What Hands Do by Mish mish_rose@yahoo.com Classification: M/S UST, some Angst Rating: R, I suppose? Spoilers: Slight one for FTF Summary: "And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand." I think that about covers it. Distribution: Yes, yes, yes. Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully and Fox Mulder are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. If only they were mine...I would be so happy...I would clap my hands... Author's notes at end. What Hands Do I struggle against the acrid smell of smoke and dust; my lungs burn with every labored breath. The vacant eyes in a gray face are staring at me, inches from my own, the skeletal remains embracing me in the confines of the railroad car. "No!" The ghostly specter disappears at my cry. I banish any lingering smell of death away with a frantic sweep of my arms, only to discover I'm trapped still. I open my eyes in the dimness, blinking away the nightmare and the prickly soot. My aching limbs jerk and I can't suppress the moan. Nothing. I can't move. Shit! What the hell have I gotten myself into this time? A quick survey of my surroundings tells me I'm flat on my back in a coffin of debris; entombed in a catacomb of twisted metal and concrete. A pinprick of sunlight filters through a crack in the maze; although it seems to be only inches away, I know somewhere in my rattled mind that we couldn't be so lucky. We? "Scully!" I try to shout, but to my ringing ears it sounds so weak. "Scully, answer me!" Nothing but silence. "Fuck," I mumble, cursing myself for our predicament. It's not enough that I have to drag her all over creation in my blind quest, through swamps and ice and deserts. My uncanny sense of rotten timing also serves to make sure we are in the wrong place at the wrong time, every time. It's Dallas all over again. Only this time in New Orleans. Investigating a sighting of the "Snake Man", a creature conjured up in the imaginations of the locals, too frightened to blame the rash of recent murders on a living, breathing person. Scully and I had been wrapping up our field report today before catching the six o'clock flight back to D. C. We were minutes away from exiting the building through the rear door when all hell broke loose. From the moldy fog still swirling around me, I guess the bomb blast was only minutes ago, and not very far away. I mentally calculate that we are somewhere on the first floor, apparently far enough away from the blast in the front of the building to escape incineration, but not close enough to the rear exit to be in the clear. My memory of the explosion is jumbled, but I remember flying through the air, then nothing. Scully was right beside me in the hallway; she should be close by, dammit. "Scully!" Damn, I'm pinned beneath a steel beam and can't movean inch. It is not totally resting upon my hips; there is about a quarter inch of clearance between the threatening girder and my belt. It may as well have been a mile. My right leg is surely broken, judging from the piercing pain below my knee. With a few deeps breaths I bring the pain down to a tolerable level. A swift assessment of the other parts of my body reveals that, aside from an egg-sized lump on my forehead, I'm basically okay. I remove as much of the litter away from me as I can, until a menacing *creak* stills my hands with a rush of panic. I wait until the debris settles down for another nap, then I call out her name again. "Scully! Dammit, answer me!" The pile of sheetrock and plywood to my left moans with a definite femininity. An FBI agent, doctor, best friend femininity. "Scully?" I pray to a God I don't believe in with all my might. "Mulder?" The faint rasp travels through the hazy air on the backs of the dust motes. I close my eyes for a fraction of a second in relief, then squirm to bring my body closer to that blessed voice. "Mulder, stop!" Scully cries in anguish. I obey instantly. "What? What is it?" I ask, dread clawing at my gut. Scully doesn't answer for a few moments. I can hear her fight for control with a few deep, shaky breaths. So I wait. Her voice comes to me after a while, quiet but stronger. "Is there a girder in your vicinity, Mulder?" she asks. I frown at the offensive piece of metal with disgust, cursing it for keeping me from Scully. "Yeah," I reply, "It's about an inch from unmanning me completely." I answer her breathy laugh with a chuckle. "But at least it's not crushing me. It stopped just short of its goal." "Well, Mulder, I wasn't so lucky." I whip my head to the left, as if by following her voice she would suddenly appear to me through the mountain that separates us. "What?" I demand, imploring her to banish the awful images of an impaled partner from my mind. "Mulder," she begins, "I'm not seriously hurt. But I'm pinned by the same beam that you are, I think." I swallow the fear rising in my throat and force my voice to calm. "Can you move?" "No," Scully says. "Can you?" "No." The frustration is worse than the pain. "You're right, Scully, I think we're trapped by the same girder." I survey the rubble above and to my left; a plaster wall has fallen between us, amazingly still intact. The beam protrudes out from either side of the wall, pinning us in almost identical positions - together, yet apart. "Yeah, Mulder," she agrees. "Just don't move around too much, okay?" Her frightened voice dwindles to a whisper. "I won't, I promise, Scully," I assure her, wishing I could at least see her even if I can't touch her. She's scared. Hell, so am I. "I think my right leg is broken, Scully. Other than that, I'm okay. What about you?" Scully's silence unnerves me. "Scully? You still with me?" "Yeah, Mulder," she says tonelessly. "I'm still here." She pauses for a few seconds. "Well, I can wiggle my toes. That's a good sign, I think." "What else?" Tell me the truth, Scully. "I'm pretty sure my left arm is broken...I - I think that's about it. Other than a monster headache." Join the club, Scully. "Although I'm stuck under this damn thing like you are." Is she being straight with me? "Scully -" "It's nothing, Mulder," she interrupts me quickly. "Just a few bruises." I guess I'll just have to take her word for it. "Snake man, huh?" That's right, Scully. Change the subject. Much as I want to press her for information, I give in and play along. "Yep. Snake man." "Next time, Mulder, I get to choose the case, okay?" My voice lowers with sincerity. "Next time, Scully, I will follow you wherever you want to go." If there even is a next time. I shove that unpleasant conclusion roughly away. "Let's make it the Caymans," she answers. "I don't think the Bureau has an office there." I smile at her levity in the face of our peril. "Sure, Scully," I say, "I'll even take care of the paperwork." "Oooo, Mulder, you know what I like." ********** My eyes open with a start. Some time has passed; whether it's minutes or hours I have no idea. The faint sound of sirens wailing in the distance brings me some comfort, but I know we are in for a long wait. The threat isn't necessarily over. The bomb squad will not allow search and rescue in until they're sure there are no other devices. One consolation - I think we're pretty close to the rear of the building; they should find us fairly quickly. "Scully?" "Yes?" A warm wet trickle of sweat slides from my temple into my ear. Or is it a tear? I bring my left hand up and wipe it away. "How long was I out?" I ask. "Near as I can tell, only about fifteen minutes or so," Scully replies. "Mulder, are you sure you're okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little headache, that's all." I push thoughts of brain damage through the back door of my brain, then lock them up and throw away the key. "How are you doing?" "Not so good." My throat clogs at her whisper. I've never been good at dealing with the pain of loved ones, especially Scully. There just isn't anything I can say to give them comfort; my Oxford education flies right out the window at times like this. Hell, for a psychologist, I'm shitty at *any* kind of personal emotional conversation. Just blow it off and it will go away, that's my motto. But I'll be damned if I run away this time. Scully needs me. "Scully?" I prod, contorting my upper body to move closer to the wall. I pause, waiting for a signal from her that my movements are causing her pain, but there is none. If I could just move a little closer, my hand would touch the wall. "What, Mulder?" God, she sounds so defeated. "Talk to me, Scully. We have to stay alert," I plead. She won't tell me the extent of her injuries, but I have to do something. A gentle sigh drifts to my ears. "Okay, Mulder. What shall we talk about?" I rack my brain for a good diversion; any subject would do. As long as we stay focused. With a little stretch, I'm able to feel the wall. "What do you want to do first when we get to the Caymans?" The second the question is out of my mouth, I cringe at my inadvertent reference to this horrendous situation. Scully seems fine with the question, though, because she answers with a smile in her voice. "I want to walk in the ocean in my bare feet." An image of a sky blue bikini-clad Scully frolicking in the surf with pink-painted toes momentarily eases the pounding in my head. Sea nymph Scully is quickly joined in my fantasy by Speedo Mulder, and things quickly deteriorate into the FBI-agent-on-vacation version of "From Here to Eternity." "Mulder, why are you so quiet?" Scully asks, interrupting my fancy. "I was just picturing you in your black pantsuit, with the cuffs rolled up, tiptoeing through the water," I lie, stifling the urge to groan. "That's funny," she says, "because I see myself in a bikini." I let the groan escape at that statement. "I was always partial to blue." Jesus, Scully, stop it. You're killing me here. "Am I with you?" I can't resist the temptation. "Of course you are, Mulder," she chuckles, then catches her breath. "Oh, I'm getting light-headed..." "Scully -" "I'm okay, Mulder," she says. "It's just -" She breaks off with obvious trepidation. "What?" I can't let it go at that. "Well...you *do* look kind of ridiculous in those baggy trunks." She giggles, as if envisioning me in the brilliant sunlight with the crotch of my swimsuit hanging to my knees. Scully is giggling. Stress tends to bring out the comedian in some people. I decide to test the rapidly warming waters of the Caymans, so to speak. "Speedos, Scully." Her laughter ends abruptly. "Come again?" "You heard me," I say, enjoying our play in spite of the terrible circumstances. "Speedos?" Her voice takes on a husky timbre. "Yeah. Red ones. That's the only suit I own." Take that, my feisty redhead. Scully is silent once more. Have her thoughts taken the same fork in the road that mine have? I venture even further into this uncharted territory. "So...what happens next?" I ask, holding my breath. She appears to give it some serious thought between the sound of our shared breathing. "We swim until the sun sets," she begins, "then drag our asses out of the water and fall to the sand in total bliss. Tired but happy." "That sounds wonderful, Scully," I reply, a vivid picture forming in my mind. "Go on." "That's it." "What?" I demand, unable to believe my ears. "Surely we don't end it there, Scully." I'm not letting her off the hook that easily. "I hadn't thought that far ahead, Mulder." "So, you've given it some thought?" I know she has; getting her to admit it, well... "Oh yeah," she murmurs. "Mostly in the last half hour, Mulder." My heart feels as though it will hammer itself right out of my chest. "Scully, are you sure you're okay?" She wouldn't be speaking this way unless... Scully avoids my question with one of her own. "Mulder, do you have any regrets? About us, I mean," she adds, before I laugh that question right out of the ball park. "Of course, Scully," I reply truthfully. "Many." The first of which is - I should have left her in D.C. this time. "You know what I really regret, Mulder?" God, here it comes. Lay it on me, Scully. I deserve every word. My fist clenches against the wall between us. "What?" "That I never got to kiss you." Whoa. Truth time. I fight the nausea threatening to overtake me and draw a deep breath. I could pretend not to understand her, or tell her that technically, we've kissed - on the forehead, on the cheek. But I don't. "Yeah, I'm kinda sorry about that, too." I inch as close as possible to the wall, until I imagine I can feel the warmth of her. We say nothing for a while, listening to the sounds of confusion and chaos swirl around us. It's no use calling out until I can actually hear voices. I don't want to disturb our precarious wigwam any more than necessary. If I turn my head, I can pretend for just a moment that I can see her. Wait a minute, there's something... It isn't very big, about the size and shape of a loaf of bread. It's about six inches from my waist, the opening in the plaster. I scrape the loose debris away, move my hand into it and brush the fabric of Scully's skirt. It is enough. "Scully?" "Yes?" Her voice is getting weaker with every passing second. "Give me your hand," I say, wiggling my fingers against her hip. "Wha -?" Don't give up on me now, Scully, don't you do it. "Look at your right side, Scully," I order in a stern voice. "See my hand? Put your hand in mine if you can." I almost sob in relief when I feel the hot fingers touch my own. "Now, Scully," I say, "pay attention. Do you understand? Can you hear me?" I bark the last words with military demand. "Yes." My fingertips begin their journey just above her wrist; my voice softens to an intimation. "We'll be standing, Scully. Facing one another... maybe in the office... maybe in your apartment... maybe in the Caymans..." Her reaction comes a beat too late for my liking - a small sigh. "Why aren't we sitting? Why standing?" Ah, that wonderful analytical mind. "Because I say so," I reply with a mock whine. "Just go with it, Scully." "Okay," she agrees in a tiny voice. "I'll look into -" I begin, only to be interrupted once again. "But you're so much taller than me." "Scullee," I warn. Damn, why does she always have to be so contrary? "All right, Mulder. My lips are sealed." Oh, not for much longer, if I can help it. "I'll look into your eyes and trace my fingers along your jaw." My fingernails lightly skim the soft flesh above her wrist and settle upon the ripple of tendons at the joint. "I'll continue down your neck until I can feel your pulse. It will be beating against my rough fingers. I imagine my heart will be pounding just as fast, if not faster." I lightly squeeze the delicate bones of her wrist, dismayed at the slowness of her pulse. But she is still with me, I can feel it in the muscles twitching under my hand. "I'll bring my other hand up to touch your lower lip. I've always wanted to know what it felt like, you know." My thumb glides to the mound below her thumb. Her hand curls slightly in response, arching beneath the caress. "I think to myself... it's the softest spot, Scully. I used to think your cheek was the softest thing I'd ever felt... but this... this is the absolute softest thing in the world." She moans, a low, guttural sound that twists my insides into jelly. "My face lowers... your eyelids drop, but don't close. You want to see everything, just like I do." My palm slides out from under Scully's resting hand to hover above it, the heat mingling in the dusty confines between them. "Just as our lips begin to meet, my tongue decides it has a mind of its own. It darts out to taste your upper lip..." She jerks when my middle finger lowers to her palm, tracing the life line in a delicate tickle. "Oh, Scully... I think I've died and gone to heaven... it tastes like..." My fingernail scrapes from the base of her hand in a slow meander before it's joined by the rest of my fingers at the base of her slender digits. "Creamy coffee... spearmint... and maybe... sunflower seeds? Have you been stealing my seeds, Scully?" A small guilty laugh is her only answer. I knew it. My fingers complete the journey together until the pads rest upon hers, steepling our hands. "But it's not enough... your lips part... my head turns in reply..." I move my hand away for a second - "And my mouth lowers to yours." Then I clasp her hand, palm to palm. Her hand curls around mine, the fragile fingers clenching and unclenching with furious strength. My bruised knuckles strain with effort and feeble attempts at dominance. We skirmish in this as we do in other things - it shouldn't be any other way. After a while I give in to Scully and slacken my grip, content to take on the role of the vanquished in this power struggle. "After a while, it becomes slower, more natural... we feel, not fight..." My fingers entwine with hers, my thumb lingering across the back of her hand. She responds in kind, gently soothing the marks her nails have made on the back of my hand. "It goes on and on... we don't want to stop... we can't stop..." I squeeze her hand with determined assurance. "Soon, Scully... I promise... we will let lips do as hands do." I close my eyes and silently thank Mr. Shakespeare for such profound words. With a small twitch, Scully's hand falls away from mine. "Scully?" End Part One What Hands Do Part Two Disclaimers, etc. in part one Oh my God. I can't hold on to Mulder's hand - mine relaxes in almost orgasmic relief. That was probably the single most erotic experience of my life. My heart is pounding and I can't seem to draw a breath, much less speak. I guess I really should make the effort, though. Mulder is practically shouting through the wall, grasping at my skirt with frantic fingers. "Scully! Can you hear me?" His groping hand punctuates every word. "Goddammit, answer me!" "I'm okay, Mulder," I whisper with as much strength as I can muster. He grips my forearm with a trembling hand, then slackens his death grip at my hiss. "Watch it, Mulder," I say,"I have enough bruises already." "Sorry, Scully," he apologizes, soothing my arm. "You scared me for a second." His shaky voice betrays his concern through his short chuckle. "I thought I'd overdone it." I reach up to curl my fingers around his wrist and feel his racing pulse. "Oh no, Mulder, you didn't overdo it. That was just right." Damn straight it was. I'll never look at our hands the same way again. He moves his hand to rest lightly upon mine again. "It was?" God, he's so insecure. "Yeah, Mulder. Perfect," I reply huskily. "Now it's my turn." Whoa - where did that come from? My tenuous hold on common sense must have disappeared with the plywood and plaster walls of this building. The muscles in his arm jerk in response to my statement. "What?" "You heard me, Mulder." I can't believe I'm speaking this way to Mulder, of all people. Granted, I've often thought of him in *that* way - I don't know of any woman in our spheere that hasn't. But circumstances have forced us to keep our distance. But now, in this ominous cave of debris, I figure, what the hell - may as well seize the moment. Mulder certainly decided to dive in the deep end of the pool a few minutes ago. I may as well join him. Sans bikini. One thought reverberates in my pounding skull like a death knell. We may never get out of here alive. That settles it. I twist his arm to settle gently under mine and move away with a brush of my fingers in his palm. His swiftly indrawn breath imbues me with a surge of confidence. "Scully -" he begins. "No, Mulder," I admonish him gently. "You only speak when I say you can." Like I could ever shut him up totally. Fat chance. "Okay." Wow. Mulder hasn't capitulated that easily in years. I close my eyes and draw a calming breath. Here goes. "So we've kissed. An absolutely devastating kiss...one for the record books." He laughs; I can picture him, lying there with a loopy grin. I smile in anticipation. He is gonna *love* this. My fingers touch his shirt sleeve - what? Oh yeah, he left his jacket in the car, complaining of the heat and humidity. He is *definitely* gonna love this. "I'm out of breath... you stole my breath away, Mulder. It's all I can do to keep from collapsing in your arms..." "Scully -" I pinch his arm through the sleeve. "Quiet, Mulder. I want to concentrate." "Yes, ma'am," he says earnestly. I continue, savoring the feel of the damp cotton shirt under my touch. "We sway silently in our darkened office... did I tell you I'd decided on the office, Mulder?" "No," he croaks in reply. "Well, I did. After hours, of course. We're all alone." I can hear him breathe heavily in the confines of our temporary prison; each give and take of air synchronizes with my own. "I breathe in your scent through your shirt, Mulder... it's warm and heavy... like summer rain, moist and earthy." My hand plays with the button on the cuff of his shirt. I slip it free in an instant. "But it's not enough. I want to touch you Mulder... I *need* to feel your skin..." His arm jerks at the slide of my fingers under the shirt sleeve. "So I slowly undo every button that stands in my way... and the cloth finally falls away..." It takes some time, but I finally have his shirt sleeve pushed up as far as it can go. "And I bury my lips into the hollow at the base of your beautiful neck..." My thumb dips into the tender crook of his elbow, causing his arm to buck. "Shhh, keep still now," I whisper. "Let me touch you..." With my thumb occupied, I fold my fingers around his arm until I encounter the rough skin of his elbow. "Your head leans back... I caress the stubble on your jaw with my hands... all the while murmuring my desire for you into that perfect place..." "Yesss..." he mutters, then quickly remembers when I scratch the hair on his arm with my nails. "Sorry. Guess I got carried away." "That's okay. Carried away is good. Let me take you as far from this place as possible." He's tense with anticipation; I can feel it in the tightened muscles of his arm. The words continue to escape from me. "I linger at your neck, tasting your skin with my tongue... mmmm, salty, yes, but there's something else... Mulder, you bad boy. You've been using my hand lotion again, haven't you?" I go through a bottle a week - who else could it be? He chuckles. "Scully, you know how sensitive I am to shaving. Razor burn is a killer." "It's all right, Mulder. I like it. Aloe vera and coconut oil... it suits you." Man, does it ever. Tarzan!Mulder. I can dig it. I giggle at my foolishness. It's getting *way* too hot in here. My skin is on fire - I wonder if Mulder can feel the heat of it through my fingertips. Oh, I'd love a glass of cool water right now... "Scully?" "Yeah?" "Don't stop now." As if I would. As if I could. "Okay, Mulder," I sigh, flipping the page in my mind back to Mulder instead of a long, tall, drink of water. Mulder or water? Water or Mulder? Definitely Mulder. "Where were we? Oh yes..." My fingers tiptoe down his arm, pinching here, tweaking there. "My mouth travels down your chest... learning every curve, every dip, every ripple..." His pulse rises impatiently under my touch. "You have the body of an athlete, Mulder. Not an ounce of excess flesh... all muscle and sinew... smooth and defined... golden brown and oh, so warm... I could worship you all day..." Ah, there it is. "But I have a definite destination in mind..." His watchband is tricky, but that's only because *I'm* working with less than nimble fingers. "I undo your belt buckle, Mulder... followed by the button on your pants... God, my fingers are clumsy... they're shaking... you offer to help but I want to do it myself... at last your zipper cooperates..." His watch is no longer an obstacle. "Ah, Mulder... the skin here... well, it's... I can't explain it... it twitches under my caress, inviting me to explore - so I do." My hand mimics the journey his took moments ago, my nails scraping gently in his palm. I am rewarded with a languid moan. "Oh, Scully, you're killing me here..." I know. And he's loving every minute of it. "I soothe the mark made by the elastic of your boxers... I'm so angry... they're in the way... keeping me from my goal..." My fantasy world suddenly turns upside down. I try to shut my mouth around the gasp, to no avail. "Scully?" Damn, he picks up on every little thing. I ignore the impending swoon and Mulder's concern. "I'm okay, I'm okay," I breathe, willing my swirling senses to settle. I open my eyes and focus on the steady shaft of sunlight above me. Miraculously, the world shifts back into place . I say a silent thank you to the Almighty and continue. "Ah, they finally slide over your hips." His arm relaxes; he's mine once again. "Then I fall to my knees before you, Mulder - you are my idol, my Adonis... I can't help myself... I *must* touch you..." My fingers creep towards his, until they find his slender, callous-roughened index finger. It stiffens immediately when I run a nail along its length. "You're so hard, Mulder... I stare in fascination at my hand around you, thinking that I must... I must have you in my mouth... now, Mulder - now..." I embrace his finger in the firm grip of mine, alternately squeezing and stroking. "Scullee - " He's panting now. I realize with wonder that I am, too. "Mulder, you taste so good... I can't get enough... I take as much of you in as I can... your hand cradles my head gently... you could never be rough with me, Mulder..." His free fingers wrap around my wrist gently, holding my hand firmly in place, the thumb urging me on with a steady caress. "Oh Scully... yes, yes, yes," he chants. Damn, I wish I could see his face. "I look up at you, Mulder... your eyes are closed... your lips parted... head thrown back... I love watching you..." My eyes close; the vision of Mulder in ecstasy floats before my eyelids. Heaven, sheer heaven. "It doesn't seem possible... but you grow larger, Mulder, in my mouth... expanding... you're almost there..." I can almost taste him. I can almost smell him. And, judging from the grunts coming from the other side of this wall, he's totally lost in this world we've created, too. "Come for me, Mulder... that's it... come..." "Hello! Can anybody hear me?" The shout comes from several feet beyond the pile of rubble behind us. It takes a second to penetrate my sex-soaked brain. Jesus... oh, Jesus, what am I doing? I quickly release Mulder's hand and bring my trembling hand to my mouth, my silent prayer of thanks lost in the rush of sensation that is robbing me of speech. "Hello!" The voice is insistent. Dammit, I should say something, but my fist crams the words back into my mouth. "We're here!" Mulder shouts in a raspy cry. Thank God he has his wits about him. "Over here!" I feel a draft of fresh air; they must have opened a hole somewhere, but I can't see it. "You alone, buddy?" The voice comes from the other side of Mulder. "No," he answers. "My partner is on the other side of this wall. We're trapped by this beam." "Any injuries?" Mulder quickly details our injuries to the rescuer, telling him we're basically fine, just unable to move. He tells Mulder they'll be right back with something to move the girder, then leaves us. "Scully?" Mulder's hand gropes for mine through the hole. I don't know if I can answer him. What was I thinking? He finds the fabric of my skirt and grips it in white-knuckled desperation. "Scully - answer me, please." I swallow my dread and regain a modicum of composure. "I'm here, Mulder," I whisper, reaching for his hand. He grasps it like a lifeline. "It's okay, Scully. We're gonna be okay." "I know, Mulder, I know." What the *fuck* was I thinking? "Scully?" "Yes," I whisper, wishing I could melt into the concrete floor. "I know what you're thinking." Yes, I'm sure he does. "And I don't want you to regret this. Please don't regret this." My regrets were what started this mess. "We can't go back, Scully," he says. "But we can go forward." He squeezes my hand in reassurance. "Trust me, Scully." "I do, Mulder." That much is true. I don't know about going forward from here, though. That scares me worse than the recent prospect of our deaths. He sighs at the sound of debris being carefully pulled away from us. "Then listen to me," he says quietly. Embarrassment tugs at my hand, but he refuses to let go. "Listen." His fingers soothe mine into acquiescence. "Every time you look at me with worry you kiss me." Have I been that obvious? Surely not. "Every time you agree with me you kiss me." A laugh rumbles through me. "*That's* not very often," I concede. The smile in his voice answers my own. "That's what makes it special." Indeed it does. "Mulder-" I begin, but he continues. "Every time you smile at me you kiss me. You're smiling now, aren't you?" "Yes," I whisper. "Does it feel like a kiss?" I close my eyes and savor the stretch and pull of my lips. They slowly open, baring my teeth in a full-fledged grin. Amazing. "Yes." "Every time you growl my name you kiss me... those are the most passionate, you know." Anger and passion. Mulder and I have tasted these things on a daily basis, I realize. "I know," I reply, urging him on with a squeeze of my hand. "When you touch my brow in yet another hospital room... or grab my knee on an airplane... or hold my arm to keep me from rushing head first into trouble... you kiss me." A thousand memories flood my mind. He's absolutely right. "I don't care if our lips ever meet, Scully," he whispers brokenly. "Just don't ever deny me the touch of your hand, okay?" "Oh, Mulder - I never will," I reply, tears clogging my throat. "Give me time, Mulder, and I promise... our lips will do what hands do." My hand curls around his in a solemn kiss. "I'll be waiting," he whispers, returning the kiss. We silently listen to the voices crawl closer. Freedom is fast approaching. "Scully?" "Yes?" "I know this sounds ridiculous, but I wish we had a little more time in here," he says. "No, it's not ridiculous," I reply, "I feel the same way." "Oh, I doubt it, Scully." "Why?" "Let's just say those firemen are in for a big shock when they lift up this beam..." END Author's notes: I am thoroughly enjoying the excellent smut appearing on the newsgroup this summer. I toyed with the idea of jumping into the NC-17 genre, and this was the result. Oh well, I tried... You know, hands are very useful tools . Teach them to send feedback! Hope you enjoyed your journey through my imagination! If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.