TITLE:   PUSHED
AUTHOR:  RHONDDA LAKE
E-MAIL:  rhonddal@aol.com
RATING:  NC17

Only after I originally posted this did I notice some gramatical errors,
as well as a few little things I wanted to add.
This is the same story as the previously posted PUSHED. The changes
are minor, however I think they do improve the story. If you keep these
kind of stories for a personal 'library' such as I do you may want to just
overwrite the last version with this one.

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and everything associated with the
X-Files all belong to Chris Carter and company, 10/13 productions and FOX
television.

WARNING! NC-17! M&S romance ahead. This story contains sex, so if you are
underage, or offended by such, skip it. I just thought I'd try my hand on
a follow up to "Pusher", especially since that episode probably made every
relationshipper on the net drool with the heavy waves of UST involved.
This story is in NO WAY associated with any of my previous writings.
DEFINITE third season spoilers.

XXXXXXXXXX

He looked at the glass in front of him. The caramel colored liquid
flowing around the sparkling ice, the beads of moisture forming on the
outside of the glass.
He hadn't touched a drop since the fiasco in Comity. Not even his
usual weekend beer. Cosmic forces aside, the vodka hadn't helped the
situation. Later, on reflection, it had scared him. The stress of his
relationship with Scully seeming to erode beyond repair before his very
eyes had made him want to lean on the crutch of alcohol. He'd figured if
he got drunk enough it wouldn't hurt as much. Her biting remarks might
loose their sting under a nice buzz, and maybe he'd be able to erase his
own cold remarks from his damned editic memory. Just to forget for a
little while the hurt he'd seen in her eyes if only for a little while. It
hadn't helped, it had made things worse. He just couldn't hold his tounge
once he was drunk. "Actually I didn't think you're little feet could reach
the peddles." God, Where the Hell had that come from?
Alcohol hadn't worked. But his own reaction to it wasn't what had
scared him. No, looking back on the incident and seeing his father is what
had scared him. How many times did Bill Mulder turn to scotch or whisky to
drive away some unnamed pain? How many times had he walked in to see his
father sitting in a chair, staring at nothing, a half empty glass in his
hand? God, the night he'd died, he'd turned to a drink seeking strength
from the spirits in the bottle rather then the spirits of the past, trying
to use it to give him the courage to tell his son the truth at last.
The ice cubes rattled as one of them on the bottom melted enough for
a positional shift. He eyed the glass more intensely. He really wanted a
drink. He hadn't slept all night last night, and he'd walked through today
trying to avoid really TALKING with his partner. He saw the concern, the
pain, the questions in her eyes, and he just wasn't sure he wanted to face
the answers. All he had to do was reach forward and bring the glass to his
lips. Just allow the cold liquid to burn down his throat and let the
warmth spread through his limbs. It would loosen him up, maybe allow him
to sleep without the nightmares.
He reached for the glass and felt the cold perspiration outside the
slick surface. He lifted it with a shaking hand, and with one sudden
movement he tossed the glass across the room to have it smash against the
wall, leaving a wet stain against the paint.
He buried his head in his hands and took a deep breath. He didn;t need
this. His relationship with Scully had improved lately. The stress of
their job, of knowing each other too well had taken it's toll, but they'd
moved past it. He hadn't realized how well they had moved past that
stumbling block until he held a revolver in his hand. A revolver loaded
with one bullet. And Scully was there, begging him to fight the control of
another. At that moment he realized nothing in the world meant as much to
him as his partner. Unfortunately, the third man in the room seemed to
recognize the same thing.
He was startled by the gentle rapping at his door. He looked at the
clock on his VCR, 11:21 pm. Not the usual calling time for Jehovah's
Witnesses. That left only one person it could be.
He pushed himself off the couch and crossed to the door, throwing open
the dead bolt he opened the wooden barrier to let her in.
Dana Scully walked into the room surrounded by a pool of light from
the hall. The soft scent of her perfume trailing behind her.
She looked into the room, the only light in the apartment coming from
the television.
"Did I wake you?" She turned to look at him, his profile lit for a
moment by the same hall light before he closed the door against the
offensive intrusion of such brightness.

He snorted. "Yah right. You know me, sleep like a baby."
She pursed her lips slightly then turned to face the dim living room.
She crossed the shadowed chamber and switched on the desk lamp, dispelling
the comforting darkness.
"I came because I have some news." Her head tilted slightly as she
took in the sight of him. The circles under his eyes were slightly darker
then usual, and he was avoiding looking at her. She had not missed the
sharp smell of scotch, and her eyes had picked up the broken glass on the
floor next to a dripping wall.
"What news?" He finally ventured.
"Robert Patrick Modell finally flatlined at five after eleven this
evening. He's gone Mulder."
He only nodded.
"Mulder, we have to talk about this. *I* have to talk about this.
Please, don't shut me out."
He looked up and saw her eyes pleading with him. "What do you want me
to say Scully? That I'm a weak willed idiot?"
"No. No, you aren't weak willed. You managed to fight him, better
then any of the others had." She crossed her arms and gave him that
measuring, appraising look that always made him want to check and see if
his fly was open or his shoes untied. Silly at this moment as he was
wearing sweatpants and barefoot.
"Then what?" He heard himself asking, even though he knew the answer.
The question he didn't want to look at, wanted to run screaming from the
room in order to avoid. But she wasn't going to let him. She was going to
force him to look at this part of himself, just as she had forced him to
face other facets of himself before.
"Mulder... yesterday... Damn this is hard." She took off her coat and
placed it over the back of one of his chairs before seating herself. "When
Modell made you put that gun to your head... I can't even begin to sum up
what I was thinking and feeling then, other then the terror that you were
about to blow your own brains out right in front of me. God, I don't think
I could have handled that. It wasn't until later that night that I began
to review the entire thing.
"Mulder you didn't fight too hard against putting that gun to your
own head. It was only when you pointed the revolver at me that you really
fought. Why? Do you really value yourself so little?"
Mulder ran a shaking hand through his hair. He looked briefly at the
wet stain on the wall that had been a glass of scotch a few minutes
before. Did he value himself so little? If he did wouldn't he have just
downed the damn drink? He always took risks, putting himself on the line
in his search for the truth, or justice. Dying itself didn't really scare
him.
But was he suicidal? He didn't think so. He'd never actually sat
alone in the dark with a gun, or contemplated a razor as anything but a
means to shave. He'd been injured enough that his medicine cabinet was
full of pain killers and other goodies that could make a lethal cocktail
if he'd decided to put them to such a use. But up until this very moment
the thought had never crossed his mind.
"I'm not suicidal Scully." He insisted after the few seconds it took
him to contemplate the possibility.
She seemed to relax the tiniest bit at that. "You fought the
suggestion to shoot me." She whispered softly.
"I don't undervalue my own life. I just value some things more then
my own life." Softly, the words were said so softly she had to strain to
hear them. Not willing to say what had really passed through his head
yesterday, why he hadn't fought putting the gun to his own head. One
bullet, one person would die. With Scully in the room, he'd thought,
better me then her.


===========================================================================

He closed his eyes and his mind flashed back to that hospital room.
His will fighting Modell's for control of his body. Looking at her tear
streaked face, the fear there, the fear and the... trust. Trust as she
urged him to fight it. As she assured him that he was stronger then
Modell. There had only been one other moment in his life when the fear and
anger had nearly driven him over the edge. The very thought that his hand
could be the one to take her life... the one life he valued over
everything else... And having to face the fact that if she had not pulled
the fire alarm, had not broken Modell's concentration, he wasn't sure how
long he would have been able to fight it. He could have done it. And if he
had... he would have pounded Modell's head into a bloody pulp before
quietly going insane.
When he opened his eyes again she was in front of him. Her eyes were
full of tears again, and he wondered what he'd done this time. Then he
felt soft warmth of her palm against his cheek. On an impulse he could not
resist, any more then he had been able to resist Modell, he turned his
head to kiss the center of her palm.
She was biting her bottom lip. She leaned forward to press her head
against his chest, embracing him. He wrapped his arms around her in
return. They stood there, pressed against one another, comforting and
offering comfort. He tried not to think of how small and soft she felt in
his arms. Or how her hair smelled of strawberry shampoo as he buried his
face in it.
She looked up at him then. Her electric blue eyes were soft and
filled with something that should not be present in the eyes of his
partner. His friend. And he knew she saw something equally as intense in
his own eyes.
She gasped slightly, and took a step away from him, licking her
perfect, full lips nervously. Her wide eyes darted to the door. They had
seen it and in seeing it were forced to acknowledge it. And it had scared
her.
He also looked at the door. Nothing had been said, nothing really
done that had to change anything. They could simply deny that they had
seen anything in the other's eyes and life would continue like it had.
Scully quickly grabbed her coat and took a step towards the door.
Bullshit! All his life he'd searched for the truth, no matter how
painful or ugly that truth may be. It had hurt him often enough. The truth
could burn, and it had. The bright light of truth bared to him that his
own father was a monster who had traded away Samantha to forces unknown,
had sanctioned abominations against humanity that made Mengele look
harmless. Truth had shown him that even his allies could mislead him. He
had never, even in the most painful moments, run from the truth. He was
not about to start now. Deny everything was THEIR credo, not his.
His hand shot out to catch Scully's arm before she could take a
second step. She turned to look at him, a fear in her eyes, but the fear
was not alone.
"Please..." She murmured, breaking the spell of silence.
"Please what? Please let you go, or please stop you from going?" He
made no other move, even loosened his grip on her arm.
"I'm not sure." She lowered her head, hiding her eyes. The eyes he
could read so well. But that gesture told him as much as her eyes could.
He pulled her closer and she looked up at him. The blue of her eyes
had deepened, answering him.
He leaned down to touch her lips with his. How long had he wanted to
do that? How long had he wondered if those lips were as soft as the
looked? He was not at all suprised to find that they were. She didn't pull
away, instead he felt her hand circle to pull against the back of his
neck. As one they deepened the kiss. She tasted of faintly of mint tea,
but mostly of herself, a sweet, rich taste he could easily become addicted
to. Tentative at first he felt her respond, her tongue began to dual hotly
with his. He pulled her closer still, adding to the taste of her the feel
of her body pressed against his.
He let his hand drift down to the small of her back, a vaugly
familiar touch that now pulled her tight against his groin, which had
begun to ache with a familiar need. There was no doubt that she could feel
him there. He ended the kiss, pulling back and looking at her. Her lips
glistening and swollen, her eyes half lidded with desire. "If you are
leaving I think you better go now." Had his voice really cracked like
that?
Her eyes opened fully and she seemed to consider for a moment before
tossing her coat back in the direction of the chair.
"I'm not going anywhere. Are sure you are completely in control of
your actions?" She arched a delicate eyebrow at him.
"Not exactly, but the only person who is making me loose control this
time is you."
She smiled at the thought, and the possibilities.
She stood on tip toe even as she pulled him down into another long,
sweet kiss. Pulling away this time she licked her already moist lips, as
if to savor every last taste of him. "Let's see how long you can hold out
then."
"What if I don't want to try?" He slid his hands under her
sweatshirt, allowing his palms to be warmed by the heat of the bare skin
just above her jeans. After all he'd somehow managed to hold out for three
years.
She gave him a delightfully wicked smile as she ran her hands down
his chest, over his tee shirt, before pressing them under his arms, and
under his shirt to draw those hands up over the bare flesh of his back.
Their cool surface moving slowly over the muscles, up to his shoulders.
Everywhere those small, cool hands flowed they left a deep heat behind
them, making the rest of his skin feel cool in comparison causing him to
shiver slightly in response.
He released her to tug his tee shirt off, allowing her hands greater
freedom to touch and explore. She did not touch him, however. Instead she
stripped away her sweatshirt and lowered her eyes. She stood there, a
nervous blush spreading across her cheeks and shoulders, only highlighting
the paleness of her skin. She seemed to glow with her own inner
brightness, her flesh luminous above the dark shadow of her blue jeans,
around the sea green lace of her bra. For a few long moments Fox Mulder
was left completely breathless in the presence of the wonder that was Dana
Scully. When he hadn't moved she looked up, a hint of fear in her face.


===========================================================================


Finding words at last, forcing them from the sudden tightness of his
chest, around the lump forming in his throat he was at last able to say
something he had wanted to for a long time now.
"So beautiful." He traced his fingers along the line if her throat,
her shoulder, feeling the heat of her flesh through his fingertips. "You
are so damned beautiful."
For the second time that night her eyes filled with tears, but he
didn't have to wonder what he'd done this time. He bent down to kiss the
salty droplets from her eyes, to touch his lips to her eyebrows, her
temples, her nose and cheeks. He allowed his lips to show her just how
lovely he thought she was. At last he touched his mouth to hers again,
gently nibbling, then suckling her full top lip, savoring the taste and
texture of it, committing every element of it to his memory even as he
felt her teeth close lightly over his bottom lip, mimicking his actions
and sending tiny electrical shocks through his body to center in his
groin.
Lightly, slowly their hands explored, as if each feared any sudden
moves would send the other running. Their tongues touched only briefly
this time before Dana moved to nuzzle his throat. First nipping then
licking the hollow at it's base before gently suckling the sensitive flesh
there, eliciting a groan from deep inside his chest. He tipped his head
back encouraging her.
His left hand traced up and down her spine, skimming over the
annoyance of her bra twice before he managed to unhook the tiny fastenings
in one twist. His right hand stroked her side then, once her bra was
loose, he gently cupped her breast. He felt the soft, heated velvet weight
against his hand as he traced the hardened tip of her nipple with his
thumb. She gasped and ceased her attentions to his throat as she arched
her back to press her breast more firmly into his hand.
He looked down at her face, at the closed eyes and the expression of
raw desire there and felt himself become painfully hard at the knowledge
that he had put that look there. He had wanted to be the one to put such
an expression on her face for a long time now.
He didn't think his legs would carry him as far as the couch much
less his severely underused bedroom. Instead he gently drew her down to
the floor with him, under him.
He tugged her bra free and marveled at the perfect curves revealed to
him in the soft light of the desk lamp. Rubbing his open palm over the
thus far ignored mound he kissed her again. He took in the taste of her,
the sliding, sinewy wetness as their tongues twined around each other,
their lips drinking of each other with the hunger of three years repressed
desire. He moved his hand to pull her closer, feeling the tight peaks of
her breasts press into the light hair of his chest, pushing into his
flesh. He undid the button and fly of her jeans, leaving their kiss he
rose to his knees to pull away her shoes and peel her jeans and underwear
away in one smooth motion.
Now she lay naked before him and he sat back on his heels to revel in
the sight. It seemed suddenly unfair that over the years she had seen him
naked many times, even if it was when he was injured and helpless and
hardly at his best, yet he had been denied this sight until now. He saw
her looking at him as if seeking approval. He couldn't resist, he just
couldn't.
"I guess you really are a redhead." He smiled evilly at her.
She managed to blush and chuckle at the same time. "Leve it to you to
come up with that at a time like this." She scolded.
He felt her push his sweats and boxers down, felt those small, strong
hands trace over and gently squeeze his buttocks. He helped her tug them
free to be added to the rest of the discarded clothing around the room.
"Oh shit." A sudden realization came to him and he kissed her deeply
again before somehow forcing himself to stand. "Don't move."
He made it into the bedroom and quickly found what he sought. He
returned to kneel beside Dana Katharine Scully once more.
She smiled at seeing what he held. "Come prepared don't you?"
"Well I certainly hope so."
She reached out to help him apply the latex sheath. The gentle
pressure of her fingers making him bite his lip to keep control. Once that
was done his mouth fell upon her, taking one sensitive nipple he rolled it
lightly with his tongue even as he suckled it, drawing a soft cry from her
lips that almost drove him over the edge. His mouth moved to her other
breast as his fingers touched the hot center of her, gently probing to
judge her readiness even as they teased her to greater heights.
Unable to hold back any longer he almost lost all control and
embarrassed himself as he felt her fingers wrap around him to guide him
into place. Trembling, sweating, clinging to every ounce of control he
had, he slowly lowered himself into her waiting warmth, the sweet gripping
tightness that was so much better then even his secret dreams had
promised.
She moved with him, making little whimpering noises each time he
withdrew. Her body pulling at him, begging him to return to such hot,
enveloping extacy again. His thrusts became faster, more fevered as he
sought to bring her with him. He knew he could not last much longer, not
when every last one of his most fevered fantasies lay beneath him, making
soft mewling noises at his touch. His fingers sought and found the tiny
knot of nerves just above the joining of their bodies. He carefully
pressed down and he heard her cry out at the same time as she tightened
around him, grasping and squeezing in an age old rhythm as she drew him
over the edge with her. He felt the overwhelming satisfaction of release.
They lay there for a long time, lost in each other's arms. Every once
in a while gracing each other with a caress, or a light kiss.
"What are we going to do about this Mulder?" She threw out the
question he didn't want to face now that they had finally given in. He
looked down at the upturned face of his partner, his friend, and the only
woman he had ever, would ever love. In loving her he faced loosing her.
The bureau had very strict rules about fraternization. Their enemies would
use those rules to split them up, or to use them against one another.
"We go on as we always have." He kissed her again, needing to feel
the promise her body made to his. "They have their secrets, and we have
ours. I love you Dana, and I'm not about to let them take this away from
me on top of all the rest."
He felt her hand stroke his face as she looked up at him. "Our
secret." Her mouth curved into a soft smile. "It's about time we had one
to keep from them. May it means the tables are turning." She sighed as she
nestled against his side. Together they could handle anything, even each
other. "And Mulder... I love you too."

The End