Title: Missing Hours
Author: Tara W.
Category: Angsty-smut, MSR[it is if I say it is]
Spoiler: Sein Und Zeit--
Rating: NC-17 (all sex)
Distribution: just ask
Feedback: [email protected]

Disclaimer: Big surprise here, but Mulder & Scully do NOT belong to me, though names are not really an issue.


Author's Note:) This was inspired of course by the apt. scene in Sein Und Zeit, but it was written for Gertie.  I also needed a little break from my serious fic.  If you're a smutster, you should enjoy this.  I hope so anyway.  I have jumped on the shipper bandwagon and written my version of what I wish took place during those missing hours in Mulder's apartment.  Also, I want to say hi to my friend, Lydia, who I hope can forgive me this splurge.  I just had to do it.  The rating is a warning to those of you who are underage or find NC-17 material offensive.  You'll get no apologies from me for this little fic.
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//Missing Hours//
--Mulder's Apt./Scene Alteration from SUZ

"She was just trying to take away your pain."  These were the words left hanging in the air as she took him in her arms; her own tears held  at bay as his slowly seeped into the fabric of her jacket.
She wasn't sure how long they had remained in the assuaging embrace, but her knees were beginning to ache from pressing into the hardwood floor.  His lower back had numbed from leaning forward into her arms, but his own had locked just above her waist and letting go was unimaginable. 
She could still feel his tears dampening the fabric covering her shoulder, and for as long as they fell, she would hold him.
The moment seemed to materialize into a dream; reality existing only  between the space of two hearts.  His lips pressed against her shoulder, tasting the saltiness in his own puddle of tears, and he wondered just how many of his tears she had collected over the years.  In one fluid motion, he filled his hands with her hair and pulled his head away enough to graze his lips against her own.  Just the lightest brush of lips, that was all he meant to do.
She felt his tongue plunge deeply and her own being drawn back.  Could she really be allowing this when her mind screamed that this wasn't supposed to be happening?  Not this way.  Not for these reasons, and yet,  she found herself letting go of everything but the moment.  Her shoulders relaxed and her arms lifted to let the jacket he tugged at fall to the floor.  Feeling his fingers pulling  loose the buttons of her blouse, she braced her hands on his knees.  The kiss had suddenly stopped; his forehead resting against her cheek.
He shivered at the touch of hot, audible breath flowing across the tip of his ear, and he waited for her logical protest as to why this shouldn't be happening.  But it never came.  Opening her blouse, he let his hands knead the skin below her breasts.
Closing her eyes as his lips found her throat,  the feel of her skin in his lips, his hands made her own  slide forward and tighten around his thighs.  Her body stiffened and then complied with the pressure of his own moving forward and slipping to his knees before her.
He swallowed, his hands moving almost of their own accord over the delicate flesh sheltered beneath simple, white silk, over smooth cheeks, and into the allure of scarlet hair.  Watching her eyes close once again as if his touch wounded her, a hard and deep shattering ran through him; the sight of those lashes fell on her cheeks as if to hide her vulnerability.  Guilt invaded his heart at the realization that neither of them could hide from this moment.  He stilled to sketch her image with his eyes and froze when they collided with her own, and a fleeting shadow touched them and was gone.  Had it been of doubt or something else?
Her hands moved on him,, on his back and over his waist and into his hair, and finally, she held his face between her hands, touching his brow and eyelids and mouth before tiliting forward.
He sank into the velvety promise of sensual, slow pleasure and the feel of her hands sliding under his shirt, over his bare skin was a painful reminder of how out of practice his body was with the  touch of a woman.  His heart began to thud in a thick, aroused beat.  Lifting his arms so that the grey tee could join her jacket, the discarding of her blouse and bra created a pile.  Her skin was like some rare, alabaster pearl colored with the petals of roses.  Lifting the weight of her breasts in his hands,  he watched her face and feared her eyes would close again, but she met his gaze, eyes aflame and sparking higher as he caressed and stroked over budded nipples.  Swaying forward, his tongue snaked out to taste the tip of one, and the sound of his name breaking through the hazy silence of thier desire sent her deeper into his mouth.
It had been so long.  The sensation quickly turned  from pleasure to pain, but she bit back her cries. Her hands held him close, and she leaned slowly to the side as her knees begged to give out.
He followed as her body stretched out upon the floor; his mouth never leaving her.  Feeling an inner sob of mercy rumble its way through her, he lifted his head and read the plea written in her eyes.  He tasted her stomach with the flat of his tongue; his hands already pulling away the barriers to the dampened heat being sought.  And he touched her, gently probing into the slickened folds, and he marvelled at the warm quiver that swallowed his finger.
The world blurred and faded until she could feel her own eyes searching for something, anything to grasp, but the hands that had been pressing into the hard floor flew to clutch his hair in great handfuls as his invading touch was met by a moist mouth.  Covering the hidden mound of nerves and pulling it tight between his lips, he groaned as her nails dug into his skull.  His name a strangled cry, he pushed against her hands, rising to straddle her waist.
With trembling hands, she unfastened the jeans and dragged them and the remaining hindrance from his hips.  She sensed him shifting to shed the clothing and wrapped her hands around his thighs, pulling him back.  And she touched him, closing her hands around his rigid sex.
Grabbing her wrists, his moan was one of warning.  Sliding his body along the length of hers, he lay against her for a moment, kicking his clothes away.
The floor was uncomfortable, but she revelled in the feeling of him pulsating between her thighs.
Her legs spread, inviting him to join her, and with a whipser of her name, he caught her hips in his hands, lifting her closer.  A gasp tore from her throat at the slow, agonizing slide, and she stilled his movements with a breath-stealing grip of her thighs.
He was lost. Falling forward to set his mouth on her neck, he felt his own eyes fluttering shut at the passion of her all around him, throbbing and writhing.  Her nails hurt his shoulders, and he thought they would draw blood when he let his hips grind into hers without moving within.
Letting her thighs rub back and forth against him, her body clenched around him, and she felt him leave her with the same force he used to come back to her.  Again, swiftly, out and in.  In and out, swiftly, and then slow, slow, slow.
She could feel the heat growing, crystalizing over her skin, until her breath was a small, panting moan punctuating his movements.  It began from somewhere deep inside of her, and flowed heavily toward the rythmic pressure.   God, she was so close.
Faster, faster, faster.  Putting his weight on his elbows, he pulled his face from her neck and used his hands to brush away the hair sticking to her face.  Her neck was arched, her lips parted, and her brow creased in desperation.  Liquid fire coursed through his blood, and he felt the beads of sweat bubbling beneath his skin, breaking through, trickling down the side of his face.  He felt himself drowning in her release and thrust deeper, over and over, until the shaking had gave way to the humming serenity dancing through her veins.
He had stopped.  Why?  Her eyelids slid dreamily open, and she was caught in the beauty of his glorious eyes.  Lowering his head, he kissed the column of her throat so gently it broke her heart, and when she could no longer feel him inside of her, she let it break.   His head rested by hers, and time found her holding him once more as he cried.  She could feel him, still hard and pressing into her thigh.  Slipping herself lower beneath him, she once again closed her hand around him, gliding along the full length.  His cries mingled with a sharp intake of breath at the sheer anguish of his enlarging need.   She tightened her hold, applying pressure with each movement, her thumb lazily circling the head of his torture.  His breath caught in his throat, and he gripped her shoulders, looking down into her flushed face.
Her hand quickened, and she watched the emotions play over his sweat and tear-streaked features.
"Just let go," she breathed.  'Let go."
His head lowered with the first shudder, and her name rolled off his tongue with the next.  Shudder after shudder rippled through his muscles until her hand slid away and he gave her his weight, pressing her harder against the floor.
They lay there silent, still, listening to one another breath.  Inhale.  Exhale.
Moving together, they stood, both overcome by a wave of dizziness, and each took a turn gathering their clothes and showering.  The early break of dawn found them on the couch slightly worn but  reassembled, and she held him while he slept.

A knock on the door.
"Hi," the male voice greeted.
"Hi," she said.
"How's he doing?"
"It's been a hard night for him."

--The End--