--maybe because of everything we've been through, I love you." Instant panic erupts through my system. I need more time, I think frantically, images of possessive, protective, stubborn, temperamental Mulder racing through my mind. Then thoughts if the remnants of the Consortium, Diana--Skinner. My brother, his sister, our search. Chest tight, I close my eyes. The world drops away and closes in, becoming just him and me, him *in* me, and my panic recedes. Searching my soul in half a heartbeat I realize that when everything else is cleared away, the fact that I love him burns strong. Testing it, I open my eyes. The world rushes back--but the panic doesn't. "I know," I whisper, leaning forward as he rears up and presses his arms tight around me. "I know." "This is the moment, Scully, where you say 'I love you, too'." He hums the words into my hair, hugging me tight, and I grip him just as fiercely. Smiling into his chest, I echo "I love you, too." and laugh as he pushes me back with a mock ferocious growl. "Do you mean it?" he asks, and then groans deep as I suddenly sink down the last distance onto him. I echo that, too, and gasp. It takes a seeming eternity for the initial burst of pleasure to recede enough for me to speak, and I can feel him waiting-- "Yeah," I whisper. "I mean it." The second the words are out of my mouth, his hands are moving my hips, and orgasm slides through me, rippling through my muscles and leaving me moaning incoherently in his arms. He's quick to follow--not that I mind, we've waited six years--and we fall back onto the bed, panting and shuddering. In the stillness of the aftermath, I wait for awkwardness to creep in, find myself awash in contentment and sleepiness instead. Lulled by Mulder's finally even breathing, I drift. But I should have known he'd try to destroy the mood-- "So, I guess there's no divorce for the Petries, huh?" I hit him over the head with a pillow, and fall asleep with his chuckles rumbling through my body. END ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````` Life is good. I've got a cat in my lap, one across the back of the chair, a dog warming my feet, and a plate of mini chocolate coated croissants, and milk. The only thing that would make my evening more complete would be feedback Send it on over, maybe I'll share the croissants! Dreamshaper dreamshpr@aol.com