a man in uniform
by Pares

Mulder's wrist was raw and bleeding by the time Scully found him handcuffed to the fender of Lili's cherry red convertible.

"Mulder are you o-- my god!"

"Don't say a thing, Scully. Not one word. We can discuss my psychosexual role in the Fellini Film that is Lili's mind later. Just uncuff me."

"But, Mulder, you're..."

"In her dead sister's Catholic School uniform," he snapped. "Yeah. I know. Now uncuff me, dammit!"

"You look ridiculous." And he did... and yet... Well, it was plain that the Mary Janes had been too small-- he'd already kicked them across the garage.

Mulder continued to struggle, and when he moved like that the too short green plaid pleated skirt rode up to show off the hard curve of his thigh... Scully had to admit, the navy thigh highs were a *nice* touch.

Chest. Only one button still struggled to hold the shirt closed, straining just beneath the ribcage. The shirt flared open, baring his fair chest, nicely threaded with browngold curling hair. His nipples were peaked from the chill of the cement.

Scully bit the inside of her cheek to ground herself and reached out to uncuff Mulder. But he squirmed again and she dropped the keys, and when she bent to retrieve him, she was afforded a lovely view right up Mulder's skirt...

She stopped just short of clapping her palms over her eyes. When she decided it was safe to open her eyes again, she tried to keep them on Mulder's face, which, she reasoned, was the least dangerous part of his body. For the moment.

The cap sleeves were too narrow for his muscled arms and bit into the flesh where the bicep swelled as he tugged again at the handcuffs.

"Jesus, Scully, you gonna be down there all day?"

"I've found them." She was on her hands and knees, Mulder's feet flat on the floor beside her, his knees apart. He made another half hearted attempt to sit upright. The flex of muscle in his stomach was practically hypnotizing, and Scully bit her lip thoughtfully.

"Mulder, I'm not so sure I should uncuff you."

"WHAT??"

"I mean," she said, making a fist to keep from smoothing her hand over his stomach and dipping her fingers underneath the waistband of his skirt, "I mean, what if you have a head injury? You must have been unconscious. Even I don't believe she could stuff you into that get up while you were awake."

"Scully, I'm fine, just uncuff me. Please?" He looked a little pale. Wary.

Scully licked her lips. He'd rolled his hips again, and sweet god, his boxers were blousing just enough to let her...

"Mulder, I'd better call the paramedics." Her fingers shook, as she tried to dial her way back towards self-control. She couldn't make herself hit the 'send' button on her cell phone, however.

"Sure. Fine. Whatever you want. Just uncuff me now."

"I don't think you should be moved."

"Scully...?"

"Shhhh. The paramedics will be here soon," she murmured, although she didn't know how they could be, seeing as she had not actually called them. She sat beside her supine partner and regarded him, mouth pursed.

Scully thought the navy thigh highs must be too tight; tighter even then the cap sleeves. There was an angry redness around the wide band of clinging Lycra.

"Mulder, those must be uncomfortable...."

Mulder had ceased wriggling, but she could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His eyes were wide and round.

After a long moment, he moistened his lips with a pink swipe of tongue.

"Scully, are you... okay?"

She nodded, peevish. "I'm fine. You're the one dressed like a twelve year old girl."

Before she thought better of it, she reached up and plucked at the navy leggings.

Mulder gave her a raffish grin. "I'll bet your mother still has your old uniform-"

He cut his teasing short when she curled eight fingers in the wide lycra band and wiggled them to get a good purchase.

She tugged sharply, and they rolled down his long left leg.

"Hey! Watch it, Scully, you're yanking out the h-"

She ignored his yelp.

"Trust me, Mulder. I'm a doctor."

Tucking her slim fingers in the top of the second leg of hose, she paused, and rolled her knuckles against the golden skin, the tickling hair, pressed very close by the firm clasp of sturdy stockings.

Folding them neatly beneath the hard little shell of his kneecap, Scully rubbed the welted skin, and with small circular motions, dug her fingers into the firm muscle and began to massage Mulder's right thigh, just under the hem of his skirt, which grazed the back of her hands like a linen tablecloth.

Mulder drew a breath past his teeth like he'd been scalded, and he *jumped*.

"Jesus, Scully, what the hell--"

She tightened her hands and rolled the knuckle of her thumb against the inside of his thigh and his head fell back as though she'd slapped him.

She slid her hand slowly, almost imperceptibly, along the inside of his thigh, the drag of hair tickling the inside of her wrist, catching now and then on the links in her watchband, so Mulder's expression was dazed and then marked here and there by a tightening of the jaw, or a quirk of an eyebrow...

She was already planning just what she'd do to him.

She'd straddle his legs... then slowly, bring her hips parallel to his, her thighs pushing up his plaid mini, the stiff fabric rustling against her bare thighs as she hiked up her own skirt... She wanted to curl her hands in his flimsy shirt until her knuckles were as white as his round collared blouse--

"Scully..." his voice was thick. "Whatever it is you're doing... Don't stop."

She caught her own lush, shameless look of focus reflected in the cherry gloss of the convertible's trunk.

Scully snatched her hands back, appalled.

Mulder's head came up, eyes glazed and wounded.

Shakily, she groped around for the keys. She found them and then unlocked Mulder's handcuffs, trying to reel herself in, smooth herself down, bring herself back.

She cupped his large hand in hers, keeping her eyes focused on the palm, as she forced herself to examine the flaking blood, the shallow abrasions, and not the flex of his muscled wrist.

Mulder shook his head, rubbed the heel of his free hand against his cheekbone.

"I don't know if Lili hit me... she must have done *something*..."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he gave her a baleful look.

"Because I just had the craziest thing happen. I could have sworn that you... touched me." For a long moment, Scully ignored the challenge in Mulder's voice. But her pride would not let him cow her.

"I *am* touching you," she answered, lifting her head, gaze steady and flaring. She suppressed the impulse to prod his wound with her thumbnail.

"Yeah," he said, tiredly.

Then he gave her a smile so small and sad that she wanted to kick herself.

"I have a first aid kit in my apartment. If you drive me back, I can change and let you clean me up."

She nodded, but before she moved to stand, she skimmed the palm of his hand with her thumb, and folded her other hand around his knuckles, squeezing gently.

It was the only apology she could give him.

"You may not know this, Scully," he said softly, as he got to his feet, wincing and stiff from long hours on cold cement, "But I've been thinking about expanding my wardrobe-- you know, something kicky, daring." He gestured to the amusingly brief skirt.

"Mulder..." She let her affection purr beneath the stern frost. "If you showed up at the office in anything resembling a skirt, I'd have to tip the Fashion Police myself."

"Ah. So you're saying rhinestones are definitely out?"

"Definitely."

Stooping, mouth against her hair, he muttered, "Scully? Let's get out of here. Before the paramedics show up."

Blushing helplessly, Scully led him to the car.

END