Title: The Gift
Author: Dryad@neilclan.madasafish.com
Spoilers: none
Season: between 6 & 7
Rating: NC17, MSR, UST, a smidgeon of angst
Date: 5/14/01
Archive: yes please, drop me a note as to which archive
Summary: Scully gets a backrub.

Feedback: Be brutal.  You know you want to.
 

"I got you in my eye - I got you in my head
your magic it surrounds me

I got you in my heart, I got you in my head
let's make a rendezvous"

Basement Jaxx/Rendezvous/Remedy
 

The Gift
 

Mulder glanced at Scully as he unlocked the door to his
apartment.  She hadn't said anything, but then, she didn't
have to.  The slump in her shoulders, the faraway look in her
eye, the halting conversations, the exceptionally quiet rides
home as well as the fact she'd actually changed into comfort
clothing before they'd even left the office - all spoke of
anxiety and depression.  He wished he could reassure her that
the now month-long investigation into her professional medical
conduct would turn up nothing, that she had nothing to fear.
Unfortunately they both knew that anything could happen where
Spooky and the Ice Queen were concerned.

Scully preceded him in, flicking on the lights and
shedding her heavy wool coat on her way into the living room.

Canned laughter broke the silence as Mulder entered the
kitchen with the groceries. He really was going to have to
make a visit to P&C or Grand Union, some store bigger than
Aboujib's, some place that had food made from real ingredients
like vegetables and meats instead of lips and assholes and
other, equally dubious body parts.  A pint of whole milk, a
six pack minus one of Catamount Winter Spice, a block of
generic cheddar, and hot dogs for tomorrow's tv game all went
into the fridge.  A pint of Chubby Hubby (for Scully, of
course) went into the freezer, looking decidedly lonely
amongst old ice cubes and an unidentifiable ball of something
wrapped in plastic.  He tossed the box of microwave popcorn
and the bag of day-glo orange circus peanuts onto the counter.
Crumpling up the plastic carrier bag, he shoved it into the
bag will all the other carrier bags underneath the sink,
closing the door quickly just in case they decided to attempt
an escape. And speaking of things under the sink, he rummaged
around underneath the counter and found an old bottle of red
that he'd been saving for just such an occasion.  Granted, he
would have preferred to open it on a happy occasion, but
Scully needed it tonight.  He opened his beer and the bottle,
filled the ballon glass almost to its rim, and headed into the
living room.

A single soft light was on, and even that was dimmed down
to its lowest level. Scully sat on the far end of the couch,
feet tucked up, chin pillowed in the palm of her hand, staring
glumly at the tv.

"Dear god, Scully, not the Dating Game," he said, handing
her the glass.  He flopped on the couch and stretched out,
kicked off his sneakers.  He pushed up the sleeves of his
pullover. Ah, Friday, and what looked like an X-less weekend
ahead.

"Hm?"  Scully looked at him blankly. She turned down the
sound on the tv. "Sorry.  My mind's all over the place these
days."

"Understandable," Mulder tasted his beer, nodded in
pleasant surprise. Interesting. The spice in question
consisted of cinnamon and nutmeg, the merest hint of each
mellowing out the bitterness of the hops. Good stuff. Scully
hadn't even tasted her wine. "How's your mind goin' over
there?"

She raked both hands through her hair, a rare sign of
frustration. "The problem is that is won't stop going,
Mulder."

There was nothing he could say to that, he understood it
only too well."How about a backrub."

She gave him a Look. After a moment her brows raised and
she said, "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. My backrubs are renowned amidst...those
who've had them," he finished smoothly.

"I'm sure."

Said with the slightest quirk of the lips that on people
other than Scully would be a wink and a nudge. Mulder put his
beer on the coffee table and stood up. "C'mon, sit on the
floor in front of the couch, and leave enough room for me
behind you."

Mirabile, she did as asked without further comment,
taking the wine and the remote with her.

Mulder scrunched down on the floor, legs on either side
of his partner, the couch making a not uncomfortable backrest.
His hands weren't too cold, although he rubbed them together
quickly to generate more heat. "Scoot back a little."

Scully glanced back and down, moved maybe a centimeter
back. It would have to do.

She jumped a little when he touched the back of her neck,
then settled as he worked, pressing lightly but firmly with
the pads of his fingers on the tense muscles.  He pressed all
along the edge of her skull until he reached her ears, then
worked on her temples and the hinge of her jaw.  She had
relaxed quite a bit, occasionally sipping her wine, when he
started on her back.

"Scully, I can't take this horror of a game show
anymore."

"You never watched the Dating Game when you were a kid?"

"Please.  I lived only for reruns of Dark Shadows and
Star Trek."

Scully shook her head, hair cascading pleasantly over his
fingers. "I don't know about you sometimes."

Sometimes he didn't know either.

"Tell me when to stop," She said, flicking through the
channels.

Mulder caught a brief flash of one of his favorites. "Go
back to four-fifty-six."

On screen appeared a brick fireplace in a darkened room.
A real fire burned on the hearth, flames flickering over the
logs that weren't mere coals.

"Mulder, what the hell is this?"  She sounded half-
amused, half-outraged.

"Some German channel Langly got for me after fiddling
with the satellite. Good, isn't it?"

"Does anything else happen?"

"Nope.  Just a fire. Some nights they stick a camera in
front a train, or in the grill of a car, go traipsing around
through towns and cities, rural areas."

Scully snorted, shook her head again, sipped her wine.

As a distraction, it had worked well, because she hadn't
noticed him sliding his hands up and down her back.  Or if she
had she wasn't saying anything about it.  And she hadn't asked
about the any of the other German channels he received. He
couldn't very well pretend he didn't know anything about them,
unlike those videos. Wondering which one he would be watching
later on, combined with the awareness that for once the
fantasy of having Scully beneath his hands was actually a
reality, brought full blown awareness of his nether regions to
his attention.  At least she was far enough away not to
notice.  Hopefully.

Mulder spread his fingers and made palm-outs from her
spine to her sides, long and slow passes, careful not touch
her breasts. Back to vertical palm-outs, going gently up her
spine and through her hair, massaging her scalp until she
crooned in pleasure. The sound hit him low in the belly.  He'd
heard her cry out in fear and pain before, sure, had been the
cause of some of it.  Of course he'd always wondered what she
would sound like during sex, just like most of the other men
and no few of the women at J.Edgar.  The thought that he might
actually find out parched his mouth and set his heart
pounding.

Who dares, wins.

In the end he did the one, most innocent thing, he could
think of.  She could still kick his ass, but she probably
wouldn't think anything more of it.  Hands quiet on her hips,
he lowered his head to her hair and breathed in deeply.  Her
hair smelled different than normal, earthy and warm, like
patchouli and amber, maybe musk or ambergris with a suggestion
of sandalwood. No doubt she'd been pampering herself during
this whole fiasco. The pink shell of her ear called to him as
always, and he brushed it lightly with his lips.

She froze, near-empty wine glass half-way to her mouth.

The phone rang. And rang.  And rang.

Neither of them moved.

On the tv coals popped, a log shifted and sent up a
shower of sparks.

The machine purred, clicked, and a husky female voice
said, "Mulder, it's me, Nevada.  I know I promised to have
dinner with you tomorrow night, but now it looks like I won't
be able to make Sunday brunch, either, as I'm stuck in Atlanta
for the weekend. I'll call you the next time I'm in town."

Scully turned slightly to look at him, eyebrow on stun.
"'Nevada'?"

Mulder managed a nod. "Maid."

Scully's expression changed to 'Maid, my ass'.  And then
she faced the tv again, tucking her hair behind, dear god in
heaven, both ears.

Butterflies made their presence in his stomach known.
There was a real danger of him passing out, what with all the
blood flow in his body being diverted below his belt. Boldness
overcame him.  He did one more palm-out along the waistband of
her jeans to the front, went directly past GO, followed her
zipper to the seam of her crotch, then ran his hands down her
inner thighs and up again.  This time he didn't touch her
crotch.

A fine sheen of sweat bloomed on her forehead. "I hope
you know what you're doing."

"I always know what I'm doing."

"You know what I mean."

He did, and he didn't care. If everything went to hell in
a handbasket tomorrow, so be it.  Mulder kissed her neck right
below her ear, checked to see what else might be allowed.

Lips slightly parted, her wide-eyed gaze was firmly on
the fire.

When he brought his hands up her thighs, he lightly
grazed her crotch with his knuckles.

She grabbed for the wine glass, raised it with a
trembling hand to her mouth and swallowed.

He took it from her and drained it. He wouldn't leave the
bottle in the kitchen the next time.  Assuming he wouldn't be
in traction.

Mulder retraced her zipper, stopped with his hands on her
waist, fingers on the button of the jeans.

Scully stiffened and put her hands on top of his.  She
didn't do anything more for a few seconds. Her cheeks were
very flushed.

And then, wonder of wonders, she took her hands away and
put them on his thighs.

Permission granted. Very slowly he unbuttoned her jeans,
which were, thankfully, looser than they looked.  No sudden
movements, nothing to frighten her, nothing to make her think
she was (gods forbid) cheap or ugly. He loved her more than
salt.*

He peeked over her shoulder as he unzipped her. Plain
white bikini undies.  Only Scully could make such an ordinary
item extraordinarily erotic. Moisture had dampened the fabric,
making it partially translucent, affording him an opaque
glimpse of dark curls.  The aroma of her arousal was headier
and more powerful that any perfume you could buy.

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple which he wiped off
of his shoulder. He slid his hand underneath the cotton.
Raging heat greeted his fingers even as Scully's wetness
cooled them. He could feel her rapid pulse in the swollen,
slick folds.  The source of the wet pulled one finger in, then
two, while his thumb traced circles around her clitoris.
Rhythmic contractions fluttered painfully around his fingers,
losing regularity as liquid evaporated and wasn't replaced.

After a bit Scully licked her lips, sighed and leaned
back against him, eyes closed. Her hips were now in constant
rotation, tiny, tiny movements barely perceptible to the eye.
Every one she made, however, hit his hard-on, so much so that
he was in danger of creaming his jeans. His mantra began:
you're not fifteen anymore, you can wait, you can wait, you
can wait. This was for her, dammit, not him. His gift to her,
awkward as it was to give.

She took his free hand (left oh-so-casually on her thigh)
and brought it to her lips, making him spasm when she sucked
his fingers into the matching wet warmth of her mouth.

And then she placed his hand between her legs.

Despite his agony, he was not going to bite her shoulder.
Nor was he going to kiss her throat, or press up against her
back, or capture her mouth with his own, or find out if her
nipples were as hard as they looked through her tee shirt. Her
breath hissed out as he increased speed, curling his fingers
on the inside of her as well as the outside.  She wriggled,
perfect nails stabbing his thighs through his jeans.  She came
hard, fit to break his fingers, jerking as she fell forward.

Mulder teetered on the verge.  He was lost if she moved
her ass one more millimeter backwards.  She saved him when she
slumped down, breathing heavily.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, Mulder rescuing his
puckered fingers, catching his breath while she rezipped and
rebuttoned.  His erection wasn't subsiding fast enough for her
not to notice - or maybe that didn't matter any more.  Maybe
it never had, she'd certainly seen him in various undressed
states before.  Although, she wasn't generally the cause of
his...physical problems.

At least not where she could see.

He reached up to brush the sweat from her brow, but
Scully captured his hand again and kissed his palm. "Thank
you, Mulder," she whispered.

He hugged her tightly.

Eventually she shifted and said, "I'm hungry."

They munched on popcorn and cheese toast made in the
broiler, watched Blazing Saddles and Raising Arizona from his
dvd library.

"I have to go home," Scully said on her return from the
bathroom.

Mulder looked up at her.

She did that thing with her lips that wasn't quite a
smile, but wasn't anything else either. "I've got stuff to do
tomorrow, and it's easier if I'm there instead of here."

"Okay," He trailed her to the door.

She stepped outside, turned around and gave him an
unfathomable look.  "You are a very sweet man, Fox Mulder.
Don't ever lose that," She stood on her toes and kissed him
softly on...his cheek.

Scully didn't turn around as she walked down the hall,
nor did she look up as the elevator door closed.

Mulder closed his door and fell back upon it. Dammit, but
the woman held her cards close to her chest.  Please, god, or
whomever was listening, that he hadn't made a grave error in
judgement.
 
 

*from the Czech folktale, "Salt is Sweeter than Gold"