From: khyber@citizensofgravity.com   
      
   TITLE: Coyote Luck   
   AUTHOR: Khyber   
   EMAIL: khyber@citizensofgravity.com   
   CLASSIFICATION: VA   
   RATING: NC-17   
   SPOILERS: "Blessing Way," "Paper Clip"   
   KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully sex   
   SUMMARY: Khyber vs. Season Seven. Post-ep/missing scenes for "Paper   
   Clip."   
      
   Note for Ephemeral's robot brain:   
   *NO ARCHIVE*   
   Real humans can request archive permission!   
      
   Disclaimer: 1013 owns it all. I just make them sad.   
      
   Author's Notes: Part of "Khyber vs. Season Seven." Intended to be   
   read after "Home From The War," even though chronologically this is   
   the first point of divergence from canon.   
      
   Thanks to mims and Cathryn F.   
      
   * * *   
      
   c o y o t e  l u c k   
      
   by khyber   
      
   * * *   
      
   April 29, 1995   
      
   The office phone clicks back into the cradle and he watches her   
   study it. Her padded shoulders fall a little.   
      
   "West Virginia State Police. They found my car. It's torched."   
      
   "I'm sorry." This will strike him later as a dumb thing to have   
   said. He's apologizing for a lot of losses lately, and using the   
   same words for all of them.   
      
   "Yeah, well, it'll be an easy insurance claim." She checks the fax   
   machine to make sure there's paper.   
      
   "Did you report it stolen?"   
      
   She turns away from the fax to nothing in particular, about forty   
   degrees away from facing him directly.   
      
   "I was kind of thinking of getting rid of it anyway," she says,   
   sounding distracted. "I never drive, and insurance is expensive."   
      
   "Paid off in the end, I guess." He tries to smile.   
      
   "I think I mostly just kept it to lend to Missy anyway."   
      
   * * *   
      
   Six days earlier   
   Craiger, MD   
      
   She watched him, half-listening, and didn't know how to tell him   
   that she just didn't care. Files. Tissue samples. Her file. Her   
   tissue sample. She should care, except that would have forced her   
   to try and make sense of what he was saying and acknowledge that he   
   was, at least in part, talking about her.   
      
   His hands were touching hers, a lot, and she wished that she was   
   sure it wasn't because he was, at least in part, talking about her.   
      
   She starts talking about Missy, and that throws him off. He blushes   
   a little, eyes darkening. He doesn't like being reminded that he   
   keeps forgetting about Missy. She remembers that his first thought   
   was for her, he didn't give a damn about Missy, just immediately   
   leapt to keeping her safe. Bittersweet, you could say, remembering   
   how a surprisingly cold fire of anger had lit in her belly when she   
   first saw Mulder and Missy in the same room. Loopy sparks had flown   
   between similarly off-kilter orbits while she rotated dull and   
   steady.   
      
   Then she remembered how Missy had given her the bigger piece of   
   everything since as far back as she could think, spilling the   
   memory out to Mulder as it came to her. She brushed tears off her   
   cheeks, crunched motel kleenex up in her fist. They'd had enough   
   cash between them for one room, not wanting to use credit cards,   
   not wanting to show up on the grid. Mulder sat stock still, dark   
   and watching her. He seemed absorbed by her as she took over,   
   talking slowly about her sister. She felt a tiny wriggly thing in   
   her chest thrill at the undivided attention.   
      
   * * *   
      
   "We need to talk."   
      
   He looks slightly uncomfortable on her couch as he says it. Like   
   everything else in her apartment, it's a stretch, nicer than she   
   can really afford and more than she really needs. Maybe she'll get   
   rid of it too, though it won't save any insurance money.   
      
   "About what?"   
      
   He drove her back from the DC impound yard, where she'd signed the   
   papers saying they could do whatever they wanted with the wreck.   
   West Virginia had faxed in more pictures of her car, burned to the   
   frame. Mulder snorted that someone out at Langley has rage issues   
   they need to work out.   
      
   She knows 'about what.'   
      
   "What happened the other night."   
      
   She liked that he dropped his keys on the shelf beside hers when   
   they came in, doesn't like his tone of voice now.   
      
   * * *   
      
   If he'd been forced to make a guess before, he'd have blushed   
   furiously and looked away. If pressed, he'd have said that he   
   imagined she would be soft and yielding, curves and roundness,   
   quiet, whimpers and moans. He's taken aback by her violence. It's   
   not something he's never had before but it's not what he expected   
   from her, not what he imagined. If he'd been asked, not that he   
   would have told, he would have thought that it would take time to   
   open her, gently submerge her with fingers and lips until she was   
   lost and unselfconscious in dark depths.   
      
   He'd been wrong about everything, unsurprisingly. After the second   
   kiss (where she was supposed to flush demurely and he would have to   
   take over) she tackles him, pushing him back onto the motel bed.   
   He's Kali's victim with all six of her arms trying to pull off   
   enough of their clothes to complete the action of joining. He finds   
   himself trying to slow her down, put at least enough space between   
   them so that he can see her beautiful face. His hands go all the   
   places they've never gone before. He finds her leaner than he had   
   imagined, natural curves of her frame carrying less flesh than they   
   should, the space between her hipbones stretched. He settles for   
   all of her clothes and most of his, his shirt open but trapped on   
   his back and arms. Her hips are working against him frantically,   
   surprising wetness and the softest hair he's ever felt on a woman   
   brushing against his thigh as a small strong hand grasps him.   
      
   She finally gives an indication that she knows he's there, glancing   
   down at his cock in her hand and then up at him. Her eyes are wet,   
   too, shining, but she has a tiny secret grin that breaks the moment   
   a little. They both realize he's bigger than she was expecting, or   
   is used to. She bites her lower lip, eyes still locked with his, as   
   she raises her hips and he feels himself nuzzle between neat,   
   delicate labia. He hasn't seen her except for glimpses down between   
   them, but he imagines she looks like a girl, neatly closed and   
   symmetrical. If he thought there was any room for negotiation or   
   play he would take control, push her over, hold her wrists down to   
   the motel mattress and go down on her, see and taste the prettiness   
   he imagines. He imagines she'd laugh, curse him, but he can't hear   
   either of those things happening in the vacuum they've created.   
      
   She's impossibly tight, like a fist clenching him but she forces   
   down, taking as much of him as she can on the first stroke before   
   her eyes screw shut and she has to rise. She angles her hips   
   differently, leaning forwards more, and sinks down again. He feels   
   himself disappear inside her.   
      
   It's hazy after that. He remembers her breath harsh and labored,   
   her nails digging into his shoulder, teeth on his chest and   
   trembling thighs. Her voice did something deliciously terrible to   
   the Third Commandment, leaving it stained and fragrant. His brain   
   stumbled around looking for an explanation that didn't involve Dana   
   Scully having a wracking orgasm on top of him, didn't have teeth   
   and lips and nails and pretty little soft breasts, didn't smell   
   like sweat and woman-hair and sex. His body didn't care, and   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)