Once in a Thousand Years
Category: Skinner/Scully, angry PWP.
Timeline: post Millennium
Beta thanks to Keleka.
For Tali who wanted a little sex-pig Skinner, Obsidian Butterfly and Keleka for pokes, and Jordan for telling me to get back to basics. Spun from my happy land of denial.
The scratches on her neck had looked deep; the ugly, jagged streaks ran in a circumferential line around her neck, just above the collar. The millennium beast-man had marked her, but had not killed her, as he'd originally thought.
"Where is she?" he'd barked at the hapless sheriff and was pointed to an ugly little room with green walls and floors. When he'd bent over the shrouded figure lying on the hospital floor, a jolt of agony had made him hesitate. She couldn't be dead, surely...
He only believed it when the sheet was pulled back to reveal a stranger and her quiet "Sir" whispered behind him brought the reality home. At once relieved, he stood and quickly covered his sudden surprised joy at her appearance.
Conflicting emotions roiled through him as he'd approached her; anger, relief, confusion. As a cover, he was about to dress her down, when he saw the marks. They were partially hidden by her hair and she looked exhausted. All thoughts of hostility had left him at the sight. He'd wanted to take her in his arms and put a crushing hold on her until all the pain had fled them both.
He couldn't do that, of course, so an awkwardness settled over him. Looking at the scrapes again, he knew they had to hurt.
Heat radiated from beneath the red locks, beckoning his hand. Under the guise of a sterile inspection, he gently brushed her hair back and winced inwardly at the sight.
Because they were so ugly, he'd felt a stir of sympathy. Sympathy, until he'd seen the kiss.
It was chaste, like a kiss you'd give a new lover, not a partner of six years. Chaste, but it had lasted far too long for his personal taste. Sympathy turned to white hot anger.
He'd fled the place and sought refuge in the dark lair of his apartment. The splinter of insecurity he thought he'd excised long ago was back and piercing his heart. 'She was never yours' echoed through his mind.
The same bourbon he'd consumed when his divorce papers came through now swirled in the glass before him. Everything looked better through the bottom of the glass, as the saying went. Everything, that is, except Scully. She was always beautiful to him and no amount of liquor could make him forget it.
His pity party was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. He ignored it and continued to drink.
He heard a rattling of the doorknob and then a sound of metal on metal. She used her key, as he expected her to. Scully could be as doggedly persistent as her partner.
"Skinner?" she called softly from the open door. It took her a few seconds to locate him in the darkened living room. From the corner of his eye, he saw her close the door and cross to stand in front of him.
"Why are you here?" Shit. He sounded angry instead of the indifferent.
"You left so suddenly. I thought we had plans."
"So did I."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you?" The anger he'd wanted was back. He rose to his feet and towered over her, trying to use his size to intimidate and leaning in close to scare her. Scully didn't flinch and she didn't back down.
"No, I don't," she said with deliberate calm.
He grinned at her with ugly malice. "Then I suppose you always ring in the New Year like that?"
She looked confused for a moment before understanding dawned. "You mean the kiss I gave Mulder?"
"Yes," he whispered and leaned closer. "Don't I deserve the same courtesy?"
Something odd came over her face and then was replaced with anger.
"Not yet," he said ruefully.
She was looking at him with undisguised disbelief. There's my Scully, he thought, and it softened him a little.
In spite of his vow to never touch her again, the urge to kiss her until she forgot all about Mulder suddenly washed over him. She must have seen his intension, because she abruptly walked away from him to the sliding glass doors.
"I want to explain," she said with her back to him.
By walking to the sliding glass doors, she was trying to distance herself mentally and physically from his enormous presence; if she didn't, he'd overwhelm her, and she couldn't afford to let him have the upper hand. She couldn't think rationally when he looked at her the way he had just now.
Somehow she had to make him listen to reason; she had to make him understand her position, and what her partner ultimately meant to her.
Thoughts on what to say flitted around in her mind while she looked out at the spectacular view Skinner had of the city. Lights twinkled everywhere, and revelers could still be heard celebrating in the distance. Why were they fighting on a night so full of hope for the future?
Suddenly her gaze shifted and she caught sight of rusted markings on one of the balcony's generic railings. Where those scratches on the metal? Scratches, made from violence like the ones on her neck...
"I handcuffed Krycek to that railing. I could do that to you too," he said as if reading her mind. He was behind her now, standing so close, his body nearly touched hers.
She flinched at the low authority in his voice and the image his words conjured. A tightening occurred in her belly at the idea.
When she didn't answer, he suddenly pressed her up hard against the glass, her left cheek adhering to its cold surface. Rough hands slithered around her wrists and pinned them above her in a position of supplication. Ice cold all along the front of her, and impossible heat behind her. He ground his hips into the small of her back so she could feel how hard he'd become.
"Do you feel that?" he whispered, his breath hot in her ear. "Do you?"
"Yes." Her voice was low and harsh. She felt drugged, unsteady on her feet. Suddenly the purpose of her visit and all rational thought had vanished. Explanations could wait for another time.
"This is what you do to me," he ground out. "This is what you always do to me."
She rubbed her bottom against him and was rewarded with a groan.
"Do you want it?" he whispered, "Do you?"
"Yes," she said, still monosyllabic.
"Then say it." He took the lobe of her ear in his mouth and bit gently. "Tell me."
The last part was said harshly, but a tendril of pleading wove its way around the words. Though her eyes were closed, she had a sudden flash of what they must look like: Skinner dominating her completely, his white teeth bared with her ear in between them and his tongue--.his tongue wetly caressing the skin. Like it would between her legs-.
"Ahhh.." she groaned; incoherent now, no longer able to forms words, one syllable or not.
The demand unlocked her tongue.
With a surprised huff he released her ear and then she felt him lean his forehead against the glass above her. He was struggling to compose himself, but the position only pressed his body that much harder into hers. A shiver ran through him and transferred itself to her.
She felt like a biological specimen compressed between two sheets of glass to be preserved and publicly displayed. She couldn't breathe and he was hard, so hard against her.
It was her whimper of pain that finally made him move. He pulled back and rush of chilly air filled the space he'd vacated.
Without warning, he turned her around still holding her wrists.
"Look at me," he demanded. "Look at me."
She opened her eyes to see hunger and a greedy lust in his eyes. That same naked want, she knew, was reflected in her own eyes.
Then he was kissing her, tearing her mouth open to permit invasion of his tongue. Instinctively, she tried to press her body against him in invitation. Her hands were still pinned above her head, preventing her from touching him fully. This was no sweet kiss under a plastic television in an ugly hospital; this was raw, consuming passion.
It was the reason she'd come to him in the first place, and the reason she wouldn't leave now.
His mouth stayed on hers for what seemed like hours, sucking away all willpower along with her breath. Finally, he broke contact, and kissed her face while she panted for air. Despite whimpered pleas to let her touch him, he held her wrists fast. Submission seemed all important to him in that moment and she let him have it.
He trailed a line of kisses across her jaw, before returning to her mouth. This time he was gentler with her, but no less ardent in his assault. Tension was building to a painful level within her and she thought she'd go mad if he didn't move lower.
Forgetting about the scratches, he moved to her neck. His five o'clock shadow made the first painful contact and he startled away from her when she cried out. A look of self recrimination crossed his face and he abruptly released her.
When he let go, her arms fell and a pleasant tingling occurred as the circulation returned.
"Sorry," he muttered, taking her wrists in his and massaging blood back into them.
"Don't be," she whispered. "I liked it."
His head snapped up and he searched her face for anything that would belie her words. When he found open honesty he gave her a wolfish grin and dragged her upstairs to his bedroom.
He wanted to take the stairs two at a time, but Scully wouldn't be able to keep up. The idea of carrying her upstairs crossed his mind, but his body was too old for such foolish romantic notions.
At the top of the stairs he stopped to kiss her again, reestablishing physical contact and exerting a little mental control.
She trailed him into the bedroom, led by the hand, but once inside, he turned around and set her away from him.
She gave him a quizzical look, but stayed put while he settled on the bed.
For a moment, he thought she would refuse and his heart pounded as the seconds ticked by. However, to his immense pleasure, she began removing her clothes, one at a time. Using deliberately provocative motions, she seemed to delight in this seductive teasing, though a smile never crossed her face.
When she was through and had dropped the small garments to the floor, she stood waiting for his next request. In the pale light that filtered in through filmy curtains, she showed no sign of embarrassment or made any attempt to hide herself from his piercing gaze.
Skinner knew one thing: he wanted her. Now.
"Come here," he said.
She crossed to stand next to the bed, watching him closely.
"I said come here."
He pulled her down to the bed and then rolled so he was propped above her. She let out a startled "Oh" before he bent to plunder her mouth again. Still fully clothed, he found intense pleasure in the alien sensation of rough cloth against soft skin.
Mindful of her scratches, he kissed a path to her breasts and sucked on already hardened nipples. He nuzzled the impeccably soft skin of her breasts, making her writhe beneath him. More startled "Ohs" followed his deliberate and focused ministrations.
When she made an attempt to undress him, he pinned her wrists to her sides. A noise of protest made him look up.
"Do you want to stop?" he asked gruffly.
A brief shake of her head to the negative, was all the permission he needed to continue.
He took his time with her, teasing her with his mouth, tongue and fingers and bringing her to the brink of orgasm several times before backing off again.
Scully twisted under him, putting up a token resistance, but never once asking him to stop or slow down.
With sudden impatience, he pushed away from her and stood up. While she lay with supple openness before him on the bed, he quickly stripped his clothes off and rejoined her.
Holding her gaze with his, he reached down and brought her hand to his erection. "Touch me."
Soft, tiny hands grasped him to slide up and down the hardened shaft of his penis. She took great care to give him firm touches coupled with gentle caresses on just the right spots and with just right tempo. Scully was nothing if not thorough in every task, he mused.
All musings ceased when she began to work him in earnest, sending bolts of sheer pleasure all through him at her expert touch. He stopped her when he got too close, and rolled over to lie between her legs again.
He pushed inside of her with one smooth motion, causing her to arch up at the invasion. It didn't matter that they had done this before, she still had problems with his size. Pausing while she panted with effort, he nearly withdrew when she didn't relax. Her voice stopped him.
"My hands," she whispered.
It took a moment for understanding to filter through to Skinner's sex-addled brain; he'd mistaken inaction for hesitation. She wanted her hands held again. Balancing on one elbow, he reached down and took her wrists into one hand. He brought them up, and held them above her head, as he'd done down downstairs.
"Do you like this?" he groaned into her ear as he began to thrust, "is this what you want?"
"Yessss," she hissed out against his ear.
He took care that he was in a position to grind against her clitoris because neither could attend to that portion of her anatomy.
Despite his resolve to make it last, to prolong the act for as long as he could, he was hit with a sudden, incredible orgasm. Sensation roared through him like thunder and he bellowed out in response.
To his relief, Scully soon followed him, making a series of short gasps that signaled her own completion.
Afterwards, he nearly collapsed on top of her, had to release her hands to keep his chest from crushing her small form. Between the case, his anger, and the sex, he was frankly exhausted, and knew she was too.
He started to move away from her, but she wrapped her legs around him, keeping him close, keeping him physically connected to her as if she never wanted to let him go.
Skinner felt his heart swell with a deep emotion, not love exactly, but something close to it. A woman stronger than any he'd known had yielded herself to him, had allowed him this indulgence. The realization was both exhilarating and humbling at the same time. They hadn't spoken about the hospital and nothing was settled, but he was left with a deep sense of satisfaction all the same.
She might be the death of him yet.
When he couldn't stay inside her any longer, he slipped out and rolled onto his back. Scully snuggled into his side and he gently kissed her forehead.
"Don't you think you deserve it?" she murmured with a sleep laden voice.
He didn't answer until her breathing had deepened, and smoothed out into sleep.
"Maybe once. Every thousand years."
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