TITLE:   NEXT STEP
ATUHOR:  BRENDA ANTRIM
E-MAIL:  UNKNOWN
RATING:  NC-17
******WARNING****** Don't read this if you are a minor, or I'll
just have to hunt ya down and crush your computer. If you don't
like the thought of Mulder and Scully sleeping together (what a
wonderful euphemism) then DON'T READ THIS because that's the whole
point of this little vignette. That's why it's called "fan
fiction." :-) There are no murders or paranormal happenings, it's
simply a case of having the principals act on the UST running
rampant between them. 
DISCLAIMER:  Chris Carter owns all the rights to the X-
Files characters and David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson own most
of my fantasy life. This is the first nonTrek fanfic I've written
so I hope y'all enjoy it.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It wasn't that it had been such a rough case. It almost would have
been easier if it was. Too violent to be dull, too twisted to be
boring, not abnormal enough to feel worthwhile. Just difficult,
and frightening, one step closer to the brink. Mulder shuddered,
hard, short, afraid that the brink was closer than he had realized.

She looked at her partner with a mixture of commiseration and dread
so strong it made her stomach hurt. It had been a bad one, and no
amount of patented Mulder composure could hide the fact that it had
really affected him. Scully quietly hung her coat on the wooden
hanger by the tiny bathroom and stood for a moment, irresolute.
Their rooms were connected by an unlocked door, she could hear him
if he needed her, in the unlikely event that he would call out to
her. But she didn't want to leave him, not like this. Not with
his head bowed, his fists clenched, shoulders tensed against the
force of the emotions he held firmly in check. Coming to a
decision, she crossed soundlessly to the armchair and sank down,
kicking her shoes off and tucking her bare feet under her to keep
them warm.

They were usually so comfortable in their silences that it took her
a long moment to figure out why this one felt different. It wasn't
a shared silence. She was on her side of the wall and he was on
his. While she was used to being opposite from him on so many
things, and their arguments did them both good in the long run, she
wasn't as used to being totally shut out. The trust ran too deeply
between them.

He wasn't even consciously aware of her presence, too buried in the
emotions and images of the monster they had run to earth. He'd
gotten in too deep, started to see things from the monster's point
of view, started to anticipate with eerie exactitude the next move,
the next bloodletting. Two nights before he'd woken from the
little sleep he had managed to find, convinced that there was blood
on his hands. Less than ten minutes later the call had come in.
Scully had been sound asleep, and he'd barely contained himself for
the few minutes it took her to throw on her clothes and grab her
gun. They had almost been too late. But this time ... this time
they got him.

She stared at his bent head, dwelling on the evidence of his most
recent hurts. White bandages tinged faintly with red showed livid
against his thick dark hair, and the knuckles cradling his forehead
were cracked and still bled slightly. He had kicked off his shoes
and tugged his tie loose, but hadn't found the energy to go any
further. Scully pursed her lips, studying her partner. One way or
another, he had to get some rest.

"Mulder?" She said it softly, trying not to startle him. He
jumped anyway.

"Scully. I thought you ... were in your room already." He pushed
his head up, painfully meeting her concerned gaze. For an instant,
he got distracted by the clear blue, and the pain started to
recede. He smiled, trying to reassure her, and failing miserably
at both. His head *really* hurt.

"No," she shook her head. "There's no way I can leave you in this
state."

"So, what's wrong with Nevada?"

She ignored his feeble joke, swinging her legs from the chair and
moving to sit beside him on the bed. Paying no attention to the
faintly surprised look on his face, she reached up around him to
tug off his suit jacket.

"Hm. I didn't know you cared, Scully," he teased, concentrating on
anything except the pounding in his head. She answered him
seriously.

"Of course I care, Mulder. You're my ... partner."

He wanted to ask her about the funny little pause in that
statement, but decided he probably wasn't up to understanding her
rationalizations tonight. So he took refuge in humor, and
attempted to ignore the light scent of her perfume as she leaned
against him to slip the coat off his arms. He also refused to
think why he wasn't being more helpful. He didn't want to admit
that if he raised his arms she wouldn't have to move so close to
him, and he rather enjoyed having her near.

"And partners stick together," he grinned, dropping his forehead to
rest in the curve of her neck. She froze. He decided to blame it
on the pain medication. He didn't get the chance.

"Poor Mulder. Gave you some good stuff, didn't they."

He wasn't sure he liked having her talk to him in that soothing,
baby's got a headache tone. She was *not* his mother. As his
mouth moved of its own volition to lightly caress her collarbone,
he gave a fleeting thought to the fact that it might actually *be*
his pain medication, because he certainly wouldn't take these kinds
of chances if he was not a little out of it.

"Yeah. I feel kinda stoned." He could feel her chuckle against
his cheek, working its way up the side of her throat. It
fascinated him, and he wanted to feel it again. "Wanna play?"

She couldn't hold back the laughter this time. He was like a Saint
Bernard puppy, sprawled bonelessly against her chest, nuzzling her
neck. Next thing she knew he'd roll over and beg her to scratch
his tummy. For some reason, the mental image took away her
laughter, and her breath, and she briskly stripped the jacket off
his arms and stepped back.

He felt bereft when her warmth was removed, and tried to follow it.
She caught him just as he began to topple off the bed, and he
yelped when his head snapped back. Instantly, her protective
instincts kicked in, and she carefully guided him back onto the
bed, one strong hand under his nape to cradle his injured skull,
the other wrapped as far around his waist as she could reach. At
times like this she wished she wasn't so damned short, or he wasn't
so tall and lanky. Another stray thought reminded her how much she
liked to watch his tall, lanky form move, and she squelched it
firmly, with a hint of panic. Now was *not* the time to dwell on
unresolved sexual tension, not when poor Mulder was lying there so
helpless, and vulnerable, and ... easy. No. That wasn't what she
meant. Easily taken advantage of! Yes. That was it. Unaware
that she was standing stock still, leaning over her partner, and
that her eyes were starting to shine with something closely
resembling hunger, she tried to rein in her thoughts. She was a
doctor, after all ... wasn't she? The only problem was when she
looked at Mulder she wasn't seeing 'patient'. Or even 'partner'.
She was seeing long, elegant legs, a wide, inviting chest covered
only by a thin linen shirt, strong arms ending in capable, elegant
hands with slender fingers, broad shoulders, long column of throat
leading to a dimpled jaw, shadowed cheekbones arrowing to an
incredibly sensuous lower lip that was just begging her to take it
in her-

"Scully?"

His incredulous question brought herself back to reality with a
thud, and her eyes flew from that luscious mouth to meet huge hazel
eyes, pupils dilated from a heady mixture of painkillers, shock and
arousal. She tried to think of a reasonable explanation for being
draped on top of him staring at his mouth like she wanted to suck
on it for days, but all she could manage was, "Um?"

His mouth quirked up on one side. "If you're checking my pulse,
it's steady but rapid. And losing the steady ... rapidly."

A blush flamed along her face, drowning the light scatter of
freckles in a hot wave. She tried to scramble off of his much
larger frame, but couldn't seem to coordinate her movements. Her
body wriggling on top of his had the opposite effect of what she
had intended. Forgetting the pain pounding through the back of his
head and the unusual fuzziness from the drugs, he focussed on her
legs pushing against his, the flaming face inches from his own, and
the delicious sensation of her hands clasping his chest as she
tried to push off.

Scully finally realized why her efforts were not getting her
anywhere. Mulder had wrapped his long arms around her torso, one
hand raising up between her shoulderblades to keep her drawn to his
chest, the other trailing down over her buttocks to pin her in
place against his groin. His eyes were fixed on hers, blazing now
with what looked like fever, and she could feel his arousal
pressing into her thigh. Uh-oh. This wasn't exactly what she had
had in mind when she decided to stay with him for awhile.

Was it?

"You don't want this, Mulder." Her voice was raspy, and she
couldn't stop it from shaking. His eyes narrowed at her, and he
wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. Her eyes fixed on the
sheen of moisture left behind on his lower lip, and he laughed
softly.

"I don't? How did you pass your physiology classes, Doctor
Scully?"

"Practise, Doctor Mulder!" Where the hell had that come from? She
couldn't imagine why she would want to bait him, any more than she
could figure out why her hips were moving in counterpoint to the
gentle thrust he had begun -- how had she missed that? His eyes
were laughing into hers, and she found herself laughing back.
Underlying the laughter, the passion threatened to break through.

"Pay attention, Scully. You're missing the good parts." He barely
closed his mouth over the words when they flew open again in a
silent gasp.

"Oh, really?"

When she moved her pelvis like that, all thoughts of teasing left
his mind, along with any attempt at rational thought. Swallowing
heavily, he reached a shaking hand to unbutton her blouse. The
medication and the anticipation made handling the tiny pearl
buttons practically impossible, and she giggled when he growled on
his third attempt. The giggle died suddenly when he raised his
head to capture her lips, and all thought fled her mind as well.
He tasted incredible, a mix of mint and salt from the inevitable
sunflower seeds and a dark sweetness that was his alone. Her lips
closed over his lower lip, giving into a temptation she had fought
for almost three years, making her wonder why she had ever fought
so hard against something so delicious. He sucked gently on her
upper lip, tracing the contours of her mouth with his tongue, and
she parted her lips reluctantly to grant him access to her mouth.
She didn't want to leave his lip, but he drew his tongue delicately
along the ridge of her teeth, then stroked across the roof of her
mouth, and she returned the favor, nipping lightly at his tongue,
then slipping hers into the tender flesh along his inner cheek,
prompting a shudder in him that reminded her that they were both
slightly overdressed for their current physical state.

He had managed to open her blouse, only tearing off two of the
seven buttons, and his large hands were fighting ineffectually with
the front clasp of her bra. Small frustrated noises were trapped
in his throat by the deep kiss they were exchanging, but she felt
them in his chest and sympathized completely. Finally tearing her
mouth from his, she tore into his shirt with considerably less
finesse than he had shown with hers. He gently laid his head back,
turning it to the side to avoid the stitches, and she was caught by
the sight of his outstretched throat, inviting her to sample it.
She looked at him hungrily for a moment, then promised herself that
particular treat for dessert.

"First things first." His choked whisper echoed her thoughts and
she couldn't help but grin. Spooky, indeed, the way he seemed to
read her mind.

The next flurry of movement was confused, hurried, and in the end,
frantic, with buttons flying in all directions, zippers tugged
somewhat desperately ... although with a certain caution ... and
elastic snapped as if it were paper. When the activity paused,
they tried to catch their respective breath, but were distracted by
the long sought and equally long denied sensation of bare skin on
bare skin. Her breasts were a tantalizing weight on his chest, and
the smooth long muscles of his back were a tactile dream under her
fingertips. His hands roamed with something very like greed along
her sides, over the curve of her hips, along the tops of her
thighs, up into the heavy fall of her hair. Her smaller hands
fluttered over the bunched muscles in his shoulders, along the
strong column of his neck, down the length of his back to dig into
his tight buttocks. He dropped butterfly kisses along her eyelids,
her nose, the corner of her mouth, and she returned the favor,
nibbling kisses along his jawline, dipping the tip of her tongue
into the dimple in his chin, taking sips of his skin along his
cheek to his bemused eyes, pupils huge in the half light. Finally
their mouth returned to one another, as his hands found her heat,
sliding along her skin until he found the nerve center, stroking
until she began to shake. She was not idle, in her turn, slipping
one hand between his thighs, the other measuring his girth, thumb
pressing in, fingers exploring him, bringing more little moans out
into the charged air surrounding them.

A single thought, that had been screaming at her since the first
forbidden taste of his mouth, finally managed to make itself heard.
What about their partnership? What about the Bureau? What about
their work together? Then he pushed two, then three long fingers
deep inside her, rotated his thumb against her, and the thought
sank without another word. Thoughts were for later, right now
there was only sensation.

He could feel her convulsing around his hand, and couldn't contain
his smile. She was so sweet, and so responsive. Then her hands
tightened on him, cupping him and pulling him into the swirl of
sensation she couldn't fight, and the smile turned to a grimace of
pleasure. Biting his lower lip to try and keep a tenous grip on
his control, he rose to kneel between her thighs, taking the weight
of her legs over the tops of hers. Poised for entry, one small
thought broke through the haze of desire, and he almost cried.

"Scully?" He looked down at the woman before him, her hair a fan
of fire around her head, lips swollen from his kisses, wide open
for him, and shook his head hard. The pain from his wound cleared
his thoughts enough for him to answer the question in her wide
eyes.

"Condom?" Even then, he was down to single words. There was no
way on Earth he could manage a sentence. Or even a sentence
fragment. She stared at him through glazed eyes for a moment, her
hips shifting nearer to him, and he actually whimpered. The sound
focussed her on his question, and she blinked. Twice.

"Yeah." Was that her? It sounded like she was talking through a
gag of cotton padding. With his help, she lifted her leg from the
side of his hip and rolled off the bed. Staggering a little, she
found her purse in the alcove by the bathroom, and spilled it on
the floor. With a stifled cry of triumph, she found her stash,
half a dozen Trojans, and turned back to the bed in a barely
controlled frenzy. He was kneeling where she'd left him, eyes huge
with the effort of keeping control, his erection not abating in the
least. She pulled herself onto the bed and ripped the packages
apart, careful to not damage the condom itself ... there was a
limited supply, and, well, --

"Waste not, want not." His dry comment, in such a tight and deep
voice, just about put her over the edge. She knelt in front of
him, a smile fighting with the intensity of her need, and gently,
swiftly, added protection to their coming together. He stayed very
still under her hands, revelling in the movement, concentrating on
her every touch. Finally, his hands travelled up her arms to her
shoulders, then down her body until he cupped her hips in his
palms. He hesitated for a moment, but her clear eyes met his with
nothing but need in them. Reassured, he ran his hands under her
knees, sliding her back down to lay in front of him on the bed, her
buttocks resting in the cradle of his thighs. Her hands fell to
her sides, resting on his thighs, running restlessly to the curve
of his bent knees then back up to the back of her own thighs, and
returning again. He gently spread her legs with his fingers,
testing her with his fingertips to ensure that she was ready.

"You're so small, Dana. I'm afraid I might-"

"Now, Mulder. I'm ready now." She tried to move closer still, and
he drew in his breath at her movements. "You aren't going to hurt
me. But if you don't do it now, I may have to shoot you."

He tried to smile at her insistence, but the smile broke into an
open-mouthed gulp of air as she thrust against him. Positioning
himself carefully, he sank into her heat, driving a gasping moan
from both of them. His hands moved in long strokes over her belly,
up around to cup her breasts, and back down to the juncture of
their thighs, moving in rhythym with their thrusts. Slowly, then
more rapidly, as the tension increased and their instincts led them
on, until she tightened around him with an undulating cry, the
force of the orgasm sending her upright to sink her nails into his
shoulders, her teeth into the side of his neck. Her sudden
movement trapped his hand between their bodies, and he caressed her
urgently, sending her into such a forceful reaction that she broke
the skin at the side of his neck. The unexpected pain merely
heightened his own pleasure, and the velvet fist squeezing him so
strongly took him into an orgasm so intense that blackness swam
behind his eyes, and the blood rushing through his temples drowned
out everything.

She came down slowly, realizing that they were laying together, her
on her back with her legs still drawn up on either side of his
hips, her heels digging into the mattress. He lay over her, his
head buried in the warmth of her throat, utterly relaxed. For a
moment, she thought he'd fallen asleep, then realized he was
actually unconscious. With a start, she remembered his head wound,
and mentally castigated herself for pushing this when he was
injured. Then she remembered who had done the majority of the
pushing, and a distinctly nonprofessional smile curved her lips.
As she was attempting to shift his much larger frame off of hers in
order to check his stitches, he groaned and lifted himself with
shaking arms. He stayed there, one hand on either side of her
head, and looked at her for a long quiet moment. She returned his
solemn look, knowing that they had reached a turning point, and not
quite sure what to say. Then, suddenly, he relaxed, and smiled
sweetly at her. She relaxed in turn, and returned the smile. This
was her partner, after all, her best friend. They'd work it out.
They had to.

He carefully withdrew from her, coaxing another moan from her as he
did, and discarded the used condom. Looking over in the trashcan
at the proof of their 'lapse' he mused, "Well, one thing's for
certain."

She cocked a brow at him, and he rolled up against her.

"I sure hope you have more where that came from. Once was
*definitely* not enough."

******************************the end?**********************