Xes Pu Ekam [X-Files]

Xes Pu Ekam
by Jennifer-Oksana
rating: NC-17
pairing: Mulder/Scully
spoilers: En Ami
summary: Come on. Did you see Mulder’s face at the end of that scene?
Did it not beg for a big USTy fight followed by the hot make-up sex?
Yes, yes it did.
disclaimer: 1013 owns everyone, I just textually poach.

I know even before the Gunmen leave that he’s not going to let this go.
There’s something in the blank, emotionless expression that screams
Mulder-rage that tells me exactly what he thinks of my little adventure.

Well, fuck him. If he’d done something like this to me, he wouldn’t
apologize. Hell, he’d be surprised if I was angry. But I did this, and
so it’s a betrayal, pure and simple. I’m not allowed to go on quests; in
his head I’m a sidekick, not a player.

So when he shuts the door on the boys, whom I’m more than glad to see go
tonight, I’m not surprised his first comment to me is an insult.

“Do you enjoy smelling like second-hand smoke?”

“Mulder, don’t start with me,” I reply. “If you want to tell me how much
I’ve betrayed you, you can leave a message on my voice mail, because
frankly, I’m not interested.”

His face becomes even blanker, if that’s possible, and he advances on me
like a hunter ready to kill. It’s been so long since I’ve seen Mulder
this angry. It’s almost frightening, and almost arousing. But I refuse
to be intimidated by his line of betrayal and resentment. What’s good
for the goose is good for the gander, as my mother used to say.

“Fine,” he says, in a voice that tells me just what a concession he’s
making. Asshole. “I just have one question for you, Scully.”

“What?” I ask.

“What on earth possessed you to go with him?” he asks me, eyes focusing
in on me like lasers. “Were you out of your mind?”

“What the hell sort of question is that?” I answer, the words flying out
of my mouth almost by accident. “You’ve gone on wild-goose chases ten
times more absurd than this on much less evidence. I went because he
offered me something that was worth looking into.”

“And the fact that this man is the devil incarnate didn’t enter into
your mind at all?” Mulder hollers. “Dammit, Scully, you have more sense
than that! You had to have known it was a con! What did he say to you?
What did he do to you that convinced you to trust him?”

“He talked to me like I was an adult, for one,” I tell Mulder icily. “He
didn’t act like I needed to be protected–”

Oh, but didn’t he? I think of waking up in those pajamas, that strange
half-moment of wondering if I had– if he had– if we had– if Mulder
knew about that, I’d be more than in trouble. He would track down the
Smoking Man to the ends of the earth if he had to just to blow his ass

“Maybe if you run off with every stranger with candy, you do need to be
protected,” Mulder says nastily. “Did he promise you the world? A cure
for cancer? The key to heaven?”

“He might have, but I didn’t believe him,” I lie. I did believe the man,
at least for a moment. Maybe the old bastard was right about my
attraction towards powerful men, because Mulder is being a complete
domineering ass right now, and it’s making my mouth go dry. “Don’t you
think some answers are better than none?”

“Not at the risk of your life and the work,” Mulder replies. “Dammit,
Dana, you should have thought–”

Dana. It seems like my much-disused first name is coming back into
style. “What should I have thought? He made me an offer I found
intriguing. I decided to investigate through unofficial channels. It
usually works for you.”

“Don’t you dare turn this on me,” he hisses at me. “We are not talking
about me. We are talking about your incredible lack of judgement in this
situation. We are talking about what made the Smoking Man so goddamn
attractive that you decided to take a long vacation with him.”

I laugh, a short, bitter burst of forced mirth. “A vacation? You think
this was a vacation? That I ran off with Smoking Man for– Mulder, I
can’t even begin to consider what you might be saying here.”

He moves closer to me. There’s maybe four feet between us and the air is
crackling with unspoken anger. He could reach out and grab me if he
wanted, just take my throat in one hand and squeeze. Mulder isn’t really
a violent man, but right now, his eyes are shining with delirious rage
and jealousy. I could almost believe he wanted to hurt me if I didn’t
know him so well. If didn’t trust him–

“What do you think I’m saying, Scully?” he asks in a low, throaty tone.
“I’m dying to know what I’m implying about your vacation.”

I can hear the sounds of our breathing. They’re ragged, heavy with anger
and that strange, feverish pulse of desire. He’s staring at me with an
intensity that could burn me up, break me into a thousand pieces. I
inhale and stare back at him, refusing to retreat an inch.

“It wasn’t a vacation, first of all,” I reply, and my voice is as low
and growly as his. “Second of all, what I did is my business. I do not
have to answer to you. Most of all, I don’t appreciate the implication
that the chance to spend time with a man– any man– is enough to shut
off my brain.”

“Is that what I’m implying?” Mulder asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I think so,” I reply evenly. “Is it?”

He leans closer. “If it’s not true, then why are you feeling so
defensive about it?”

In the world of Mulder-logic, he has just achieved quite a syllogism. If
I am guilty, then he is justified in his anger, because I am hiding
something. If I didn’t feel guilty, I wouldn’t be defensive. I am
defensive, thus I am guilty and he can be as pissed at me as he wants.

No, Mulder-logic does not resemble our Earth-logic, but it usually

“Maybe I just don’t like being questioned like a murder suspect,” I
answer, standing up. I don’t have to take this. If Mulder wants to think
I have some sort of attraction to the Smoking Man, that’s his business.
“I’m going home.”

“The hell you are,” Mulder replies, closing the distance between us.

“Mulder, get the hell away from me.”

“You aren’t going to waltz out of here like that,” he says, grabbing my
wrist. “What happened in those days that you trusted him, Scully? What
did he do? What did he say?”

“I told you!” I snap.

“You haven’t told me anything!” he shouts. “Damn it, why are you being
so difficult?”

I pull my wrist out of his grasp. “Maybe because I’m tired of being
treated like an idiot. Maybe it’s because I just spent a few days on the
road and I don’t need you telling me how wrong I was to put my trust in
someone– especially you, Mr. Trust Everyone. Maybe because I can’t
believe you don’t trust me implicitly, the way I trust you.”

“I trust you,” he answers furiously, grabbing my hand again. “I have
always trusted you. It’s just a little hard to grasp that my partner ran
off with the man we know is our enemy for a little rendezvous– that she
trusted him, and that she didn’t even leave me a note, a clue, anything.
I thought more of you, Scully. I didn’t think you’d ditch me.”

“Let go of me,” I say wearily. Fine. If he’s going to play the jealous,
betrayed partner with the fear of being hurt, he can play on his own. I
still haven’t done anything he hasn’t. “I’m going home. I told you I
wasn’t going to listen to this.”

“Fine,” he says. He drops my hand and walks back, slumping onto his
rickety old leather couch. “Do what you want. That’s what you always do,
isn’t it?”

I’ll kill him one day in a fit of rage, I swear to God I will. I turn on
him, getting right in his face now. There’s no way I’m letting him get
away with this.

“That’s what I always do? That’s what I always do?” I ask, my breath
hitting his cheek. “Damn you, Mulder, you selfish son of a bitch!
Everything I do– even this vacation of mine– has been for the work,
and for you! I know that you’re angry. I’ll even understand that you’re
angry, but don’t you dare for a second pretend I’m the selfish one

“All right, then,” he says in a dead, cold voice. “What do you want,
Scully? What do you want me to do? What do you want me to think?”

My hand reaches out, cupping his chin, another involuntary gesture I
can’t control. “Trust me. Trust that I did what I thought was right,” I
whisper. “Can you do that for me?”

His eyes are troubled. “I want to,” he says. “I really do–”

“Mulder, for the love of God!” I cry out. “I’m not going to jump through
hoops to get you to believe me. Don’t want. Just– do it.”

Eyes still focused on me, he reaches out and his fingers find my lips,
in a strange gesture I can’t figure out. What is he doing? “I do,” he
tells me, his words almost gentle now. “God help me, Scully, I do.”

“Mulder,” I say, but he presses his fingers against my lips now.

“It’s your turn to trust me,” he says. “Do you?”

I understand exactly what he’s asking, and even as my heart races and a
little knot of fear crosses my stomach, I can’t say no. This is Mulder.
I would die for him, and contrary to what the old bastard theorized, I
do love him. Against the soft pressure of his fingers on my mouth, I

He pushes my chin up so that my lips can meet his, so that he can pull
my lower lip into my mouth, to worry it, gentle for only a second. His
motions are almost frantic and when he pulls me forward to sit in his
lap, I almost lose my balance, but I don’t really care. I don’t want
gentle. I don’t need gentle.

I push my tongue into his mouth as his hand encircles the small of my
back and pulls me closer to him, forcing my hips to shift upward as his
other hand is slipping under my shirt to find the clasp of my much
overworked bra. One of my arms is hanging loosely at my side at the
other clutches Mulder’s shoulder, trying somehow to hang on as both of
his hands try to get my shirt off and yet maintain this closeness. My
fear has dissolved like cotton candy, and I want this, I want this bad
as I grind against him like co-eds on a hot study date.

He tugs on my arm, and my brain is so addled it takes me a minute to
realize I need to let go of him so he can get my shirt and bra off. I
let go willingly, taking a deep breath as his mouth moves away from mine
just long enough to throw my top to the side, unwanted.

Before his mouth closes on me again, I see his eyes. They’re burning me
up. I want to be burnt, to die this death a thousand times. I want this.
I really and truly want this. I push against him a little harder, and
I’m aching with desire, wet with desire as I press my thighs around his.
He moans into my mouth, and my body is trembling with the need for more.

He doesn’t disappoint me as he half-picks me up and staggers to his
feet, barely avoiding a collision with the floor– Mulder isn’t very
coordinated– all the while, I refuse to stop kissing him, naked to the
waist and unashamed as I try to wrap my legs around his hips. One of his
hands is on my ass and the other on the bare skin of my back, trying to
hang onto my body. My mouth is everywhere on his lips his mole almost
his earlobe and he’s trying so hard to get us into the bedroom when he
stumbles and bam! I’m against the wall, seeing stars.

It doesn’t matter, and Mulder’s trying to do something– he’s trying to
unbutton my pants. Yes. I approve of this. I lost my shoes somewhere in
here, I don’t remember, his hand is on my hip, trying to get these damn
pants off without killing the both of us. I’m trying to help, but I
can’t think straight. His hand is right where my tattoo used to be, and
he’s getting rid of these tight, uncomfortable pants– and my underwear
along with it. How efficient of him.

It’s getting harder to think as I feel his cock under me, straining
against that zipper, rubbing harder against him, trying to not to fall
in an undignified heap. I want more, God, I want a lot more. My hand
that’s underneath his shirt is burning. I want his shirt to be off so I
can feel his skin against mine but I can’t think anymore, I want him to
fuck me now…

I moan. I don’t moan, ever. I’m not a noisemaker. This man just does
things to me. He leaves me hot and bothered even when I’m not grinding
against him, when his lips aren’t assaulting my neck, when my head isn’t
bumping up against the wall again. And I feel him tugging at the
waistband of his jeans, I whimper again. Now, now, now, I’m wet and
there’s a fever blazing above my waist, in my nipples, in my cheeks–
now, dammit!

And then he’s in me and my God it’s been so long and it feels good, oh
God oh God, I’m sliding up and down and my head keeps dragging against
the wall– and oh yes oh yes, I want more and I’m moving faster against
his body, feeling him in me and I can hear myself moaning, yes, oh God,

Mulder’s eyes catch mine and they’re dark, focused on me, and sincere–
if I ever had a doubt what he feels about me– oh God– my brain slips
back into the abyss and I feel myself slamming against his cock, harder
and faster as his arm holds us up against the wall and all I can hear is
heavy breathing and oh my God!

This strange pressure in my spine is moving up and up and my breathing
is getting sharper, and I don’t know how much longer I can do this,
feeling my body tingle with need, wanting that last spasm to break and I
can feel Mulder pushing harder, pushing on my hips, moving us and I
can’t think I just want to feel like this forever and then–

oh god oh god oh my god god god god– I hear myself almost screaming and
as I’m slowly slumping against Mulder, he thrusts once more and comes,
sounding unromantic but fulfilled as he almost tumbles back into the
other wall.

“Was that about right?” he whispers into my ear. I kiss him on the

“Yeah,” I tell him. “Yeah.”

A little while later, when we have finally reached his bed, I roll over
and look at him. I can’t help but have a question. “Mulder?” I ask.

“Yeah, Scully?”

“Did you really worry I’d betrayed you?” I ask. He looks at me with a
thoughtful expression on his face.

“For a couple of minutes, yeah,” he admits. “I just lost it there for a
little while.”

“You are such a caveman,” I reply.

“Guilty as charged,” he says, tugging on my hair. “Except I think you’d
shoot me if I dragged you into my lair.”

“Damn right,” I say with a bit of a smile. “Mulder?”


“I– trust you. Always,” I say.

“You too,” he says, brushing my hair back into place. I feel better.
We’re not perfect– when are Mulder and I ever perfect?– but we’re
good. And that’s enough for me to fall asleep to.

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