Title: Perchance to Dream
Author: OKayVal
Email: okayval@yahoo.com
Website: http://donnilee.tripod.com/okayval
Rating:  NC-17
Archive: Honored; just tell me where
Category: RST, Post-Ep
Pairings: Mulder/Scully
Spoilers: Sleepless
Disclaimer: Not mine, you know the drill.
Summary:  Crossing the bridge between sleep and
dreams. Scenes and post-ep for Sleepless.

Written for Fandomonium's "Virtual Season of Smut--
Season 2" Challenge; thanks for another fun challenge,
and boxes of chocolate to Tali for always keeping me
on track.

"My soul is so thirsty
I can't sleep at night
She walks in my dreams
and brings me delight"

--Joe Ely, "Ranches and Rivers"--

***

He hates New York. Memories of a bad hotel, a bad
case, a bad woman, creep around inside his head. This
time, at least he's here about an X-File, but he's
working with the wrong partner.

He paces the hospital corridor. Two police officers have
somehow shot each other and their suspect has escaped.
He has a theory, and he should be discussing it with his
partner. But he doesn't want to share his thoughts with
Krycek, who is at the end of the corridor with the doctors
and the other police officers. There is only one person he
wants to talk to right now, the only person who will listen
to him. If he's right, she's already read the report he faxed
her. He dials his cell phone, comforted immediately by the
sound of her voice when she answers: "Scully."

Of course she's read the report. She's somewhat
skeptical about the sleep eradication thing, but he's
learned to appreciate the way she challenges him --
supportive but never disrespectful. He misses her.

He hears a loud noise behind him; Krycek raps on the
nurses' station to get his attention.

"I'll be right there, Krycek," he replies. Scully hears
him and wonders where he is going.

"We're gonna check out another member of the squad and
see if he can tell us anything about Cole."

"Sounds like your new partner's working out," she says,
her tone somewhat wistful. Is she jealous? Intrigued,
he plays along.

"He's all right," he tells her. "He could use a little more
seasoning and some wardrobe advice. But he's a lot more open
to extreme possibilities than..."

She cuts him off, thinking she knows what he's going to say:
"Than I was?"

"Than I assumed he would be," he replies, smiling. He wishes
he could see her face right now.

"Must be nice not having someone question your every move,
poking holes in all your theories."  She's teasing him, but
he senses that she's probing a little, too.

"Oh yeah, it's--it's great. I'm surprised I put up with
you so long." He hopes she can tell he's teasing her back.
She pauses, then tells him he should get going. He's still
smiling as he hangs up. There were things left unsaid, but
he definitely senses a slight fissure in the wall that Scully
puts around herself.

***

They meet in the basement, near the X-Files office which
they no longer share. Familiar territory. They speak in
hushed tones, and she is so close to him that he feels her
gentle breath on his skin. He is not surprised to her that
her copy of the report is missing, too. But it worries him
that they were bold enough to break into her office for it.
It's distressing to hear that his informant's warning was on
target, and he decides to level with Scully about it.  Her
eyes widen when she learns he's actually met with this man.

"He said that closing down the X-Files was just the
beginning. That we've never been in greater danger," he
admits to her.

"Do you trust him?" she asks.

He looks around, as though his answer will bring their
foes out from behind the file boxes. The informant
obviously knows of his association with Deep Throat, and he
seems to have his own reasons for continuing to help.
But trust? *I trust you, Scully. Only you*.

"I don't know, Scully. You saw the report. I'm sure he's
the person that shoved the newspaper article under my
door, which is what led me to this case in the first place,
but..."

A door opens and he falls silent and motions for her
to move away from him when he hears footsteps drawing
closer. She turns and walks away from him, and he stares
sadly at her retreating form.

***

Krycek insists on handling the paperwork for the Cole case,
so he is left with nothing more to do but return to
transcribing surveillance tapes. He gnaws on sunflower seeds
and stares at the spinning reels on the tape machine. His
phone rings, and it's a welcome respite; at this moment, he
wouldn't mind if it was someone from accounting calling to
complain about his expenses. But he was not expecting the
pleasant surprise of Scully's voice.

"Mulder, we never finished our conversation."

"Not over the phone, Scully."

"I know. I was thinking maybe we could meet later,
and talk over dinner," she says, somewhat quickly.

"Dinner? You mean, like normal people? What's wrong with
the basement? I thought that was a step up from the
parking garage."

"Yes, like normal people," she says. "It's much less
suspicious than whispering in corners, don't you think?"

She has a point. And he rather likes the idea of having
dinner with her. She seems to have this already planned out;
she names a restaurant and a time, and he hangs up and chews
thoughtfully on a seed.

***

The restaurant she's chosen is unfamiliar to him, and
far enough from both the Hoover and Quantico to lessen
their chances of running into anyone from the FBI.
It's neither trendy nor cheesy, but comfortable, with
a fireplace and roomy booths that offer privacy.  She's
waiting for him at the entrance, and she breaks into a small
smile when she spots him strolling up the sidewalk. Was she
afraid he wasn't going to show up? Not a chance.

They ask for a booth in the back, to try and get as much
privacy as possible. He sits facing the door; old habits
die hard.

She orders a glass of wine and he does the same, while
trying to recall if they have ever actually dined out like
this before. Dinners on the road have usually been in coffee
shops, or fast food gobbled on the run, or in the car during
long and tedious stakeouts. It's nice to be able to sit
and relax with her. He studies her across the table, sipping
her wine. She really is beautiful; those blue eyes and
striking hair. She probably thinks he hasn't noticed, that
he thinks of her as a scientist or an FBI agent, rather than
a woman. But he has noticed.

"I'm still thinking about what was done to Augustus Cole and
the others, Mulder. The fact that they hadn't slept once in 24
years. I can't imagine what it's like, never being able to
sleep."

"I can, sort of," he says. She raises an eyebrow at his
comparison.

"Mulder, I know you can't sleep sometimes, but it's not the
same."

"Well, I haven't gone 24 years, that's true, but constant
wakefulness is a weird state to be in. I have experienced
something similar, I think.  Unlike you, who has the ability
to doze off whenever I'm at my most fascinating." He smiles,
trying to lighten the mood. He knows she wants to talk
about the case, but he's enjoying the informal setting more
and wants to see if he can make her laugh.

She smiles back at him. Their food arrives, and he jokes
with the waiter and, much to his delight, succeeds in
producing a laugh from Scully. He's captivated by the
sound and wishes he could hear it more often. She grows
quiet and watches him, and he realizes he's been caught
staring.

"Mulder, what are you thinking about?"

"Does this feel like a date to you, Scully?" Her cheeks
flush and he suspects it's not just from the wine.

"It's just dinner, Mulder."

"We're not partners anymore, Scully. There's no rule
against dating another agent, is there?"

"No," she admits, looking at him steadily. "Do you
want this to be a date?"

"That depends on whether you're having a good time or
not."

She smiles. "You're my friend, Mulder. I enjoy being
with you."

Her words deflate him, just a little. "But that's it?"
She pauses, but he holds her gaze.

"Well--" she begins, but the waiter interrupts and
instead of finishing, she grabs the check and studies
it intently. He realizes she's lost her nerve and he's
afraid to push her, because he knows that wall will come
up; the one she seems to hide her true feelings behind.
Instead he pulls out his wallet so that they can split
the bill and avoid any further discussion about whether
this evening was anything more than a dinner between friends.

***

He walks her to her car, and there's an awkward silence
when she says goodnight and looks at him with eyes pale
blue like starlight. He opens her car door and she slides
in, but just before she closes it, he reaches to take her
hand and gives it a tight squeeze. She squeezes back and
they stand like that for a moment, until he loosens his grip
and she slides her hand out and closes the door.

He returns to his apartment and tries to relax, but he's too
restless and he knows this is going to be one of those
sleepless nights. He strips off his suit and dons a pair of
worn sweatpants. He slumps on his couch, aimlessly flicking
the buttons on the TV remote. Nothing holds his interest
for very long. He looks at the lopsided stack of video
tapes, but there is only one thing he wants to see right now
and it's not on those tapes. It's the way Scully was
looking at him across the dinner table, and the way she
looked at him just before she got into her car. He can tell
when a woman wants to be kissed, and he kicks himself for not
pulling her into his arms and taking full advantage of the
moment. He's a goddamned idiot. He wishes he had Cole's ability
to alter people's dreams. He knows about the bridge between
sleep and wakefulness; if he knew how to cross it, he would
sneak into Scully's dreams.

He closes his eyes and imagines her lying in her bed. What
is she wearing--a nightgown? He remembers seeing pajamas in
her suitcase once. He pictures his hands, reaching for her,
slipping the pajamas--silk pajamas--from her body. He can
almost feel it, the smooth silk of the fabric and the
smoother silk of her skin. He sees her eyes grow dark,
and then he leans forward to kiss her, all over, until
he feels her writhing, moaning.

Then a new feeling; her hands on him.  Soft, tiny hands,
running across his bare chest, small fluttery sparks
on his skin, lighting a fuse that runs directly to his
groin.  Suddenly, her hands at his waist, untying the
cord of his sweatpants, pushing them down, past his
hips, seeking out his erection.

Skin on skin. Her skin, dusted with freckles; he imagines
she has them everywhere. She feels like liquid in his
arms, warm and supple. Her breasts are luscious and he
captures one of her tight nipples in his mouth. He can
hear her moans and whimpers in his ears so clearly, it's
as though she's really here. His lips slowly travel down
her body, until they reach her center, and he catches
the scent of her--musky, wet, and all for him. He slips his
tongue inside to sample the sweet taste of her. She moans
again; the sound is so real, so true. He licks and nips at
her clit and her hands grab his hair, urging him to keep
going, and he does, until she shudders against his mouth
and comes.

He rides the wave with her, and when she stops trembling
he raises his head to look at her. He knows that this is only
a dream, but she's never looked more radiant, and he wants to
know what it feels like to be inside her when she comes.
He moves over her tiny frame and she raises her hips until
his cock is poised at her entrance. His eyes lock onto hers,
and he watches them turn the color of midnight as he slides
into her.

She's so small, he's afraid of crushing her, so he braces
himself on his elbows and moves slowly at first, but she arches
against him, wanting more. He thrusts further, until he's
completely sheathed in her wet heat. So hot, so real. He moves
harder, faster, until she vibrates beneath him. He watches
her eyes glowing with her pleasure, and he surrenders
deliriously to his own.

When he can finally open his eyes, he's a little shocked to find
that he's not in Scully's apartment after all, but still alone
on his own couch.  His sweatpants are bunched around his ankles,
but he doesn't remember pushing them down. His cock is wet and
sticky, but his hands are dry. How did he come without touching
himself?  He licks his lips, tasting her. Scully. No--it's not
really possible, is it? Yet, he's never had a dream that intense
before, not one that ended in a climax so powerful that he's unable
to stay awake a moment longer; sleep takes him, heavy and dreamless,
this time.

***

At work the next day, he can't get the visions of her out of his
mind. Unable to concentrate on the surveillance tapes, he listens
to the same sentence six times before he can comprehend what he's
hearing. He's so distracted, it takes him a few moments to notice
that his phone is ringing.  Hearing Scully's voice on the other
end, he tries to act as if everything is normal and he hasn't
spent his morning fantasizing about her.

"Hey, Scully. What's up?"

"Can I see you later?"

"Another dinner date? People will talk."

"They already do, Mulder. Look, it's important."

"Is everything ok, Scully?"

"Yes, everything's fine." Oh-oh. Everything is *not*
fine. "I just don't want to talk about it over
the phone," she continues. "I thought that you could pick
up dinner and bring it over to my apartment."

"You're requesting fast food? How can I refuse an invitation
like that?"

"7:30, ok? See you later."

He hangs up, feeling more and more puzzled. Two phone
calls from Scully, two days in a row. And what can't she
talk about over the phone? Her voice was steady, but he
detected something else there. He looks at his watch and
wonders if Cole also had the power to speed up time; right
now that ability would be really useful.

***

He arrives at her door right on time, pizza in hand. She answers
his knock and ushers him in. She's dressed casually, although
her demeanor is anything but; she looks slightly nervous.

He sets the pizza on the coffee table and she starts toward
the kitchen, but he grabs her arm and pulls her over to
the couch.

"Sit down, Scully, and tell me what is going on."

She sits very still, then turns to him, slowly. Her eyes have a 
pale glow and she looks at him levelly.

"I had the strangest dream last night. It was so real, Mulder,
so vivid. Like it was really happening to me."

He feels a sudden chill. "What was it about?"

She drops her gaze for a moment and then looks back at him,
and her eyes are even brighter. 

"Someone--was--making love to me." Her voice is hushed.
His throat tightens, as does his groin. *Oh my god*.

"Was--was it someone you know?"

"Yes."

His hands tremble, but he closes them into fists and
takes a deep breath. Her face is flushed, her lips parted.

"Did you want him to?" 

"Yes, I did. I do." Her voice is still a whisper, but
it's as though she shouted the words to him. Reaching for
her, drawing her close, he finds no resistance, so he
captures her moist lips with his own. And it's real, more
than real, like his dream but better, so much better. Her
hands, mouth and tongue are his to savor and he devours
every inch of her that he can reach. Clothes are tugged and
shed, and he again feels the smoothness of her heated skin
against his own. She pulls him with her as she sinks back
into the cushions of her sofa, and soon he is moving over her,
thrusting inside her. Her moans in his ear ring loud and sweet,
and oh, so familiar. There is nothing else for him now but
the way she feels and the way she moves beneath him.  She
begins to shudder, and he strokes harder, prolonging her
pleasure; watching her unravel again sends his own release
rushing through him. 

***

Afterwards, lying together on her couch, he lazily trails his
fingers across her arm as he returns to himself and waits
for her breathing to slow.

"I guess sometimes dreams really do come true. Eh, Scully?"
He's definitely getting the hang of making her laugh, he
thinks, even as he dodges the small, square pillow that's
making a beeline for his head.


***
Finis
***

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