Shocking Blue II
- Shocking Blue II
- by Karen Matheson
- Rating: NC-17
- Spoilers: Gethsemane
- Keywords: Sk/Sc
- Summary: Scully tries to make peace with Skinner, who has other ideas
on his mind.
- Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the television program
"The X Files" are the creations and property of Chris Carter,
Fox Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have been used without
permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
- Author's note: thanks to Red Valerian for haranguing me about finally
sitting down and writing this damn sequel. And, of course, thanks to Stephanie,
my main editor, who forgives my trespasses against Shipperdom.
- Warning: this story is NC-17, so if you are under 18, ske-daddle, young-uns!
- Feedback (please!): firstname.lastname@example.org Please put 'To Karen'
in subject line.
- "Scully? It's me."
- "Where are you?"
- "Why --?"
- "I wanted to see the coast."
- "Anything wrong with the Atlantic?"
- "Too many memories."
- "I miss you."
- "I'll call again. I just wanted to hear your voice."
- The line goes dead and another piece of me dies with it. I've always
been independent, but three months of sharing my life and bed with Mulder
have changed me forever, and not all for the better. Even his absence anchors
me, defining me by what I am not. I am Without Mulder. It's been three
weeks since he left me. Left without a word. But he didn't need to say
anything. I knew. I always know what he's thinking, even if there's nothing
I can do to convince him that he's wrong.
- And this time, I'm not sure that he is.
- It's 11 pm on a Saturday night. Normal people are curled up on the
couch watching TV or out dancing or some silly-ass thing. I'm standing
outside my boss's apartment, trying to work up the courage to knock. I
know this is insane. But I'm desperate. And there's no one else to turn
- I've barely seen him in the months since "it" happened. In
part, because I was truly too embarassed to face him, but also because
of Mulder. Even when the two of us were called to Skinner's office (hardly
a rare occurrence, even before), my partner would insist on going alone.
And he would return alone, with never a word said about the AD's reaction
to my absence. Occasionally Skinner and I would run into each other in
the hall. He always seemed startled to see me, which in itself was odd.
But then that open, almost vulnerable expression would melt into something
else, something penetrating and dark. It never failed to take my breath
away. Then he would brush by me as I continued shakily down the hall. Back
to the basement bunker where my one true love awaited.
- So why did I keep dreaming of another man?
- Now, my hand hangs in the air, poised above the polished ebony wood.
A shadow falls over me and I jump, turning to face the figure. Collar turned
up, hands stuffed in the pockets of his long black coat, Skinner looms
over me like a vulture.
- "What are you doing here?" He rasps, his voice unnaturally
thick. His dark, intense gaze demands answers. My lips purse -- an old
nervous habit -- as I try to formulate a reply.
- "I need to speak to you, Sir."
- He says nothing, merely cocking his head slightly, one corner of his
mouth jerking up in an imitation of a smile.
- When did he start to hate me?
- "I'm sorry to come by so late, Sir," I murmur as he leans
past me to unlock the door.
- "Any earlier and you wouldn't have found me home, Agent Scully."
He pushes the door open with one arm, standing on the threshold and motioning
for me to precede him into the dark apartment.
- The door closes softly behind us. For a moment we stand motionless
in the shadows. The lights of the city spill in through the French doors
of the balcony. I can hear him breathing. His eyes are boring into the
back of my skull. Then he reaches past me to switch on a lamp and the moment
passes. Thank God.
- The apartment is as cold and austere as its occupant. Skinner shrugs
off his topcoat and suit jacket and throws them on a chair, pulling angrily
at his tie as he strides to the small kitchen.
- "Care for a drink?"
- "I won't be staying long."
- "Mind if I indulge?" The fridge opens, ice falls noisily
into a glass. Liquid pouring.
- "Of course not, Sir. It's your home."
- "Yes. It is." Standing in the doorway to the kitchen, one
hand thrust in a pants pocket, the other bringing the glass of amber liquid
to his lips. His eyes gleaming.
- I exhale and walk to the windows, pretending to admire the view.
- "I'm sorry to disturb you, Sir, but I need to discuss some things
- "This couldn't have waited till Monday?"
- "No," I reply, eyes briefly returning to him, then glancing
away quickly. "Were you in the office today?"
- He looks questioningly at me, then down at himself. "Ah, the suit.
Yes, I was in meetings. Jeans and a T-shirt just don't cut it when you're
trying to avoid a screwing from the higher-ups." The bitterness in
his voice feels like an accusation.
- He crosses to the couch, oddly graceful for a man his size, sits and
throws one arm casually across the back. "After a 14-hour day of private
meetings, I needed a drink."
- "This was a bad idea. I can speak to you on Monday." I move
toward the door.
- "Stop. Right. There."
- I freeze in my tracks, immobilized by his voice.
- "Please...say what you've come to say." His tone is carefully
neutral but there is something flashing in those opaque eyes. Head tilted
slightly back, observing me as I would an interesting specimen under a
- My nerves are raw, adrenaline screaming for me to flee this potentially
dangerous situation. I came to plead my case, but the tension in the air
is clouding my brain. "I have to talk to you...about what happened.
And about Mulder," I blurt out.
- He deflates slightly, lowering his head and taking another drink.
- "Where is he?" He asks emotionlessly.
- "I don't know, Sir. He's called me a few times, but...he refuses
to say when -- or if -- he's coming back."
- "He has a lot of vacation time built up. But eventually, I'm going
to run out of excuses for him." Resignation -- and resentment -- in
- "I know Sir, and I appreciate, more than I can say, you covering
for him. Especially considering Mulder's attitude to you of late."
- Skinner grimaces. "I know I'm not his favourite person,"
he replies tersely.
- "I left a lot of things unsaid between us, Sir. I should have
done this a long time ago, right after it happened. It wasn't fair of me,
it was all my fault that it happened, and then to just pretend it hadn't...I
can understand if you hate me for that."
- Skinner looks up at this, incredulity and -- pain, I think -- softening
his steely gaze. "Hate you?"
- "I really screwed things up for all of us. I was in pain, and
all I did was bring about more pain." I pace about the room, unable
to stand still. "I brought needless conflict into your life, I gave
Mulder an irresistible excuse to doubt himself...Maybe there's nothing
I can ever do to reassure Mulder, but I can at least apologize to you."
- "Apologize." Skinner considers his drink. "Sure. That's
just what I want."
- "At any rate...the other thing I need to ask you -- Mulder...left,
because he couldn't handle everything's that's happened between us...the
three of us. I tried to reassure him, and I thought he believed me. But
all the while...I think this has been eating at him."
- Skinner glowers in my direction, the rest of his face carefully schooled
to reveal nothing.
- "And how am I supposed to help him?"
- This is the hard part. The part that brought me here, in the vain hope
that if I couldn't reach Mulder, maybe the man who unwittingly stalks his
nightmares could. "If I could tell him that you...and I...if I could
tell him that you know what happened was a mistake, that it will never
happen again, that he has nothing to fear..."
- A short bark of laughter. "If I could tell him that, don't you
think I would have by now?"
- And there it is. Naked between us. The truth, but not the one Mulder
and I have been searching for. No, this truth is dark and moist, seductively
hiding beneath the polite veneers of our desperate attempts at denial.
Waiting for a moment like this to ooze between the chinks of our armour,
to wrap itself around our fragile human resistance and drag us to our knees.
- Skinner puts the drink on the coffee table before him. A subtle change
has come over him, and the air in the room is suddenly charged with heat.
His large frame seems to ripple with barely restrained energy, making him
look much like one of the great cats, a lion perhaps, about to pounce on
its helpless prey. He removes his glasses.
- I stand, frozen, the 10 feet between us seemingly melting away as the
heat of his naked gaze reaches for me.
- "I think I'd better go..." I move for the door again, but
this time he stands, blocking my way.
- One word, stabbing me through the heart, the blade moving deeper down,
brushing tantalizingly against my buried secrets. I can't stand this. Arms
clutched protectively in front of me, I turn once more toward the window,
walking toward it until my forehead is pressed up against the cold glass.
- Seventeen floors below me, ribbons of light from night-time traffic
ebb and flow. Snow is falling. It's beautiful outside. I glance up and
see Skinner's reflection in the glass. He unbuttons his cuffs, rolling
them up slowly. His large, blunt fingers move to his tie. The silk knot
is slowly unwound. His eyes lock with mine in the reflecting glass. Almost
imperceptibly, he is moving forward. Toward me. Now the scrap of fabric
that so ubiquitously adorns his throat is gone, tossed aside carelessly.
The top button of his crisp white shirt is opened. Then the next. And the
next. His movements are slow and steady, unhurried, his face a frighteningly
- I shudder and clutch my arms tighter, fingers digging into my biceps,
the slight pain reassuring me that this is real and not a fantasy. Unable
to move, unable to run.
- I want this. And that terrifies me.
- He's right behind me now. Hot, whiskey-breath burning the nape of my
neck. I can still leave. He won't force me. As long as he doesn't touch
- But he does. Huge hands cover my own, the thick, rough digits lightly
caressing the smoothness of my skin.
- His voice rumbles in my ear. "I can't lie to Mulder...or myself...or
you, any longer." His hands inching up my arms, toward my throat.
Loosely circling my neck, then pulling me back against him. Oh my God,
the heat. So hot. So hard. Unbidden, my body loosens and my head falls
back against his chest. A growling chuckle escapes his lips as he turns
my face back toward his.
- "Tell me you don't want me." Low, commanding voice.
- "I...can't...do this -- Mulder--"
- The hard, cruel line of his mouth descends, wiping out all thought,
all resistance. One hand on my chin, holding my face against his as his
tongue slips past my defences and claims me, a deep moan signalling my
surrender. The other hand travelling down my throat, tracing the path of
my gold chain, dipping below the tiny cross to the valley between my breasts.
Undoing the top button of my V-neck sweater as I sigh and sway against
the implacable column of his body.
- He breaks the kiss and still holding me by the chin, turns my face
back toward the mirror. "Mulder doesn't *love* you..." His voice
and tongue slither past my ear. "He *worships* you. You're an unreachable,
unknowable goddess to his ever-reaching acolyte. He doesn't believe that
he was ever meant to have you...that he *deserves* to have you. And then...to
find his untouchable goddess could be less than perfect...could be human..."
- Why is he being so cruel? Why is he torturing me with these truths
and half-truths I don't want to hear? I sob and look away. He turns my
face back to the glass.
- "But I accept you...and celebrate you...in all your incarnations.
The tough-as-nails agent. The compassionate doctor. The grieving lover.
The wanton." With this last word the hand at the base of my throat
slips under my sweater and bra, cupping a swollen breast. I gasp as the
coarse pad of his thumb brushes the nipple, the sensitive bud stiffening
under the rough caress. "Especially the wanton," he breathes.
- "Oh God..." I manage to whisper as his fingers return to
the business of unbuttoning my sweater. I am trapped by my own passions,
needing him to take me as surely as I have ever needed anything, a wanton
in every sense of the word...
- The sweater slips to the floor. I watch in the reflection. My head
is thrown back, eyes glazed. His hands move up to my breasts, squeezing
them hard. A spasm of lust shoots through me like electricity. Then my
bra is gone, but his hands don't return to where I want them. They grip
my arms near the elbows, pulling me back roughly against him, forcing me
to expel a huge gulp of air. I can feel his erection against my lower back
and ass. In the window's reflection, I can see the determination in his
eyes. I see myself, exposed, restrained...
- "I waited for you," he whispers, lowering his head to where
my shoulder meets my neck, kissing and biting. "And now you've come
- "That's not why I came." I don't want to remember why I came.
I don't want reality to intrude on this incredible, dangerous fantasy.
- Gently, but firmly, he turns me to face him.
- "But it's why you'll stay..."
- I meet his eyes. And nod. I brace my palms against the solid heat of
his body. My fingers move to the remaining buttons of his shirt as he regards
me grimly. Soon, the vast expanse of muscle and power that is his chest
is exposed to me. I run my hands over the crinkly hair and tiny, puckered
nipples, trembling with desire.
- He stands motionless, allowing me to undress him, his face still unreadable.
He doesn't even flinch when my hand brushes over the bulge in his charcoal-grey
dress pants as I reach to undo his belt. But I do.
- Then his hands fly up to grasp my wrists, imprisoning me yet again.
A small cry escapes my lips.
- What does he want from me? Sex? Love? Or revenge?
- And does it matter?
- "You first," he hisses, ripping at the button and zipper
of my slacks. Before I can do more than gasp, he falls to his knees in
front of me, yanking the garment and my panties down my trembling thighs
and calves. I can only watch, unable to assist or hinder him in his quest.
Impatiently, he lifts my feet out of the shackles of cloth, tearing off
my shoes and white cotton socks as he goes. My rubbery legs refuse to support
me and I lean forward, grasping his broad shoulders for balance. Standing
over him like this, exposed, is so desperately exciting I can barely breath,
let alone stand.
- The clothing tossed away, Skinner presses his face into me, tracing
my inner thighs with feathery kisses and teasing nips. Groaning, I press
my hands to the smoothness of his scalp. Too soon, he stops and returns
to his feet.
- Now, head slightly bowed, I stand naked before him. He strokes my arms
from shoulders to elbows.
- "You're so beautiful..." The tenderness of his voice gives
no hint of his next action.
- His fingers bite into my skin as he half-lifts, half-drags me to the
couch, tossing me on it like a rag doll. I look up at him. Shocked. Frightened.
Aroused beyond words.
- "I dreamed...that if you came to me...I'd give you what you deserve..."
- What I deserve? I try to scramble up, but he easily subdues me, kneeling
between my spread legs and pushing my shoulders back on the couch.
- "Don't move." An order.
- He head descends over my torso, stopping to lick a nipple, his tongue
barely touching my flesh. I need more. So much more. His anger. His love.
And whatever he wants from me, I will give it. Willingly.
- And what he wants is located at the juncture of my thighs. As his lips
test the softness, the wetness of the flesh there, my body bucks violently,
back arching off the couch. His powerful hands claim my breasts, pinning
me down. I run my own hands down the iron cables of his arms. I couldn't
move if I wanted to. And as his tongue parts my folds and dart against
me, I want to move. To writhe.
- "I said, 'Don't move'!" He hisses. His eyes meet mine. Black,
- Carefully, with the same attention to detail he brings to every task,
Skinner inventories the source of my undoing with his tongue. The hard
tip enters me briefly, then continues up to enfold my throbbing clit. He
takes it into his mouth, then allows it to slide back out through his teeth.
White-hot pleasure clutches me, forcing a tortured squeak from my lips.
- His attentions to the lower part of my body eases as the hands at my
breasts pick up the pace. He tentatively pinches a nipple, then another.
Encouraged by my responding moans, the fingers now twist the aching buds,
the intensity building to a point just short of pain. All the while, he
slowly kisses and licks my sex, the counterpoint of roughness and gentleness
driving me mad. His focus changes again, his hands now soothing me, his
teeth nipping at my labia and clit, then tongue-fucking me with a force
I hadn't before dreamed possible.
- Holding still is becoming impossible and my hips begin to swivel and
buck beneath him.
- "Please! Oh God, please!" I cry out desperately.
- "Please what, Dana?" He doesn't even raise his head. His
voice is toneless.
- "Please! Oh God, I can't bear it!"
- "Do you want me to stop?"
- "No! ...oh please...I need you...I need you to..." Words
fail me and I am reduced to incomprehensible moans, whipping my head back
and forth in desperate attempt to communicate the urgency of my need.
- I hear him chuckle darkly again and he redoubles his efforts, rolling
my nipples between callused fingers, tonguing the bud of my desire into
his mouth and sucking hard.
- I explode. My inner thighs clamp around his head as the spasms take
me high, higher, into the blinding white light. And as I reach that pinnacle
and begin slowly to float back down, I am struck by a realization.
- If Mulder wants to *worship* me, then Skinner wants to *possess* me.
- And something in me wants both men to have to their wish.
- My body is still twitching with aftershocks when Skinner's hands fly
to his belt, quickly undoing the buckle, tearing it loose and tossing it
aside. He rips open his pants and pushes aside his jockeys, freeing his
cock, huge and throbbing. Hungry.
- My limbs are as weak and uncoordinated as a baby's. But he doesn't
need my help and I have already given my permission. He gathers me up and
into his embrace, one hand supporting my bottom, the other pressing my
head into the harbour of his neck. I can feel his pulse against my cheek,
thrumming madly. Above the pounding of my own heart I hear his ragged breathing.
My legs are wrapped round his waist and his erection throbs against my
- He's waiting.
- Waiting to regain his self control or savouring my complete surrender?
I'm not sure.
- "Do you want me?" His voice trembles, thick with desire.
- "Yes." No hesitation.
- Then, one hand bracing my back, the other curled around the curve of
my ass, he sheaths himself inside me, gliding into my achingly hot, wet
core as though he belonged there. A delicious sigh of satisfaction escapes
both of us.
- Tendrils of pleasure fan out from my centre as my body opens to him,
adjusting to his thickness, his size. For a moment it seems that we are
too overcome by raw sensation to continue. His hot breath caresses my cheek.
He kisses my face, his gentleness jarring, intoxicating after the intensity
of his initial seduction.