THE NAKED TRUTH
by Avalon (avalon99@telusplanet.net)
http://members.dencity.com/avalon_online
From an idea by Sharon Nuttycombe and Linda Campbell
Skinner, Scully, R, 2/5
THE NAKED TRUTH II
Scully froze. As Skinner leaned closer, her mind stopped working altogether.
It was too much. A person only had so much willpower. What other woman would be able to abstain from...from...well, anything...if she woke up to find herself naked in bed and handcuffed to a six-foot-something, muscular, ex-Marine? It was taking everything she had not to reach out and caress his chest, to curl her fingers around the back of his neck, and pull him down to her...
No. This was unproductive. They should be working on a way to extricate themselves from this absurd predicament, and trying to remember just how they had got here in the first place, not...
Not...
Scully moaned softly, her eyes flickering shut as Skinner's lips hovered just above hers, his breath caressing her cheek. Her willpower gave a last, distressed little whimper before curling up in a dark corner of her mind and dying a quick death. She reached blindly for him.
* * *
What was he doing? He should be trying to maintain a sense of professionalism and decorum. Then again, how much decorum could one muster up when naked and chained to a beautiful woman? Especially one whose breath was coming quickly, her fingers running lightly across his chest and shoulders, one who...
Skinner's conscience suddenly awoke, took one horrified look around, and set off a series of alarms in his head. They were ignored. It tried again, lobbing a few quick directives at Skinner's skull. They bounced right back. And then Scully shifted her weight, the entire length of her body pressing against his...and Skinner's conscience was overcome by a rampaging army of hormones and lust.
* * *
Skinner's mouth met hers, his free hand going down back to cup her buttocks, pulling her snugly to him, his other, handcuffed hand pinning hers down to the bed. Scully could feel his arousal pressing against her, his tongue insistently forcing her lips open, and she arched up against him. Electricity shot through them both and Skinner pressed even closer, rolling so that his body covered hers completely, one knee sliding between her thighs. Scully moaned again.
His hands ran slowly over her skin, their tongues merging and melding until she didn't know where she ended and he began. Blindly, she ran her free hand up, across his ribs and over the muscles of his back...and the scratches on it.
Skinner flinched and for an instant he pulled away. It was no more than a second or two, but it was enough. Sanity and realization galloped back into Scully's brain at full speed. She couldn't do this.
She. Could. Not. Do. This.
But she wanted to. She had never wanted anything so much in her life. Her hands were shaking, her body still unconsciously striving upwards to meet his, and tremors were racking her body. Somehow though, she managed to gasp: "Walter."
A haze had descended over Skinner's vision and all higher brain functions seemed to have stopped completely. Fire was licking through his frame and the need inside him was so great he thought it would tear him apart. But, at the sound of her voice, he paused, opening his eyes to meet her blue ones. There was denial in them.
No.
"Dana, don't do this," he managed to say thickly, his hips moving against hers.
Her voice was shaky. "We can't. Not here. Not yet. We...we still don't know what happened. Or how we got here."
She was right. Damn her. And damn him. It took more strength of mind than Skinner had thought he possessed, but somehow he managed to regain control of himself, enough to lever his body off hers and come to a shaking halt on his back beside her. He stared blindly up at the ceiling, his breathing ragged and his heart racing. Beside him, Scully did not move. Silence fell. Finally:
"Sorry."
Skinner closed his eyes briefly. "No, I'm sorry."
She shot him a covert glance. "Sorry for what almost happened, or sorry we stopped?"
He opened his eyes and turned to look at her. "Which would you prefer?"
Her mouth went dry and no words came. Skinner waited a moment then heaved a sigh and sat up. "Let's just get dressed and get out of here and we'll...talk...later."
It was like a cold shower washing over her. Scully blinked at him then sat up as well, clutching the sheet before her. She didn't see the look on her companion's face as he glanced at her bare back, or the expression of pure need and desire that washed over him. She frowned, changing the subject. "I don't feel hungover, do you?"
Skinner's jaw clenched, then he forced his brain to shift gears, and replied: "I've got all the symptoms... but I don't think it was alcohol that got us in this position..." There was a brief silence as they pondered their actual position and then Skinner resumed. "Actually, I feel more like someone's hit me over the head with a brick."
Scully turned swiftly toward him, her right hand holding the sheet firmly before her. She made a brief motion with the other to reach out towards his forehead, then stopped herself hastily. Touching the man was definitely out of the question, she decided...at least until she managed to get herself under some sort of control. Disbelief was starting to rise within her again. Had she really just thrown herself at her boss? And had she really stopped him in the middle of...everything? And which did she regret more?
Hurriedly, Scully redirected her thoughts, taking a deep, calming breath. As she did, memory flickered through her. She paused, frowned, then swallowed. "I think I owe you another apology," she said slowly.
Skinner looked back over his shoulder at her. He was leaning as far out of the bed as he could, trying to reach something on the floor. Scully watched as he wobbled precariously for a moment, part of her mind wondering what she would do if his balance went and he dragged her down with him. She didn't think she'd be able to pull away again if she found herself lying on top of him...his skin warm against hers, all those muscles rippling beneath her...his...
"...what?"
Scully took a startled breath and refocused. "What?"
"I said," he leaned over a little further, revealing more of his posterior than was good for Scully's blood pressure, "'Apologize for what?'"
What? Oh yes. With an effort she wrenched her eyes away from her boss' behind and stared at the wall. It was a very dull wall. "I think someone did hit you over the head," she said weakly, "but it wasn't with a brick...it was with a chair."
Skinner abruptly resurfaced, coming up with a sock in his hand. He peered at it for an instant then plunged both hands under the bedcovers with it, raising his foot high enough to reach.
Scully found her left arm being dragged down with his right, and gasped as her knuckles brushed his thigh. Her heart-rate, which had slowed considerably in the last few minutes, shot up again and a tremor went through her. "I'm going to have a coronary if he keeps this up," she thought randomly. She couldn't imagine what she would do when he eventually found his underwear...
"A chair?" he was saying, as he pulled his sock on, then he straightened and leaned back over his side of the bed, like a fisherman waiting for the catch of the day. Once again, a feeling of unreality shot through Scully. Here she was, trying to carry on a conversation with a man who, at the moment was wearing nothing but one sock and a crumpled white shirt around his right arm. And who was her immediate superior. How the hell was she going to face him the next time she and Mulder were called to his office or when she passed him in the hall? She was never going to be able to get the images of the past few minutes out of her mind...
He came up with a shoe, frowned at it, then dropped it again. "Who hit me with a chair?" he asked.
Scully swallowed again, nervously. "Well...I think I did."
That got his attention. There was a long pause, then: "Why?"
The memories were coming a little quicker now, as if the first had merely been the key to unlocking the rest. Scully stared past him, not meeting his eyes. "I wasn't aiming at you," she said hastily.
An undecipherable expression crossed Skinner's face. "That's a relief. Who were you aiming at?"
"A biker."
"A biker?"
"A biker. In a bar."
"A biker bar, I suppose." Skinner stiffened, then bent down over the side again, still talking. "I do remember a little. I think. There was a fight. I was fighting a man with a red beard...and... Scully! You hit me with a chair!" He shot her an accusing glance over his shoulder.
"I said I was sorry," she said defensively. "I was aiming for the man with the beard."
"You missed."
There wasn't really an answer for that, so she said nothing. After a short pause, Skinner continued.
"All right," he said, grunting a little as he stretched further for another article of clothing. "You hit me over the head with a chair. That explains why I'm having difficulties remembering what happened. It still doesn't explain why we were in a barfight in the first place, how we got here, why we're handcuffed together, or why you can't remember anything either." He paused, sat back up and stared at the item of apparel in his hand. Then, not meeting her eyes, he handed it to her. "Yours, I believe."
It was her bra. Her lacy, strapless, pale pink bra. Damn. If she blushed much more she was probably going to spontaneously combust. "Thank you," she managed to say evenly enough. Skinner made a faint motion, half-shrug, half-sheepish squirm, and politely looked away...leaving her with something of a dilemma. How the devil was she supposed to get the thing on one-handed?
* * *
Scully had reached a new level of embarrassment by the time she managed to untangle the lacy garment, manoeuvre it around her body, and twist both arms behind her enough to fasten it. Skinner had remained motionless beside her through the whole proceedings, staring blindly into the distance and carefully keeping his chained hand as far away from her body as possible. Finally, she finished and gave him a baleful look.
"This would be a lot easier if we just got out of bed and forgot about modesty. After all, we're both adults." And you don't have anything I haven't seen before Scully just managed to choke back the last part, unable to believe she had come so close to mentioning the last time she had seen him in his apartment...stark naked and clutching a videotape. If there was ever something she did not want to remind Walter Skinner of, it was that.
"I don't think so." Skinner was saying, his tone remarkably even and calm.
Scully bit her lip. "Why not?"
He still didn't look at her. "Because if I see you naked again, dressing will be the last thing I do." The calmness had vanished from his voice and his words were laced with pure, urgent need. He turned to her and the raw desire in his eyes took her breath away. Time seemed to stop altogether.
END OF PART TWO