TITLE: Heat (1/1) AUTHOR: Avalon EMAIL: avalon@fuse.net RATING: R for language and sexual content SPOLIERS: Possibly "All Things," but not really... CATEGORY: VMSR, RST, but also lots of UST DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to Chris Carter and 1013. No infringement intended. FEEDBACK: Always welcome...thanks! ARCHIVES: Be my guest, but please let me know where. SUMMARY: It's the morning after, but Scully isn't exactly basking in the afterglow. AUTHOR'S NOTES: See at the end, please. Heat I watch her over the tops of my shoes, my feet, crossed at the ankles, planted squarely on the desk. Leaning back, I flip the pencil in my hand, absently bumping the eraser against my palm. She tugs another file from the drawer and throws it onto the growing pile on the floor. Her gesture has anger in it, a subdued violence, her barely audible grunt and the slap of the folder hitting its mates punctuating the deafening silence in the office. I can see her rage. It ripples through her every movement: the impatient throttling she gives each file as she extracts it, the annoyed tucking of rebellious hair behind the curve of her ear, the unintelligible mumbling she threads just under her breath. And I know that all this umbrage is directed at me. I allow my eyes to slide down the profile of her body, over the curves and softness, the angular lines and toned muscles, letting the sight fill me up as a sponge drinks in water. She is utterly beautiful, and the pique from which she suffers only heightens her appeal. Her cheeks flush rose, a slight line of perspiration beading her forehead and upper lip in glowing perfection. She has already removed her jacket, it thrown carelessly across a chair, and I admire how her white tank clings to her body, accentuating her breasts. In her agitated state, her nipples are erect, straining at the fabric. I imagine my fingers brushing over them and shift a little in my chair, my own sex beginning to come to life. Damn, it's hot in here. Her legs look longer than usual in the short skirt she has dressed in, and the firm arch of her calves draws my attention. She is not wearing stockings, and I fantasize again, feeling in my imagination the sensation of that smooth leg against mine, shuddering in appreciation. And then her voice, finally breaking the quiet that she has imposed ever since she arrived: "Mulder, are you going to help me, or are you going to stare at my ass all morning?" I blink, surprised by her bluntness. I consider correcting her and recounting my leg vision instead, but I remain silent. Scully is angry with me; I know with absolute certainty why, and I realize that trying to lighten the situation will only make it worse. Extracting myself from the chair, I subtly adjust, not wanting her to notice my arousal and add to her wrath. I cross to her in two long strides, careful not to end up too close to her, knowing that just my presence is infuriating to her right now. "What do you want me to do?" She nods her head toward the door, and for a moment, I think she is going to tell me to get out. "There are boxes in the hallway," she says, her eyes on her task. "These files are ready for storage." I leave and come back, dragging several cardboard containers after me and throw them next to the stacks of files. I crouch down, in catcher's position, rolling up the long sleeves of my dress shirt as I do. Here, from this angle, I can see the way her Achilles tendon slopes into the back of her three inch pumps. I could touch it if I reached out my hand, knowing full well that this would warrant at least a decent slap, if not an all-out left hook, from her. But it is tempting nonetheless... Christ, is the air conditioning on at all in this building? I stuff the boxes full of files, not even noticing which ones she is sending away. It is useless to argue with her now, anyway. I don't want to argue with her. I would rather hold her, lock her next to my chest and keep her there until all her irritation drains away and she melts into my body, her passion turning from resentment into something wholly different and much more pleasing. I finish with the ones she has already thrown to me and raise my eyes. She is digging through the second cabinet, her hands moving rapidly through the contents of the top drawer, her speed indicative of her mood. The tomblike quality of the room is getting to me, and I stand, drawing close behind her. As I move, she suddenly cries out, snatching her hand from the files and peering at her fingers. "Damn!" she hisses. I can see the drop of blood on her index finger, and she thrusts it into her mouth like a child. I long to take her hand, to take the finger in my own mouth, to run my tongue over it and taste the sweetness of her blood. But she is looking at me finally, her blue eyes flat with anger and dull pain, and I wonder how much of the cause of that is me. "Scully--" I start, keeping my voice low and undemanding, but she cuts me off. "No, Mulder." She slams the file drawer shut, her eyes still on my face, searching me for something. Not finding it, she turns away again, yanking open the next drawer. "Don't start with me. I'm not in the mood." The first thought that rises in my brain is flippant, of course, a natural response for me. 'You were in the mood last night.' But I bite the remark back, the knowledge that this is the exact reason for her temper stopping me cold. I chew my lower lip, lost for a moment. What can I say to her now? I can feel my own sweat starting to trickle down the back of my neck, reminding me of the feel of her fingers there last night. She had kept one hand there as our bodies merged, stroking the skin, raising goosebumps under her touch, the softness like a silk scarf. Her mouth next to my ear, her heavy breathing warm and welcome against me, the whispers of my name as she nuzzled me and drew me even further into her. I shut my eyes, momentarily dizzy with the memory. God, she had felt so good. So right. So...mine. I step forward, directly behind her, my arms on either side of her slim body. I place my hands on the cold metal of the cabinet drawer and push, listening as it slides effortlessly forward and closes with a snick. Her hands are still out in front of her, poised, frozen in mid-air, but she doesn't protest. I can see her trembling just slightly, and I bring my hands back to rest on her shoulders. She doesn't pull away from my touch, and I take this as a good sign. "Scully," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "We have to talk about it." Her head bends, her red hair falling forward, and I know without seeing it that it is covering her eyes now. I know this is what she wants, to hide, to pretend she can't see...when all she can do is see. She doesn't reply, so I press on. "You're angry with me." She turns then, all the furor of the last half hour suddenly gone. Her blue eyes find mine, and they are shiny and full. "No, Mulder. I'm not angry with you." She sighs, and she touches the corner of her mouth with her tongue. It is a familiar sight to me, something she does when she is thinking hard, but it fills me with another burning sensation. I fight the urge to kiss her, to taste that tongue in my mouth once again, knowing that would be a mistake now. "I'm angry with myself." I hear her, but I can smell her, too, the wildflower perfume of her shampoo just inches from my face. I breathe her in, just as I did earlier this morning, the scent of her hair left lightly on the pillow next to mine. And underneath, that more primal odor, the fevered smell of passion and sex that lingered in my bed. Jesus, she is killing me! I strain to stay focused, to concentrate on her words. She needs me to hear them now, and she is waiting for me to respond. "Why, Scully?" I ask, chancing to run my fingers lightly across the rise of her shoulder. She shivers, and I feel myself smile. But it freezes on my lips when she looks at me, her own face serious and strained. "Because it changes everything, Mulder. It changes everything." I drop my hands from her shoulders and take a slight step back, sensing that she wants to move. But she doesn't, and I just look at her, her beauty and her closeness overwhelming me. I imagine what it would be like to take her now, sweeping everything from the desk onto the floor, throwing her down onto the surface and grinding into her until she screams for me, for more, for her release and mine. I can be such a jackass. I feel a rivulet of sweat over my eyebrow and reach up to sweep it away. My hands come down and rest on my hips. I know I look defiant now instead of open, but I can't seem to find a more comfortable stance. My erection is pushing against the front of my trousers, and I need to shift again. "Are you sorry, Scully?" The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I am suddenly aware that I don't really want to hear the answer. She is acting like she's sorry...she is acting like she never wants to see me again. And that thought is agonizing, paralyzing to me. I feel myself holding my breath as I wait for her response. Her voice is gentle, and she draws my hands into her own. She can see my hurt, and she wants to make it better. She is a doctor, after all. "I'm not sorry, Mulder." She looks me in the eye, and I know her words are true. "But it changes everything, and I need some time." She presses her fingers into my palms and then lets go. My head is spinning from the heat of the office and the fire of her skin touching mine. "Scully, please--" My voice, a croak from deep in my chest, trails off. She needs time, she says. I can give her that. I can give her anything she wants. I have already given her everything else, everything that I am. A slight shake of her head, and she turns back to her project. "We'll talk about it later, Mulder." The note in her voice tells me the discussion is closed. I nod mutely, even though I know she doesn't see me. I move slowly to the door, throwing one last lingering look over my shoulder. It's a possessive look, I know, the hungry look of a man in need, desperate for fulfillment. I'm sure it's pathetic to see. Sighing, I head for the men's room to nurse the urgency in my pants. I know if I don't, I'm likely to explode. I'll be thinking of Scully; it will be short and sweet. And cheap, a poor substitute for her. I make a mental note to bring a fan for the office. I think I'm going to need one from now on. ***End*** Author's Note: I always wondered what the morning after the first time was like for our intrepid heroes, considering that if it did happen in "all things," that Scully did not look too happy about it when she left Mulder's apartment. Just my take on things...please let me know what you think. Feedback is always appreciated!