About Face
by JHJ Armstrong
Summary: Moose and Squirrel will *always* know each other.
Content: MSR. Smut.
Archive: If you like it, hate it, wanna archive it, tell me at [email protected]
posthaste. Thanks for your support.
Rating: We are firmly in the realm of NC-17, though it's mostly suggestive; I
believe in the power of imagination, dear reader.
Spoilers: "Dreamland II." Bits and pieces elsewhere.
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the rainbow, they're mine. But until that pot of gold
appears (complete with leprechaun), I guess they're CC's, DD's and GA's.
Thanks: To TBishop and Alicia K., who is now a Virginian along with the rest of
us crazy souls.
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Somewhere in Nevada
10 p.m.
She is so beautiful, even in the dark. And she's walking away, and maybe we'll
never have another chance. So I'll try to take this one.
"Hey Scully."
She turns around. For an instant, the headlights illuminate her face, and I see
the weariness, the apprehension and, yes, the fear of what might happen with
this time distortion.
I wish I could tell her that everything will be OK, that we'll get back into
place without any problems. But she knows, and I know, that's a promise nobody
can make right now. I can tell her, however, that I'm still me and we're still
partners. I have to.
She's stopped, waiting for me to say something. I take my hand from my pocket
and hold it out until she extends hers. Sunflower seeds click softly into her
small palm. I don't speak, but we've never needed words.
She looks at the seeds, fingering them gently. Then she looks up, and offers me
the tiniest of Scully smiles.
Message received.
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I'm standing in the middle of the Nevada desert looking at a handful of
sunflower seeds, and I think I'm going to cry.
If I don't get Mulder back -- and I mean *my* Mulder, not the asshole in an
Armani who's sitting twenty yards away -- you can bet somebody's gonna get shot.
Sometimes in this partnership, I've felt like Mulder
and I were on parallel moving sidewalks, zipping back and forth but never quite
stopping in the same place.
Right now, however, I feel like those sidewalks are in slow motion; one of us
has only to jump across and we'll be bound so tightly they'll never get us
apart.
I can't rely on Mulder's face -- or eyes -- right now to tell me what he wants
me to do. They're over there in the Taurus. All I have here is our souls. Can I
do this? Does this handful of sunflower seeds mean what I think, I hope, it
might?
Mulder is waiting, watching, wondering.
Carpe diem, Agent Scully. Now or never.
"Wait here for me?" I ask him. "It could be a while ..."
He simply nods. "I'd wait for you forever, Scully."
My eyes close; again, I fight back sudden tears. "The feeling's mutual,
Mulder. I hope you know that."
I get back in the car, and we drive off. I don't look back, but I do let one
tear fall.
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Same place
Four hours later
I don't question whether Scully is going to return.
She asked me to wait, so wait I will until she arrives, I die or Elvis comes
back. With Vegas nearby, you never know.
While I'm waiting, I ponder the current situation. The whole deal's rather
hilarious, actually: I'm playing possum at Fletcher's job while he's a wolf in
Fox's clothing.
I also ponder what made Scully ask me to wait. I know I put my heart in her hand
along with those sunflower seeds, but she's held it before, and it's never
affected her quite this way.
Could it be that the thought of losing me unnerves her so? To be sure, I'd still
be around in effigy. But Scully's not superficial, and it wouldn't be *me* with
her.
Hope springs eternal, or so says the proverb, and I have to admit I've always
hoped there might be a time for Scully and me.
I usually keep the feeling buried deep, deep inside.
Oh, it surfaces from time to time, most recently in a hospital room in Bermuda.
I blame the Demerol. So does she.
It's not that I think Scully would so lightly dismiss the thought of us. I mean,
we're together, just not *together.*
But our relationship is so precariously balanced at times, I'm afraid that
adding another component would throw it permanently out of whack. We always
skirt the issue of how we feel about each other; at some level, we know we're
inseparable, but we'll be damned if we voice it.
And last summer, when we stood on the precipice, a genetically mutated
Africanized honeybee and then half a planet got in our way. Not to mention
several muckety-mucks and a little thing called being taken off the X-Files. No,
I'm not bitter.
Can you blame me for just being tired of denying the obvious? History proves I
only get in trouble when I do.
The sound of a car interrupts my musings. She gets out and heads toward me.
I could go running over like an eager beaver, but the little profiler's voice
inside my head tells me she needs to control this situation. If there's one
thing about Dana Scully, it's that she needs to run the show. Not always a
horrible trait; in fact, on her it's downright arousing.
She stops a foot from me. "Hi, G-man."
It's pitch black out, but I don't need to see her to know that she is a
five-foot-three dynamo in four-inch heels and a Donna Karan pantsuit. But
tonight, the dynamo is ... nervous? Maybe a little levity will help.
"Hey, Scully. Wanna get back in the car? All we'd need then is a parking
garage." This earns me a wry smile, followed by a huge sigh.
Gathering her thoughts, she turns away, then back. "Mulder, that's in the
past. I want to talk about ... about right now. And maybe the future."
"I don't think The Stupendous Yappi can help us here."
"No, probably not. But we have no idea how whatever happened to you and
Fletcher ... happened. Nor do we know if, when or where it might be reversed.
All I know is that you could, as you said, wind up with your head in a rock, and
I ... I ... "
"You could be stuck with that bottom-feeding mouth-breather for a
partner?"
"Yes." She speaks through clenched teeth, and I feel the waves of
aggression rolling off of her at the thought of the man. God help him if they
ever run into each other again and she's armed.
Suddenly, she grabs my hand, tugging until I walk with her to my car. Fletcher's
car. Whatever.
Scully opens the door and sits down. I climb in on the driver's side, wondering
what she's got on her mind. She looks straight ahead.
"Mulder, what do you think of me?"
Careful, Mr. Special Agent. About five billion layers of meaning are hidden in
that question.
"Well, Scully, I think you are a brilliant scientist, an excellent field
agent, a trustworthy friend and an all-around good person who's handy to have
around in a pinch." The high road first.
Her eyes find the hands clasped in her lap to be fascinating, and she manages an
"Oh" in the quietest tone imaginable. "I -- I'm flattered."
I take her hand in mine, and we study the stars for a few minutes before she
decides to speak again, pushing the matter further. "But do you -- I mean
-- well, is that *all* you think of me?"
Time to cash in your chips, Mulder. "What do you mean, Scully? Are you
asking me if I think you're the most wonderful person I've ever met? If you make
me a better agent, a better man when we're together? If knowing you are by my
side makes me believe, however infrequently and fleetingly, that the nameless
men we struggle against will see justice someday, I'll find my sister, and
you'll discover the truth about your abduction?"
"Is that what you're asking me? Because if it is, the answer to all of it
is yes."
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What can I do after that but kiss him, no matter how damn ugly he is?
Before I can act, though, he has a question of his own.
"So, Scully, what do you think of me?"
His words are mine, spoken in hushed tones, but I hear in them the longing of a
little boy who grew into a man without knowing the simple, steady assurance of
unconditional love.
I, however, had that in spades, and he deserves no less. I square my shoulders
and face him, putting my hand over his. Trust and truth are all I need, and I've
found a good measure of both in this man. It's time I told him.
"All my life, Mulder, I've run from my emotions, thinking they only make me
vulnerable when I need to be strong." He shakes his head.
"Scully, you're the strongest person I know. And it's because you can feel
so deeply you -- "
"No, Mulder. Strong can very easily become cold and uncaring. Don't you
see? It's because of you I find the strength and courage to keep feeling. Your
convictions, your commitment, they help me through when I want out.
"This ... this time distortion, or whatever it is, it threatens me and you.
And that scares me, because, somewhere along the way, having you in my life
became a necessary part of living. I need you, Mulder." I take a deep
breath.
"And I ... I love you."
There, I've said it. Please be gentle with me, Mulder.
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"And I ... I love you."
Scully loves me. Scully loves me? Scully loves me!
As fate would have it, I look like anything *but* me when I am informed of this.
Fate and I will have a chat later. Right now, I very much want to kiss my
partner. So I do.
Scully is the object of so many of my fantasies, I'm not sure what I expected in
reality. I know I never really thought there'd be a reality, so there's a bonus
right at the start.
Her lips are warm, soft and supple. I keep the kiss light, playing a little with
my tongue, feeling her respond, feeling me respond ... but I have to stop. This
isn't right.
I pull back, searching for the dome light and flicking it on. She blinks,
looking confused.
"What? Mulder, why did you stop?"
"In case you haven't noticed, Scully, I'm not myself this evening. And as
many times as I've pictured this moment, it sure as hell wasn't this way."
Every other part of my body is screaming shut up, this is Scully, you know she
knows it's you, but the finely honed guilt center that is my brain won't turn
off. So I sit back in the driver's chair, drumming my fingers on the steering
wheel, wondering if she'll leave and hoping with all my might she won't.
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His face may not be Mulder's, but the familiar visage of Mulder's angst has
appeared.
I sympathize with him, I really do, but does he think I'm so shallow? Okay,
maybe he looked better after being infected with the alien virus, but he's still
*Mulder.*
Another day, I would back off. I would make a teasing comment, or maybe ruffle
his hair and trail my hand down his arm. Or simply smile. But not today. I have
decided that retreat is not an option.
"Mulder, look at me." He complies, sullenly, after a moment. "Do
you know what parts of you attract me the most?"
Well, he can still leer. That's saying something.
Anyway. I tap his forehead and say, "This. Your brain." Then a tap on
his upper left chest. "And this. Your heart." I have to make him
understand that there is an intangible quality in him that says "Mulder"
as nothing else can.
"You may *look* like Morris Fletcher," I say, "but you *feel*
like Fox Mulder to me. Do you understand?"
"Your heart, your brain, your intellect, they are *you*. No one can imitate
that, least of all some Area 51 peacock. I don't love your eyes, your nose, your
cheeks, your neck, your hands" -- I kiss each body part as I name it --
"I love *you*."
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As always, I am helpless to defend myself against Scully's logic. I feel the
tears falling, and she leans in to kiss them away.
I turn my head, and our lips meet again, parting to let our tongues roam. We
continue the kiss, tasting and discovering each other until we are both
breathless. We rest our foreheads together and try to remember how to inhale and
exhale.
"You know, Mulder, I've pictured this moment, too."
"Oh? And how does your fantasy go?"
"Believe me, we'd need much more space than we've got. *Much* more."
"Then how about we take this party outdoors?"
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Before I can answer, Mulder is out of the car and rooting around in the trunk.
"Let's see if ... I don't believe this." He walks toward me, his arms
full of blanket and ... picnic basket?
"What is that, Mulder?" I peek inside the basket. One bottle of wine,
two glasses. Three candles. I'm sure Mr. Fletcher is no Boy Scout, but he
certainly seems to be prepared.
I lean against the car as my partner spreads the blanket out, lighting the
candles and motioning for me to sit when he's finished. "Shall we sample
the vino?" he asks me, wiggling the bottle a little with one hand.
"How could we not?" I reply. He grins, and pours. A sweet Riesling,
fruity and flavorful. We sit in companionable silence for a bit, sipping.
"Mulder, what do you think is going to happen?"
"Well, Scully, I'd say there's a pretty good chance one or the other of us
is gonna get naked."
It's dark, but I bet he can still tell my eyes are rolling. "Not what I
meant."
"I know." He reaches out in the dark and takes my hand. The touch from
Mulder's heart but another man's body sets off a spark inside me at the
unfairness of the situation. I try to tell him how I feel.
"I mean, you and Fletcher could stay this way forever, we could see a
partial recovery, or everything could return to normal. I hate this uncertainty.
I hate that, once again, we have been thrown into circumstances beyond our
control, with no clues as to who or why or what happened, and we're
just supposed to deal with it and land on our feet!"
I yell the last few words, then try to yank my hand away, wanting to get up and
walk off some of my frustration. But he won't let me go.
Instead, he pulls back, and I tumble into him. His arms wrap around me, rocking
me a little. He smooths his hand down the back of my head, calming me with his
touch. "Scully, just be here with me. Just in this moment. We'll worry
about all the other stuff later."
In a second, my partner has moved me from anger and frustration to silence and
serenity. I sigh. Just this moment, he said. Okay. I can do that. But first, a
promise has to be made.
"Mulder, no matter what happens tonight, or tomorrow, or a hundred
tomorrows from now, I want you to know that I don't -- I won't -- ever regret
anything we do together."
His embrace tightens. "Scully?"
"What?"
"Shut up and let me love you."
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Having Scully in my arms is an incredible sensation. She has an earthy smell,
autumn leaves and spring rain and summer heat. Her hair, a bit tangled at the
day's end, shines even in the night.
I brush my fingertips over her cheekbone, her skin like porcelain to the touch
but with steel beneath. Again, the reality is blowing the daydreams seven ways
from Sunday.
We move to sit cross-legged, facing each other. Cupping her face in both hands,
I lean in and capture her mouth, putting years of longing into one kiss. Her
tongue darts out to tease my lower lip, and I shiver involuntarily, moaning.
Her hands are still on either side of herself, keeping her balanced. I abruptly
push them away, catching her as she falls backward and gently laying her beneath
me.
"Close your eyes, Scully." She does, and I realize it's proof she does
think this is me; I know she'd never let herself be this vulnerable with anyone
else. Hell, she's almost never this vulnerable with me.
Leaning over her, I realize just how small my partner is. So often, the force of
her presence makes her seem larger, and I think of her as my equal, if not my
better half, in every way.
Right now, I'm thinking of her as a very desirable woman.
I raise her to a sitting position, unbuttoning her jacket and letting my
fingertips caress her arms as I slide it off. I run my hands up and down her
arms, telling her with my touch how much she means to me.
A shaky sigh escapes her lips as the heels of my hands brush the outsides of her
breasts, and I am overtaken by the urge to see her bared before me. Undoing
clasps and zippers, I remove her clothing, laying her back down when I'm done.
She glows in contrast to the dark plaid of the blanket, and I can do nothing but
stare in awe as I sit beside her.
I have seen her this way before, but she was pale and almost lifeless. A
healthy, robust Scully is incredible to behold.
My brain launches into Scully Appreciation 101. Her slender neck gives way to
sturdy shoulders. Lovely breasts. A parabola of a waist, then trim thighs and
well-muscled calves. A fiery Aphrodite, ready-made for worship.
I move to kneel at her feet, taking the left one in my hands and massaging it.
As I move up her legs, she starts making these little noises, not quite
whimpers, not quite moans, that make it increasingly hard for me to concentrate
on the task at hand.
"Mulder, that's really nice ..." Her voice trails off into a breathy
whisper that becomes a sigh as I begin to kiss my way up her legs. I make broad,
slow strokes up her thighs with my tongue, enjoying the taste and feel of her.
Her breathing is becoming heavier, and it gets positively ragged as my tongue
gets closer and closer to the Scully-scented auburn curls that beckon so
invitingly.
I pause just shy of the goal, taking a moment to breathe her in, then go for it
with all I've got. Her reactions are hesitant at first, but the sensations sweep
over her, washing away layer after layer of control until she is wide open
before me and writhing, straining for release.
Wanting nothing more for her than pleasure, I bring my fingers in to join the
party. Plunging two inside, I curl them up just a little at the end of each
thrust, flicking her clit with my tongue as I do so. I do this three, maybe four
times --
And she goes up in flames. Her back arches completely off the ground. Her hands
clench the blanket for dear life. A keening cry becomes a groan becomes a moan.
She wraps her legs around my head, grinding it into her as she pumps her hips. I
briefly worry about suffocation, but then think, What a way to go, and hang on
for the ride.
When it's over, I withdraw my fingers slowly and gather her into my arms on one
side of the blanket, drawing it over her so she doesn't get cold. She is
slumberous, languid, and her voice has a sleepyrough slur to it that speaks to
the area just south of my belt buckle.
"Mulder, isn't it your turn?" Her hands head for that area, gently
stroking. I don't want to say no, but I have to. And it's for legitimate health
reasons.
"I want to, Scully ... so much ... but, um, I don't want to give you any,
ah, unwanted presents ..."
Her brain whirs, comprehension clicking into place. "Mmm-hmm. We know I'm
clean, we know you're clean, but we sure as hell don't
know about Mr. MIB, do we? I see your point."
I've resigned myself to another night of me, myself and I, but (as usual) Scully
is way ahead of me. With just enough devilishness to make me shiver, she says:
"You know, Mulder -- there are other ways."
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Before he can object, I've unbuckled Mulder's belt, unzipped his pants and
stripped him to his knees.
Despite the animosity I feel for the everyday inhabitant of this body, I'm
impressed. Fletcher's quite nicely equipped, actually ...
"Take a picture, it'll last longer." My eyes snap to his, and behind
the mocking amusement there is a tiny bit of insecurity.
As if. Hey, partner, I've seen you in those perfectly tailored pants. You've got
nothing to worry about.
But I'll tell him later. I've got other things on my mind at the moment ...
I take his hand in both of mine, sucking on each finger and swirling my tongue
into the palm. I wrap his hand around his cock, and in what I hope is the
sexiest voice he's ever heard, lean over next to his ear and whisper, "Show
me. Show me how you make yourself come."
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Jesus. I may not believe in him, but this is fast approaching a religious
experience.
My partner has just asked me to masturbate in front of her, using a tone of
voice I've only heard in my dreams. I dare to look at her; and the desire I see
in her eyes only makes me harder.
All I can do is take a deep breath, gulp audibly and follow her request. As my
slick hand begins to stroke up and down, I realize this is gonna be a short
session.
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Man, I thought he was going to come with the first stroke. I can't help but feel
a little feminine pride at my success.
I quickly lick my own hands and help the man. While he works the upper half, I
gently caress his balls with one hand and squeeze the lower half with the thumb
and forefinger of the other. I move up and down in time with him, coaxing and
urging with my eyes and voice.
He shudders, and a stream of hot, pearly come covers our fingers. I continue to
stroke him gently until he recovers, then slide up alongside his body and kiss
him. He opens his arms and pillows my head on his shoulder, and we drift along,
just holding each other.
But reality breaks in too soon and we get dressed, although not without a few
sweet kisses and touches. He holds my jacket for me to put my arms in, then
wraps his arms around me from behind.
"I love you, Scully."
I smile, even though he can't see it. "I know."
The next day, I forgot I ever did.
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Two days later
Washington, D.C.
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Our little side trip to Nevada seems to have gone unnoticed by Big Bad Kersh,
but I can't help feeling there's something I'm forgetting about the time we were
there.
I called Mulder as I was tidying up my desk drawers, making sure he got home
okay. As I hung up, I found a penny and nickel that had been fused together.
Very weird.
Then Mulder called, telling me to get over to his apartment posthaste. Wouldn't
say why.
So here I am, on the way to Alexandria, thinking of things that might be wrong
and knowing, with my partner, I'm probably not even close.
I knock on No. 42, and my partner's voice calls, "It's open." Once
inside, nothing seems out of place until I turn right and stop dead in the
doorway of ... the bedroom?
Now, I figured Mulder probably had a bedroom. But a bedroom with a waterbed,
mirrored canopy, lava lamp and leopard-print spread? Uh-uh. No way. My
Celebrity-Skin-subscriber partner puts all his tackiness into his ties.
My face must reveal my bewilderment, because Mulder says, "I know, Scully.
Not at all me, is it? At the very least, I would have gone with a tiger
print." Looking perplexed, he walks toward me, digging his hand into a bag
in his pocket. "In times like these, I find that seeds help me think. Want
some?"
I extend my hand to take the offered items, but before I can say "Thank
you" my mind is flooded with memories and sensations of me, naked on a
plaid picnic blanket with Mulder's head between my legs. Then Mulder and myself
with our hands wrapped around his cock. At least I *think* it's Mulder ...
I stumble over to the bed, weak-kneed and reeling. When I look at Mulder, he
seems to be feeling a little brick-brained as well.
Our eyes meet, and in that instant we remember. Everything.
Mulder recovers first. "Scully, do you think I could kiss you with my
proper face on?"
I nod. "But only if you promise to show me your *other* proper parts."
Which he proceeds to do. And he really had nothing to worry about.
-- 30 --
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