By Char Chaffin
MSR, Vignette, rated R
Disclaimer: Clones on Loan
In answer to a fic challenge issued by ML... start the story with the sentence, "She knew it was wrong, but she did it, anyway..." and then let the story go where it wished. This is where mine went. Thanks, ML!
She knew it was wrong, but she did it anyway.
In all their years together in the field, in this hotel or that motel, she'd never thought to. Well, that wasn't strictly true; she'd thought about it but pushed it deep down inside her where it could never sneak out and take her unawares. Where it would never reveal itself at a vulnerable moment... and she made sure to avoid vulnerability whenever possible.
But tonight, she did it.
The door was open; it wasn't as if she was trespassing. He always shut the door. It was never locked, at least to her knowledge, but it was always shut firmly. She'd hear the fan running behind that closed door, whether or not she was in her room or his. Motel room walls were notoriously thin and pitifully insulated.
This time the door was open. This time the fan wasn't running.
It was easy to know exactly when his shoes hit the carpet; to count the measure of his steps to the bathroom and hear the hiss of water as it struck the shower walls. It was easier still to let her mind drift and think of what he must look like, standing under that needle spray, head tipped back, eyes closed, letting the water pound at his body. His tanned, nude body...
This time he left that door open at least three feet, and she knew it was wrong.
But she did it anyway.
She couldn't resist, not this time. Years of dealing with her partner, up close and more personal than she had ever allowed anyone else. Years of looking into those eyes, feeling the warm beam of that smile, the touch of those hands on the small of her back, the overshadowing of that body, standing next to her; so close to her. Years of the subtle scent of his soap and after-shave, his unique male fragrance, teasing her nose. Years of his jokes, his bad puns and worse innuendoes, his insecurity and his overconfidence. Years of exasperation, resignation and trepidation, understanding him and then not knowing where in hell his mind was really at.
Years of Fox Mulder, all hitting her at a very vulnerable moment in her life... and Dana Scully knew it was wrong, but she did it anyway.
She walked to the open door of his motel bathroom, while the water was running in the shower, while he stood on the other side of a clear plastic shower curtain.
She stood just inside the bathroom; just out of his line of sight should he turn and look toward the door.
She cast her eyes toward the long shadow of him, standing under that hot and steamy spray; took in the way his hands raked through his hair as he soaked his scalp, readying it for a handful of shampoo. Her eyes traced over the width of sleek shoulders, glanced down over muscular arms, admired the graceful, strong curve of his spine... blinked intensely at the tight and rounded appeal of perfect male buttocks.
Then he turned to face her and her breath caught in her throat.
She knew it was wrong.
She did it anyway.
She stared. Her eyes went straight to the length of him, the slightly arched penis that wasn't soft and wasn't hard; was just long and full and framed by a blur of darker hair, now curly and wet and she... licked her lips.
She couldn't help herself. It was wrong. She was standing in her partner's bathroom unbeknownst to him; standing and staring and almost salivating. She'd never seen a more beautiful man. She knew if she lived to be a very old woman, she never would, again. This man. Just this man...
In that moment he was all she'd ever want, in her life. In that moment she wished like hell she was open enough, brave enough, to loosen her clothes, drop them piece by piece to the floor, step into that wet steamy shower, right behind him... and press up against all that hard, wet skin. Wind her arms around him, reaching for that long, full length; cup him, feel him tighten, harden, grow. In her palm, growing a penis the way Nature intended it to be grown... with nothing more than the warmth of her fingers and the hot drift of her lips, up and down that smooth, elegant back.
Though she knew it was wrong, she spent priceless moments there in the bathroom and she looked her fill, wanting, needing, desiring. Knowing she'd never in a million years have the nerve to reach out and take.
One small, silent sigh of regret, and she was turning toward the door, her blue eyes stinging a little, her shoulders slumped a bit. How in the world she'd go back to being just his partner, and forget what she'd seen, here, now... somehow she'd find the way. She'd rather be his partner than lose him. It was more vital that she stay at his side, regardless of her feelings and her needs.
Her quiet steps had taken her almost to the door, when she heard the rustle of the plastic shower curtain behind her; when she heard that honey-raspy voice gone rough with the same need that still pulsed through her body.
"Don't, Scully. Don't go. Don't turn away, don't..."
She knew it was wrong, but she did it anyway. She took a deep breath. She turned. She met those hazel eyes, now dark with desire; she managed a step, and then another... then she took the damp hand extended toward her, let his long fingers curl around hers. Let him pull her closer, closer... until she was separated from him by nothing more than the five-inch-thick rim of a wet porcelain tub.
When Mulder smiled at her, Scully smiled back. When he leaned into her, she reached up. When he kissed her with wet, ardent lips, she kissed back.
And suddenly it didn't feel wrong, not at all. Suddenly it felt damned right.
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