Tell Me I'm Not Your Her: Ending 6

And then she heard the word that transformed her universe -- irrevocably, eternally.

"Lisa?"

His eyes, oh God, his eyes -- shock, at first, then dawning realization, spreading across his face like the warm glow of sunrise, lighting him up from the inside.

"It's you," he whispered. "It is you."

Her lips parted; she tried to speak, and couldn't.

Slowly, he rose from his chair, coming toward her -- slowly, as if he feared she might panic and flee at any sudden move -- frozen in place, she couldn't move; and then his arms reached out for her and she fell into them with a soft moan.

"It's you," she heard him say, "you are my 'her'; oh, God, Scully..." and his lips brushed against her forehead, her face, small fervent kisses like a gentle spring rain on her skin.

She reached up and pulled his head down into a passionate kiss; he yielded to her insistence, then took over with an urgency of his own, tongue probing her mouth as if he couldn't get enough of her, arms crushing her against him so tightly that she could barely breathe... and she loved it, every glorious moment of it: the taste of his mouth, the feel of being crushed in his arms, it was everything she'd longed for.

But she wanted to see him, wanted to look into his eyes and know that it was really true; and so she fought her way free of the embrace, and the kiss -- rested her hands on his shoulders and gazed up into his eyes, drinking in the emotion written so clearly in them.

She opened her mouth to say the words, but he beat her to it: "I love you, Scully," and the sound of his voice shaping the syllables turned her insides to liquid.

"Mulder," she whispered, "I love you," and melted into his arms, feeling them tighten around her again, savoring the sensation as she had never savored anything before in her life.

With her head resting against his chest, she could hear his heart pounding fiercely, eloquent testimony to the intensity of his feelings -- as if she needed the confirmation. "This is real, isn't it?" he murmured into her hair. "I'm not dreaming..."

It was too perfect a lead-in; her hand moved downward from his waist and pinched him on the ass, hard.

"Ow!" came the inevitable response, surprised and delighted; and she giggled.

Her head tilted back as she looked up at him; he gazed back at her with unmitigated tenderness. "I didn't believe that you could love me," he said simply, in a voice that brought tears to her eyes. "I knew that you couldn't be Lisa, because that would be too happy an ending..."

"Sometimes," Scully said, and had to pause to clear her throat, for she was choking up, "sometimes, Mulder, even people like you and I get happy endings," and his hands smoothed along her hair, cupping her face, cherishing her with that gentle touch.

The second kiss was less ferocious, but no less passionate; she lost herself in it, yielding happily to the sensation, and to him. His arousal was evident as she pressed up against him -- she let her arms fall to his hips, pulled him even closer, and felt the small strangled moan rise from his throat at the contact.

He broke off the kiss, and she noted absently that he'd started to sweat. "If you don't mind," he said, in an almost conversational tone, "I'd like to make love to you."

She glanced around the office. "Here?"

"Now," said Mulder, in the same calm voice; but his eyes were smoldering passion, dark and feverish and gazing into hers with a look that said that she was the sexiest woman in the world, bar none.

It was insane, it was unprofessional, it would definitely be uncomfortable -- five years, it had taken them, to get to this moment, and he was so hard that it must've hurt, and her panties were drenched and sticky; she weighed the two sets of facts in the space of half a second and made the inevitable choice. "Sure," she said, in a tone as falsely casual as his.

Mulder grinned at her, drew her close and kissed her again -- his hands moved, at the small of her back, not fumbling at all but purposeful: a button, a zipper, and her skirt slid down her hips and fell to the floor. One less layer of fabric between them; she could feel his hard-on pressing insistently into her, wondered absently if his pants zipper would survive the onslaught intact -- then rational thought took an abrupt vacation as his hand moved beneath the waistband of her pantyhose and panties, between her legs, fingers probing the heated folds of flesh to the sensitive nub at the heart of her own arousal.

Her legs nearly buckled beneath her; she felt his free arm tighten around her as she clung to him for support. "Mulder," she breathed.

"Oh, God," he murmured, "say my name like that again," and his fingers moved against her, establishing a smooth rhythm that was better than anything her own hands had ever managed to achieve -- maybe because they were his hands, and imagination had been no substitute for this -- and she was helpless to resist, even if she'd entertained any random notion of doing so; the pleasure was incredible.

"Mulder," she moaned, and felt him shudder.

With what fragmented vestiges of conscious thought remained, she managed to get her fingers to cooperate: they found the swelling bulge straining against his fly, stroked experimentally -- and the sound that emanated from his throat, a soft hoarse cry akin to a whimper, brought her nearly to the brink of orgasm. "Scully, I don't have a whole lot of control here," he said plaintively, his voice conveying so much: touch me, don't touch me, don't stop, I want you so much I can hardly stand it... It amazed her that sound could be so erotic, as much of a turn-on as his skilled fingers; it made her desperate for the feel of that aching cock inside her.

"So come on, already," she said impatiently, and pulled him closer to the desk.

Kissing her, stroking her, he eased her back onto its surface... "Ow," she said.

"What?"

"Stapler," and he reached behind her, removed the offending object from the small of her back and set it aside.

"Ow," she said again, a half-instant later.

"What?!"

"Tape dispenser," she murmured breathlessly.

His hand groped, found it, tossed it to the far end of the room; there was a small crash, and a thud. "We have too many office supplies," he noted.

"Agreed," she said, fell back against the desk. "Ow," as her head hit the hard surface with an audible noise; and laughed, at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

She heard his laughter joining hers, opened her eyes to his face, filled with amusement and limitless affection, and those passion-dark eyes gazing into hers. "You okay, Scully?"

"Shut up and make love to me," she said, and he smiled.

Swiftly, his hands unfastened belt and waistband and fly- zipper; she heard him sigh at the last, as the too- confining fabric released its prisoner -- and took a moment to enjoy the view. She'd seen him naked before, but never under these circumstances, and what had been nicely-proportioned in its normal resting state was truly impressive in its current state of readiness for what it had been made to do.

He noticed her gaze; she saw him blush faintly. "It's not polite to stare," he chided her lightly.

"Works of art were meant to be appreciated," she countered, and delighted in the way his flush deepened.

It took a little time, and a bit of effort and repositioning ("Ow." "What?" "Keyboard." <thud>) but finally he was there with her, on top of the desk, nestled in her arms and between her legs, hardness rubbing lightly against her pulsing skin, poised and ready. "Scully," he said softly, and the emotion in the voice was as good as a caress. "'Lisa'. You are my 'her'. Dreams do come true..." And his eyes, oh God, she could read so much in his eyes: all the love she'd ever longed to see there, everything she'd ever needed to know.

"Mulder," she whispered, "I love you so much," and he bent his head for a lingering kiss; then he moved to enter her, and she reached between them and guided him home.

It was incredible, just as she'd imagined it would be.

They were both so aroused that she knew it wouldn't last long, but for the time it did last, it was amazing -- like a match striking and igniting and flaring to life, the friction of his first thrust brought her to a swift sharp climax, and that was the first time it had ever happened so quickly for her. He managed to wait it out, slowing his pace to the barest hint of movement until her spasms subsided, though she suspected that the effort was nearly unbearable for him -- and the second thrust brought her right back to the edge, as if she'd never left, emotional desire combining with physical arousal to produce an effect beyond all rational expectations. She'd never thought of herself as 'loud', but she heard herself emitting cries of ecstasy that shaped themselves into his name; she'd never heard him in the throes of passion before, but found that she could tell, just by listening to his moans, how close he was to orgasm. Right on the verge, but holding back, not wanting it to end, holding back imminent explosion as the feeling grew more intense -- and she could tell how intense, by the sounds he made -- felt her second climax approaching, felt herself hovering suddenly on the agonizing edge of explosion, then falling blissfully into pleasure as his hoarse, shuddering cry of passion echoed in her ears: her name, tumbling from his lips, as his own climax overwhelmed him.

He all but fell onto her, as the force of it drained him and left him spent; he was heavy, and she could barely breathe, and she didn't mind one bit.

"Bet hugging your Pooh-bear never felt this good," she teased gently, tousling his sweaty hair.

"Nothing ever felt this good," Mulder sighed, nuzzling her neck, planting a kiss there. He roused himself somewhat, shifting position to take some of his weight off her... "Ow!"

"What?"

"Thumbtack," and he shifted again, showed her his elbow.

She winced at the sight of the bright green plastic, and the sharp metal spike securely embedded in his flesh. "Ow," she said sympathetically, and pulled out the offending object; he drew in a quick, sharp breath of pain.

"We need a better desk," he decided, repositioning himself yet again, fingers finding and toying with the small gold cross she wore. "Something built for fucking. Bigger, and maybe padded..."

"I'd like to see you put in a requisition for that," she said, smiling.

"Dare me to?" he inquired mischievously, and Scully laughed.

After a few moments, he managed to clamber off the desk, and stand -- an effort hampered severely by the pants still tangled around his ankles -- stood still for a few moments, as if testing his ability to remain upright, then offered Scully a hand. She took it, and shortly stood beside him, though her back protested severely; she looked at him, naked from waist to calf as she was, and repressed a grin. "We should get dressed," she mentioned.

"We should," he agreed, bent over to pull up his pants, and nearly fell over.

Replacing the clothing they'd wrenched out of place was more of a task than expected -- Scully took one look at her pantyhose, decided that they were beyond redemption, and simply stripped them off, tossing them into the trash. A second thought made her retrieve them, and tuck them into her purse instead: less evidence to be discovered. Her panties were in better shape, but too damp to be comfortable; she rolled those up and placed them in her purse as well. A handful of tissues and a little clothes- straightening later, and she felt almost respectable -- though she suspected that her face held a tell-tale glow of sated passion, and knew for a fact that her hair was an all-out mess. Ah, well; it was after-hours, and no one but the cleaning staff to witness her disarray, at that.

She studied the papers that had been under her during their brief interlude. "These notes are useless," she muttered.

Mulder -- pants zipped up, but otherwise as disheveled as she was -- reached past her, picked up one damp and sticky sheet of paper, and scrutinized it closely. "I can almost read some of it," he announced. "It smells like you, though."

"Now we're going to have to start from scratch," she pointed out, trying to sound annoyed and failing.

He shrugged, looking unrepentant. "It was worth it," he responded.

"Yes, it was," she agreed, without a moment's hesitation.

His hand slipped into hers, holding it, and she smiled.

'Mark'

'Lisa'

After arriving at work over an hour late, both of them sat in Skinner's office, looking properly contrite and managing not to smirk or giggle as they were thoroughly chewed out for not having that report ready.

And then they took a long, long, long lunch break.

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