From: jennyann@ix.netcom.com (Jennifer Lyon)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: "Resolution" Short - NC-17
Date: 20 Oct 1995 14:48:45 GMT


"Resolution" (NC-17)
An X-Files Story by Jennifer Lyon
Jenni10647@aol.com  
jennyann@ix.netcom.com
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Disclaimer: The X-Files, and the characters thereof, belong solely to
Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and FOX Network. The remainder of the
story is mine.

Author's Note: This story is NC-17 for pure sex. This is my version of
what*might* take place after the end of the episode "Paper Clip."  Be
warned: If you don't like Mulder/Scully romance, are under-age, or
don't like reading 'lovingly portrayed adult sex' - skip this one now.
Otherwise - I hope you enjoy it! :-)
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	Her eyes blazed at his as she spoke firmly, only the trembling of
her mouth betraying the tears fighting to break free. "...What I want
now are the answers."
	Afterwards, most of their conversation in that dark, empty
hospital room would be a blur, but he'd never forget they way she said
those words. They would echo in his dreams, an equal match for his own
determination, forming a shared purpose, a shared need, that bound them
together. And yet, as he reached out instinctively to draw her into the
shelter of his embrace, he wondered if it was the shared loss and pain
that fed the fire that forged their bond. For perhaps it was something
simpler, something less definable - yet inexorable - the very fate upon
which he had blamed Melissa's death. Mulder wasn't sure, but as he felt
her shivers turn into open sobs, her body convulsing against his, he
realized it really didn't matter.
	Pulling her up against him, he brought them to their feet. Her
hands tightened on his back, the fingers closing on the cotton of his
shirt, then releasing, then clutching at it again, as though attempting
to burrow through the thin cloth into the skin of his back. He wrapped
one hand around her waist, then threaded the other into her fiery hair,
supporting her skull as she nestled her face into the hollow below his
shoulder - coming to rest mere inches from the still-sore wound where
she had shot him barely a week before.
	A week, he thought, and the enormity of all that had passed in
such a short period of time hit him, forcing him to stagger beneath the
weight. His arms tightened on her, crushing her against him, as he
leaned his face down against the crown of her head. The tears that he
had not yet had the chance to shed flooded over him now, and he let
them fall soundlessly into the rich, sweet-smelling tangle of her hair.
	They stood, perhaps for an eternity, perhaps for an instant,
crying out the pain of their losses, both within and without. Not just
the deaths of a father and sister, but also the deprivation of
fundamental beliefs. For Mulder would never again see his parents with
the trusting eyes of a child, and while Scully would never again place
the same faith in the system she had sworn to uphold. They had both
been abandonded to a world with no clear edges, outcast and alone.
	Then, as the last few tears were squeezed out of Scully's drained
tear ducts, she tilted her head up to meet the shadowed eyes of the man
holding her. And suddenly, the loneliness fled. Her breath caught in
her throat as they held each other fixed in place, drowning in the
intensity of that contact. Her lips moved to shape his name, but the
only sound that emanated from her trembling mouth was a ragged gasp.
She couldn't move, didn't want to move. The entire world focused down
into a sharp-edged, crystal clear focus solely on his face.
	She could feel the muscles of his back tense under her hands, the
rough cotton of his shirt stimulating the sensitive tips of her
fingers. The smell of him, clean and masculine, soap mixed with sweat,
and a unique muskiness all his own, filled her nostrils. She could feel
his arms, like velvet-sheathed iron bars closed around her waist and
shoulders, the palm cupping the base of her skull, the fingers spread
wide across the small of her back. The rise and fall of his chest moved
in synchronized rhythm with her own, while her gaze remained bound to
the dark, nearly coal-black pools of his eyes. The tantalizing hints of
green that had often twinkled at her from those orbs were gone,
replaced with an ebony intensity that seemed to bore down into the
depths of her soul.
	Almost without realizing it, she swayed in his grasp, letting his
hand take the full weight of her head. Her eyes closed, her mouth
parted wider. A quick dart of her tongue moistened her dry lips...then
was  suddenly replaced with a heated pressure that sent a jolt of
electricity through every nerve in her body.
	Mulder wasn't ever consciously aware of the decision to break the
unwritten rules between them, he simply found himself kissing her.
Feeling the full warmth of her lips beneath his, the taste of her
breath on his tongue. And never, in a million lifetimes, would he ever
have expected the response he received from his always professional,
always controlled partner. One moment she was a dead weight in his
arms, the next she came alive: vibrant, passionate, insistent.
	Pressing herself upwards, she gave herself to his kiss. Twisting
her head to the side, then back again, she returned his onslaught with
fervor. All the emotion, the anguish, the fear and loneliness fed her
desire. She wanted, needed this contact. Wanted, needed this expression
of his desire for her. Of her desire for him. In a world where a friend
could turn into an assassin, where reality itself was uncertain, this -
THIS - at least she knew. That no matter what, the one person she could
trust was the one holding her in his arms. That he would always find
his way back to her, and she to him. 
	Her lips parted, almost bruised, swollen and reddened with
passion, inviting a deeper touch. And he gave it to her with a quick
thrust of his tongue. A whistling gasp was swallowed into his throat as
she returned the caress, flicking the tip of her tongue across the
fullness of his bottom lip, then across the hard white enamel of his
teeth.
	His own murmur was lost, as his tongue tangled with hers,
stroking, dueling, then striking upwards towards the roof of her mouth.
She strained to mold her lips against his, to give him even deeper
access, and was rewarded with a clash of teeth upon teeth. That
collision sent a jolt through her jaw, down her spine, burning out the
little remaining strength in her knees, then pooling in a flood of
liquid fire in the center of her groin.
	He pulled his mouth off hers just long enough to drag in a gulp
of air, then he was kissing her again. And again, and again, and again.
A firestorm of need raged in her veins, and she threw herself into it
with abandon. Something broke inside, like a dam bursting, leaving her
awash in a flood of emotion, all feeding into the desire until it
became the totality of her awareness. Nothing else could penetrate the
haze of that emotion, it consumed everything in its path. 
	Her body pressed up against his, molded itself to his strength.
He took one more taste of her mouth, then buried his face in the
scented hollow of her neck. He felt as though everything had burned
clear, leaving him more focused than he had ever been before. Focused
solely - completely - utterly - on the smooth, salty skin, the slight
touch of her perfume that colored the air he breathed, the silk of her
hair between his fingers, loose strands caressing his cheeks and
catching the edges of his mouth as he suckled at the spot just below
her ear. The soft curves of her body as it clung to his. The sound of
her breath as it caught in her lungs, then released its heat against
his shoulder. 
	She reached for every inch of him she could, nibbling at his jaw,
his cheekbones, catching at his mouth, his collarbone, the hollow of
his throat. Freed of any restraint, her hands explored his spine,
tracing the trim, firm muscles, running upwards through his hair, then
back down to close upon the tight swells of his buttocks.
	His hands returned the favor, and she wriggled in his grasp,
silently communicating her desires, touch me there, and there, and
there... Whistling sighs of pleasure escaped her mouth as he complied,
searching and finding each sensitive spot on her body. Long, slender
fingers probed at her thighs, her belly, wandered upwards to curve over
the already swollen tips of her breasts. As he cupped the rich mounds
in both hands, fingers rubbing the material of her shirt and sweater
against the flesh below, she moaned aloud, frustration and exhilaration
fighting for dominance. Oh how she wanted those barriers of wool and
cotton to be gone in an instant. To not have to give up the whirling
pleasure of his touch for the few minutes it would take to strip the
layers away and expose her needy skin to the delight of his caress.
	Mulder felt her frustration as keenly as he felt his own, the
material of his jeans stretched achingly tight over his throbbing,
hardened genitals. Another thrust of tongue-against-tongue and
groin-against-groin and he moved like lightning to sweep her up into
his arms.
	Scully gasped as she was abruptly lifted up off her feet. Cradled
against his chest, she burrowed her face into his neck, biting, then
licking at his skin in fevered urgency. Lost to awareness of their
surroundings, neither noticed more than that the mattress of the
hosital bed was there, ready and waiting to take their weight, not even
hearing the squeels of the wheels on the floor as it shifted beneath
their weight. 
	Reluctantly releasing her, Mulder tore at his shirt, yanking it
over his head instead of wasting time on the buttons. Scully's eyes
never wavered from his exposed chest, even as she pulled off her own
shirt and sweater in one deft motion. Kneeling above her, almost
sitting on her thighs, he reached down to caress her cheek gently
before assisting her in removing her bra. Once that final barrier was
removed, she rested back, baring herself to his gaze, feeling the
intensity of his eyes as they traveled from her face across her chest
and down to her belly. It was like an invisible caress, the hunger she
saw blazing from those dark eyes a mirror for her own frantic need.
	Her fingers clamped on his upper arms, urging him down to her,
and he came willingly. Taking yet another taste of her mouth, he soon
lowered his kiss to the gently-rounded swell of her right breast. As he
suckled on the flesh, her fingers ran upwards to tangle in his hair,
pulling, seeking....and finally being rewarded as he took the hard
ridge of her nipple into the furnace of his mouth.
	Her body convulsed, her back and hips rising up off the bed to
push herself deeper into his mouth. She could feel the pressure of his
teeth on the soft flesh, followed by the flick of his wet tongue across
the pebbled tip. "Please....please..." A husky, ragged voice, she
hardly recognized pleaded, winding down into a moaning gasp for breath,
as his demanding mouth moved from one aching breast to another.
Moisture left behind cooled on the heated flesh, sending rivulets of
electricity down her belly, stirring the fire raging within.
	Then his probing fingers closed on the nipple not being sweetly
tortured by the teasing thrusts of his tongue, and her moan strangled
into silence, all of her energy focused on the pleasure that followed
every movement of those fingers, that tongue, that mouth, working
together to bring her closer to the edge of eternity.
	Closer, but not quite there, leaving her gasping when he lifted
his mouth away from the yielding flesh to turn to the taught skin of
her belly. He flicked his tongue into the belly button, then traced the
edges of her pants with his fingertips. He could feel her hands
clenched onto his shoulders, every sign of her desire feeding into his
own. That she could want him this way, that after years of
unacknowledged, buried passion she could lie beneath him, welcoming
him, baring herself to him - it was more than he could ever have
dreamed of, better than he could ever have imagined. Part of him wanted
to savor every inch of her lush body. To taste her from the tips of her
toes to the fiery crown of her head. But his own need was pounding at
his senses, the center of his desire aching almost unbearably in its
need to be buried into the inviting heat of her body.
	Taking one last fleeting taste of her abdomen, he slid back up
the length of her, the thin hairs on his chest rubbing at her
sensitized nipples. He found her mouth and drank deeply of it, slipping
his hands under her back to press her against him, then moving
downwards to trace the gentle curves of her thighs.
	The tantalizing whisper of his hands along her thighs made her
nearly sob aloud, and her hips thrust upward in a demanding rhythm, one
that was soon matched by the downward thrust of his groin. His fingers
pressed harder into her still-clad thighs, while her hands greedily
explored his back, his chest, his abdomen. Then moved even lower, to
press between their bodies.
	A strangled cry broke from his throat as her hand cupped over
him, squeezing the hardened flesh through the heavy material of his
jeans. Somehow his hands joined hers in that tiny space between them,
and they fought for the fastenings of their jeans, not even sure who
was working on which. It hardly mattered. Only the removal of the
barriers was of concern, and each second spent struggling meant an
increase in frustration. But finally, he was able to take hold of the
waist of her jeans and underwear together, and yank them down off her
hips. His knees on either side of her legs, he moved to a crouch above
her until he had stripped the remainder of her clothes from her body,
tossing her shoes aside with quick flicks of his wrists.
	The instant he was finished, she dragged him up and over, pushing
him down onto his back. He settled on the mattress, allowing her to
remove his jeans, boxers, and sneakers. Then he welcomed her as she
wriggled back up across his body to lie across his chest, her legs
tangling with his. One lift of his knees, and he was back on top of
her, pressing her down into the mattress, spreading his weight out
across her entire body.
	She gloried in the feel of him on her, her legs widening to curl
up and around the outside of his thighs. Her hips lifted up off the
mattress in invitation, only to be forced downward by his thrust. 
	"Mmmmmulder," his name came out of her throat in a hiss, as he
sank down into her. Even without more preparation, she was ready for
him, melting around him. His own breath whooshed out of his lungs as
though he had been punched in the stomach, every nerve in his body
focused on the way she felt. Hot, wet, open, yet confining, sheathing
him like a glove.
	He lifted slightly, feeling more than hearing her groan of
disapproval, then thrust downwards again to achieve a deeper
penetration. Grinding upwards to meet him, her teeth clenched as she
felt him fill her.
	It took only a moment to set up a rhythm of thrusts, her body
following the movements of his, urging him onward. Demanding more. And
he gave it to her, his breath coming in short gasps that whistled
between clamped teeth. Her head fell back against the mattress, her
eyes closed shut as her shoulders and hips heaved. He bent down and
kissed her, on the mouth, the chin, the neck, then down to draw on her
nipple, again taking it deep into his mouth, then laving the rock-hard
tip with the rough surface of his tongue. That sensation sent a new
shockwave to collide with the ones emanating from her groin, creating a
whirlpool of pleasure in her belly, bringing her ever closer to her
climax.
	Just barely holding onto his own control, he increased the
frequency of his movements, pounding her down onto the mattress. Her
fingernails clawed at his back, urging him onward, her head now
thrashing back and forth on the pillow, eyes wide, but unfocused. He
buried his face into the sweat-lined crevice between her breasts, one
hand tight on her buttocks, guiding her upwards into his downstroke,
aiding the willing, even demanding rotation of her hips as she met his
every thrust with abandon. 
	The other hand forced its way into the space between their bodies
slipping towards the wiry tangle of curls just above the joining of
their bodies. His fingers tangled in the short hairs, then probed even
further, finding the place where he entered her, then moving upwards
slightly. Until they paused, and pressed between the soft folds of
flesh to find the very center of her pleasure. His forefinger found her
just as her hips met his yet again, and the shock of that touch sent
wave upon wave of pleasure crashing across her body. She flew with it,
her consciousness sliding into a glorious oblivion. The only last bit
of awareness that remained in that dark sea of ecstasy was of his
presence with her tumbling beside her, within her, below her, above
her, and always with her.

	Coming to awareness was slow. Scully was aware first of the smell
of their lovemaking, thick and musky. Then of the heat and weight of
his body still above her, still joined to her. Her face was nestled
into his shoulder, and she breathed in his nearness, before twisting
slightly to lift her head away. He murmured and shifted in response to
her, his arms tightening around her while he nuzzled sleepily into her
hair. She lay back, her eyes still shut, a new mixture of emotions
replacing the now-abated desire. Embarrassment, guilt, fear swirled
through her mind, mixed with something painfully sweet, bitterly tight.
Something that constricted her chest and burned her lungs.
	Mulder was her partner. This was the room where her sister had
lain struggling with the death she had succumbed to. How could she have
done this with him - here? And yet, she knew that she had wanted it,
wanted him, more deeply than she had ever desired anything in her life.
It had felt right, indescribably, impossibly, utterly right. And yet,
it was equally wrong. Or was it? Confusion reigned, fostered by a
bone-deep exhaustion. Her head fell back against the mattress, her body
laying limp beneath his.
	By this time he was aware enough to sense some of her reaction.
Many of the same emotions had already torn through his mind and heart.
He had never been one to let other people close, letting the bite of
his wit and the force of his intellect form a barrier that kept them at
arm's length. But Scully.... he had let her so deeply within that she
had taken a little piece of his soul into her own, leaving him with the
sensation of having a part of himself walking around separate from him.
Separate but connected.
	And she had left a part of herself behind. A tiny touch of her
essence had lodged itself in his heart, and he'd never be the same. The
thought of being without her was so abhorrent that it made him feel
physically ill. He was terrified for her, frightened that he would yet
again put her in danger. But the thought of taking so much as one
breath of air in her absence was so foreign to him at this moment, he
couldn't even face the possibility. Somehow, he would find a way to
keep her by his side and safe. Even if he had to give his own life to
do so. 
	Those thoughts brought back a violent rush of memories, causing
him to lift himself up off and out of her abruptly. She gasped aloud in
reaction, her eyes jerking open. That sound twisted at his heart, and
even as he shifted to the side, he gathered her up against him.
	She couldn't help feeling bereft as he left her, leaving behind
an emptiness in the pit of her belly. But no sooner had she recognized
that absence than he was drawing her into his embrace, settling her
against him so that they were laying on their sides, facing each other.
Afraid to meet his eyes, she kept her face pressed into his chest, but
he refused to let her avoid the contact. After a gentle caress of her
cheek, he took her chin in his hand and tilted her head up towards his.
Their eyes met, hers liquid and uncertain, his fierce and emotive.
	Again, they found themselves locked into a world that consisted
only of them, baring their souls within their gazes. And again, it was
Mulder who broke the moment. "Scully?" he whispered.
	"Mulder," she tasted his name, needing to say it. To identify
him. 
	He drew in a deep breath, fighting for the words. He wanted to
say he loved her, but it wouldn't come. He licked at his suddenly dry
lips, then tried again. "I... no matter what, I... we... I will always
- ALWAYS - be with you." There. He eyed her with deep-felt concern.
	His words took a moment to sink in, then the corners of her mouth
perked upwards ever so slightly. Fumbling, halting, yet loving and
tender. Romance may not be Mulder's strong point, yet the sense of what
he was trying to say was so clear to her. She felt that same sense of
knowing that she had experienced when she woke up the night before his
father's funeral, certain that he was still alive. The dream that had
sparked that certainty was faded and unclear, but the knowledge it had
given her had held. And somehow had come true.
	The memory of the way she had felt when she thought he was dead
washed back over her, bringing with it a sense of utter emptiness.
Never once in her life had she felt quite so alone, so adrift, so cold.
And that made this moment all the more poignant. Why did it take losing
someone to make you realize just how much you loved them? With Melissa,
she would never have a chance to say those words, to make up for the
time lost in stupid arguments, the little cruelties and
misunderstandings. But now, with Mulder, she HAD been given that
opportunity. And with bone-deep determination, she resolved to seize it
with both hands. 
	So through the pain and sorrow, the shock and the fear, she
focused on the man watching her with vulnerability writ large on his
handsome features, and brought forth a tight smile. Wry and bitter on
the edges, it was still a balm to his wounded soul. Even more healing
to them both were her words echoing his. 
	"And I will always be with you."

The End

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JennyAnn@ix.netcom.com                 JLyon@novagen.com

"Sometimes the need to mess with their heads outweighs the
millstone of humiliation."    Fox Mulder    "The X-Files"
                      
                            GO DOLPHINS!!!
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