Odd Habits V
By RocketMan


Disclaimer: see part one


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"You're my one in five billion."
-- Mulder, Folie A Deux
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"I need you, Scully."

Stop, stop stop stop stop stop . . .

"Please," stop.

He's too close, too here, too much a part of me.

"Please," stop.

Tell him to stop. Tell him to stop.

His mouth is too agile, his hands too soft, his breath too close.

"Scully, I need you."

"No, no, no. Not like this."

His actions still, his hands freeze to my arms, eyes downcast. He's still behind 
me, arms circling me, breathing.

I lift my hand to touch his face, to stroke his cheek, let him know somehow that 
I don't want this to hurt him.

A brush of his lips across my fingers and I can't think anymore.

But I feel.

I feel wrong. Wrong for letting him do this. Wrong for allowing this to keep on. 
Wrong for not knowing if I truly, truly need him like this.

I want him. No doubt.

Do I need him like this?

His arms draw tight around me, nose pressed into my neck, eyes still far away 
from mine.

I want him to understand. Maybe he does.

"Everything will change." I say, dumbly.

He snorts, brings his lips back to my ear, skimming lightly along the edges.

I feel my throat making noises, my body getting too hot.





"Not right now," I say.

He ignores me again, lets his fingers trail down my arms, then back, then across 
the skin of my shoulders . . . forever and ever and ever.

But he's not trying to take my clothes off, he's not trying to get out of his 
pants, he's just . . . just . . . seducing me?

"Mulder?"

"Just this, Scully, just tonight."

I want to laugh, cry, beg him not just tonight.

"Not just tonight."

His eyes stray toward mine, his brown-black covered with shine.

"Not just tonight," I repeat softly, echoing my earlier words, needing him to 
know that I do, do want him.

I am twisted in front of him, my back pressed to his chest, head turned to see 
his face as he says nothing, only moves.

I crawl around until I'm in his lap, curled up tight, closing my eyes and 
letting each river of feeling course through me, rapids and currents and still 
water all.

My breathing is funny, all fast, then slow, then hitched.

Every place, he knows every sensitive nerve in every part of my skin.

He's always been the one to give, to give and just keep on thinking only about 
me, never himself.

"Mulder . . . you make me weak . . ."

His face is surprised, his hands shake a bit and he kisses the top of my head.

"Why do you say that?" he asks, rubbing his thumbs along my chin and cheeks.

I smile. "Because you do. I can hardly move."

He tilts his head, looking and thinking and maybe plotting.

"But . . . you don't . . . can't stand to be weak."

I blink, confused. Is he hurt that I said that?

"Not . . . it's okay. I know you're not going to hurt me, to ruin my career or 
anything. You know me, Mulder. How more vulnerable to you could I get?"

His eyebrows twitch and I see that old, sensual look in his eyes again.

I raise my eyebrow, smirking. "And I know you, too, Mulder. So stop that."

"Hm. Maybe not . . ."

His nose touches mine, our foreheads together, and he licks his lips.

His tongue is so close, I can almost feel the moisture there.

One little tilt of my head, and he's there, right there where I want him to be.

I turn, my lips brush his and meet, then glance off. He follows my retreat and 
overtakes me, pushing back.

He's not trying for anything more. I guess five years of waiting, of nothing, 
speaks of good willpower.

Or simply affirms his own wonderfully caring nature.

I want to tell him, reassure him that I love him, but he'd think of it in the 
wrong way, and I'm not sure if I mean it like that.

I'd never lie to him about this.

He'd never let me, anyway.

He groans suddenly, hips moving unconsciously, making me bite my lip.

"Mulder . . . I think . . ."

"Okay. I know. Okay."

He stops attacking my mouth and moves away, taking my hand.

I watch him, cautious for that bruised male pride.

He sighs, but dips his body back to the couch, pulling me with him.

I lay next to him, tense and waiting.

"I'm not a bomb, Scully. I'm okay. I won't bite."

I smile, my mouth, curving slightly to see his face.

(I know this was wrong, I know this was being such a tease, but then . . .)

I take his earlobe with my teeth and then kiss it.

"You can bite," I say.

His arms curl tighter around me and he shakes his head.

"You'd better stop that."

I lay my head back to his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of another person, of 
Mulder.

He shifts to give me more room, but I crowd close to him, hoping he'll 
understand that I'm not trying to be . . . cold.

I don't want him thinking that ever.

Ever.

His lips land on my cheek. "Good night, Scully."

"Good night."

"Oh, and no more sleepwalking, hunh?"

I smile. "No more."

Not tonight anyway.


===== END PART V=====