Six Degrees of Requiem

The Addiction

Notes: Well, thanks to my Bones friends who have so kindly sent reviews. You guys are the absolute best! I am so pleased at the support, emails included. Thanks again.

Plus, what comments I have got, seem to encourage the scene. Here it is, with some more, too!

Disclaimer: Still not mine. After almost ten years of wishing, I'm losing hope that they ever will be. Hehe.

Spoilers: all things, Brand X, Hollywood, A.D.

Adult Material within, discretion advised

This story is only rated 'M', however, even M rated fics can be too much for tender eyes. Please be warned.

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She was a woman, indeed and sometimes, usually on Sundays when there was nothing on the television except old movies, and she'd slip into the oldest and most comfortable pair of pyjamas she owned, eat ice cream and imagine herself as the love-struck heroine of the fifties, wrapped in a passionate embrace.

Women did those things, when they weren't struggling to maintain a professional façade in order to climb the ladder of power. She was no different, and, in recent years, she'd come to learn that reality fell far short of the fictional kisses. But now, it was delicate and delicious – she barely recognised the sound of her own murmured voice as she whispered her approval as his tongue, dexterous from years of sunflower seed manoeuvring, slipped between her teeth and explored the hot crevices of her mouth.

Her spine arched, brushing their hips together like magnets, drawn by invisible, powerful force. She snaked her arms around his shoulders, winding her fingers into his hair, realising that in this case, her fantasies fell far short, because he felt leaner than her mind had predicted, his skin smooth and warm. Her hands curled in his hair, tight, grasping fists. After so many years of wondering she was satisfied that he was the perfect specimen of masculinity.

Stiffening her tongue, she stroked along his lips, tasting something that she couldn't distinguish – and what she would forever catalogue in her mind as 'just Mulder'. Uniquely him, she was already addicted to the fleeting taste she experienced. Worse than cocaine, it left her greedy for more. Tilting her head, she urged him closer, their mouths pressed together with bruising force. She supposed her lips would hurt in the morning, but it hardly mattered. Like all true addicts, all that she was concerned with was getting her next gratifying fix.

Massaging his tongue with her own, Scully released his hair, drawing circles on his on his aching scalp, although he didn't complain about the pain she had inflicted upon him. Scully traced her fingertips across his spine, still teasingly covered by the t-shirt he wore. She decided to even the scales of their nudity, tugging at the worn fabric with fingers that were curled like claws.

Taking her initiative he broke their kiss long enough to rid himself of the cumbersome garment, before sealing their mouths together again, breathless and ravenous. She took the opportunity to map the lines of his body, as a sculptress might when creating a masterpiece. He was a masterpiece, she thought, rippling muscles that were tight beneath her exploration, yet teased and aroused enough to flex, his flat, dark nipples hardened, much the same way as they were when he showered in tepid water. She remembered, from too many decontamination showers, just how his body reacted – he had sensitive skin and she intended to find as many ways as she could to arouse it.

Recalling with striking clarity how she'd caught a glimpse of his arousal during their last quarantine. The image of him, like an Adonis, would be forever ingrained in her memory. Perhaps to other women, he wasn't such a specimen of perfection. She knew that he was popular among the secretaries, but no one, she guessed, would have held his body in such high esteem. After seven years of admiring every line, every muscle, every ridge, she knew his body almost as well as her own.

Stroking his sides, she smothered his soft moans with her mouth, pleased that finally, after to-ing and fro-ing, they'd made their way out of the gloom of hesitation, and the taste of their bravery was intoxicating. She felt liberated, with his flesh moulding itself to the touches of her palms.

Flicking her earlobe with his tongue, she shuddered, fumbling with the tie that held his pyjamas tight. Her wrist brushed his arousal and anticipation raged through her veins, like pulses of electricity, she could barely contain her excitement and catching a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirror, her eyes clearly conveyed this. Her pupils, dilated in the soft light, glittered with arousal, and her lips, naturally red, were plump and coloured similar to rubies, shimmering the same way, too. The sight of herself, flustered and excited, aroused her more, and she stroked him through his pyjamas.

His fingers curled around her wrist with a vice-like grip. "Don't," he growled, pulling her hand away. "It's been a long damn time, Scully," he warned her, "and right now, I don't have much resolve left." She stepped back, popping the button of her skirt and pulling the zipper downward with trembling fingers, aware that with each creak of the zip, his eyes widened a little more and her heart rate most certainly doubled each time she met his lingering gaze.

Her skirt dropped to her ankles, pooling at her feet, exposing the flat plane of her stomach, kept firm from regular swimming exercises and crunches, the smooth skin of her thighs and her legs, slim and shapely – complimenting her tiny frame. The contrast of their bodies was vast, yet somehow fitting. He looked lost, mesmerised by her and she realised then that it wasn't just she who had spent hours idly fantasising. The attraction had always been mutual. At least, for a long time it had.

She was so unlike Dana Scully the Federal Agent, now. She was a woman entirely, dressed only in her underwear, her hands passing over her thighs shyly as he examined the curves of her in much the same way she had done moments earlier. She wondered if the reality of her was better than his fantasies, or if his penchant for pornography had filled his head with unrealistic ideals.

"You're perfect," he whispered, taking her hands in his, drawing invisible circles on her skin. The two words put her mind at rest, wiping away any lingering doubts she had about what kind of woman she was. He looked enchanted and his expression filled her with confidence.

"Thank you," she replied, meaning it completely. "Should we…?" she asked, her voice trailing off with unspoken suggestion. He blinked, no doubt stunned that she, his partner, was standing in front of him, proposing with such eloquence that they 'get down to business'.

"What's the hurry?" he asked, and she opened her mouth to reply that her raging desire was the hurry, when the branches outside his window clacked nosily against the glass, making them both jump. Heads spinning, the watched it scrape against the frame for a long, silent moment, their hearts beating with almost audible force. "Scully?" Mulder said, shattering her reverie and drawing her gaze back to him. "As fucked up as I am, I'd be worse if it weren't for you. You…" she nodded, reaching out to stroke the bronzed skin of his forearm.

"Keep you honest? Yes, I know," she said, her tone filled with an odd kind of mirth.

"Honest, sane, happy… all those things…" She thought of their past and realised that their relationship was cemented as if by unspoken agreement. "This… it's just icing on an already wonderful cake." Their relationship, she recalled, was one that had been handled as if it were fragile china – he'd been hesitant to accept her equally hesitant request to father her baby, simply because he'd been afraid that their working partnership and friendship would be shattered as a result of such personal interaction. But that was over a year ago, now, and a lot changed during those precious seconds, minutes and hours. Somehow, they'd awoken to realise love and sex would never work, unless it were together. A complete partnership in everything.

"It is pretty wonderful," she agreed, no longer self conscious about standing before him so exposed. How long had it been since she'd had sex? Too long, she decided, and as a woman, she had unquenched desires that ravaged beneath her cool exterior. She wasn't beyond self-gratification and, during the bleakest, most depraved times in her life, she had resorted to it. As a young woman, back in medical school and the academy, she wasn't short of dates, or sex, if she wanted it. But since Mulder…

Since Mulder everything else became history and she didn't want anyone else.

His fingertips brushed her jaw line, stroking along the creamy skin there, over the cheeks that were flushed the colour of spring roses – and not from embarrassment now, but brazen want. "I'd like to see you, Mulder," she whispered, her raspy request hanging with such respect in the air between them, vague, yet painfully clear at the same time. He sucked a breath into his lungs, pulling on the drawstring of his pyjamas, loosening the tie and urging her gaze downward to the line of dusty dark hair that snaked from his belly-button, disappearing beneath the line of plaid.

Hooking his thumbs inside, he dropped them, kicking the pyjama bottoms aside, his eyes never leaving hers. It was she who broke their lingering gaze, watching as his penis stiffened harder in response to her hot stare. Her lips curled, her finger twitched as she wondered how good it would feel when he slipped inside her, filling her body with his great width.

"Well?" he asked, his tone filled with laughter. "Do I pass muster?" Her gaze flickered, faltering on his lips, which pouted with a suppressed smile.

"Visually, yes," she said, "but I want to know what this old man's body is capable of, physically." He stepped closer, slipping his arms around her waist, passing his fingertips over her spine, counting the ridges of her vertebrae with each stroke. Her nipples tightened, her lips parting as she prepared herself for the taste of him – a taste she was already craving.

"Enough of the old man stuff," he warned, touching his lips to her nose, coaxing a sigh from her lungs. Unclipping her bra, he freed her of the garment, testing the weight of her flesh in his palms. Scully, seeking support, reached behind and held tight to the bottom of the bed, thrusting her body nearer to his exploring touch. Inside her pelvis, her flesh burned, desperate for release.

Reaching between her thighs, he stroked the soft inner flesh. She sighed, hooking her legs behind his thighs, dropping her weight to the mattress. He looked down at her, her breasts shadowed and enticing in the lamp light. Dropping to his knees, he brushed his cheek along her thigh, scratching the silken skin with his stubble, watching as she winced, her teeth clenched and her fingers insinuating themselves in his hair, again.

Pressing his lips to the creased skin behind her knee, he tasted the hidden spot with his tongue and she whimpered his name like a plea, the sound lingering on her lips and she drawled the word. He looked up at her, delirious with want.

Passing his palm across her flat belly, he cupped her breast, the pointed nubbin of her nipple pressing against his work calloused skin. Circling the puckered flesh with his thumb, Mulder wondered if he'd ever been on the brink of such immaculate euphoria before. He was certain beyond a doubt that he had not.

"Please…" she whispered when her legs had begun to tremble. "Please come inside me, Mulder… please…" Standing, positioning himself at her entrance, he watched how her lips parted when he slipped inside her body. Her muscles were tighter than he could ever have imagined, and they felt like liquid molten around him.

It took only a few moments of fierce strokes before her walls began to ripple around him, her hips jerking as she murmured his name over and over again, thrusting, until he was buried as far inside her as he could be. When she came, he followed. She cried out, her voice drowning the sound of the wind, rattling against the windows.

Falling at her side, slipping from her body, he pressed his cheek to the duvet, breathless and spent. "I can't ever give you up, Scully," he said, dropping his arm over her body, as if claiming her.

"I know," she replied, stroking his arm, "you don't have do."

"In this job, we can't ever say that." She let the words wash over her, never realising just how accurate his statement was, or just how much they stood to lose.

…………………………………………………..

A few weeks later, she almost lost him, and the reality of what they were doing became all too clear. As satisfying and fulfilling as the frequent sex was, looking at him through the glass, she had to admit that sex was just a small part of a bigger package. He wasn't just her lover, no strings attached.

Having pumped nicotine into his body, effectively killing the tobacco beetle in the process, they'd poisoned him and his heart had almost stopped, twice. But it was the lesser of two evils – the nicotine might have killed him, as opposed to the beetle undoubtedly doing so.

"Hey," he whispered when he saw her, his voice still hoarse. "I hear you want to make an addict out of me." She took his hand, the feel of him, still alive, washed all the tension out of her body. "The doc reckons I'm already a forty a day smoker, and I'm not even finished my treatment." Scully looked at her feet.

"It was the only way, Mulder… you'd have died…" his fingers tightened around hers, pulling her eyes from her shoes to meet his, twinkling with his usual good humour.

"I know," he rasped, "I trust you." The door breezed open and Skinner, who had been feeling increasingly guilty, stood coyly between his room and the corridor. "Come in," Mulder said, spluttering and coughing from the effort of too much talk. His lungs, still weak, were barely strong enough to maintain breathing let alone talk.

"How are you feeling?" their boss asked, hovering at the bottom of his bed. Mulder shrugged, lifting his eyes skyward. "I can't help but feel personally responsible for…" Scully shook her head, releasing Mulder's hand.

"You can't blame yourself," she said, and her partner nodded. "The most important thing is he's okay. Or he will be. And the experiments are going to stop. No more genetic alternations." Skinner half shrugged.

"I think it's best if you take some time off work," he said, "and recuperate." The objection on Mulder's tongue was never spoken, for Scully hurried to agree, detailing that his lungs needed to strengthen before being exposed to a dusty atmosphere. "For now, I think you should rest," Skinner added, "I'll take you back to the motel, Scully." She hadn't slept in what felt like forever. Her clothes permeated the scent that was unique to hospitals and she thought nothing would feel as nice as a hot shower and a change of clothes.

"I'll come back later," she told him, stroking the back of her hand across his forehead, bending to press a feathery kiss to his cheek. "The doctor knows where we reach me if…" she didn't dare finish her sentence, for her greatest fear was his lungs collapsing or the bugs returning. "Will you…" be okay? She wondered what she wanted to say.

"I'll be fine," he replied, as if reading her mind, "just rest." She wasn't sure if he meant her or himself.

"Okay, see you soon…" Following Skinner through the corridors of the hospital to the parking lot, she saw the questions in his eyes, behind his glasses. He'd witnessed a certain degree of intimacy between them – not that of lovers, exactly, but far beyond mere professional concern.

"When?" he asked, clipping his seatbelt in place. She followed suit, folding her hands atop her lap, turning her eyes to the rain-soaked tarmac outside the car window. When, indeed. How many times had they had sex since that night, in his apartment? Ten? Fifteen? Each time the boundaries faded a little more.

"About three weeks ago," she said, a blush tingeing her cheeks, "but it has no effect on our professional work, whatsoever, sir," Scully hurried to add. Skinner reversed the car, silent and slightly intimidating – he was still their superior after all.

"Be careful, Scully," he said and with those three words, he signalled the end of his inquiry. He didn't want to know any more.

"That's it?" she asked, surprised. Skinner shrugged.

"It doesn't concern me, agent," he said. "Just… be careful. You've been through a lot, and I wouldn't want one of those bastards to use this new piece of information to grind you down." Scully mulled this over in her mind, wondering who the shadow government would take the information to – and what effect such a revelation would have on The X-Files.

"Do you think they'd shut us down?" she asked.

"I think they'd try," Skinner replied. "But I trust you'll be discreet." She nodded in the affirmative. "Good. I have to head back to DC tonight, but when Mulder gets better, will you see he gets this?" he pulled an envelope from his pocket, with Agents Mulder and Scully written on the front.

"What is it?" Scully asked.

"The Lazarus Bowl is finished," Skinner said, "and you're both invited to the premiere." So much had happened in the past eighteen months that she had almost forgotten about Wayne Federman and his movie. Almost. If his eccentricity wasn't ingrained in her brain for all eternity – along with their stay in LA. "I trust you'll both be in attendance." Skinner said and her silence was filled only by the swish of the window-wipers.

"I'll… try…" Scully said, slipping her thumb nail into the envelope, slicing the paper before removing the eloquent invite. "I wish I could say convincing him will be easy…" Skinner glanced sideways at her, a smirk toying at his usually impassive expression.

"When is anything ever easy with Fox Mulder?" he asked and she turned her head towards the window, smiling to herself.

"Never sir," she said, "never."

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Anyone interested in what I think happened after Hollywood, A.D.? This chapter also has an MA version, if anyone is interested, send me a wee email and I'd be happy to forward it on. Thanks!