by November Tuesday

Upon returning to the hotel a fissure of anxiety runs up my body. Once again I've put myself in this position, ditched her, lost another cel and thus been incommunicado. Bad Mulder. Seven years, and the sun has come to rise and set upon the cocked brow of my Scully.

Only she isn't mine, not really.

Perhaps because I am used to scanning crowds for her, perhaps because I want nothing more right now than to see her, a glimpse of auburn catches my eye.

She's sitting in the hotel cafe, in the sun, sipping coffee, staring into space and not looking at the file in front of her. There is a slack, relaxed quality to her fingers on the cup that is unusual. I can't place it. To look at her is to see a woman sipping coffee, relaxed, melting her, loosening her, because her very hair seems to flame and nmelt inthe columnar sunshine, melting along with it.

I stand there for long seconds, after all these years still not used to her great beauty, used to all the things she pulls from my very core. I'm almost positive that she sees me, then she smiles, not a smile of great joy, or a terse smile, but a tranquil, wise smile.

If I didn't know her better I'd think that was Irish coffee she was drinking.

I approach her. First I'm flooded with relief that she isn't mad at me. That lasts for about three seconds and I am taken aback by the lack of calculation in her eyes. Something is different, and I don't know what.

"Morning Mulder."

"Morning. How did it go at Oz?"

"Pretty cut and dried. Schillinger did it."

"I heard. I interviewed him once years ago. He's creepy."

"Very. Those eyes. Uggh."

She appears to dismiss the thought, her mind in a warmer, looser place. She stares out into the sunlight and for a second is so beautiful.

"That place is like the fifth concentric circle of hell." I say.

"That it is, Mulder. The jungle."

* * *
24 hrs previous

When the lockdown siren went off and the metal click and woosh of air swept under the door of the conference room, Scully should have panicked. She had been questioning the brothers, doing her tough-ass G-woman routine while O'Reily sat back with his feet on the table, grinning and staring at her tits and thinking he had the upper hand. She paused, knowing what the signal meant. She was effectively trapped in this room with the O'Reily brothers.

A flare of what should have been anxiety sprang up in her. The brothers had several counts of murder between them. Ryan was capable of obsessive love and of killing for it, and had a thing for lady doctors no less. Of course her weapon had been checked behind the big iron doors upon entering Oz.

Her eyes skimmed over the musculature of his arms, noting the glint in his eyes. He's definately antisocial as hell. Cyril had the IQ of a seven year old but would do anything for his brother. She had read in the dossier that Cyril was a boxer. Under the empty eyes and the dopey smile she took one look at his body and knew that it could hurt, bad. And that made him possibly more dangerous than Ryan.

But she wasn't afraid, and she should have been. Instead she felt arousal coil through her body, and that's what ended up panicking her.

When the alarm went off she had stopped mid-sentence. Cyril was looking down on the table, undoubtedly coached by Ryan not to say anything. Now, Ryan sat up in his seat, leaning forward barely perceptibly.

A stimulated body, whether it be lust or anxiety, sends blood racing to the extremities, increase of heart rate, and dilated pupils. Scully was more aware of the difference in posture than Ryan likely was. She met his eyes directly, raised an eyebrow that would stop most people in their tracks.

O'Reily gave the grin of somebne who's met their match.

For long moments the alarm waxed and waned and there were unseen running footsteps behind the door.

Cyril was now watching her with eyes like a baby, ponderous blue. He was so beautiful she thought, so ironically childlike and beautiful.

If she had wanted to stop Ryan, she could.

His chair skittered back as he leapt over the table, agile as a leaping feline. There seemed to be no time in which he could have slammed her body into the cinderblock wall and clenched the lapel of her jacket in his fist, but there was.

Staring into her eyes, this was a professional criminal, looking for the terror. She gave him none, narrowing her eyes.

But her hands went to his ass, touching the rough denim of his jeans, pulling him to her. He wasn't even hard yet.

"Ryan?" a slow voice came from Cyril and then died on his lips.

Ryan O'Reily could kiss. Oh, god, how he could kiss. The thought somehow amazed her that this murderer could kiss her like no one every had. Does Mulder kiss like this? The thought came unbidden and only turned her on more as Ryan grabbed a handful of her hair and forced his tongue between her lips.

Her moan was like a living thing as it rose from her. Ryan cupped her ass and lifted, pinning her to the wall with his body. Her feet were now a foot off the floor and one shoe hit the floor with a "clock" sound.

His hands were rough, pushing the jacket from her shoulders, clumsily pushing the buttons of her grey silk blouse through the tight holes. Scully's head lolled back and she marvelled at the sound of her own moan, and she peeled the wifebeater from Ryan's obscenely cut and tense torso, pushed her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. So soft, impossibly soft. "Yes," she breathed, only to be cut off my more kisses, trailing down to her neck, and then yelped again as he yanked her pants down, bruising her pale hips with the roughness of the fabric.

She yanked his jeans down just enough and just like that burrowed between her legs. She clenched her arms tighter around his shoulders, arching forward. She could smell his smell, clean and institutional, generic shampoo, clean, but under it a hint of skin, maleness, that made her want to bite his flesh. He pushed in, past the matted curls, past the fleshy lips and in deeper, the wetness contained there wetly covering his head. He pulled out, wiggling his skinny ass from side to side as he penetrated the dense nest of her pubic hair and then broke through, slamming into his hilt into her.

She made a sound like a gasp, as the force of his torso against her chest knocked the wind out of her.

"Ryan..." Scully opened her eyes and met Cyril's gaze. Had she not been so distracted by Ryan's brutal thrusting into her or his cock's thick head pushing in and out of her flesh, she would have noticed the oddity and complexity of Cyril's eyes.

They were the eyes of a baby, perplexed, but Cyril still remembered what desire was. He stood, confused, and she saw the huge bulge snaking up toward his hipbone.

"Come here, Cyril," she said.

Ryan drew back and stared at her, shocked, and she thought for one detached second that he was going to hit her, then he grinned and laughed.

Cyril had approached them and was standing there staring at her breasts, quivering with each thrust.

"Cyril, take your pants off," she said, hurriedly.


"It's ok Cyril. You can if you want." Ryan said.

Cyril looked down, shame coloring his confused face, hair falling into his face as he undid the buckle on his jeans. He stepped out of his pants and underwear altogether, and his cock waved idly in the air, heavy and engorged.

She hooked one arm around Ryan's neck and reached down to touch Cyril, savoring the naked shock on his face, the wide-eyed surprise, pulling on his cock. What is up with these Irish she wonders, having never seen anything so huge among her own brothers and cousins. The thought flew away as Ryan bit her ear, causing her to yelp and shudder with desire. She nearly lost her grip on Cyril's cock, slippery with oozing fluid.

Balls deep in Scully, Ryan groaned as if in pain. His pants had fallen to mid-calves, revealing the musculature of his thighs and ass as he pushed in and out again and again. His skin was pale like marble, the skin of someone who never sees the sun, like an earthworm or a maggot, she thought as she felt him squirming within her and the impossible, forbidden sickening thought made her hotter, hotter still to think that she was in love with another man, a decent man, but that she was here in this gutter fucking Ryan O' like it was going out of style.

He pushed into her, groaned, so long since he had been inside a woman.

She realized that Cyril had shifted and his hand was on her arm, tenatively reaching up to her shoulder. She smiled at Cyril, the first smile either brother had seen from her, absolutely incandescent, and Cyril thought he was in love. The hand stopped.

"Touch her, Cyril," Ryan groaned hefting her in his hands.

Cyril's fingers slowly trailed up her arm, winding in her hair. Scully shuddered around Ryan's cock.

"Take her bra off," Ryan whispered.

Cyril reached behind scully, miraculously unhooking her bra. It fell slack, revealing her firm breasts, and slowly, shyly, Cyril put his hand on top of her breast. Scully moaned, opened her eyes and smiled indulgently at him.

"Yeah, touch her tits."

He grabbed, tips of his fingers digging into her flesh. She bucked and impaled herself deeper on Ryan.

"That feels so good, Cyril," she whispered. "Don't stop."

Listening to this pushed Ryan over the edge. He held her flesh against the wall and tooled in and out of her fast, so fast, hot breath huffing in her ear, exciting her, hands digging into pale skin of her ass until red marks bloomed there.

"Oh yeah, come. come so fucking hard inside me."

Ryan doubled his speed again and yelled "oh oh uhh oh christ oh god i'm coming!"

For a second his body went taut and still like a pulled bow and he came and came inside her, and then his muscles went slack.

He sank down into the wall, and she fell with him, feet touching the floor, aching, aware that the muscles of her inner thighs would not let her forget this, for days. He helped her stagger toward the table.

She scooted her bare ass up on the tabletop and reached for Cyril. Kissed him. Lips fumbling for the memory of how to do this, so many years ago, sweet and excited, every second a new gasp. His lips were tenative, his fingertips soft, the polar opposite of Ryan who gazed on, pants puddling at his ankles, jaw wide open. Oh, this is so exciting, like kissing an excited shy teenage boy all over again.

She pulled the gray tee shirt over Cyril's head, watching as the dirty blond hair cascaded over his sculpted shoulders. She mimicked its path with her fingertips and kissed him, hard.

Ryan was behind her and she jumped as his fingertips touched her back.

"You like her, Cyril?" His voice was so husky, sex personified.

"Yes," he whispered solemnly, shyly outlining the outer curve of Scully's breast. She shuddered as the back of his thumb grazed her nipple.

"Hmm, touch me."

The husky sound of her voice made Ryan hard again and he grabbed for the breast that Cyril wasn't cupping. She moaned. Ryan slid his hand down. She was so hot. He had forgotten how impossibly hot and wet a woman could be. He could smell her. He thrust two fingers in hard, hurting her, her eyes got huge and then subsided as he drew the wetness up to her clit, moving in tiny circles.

"Why don't you fuck her?" Ryan whispered, speaking to Cyril though he whispered it in Scully's ear in a way that made her skin crawl.

"Yeah," she whispered.

Cyril's eyes got big.

"Please. Cyril." She reached down and grabbed Cyril's cock and he shuffled forward, pressing in, eyes closing as he relived the impossible sensation of penetrating a woman.

Scully's eyes got huge until she closed them, and began rocking in motion with Cyril. Cyril began to fuck eyes closed, mind shut down, rhythmically, while Ryan's hand was snaking between her legs, parting her flesh, pressing her clit, rubbing there.

Unlike his brother, Cyril was uncut, huge. She was instantly writhing and moaning. She felt the thick skin furl and unfurl with every thrust.

Ryan was rubbing back and forth with this finger or thumb, she didn't know and didnt' care. "Oh Cyril, oh christ fuck me. Oh god, don't stop Ryan! Oh!" Her words deteriorated into a spiraling keening sound and she rocked back and forth Cyril's eyes opened and Ryan grinned at him as he pressed harder, moving around and around and around. "Uh uh uh," she moaned, arching back, crying loud and Ryan was afraid that someone would hear.

She shrieked, and then he stopped worrying because she was silent, bucking under his hand again and again and again floating on waves, body contracting, rippling with orgasm. And then her hand was on his wrist, pushing it away.

He knew how good that must have felt for cyril, who was in her to the hilt, and suddenly he had to have her again. He ripped her from her stupor, sliding in behind her, and Cyril, like an animal, moved close to his own orgasm, eyes closed tightly.

Ryan thrust his cock up into her wetness feeling the place where Cyril thrust into her, where his wetness and hers dipped down, covered his cock. The force of Cyril's strokes pressed her ass back against the heavy table and the pressure of Ryan's cock against her hole woke Scully from her post-orgasmic stupor and she cried out.

She snaked an arm around his head. "Slow," she whispered.

She could snap my neck in one second, he thought.

Slowly, slowly he pulled her weight back onto his pulsing cock. Cyril thrust forward, pushing her back , and she gasped with the sensation. Ryan may be a murderer, but he obeyed her and lowered her onto himself ever so slowly. She whimpered in pleasure-pain, sagging limply between the brothers so that for seconds Cyril became alarmed.

Ryan closed his eyes and groaned as the vice of Scully's ass pressed down on his red cock. He could smell her hair, sweet citrus, and her cunt, sweet-sour musk, and he bucked forward that last inch pulling her on to him to the hilt, and she gasped with sweet pleasure. Her head lolled sideways and Ryan met his brother's gaze.

Cyril pulled out and Ryan felt the egress of his cock through the thin wall of flesh, even felt the foreskin as it unclenched and pulled taut over his cock. Ryan grinned and Cyril smiled back.

Scully looked up, sandwiched between the two brothers. "Hold her legs" Ryan said, and Scully was somehow surprised at the strength Cyril posessed.

She felt as if she was being lifted but yet somehow grounded, like a circuit tight at both ends. She felt hot sweat sticking her back to Ryan's chest and she felt Cyril's furrowed chest against her. Cyril held her legs and she was pushed upright with each thrust of Ryan's cock in her ass.

She wrapped her arms around Cyril's strong back, holding tight, pushing the slippery hair out of the way. Her skin was sticky with sweat. Ryan pushed closer into her and she moaned and she was not literally pressed between the brothers. Ryan grasped Cyril's back, and the brothers held each other in close and she was stuck in the middle, holding Cyril, and held tight in this nest of sweaty limbs. She had never felt this before, this double penetration so intense it was as if the flesh ebtween were being turned into nothing; this utter surrender freed her, changed her permanently. It was as if she would lose herself between the two brothers.

She wondered peripherally, emotionlessly, why she wasn't panicking. Ryan was grasping Cyril's back harder and the brothers fell into a rhythm of one pushing in, one pulling out. Scully felt near-dizzy and rode the waves of emotion.

"Yeah, fuck her good, how does it feel?"

"It feels good. I can feel you Ryan."

"Me too, bro, me too."

Scully screeched and wiggled her bottom down tight, trying to clench both cocks at once. The heat, the intense feelings and the pressure of the bodies against her were making her dizzy. The air in front of her twinkled and became blackish. She realized that she was on the verge of fainting and her heart was beating doubletime and she slipped and Cyril was pounding in her just right, pounding on her clit, fucking in and out of her and hitting that spot deep inside. And, with an intensity she later realized was born of hypoxia she began to come and come and come, blindsighted, not even having time to cry out, just riding waves and waves and waves of dizzy euphoria, her entire body quivering in orgasm.

Ryan was oblivious and humping toward his own orgasm, but Cyril somehow knew, she swore, blue eyes tight on her like an idiot savant, and she swore that he was thrusting into her at the same rhythm of her orgasm, heightening it for her. She was looking at him and he was looking at her and she thought oh christ, he's so neautiful, so ethereally beautiful, otherworldly, but a man in the flesh, all sinew and fucking me good. On some bizarre, impossible and inexplicable level she was falling in love with him too.

Ryan leaned back over the table near dizzy himself. Cyril continued on and on and on and she pushed herself up wrapping her arms around him, holding him, whispering privately to him. "Come, come, come hard inside of me, Cyril I want to feel you come. I want you to feel good. Make it feel real good..."

And then the only insightful part of him there was grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back so she was forced to look at him and, impossibly, as if he were a smarter man or a prodigious fuck, he made her watch him while he came silently, pushing into her, only something behind his eyes and his breathing betraying the fact that he was squirting and shooting deep into her.

All three collapsed back against the table. Scully, still doubly penetrated, but Ryan falling limp. She could feel Cyril's heart beat in his chest and in his pulsing slipping cock, pressed tight, and she couldn't let go of him. It was the only moment of weakness she allowed herself but she wrapped her arms tight around him feeling his hair silky on her forearm.

"They're going to end the lockdown soon," Ryan whispered.

Slowly, she stood up, pushing Cyril back to his feet, gingerly standing on aching legs. She stumbled and Cyril grabbed her arm with oddly quick reflexes. She moaned, feeling the wetness between her legs fall down.

Minutes later, a neatly dressed perfectly groomed Agent Scully opened the sliding panel allowing her to see out and knocked to get a passing CO's attention.

Murphy started, to see her there with the two inmates, worrying about her safety, quickly jamming his master key into the lock. He searched her face for any sign of distress, but her smile was placid, professional, reassuring. "Agent Scully, you okay?"

"Fine, thanks" she said to Murphy, noting his questioning eyes that looked at her with attraction, confusion, curiousity. Ryan was standing against the table, Cyril staring at it. She met Murphy's eyes for a second and then walked down the hall.

* * *
24 hrs later

"Scully, are you ok?" Something is different with her and I can't put my finger on it.

"Yeah, Mulder, I'm great." Something is amiss but her smile is genuine and sweet and happy, as if something in her has been freed, and that something makes her more open to me.

"You seem different."

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"Did something happen?"


I give my best bullshit charming grin. "Wanna share it?"


"Ok. Scully, if I didn't know you better I'd think you'd gotten some."

Just the eyebrow. She fights hard to hide her amusement. "Gotten some, Mulder?"

Her face is smiling, inscrutable, and I don't know what to make of her.

"Mulder, I love you."

She is smiling, serene, and in the light her skin is translucent, eyes shining.

It's like all of the air is sucked out of the room, then put in again, wind wooshing and time flying past my ears. Those eyes are shining on me, looking at me with all the love in the world.

She stands up. "Come on Mulder, let's go upstairs."

Scully, Mulder, the X-files, copyright Chris Carter et al.