Hurry by Michaela

Another mystery fic from the archives written by Michaela.  This is a very tasty little smut cookie that I’ve collected at some point, but I have no clue where I got it from, hence its posting here.    Enjoy

Title: Hurry
Author: Michaela
Category: V
Rating: NC-17
Keywords: MSR
Spoilers: None. It’ll be fairly obvious why. 😉
Summary: A summary would just be gratuitous.
Disclaimer: CC is welcome to take this story and run with it. Make my day! The characters are his, of course, to do with as he wishes.
Author’s notes: For the Screamers, with whom all smut is possible.

“Skinner is coming down to meet with us.”

Dana Scully made the announcement flatly, with no inflection that might give away how she felt about that notable development, placing the phone gingerly back into its cradle.

Fox Mulder glanced up from the pile of papers he was making a half-hearted attempt to organize — organize, ha! To Mulder, they already were arranged on his desk in an open-air filing system that he knew intimately. They were organized, at least in his mind. But Scully, who on more than one occasion had been forced to slog through stacks of his so-called organization to find the monthly expense report, had made an executive decision. The paperwork would be filed. . .her way.

(You know, Mulder. Something slightly *less* than paranormal. Oh, say. . .alphabetical, she’d said with a challenging smirk.) And given that she inevitably did more than her share of the paperwork, and since Mulder was unwilling to upset that particular apple cart, he’d been duly motivated to put his desk into some semblance of order. When it came to Scully, Mulder found he could be distinctively motivated. . .in any number of ways.

He looked into her eyes. Despite the smooth, almost deadpan, delivery of her remark, her eyes gave her away. They always did. And he knew exactly what she was thinking. He let a slow grin spread across his face, then quickly wiped it away with his hand, curling his fingers over his mouth as if he were considering the statement.

“Did he say when?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

Her gaze was locked on him, unblinking, challenging. Her lips were pursed in that serious, semi-pout she developed when she was refusing to smile, even when he was pretty sure she wanted to. He thought he detected the faintest indulgence at the tender corners of her mouth — he’d become adept at hunting out even the faintest of Scully’s smiles. He considered himself a dutiful and enthusiastic scholar in that regard.

“Did he say what he wanted?” He was leaning back in his chair, stretching languidly, arms lifting and stretching the fabric of his fine linen dress shirt across his chest. He noticed Scully’s gaze leave his to flick quickly downward in that direction, so quickly he might have missed it had he not been watching for it. He smiled again, not bothering to hide it this time, and she rewarded him with a frown.

“Something to do with last month’s financial report,” she said with a challenge and he grinned wider as her eyebrow arched to match her tone.

“Apparently, I made a fairly significant mistake. In letting *you* take care of it.”

Mulder hummed some sort of noncommittal reply to that remark, and he rose slowly from his chair, his gaze still locked with hers.

“I suppose he’ll want us to explain that,” he said finally, walking around the side of the desk and standing directly in front of her. She craned her neck to continue this little staring contest, arms folded under her breasts. It was subtly sexy. She knew it. He loved it when she did that.

Probably because *he* knew that *she* knew. It was all just part of the game.

“Us, Mulder?” Scully replied smoothly. “Didn’t I just say it was your report?”

“But, Scully, we’re partners. All for one, one for all, right?” He was leaning down to her now, invading her personal space as he always had. She had never seemed to mind. She didn’t now.

” ‘All for one’? Do I *look* like a Musketeer?” she said sarcastically, and her voice was soft, ripe with provocation. He had to smile again. He loved it when she was like this. She reduced him to the grinning lunacy of a court jester.

“I think you’d look pretty good in the boots,” he rejoined in a low voice, and she pressed her lips more tightly together. He used to think she was annoyed when she did that — he’d learned over time that it was her way of forcing back a smile when he resorted to his purely flirtatious quip repertoire.

“I suppose I will help you, but before you get any ideas, I should tell you — it’s only out of pity,” she said archly.

“How much time do we have?” Mulder asked abruptly, and his tone was almost strained, such a contrast to the earlier measured and lazy cadence of his words. Scully glanced at the clock, and now she let a small smile quirk the corners of her lips. <I’ll see that marker and raise you, partner. I call.>

“Thirteen minutes,” she replied.

“Then we’d better hurry.”

“Indeed.” Then she laughed — actually *laughed out loud*, how often did you hear that? Mulder thought — and went running for the office door, almost throwing herself into it in her haste, twisting the lock home with a click that seemed to reverberate through the small basement office.

Before she could turn around, he was behind her, and he was pressing her palms against the smooth, cold steel of the door, sliding her hands up until they were over her head, holding them there. He was hard against her, almost crushing her into the door and she pressed back firmly against him, not to resist, simply to increase the amount of her body in contact with his. They both moaned as he ground his erection into the small of her back.

She could feel his breath hot against the nape of her neck and she shivered — he was already breathing hard. He wanted this as badly as she did. Maybe more, if that were at all possible. She loved this game, it was one of their favorites, one they’d perfected in the past several weeks since they’d become lovers.

“Hurry. . .” Scully breathed against the door. It was more than just a plea it was the name of the game. Find a situation where time was of the essence. . .then go at it like a couple of sailors on shore leave before the time ran out. Extending it as long as possible. . . If there was any danger of getting caught, so much the better.

“Afraid of getting caught, Scully?” he whispered into her ear, seeming to hear her thoughts, and she could hear his smile, even as he released one of her wrists and slid his hand down her arm, pressing his fingers into the firm skin and muscle beneath the silk of her blouse. His hand slid around her ribcage, almost covertly, before cupping her breast with immediate, forceful familiarity.

“No, afraid of not having enough time,” she moaned her reply, trying to be as quiet as possible, because who knew how much sound passed through these steel doors, and she was pressed fairly intimately against one right now.

He ran his thumb over her nipple, then tweaked it with his fingers, with just the right amount of pressure — God, he’d gotten exceptional at that in a stunningly short period of time. He’d undertaken the study of pleasing Scully with an enthusiasm that left her breathless. Six weeks and he was already at the graduate level, she thought a little wildly. She squirmed in his hold, feeling that familiar hot and heavy humidity gathering low in her belly.

“Why, Scully, are you expecting this to go somewhere?” he chuckled, and she took that as her cue — whether he realized it or not. She swiveled unexpectedly in his embrace, pulling her arms down and grabbing his, twisting them both around and pushing him against the door with a thud so loud they both winced. Then laughed. She loved it when they could laugh like this, even as their bodies were quickening with the utter, insatiable need to get serious in a hurry. Hurry.

“I’m expecting this to go all the way, Mulder,” she said, sobering her expression, if not the devilish glint in her eyes. She grabbed his tie, pulled him rather roughly down toward her, and ran her tongue along the line of his jaw from his chin to his earlobe, smiling her triumph as he shuddered involuntarily. “I’ll have to count on you not to let me down, partner.”

“Oh, I think you can count on me, Scully.” He let his hands drift down to the hem of her skirt, then yank upward with startling force, dragging her slim suit skirt to bunch around her waist. She gasped loudly, then again as his hands plunged under the elastic of her nylons and the silk of her panties, cupping her bottom and yanking her hard against him, pressing his still-confined erection against the softness of her.

“How much time?” she breathed, trying to concentrate on Mulder’s body and not the insistent way his fingers were creeping below her, toward the center of her. He knew exactly where to touch her. He could make her come right now. Which couldn’t be allowed. So she aimed for a spot on his body she’d discovered by happy accident a few weeks before. She raised herself on tiptoe and eyed the golden skin encasing the firm tendons of his neck.

With a practiced, delicate deliberation, she leaned up and nibbled oh-so-carefully into the corded muscles, pressing her teeth gently, yet firmly, into the hard flesh there. He gasped, his fingers froze as he momentarily forgot his own name, and she tried not to laugh as she repeated,

“Mulder, how much time?”

“Eleven minutes.” He said it hoarsely, then returned to his previous explorations, somehow managing to smile down at her and simultaneously devour with his eyes every expression on her face. She felt his fingers brush just against her opening and she cried out, unable to control the sound, causing Mulder to swoop down with his delectable mouth

to capture hers. She was so close to. . .already she was so damn close.

Scully decided retaliation was in order.

Sometimes, there is just no room for subtleties in a situation.

She pried her own fingers loose from their desperate grip on Mulder’s shoulders, pulling her mouth from his with an audible pop and returning to nibble at his neck, hearing her pulse roar in her ears, and Mulder’s breath pant heavily on her neck. She simply let her hands lead her to something else to hold onto. Namely, Mulder. More specifically, Mulder’s penis. She brought her trembling fingers directly to it. Not roughly. Just enough to get his attention. . .

“Jesus, Scully!!!”

She had it.

“Not quite, Mulder,” she drawled her reply with a coy smile, feeling him grow harder and longer against her gently questing fingers. “And I doubt my actions here could even loosely be interpreted as holy.”

He rewarded her for her bit of humor by suddenly plunging his longest finger deep inside of her, curling it with seductive slowness against her swollen inner flesh. She choked back a gasp, felt her knees actually begin to weaken, and he wrapped his other arm around her waist, dragging her closer still.

“Problem, Agent Scully?” Mulder whispered against her ear, finding and rubbing his finger against that particular spot deep inside her, the one that caused her entire body to rebel against her.

She opened her mouth, found her tongue inexplicably dry, her throat incapable of more than an almost inaudible squeak. Drat the man. She licked her lips, swallowed hard, and tried again. All the while trying not to concentrate *too* much on what his fingers were doing down below.

Talk about your Herculean tasks.

“Not at all, Agent Mulder,” she replied in an admittedly quivery voice, but she’d managed to string together intelligible syllables, so she wouldn’t be picky. His fingers picked up the pace beneath her, as if the digits themselves were offended that she was still capable of speech. “I was just. . .wondering if you’d picked up your dry cleaning this morning.”

“Why yes, but I’m a little concerned that you’d be thinking of the trivialities at a moment like this,” he breathed into her ear, the small gasps between the words her reward for what her hand was so industriously accomplishing on the outside of his trousers. “I’m not nearly diligent enough, it would seem.”

“Not so trivial, Mulder,” she corrected him smugly. He lifted his head to look at her, a question swimming up from the murky waters of arousal in his eyes. Before he could guess her intent, her hands left their pursuits below his belt and snared in the soft fabric of his dress shirt. And suddenly, there was a lot more of Mulder’s chest and lot less of his shirt.

“How much time?” Mulder asked hoarsely, his voice punctuated by the clinks and plinks of buttons flying.

“Nine minutes.”

“Think we’ll lose time?”

“If we’re lucky.”

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