(Thanks to Matilda for the gorgeous cover art!)
Summary: Yes, it's a giant cliche, but I did it anyway. The old Mulder-and-Scully-have-to-share-a-bed cliche. But it's a fun cliche, don't you think?
Notes: Hello, my name is Christine, and I'm an Escalating MSRist. In my first story, Scully was just thinking about him. In the second, they danced together. Then a little teasing, a kiss, a full-blown make-out session, and now this! A few more stories, and I'll have to start using the keyword 'smut'!
Thanks once more to my friend Heidi. She's such a good nit picker!
Dammit. He's a snuggler.
How do I get myself into these situations?
So there's only one room. So there's only one bed in that room. So I've been clinging to the two feet that is my "half" and he's been sprawled out on the six feet that is his "half". We can handle it. We're friends and professionals. We have a hard-won respect for each other. No problem.
Until he rolls over and I feel his nose nuzzle my hair.
He's asleep. There's no question about it. His breathing is deep and slow and I know him. He wouldn't try this so casually. He's just a snuggler in his sleep. Okay.
I'm a light sleeper. I can fall asleep just about anywhere but I wake easily. I knew that I wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight as soon as I saw the bed parked against the wall of this hotel room. I've spent the last three hours huddled on my side, hyper-aware of his every movement behind me.
It took him about an hour to actually fall asleep. I think he was trying to pretend, but the man can't hold still. I could tell when it actually happened. His breathing quieted. He stopped tossing and even started to snore. Just a little, but a definite snore. The sprawling was the clincher. All awareness of boundaries and consideration for his bedmate fell asleep when he did.
And now he's rolled up behind me and has started fitting his body to mine. Of course I should gently wake him up and he'd immediately move back into his own space. Or I could probably just shove him. But . . .
It feels so good. The heat of him - his breath on my neck, his chest against my back, his knees under my thighs. The tiny movements of his nose in my hair are sending shivers through me as my hair tickles my neck. Every movement sends sensation tracing along my skin as if I were naked - hell, as if we both were. I struggle to control my breathing. If he wakes up, I want him to be able to think that he didn't wake me. Allow us both to preserve our dignity and our comfort level - by pretending that he didn't cuddle up with me in his sleep, and that I didn't enjoy every second of it.
Okay, it's been a while. A while since I shared a bed, and certainly since I shared a bed with an attractive man. I'd forgotten how delicious it feels to spoon. How well two bodies fit together. How you can feel the smallest movement, even through one pair of pajamas and one pair of sweat pants.
His arm flops over my side and his palm lands on my forearm. I almost whimper as I feel the skin of his arm brush my stomach where my pajama top has ridden up. I can feel goose bumps run across my skin. I'd forgotten that, too - skin touching skin.
I'm enjoying this way too much. It's not right. He might be the one snuggling, but I'm the one taking advantage of him in his sleep. I'm the one conscious of what's going on and not calling a halt to it. I'm the one thinking *just one more minute . . .*
I'm the one getting turned on by the proximity of my partner.
I wait another delicious minute, putting off what I know I need to do. Just when I'm about to turn and nudge him back over onto his side of the bed, his knees slide forward and he drags my hips backward into the bend of his.
Oh, that's divine.
I'm drenched in his heat from my neck to my feet. I'm blanketed in him. Oh, I could get used to this. It takes a minute before I notice. I mean, I'm a little distracted by the overall sensation of his warm, strong body sealed to mine. So I don't notice for a little while that he's not completely at rest. That, in fact, one part of his body is quite alert.
I freeze, suddenly terrified that he's awake - has been awake all along. That he's actually doing all this consciously. I listen to him carefully, but his breathing is still that sonorous, careless breath of deep sleep. Almost snoring - not the breathing I've heard day in and day out for all these years. He *is* asleep.
And he is erect.
Yes, I am aware that men get erections in their sleep. Not only am I a doctor, but I'm not completely lacking experience in sleeping with men. It's just that what has been a slow, warm, sensual snuggle has just turned sharply sexual. I feel an immediate rush of liquid heat at the contact and again struggle to keep my breathing steady.
I shift just a bit. I can't help it. I've been lying unnaturally still for a good ten minutes and my muscles need to move. It is just a little wiggle, but the effect is big. The effect is very big.
At the new pressure against his unyielding erection, a shudder goes through his whole body. His hand, until now resting open and relaxed on my forearm, closes in a tight grip and his elbow clamps down on my waist. Pulling me tightly to him, he presses his hips hard against me. I barely manage to keep the groan from escaping my throat. The sensation of this man wrapped around me and even in his sleep feeling the pleasure of our bodies moving together is overwhelming.
Again reigning in my breath, desperate to maintain the facade of sleep, I concentrate on the hard heat of him against me. His arm flexes again as he urges us tightly together once more. And then again, and again until he's established a rhythm. It doesn't take long. It wouldn't, of course. Just a wet dream, not the mutual pleasure I now admit to wanting to share with him. Just a few lunges and I feel him shudder, his knees snapping straight, his hips stock-still and pressed hard against me, and a small sound coming from his throat. Almost a squeak.
I feel him relax, the natural lethargy of his release taking over - and then I feel him freeze. Even his breath stops fluttering the hair over my ear. My heart is pounding like I just ran five miles, but I keep my breathing slow and try to exude sleep from every pore.
"Fuck," I hear, a tiny whisper behind my ear.
And he finally lets go of me. His hand first, sliding back over my side, and then the rest of him, pulling away from me, carefully rolling onto his back next to me - making sure he is not touching me. I feel the withdrawal of his heat as if I'd just been thrown into an icy stream. I hate lying there without him behind me. I suddenly think that I won't ever be able to sleep again without him spooned up to me. I feel the sting of tears in my nose and work to keep them from reaching my eyes.
"Fuck," he says again. Then, "Shit shit shit shit shit." Berating himself, of course. Blaming himself for his dream. Only Mulder.
Then, on a sigh, he breathes, "Ahhhh, Scully," and I hear my own longing in his quiet words.
And as easy as that, I roll toward him and, keeping my eyes tightly closed, I throw my arm across his chest, my leg across his, and nestle my head into his shoulder. Still pretending to be asleep for oh, so many reasons, I let myself nuzzle my cheek into the soft knit of his t-shirt and heave the deep sigh I'd been holding in for the past fifteen minutes.
I can feel his astonishment. I can feel his hesitation. And I can feel his ultimate acceptance as his hand sweeps a smooth path from my shoulder down to the curve of my waist, where it finally rests - warm and heavy and reassuring.
I know that sometime in the night we'll separate, resume our normal sleeping patterns. I know that sooner rather than later Mulder will head for the bathroom. I know that we will never acknowledge this - not by word or deed or look. I know that it isn't a big step forward for us.
But right now this is enough, to feel his chest rising and falling under my cheek, to feel his arm around me, to know that we will stay wrapped up together as long as we can. To know that we want to hold each other like this - it's enough.