by Rivka T
rivkat@aol.com
 

Like Catwoman said, be gentle with me; it's my first time.

Disclaimer 1: The characters and situations belong to Chris Carter,
Fox Broadcasting, and 1013 Productions, and have been used without
permission. No copyright infringement is intended.

Disclaimer 2: If you think they shouldn't sleep together, you're
probably right. If you think they never want to, this isn't for you.
This is an MS-something. Not an R, plenty of angst.

Rated R/NC-17 for language, sexual situations.

Mild Herrenvolk (season 4) reference.

Summary: A shapeshifter makes Mulder an offer he doesn't want to
refuse. Complications ensue.
 

~~~

Brief Encounter
by Rivka T
 

11:21 PM Georgetown
Mulder cornered the bounty hunter in the back room of a bar on
M Street. This one was smaller than the others they'd encountered. It
has been passing as a woman. Hell, for all he knew, it *was* female.
He'd seen it changing its face as it followed him. Not as easy to
spot as you might think, and so not terribly unsafe; after all, who
looks for that kind of thing?
He advanced on the smaller figure, pick in hand. Never left
home without it anymore.
The thing just smiled contemptuously at him.
The fight was over almost before it started. It came at him
like a tiger, thudding into his stomach with a force that knocked the
wind out of his lungs. He was exhausted and bruised from his most
recent battles, and it was much strongerthan a human. It knocked his
weapon from his hand and threw him onto a stool. Then it jumped up,
straddling his legs, pinning his arms against the wall.
It watched him pant with anger and terror for a minute, then
laughed, delicate and carefree. "Has anyone ever told you you're
beautiful when you're angry?"
He refused to reply.
"I like you, Agent Mulder, really I do. I could do things to
you you wouldn't believe. You could consider it research. They sent
me to watch you because I asked, because I liked you so much."
He just stared at her . . . it.
"Don't like the body? I can be anyone you want, Fox -- I'd like
to think we can be on a first-name basis -- as many women as you
want. I'm the only *real* infinite variety you'll ever find." And
suddenly it was a tall, leggy brunette -- a stunning Asian woman with
hair down past her waist -- a blonde who could have stepped out of
one of his magazines -- a catalogue of women, a torrent of women (and
at least one lithe boy, he thought) flooding by him.
"Nothing you like?" she pouted. "I know . . . I can be the
woman of your dreams, Fox, the only one that matters." As she spoke,
she shifted again, more slowly this time, and by the end of her
sentence she was Dana Scully. Face, voice, even the smell was right.
It was such a violation, he wanted to scream.
But his treacherous body began to respond to all the cues it
knew so well. It was her scent that was fatal, so clean and cool and
a little cinnamony. She leaned in further, brushing his lips with
Dana's, and, when he inhaled sharply, seizing his mouth and kissing
him deeply. And he kissed her back, just as greedily.
When she pulled away, smug satisfaction on Dana's face, he
looked at her for a moment. "Isn't it humiliating to have to pretend
to be someone else to get a man to want you?"
She slapped him, hard. He used his freed hand to push the
(momentarily) quite small *thing* off of him and scrambled off the
stool.
"Fine," she said, still Scully. "You can go. Just remember, I
could turn you inside out with pain *or* pleasure. I hope you're
happy with what you chose." She slipped from the room, face changing
to someone nondescript as she moved.
He sat heavily down again, trying to compose himself. Then he
pulled out his phone and hit the first memory key. "Scully? I have a
story to tell you."
* * *
FBI Basement Next Day
Mulder came into work still agitated. He emanated discomfort
and anger like a dark star. She tried to work for a while, but it was
hopeless.
"I don't understand," she finally said. "Why is this incident
last night making you so upset? You had a fight, you lost -- it's not
like you shouldn't be used to it by now -- so what else happened?"
These past few weeks had him awfully close to the edge, she thought.
He stared at his desk. "It . . . propositioned me," he choked
out. She thought that she might be able to feel the heat rising from
him if she were a few feet closer.
"What, you're not used to it?" She needed to joke; the fabric
of the unspoken understandings between them was so frayed of late.
"Not from a *thing* like that!" No humor whatsoever in his
voice. Suddenly, she understood, as if a current had passed from him
to her -- it had propositioned him, all right, but not as a stranger.
Phoebe? Bambi? Good God, had it offered him Samantha? And then she re-
evaluated his refusal to look at her, and thought about holding him
in that hospital room. It had offered him something he very much
didn't want to want.
She knew how he felt.
The desire she felt was like the urge that often gripped her
when she was driving on the Beltway -- to drive so fast that she'd
lose control and plow into a gray stone wall. She wanted him like she
wanted to open a bottle of scotch and keep drinking until the noise
in her head went away. She wanted him like she wanted to punch
through plate-glass windows she walked by, just to see what it would
feel like. If it would feel like anything.
He'd abandoned her before. He'd do it again next time he
thought he'd move faster without her. *But you're ok, aren't you,
Scully?* And in the meantime he'd be just as caring and seductive and
guilt-ridden about the last time as ever. Once she'd thought that
they might be able to have a loving relationship -- a romance like
the ones she used to read. But as they lost more and more connections
with the world and were reduced to relying on each other, the fantasy
had slipped away from her. Her desperate devotion, her insistence on
backing up a man whose idea of tenderness was a hand on her back
before he left her alone, couldn't be called "being in love." It was
just that he was the last part of her that assured her she existed.
She saw that he was still frozen at his desk, shoulders pulled
in as if to avoid a blow. She stood and walked over to him, putting
her hand on his shoulder. Deliberately ignoring his flinch. "It'll be
all right."
She stood there, gaining strength from the feel of him beneath
her. Poisonous strength, that would weaken her later, but she needed
it anyway. *Before I met you, I could tell the difference between
pleasure and pain. I told you that you were like a flower, but you're
more like a knife. I know I should pick up the handle, but I always
end up grabbing for the shiny sharp blade. And whose fault is that,
my dear?* The pain in her chest was, she thought, the vacuum where
her heart used to be, pulling at her to make her collapse from the
inside. She smiled bitterly behind him. "Mulder, you'll get your
chance. Make the report as convincing as possible so they'll let us
get back to tracking those things. And next time, we'll catch it . .
. together."
He sighed and shrugged -- her signal to release his shoulder.
"You're right, Scully. Let's get back to work."
*Something's going to break soon, Mulder. Hell of it is, I
think I'd kill myself just to take you down with me, to know you feel
it too.*
* * *
7:58 PM Mulder's apartment
The doorbell rang. Mulder pulled his legs off the couch and
onto the floor with a groan and walked stiffly to the door. Scully
waited patiently, coat folded over her arm, for him to admit her. She
was wearing a form-fitting T-shirt and faded jeans which dropped low
enough to bare her midriff.
"Hi."
"Hi, Fox." He hesitated, then motioned her in. "I thought you
might want to talk."
"Away from the office?"
"Yeah."
"You're right. Ah, how can I say this?" He turned away from
her, running his hands through his hair, worsening the damage he'd
already done on the couch. "I told you that the shapeshifter offered
to use her talent to . . . satisfy me." She nodded, impassive. He
dropped back onto the couch, looking away. "I didn't tell you *who*
she offered me." In a rush: "She offered me you, Dana. She said . . .
she said she knew you were the woman of my dreams. And when she
kissed me . . . I knew she was right. Please, don't be angry with me."
He heard her come to the couch and sit next to him. She placed
a gentle hand on his leg, just the briefest touch, but it sent a
shudder through his body. "Fox . . . look at me."
He turned, breathless.
"Is that really how you feel?"
"For a long time." His voice held the honesty of a man who had
nothing left but the truth.
She smiled tenderly and reached up to caress his cheek. And
then she kissed him, forced to rise off the couch to reach him, just
enough off balance to be pulled into his arms easily.
It was a slow, exploratory kiss -- would this really be as good
as I imagined? -- until he concluded that, yes, it was, and he bent
her down until her back pressed into the couch and her legs left the
floor. He pulled back to look at her. Her eyes were sparkling and she
was grinning like a madwoman. With one smooth motion, she crossed her
arms and lifted off her T-shirt, revealing a plain cotton bra. He
looked at her with tenderness and not a little awe, as if he could
barely believe his good fortune. But his desire reasserted itself,
and he followed her lead, stripping off his sweatshirt and the ratty
T-shirt underneath. She put her hand to his chest. "I want you so
much," she said.
"How could I deny you anything?" he asked, offering a grin to
match hers. "Give me a second." He lifted her legs so that he could
get off the couch, shot out of the room, and returned a moment later
with a box of condoms.
"Dana?" he asked, suddenly uncertain.
"Come here, Fox." He sighed and complied. Quickly they shed
their remaining clothes; though he wanted to caress every inch of
her, their urgency was too great, and when she begged him to make
love to her, he complied, entering her with a force that should have
hurt. But she simply shuddered in pleasure and ground herself against
him.
His orgasm was so powerful that it nearly made him lose
consciousness. When he could think again, he saw that he'd bitten her
shoulder. Red tooth marks stood out on her creamy skin, clashing with
the freckles scattered over her shoulders.
Reaching up to touch the bite, which at least hadn't broken the
skin, he looked at her guiltily. "Did I hurt you?"
"I don't feel it," she replied. "I like you when you're not in
total control."
He busied himself exploring the parts of her body he'd
neglected before. The soft, perfect skin that stretched from her
wrist to the crook of her elbow. Her hipbone, jutting out from its
cushion of flesh. Her tiny, perfect feet, with the nails painted an
astonishing rose.
When he was fully recovered, he picked her up and laid her over
the arm of the sofa. The position allowed his hands to roam her body,
kneading and stroking, until she was begging.
"Please," she cried.
"Please what, Dana?" he whispered in her ear. "Do you want me
to fuck you, Dana?"
"Yes, please," she nearly sobbed.
"Please what?"
She whispered it in a schoolgirl's voice. "Please fuck me, Fox."
And he drove inside her. Each place he touched her turned him
on more. She screamed when she came this time, and he yelled out in
triumph as he followed her.
They stayed locked together, her limp over the sofa arm, him
bracing himself with his arms, barely able to keep from falling over,
face buried in her hair, for a long time. The only sound was their
panting. Finally, he straightened up and looked her over again.
"Can we take this into the bedroom?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
He took her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. "A
bed," she murmured, sounding almost surprised. He set her down on it
carefully.
"Now close your eyes," he commanded, "and raise your hands."
Shooting him a game-but-uncertain look, she complied. She heard
clicks, then, "Ok, you can look," and opened her eyes to find herself
handcuffed to the bed. Mulder was holding his pick to her neck.
"Fox, you're kinkier than I thought."
"Shut up. I want some answers now."
"How long have you known?"
"Since you opened your mouth."
"*Much* kinkier. I could really get to enjoy this. How did you
know?"
"Scully would never have called me Fox. And she wouldn't have
dressed like that. It was just too easy."
"I didn't hear any complaints. Double standards, that's the
only kind you men have."
"Don't push me."
"What are you going to do? You can hardly hope to explain to
anyone else why you've cuffed your partner naked to your bed."
"I'm not going to kill you. As far as I know, you personally
have done nothing but follow me around. And I still believe in
justice. But I'm willing to hurt you."
"What do you want to know?"
"Where are they? Samantha, the children, the hive."
"I don't know." He pressed the tip into the soft flesh at the
back of her neck. "Really. You can hurt me all you want. It won't
help. Don't you think they knew you might catch me? You're a well-
respected man, Fox."
He saw something suspiciously like tears in her eyes. "Believe
me or not, I wish I could tell you. There's no reason to jerk you
around like this. It's simply cruelty. But I'm just doing my job.
It's a lot safer that way. I can't help you, even if I might want to."
He stared at her, grimacing in frustration. Finally, he came to
a decision, retracting the pick and turning away.
"Fox?" Her soft voice, Dana's voice, using the tone he heard in
his best dreams, sent a tremor down his spine. He turned back, face
completely blank.
"Once more, for old time's sake? I'm all tied up. You'll be
safe."
He flinched as if struck, then reached for the keys. "Sorry,"
he said, "the thrill is gone."
She pouted. "Are you sure? I give a great blow job."
He actually raised his hand to hit her. "You should shrivel up
and die for taking her shape. Don't say those things."
"'Please fuck me, Fox,'" she mocked in that little-girl's
voice. He unlocked the cuffs and wrenched her hands from them.
"Get out. Next time I won't be so generous."
"Fox, how will you know when next time is?"
"Get out!" he cried. Raising herself from the bed, she
shrugged. With Dana's dignity even in her nakedness, she glided back
to the living room and, he assumed, put on her clothes. He heard the
front door close.
Then he sank to the bed, head in his hands. *That was the
dumbest thing I've ever done,* he though, not quite sure which part
of the night he was thinking about. *Oh, God -- Scully!*
He couldn't stand the couch, not tonight. So he curled himself
into a ball on the side of the bed she hadn't been on, and tried
mightily to sleep.
* * *
* * *
Epilogue
The next morning Dana Scully's apartment
Special Agent Dana Scully examined her reflection critically.
Lipstick, perfect. Foundation -- well, wouldn't stand up to a very
close inspection. Mom always said, you can cover up redness, but
bumps show through. She'd just better hope that the next few days
wouldn't see her dunked in water or otherwise unable to control her
appearance. Mulder would barely be able to look at her today, anyway.
Calling him "Fox" had been a stroke of genius. Maybe his eerie
intuition was beginning to rub off on her.
The small abrasions on her wrists, the welts on her back, and
the bite mark on her shoulder were safely concealed beneath her long-
sleeved shell and jacket. As she turned to go, she heard his voice in
her head. *Sometimes the need to mess with their heads outweighs the
millstone of humiliation.* She whispered to herself, "More than
you'll ever know."
END