TITLE: C'mere AUTHOR: Anne Hedonia RATING: NC-17 CLASSIFICATION: S KEYWORDS: DSR, Doggett/Scully Relationship, AU, Smut Biscuit SPOILERS: Hardly a one, season 8 for any you find. ARCHIVE: your little hearts out, just notify me where. E-MAIL: ahedonia@yahoo.com MORE OF THE SAME CAN BE FOUND AT: http://people.we.mediaone.net/madwazel DISCLAIMERS: Me very much not to be owning. SUMMARY: An exploration of what is, in my opinion and in the proper situation, a very sexy phrase. SHIPPERS AND MULDERITES: will hate this. They should flee. AUTHOR'S NOTE: (gleefully): We don't need no stinkin' betas! (contritely): Unless we do, and maybe I did, but I didn't use one. Also, as I wrote the universe of this little story, Mulder eventually became strangely nonexistent. I slipped him back in with one vague reference, and even I don't know precisely what was meant by it. Dedicated to the SHODDS, a sweet, ballsy, rockin' group of ladies. On with the show. ---------------- "C'mere." The words had rumbled carelessly out of Agent Doggett's mouth, with hardly any attention paid to them by their speaker, or one half of their audience. They held no double entendre, no sarcastic or ironic undertones. They were intended for A.D. Skinner, and were not suffused with any meaning other than the obvious: Agent Doggett wished for A.D. Skinner to come closer to where he stood, so that he too could view something Agent Doggett had found on a map. The other half of Doggett's audience came quietly unglued. Agent Scully tried to steady herself some objective observations on the particular quality of Agent Doggett's voice: she thought that perhaps its low gruff music made it easy for most *women* to read things into its simple, straightforward phrases...or at the very least, wish to God that they could. Doggett's voice was the same age as his face, and both were older than the rest of him. His voice was the aural equivalent of the creases around his eyes, and both spoke of the same weariness, the same set of qualified hopes hopes that had once been full-fledged, but had been viciously slashed back by life. But still he was honest, and sincere, and striving to do his best. He was a good man, to his very bones. Women could hear the whole combination of him with just a few words in *that voice*, and when you added in his face and body, it tended to make most of them ache for a chance to make it all better. Scully had seen it in action, while out in the field, but had never thought of herself as one of those women. Of course she had also noticed that none of those women ever received looks sweet, sad, longing sorts of looks - like the ones Doggett gave her. Maybe that was what had kept her from aching for him: the subconscious knowledge that she already had him. Or did she? She wasn't the least bit sure now. Which was the reason for her current ungluing. While Skinner and Doggett looked at a map and discussed where the scumbag of the week might have fled, Scully quietly projected a recent event onto the movie screen of her mind. She couldn't seem to stop herself. She simultaneously hoped to God that none of it was being shown on her face. ------------- It had happened not two days ago, after one of those days in the field where the hours are long and the weight to be pushed up the hill unmovable. The case before them was a mess of gory, unspeakable photos, fruitless leads and the secretive, good ol' boy code of the local cops. Not only that, but the local field office was run by a man who appeared to be both mean *and* stupid, one of Scully's least favorite combinations. No matter where she turned, Doggett's voice seemed to be the only sane one within a 50-mile radius. Doggett and one of the Sheriffs had gotten very close to a shoving match. Scully had put one hand on Doggett's chest to restrain him, keeping him calm until the sheriff exited. Doggett had eased back, his gaze eventually locking softly with hers. Scully had realized then that her hand was still on his chest, long after the need for it had subsided. Late that night, they had walked back to their rooms, talking wearily about the case. They had stopped in front of her door, and in a moment of frustration, Scully had burst out with something about one of the sheriffs, and it struck Doggett as funny. He laughed a deep, true belly laugh, and it was infectious. Scully had realized with a snicker how true what she'd just said was, and as she burst out laughing herself, the tension of the week seemed magically broken. She'd rested her forehead against his softly bouncing chest, and his hand had come to rest on the back her neck as together they'd laughed some more. When their giggling spell was over she'd looked up, and once again found his eyes drifting over her face. More than that, she found something in his gaze igniting. And when it didn't die down, she knew that whatever it was, it had to be mirrored in hers. She'd shaken with the implications of it, because...she knew things now. She knew that it often took much less than invading aliens or Russian triple agents to rob you of your partner, the one soul that fed you your life's breath with their very presence. Sometimes it just took uncertainty, self-hatred, invented guilt. Sometimes love didn't need to be kidnapped sometimes it turned tail and fled, and left one blind with anger and hatred of the departing person's previously-undetected, traitorous weakness. There was no certainty at all in the world. She thought she' d known it before, but now things were completely different. Now she knew it in her bones. But her gruelingly hard-won knowledge had made her feel strangely reckless then, in a way she seldom did. Something like a Kamikaze pilot win one for the cause, or die. It was the eyes. One look at their now-blazing depths, and it was easy to choose how she wanted to go. Somehow Doggett then knew that it was his job to take the key gently from her hand, open the door with it, stand aside and wait as she entered, then follow her in. They'd stood looking at each other in the semi-darkness for a long beat, neither moving, as though consciously drawing out and building the reigning tension. Finally, when it was thrumming between them so strongly she thought she'd faint, he'd reached out and snapped it with two syllables. "C'mere..." he'd murmured, drawling it out like foreplay. Suddenly - in that way that the world clears up when you put on your glasses - Scully could see everything that "those" women saw in him, and so much more. All focused to a laser point and aimed with stomach-fluttering directness, straight at her. It seemed she was in his arms immediately after that, with no steps in between. She just knew that she was kissing him, and he was kissing back, so sweetly and hungrily she thought she could orgasm just from what his touch implied. "Aw, Dana..." he'd muttered roughly. "Aw Jesus God, Dana..." The feel of him was so novel, such a rich warm treasure. She wanted all of it she could get. She'd pulled the shirt hurriedly out of his trousers, impatient to get her hands underneath and feel her way up the bare skin of his back. He'd mimicked her gesture, untucking her blouse while his mouth continued to ravage hers. Scully felt her heart stop at the point when his hands touched her, and not just because of the sensation. It was more due to his reaction his mouth stilling momentarily as his eyes closed in overwhelmed satisfaction, his soft, blissful sigh as he savored the first feel of her skin. She'd bitten her lip as a wave of delicious excitement melted through her abdomen - she could not imagine a more arousing gesture. She'd been so lost in the moment that she was taken aback when his hands zipped up and deftly unhooked the slim strap of her bra. She'd gasped in surprise at his quick, naughty move, and found him grinning devilishly at her reaction. He'd leaned close to her ear, his breath stirring the sensitive skin of her neck in ways she'd only read about. "Wanna play, little girl?" he'd purred wickedly. Knees watery with arousal, she was nonetheless resistant to being taken so easily...she'd thought. It was a thought that didn't last long. Any potentially clever replies were subsequently snatched out of her throat by the feel of his hands sliding under the loosened bra, skimming over her breasts, brushing her nipples. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. He had *the* most *amazing* touch firm enough not to be frustrating, soft enough to cause a rush of goosebumps over every inch of her. She didn't know how she'd stand much more of it. She equally didn't know how she'd stand it if he stopped. And somehow, the thought that it was *him* touching her felt like the key. All those little moments during their months together suddenly seemed to add up: surreptitiously watching his body move, so careful not to get caught...the nights on stakeout when she watched him gaze off into the distance and wondered what he was like when he was alone, at home... the dizzying awareness of him in close quarters, the sudden need then to change the subject...this should not have been surprising and yet it was all just falling into place for her, like the tumblers in a lock, opening her up. She'd just discovered that giving into her secret fantasies was a drug, and she was frantic with the urge to become a well-supplied addict. Getting rid of clothes was suddenly the key to her salvation. In impatience, she pulled her blouse off straight over her head struggling to free her wrists from the buttoned cuffs - then returned Doggett's hands immediately to engulfing her breasts whole. Through her haze, she'd snuck a look at Doggett's face, caught his smug, hormone-charged grin. "Wipe that look off your face," she'd gasped. "Wipe it off for me," he'd growled back softly. His grin went no place. He'd sat down on the bed behind him, continuing his mission with one hand as he began kissing his way down her belly and his free hand unbuttoned her skirt. He'd divested her of her simple, light blue panties, sliding down off the bed to sit on his heels. He began gradually nuzzling into her curls, using his tongue slowly but surely, making her delirious. For Scully, reality became a place people sent postcards from. She forgot to care whether or not she put up a fight, forgot to do anything but hold onto his head for dear life and gather sensation, forgot everything up to and including her own name. And then, just as she was poised on the absolute brink...the sonofabitch pulled away. Scully let out an animal cry at the loss of him, a monument to embarrassing non-eloquence: "Gaa...!" She was utterly speechless as she looked down at those fiery pale eyes, which had nothing but the devil in them. He'd wiped his mouth slowly, stood and hovered his face near hers, where Scully was helpless with anger and impatience, mute with blind need. She'd lurched forward, trying to make contact with his lips, but he'd backed away, denying her the proximity necessary to kiss him. "Somethin' you want?" he teased. Scully smiled weakly and huffed slightly, trying not to throw the hissy fit that would give him even more satisfaction. His eyes flitted over her face, grinning and entranced. "Don't worry, I plan to finish what I started...as many times as you can stand." he teased. His finger skimmed softly where his eyes had visited. "I just like watchin' you so close to losin' control." Scully narrowed her eyes dangerously, growled deep in her throat. "Then you'll love this." She shoved him fiercely back onto the bed. - (continued in part 2) - - (disclaimers, etc. in part 1) - Doggett was tickled as all hell. He sat up on his elbows, eyes dancing as she crawled over the bouncing double bed, scaling his body. He'd let her kiss him fiercely, had run his hands over her everywhere he could reach. He'd helped her take his shirt off, then she'd gone to work on his belt and pants. She loved divesting him of the remains of his suit, uncovering the warm, hard body that had always been hinted at by the pull of the fabric. She loved kissing every inch of him, gorging herself on touching him. She loved her first sight of his naked hips, felt a thrill the moment she freed his erection, took his length into her mouth. She loved hearing him gasp and groan and offer up cries to a god she could scarcely conceive that he still believed in. Moments later he was tensing wildly with her efforts, barely able to keep himself from thrusting frantically into her mouth, she could tell. A gentleman in everything, she thought sincerely. Then she thought it wryly, and her lips formed a smile around her work. She chose that moment to release him and lean back impishly, finding great interest in her cuticles. John let out a masculine version of her earlier cry. She'd grinned down at him through tousled hair. "Paybacks are a bitch." He was panting, and his grin was more feral and intense than ever. He grabbed her by the hips. "I'll show you paybacks..." he muttered. She cried out in surprise as he shoved her up his body, to position her center directly over his lips. She was still laughing softly as the pleasure began to overtake her again. A few moments later her former self was gone and she was a savage, aware of nothing but one throbbing ache in her body that built until it suddenly, blessedly soothed itself, in one transcendent explosion. The next moment or so was lost to the fog of recovering. Next thing she realized, she had repositioned again and was showering his face and chest with kisses. He was catching his breath, chuckling softly at her ardor. When she surprised him by moving quickly and urgently to take him into her body, he gasped again, just as softly. It was beyond description, to feel him touch where no one should be able to, in places she couldn't accurately point to if she tried, but which were suddenly the most crucial places for contact in the entire world. To watch his eyes widen as she sunk down and then slam shut, to watch them open later and gape at her, awestruck, all attempt at teasing all *ability* to tease - utterly gone. To move with him, leaning close over him, reading each other's signals like Braille, like semaphore, learning to swim like dolphins. His face got so much younger then, though his voice got hoarser as his sweet, beautiful body overtook him. Watching him lose control was glorious. She wanted to keep watching, but it was also contagious. He caught her up in it and few movements later she was convulsing too, just a beat behind him. Before her eyelids fluttered closed, she watched him fight to simultaneously help her ride out her second sweet, endless moment. When her head cleared, there were no sounds in the room but their slowing gasps. She leaned forward over him, trying to push sweaty hair from her cheeks. "I wiped that grin off your face," she murmured, weakly but happily. He chuckled, just as weakly, just as happily. "That you did..." he'd sighed. He caressed up her sides, his touch skimming over her, much like his gaze. He'd coaxed her closer with his hands. When her body accepted the invitation, he pulled her in tightly, crushing carefully her to his chest. "Ohhhhh..." he'd breathed. "...c'mere." -------------- The next morning was a study in contrast to the night preceding it. It had begun with the skull-rattling ring of the motel room phone. Doggett had answered it in the voice of a prematurely-awakened grizzly: "mmmRRRDoggett." The moment had jolted Scully to instant alertness, and she'd lain there, listening, wondering if their caller realized that the room he was calling wasn't technically John's. Two seconds later it didn't matter. The main suspect in their murder case was cornered in an apartment building, barricaded into a standoff and picking off cops like ducks in a shooting gallery. There was no time to do anything but get there. She'd thrown herself out of bed upon hearing the news, fully aware of their encounter but somehow only then remembering her nakedness. She was standing and fully exposed before she 'd even had time to ask herself whether that was what she wanted. She decided a moment later that it was. She looked and saw Doggett pause, gazing at her, his eyes heavy-lidded and dreamy with admiration. She felt herself stirring, too, at the sight of his long body, shamelessly bare and heart-stoppingly beautiful in the morning light. His look never faltered as he walked around the bed toward her, as his face neared and his rough palms warmed her cheeks, pulling her in for one long sweet kiss, and then afterwards, a significant, shared smile. His eyes were filled with something a kind of thankfulness, she thought. When he turned away and disappeared into the bathroom ("Out in a flash...") she suddenly questioned what the thankfulness was for last night? Or more than that? She realized that she hadn't noted it, and thus didn't know, and that spooked her. She then realized that she found both possibilities terrifying, and that spooked her even more. All of these thoughts occurred in a split second, but would linger in her head for much longer, because the time for fact-finding eye-gazing had passed, and she wouldn't find another time like it for days. ---------------- From that moment on, the day had been off and running. The case heated up and the two agents had been pulled apart for long periods of time, with no opportunity to talk about what had happened, even if Scully were so inclined. For every one of the few times she saw John, she found herself completely at a loss for anything to say. This despite the churning in her brain, her adding up of every little sound and gesture, her obsessive ruminating on the possible meaning behind his most innocuous acts. She just clammed up. Once, when John got a look at her eyes, something in them caused his to change as well, to draw back, just a little. But while his jaw got tighter, he seemed comfortable. John, evidently, respected her clamming up. He wasn't pushing. But what annoyed her was that...he didn't seem like he *needed* to talk. Did it mean that little to him? Was it over, as far as he was concerned, had he "gotten it out of his system", for Chrissakes? Every time she saw him, he was - aside from his occasional angry reactions to the case - just fine. Somehow his "fineness" irked her more than anything. All it did was give her more fuel to obsess, and thus more impetus to add up her probable deficiencies, and his possible treacheries. She knew, somewhere in a reasonable part of her, that she was being patently insane. She really wished she could get that realization to matter to the rest of her brain, or her heart. But it was hard, because, although the world's mammoth uncertainty had made it easy to act on impulse who cares what you do when nothing is permanent? it was flogging her now, its cynical insouciance quietly warring with that part of her that wanted more. "Agent Scully?" Huh? Someone was talking to her? Scully looked up to find herself in Skinner's office, to find him and Doggett looking at her expectantly. She realized she'd been asked for her opinion, and had yet to give it. Scully tried, but couldn't process her new location. It was too much to think about, and so she didn't. "I'm sorry, I must have...lost track..." she muttered, with a wave of her hand. Without any explanation, she rose and left the room. Doggett was watching her keenly. Skinner watched Doggett watching Scully. He frowned, evidently frustrated at being unable to figure it all out. Doggett excused himself to Skinner and followed her. John caught up to Dana in the hallway, fell into step with her and after a quick glance at her profile, decided not to speak. They strode back to their office wordlessly, side by side. After a long moment, they were finally alone behind the closed door. He turned to her in the small dark space, his face frustrated but kind. "Talk to me." It was more stern than a request, gentler than a demand. She found herself petulant. "I thought you didn't need to talk." His brow furrowed. "Whaddya mean?" "Well, for the past few days, you haven't said a word to me about...anything that's happened. You've certainly seemed like everything's settled." She hated how she sounded, but couldn't seem to prevent it. Doggett sat against the edge of his desk, looking utterly puzzled. He sighed heavily. "Um...that could be, but...I really don't know if we're on the same page here." She felt utterly frustrated, and flummoxed, about to cry. His face searched hers with an obvious, aching need to soothe, which made her want to cry even more. Then she watched a change happen; she watched him steel himself, almost imperceptibly, while at the same time opening himself up. She saw the message in his eyes: that she could say anything to him, and he could take it. It was the kindest, most selfless transformation Scully had ever witnessed, and she suddenly felt sure that his reserves of strength were bottomless. "Dana," he said softly. "Tell me what you're thinkin'." She was melting now, feeling guilty and ashamed of her huffiness. "Well, I just...I, uh..." Oh, dammit. She'd been given carte blanche to talk, and she couldn't find a starting place. She didn't look at him. She hated her lip for trembling, hated her brain for tangling so. "I just want to know, that..." At last she gave up trying to sound adult and looked him straight in his heartbreaking eyes. Something true blurted out, sounding as small and plaintive as if she were a five-year-old. "I--I just want to know how you feel about me now." Doggett's weathered face looked surprised, then warmed with bemusement, and quiet relief. He looked down, shook his head and chuckled, then raised his head again to look at her, a smile relaxing his features. Scully tingled with a mixture of fear and excitement to realize another fact: his look right now was unmistakably brimming with love. He touched her cheek, his question gently astonished: "How could you not know that?" Scully suddenly didn't understand that herself, as he leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. He pulled back a moment later, and looked at her with so much affection she could scarcely inhale. If she wasn't mistaken and if she was brave enough to trust it the possibility of certainty in the world was gazing back at her. Smiling. She half-breathed, half-laughed out the tension she'd been carrying. Jesus, she was a case - was the idea of someone loving her - and doing so *correctly* - so foreign as to warrant this much transmogrification on her part? A decision was quickly made, as she smiled with him, her eyes brimming in embarrassment and relief. To answer the look in his eyes, for as long as the two of them could make it go. To quit the Kamikazes. To go there. And to do something else, too. Wiping her tears with a furtive hand, she turned from him impulsively and went to the office door. She locked it with a decisive *click*, then faced Doggett again with new smile and a wickedly raised eyebrow. Doggett regarded her with equal parts amusement and if Dana wasn't mistaken a definite fidgeting in his lower half. She took the plunge. "C'mere." ----------- ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "I wouldn't give my troubles to a MONKEY on a ROCK." -- David Letterman