Title: post ep - ICE 
Author:  Diehard
Category: 155 word (more or less); challenge fic; post-ep
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Ice

Written for A Virtual Season of Smut.

***

Honey! You posted the wrong version of 'Ice' -- Can I send along the revised text?

155 word - ICE for Tali 


It was two weeks after they'd made it back for Icy Cape,
two weeks and the burn of his fingers along the nape 
of her neck was still searing her dreams. She almost 
didn't believe it when she opened the door on a 
Sunday night, but there he was.

She was in her pajamas, and he was in jeans and T-shirt 
and he didn't say he was sorry for coming over after midnight, 
only that he was sorry he waited so long. It was an eternal 
minute later, but he crossed the threshold, shut the door 
and came toward her, "You have to be thinking about it, too."

"Thinking about what?" She tried to keep up the pretense
of detachment, but she couldn't stop herself from stroking 
the back of her neck, her fingertips retracing what 
he'd already branded.

Closing the gap between them, he pulled her to him 
before she could think, before she could stop him, 
before she could dredge up a denial. 

"This, Scully...." Then it was nothing else but the heat 
of his mouth on hers, hungry, insistant.

The Scully of sensible answers, and sensible suits 
was gone. There was only this Scully, feasting on his lips, 
snaking her hands under his shirt. 

Mulder backed her against the wall, and kept kising her, 
kissing her, kissing her as he undid the buttons of her top, 
pushing the silk aside to feel the satin of her skin.

Her eyes were wide and dusky blue, and she didn't stop him, 
reaching for him instead, stroking the length of him 
under the denim of his jeans.

Time twisted and sped up and slowed down and they were 
on the floor, half dressed, half undone, working themselves 
into a slipknot of limbs and mingled breath. And then they 
stripped the last of the clothes away and he parted her 
open with his legs and she took in in her hand and 
guided him inside. 

"This, Scully. This...." He was whispering and peppering 
her shoulder with starburst kisses. 

"Only this." It was all she could say. There was only the feeling 
of him, thrusting and her moving against him. Only hot, bright, 
wet, smooth existed. No explanation or reason or theory. Only 
this spiraling pleasure pain, this wave that crested and
took them under, leaving only the two of them, a double 
lock from this moment on.




diehard, who thought she better write this while 
she still had the inspiration.

(A million thanks to my favorite stalker.)