Title: Cravings Author: Dreamshaper Feedback: is worshipped. :) send to dreamshpr@aol.com, if you're in the mood! Archival: Spookys and all other places that have archived me before, go right ahead! New places, please send an email so I can visit Rating: R Spoilers: Brand-X post-ep, minor all things spoiler. Summary: 'But Mulder had an annoying habit of offering her this unsuspected sweetness, and she had an annoying habit of accepting it, craving it...undoubtedly she would end up addicted to it.' Notes: Thanks to Shawne, who was up way past her bedtime trying to beta this, and still managed to make hundreds of little...encouraging...comments. Also, big thanks to Shannon for taking the time to help me figure out a few of the little things this story still needed! :) Disclaimer: CC owns 'em. ************ Scully headed wearily for Mulder's apartment, dragged herself in and locked the door behind her out of habit. She nearly moaned with sheer relief--after this, she could go home, get dinner, put on pajamas and go to bed. Or perhaps skip dinner and pajamas and fall flat on the mattress fully dressed and without washing her face. She was almost too tired to care. It'd been a grueling day, a tough week, an impossibly long month, and she was tired. She was actually *hoping* for a case that would take them out of DC soon--nothing could be worse than being loaned out. She'd performed more autopsies in a ten day period than she had ever imagined possible. And that was a treat compared to dealing with Mulder. He was a difficult patient in the hospital and nearly impossible once he was home. He had so much restless energy, such a deep-seated need to be running, examining, researching...when he was confined, all that energy went right into one outlet--annoying her. He probably hadn't realized he'd been annoying, Scully thought as she leaned back against the door and let her neck relax, resting her chin on her chest. Especially since he had spent so much of the time unable to speak. He probably thought all his soulful, pleading looks and the incessant *scratch scratch* of his pen across notebook paper were less intrusive than his deep, rumbling voice. In his head, the lines of questions across dozens of pages of paper were probably just his attempts to get her to relax, tell him what was going on. She could imagine him congratulating himself for his sensitivity, his patience, his unselfishness. He was, after all, asking her to share the mundane details of her busy days even as he itched with boredom. In reality, every sweet look was Mulder's restless nature unleashing itself. Every question was his way of poking long, elegant fingers into the details of 'the outside world'. She walked in his door and was immediately subjected to his thorough scrutiny and forceful intensity. It was more exhausting than performing two autopsies before lunch. "He's going back to work on Monday," she said out loud. The idea brought both relief and a little anxiety--she was still concerned about how well his lungs were recovering. The image of him sitting only feet from a corpse with lungs full of larvae, coughing bright red blood into the wide palm of his hand...she'd never be able to forget it. It had become another one of a thousand indelible moments... But he seemed almost back to normal, breathing a little labored, voice scratchy but recognizable when he dared to break her ban on speech. She took a deep breath and pushed herself away from the door, stripping off her jacket and tossing it carelessly over a chair. She'd get it later, before she left-- As she headed for his bedroom, Scully caught a scent wafting from the kitchen--coffee. Strong. Probably black as tar and twice as thick, with more kick than any drug. If she had been the type to release a long moan of desire while standing fully clothed in the middle of a brightly lit living room, she would have done it for that coffee. Instead, she turned on her heel and marched into the cramped, narrow kitchen. Mulder was sitting at the table, staring at a mug full of steaming liquid with powerful longing. He didn't even look up when she appeared in the doorway, didn't move as she sat down across from him. He met her eyes only when she reached out, grabbed the mug, and held on to it with both hands. "No," she said firmly. "Absolutely not." Coffee was a Forbidden Beverage until she was certain his throat was fully healed. The lacerations hadn't been that bad--only a few bugs had actually hatched--but she was taking no chances. When he'd come home from the hospital, she'd posted a list of things he had to avoid. Coffee. Soda. Acidic fruits and juices. Chips, crackers, anything with a lot of grainy salt-- Basically, his entire kitchen had been declared off limits. She'd cleaned out the fridge, taken his junk foods--leaving only ice cream and pudding behind--and restocked with milk, oatmeal, macaroni and cheese...the stuff of bland, easily swallowed meals. He'd sat at the table and watched her do it, an impossibly sad look in his eyes. Scully had felt like a sadistic prison warden--she'd taken his *sunflower seeds*, the staple of his diet, one of the few things that kept his mouth closed for more than five minutes. He was left with lozenges, and she knew he snuck the occasional piece of hard candy. The coffee was just as hard to deprive him of. Just moments ago, she had contemplated begging for a single cup, and she'd had some before leaving the office. Mulder habitually drank more than she did and she knew he was craving it. She felt bad for denying him his addictions... But she'd had to do it. And she was going to enforce the new diet until she was absolutely positive that he was all right. So she held onto his mug, not sipping, not even looking at it...even though the heavenly scent was driving her insane. It'd be cruel, she told herself as she stared into his eyes. Wait until he's back on the couch or in bed. *Then* you can drink the whole pot and not feel guilty. Which reminded her... "Where did you get this?" she asked him, tapping one neatly manicured nail against the ceramic mug. "I know I cleared it all out when you came home." He grimaced, swallowed. "Mrs. Hunter, down the hall," he rasped. She started to tell him to write it out, but he gestured impatiently and she realized that he didn't have his notebook. "I'm going to work in a few days anyway, might as well practice talking." She nodded, grudgingly accepting that, but fully prepared to force a cough drop on him and tape his mouth shut if he sounded too bad. "Ok, you can start talking again," she said calmly. "But no coffee. Not yet." The look he shot her was compelling, but she just smiled faintly and he sighed. "Fine. But if I slip into a caffeine-deprived coma, you'll only have yourself to blame." Scully raised an eyebrow. "If you permanently damage your vocal cords, you'll only be able to blame yourself. And how could you live with that? Not able to tell suspects to put their hands up, writing out questions for witnesses, reduced to scribbling your little one-liners on notebook paper when you go to visit the Gunmen..." Teeth bared in a faint grimace, Mulder shook his head. "You win," he said darkly, sounding almost defeated. But there was a gleam in his eye, and she knew it wasn't going to be so easy. "Drink the coffee yourself." "No, thanks. I had a cup before I came over here." Scully knew that he'd pick up on the faint, intentional smugness in her voice, and kept her expression blandly calm as he stared at her. "I insist," he told her quietly, and she narrowed her eyes, studying him closely. That hoarse, rumbly voice had suddenly become seductive, *sexy*, and she couldn't think of a reason for it-- Then his gaze fell to the coffee cup in her hand, rose to study her lips, lingering over them before he looked back into her eyes. She laughed. She couldn't help it, really--it was so Mulder...so charming in an insane way. "You want the coffee that much, Mulder?" "I haven't had any in almost two weeks," he reminded her gently. "And I haven't had *you* in...almost three. Two cravings, one kiss. Seems logical to me." "Only to you." Scully shook her head, amused. "To me, it seems like the cheap trick of a desperate man." "I fully admit to being desperate." His gaze was on her lips again, and Scully licked them unconsciously, noticing the way his eyes darkened as he watched her. Then he smiled, slowly, and she felt a tug low in her stomach, desire awakening in spite of all the stress and exhaustion. "Desperate," he repeated, voice even lower, raspier, almost inaudible. "But not stupid. If you want to skip the whole coffee part, that's fine with me." She considered him, the full lips, the warm eyes, the sleek body covered only by loose blue cotton pants and a white t-shirt. He reached out across the table and touched her wrist gently with the fingers of one strong hand; the nails still showed faint signs of his nicotine overdose. She wondered for a moment if she was going to have to worry about him starting to smoke, developing another addiction-- Then Mulder rose, moving around the table to crouch beside her. She touched the back of his neck, lowered her head, pressed a kiss to his smiling lips. Frustration and weariness fell away. Her heartbeat slowed, her blood thickening and heating from nothing more than a very simple, very light touch. He tasted like the ice cream he'd been wolfing down at an astounding rate during the past few days, his way of rebelling against the strict diet he'd been forced to follow. When he parted his lips invitingly, she explored the taste, almost expecting it to be tainted with coffee or some other forbidden substance. But there was just a sweet hint of vanilla fudge and caramel. Scully leaned back a little, smiled faintly. He grinned up at her, eyes gleaming. "I didn't taste coffee," she said blandly, and he laughed, pulled her back down. This kiss was careful, almost delicate--he was gentle and slow, and she caught her breath. This kind of tenderness was hard for her to accept from him after years of friendship, platonic closeness, the occasional harsh words and moments of extreme frustration. She dealt better with flaring passion, with intense and immediate heat. But Mulder had an annoying habit of offering her this unsuspected sweetness, and she had an annoying habit of accepting it, craving it...undoubtedly she would end up addicted to it. "I didn't taste coffee either," he whispered against her lips before rising. She shook her head, but took the hand he offered her and stood up. Instantly, she was wrapped in his arms, caught in a fierce and surprising hug. Wrapping her arms around him in return was automatic, but it took effort to rest her head against his shoulder and relax. Guilt slipped up into her chest--he was so easy with her now when it came to touching, to accepting touches. He soaked it all up like a sponge, thirsty for the closeness, appreciative of every glancing press of skin on skin. But for her, years of conditioning were hard to disregard. She had a strong need to be in control, to remain calm and centered even when he touched her...and yet there was an equally powerful need to give up control, to relax into emotion and sensation-- "You think about all this too much." Scully looked up, surprised. "All what?" she asked automatically, and he sighed. The sound soothed her--his breathing was even, she could feel his chest rising and falling without any of the hitching pain he'd been dealing with earlier in the week. "This." He ran his hands down her back, pressing her firmly against him. The fit wasn't familiar, wasn't perfect--he was too tall and all his angles bumped against her curves. But it was...interesting. She arched into his hands, just a little. Just enough. He was swelling against her, obviously ready. But when she stretched up, reaching for another kiss, he shook his head. "I wish you didn't weigh and measure every move, every second, Scully," he said quietly, a little sadly. His voice sounded rougher and she couldn't be sure if it was arousal, emotion, or overuse after such a long period of silence. "I kind of expected it to be...easier. After so many years..." "Years of denial. Years of barriers and control." She reached up, pressed a hand to his cheek. Mulder leaned into the touch, looking down at her with sober eyes, and she smiled as reassuringly as she could manage. "It'll take time and work, Mulder, but...it's worth it. It's always been worth it." He captured her wrist, brought her hand to his lips--her attempt at reassurance had worked, at least in part. Mulder was obviously feeling better. If she was still a little uneasy, a little guilty...she could deal with it, and trust that as familiarity built, those emotions would fade, would disappear entirely. And when he lightly nipped her palm, they did fade. When he bent down to kiss her again, she forgot to hold onto her control with a tight hand; when he began to edge her backwards out of the kitchen, she went willingly, easily. By the time they had slipped into his bedroom, lit only by the dim blue light of the muted television, she was the aggressor, pushing him back so that he flopped across his bed with a quiet, raspy chuckle. "I love it when you play rough," he said, but she was too busy stripping to do more than toss him a look before she returned to unbuttoning her blouse. It was a totally businesslike maneuver, but he was watching so intently that she felt...like a stripper. Not entirely a bad thing, she thought, feeling heat wash over her and slowing her movements. Not a bad thing at all. When she tossed the blouse over the back of a chair and heard him suck in a deep breath, she smiled, contemplated dragging the rest of the undressing process out. But then she looked over at him, really looked. He was stretched out, t-shirt riding up, dappled by the light from the television and looking back at her like she was the only important thing in the world. She wasn't inclined to tease, really, and when faced with that kind of intensity-- She finished quickly, and went to stand at the foot of the bed, leaning over him to push at his shirt. He sat quickly, tossed it over his shoulder, and then struggled free of his pants and boxers. When he was naked before her, he held his hand out to her again--but she ignored it, studying him. He looked better naked, less bony and more muscled. It wasn't fair that her own nudity displayed every flaw of her body, every little place that was beginning to sag. If he'd at least develop a gut, she might feel better-- Not that he cared, she realized when she looked back into his eyes. There was more of that velvet-dark tenderness, deep arousal...there was pleasure as he reached out to touch her, to draw his hand slowly down her chest, her belly, to cup her hip. It was almost nonphysical--he'd have touched her the same way, looked at her the same way even if she was fifty pounds heavier and balding. Emotion drove him as much as hunger, drove them both. "Come here," Mulder whispered, voice barely audible. She spared a moment for worry, frowned at him, wondering if perhaps he should wait a few more days before returning to work. But he used the hand on her hip to tug her closer, and she scrambled up onto the bed, kneeling over his thighs. "Are you all right?" she asked, truly concerned, almost unaware of how his thighs felt cradled between her own, how he was rock-hard and pressed demandingly against her...until he traced his long fingers across her rib cage and then let one hand glide down to slip inside her. "Wonderful," he said as she arched back, taken by a surprise that lasted only seconds before losing itself under waves of heat. "I feel wonderful. *You* feel wonderful." This was what she expected from him, this more demanding need. This was what she craved when she looked at him and realized that she was addicted, dependent on his presence in her life. A reason for her to take the tenderness he offered, a way for her to forget for a moment that she didn't want to need him, almost a way to justify her feelings-- When she had recovered from that quick lightning bolt of pleasure, she slid a hand down and cupped him gently, watching his eyes darken even more, watching as he bit his lip. Then she rose up, just a little, enough to slide down onto him. Time did expand sometimes, she thought hazily, feeling his low moan all the way down inside her stomach. But never quite as much as she wanted it to--she could have lived with the repercussions of that moment becoming an eternity, becoming forever. Just as long as she would feel the same lazy pleasure, the same chest-tightening tenderness... It couldn't last forever--the moment bled away in the next heartbeat, time settling back into its natural state. Mulder lay back on the bed, and she braced herself on his shoulders and began to slide rhythmically against him. It was hard to mourn the loss of a second when pleasure was pouring through her at such an incredible rate. It was hard to *remember* that second when he slipped a hand between them, touching her just so, sending her into orgasm with startling speed and intensity. Her shudder was bone-deep and amazing, and it seemed to set him off. It took him only a few, quick thrusts, and then he was bowed back under her, moaning again, the raspy sound provoking another quick shudder from her before she collapsed onto his chest, drained. For a while she just listened to his breathing slow and even out, exhaling when he inhaled, concentrating on calming her racing heart. When his hands began to stroke up and down her back, she told herself that it was time to pull away, to get back on her feet and in control again. But it was so...she was content. She didn't want to pull away, didn't want to do anything more than allow him to lull her into sleep. She'd never spent the whole night in his bed before, but it *had* been a long week-- "Stay tonight," he said, pressing a very gentle kiss to the top of her head before sifting his fingers through her hair. "You can make sure I don't start screaming at the neighbors just to hear my own voice. I'll make you macaroni and cheese for dinner. And oatmeal for breakfast." She hesitated, wanting to stay, wanting to take that next step forward...but unnerved again now that the mood between them was warm with tenderness and not passion. "You can drink all the coffee Mrs. Hunter gave me," he wheedled, and she had to smile, had to press a light kiss to his collarbone-- She had to take the next step. "Well, how can I resist Mrs. Hunter's coffee?" she asked, and sat up so she could look at him. Hope warred with uncertainty in his eyes. "I'm really, really hoping that you can't," he said wryly, the tone an obvious defense against vulnerability. Scully leaned forward, bringing her mouth close to his but keeping a paper thin distance between them. "I'll stay," she whispered, watching his eyes. They crinkled at the corners as he smiled, and she kissed him softly, amazed by how easy it all was. "And not just for the caffeine." ************ This story has been begging to be posted for a little over a week now but I've been fussing over it...and over it...and over it. If I change one more word or dawdle over posting for one more hour--well, I fear for my life. Beta readers can be violent people when they've worked hard to make a fic all nice and pretty and then it just sits there, not doing anything. Anyway--I really enjoyed this one. Did you? Think it needed to bake on the hard drive a little bit longer? Tell me about it, I'd love to know what's going on. :) Dreamshaper (dreamshpr@aol.com)